#i typed this back in october when i did my reread but never got around to posting it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unsettledink · 3 years

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Back in the days of LJ, I used to try and do a post at the end of each year, looking back primarily at fandom and fic. I fell out of the habit when everything moved to tumblr, and then it seemed like I didn’t have anything to say since I wasn’t writing or really participating any.

But I always liked the idea of it, because I love to be overly reflective on stuff. And talk about my fic. Any excuse! I shuffled around some of the topics I used back then and added a few I’ve seen around that I liked. It got… long, because I TALK, so I split into two sections.

Your main fandom of the year?

Marvel (MCU) for sure. Primarily with characters from Spider-Man and Iron Man movies.

Your favorite film watched this year?

The Old Guard - I saw a couple trailers and everything about it looked like catnip. ‘It’s probably going to be so dumb, but I don’t even care,’ I thought. And then it was so good. It was so much fun and so much smarter than I expected and I loved each and every character and it just made me happy in so many ways.

Your favorite book read this year?

Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston - I read it twice this year actually. It’s so… cute isn’t the right world. Sweet and hopeful and soft and comforting and intense. I liked every single character which is pretty rare. I cried during the sad parts and then again at the happy ending, like straight up sobbed - both times. I already want to read it again.

Your favorite tv show watched this year?

Schitt’s Creek - I started it on a whim and because a lot of people had said it was good. The episodes were short so it wasn’t a huge time investment. The first season was a little rough, but there were enough funny moments that I hung on, and then… I kept getting fonder and fonder of these idiots as they grew. And THEN… it kept not disappointing me?

You grow to expect certain scripts, twists, jokes, especially in queer story lines. To wait for the bad thing to happen, because it always does. Instead, Schitt’s Creek kept going, ‘hey, here’s the set up for that! Guess what? We’re not doing it. Here’s the happy version instead.’ The relief of having that happen again and again - the last season I’ve watched (I’m sort of saving 6) I cried a bunch but it was always because I was happy.

Your favorite album or song to listen to this year?

1896 - I’ve been waiting for the new Steam Powered Giraffe album so eagerly for aaaaaages. Finally getting recordings of Zero’s songs! Lying Awake remains my favorite off the album, with Eat Your Heart and Bad Days on the Horizon high up there as well. I’m loving what Zero brings to the band.

Your best new fandom discovery of the year?

I don’t know if I really did discover that much? I stuck pretty closely to old fandoms and the ones I picked up in 2019. Maybe Zodiac? It was definitely inspiring, and I want to write and read more in it.

Maybe the couple discords I joined? I still really dislike discord and am not on there much, and mostly lurk when I am, but having somewhere vaguely like the comms I remember makes me feel a little less isolated. It’s the potential, that maybe if I said something I might make a friend, or someone might actually want to hear what I say.

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

The Watch - I mean, I knew it was going to be a disaster with every word said during pre production. I wasn’t ever going to be happy with it. And then it came out and was even worse and uglier and … disrespectful not just of the source material but of actual people connected to Terry. I’m beyond disappointed that this is what we got, and it’s probably going to be a long time before we get anything else.

Devil All the Time was terrible, but I didn’t have especially high hopes. It still didn’t manage to meet them. Yikes.

The most missed of your old fandoms?

Maybe MASH? Someone I follow started talking about it and I was reminded all over again of the wonderful fics in that fandom. I went looking and a lot are gone (still on my computer, lol, but not online), but rereading was such a trip. A slightly depressing trip, but still.

The fandom you haven't tried yet, but want to?

Hmm. I’ve kind of not had the energy to invest in other fandoms at the moment? When The Witcher was having it’s big moment back in January, I had a feeling I might enjoy it enough to fall headfirst into the fandom, so I avoided watching it. Ikr? I don’t have the time or the energy to actively seek anything out.

Your biggest fan anticipations for the New Year?

SO EXCITED about Winter’s Orbit. I mean, the third Spider-Man movie for sure, with worry. The second Venom movie, ugh yes. I have tentative hopes for Jungle Cruise? Jumanji was stellar and I always enjoy Dwayne. I have both hope and dread for the new Suicide Squad - I did love Birds of Prey, so if it’s along those lines, yay. The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard because it should be some fun garbage, my favorite kind. I don’t know how I feel about Dune, but, uh, I’m anticipating it. It seems highly unlikely it will actually happen, but The Wheel of Time TV series.

I want to be excited about Black Widow but it’s hard. It’s not the story I’ve been wanting to see, and I’m angry about Natasha not getting a movie until she’s dead.

You know. If any of it is released for real.

The Good:

I moved to a better place. I got a better paying, better benefits, better environment job that lets me work from home. The house acquired 3-7 more cats depending on the month. I was able to get some serious problems on my car fixed. I have insurance and was able to start on some health stuff. No one I know got sick or died. I wrote a LOT.

The Bad:

Aside from the obvious? Depression hitting extra hard during the winter. Having to put two kittens to sleep. Have my car be hit three times in our parking lot. Being driven INSANE by one of the cats for months while the vets were all closed. Kidney stone. Dealing with several health problems. Stalling for months on Gotcha.

The Indifferent:

Not leaving the house often or easily. Enjoying a new fandom but not doing great at making connections (still real awkward, bud). Raising kittens and saying goodbye. Need new tires. Reading a lot of fic but not a lot of books. Having more pay but more expenses as well (wth insurance??).

2020 fic stats

Number of stories: 39

Number of fandoms: 6? Or 2, if you cluster the others under mcu

Total number of words: 152049

Average word count per story: 4kish

Longest fic: Causality (18k, P/Q)

Shortest fic: Can’t, Won’t (1k, P/Q)

Most comments received: Sieche (49, T/P)

Fandom you wrote the most of: MCU Spider-Man - I only wrote TWO fics that didn’t feature that fandom, wow. And one of those was still MCU.

Fandom you wrote the least of: Zodiac (1!)

Events you participated in: Marvel Trumps Hate, Kinktober, IornspidersGeorg Exchange, Starker Festivals Exchange, MCU Secret Santa, Spiderio Big Bang

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

SO MUCH MORE OMG. I mean, even just counting posted stuff! (I probably wrote a solid 300k of Gotcha this year.) I did not expect or plan on doing Kinktober, so that’s a whole 31 fics right there. I also wasn’t planning on doing any exchanges - I have a History - but then I did three? And beyond that, I did not expect for everything to get so LONG.

Topic you wrote that you would never have predicted in January:

Tony/Quentin. Goddammit @the-me09 They were like hey, they could be interesting! And while I agreed, I had no ideas for them. THEN they had to go and write Just Bodies That Collide and next thing I know, I’ve got ten fics featuring them and two-six series focused on them or Peter/Quentin/Tony. What the fuck.

Leitmotif of the year:

Vulnerability, I think. I had a bunch of things typed up and they all circle back to vulnerability in the end; sex, being seen, being wanted, sharing trauma, asking for help, trying something new. Offering a soft spot in the hopes it won’t be hurt.

Favorite character to write about:

Tony Stark, for sure. There are just a bunch of slightly different takes, and a lot of canon to work with (kind of frustrating too though). And I’m a sucker for emotionally damaged snarky traumatized characters that are viewed poorly both in universe and out.

Favorite kind of fic to write:

This year? Fluff and smut combined. Maybe that’s not the right term really. I keep looking for and writing, even in the angstiest fics, for those soft moments. Sure, maybe it’s a super smutty kink scene, but I want the affection to be obvious. Maybe everyone is consumed by guilt, but I want it to be based in caring too much. Maybe there’s no real love, just sex and even that’s messed up, but I want to find that tiny bit of fondness.

And I want happy endings. Or endings that look like they’re going to be happy, at least, even if there’s all the angst first. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone this year? Who AM I?

Biggest disappointment:

Not finishing the rough draft of Gotcha. I was making such good progress in 2019, from August to December. Even after the move, I basically finished part 6 in January. I fumbled around and fussed with 1 a lot, but that had already been given one draft, really, and I got through half of 4 before I slowed to a stop. I’ve barely gotten anything accomplished on it since June. Bits and pieces here and there, but nothing significant, not like I was doing. I can excuse October, due to 80k invested in Kinktober (yikes!), but aside from that… I’m sad. I’ll finish it eventually, but I really thought I could have the first draft done in a year. I’m sitting at about 480k out of what I’m almost certain will be 700k.

Biggest surprise:

Kinktober! It was kind of spur of the moment, decided just a week in advance. I’ve tried month long or even like, 20-25 day long challenges and I don’t think I’ve ever completed one. I thought there was a good chance I’d do so again, so I gave myself a little help and made my own list of prompts, things I knew I liked and hadn’t done much of yet. And it worked? I actually completed it, what the hell? Despite spending five days travelling near the end! Despite falling behind in getting ahead and writing a bunch of stories the day they were to be posted! Despite apparently forgetting how to do short form!

I, uh, could have done without the spawning of eleven series or sequels or continuations jfc WHY SELF.

Something you learned this year:

Ideas breed ideas. I swear to god, the second I sit down to think through a current idea, I wake up the next morning with three more.

Words need to be restocked. I need to consume new - not rereads, not fic - content every so often to refresh my word bank. It is astonishing how quickly writing goes again after I’ve done so.

I can write so much more than I thought I could. I can do so much more than I thought I could. Yes, I can complete challenges without dropping out early. Yes, I can do exchanges and not regret it. Yes, I can write more than 100k, more than 200k, more and more - and I can write 10k+ easily too. Though I wouldn’t mind if I could once again write less than 10k without feeling like I’ve cut off in the middle.

My time is shrinking, and if I want to write as much, I’m going to have to make the time. I can’t rely on three days off a week, on seven hours of uninterrupted overnight shifts, on hyper focused writing binges that leave everything else around me on fire.

Most memorable comment:

So, so many! I can’t pick one. I’ve been really lucky to get a bunch of really detailed, enthusiastic, analyzing comments across all different fics. One of the types that always sticks with me are the ones like ‘I didn’t think/know I liked this ship/kink/twist, but fuck, apparently I do? You made me, what the hell?’.

What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

So with writing Gotcha but not posting until it’s done, my view of what I’ve written vs anyone else’s is extremely skewed. I’m sitting here thinking, hey I’m 400k in and got another 10k done today, so much writing! While anyone looking at my AO3 account (for most of the year) is like, you’re averaging three months between fics :(

All that to say I want to try and get something posted more frequently while I’m working on Gotcha.

Also, writing for kinktober was really interesting - pushing myself to write every single day, often for that day’s post, forced me to get back into shorter form fic. Which used to be all I did? But it was surprisingly hard to just stop and not write more. So I’d like to challenge myself to write more fics under 10k at least. Maybe even under 5k though that might be asking a lot lol. I might get there with the many continuations of those fics I’d like to do. Does that count?

Goals:

I want to hit 365 fics. :) I’m only 32 away!

Aside from writing -

I’ve really enjoyed the reading record sideblog I started this year. I’ve let it lapse a little the past month or so, but I’d like to keep it going strong.

I’d like to leave a lot more comments. I want to get better about allowing imperfection - I want to write The Best Comment, but in the end? Probably 90% of fic writers are going to be happier with a comment expressing enjoyment in any way over no comment at all.

And not just on fics, but on general posts as well. It’s hard not to feel… weird and stupid and invasive and rude leaving any sort of comment on someone’s post if I don’t know them at least a little. I have godawful rejection sensitive dysphoria and a lot of interactions that ended poorly; I’m really not good at people. But as dumb as it feels to say those things, I know I am thrilled and warmed and happier when there’s a reblog with tags or a note or a comment or an ask or just, any small interaction that shows someone out there notices and cares, at least a little. There’s no reason I can’t at least try to offer that to other people.

I’d like to make/run a couple challenges of my own, later in the year. I’m still figuring out what I want to do and what I could do. I’m really interested in doing something that’s not focused on creators, but the readers; some sort of comment or rec challenge maybe.

I want to find a cheerleader for Gotcha. I’m struggling to keep up my motivation to write it when it’s already in my head, where I can ‘read’ it any time. There’s a line between depending too much on external validation and trying to generate all your validation yourself, and I’m getting to a point where I think I need to ask for help (gasp! The hardest thing EVER).

(Part Two: Pick Some Fics)

#end of year #unsettled rambles

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cptsdstudyblr · 4 years

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About Me (July 2020) (January 2021)

What’s up folks!! In about the past week I hit 350 750 followers and now I’m getting close to 400 1000, which is just insane! I’m so grateful that I’m able to make posts that so many people find interesting, helpful, or enjoyable and I appreciate each one of you so much! I realized the other day while going back through my posts to add image descriptions to some older posts that the last time I made an introductory post was when I was at 50 followers. That was in October of last year, and when I reread that post, I didn’t think it was a good representation of me as a whole person, so I wanted to create a new one rather than updating that previous one. I know that I love reading this kind of post because I like knowing who the person I’m following is, so hopefully that has the same effect for some of you.

Basic Introduction:

Hi!! I’m the person behind @cptsdstudyblr and I also have a personal blog @personneawesome where I don’t post quite as much. I am non-binary, and I generally use they/them pronouns, but I’m not super picky about pronouns. I was born in 2000 and am currently 20 years old. I just finished my second year of university studying computer science at a major US university, and I will most likely (pending the pandemic) spend got to spend this fall studying abroad in Seoul, South Korea before returning to my home school.

New addition: January 2021 - I’m actually no longer a computer science student! I’m changing schools and majors drastically, and I think I’ll be so much happier!

Education & Language History:

My education history is a little unusual, but since this is a studyblr I’ll go ahead and explain it. For pre-K and the beginning of elementary school, I attended a French International School, which is part of the French public school system. After that, I ended up moving and being unable to enroll in an international school, so I was homeschooled through the CNED and essentially did my elementary school education through a mail-in version of the French public school system. Then, in middle school, I was homeschooled in English and took a few courses through a homeschool co-op in my area. I then went to a private Christian school for high school. Although my education was fairly religious, I have since left Christianity and don’t subscribe to any religion.

As far as languages go, I have two native languages (French & English) because I am French Cajun. Unfortunately, due to my schooling background I speak standard French rather than Louisiana French. I have also learned Spanish most of my life and live in a part of the US where about 50% of the population speaks Spanish, so I use Spanish a ton on a regular basis. I wouldn’t say I’m fluent in Spanish, but I don’t have many issues in everyday scenarios. I’m also currently learning German and Korean, but I’m not close to fluent in either of those languages.

Hobbies & Personality:

I like to think of myself as a kind person who puts others first and is respectful and accepting of all people. I think my friends would describe me as cheerful, talkative, and gentle. I’ve also been told that I am someone that people feel very comfortable and safe around, which I hope is true. However, I am very shy and am not likely to talk to people I don’t know. I’m also much less cheerful when I’m alone or with someone I’m super close with. If you’re someone who is interested in personality types, I am an ISFJ-T and an enneagram type 4. I don’t think personality tests like that are all that accurate and certainly shouldn’t be used to define a person, but I think they are a useful exercise and can facilitate learning about oneself.

When it comes to hobbies and interests, I struggle a lot more to define myself. When I was in high school, I was a band kid and I did robotics, which left me little time for other hobbies. I’m still very interested in music, and I love listening to music and making music. My current favorite bands are Stray Kids and Panic! at the Disco. My robotics hobby translated into my major, which is computer science. Other than that, I like writing, attempting to do art, studying public transit and urban design, and playing simulation video games. I also spend a lot of time on YouTube and Netflix, but I don’t think that counts as a hobby.

Health (Mental & Physical) Information:

Since it’s relevant to this blog, I want to be open about my health struggles. Normally I don’t talk about these a lot (except with close friends), but I think it’s useful to be honest in this situation.

As far as mental health goes, I have CPTSD (complex post-traumatic stress disorder), anxiety, depression, sensory issues, and just generally bad mental health. I also believe based on thorough research that I most likely have autism and/or ADHD, but I hesitate to self-diagnose something like that and would never claim to definitively be neurodivergent without a diagnosis.

When it comes to physical health, I have hEDS (hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome) and POTS (Postural Orthopedic Tachycardia Syndrome). Since these are considered rare and aren’t super well-known, I’ll provide a brief explanation. hEDS causes hypermobility, joint instability (including easy and frequent dislocations), pain, and some other nasty stuff. POTS causes your heart rate to rise very high when you stand, and can cause people to faint.

#introduction #about me #cptsd #anxiety #depression #sensory issues #mental health #mental illness #heds #eds #pots #chronic illness #chronic pain

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mss4msu · 5 years

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Call Me Doctor. (Chapter 15)

Summary: Fresh out of graduate school, you had somehow landed a spot in the faculty of a prestigious university. The small anthropology department has too many faculty and too few offices; sharing an office does not go as you expected.

Pairing: Professor!Steve x Professor!Reader

Words: 3166

Warnings: Feelings

A/N: I have a lot of feelings from seeing Endgame, so there’s a lot of goofiness in this chapter and some ties to the Avengers because I need that. The chapter is real long because I have a lot of feelings and it’s been awhile. This chapter was supposed to happen in October, but then life happened. I started drafting it at Christmas and then wrote more on Mardi Gras, and then planned to release it before Easter, but here we are. Happy almost Free Comic Book Day and May the Fourth. (Please just pretend it’s Halloween bbs)

Catch Up On the Story Here

You spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. Every time you tried to concentrate on something work-related, your mind went to Steve; the sweetness of his smile, the warmth of his hands, the passion in his kisses. You shook your head, trying to get Steve out of it.

“Order and organization, that’s what I need,” You said to yourself, pulling out your planner and a pen.

You hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out what to put. You thought of writing “Brunch with Steve,” but that didn’t seem to capture the emotions you were sure both of you had felt.

First Date with Steve - you wrote. You wanted to dot the “i” with a heart, but talked yourself out of it in fear of anyone ever finding and reading your planner.

You looked back through the previous weeks. It had been almost 2 months since you had been at the university. Almost 2 months since you had met Steve. It felt like much longer, which you attributed to the academic bubble; regardless of how much time passed in the “real world” the stress of academia always made it feel 10x longer. Of course Steve’s mood changes had also made time drag on. You flipped to the week to come and your heart began to beat rapidly.

“Oh shit!” you yelled to yourself.

Saturday, October 31st - It was written in black and orange on the page and you had even doodled a witch’s hat and ghost next to it.

“How could I forget my favorite holiday???” you scolded yourself.

You frantically got up and rushed to the closet in your hallway. You found your tub of decorations and carried it into the living room. You pulled out cobwebs and witches’ hats and little skeletons. You unwrapped jack-o-lantern lights and laid them on the floor next to the tub. You went back to the closet and moved all the coats around until you found it; the piece de resistancé, a Mummy scarecrow. You frantically ran around your apartment hanging everything up, taking it down, and hanging it again in a different spot because it looked better. It took two hours for you to finally accept the placement of everything. You sat on the couch and admired your decorations. Although the apartment had already begun to feel like home, having all of your decorations up solidified the feeling.

You pulled your computer out of your bag and opened your email. You typed all of your colleagues names into the “To:” section and made the subject for the email “Sorry for the Late Notice: Halloween Party!”

Dear All,

Sorry for the late notice, I’ve been so focused on the museum project that it completely slipped my mind that Halloween is a week from today. You are all welcome to my humble abode on Saturday to celebrate all things spooky. Haunted happenings will begin at 7:00pm. Costumes are encouraged! Plus ones are of course welcome too!

See you Monday,

(Y/N)

Your finger was still pushed down from clicking send when your computer dinged with a new email notification. Your heart pounded as you looked at the sender and opened the response.

I look forward to attending.

--Steve

You reread his email a few times, your heart sinking slightly, as you figured Steve would show more emotion after your date, at least what you thought had been a date. But looking at the time stamp of his email bolstered you back up. Steve was notorious for never responding to emails, so to have a response immediately after sending you knew was special.

You spent the rest of the weekend going through your cookbooks to find the perfect spooky snacks, perfecting your Halloween playlist, and going through your tub of costumes to find the perfect choice for the weekend. You put on a few scary movies as you worked to set the mood.

Monday morning, you were in a fantastic mood. You had in your candy corn earrings and were wearing your pumpkin socks under your dress pants. You got to your office to find it unlocked. You walked in to see Steve and James intently staring at Steve’s computer screen.

“What are you two up to?” you asked as you sat down at your desk and pulled your computer from your bag to review your powerpoint before class.

“Nothing,” Steve grunted, his cheeks turning red.

“Just prepping for this weekend,” James smiled slyly at you.

You grinned, “Doing some costume shopping?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” James winked at you, “Alright, place the order Stevie, I’ve got to go to class. I’ll leave you two to have some alone time.” He raised his eyebrows at you as he stood to leave the room. “Oh, and I almost forgot!” He put his hand in his bag and pulled out a picture frame, “I got you both a new office decoration!” He turned the frame around and you saw the zoomed in photo he had taken of you and Steve in the coffee shop.

“Buck,” Steve growled, getting up and going towards his friend.

“See you later!” James put the frame on the table and quickly ran out of the office.

Steve went to the table and picked up the picture frame, “It’s actually not a bad picture,” he said, his voice softening now that you two were alone.

“May I see it?” you asked, walking over to him.

He handed it to you, and you felt a shiver as your hands brushed each other. It actually was a cute picture, the two of you cuddled up on the couch together.

“Do you want it?” Steve asked you.

“Oh, um, I mean…” you were caught off guard, unsure of what the right answer was. “Yes?”

“Was that a question?”

“I mean, of course I want it! But I only want it if you don’t. James is your friend first, so if you want it you should have it, but of course I would love to take it if you don’t.”

“You should take it, (Y/N). I can just have him print me another.”

You smiled up at Steve, “Thanks.”

The rest of the week seemed to drag on, which you knew was because you were so looking forward to the weekend to celebrate the most glorious of all holidays. Friday night came and you began to prep food for the party. You peeled grapes and put them in the freezer to serve as eyeballs in the witches’ brew punch. You made little witch hats out of Oreos and Hershey’s Kisses that you then encircled with little bands of colorful frosting. Saturday morning you got up and began to bake. You dyed breadstick dough green and shaped it into fingers, placing an almond in as a fingernail. You then got out hot dogs and crescent roll dough and cut arms and legs into the hot dogs before wrapping them in strips of dough to make mummies. Once the baking was complete, you did all the dishes so the counters wouldn’t be cluttered.

You looked at the clock and realized you only had 3 hours before everyone was set to arrive and you were a mess of dough and dishwater. You hopped in the shower, got out, and dried your hair. You did your makeup and curled your hair into big waves. You decided you’d wait until right when people arrived to put your costume on, as you didn’t want to be sitting around in it for longer than you had to. It was a great looking costume, but it wasn’t the most comfortable.

You saw that there was just an hour left until everyone arrived, so you went back into the kitchen to begin setting everything out. You set the table with all of the food and were impressed with yourself with how it had all turned out. With just a half hour until people arrived, you decided to mix up the witches’ brew. You put lime sherbert, sprite, lime-flavored vodka, and some sparkling grape juice into a large plastic cauldron on your table. You then added in the frozen grapes and some gummy worms.

With just 10 minutes to go until 7pm, you decided it was time to get into costume. You made sure the corset was laced properly and used the side-zipper to get your top on. You were hesitant about the hot-pants of your costume, but figured you could just have a blanket around you if you felt embarrassed. You put on your bracelets and secured the crown onto your head. Just as you were putting on your boots, you heard the buzz of the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Hi, (Y/N). It’s getting very crowded down here!” you heard Natasha’s voice and the clamoring of other voices around her.

“Then you all better come in,” you laughed, buzzing them in.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. You swung it open and saw a very full hallway filled with your costumed coworkers.

“Welcome!”

“Thanks, (Y/N)! Ooh, James is going to be pissed,” she laughed as she looked at your costume, but she quickly changed the subject before you could ask why, “I brought some wine that had a spooky looking label, where would you like it?” Natasha asked as she walked in. She was dressed as Indiana Jones and you saw Bruce behind her, dressed as Lara Croft.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Bruce said without making eye contact as he followed Natasha into the apartment. He looked slightly embarrassed of his costume, as he kept tugging the shorts down, so you knew Natasha had convinced him to wear it.

“Ahhh, (Y/N), you look hot af,” Wanda said hugging you, “I’m so happy to have another person with such an affinity for the supernatural.”

“Did you just finish The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina?” you asked her, seeing her platinum curled wig and the black dress with a white collar.

“Yes and it was amazing!”

“Yes, Sabrina was absolutely fantastic,” Vis said sarcastically, stepping forward from behind her. He was dressed as a black cat, complete with a little tail.

“Salem?” you asked with a laugh.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Vis replied.

“Oh, shut up!” Wanda pushed him into the apartment. “Also, I brought some ghost-shaped cookies!” she yelled as she walked away.

“I have come stag!” Thor proclaimed as he walked through the doorway.

“And dressed as the god of thunder!” you proclaimed right back. You were relieved he hadn’t brought Loki, as you hadn’t spoken to his brother since your date with Steve.

“I’ve had this costume for years. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Thor grinned as he went to the living room.

“Pepper! Long time no see!” you said as Tony and Pepper entered the apartment.

“Which one of us are you talking to?” Tony asked. He and Pepper were dressed in salt and pepper suits, and Tony was dressed as pepper.

“Tony thought it would be funny to be me for Halloween,” Pepper said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s amazing,” you laughed.

“Thank you,” Tony grinned.

“Please, don’t validate him,” Pepper sighed as she and Tony went to the living room.

“(Y/N), hi,” Clint said as he walked in, “This is my wife, Laura.”

“Hi, Laura, so nice to meet you! I hope everything is going well with the new baby.”

“It is a lot,” Laura smiled, “So thank you for this opportunity to get out of the house.”

“I see you’re both dressed in the appropriate costumes for it though!” you replied, seeing they were dressed as Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl.

“We decided this year’s family costume would be Incredibles themed since there are five of us now,” Clint grinned.

“That is truly amazing. Please, come on in.”

You looked out into the hallway, but saw that it was empty. Your heart started to race in anticipation, but given that they were so late last time you hosted a party, you tried to calm yourself down. As you closed the door, the intercom buzzed.

“Hello?” you thought your heart was going to pound out of your chest.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Steve’s voice came through the intercom.

You buzzed them in before he could say anything else and what felt like an eternity later you heard a knock on your door.

You yanked the door open and saw Steve and James standing in the hallway. Steve was dressed as Superman, his blonde hair slicked back except for a small curl on his forehead. James stood next to him, dressed as Batman.

“What the hell (Y/N)!” James exclaimed, looking you up and down, “We were trying to do a couple’s costume and you made it weird by having us look like a throuple now!”

You smoothed the Wonder Woman corset over your stomach and anxiously adjusted your crown, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were planning to do a couple’s costume together.”

“It’s FINE,” James huffed as he stormed past you.

“We do a couple’s costume every year,” Steve shrugged his shoulders. He looked you up and down, “You look amazing, (Y/N).”

You blushed, “Thanks, Steve. So do you.”

Steve walked into your apartment and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before going into the living room.

You waited a second for your heart rate to decrease before joining the group. You could hear James grumbling about his ruined costume plans.

“(Y/N), this food is fantastic!” Thor rumbled from the couch.

“And this punch is disgusting and I love it!” Wanda beamed.

“The decorations are amazing,” Natasha said, looking around. “This apartment isn’t that big, where did you store them?”

“I prioritize holiday decorations over all else. I think I own more costumes than I do regular clothes.”

“Then why don’t you go change,” you heard James grumble under his breath.

Steve came and sat next to you with a full plate of food, “Just ignore him,” he whispered to you.

You gave Steve a half smile in reply.

The night continued to be eventful. Wanda shared spooky stories she had encountered in her research. Steve educated everyone about the history of using superhero outfits as costumes for Halloween. Thor choked on a grape. And when “Thriller” came on the playlist, everyone tried their best to do the original dance. James eventually forgave you and decided documentation of you, Steve, and himself in your superhero costumes was necessary and subsequently forced everyone into a photoshoot. Bruce and Vis were not happy with him.

“Well, I think it’s time for us to relieve the sitter,” Clint said, taking a final drink of punch as Laura yawned and stood up.

“Mind if we hitch a ride back home with you?” Natasha asked, pulling Bruce up off the couch.

“We drove you here, it’s not like we would just leave you,” Clint replied, groaning as he stood.

“Didn’t stop you from leaving me that time in Budapest,” Natasha snarked back.

“You and I remember Budapest very differently,” Clint laughed.

“Pepper, are you ready to go home?” Pepper asked Tony.

“Yes, dear. And thank you for FINALLY accepting the costume,” Tony grinned.

“We should probably go as well,” Wanda said, “I have some...things...to attend to at home.”

“Wait, she isn’t actually a witch is she?” you couldn’t help but ask Vis.

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that question,” Vis sighed.

“Well, Steve, should we go too?” James asked.

“Um...yes...I guess we should? Unless (Y/N) needs help cleaning up?” Steve directed the questions at you.

“I think I can manage it,” you replied, your heart fluttering.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, looking deep into your eyes.

James realized what was happening, “Steve, you know what, maybe you should stay behind and help (Y/N) clean up. I’ll see you tomorrow buddy.”

You said goodbye to everyone and shut the door with a sigh.

“What can I help you with?” Steve asked from behind you, startling you, as you had forgotten he was still there.

“Um, I really just have to put the leftover food in tupperwares and then clean out the punch cauldron. You really don’t have to stay if you have other things to do.”

“You want to break apart the two strongest members of the Justice League?” Steve asked, stepping closer to you.

“I mean, Wonder Woman is definitely the strongest, but I think Batman is actually….”

Steve stopped your words with a kiss, pushing you against the front door. You tried to put your arms around him, but your hands got tangled in his cape and you couldn’t help but start laughing.

“Let’s clean up first, Superman,” you walked into the kitchen, grabbed tupperware containers, and filled them before putting the leftovers in the fridge. Steve poured out the dregs of the cauldron and began to wash it. You filled the dishwasher with plates and cups and straightened up the pillows on the couch.

Steve dried his hands off on a towel and joined you in the living room, “You know, last time I was here you said I could take a look around. Is it possible to get a personal tour?”

“I’d be happy to,” you smiled, “Let’s start at the front door?” You took his hand and led him to the door. “So this is the hallway, it leads everywhere. To the right is the kitchen, straight ahead is the living room/dining room combo, and up there to the left are the bathroom and bedroom.”

“How practical.”

You pulled him to the right, “Here is the kitchen, I believe you’ve been in here before. And if we walk forward we have the dining room and the living room, which are actually just one big room.”

“What a lovely set-up you have here. Brilliantly decorated.”

You blushed, “Then if we go around this way,” you walked him to the hallway again, “We go down a smaller hallway and we have the bathroom on the left,” you opened the bathroom door and flicked on the light, “complete with a Halloween pumpkin soap and all your regular bathroom furnishings. And on the right,” your breath hitched, “Is the bedroom.”

You hesitated for a second before opening the door to the bedroom. You took a deep breath, opened the door, and turned on the light.

“Here in the bedroom, we have the closet, and a dresser, and the,” you gulped, “bed.”

You watched Steve’s eyes roam around the room, and you were thankful you had thought to clean it this morning while the mummies were baking. Steve cleared his throat and you saw he was staring at the picture frame on your nightstand.

“Oh, um, I can explain that,” your heart was racing and you had no idea how you were actually going to explain it.

Steve’s hand tightened around yours and he gently pulled you onto the bed with him, “You don’t have to,” he whispered in your ear before kissing you passionately.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Call Me Doctor. Tag List:

@ashislost @wantingtobekorra @zlixlle @arlenesrose @crazy--me @grey-raven @queenkitten95 @chook007 @tequila1984 @yallneedtrek @ssweet-empowerment @guera31 @justmesadgirl @sofipatey @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @rainbowkisses31 @writing-for-a-chance @sp2900 @notkikibear @itzmegaaaaaaan @partiallyinthecloset @moonstruckhargrove @ishipmybed @chrisevansisdaddy13 @straybattie @angryteapot @fandom-addict-aesthetics @hazellnut94 @abschaffer2 @hadesgirl1015

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tag List:

@patzammit

Permanent Tag List:

@sophiealiice @mrsdeanwinchester19 @thisismysecrethappyplace @ailynalonso15 @221bshrlocked @hazellnut94 @libbymouse @nerdypinupcrystal @hufflepuffchloe

#marvel #fanfic #au #professor au #steve rogers #professor steve #steve rogers x reader #captain america #series #call me doctor #anthropology #halloween #steve x reader

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yayninjabob · 4 years

Text

A story behind a story

I have never wrote 100,000 words of anything in my life and 9 months ago when I first sat down to write Villain: Redux I definitely did NOT anticipate the length it would reach by the end of Part I. Now that it is done though I feel like I can talk about it. Well not really the story but the story behind the story?

A very lengthy and personal author's note for Part I: Remote Control

How I started writing again: My relationship with my writing was non existent for years. I honestly went through a very long drought where I felt like everything I created just sucked so bad and I had zero motivation for creating shit. I would talk with my therapist or my wife and friends about feeling so out of touch with my creative side and feeling pretty lost without it. Really, I pretty much felt like it was dead forever. I eventually started a personal journal again... And little drabbles here and there would come to mind... It felt alright but meh. "What did you enjoy about writing that you still feel is missing?" I was asked. Ffffffuck me I dont know. Writing as a teen and in my early twenties wasn't something I ever thought about even when I did it every damn day of my life. I guess I missed having that ongoing plot in the back of my head that I could escape to whenever life was lame. Daydreaming crazy stories as a kid was just my favorite past time and writing went with it. But I just didnt have any more stories in my head. Nothing new or exciting enough at least. Anyways. January was my dads bday. 2019 and that year my dad asked for something. Now my dad isn't one to ask for gifts. No, normally he is extremely frustrating and expects everyone to read his mind while saying "I dont care" yet if his gifts dont meet his secretive expectations he gets all butthurt and emo and says that nobody knows him. Ok but January 2019 he asks me to write him something. "What? A story? A poem? A birthday card?" "I dont care just write me something." Typical. "I dont care." Yeah right. What the hell does he expect from me jeez.... My dad was the OG storyteller in my life- real shit or bullshit- he could spin a crazy story like no one else. My uncles and his friends would sit around smoking and drinking and listening to one wild tale after the next. He could entertain people for HOURS just with the shit he’d say. I always thought he'd make a brilliant stand up comedian but my dad would just laugh at the idea. So for his gift I figured I'd retell one of his personal wild tales - his first encounter with a mountain lion at 12 during a hunting trip with my late great uncle Joe who was his adoptive father figure. Honestly my dad was always so incredibly descriptive and I heard that tale about a bazillion times growing up, and even though he hadnt shared it in probably 15+ years, it was easy to recall. I could just close my eyes and see it clear as day. I stayed loyal to his story but I used my own words. It really surprised me how easy I found those words though. Writing had been such an impossible challenge for so long yet when I finished the short story I had written 12 pages in a single afternoon and I was shocked but in a good way. It was his story so I was pretty sure he would like it. He's got a pretty big ego lol. I typed it up on the typewriter my dad had gotten me back when I was a teen and serious about becoming a "real writer." I figured he would appreciate that. I gave him the story on his birthday. He didnt read it right away. We went to the backyard and the two of us shared a joint and while I started chasing the dogs in the yard for a bit I saw he finally picked the story up. And when he finished he started crying. Which is always weird when it's your dad right? He isn't one to cry easily. Last time I saw tears in his eyes was three years prior at my wedding but even that wasnt like this. He told me "You need to write again. You need to try." But I still felt like I couldn't. I never really thought I was good at it anyway. Sure, people told me they liked my writing and it meant a lot that my dad was moved so much by my short story that I started to believe “hey maybe I can write,” but... I dunno. I had a rough idea for an original novel that I sat down with later that month and tried to work out... But it just felt forced and uninteresting. It wasnt a story my mind could just escape to effortlessly. The passion just wasnt there. After a while my wife suggested to me "Well when you retold your dad's story that was easier right? Maybe you should retell another story that you love." And so in August 2019 I sat down and wrote what would eventually become the scarring scene for Villain: Redux

Part I: Remote Control I spent the rest of August, September and October slowly falling back into my old world of Villain. I reread both Villain and VillainE for the first time in yeeeeeears. What. A. Trip. So much stood out to me that was like "Ok young me, I see where you were going but this could be so much better." I made my list of what I liked and what I wanted to change.. Constructed my outline and then I just went for it. Halloween night that year was spent finishing my first draft of chapter 1. It was still in Buttercup's limited POV. I liked it OK enough but I wondered if it would be improved if I tried third person instead. I said "fuck it why not" and went for it again but in third person, adding the beginning history of Townsville and then the opening scene with Mojo. When I finished it I was pretty amused with it and I found myself just starting right away on chapter 2 and adding even more details to my overall outline- it became a trilogy. It was flowing SO easy and for once writing didnt feel like some forced chore I was performing. The entire time though I debated whether or not to share any of it. I didn't think anyone would read it. But personally, I was falling in love with my new rendition and I really didn't want to stop writing it. So once again I said "fuck it why not" and I started this tumblr to start documenting my new commitment to rewriting Villain for good. I edited the first chapter and uploaded it a couple days before Thanksgiving. And the support I got from readers honestly made me cry haha... I really really thought the story would go unnoticed. After all, when I first started writing for the PpG fandom it was always an uphill battle and 90 percent of my first reviews were just flames and criticism. The original Villain really took a while to gain much of a readership and even though it had its moment of somewhat popularity in the fandom, that moment came after it was completed. A brief glance at the PpG section on FFnet showed me that things really hadnt changed- still 99 percent PpGxRrB romances. Man, it just seemed so unfair. I freaking love this show and TBH I will never understand the fandom's fixation on those damn Rowdyruffs. Whatever. It is what it is. But because of that and because I hadnt been an active writer in the fandom for like a decade I really thought I'd be lucky to get one review. And I did! On the first day! And I was PUMPED lol. Then over the next couple of days I got more and most from names I recognized from the past! I was so touched by some of the things you guys said, you will have no idea what those first 7 reviews meant to me. And of course the reviews to follow throughout the next chapters only continued to motivate me further. And now I'm done with Part I. Jeez what a freaking journey. I feel like I've learned a lot though and I hope that the story only improves from here. Today, this story invades my subconscious more than I would like to admit. But. It is so nice to have an exciting story to escape to once more. And I feel like I can say that my creative drive is finally restored again which feels amazing. Who knew it would be this rewrite of all things to do it. So yeah. I owe the biggest thanks to my readers (the reviewers especially), my wife, and of course my dad. I know we are just at the beginning of this story, but personally I just feel like I've accomplished more than I could've imagined already... like I said... 100,000 words is something I’ve never done before lol. And I cant wait to share the rest of the story with everyone. Anyways that’s my long soppy backstory on how I decided to rewrite Villain. Thanks for reading. :)

#writing #fanfic #behindthescenes #personal #villain #villainR #yayninjabob #PPG fandom #ppg fanfic #family

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allicekitty13 · 4 years

Text

The Corner Store

When Alice Brandon decided to take a job at a nearby gas station, she had no idea she’d be getting to know the love of her life.

Story Under the readmore

also on AO3 and FFN

It was just another day, the first day off Alice had in almost a week. She was sat at home, rereading Les Mis when she was overwhelmed by the sudden craving for some soda and chocolate. Slipping on her ballet flats, she debated a jacket, it was October but relatively warm for the season.

Deciding against it, she peeked her head into her mother’s room. “Hey mom, I’m just headed off to the corner store real quick. "The older woman gave a muffled reply indicating that she’d heard her daughter. Mrs. Brandon had been picking up some extra late shifts lately and consequently had been napping quite often.

Alice was 23, free to come and go as she pleased, but she liked letting her mom know where she was headed, it felt like a sign of respect. Once outside, she decided against the car. The store was only a block and a half away, and Alice always loved a good walk. Especially at this time of year. Autumn was her second favorite season, the way the air smelled, the inexplicable energy everybody seemed to feel. It was peaceful to her.

She made the short trek to the shop, quickly picking out her favorite soda and candy bar combination and adding a bag of chips to save herself a second trip later. Though, everyone knew she’d be back regardless. She’d made frequent trips to this shop daily as far back as she could remember.

From the day her parents had trusted her to make the short journey alone, stopping here had been a part of her daily routine. She knew every cashier by name; a few even had nicknames for her. Of course, she thought, glancing at the woman working the counter, she was sure some of them didn’t even know she existed. Her thoughts drifted to one of the night shift workers, Edward, whom she wished didn't know she existed. She and Edward had graduated together; he’d always been a bit of a moody jerk. She tried to avoid the place when she saw his vehicle outside.

Deciding she was happy with her selection, she approached the counter, waiting patiently for the sole cashier to finish what she’d been doing. Rosalie Hale was the longest-running employee Alice could remember, as much a staple in the store as Alice herself. Finding a stopping-place in her paperwork, the tall blonde stood and came over to help the smaller woman.

Alice had to take a moment to stop and admire the girl. She was roughly five years her senior and was the embodiment of everything Alice aspired to be. Rosalie had a way of commanding all the attention in a room effortlessly, always the epitome of cool and confident. She could be a bitch, but never in a mean way, rather in a way that forced you to respect her. She’d mastered the look of ‘I don’t care.’ in a way that still came off as professional. Every time Alice was in her presence, she was filled with intimidation and admiration.

Rosalie didn’t speak a word as she rung up the items, only opening her mouth to read off the total. She paused for a moment as she bagged up the snacks. "Hey, you’re Alice Brandon, right?"

"Yes,” Alice stated in confusion, wondering what on earth Rosalie could want with her, and shaken that someone so impressive could actually know her name.

“Did you apply for a job here?”

“Oh,” Alice had forgotten about that entirely. It had been about two months ago after an argument with her boss. Tiring of the way she was being treated at the grocery store, she’d applied at the small gas station in an act of defiance. “Yeah, I did.”

“Awesome, Ed just fucking informed me he’ll be leaving us in a week. Couldn’t even give me decent notice, the jackass. Anyway, can you start Thursday?"

Thursday? Alice thought to herself, that was so soon. Besides, she’d smoothed things over at the grocery. She had just picked up a new car payment, though, and it would be nice to have the extra money around to help with that. Making a quick decision, she accepted, "Sure, Thursday sounds great."

"Perfect, you wanna come back at like eight tomorrow so we can take care of the paperwork bullshit?”

“Yeah.” Alice tried not to sound too excited about the opportunity. “I’ll be here, thanks, Rosalie.”

“Sure, whatever.” The girl waved her hand, indicating she was done with the conversation and walked back over to her paperwork. Alice made her way out of the small shop, trying to look cool and calm as she strode through the parking lot. However, as soon as she reached the street and was out of the shop’s view, she took off in a sprint, excited to get home.

Upon reaching her home, she proceeded to bound up the front steps positively beaming. “Cynthia!” She exclaimed, running to her younger sister’s room. “You’ll never believe what’s just happened!”

“What?” The younger girl questioned, looking up from her phone. Cynthia was 15, a freshman in high school, and usually completely absorbed in her phone. She was a beautiful girl, short for her age with luxurious long blonde hair often pulled up into a bun. She set her phone on the bed next to her and turned to look at her sister intently.

“I was just at the corner store, remember how I applied there about a month ago? Rosalie offered me a job!”

“Who’s Rosalie?”

“The really cool pretty blonde who’s always there.” Cynthia simply shrugged, causing Alice to roll her eyes. “The point is, I just got hired!"

"That’s cool, I guess.” The smaller girl picked up her phone, clearly uninterested and done talking.

Alice shook her head lovingly at her sister and went ahead into her own room, collapsing on the bed. Turning her head to stare at her closet, she began contemplating what to wear tomorrow. Deciding she needed some help with such an important decision, she rang up one of her best friends. Of course, Jake didn’t answer, it was typical. Jacob Black was notoriously bad at answering his phone. She sent off a quick text, “Hey Jake, call me back ASAP. I have NEWS!!!!”

Since Jake was a nogo, she tried Bella, who was also no answer. Forgoing the text message knowing her friend would IM her later, she made a final effort and opened Facebook to message Leah.

Leah Clearwater had been working abroad in the UK for the past three years. Calling and texting added up overseas, so the pair had taken to communicating mostly via Facebook. It was only one in the afternoon, making it nine in London; hopefully, that meant Leah was still awake.

“Hey, lovely," Alice typed. "Got some great news.”

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait too long for a response. “Hey, girly!! What’s the news?”

“You know that corner store by my house? Guess who’s now employed there!”

“Really!! Alice, that’s amazing!! I always knew you’d end up working there. They really should give you a plaque on the wall reading 'Customer of the decade’ lmfao.”

“lol”

“Anyway, love, I’ve gotta go. I’m on my way out for a date!!”

“ooooo Good luck. I want details later!!”

“Lolz, Luv ya

Alice locked her phone and set it gently on the table, overflowing with stuffed animals beside her bed. Perching on the edge facing her closet, she stared intently into the abyss of clothing. Alice nodded to herself with determination and tucked her short dark hair behind her ears. She stood and began to look through her dresses, trying to figure out just what she would wear tomorrow.

#Corner Store #Twilight #Jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #fanfic #fanfiction #twilight fanfiction #AU

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karasunonolibero · 4 years

Text

2019 writing self-evaluation

so i did this over on my main last year, and since i had what i felt was a productive year, i wanted to do it here! i’ve included all works, from every fandom i wrote for, so there’s definitely a variety but also a clear distinction of when i stopped writing 1d and started writing for haikyuu, heh. anyway, i’m proud of all the work i’ve done this year, so here’s to 2020!

ALL FICS MUST HAVE POSTED ON AO3 IN 2019

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: 50

2. Word count posted for the year: 147,038

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting):

two loves have i (5 january)

it’s only your imagination again (25 january)

the pain’s only temporary (8 february)

blow a kiss, fire a gun (9 may)

waiting to be found (14 may)

a swim with a shark (6 june)

sweet and lowdown (19 june)

one more time as if we planned it (24 june)

always be my thunder (23 july)

will your mouth read this truth (30 july)

tumblr drabbles & prompts (last updated 3 august)

I’m on my way up (’cos you make me bliss out) (completed 4 august) (collab with Rider_Of_Spades on ao3)

even mountains crumble into the sea (7 august)

we’re on each other’s team (14 august)

dangerous, tainted, flawed (20 august)

life can do terrible things (25 august)

the night before life goes on (1 september)

when the letter says a soldier’s coming home (17 september)

when the air ran out (19 september)

something missing tonight (21 september)

built castles from sand (26 september)

underneath the stars we came alive (8 october)

sweet talk and sugar (10 october)

got my name on this treasure (11 october)

just a little taste, babe (14 october)

iwaoi horror week drabbles (completed 1 november)

don’t let the tide come (31 october)

daisuga week drabbles (completed 24 november)

how (not) to put on a condom (26 november)

taste the tension, now i’m begging (2 december)

kiss the boy (7 december)

till tonight do us part (11 december)

i wish i could be there now (13 december)

on our way to twenty-seven (15 december)

for the dream far away (24 december)

a collar full of chemistry (25 december)

fall down and commune with me (28 december)

a little of love’s electricity (31 december)

the city is at war (last updated 31 december)

4. Fandoms I wrote for: (stats pulled from the ao3 filter feature on my works)

haikyuu!! (41)

one direction (9)

the legend of zelda: breath of the wild (3)

all time low (1)

crystalline (1)

5. Pairings: (i didn’t count side or past pairings)

iwaizumi hajime/oikawa tooru (14)

sawamura daichi/sugawara koushi (13)

oikawa tooru/sugawara koushi (4)

azumane asahi/nishinoya yuu (3)

kuroo tetsurou/sawamura daichi (2)

kuroo tetsurou/yaku morisuke (1)

akaashi keiji/oikawa tooru (1)

sawamura daichi/sugawara koushi/terushima yuuji (1)

sawamura daichi/terushima yuuji (1)

sugawara koushi/terushima yuuji (1)

link/revali (1)

mipha/zelda (1)

louis tomlinson/harry styles (5)

louis tomlinson/zayn malik (1)

alex gaskarth/louis tomlinson (1)

liam payne/louis tomlinson (1)

zack spade/pixel fade (1)

6. Story with the most:

Kudos: two loves have i (275)

Bookmarks: two loves have i (34)

Comments: two loves have i (25)

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

on our way to twenty-seven! i was digging into some identity and sexuality issues that i myself have dealt with in the past and writing about it was the first time i’d really dove into some of that stuff, so i really enjoyed writing it and i think it’s some of my best.

i’m also really proud of i’m taking back the crown and i wish i could say why. i just really like the way it came out. writing oikawa as this desperate dethroned prince trying to reclaim his kingdom at any cost only to be beaten at his own game in his own home was just...ugh. it was so much fun to write.

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

one more time as if we planned it, definitely. i just felt super rushed writing it. it was for the one direction rarepair fest, which was super fun, but i had Just finished a longer fic a few days before this one was due and i initially tried to drop out because i thought i wouldn’t be able to finish it, but i did, but i still feel like it’s rushed and just not as good as it could have been if i’d planned better and given it some more time.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

im gonna do what i did last year and post more than one, because 1. i can’t decide and 2. i quite honestly am pretty proud of a lot of what i wrote this year

from when the letter says a soldier’s coming home —

Tooru’s squealing somewhere behind them, and Hajime’s gruffly trying to get out the door, and he’ll have to call the school and make up something about being sick so he can spend the day catching up with Daichi, but it can wait. It can all wait. Because Koushi’s waited long enough. It’s about time the rest of the world waits for him.

from strawberries on a summer evening —

Suga hums against him, licking strawberry seeds from between Daichi’s teeth, like he’s just as intoxicated by Daichi as Daichi is with him. Daichi could live here, in this feeling, ignoring everything except how Suga sounds (like bliss personified), smells (like sunblock and sweat), tastes (like sugar and salt). He’s the hottest part of the summer, high noon in mid-August, just this side of too much to handle, but addicting in how it leaves you at its mercy.

from on our way to twenty-seven —

“Sorry, what was your name again?”

Tetsurou opens his mouth to say his American name, but he catches Daichi and Suga looking at him, and he swallows it down. “My name is Tetsurou. Tetsurou Kuroo.”

“I thought you wanted people to call you Tyler,” Timothy says.

Tetsurou shoots him a glare and says it again, feeling his confidence start to grow. “My name is Tetsurou Kuroo. Tetsu is fine, too, but I don’t go by Tyler anymore.”

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

any time tasteofsummersnow left me a comment, it made my heart go doki doki!! her comments are so in depth and so very sweet and it’s so much fun to see her real-time reactions to my writing. i go back and reread them like once a week they’re so nice ;_;

13. A time when writing was really, really hard:

the spring/early summer in general was tough, like from march to june. i didn’t post anything between february and may, and i feel like i was struggling a lot creatively around like may/june of this year. i think it’s because a lot of stuff in the 1d fandom was really turning me off at the time and that’s when the burnout fully hit.

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

definitely sugawara in the city is at war. i was writing that first chapter and initially i just wanted to see him step up when daichi wasn’t around but he very quickly turned sadistic and ruthless and scarily sharp, which is just so much fun to write him as. and his relationship with daichi is just—ugh. love that violence-fueled romance. they would kill a hundred men for each other and be turned on once they were finished.

honestly, all of the city is at war has surprised me. the idea came to me in a dream on a long bus ride, of all the clan leaders having a meeting and being attacked, and i woke up and banged it out in 36 hours. i meant it to be a oneshot but as i wrote it, i realized i loved the au so much there was no way i could leave it at that. so now it’s got a whole plot and all that. fun!

15. How did you grow as a writer this year:

last year i said i felt i grew writing angst and exploring different emotional themes, and i think i built on that even more this year. i did a bunch of shorter pieces this year and i feel a lot of them really explored emotions and characters more than plot, and that’s been so much fun. and then as well, like i said before, i’ve branched out into the crime-action genre with the yakuza au. and! iwaoi horror week was my first real attempt at spooky/creepy/horror-type writing, and, it was a fun challenge for sure.

i also said i wanted to just keep writing and be spontaneous and i definitely did that this year. i posted so many fics not caring how long it had been since the last one—sometimes it was less a day. numbers stopped mattering to me. i posted just because i wanted to put my writing out there and share it with the world, knowing there had to be someone out there who’d like it.

16. How do you hope to grow next year:

i feel like 2019 was a year of trying a lot of new things, so in 2020 i’m hoping to explore some different ships and tropes. the sheer number of characters and ships in haikyuu means there’s a ship for just about every trope and au out there, and i want to play around with some dynamics i’ve never written before.

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

as always, a shoutout to the loggies, who have been a fantastic source of inspiration and support all year even after i retired from 1d fic. and i would also like to thank the people i met via various hq discord servers—you know who you are!! thank you for the sprints, the encouragement, the inspiration, and the friendship. as someone brand new to the fandom, the support and sense of community has been nothing short of amazing, and you guys are part of the reason i felt so comfortable in this fandom so quickly.

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

actually, yeah. even mountains crumble into the sea was written the night before i broke up with my ex. i wrote it as an exercise to get all my feelings out, lay them all on the table where i could see them and pick through them, and then imagine the best possible way the scenario could go.

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

honestly—just write! write what you’re happy with. write even if you don’t post it. write, because everything you do is practice that’ll help you improve.

and don’t be afraid to write out of order or write more than one project at a time. i know that won’t work for everyone, but for me, if i didn’t immediately write what was on my mind, i probably wouldn’t have posted half of what i did this year.

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

hey remember last year when i said i was gonna finish the breath of the wild au?? L M A O i’m really gonna finish it next year i swear!!

i have a fic posting in the spring for the nsfw big bang which i’m ALSO very excited about! i’m lucky to be working with such a talented artist and the end result is gonna be amazing and i’m so so excited.

i also want to keep going with the city is at war, because that plot was a pleasant surprise. and there’s an ever-growing list of fic ideas and aus that i’m so excited to write—some of them were originally for larry aus but i’ve repurposed them for haikyuu pairings and that’s helped breathe new life into some old ideas.

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

anyone who sees this and wants to do it! just tag me, i wanna read your answers!

#keely.exe #keely's writing tag

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lostinfic · 5 years

Text

4. England, summer

Summary: Travel writer/photojournalist AU, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff and adventures around the world.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature Word count: 1.5k

Prologue | Chap. 1 | 2 | 3 | Ao3

In Covent Garden, the midday sun flared off the glass roof of the market. Hardy shielded his eyes. He hated London in the summer, hated the tourists, hated the heat, hated people playing bloody Frisbee in parks. He glared at a couple sharing an ice cream in front of him on the street, with a huff of impatience, he walked past them.

He reached the red mailbox on the street corner. He pushed a manila envelope through the slot like one rips a band-aid: quickly and holding his breath. Divorce papers, signed and sent. Time to move on. He rubbed a hand over the tightness in his chest. He knew the perfect antidote was work abroad. But until he received a new assignment, the next best thing was Stanford, the travel bookshop.

An enormous map covered the entrance floor of the shop. A memory struck him: Daisy, age six, playing hopscotch on the African countries. He smiled to himself. He would call her again tonight, even if it meant leaving another sappy voice mail. Perhaps she would want to come with him to New York in October. It would be nice to show her around. And, although he wouldn’t tell her that, he hoped she would be impressed by a whole exhibition dedicated to his work. He hoped she would understand he wanted to make the world a better place, for her.

He almost called his daughter right away, but he was in Stanford for a specific reason. Hannah had said her article on the Mahal Kita resort would be out on July 25th. “You were wrong,” she’d bragged in a text message, “they let me write everything.” He’d replied something that came out ruder than he’d intended, and he didn’t hear from her again.

As he headed towards the magazine display, he mentally composed a congratulatory message, “Let’s have drinks to celebrate”. He cringed. She wasn’t interested in him, she only wanted to have sex at the airport because she was bored.

In any case, first, he had to see this article with his own eyes. Part of him still doubted she’d gotten away with it, or had written it at all. He hoped she had. His own attempts at exposing the truth had come to nothing. Two newspapers had picked up the story only to replace it at the last minute with more pressing news. He was disappointed, but not surprised. He wasn’t giving up that easily. He still talked to Ellie and Kadek. He planned on widening the scope of his investigation by looking into other resorts owned by the same company, Group Peregrine. Meanwhile, Hannah’s article could reach readers he wouldn’t. People who directly encouraged these harmful practices in the tourism industry. She could open their eyes to the human cost of their vacations.

He spotted the latest issue of Elite Travelers. The cover featured a picture of the sea in Pulau Kesuma in oversaturated shades of blue. He baulked at the price and found a seat to read it in store instead.

The lede put him on edge right away. With each paragraph, his face grew hotter and his teeth ground harder.

He called Hannah.

“Hey, Alec! How—”

“You bloody liar.”

“What?”

“You said you would tell the truth in your article.”

“I did!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You know what? It might not be up to your standards of exposing the truth, but it’s not that kind magazine, okay? I did what I could, but the rooms were nice, I had to say it.”

“It’s nothing but praise. Praise for criminals.”

“I get it, you’re a paragon of integrity and I’m a sham.”

“You lied to me. There isn’t a word in there about the environmental impacts or the fishermen.”

“Of course, there is. It’s right there in the lede. And there are at least three more paragraphs about it.”

“I’ve got your article right here, it says: From its unspoiled site to its respect of the environment, the Mahal Kita eco-resort is, simply put, flawless.”

Hannah fell silent. He heard her sniff, and his anger vanished.

“You okay?”

“I didn’t write that… It wasn’t me, that’s not what I wrote.”

“Seriously?”

“Keep reading.”

Hannah slouched down in the hotel armchair, closing her eyes to ward off the dizziness. Hardy kept reading the article. She recognized some of the sentences, but she’d reread the text often enough to identify the missing parts.

She was in Cornwall, covering a music festival, so she hadn’t seen the magazine yet. When Duncan hadn’t asked for revisions, she’d naively thought her article was perfect. No wonder she hadn’t heard back from him about the promotion.

“Baxter?”

“He fucking censored me… You were right.” She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound.

She expected Hardy to gloat, but his voice was gentle when he spoke again, “I really wanted to be wrong.”

He stayed on the line with her, in silence, while she struggled to make sense of this betrayal. She hated Duncan so much right now, she could have ripped his head off.

Hardy told her he’d experienced censorship too. Back when Tony Blair had sided with George W. Bush about the Iraq war. An editor had cropped one of his photographs so as to leave only the angry, armed Iraqi men in the frame and remove the children they were protecting.

“I was furious.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I made sure the original photo was published elsewhere.”

“I just… it was important to me, you know? It felt like a big step in my career. Something different…”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“What can I do?”

“You have to get that story out there.”

She could put the uncensored article on her blog and expose Elite Travelers’ dishonesty. But could she afford to antagonize her main source of income? Adios business class and exotic resorts.

“You would want to work for them again after this?” Hardy asked.

“It had never happened before.”

“That you know of.”

The moral decision weighed on her chest, pushing a deep sigh out of her. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. Arctic Monkeys would be on stage in 15 minutes, and she had a VIP pass. All she wanted was put on a flower crown, get drunk and dance with strangers under the sun.

“Would you like to go for coffee. With me. To talk about it,” Hardy said.

“No, thanks. I can’t.”

“Yeah, no, okay. Then—”

“I’ve to go. Bye.”

A week later, Hardy received a message from Hannah with a link to her blog called “Secret Diary of a Globe-Trotter”.

Secret? he texted back.

It used to be a place to write anecdotes I couldn’t tell my father ;)

She had posted her original article, nowhere near as scathing as it ought to be, but critical enough to put off some people. She also described the censorship and her investigation on Pulau Kesuma. She even mentioned him, “Alec Hardy, a remarkable photojournalist”. He thrust out his chest slightly.

So what do you think?

You did the right thing, he wrote.

I hope so. Still not sure about that.

With a fresh cup of tea, he sat on the narrow balcony outside his flat. He typed “I’m proud of you”, but changed his mind. He wanted to keep the conversation going.

I can send you some pictures I took, if you want to add them.

Of course! Will you publish them anywhere?

Expo in NY soon.

She sent a thumbs up, and he assumed that was the end of the conversation.

After a moment, Hardy gave in to his curiosity and browsed the rest of her blog. Among the clickbait-y articles (“Five booking hacks you’ll regret not knowing”, “10 sexy airport looks”) and sponsored posts, he found hidden gems: longer texts describing encounters with all sorts of people during her trips. She made these people talk about their countries and favorite, uncharted places. From a churros vendor with a surprisingly profound philosophy on family to an 80 year-old ballet dancer who aimed to dance on every street of Paris, by the end of the interview, they all opened up to her.

Rain enhanced the scent of fresh-cut grass and lulled him into a peaceful state as he read on. He hadn’t meant to spend so much time on her blog, he had work to do, but her words drew him in every time. As someone who used images to get his message across, he admired her use of language. Funny, incisive. Each paragraph a snapshot of humanity.

He felt on the verge of understanding something about Hannah, like a word on the tip of his tongue. An elusive quality that explained why, on principle, he should be more annoyed by her than he was in reality. She kept proving him wrong. In fact, what annoyed him most was how quick he had judged her.

Over the following weeks, he checked her blog every once in a while. He told himself it was to take stock of the responses to the censorship. And if he happened to look at her latest photos at the same time, well, it was purely out of professional courtesy.

This was how he found out she would be in New York around the same time as him.

_______

FYI I'm going on a trip for 3 weeks. I'd love to post another chapter during that time, but I'm not sure it's realistic. I will try. Thank you for your patience :D

ETA: I managed to write another chapter before leaving, and I scheduled it to post about halfway through my trip, on the 27th.

#Teninch fic #Hardy x Hannah #trying a different banner #which one do you prefer?#travelers AU #lostinfic writes stuff

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daydream-hobii · 6 years

Text

Instant Love | Chapter 1 | Namjoon’s POV

Genre: College!AU, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Nerd!Namjoon x Foreign!Female!Reader ; Mentions of Yoonseok & Jikook ; Bestie!Taehyung x Bestie!Lavender(OC)

Summary: Y/N is a foreign English speaking student who has gone to Seoul for college. She’s starting her third semester there and is headed towards her Zoology degree. Namjoon is a business student working a bunch of boring classes and jobs. He gets paired up with a freshman named Taehyung, whom he has no interest in conversing with, until he gets invited to a dance studio, where he meets Y/N, the girl he’s been crushing on for a year. He’s never talked to her, but he follows her Instagram and she follows his. They have talked through comments, and like each other’s pictures, but what happens when they are forced to converse face to face?

Warning: Nothing yet!!

Word Count: 1,267

Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 12 [FINAL] //

Author’s Note: Hi there!!! Welcome to my new AU! ^_^ I’m so excited to be starting this one, it’s a lot different from my previous series! Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read it <3 Tell me what you think so far!! I love hearing from you! ^_^ I hope you enjoy it!

In my dorm, I watched my roommate and best friend put on his makeup, causing me to roll my eyes as I tied my shoes. He saw me, only mocking my movement and turning around, glaring.

“This beauty doesn’t happen on its own, Namjoon,” Seokjin said, turning back and finishing up.

“Well, that beauty needs to hurry up, because we have fifteen minutes to get to class,” I replied, smirking at him.

It was about half way through the fall semester. It was the second week of October, so it was still exceptionally warm outside, but definitely not shorts weather. I was dressed as stylishly as I could get, and once Jin was done, it was time for Chemistry.

We walked out together, and I made sure to find a big mirror to post my outfit of the day to my Instagram. I didn’t have a lot of followers, and I’m sure no one anticipated it, but it’s something that made me happy, and I liked looking back on it.

We arrived at our chemistry class and quickly took our seats in the back. I was a business major, while Jin was a cooking major. Both of these majors didn’t need chemistry for their end goal, but it was for our general education, something we both had been avoiding, so why not suffer together.

Our class started filling up as I took out my notebook and textbook, opening them both and jotting down some words. My attention was stolen when two loud voices came into the room, causing me to look up and rolled my eyes.

Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. Both were freshman I believed, even though they were 22 and 20. To be fair, I’m a sophomore while Seokjin is a senior, and I’m 23 while he’s 25, but like them, we started later in life, but did these freshmen have to be so loud? It was infuriating… It’s like I saw them everywhere and heard their loud tangents everywhere I turned.

Before I could get too angry, the professor came in, and everyone went silent. Going to a University, you’d expect lots of students in a classroom, but this one, there was at most 45 students to a class, which was wonderful to me. I could get more one on one time with the professor if I was confused, and it was easier to socialize, even if I didn’t do it often.

“Alright, class. Today’s the day I will be assigning you an element and a partner. You both will look up this element and explain how useful it is to our society, or how dangerous, and all general facts. I expect a power point presentation that you will present in the next couple of weeks, and a four-page paper from both of you, with citations of course,” Professor Lee explained as I stared at my notebook, writing down his words. I wasn’t too worried, he normally either lets us pick, or he’ll put our table together.

He began to call out names, staring at his clipboard and pacing around the room. I continued to look at my textbook, jotting down a note or two about what I read. When I heard my name get called, I didn’t bother looking up, until he said who my partner was.

“Kim Namjoon, you and Kim Taehyung will have the element Magnesium,” He stated.

My heart practically stopped, and I knew I had gone pale. I held my pencil tight, looking at Kim Taehyung with wide eyes. He gave a shy smile, giving a small wave before turning back to talk to Jungkook. I tried to hold in a groan, knowing very well that I would be doing all the work. Jin’s name was called not too long after, and he got partnered with Jeon Jungkook. How ironic…

We talked a little about what the professor wants from our papers and PowerPoints, and we got to leave early. I quickly put my materials into my bag, wanting to leave as fast as possible, but my nightmare became all too real when Taehyung and Jungkook walked up.

Jin gave a happy smile to Jungkook, making me want to hurl. He was always so friendly, I don’t know how he did it… Maybe because everyone loved him and thought he was so beautiful, while I was just the college introvert that had maybe three friends.

“Hey, Namjoon. I’m Taehyung,” The brown-haired boy said, giving another bashful smile and holding out his hand.

“Pleasure,” I said, shaking it. “Listen, don’t worry about the papers and PowerPoint I’ll just do it all and give you que cards for the presentation.” He stared at me with confused eyes and frowned, shaking his head.

“No way, I’ll help! I really like chemistry, so I think it’ll be fun,” He replied, smiling. “Besides, it’s not fair if you do the whole thing by yourself.”

I gave a tight smile, nodding in a half thank you. I tried to stay optimistic, but the introvert in me wanted to scream. This is the kid that I just couldn’t stand for his loud, obnoxious behaviors, and now he’s willing to help? This was crazy.

“Why don’t we work on it tonight? I have dance practice, but I’m free afterwards if you want? Maybe meet at the studio and we’ll work from there?” He asked, smiling.

“That’s a great idea, Tae,” Jungkook said, smiling bright as he cut in. “Jin, you and Namjoon seem to be good friends, why don’t you both meet us there? Maybe we can all help each other out?”

That made me sigh in relief, causing a few confused looks as Jin glared. Jin did the rest of the talking, agreeing. They gave us a time and address to the studio and left with bright smiles. Jin had a matching one, while I held tight to my backpacks straps and frowned.

“Lighten up, Joon,” Jin said, chuckling. “They’re just freshmen. Plus, they seem very nice, give them a chance.”

“God, they’re just so loud, they’ve been that way since the beginning! I guess you’re right, though… I’m just so mad! Why did he decide to change his way of pairing?”

“Namjoon, it’s fine. Calm down, go back to the dorm, relax a bit. Who knows, maybe we’ll make some new friends along the way?”

“Alright, Mr. positive. Go to class, I’ll see you back home,” I mumbled as he patted my back and we went our separate ways.

I made it back to the dorm, sighing in relief as I slammed my body onto the small twin bed. I had a couple hours before my next break, and I just felt like sleeping. I wish my professor had set me with Jin, but there’s no point in pouting about it now.

My phone went off multiple times, and I furrowed my brows, lifting it above my head so it was in front of my face. It was Instagram, the photo I had posted. Earlier, I got about fifteen likes on it, and a comment that made my face burn with embarrassment.

I saw the familiar username, travelingY/N, and my heart fluttered as I stumbled to open Instagram and see what she said. I smiled bright as I read it.

I bite my lip, wondering if I should comment back. My heart racing, I decided to, quickly typing away.

I hit send and reread the message. I realized how cringy it was, but before I could delete it, it said she had liked it. I groaned, placing the phone against my forehead. I’m an idiot…

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laravilma · 5 years

Text

Tomorrow, I’ll meet six of my siblings for the first time.

Sunday, December 30th, I’ll be on a plane to Las Vegas to meet my four sisters and two brothers. I’m at a loss for words as to what to type. This is definitely a rare experience and somehow I’m right in the middle of it. Everyone I relay the story to tells me to type up the whole journey, so here I am. And here you are, reading it. I’ll try to explain things to the best of my ability. I don’t have the greatest memory, so some of my details might seem a little out of place. I’ll correct myself as I go--sorry about that.

Back in 1999, my parents wanted to have a child, but due to some complications my mum wasn’t able to have a child of her own. My parents reached out to a hospital program to purchase a donor egg. I’m not sure if the donor selected the family or if the family selected the donor, but one way or another I was the lucky egg. I’ll find out which way it was later. The egg was removed from the donor, combined with my dad’s DNA, and put in my mum, who got pregnant with and later gave birth to me. I’m not genetically related to her, even though she was the one who gave birth to me. Kind of cool, right? It gets cooler.

Growing up my parents never sugar coated where I came from. I also knew there was a donor who I shared half my DNA with, and the other half I share with my dad. It was always in the back of our minds that there was a possibility the donor had donated other eggs, or had even had kids of her own, meaning I could potentially have half siblings. My parents never had another child of their own either, so I was an only child growing up. I always dreamed about having a little sister or brother, but it never came to be.

Due to security purposes, we weren’t legally allowed to know who the donor was. We were provided with little bits of information about her, like her background and her interests. All these details are stored away in a folder in our filing cabinet. I know she’s primarily Egyptian, Swedish, and Jordanian. She has dark brown curly hair, similar to my natural hair, bright eyes, and a big smile. She attended SMC, and was planning on attending either CSUN or USC in 1999. I have three pictures of her from around that time as well. There are some other details about her I’ll find in a bit after I dig out the file. I never knew her name, or her number, or anything personal. I basically had nothing on her to tell who she really was. One day I dreamed of meeting her, and getting a little more information on who I am and my background. It seemed like a loose dream.

In 2014, I was in my freshman year of high school. In our Biology class we could get extra credit if we signed up with 23andMe and demonstrated the DNA process and results to the class. I’ve always been super into family history, as are my parents, so they agreed to pay for half of it as long as I paid for the other half. So when my kit arrived, I brought the test tube to school, proudly spat into the chemical mixture in the tube in front of the class, and later sent the mixture in the kit back to the 23andMe facilities. I got results of my DNA ancestry after, and I learned I was 11% Italian, which I never knew.

The cool thing about 23andMe is that they constantly update you. I’m always receiving new bits of information about my health, my background, and more as time continues on. For instance, every so often 23andMe will connect me with some distance cousin three times removed (or something like that) who has also made a public 23andMe account.

I’d had this account for about five years, and I checked it maybe once to every few months. Since I was young when the account was made, it was connected to my mum’s email. It was late October of this year when my mum told me she had just received an email from the website, claiming they had connected me with a half-sibling.

Of course my mind went in a hundred different directions at once.

Was this a scam? Or a mistake?

Or was this real?

Who was this?

I immediately dove onto my laptop and logged into my account, only to discover 23andMe had matched me with FIVE people, all of which were supposed to be my half siblings. I couldn’t believe it. I was stunned into silence, and immediately began crying. I didn’t quite know why I was crying, or what about, but this seemed like it was the beginning of something big.

It was.

I noticed a notification on my screen. It was a message from one of the half-siblings the site listed, named Anna. This was the message:

“Lara, Hi. I'm sure you don't remember me (frankly, I don't remember you either) but we met through our parents at The Plaza Hotel in NYC when we were both very young. I believe we first met in December of 2003. I was 2 1/2 at the time. I think you may have been a year or two older than me. I'm 17 now and the oldest of 6 kids in my family w/2 dads. My younger sisters (Izzy, Addy, & Carrie) and brothers (Ryan and Henry) and I hope we have a chance to talk to you sometime soon. As always, take care of yourself. Anna“

I was immediately confused. The first time I had ever been to New York was in the spring of this year (2018), so that couldn’t be right. I was instantly worried that this was some sort of mistake, and that I had gotten my hopes up for nothing. Could 23andMe have screwed up? I clearly wasn’t the person Anna thought she was talking to, so was this wrong? But no, it couldn’t be. 23andMe had matched us by DNA. We literally had the same DNA. So there was no way this was wrong. I messaged her back, not sure what type of response I would get:

“Hi! I don't believe we actually did meet... I've never been to NYC until this year. I'm 18 now. I matched DNA with your sister Izzy and your brother Ryan, and two others Carrie and Henry. I was a donor child, so I only share DNA with my actual dad and a different woman. By any chance, were you and your siblings donor children too? Or was your mother a donor? Can't believe we share so much DNA! This is amazing!! Lara :)”

I eagerly awaited a response. Three days later I was in Davis, visiting a friend at her college. It was late at night and my friend, her roommate, and I were all sat around in their dorm on our laptops just relaxing. I had been checking 23andMe about once a day, looking for any sort of reply. I decided to check it again, and low and behold I had a new message from Anna.

“Hey Lara, I'm sorry I took so long to answer. It's so cool that we share so much DNA! My siblings and I actually have 2 dads. Our genealogy is shared from the same egg donor. We have information about her. But, my siblings and I think it would be best if our parents had a chance to talk about all of this before we continue talking. Do you think you could talk to your mom or dad about possibly contacting one or both of my dads? If so, one of my dad's names is Pete. His cell-phone number is (----------). He knows about all of this, and he thinks it's great that we connected! Hope to hear back from you soon! Anna :))”

Of course, I was absolutely elated. Silent tears burst down my cheeks as I reread her message over and over again. So this hadn’t been a mistake. I truly had half siblings. Real, living, breathing, siblings. This was so remarkable. I shakily turned to my friend, who was immediately concerned over my crying. I could barely get my words out as I was trying to explain to her what had happened, and that I was happy. I hugged my friend and sobbed into her arms. My life was getting crazier as the days passed, and I was barely keeping up. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Once I composed myself a bit, I replied to Anna's message, telling her I’d tell my parents to give her dad a call as soon as I was home from visiting my friend.

About a week passed, and I was finally home. I had kept my parents updated with everything that was happening, so they were up to speed when they called Pete.

They spoke on the phone with him the office. I know their conversation with him was supposed to be private, but I couldn’t resist myself from listening in. I sat on the bathroom floor for the next hour, right outside of the closed office door. I know it wasn’t exactly “right” to be eavesdropping on their conversation, but could you blame me? This was one of the biggest changes in my life, and I definitely not going to miss any of it.

So I sat on the tile floor, my head resting against the wall. My parents spoke softly to Pete, causing me to strain my ears to listen. They spoke about his kids, how there’s six of them, all related to me. The oldest is 17, the next two are 16, next is 13, and the youngest two are 11. Pete told my parents a bit about their personalities, and my parents echoed back how my personality was so similar. I stayed on the bathroom floor silently grinning.

Pete talked about my donor, telling my parents more about her than we ever knew. He told us her name, and that she was happily married in Sweden. She is super outgoing and kind. She was artistic and intelligent, and my parents connected our similarities. I was grinning ear to ear, crying softly. Pete explained she had given eggs to two other families around the same time as me, which meant there are two more siblings out there. I have eight half-siblings total, as far as I know.

The funniest part of it all is that, Pete explained, he knew one of the families, and they had met before in 2003. The daughter that had been donated was the same age as me, and had the same name--Lara--spelled the same way. That’s why when Anna first contacted me on 23andMe she thought I was the other Lara she had already met.

I have a half-sister, who is the same age as me, who is named Lara.

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?

Pete explained some things had happened between the families, and they didn’t speak anymore. I’m really hoping on this trip I can learn more about Lara, and maybe even contact her.

Moving on, Pete explained my donor didn’t want to have contact with the kids she donated. Of course, I’ve always imagined what it would be like to be able to meet her and thank her for giving me the opportunity of life, and for giving my parents a child. So I was a little crushed. Nevertheless, I have to respect her decision, and I do understand why she would want to keep her distance. Maybe one day she’ll change her mind.

I Skyped with the three oldest that night, Ryan, Anna, and Izzy. They were so kind and sweet, and I was overwhelmed with how many of the same interests we shared. We talked for hours, until they had to go to sleep because they had school in the morning.

Later in November, my phone had broken, so I couldn’t text them as much. I logged onto my Snapchat one evening on my mum’s phone, as I hadn’t been on in weeks. I noticed a message from Izzy.

Opening it, she told me her family was traveling to Las Vegas for New Years, and asked if I would want to join them. I couldn’t believe this. I immediately replied yes, and joyously jumped around the house while explaining to my parents what she had just asked.

Within a few days, my flight was booked for Vegas. I would leave on December 30th, and return home on January 3rd.

Tomorrow is December 30th. Tomorrow, I meet them. My suitcase is packed, and I’m lying in bed typing this. My flight is at 2:30pm. Tomorrow I meet my siblings. This is insane. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight.

Oh. My. God.

I’ll continue updating as things progress. For now, I’m just anxiously awaiting tomorrow’s experience.

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

Quitters, Inc.

Stephen King (1978)

Morrison was waiting for someone who was hung up in the air traffic jam over Kennedy International when he saw a familiar face at the end of the bar and walked down.

'Jimmy? Jimmy McCann?'

It was. A little heavier than when Morrison had seen him at the Atlanta Exhibition the year before, but otherwise he looked awesomely fit. In college he had been a thin, pallid chain smoker buried behind huge horn-rimmed glasses. He had apparently switched to contact lenses.

'Dick Morrison?'

'Yeah. You look great.' He extended his hand and they shook.

'So do you,' McCann said, but Morrison knew it was a lie. He had been overworking, overeating, and smoking too much. 'What are you drinking?'

'Bourbon and bitters,' Morrison said. He hooked his feet around a bar stool and lighted a cigarette. 'Meeting someone, Jimmy?'

'No. Going to Miami for a conference. A heavy client. Bills six million. I'm supposed to hold his hand because we lost out on a big special next spring.'

'Are you still with Crager and Barton?'

'Executive veep now.'

'Fantastic! Congratulations! When did all this happen?' He tried to tell himself that the little worm of jealousy in his stomach was just acid indigestion. He pulled out a roll of antacid pills and crunched one in his mouth.

'Last August. Something happened that changed my life.' He looked speculatively at Morrison and sipped his drink. 'You might be interested.'

My God, Morrison thought with an inner wince. Jimmy McCann's got religion.

'Sure,' he said, and gulped at his drink when it came. 'I wasn't in very good shape,' McCann said. 'Personal problems with Sharon, my.dad died - heart attack - and I'd developed this hacking cough. Bobby Crager dropped by my office one day and gave me a fatherly little pep talk. Do you remember what those are like?'

'Yeah.' He had worked at Crager and Barton for eighteen months before joining the Morton Agency. 'Get your butt in gear or get your butt out.'

McCann laughed. 'You know it. Well, to put the capper on it, the doc told me I had an incipient ulcer. He told me to quit smoking.'

McCann grimaced. 'Might as well tell me to quit breathing.'

Morrison nodded in perfect understanding. Non-smokers could afford to be smug. He looked at his own cigarette with distaste and stubbed it out, knowing he would be lighting another in five minutes.

'Did you quit?' He asked.

'Yes, I did. At first I didn't think I'd be able to - I was cheating like hell. Then I met a guy who told me about an outfit over on

Fortysixth Street. Specialists. I said what do I have to lose and went over. I haven't smoked since.'

Morrison's eyes widened. 'What did they do? Fill you full of some drug?'

'No.' He had taken out his wallet and was rummaging through it. 'Here it is. I knew I had one kicking around.' He laid a plain white business card on the bar between them.

Stop Going Up in Smoke!

237 East 46th Street

Treatments by Appointment

'Keep it, if you want,' McCann said. 'They'll cure you. Guaranteed.'

'How?'

'I can't tell you,' McCann said.

'Huh? Why not?'

'It's part of the contract they make you sign. Anyway, they tell you how it works when they interview you.' 'You signed a contract?' McCann nodded.

'And on the basis of that -'

'Yep.' He smiled at Morrison, who thought: Well, it's happened. Jim McCann has joined the smug bastards.

'Why the great secrecy if this outfit is so fantastic? How come I've never seen any spots on TV, billboards, magazine ads -'

'They get all the clients they can handle by word of mouth.'

'You're an advertising man, Jimmy. You can't believe that.'

'I do,' McCann said. 'They have a ninety-eight per cent cure rate.'

'Wait a second,' Morrison said. He motioned for another drink and lit a cigarette. 'Do these guys strap you down and make you smoke until you throw up?'

'No.'

'Give you something so that you get sick every time you light -'

'No, it's nothing like that. Go and see for yourself.' He gestured at Morrison's cigarette. 'You don't really like that, do you?'

'Nooo, but -'

'Stopping really changed things for me,' McCann said. 'I don't suppose it's the same for everyone, but with me it was just like dominoes falling over. I felt better and my relationship with Sharon improved. I had more energy, and my job performance picked up.'

'Look, you've got my curiosity aroused. Can't you just -' 'I'm sorry, Dick. I really can't talk about it.' His voice was firm.

'Did you put on any weight?'

For a moment he thought Jimmy McCann looked almost grim. 'Yes. A little too much, in fact. But I took it off again. I'm about right now. I was skinny before.'

'Flight 206 now boarding at Gate 9,' the loudspeaker announced.

'That's me,' McCann said, getting up. He tossed a five on the bar. 'Have another, if you like. And think about what I said, Dick.

Really.' And then he was gone, making his way through the crowd to the escalators. Morrison picked up the card, looked at it thoughtfully, then tucked it away in his wallet and forgot it.

The card fell out of his wallet and on to another bar a month later. He had left the office early and had come here to drink the afternoon away. Things had not been going so well at the Morton Agency. In fact, things were bloody horrible.

He gave Henry a ten to pay for his drink, then picked up the small card and reread it - 237 East Forty-sixth Street was only two blocks over; it was a cool, sunny October day outside, and maybe, just for chuckles -When Henry brought his change, he finished his drink and then went for a walk.

Quitters, Inc., was in a new building where the monthly rent on office space was probably close to Morrison's yearly salary. From the directory in the lobby, it looked to him like their offices took up one whole floor, and that spelled money. Lots of it.

He took the elevator up and stepped off into a lushly carpeted foyer and from there into a gracefully appointed reception room with a wide window that looked out on the scurrying bugs below. Three men and one woman sat in the chairs along the walls, reading magazines. Business types, all of them. Morrison went to the desk.

'A friend gave me this,' he said, passing the card to the receptionist. 'I guess you'd say he's an alumnus.'

She smiled and rolled a form into her typewriter. 'What is your name, sir?'

'Richard Morrison.'

Clack-clackety-clack. But very muted clacks; the typewriter was an IBM.

'Your address?'

'Twenty-nine Maple Lane, Clinton, New York.'

'Married?'

'Yes.'

'Children?'

'One.' He thought of Alvin and frowned slightly. 'One' was the wrong word. 'A half' might be better. His son was mentally retarded and lived at a special school in New Jersey.

'Who recommended us to you, Mr Morrison?'

'An old school friend. James McCann.'

'Very good. Will you have a seat? It's been a very busy day.'

'All right.'

He sat between the woman, who was wearing a severe blue suit, and a young executive type wearing a herring-bone jacket and modish sideburns. He took out his pack of cigarettes, looked around, and saw there were no ashtrays.

He put the pack away again. That was all right. He would see this little game through and then light up while he was leaving. He might even tap some ashes on their maroon shag rug if they made him wait long enough. He picked up a copy of Time and began to leaf through it.

He was called a quarter of an hour later, after the woman in the blue suit. His nicotine centre was speaking quite loudly now. A man who had come in after him took out a cigarette case, snapped it open, saw there were no ashtrays, and put it away looking a little guilty, Morrison thought. It made him feel better.

At last the receptionist gave him a sunny smile and said, 'Go right in, Mr Morrison.'

Morrison walked through the door beyond her desk and found himself in an indirectly lit hallway. A heavy-set man with white hair that looked phoney shook his hand, smiled affably, and said, 'Follow me, Mr Morrison.'

He led Morrison past a number of closed, unmarked doors and then opened one of them about halfway down the hall with a key.

Beyond the door was an austere little room walled with drilled white cork panels. The only furnishings were a desk with a chair on either side. There was what appeared to be a small oblong window in the wall behind the desk, but it was covered with a short green curtain. There was a picture on the wall to Morrison's left -a tall man with iron-grey hair. He was holding a sheet of paper in one hand.

He looked vaguely familiar.

'I'm Vic Donatti,' the heavy-set man said. 'If you decide to go ahead with our programme, I'll be in charge of your case.' 'Pleased to know you,' Morrison said. He wanted a cigarette very badly.

'Have a seat.'

Donatti put the receptionist's form on the desk, and then drew another form from the desk drawer. He looked directly into Morrison's eyes. 'Do you want to quit smoking?'

Morrison cleared his throat, crossed his legs, and tried to think of a way to equivocate. He couldn't. 'Yes,' he said.

'Will you sign this?' He gave Morrison the form. He scanned it quickly. The undersigned agrees not to divulge the methods or techniques or et cetera, et cetera.

'Sure,' he said, and Donatti put a pen in his hand. He scratched his name, and Donatti signed below it. A moment later the paper disappeared back into the desk drawer. Well, he thought ironically, I've taken the pledge.

He had taken it before. Once it had lasted for two whole days.

'Good,' Donatti said. 'We don't bother with propaganda here, Mr Morrison. Questions of health or expense or social grace. We have no interest in why you want to stop smoking. We are pragmatists.' 'Good,' Morrison said blankly.

'We employ no drugs. We employ no Dale Carnegie people to sermonize you. We recommend no special diet. And we accept no payment until you have stopped smoking for one year.' 'My God,' Morrison said.

'Mr McCann didn't tell you that?'

'No.'

'How is Mr McCann, by the way? Is he well?'

'He's fine.'

'Wonderful. Excellent. Now . . . just a few questions, Mr Morrison. These are somewhat personal, but I assure you that your answers will be held in strictest confidence.'

'Yes?' Morrison asked noncommittally.

'What is your wife's name?'

'Lucinda Morrison. Her maiden name was Ramsey.'

'Do you love her?'

Morrison looked up sharply, but Donatti was looking at him blandly. 'Yes, of course,' he said.

'Have you ever had marital problems? A separation, perhaps?'

'What has that got to do with kicking the habit?' Morrison asked. He sounded a little angrier than he had intended, but he wanted - hell, he needed - a cigarette.

'A great deal,' Donatti said. 'Just bear with me.'

'No. Nothing like that.' Although things had been a little tense just lately.

'You just have the one child?'

'Yes. Alvin. He's in a private school.'

'And which school is it?'

'That,' Morrison said grimly, 'I'm not going to tell you.'

'All right,' Donatti said agreeably. He smiled disarmingly at Morrison. 'All your q~estions will be answered tomorrow at your first treatment.'

'How nice,' Morrison said, and stood.

'One final question,' Donatti said. 'You haven't had a cigarette for over an hour. How do you feel?'

'Fine,' Morrison lied. 'Just fine.'

'Good for you!' Donatti exclaimed. He stepped around the desk and opened the door. 'Enjoy them tonight. After tomorrow, you'll never smoke again.'

'Is that right?'

'Mr Morrison,' Donatti said solemnly, 'we guarantee it.'

He was sitting in the outer office of Quitters, Inc. ,the next day promptly at three. He had spent most of the day swinging between skipping the appointment the receptionist had made for him on the way out and going in a spirit of mulish co-operation - Throw your best pitch at me, buster.

In the end, something Jimmy McCann had said convinced him to keep the appointment - It changed my whole fife. God knew his own life could do with some changing. And then there was his own curiosity. Before going up in the elevator, he smoked a cigarette down to the filter. Too damn bad if it's the last one, he thought. It tasted horrible.

The wait in the outer office was shorter this time. When the receptionist told him to go in, Donatti was waiting. He offered his hand and smiled, and to Morrison the smile looked almost predatory. He began to feel a little tense, and that made him wa~t a

cigarette.

'Come with me,' Donatti said, and led the way down to the small room. He sat behind the desk again, and Morrison took the other chair.

'I'm very glad you came,' Donatti said. 'A great many prospective clients never show up again after the initial interview. They discover they don't want to quit as badly as they thought. It's going to be a pleasure to work with you on this.'

'When does the treatment start?' Hypnosis, he was thinking. It must be hypnosis.

'Oh, it already has. It started when we shook hands in the hall. Do you have cigarettes with you, Mr Morrison?'

'Yes.'

'May I have them, please?'

Shrugging, Morrison handed Donatti his pack. There were only two or three left in it, anyway.

Donatti put the pack on the desk. Then, smiling into Morrison's eyes, he curled his right hand into a fist and began to hammer it down on the pack of cigarettes, which twisted and flattened. A broken cigarette end flew out. Tobacco crumbs spilled. The sound of Donatti's fist was very loud in the closed room. The smile remained on his face in spite of the force of the blows, and Morrison was chilled by it. Probably just the effect they want to inspire, he thought.

At last Donatti ceased pounding. He picked up the pack, a twisted and battered ruin. 'You wouldn't believe the pleasure that gives me,' he said, and dropped the pack into the wastebasket. 'Even after three years in the business, it still pleases me.'

'As a treatment, it leaves something to be desired. Morrison said mildly. 'There's a news-stand in the lobby of this very building.

And they sell all brands.'

'As you say,' Donatti said. He folded his hands. 'Your son, Alvin Dawes Morrison, is in the Paterson School for Handicapped Children. Born with cranial brain damage. Tested IQ of 46. Not quite in the educable retarded category. Your wife -, 'How did you find that out?' Morrison barked. He was startled and angry. 'You've got no goddamn right to go poking around my -' 'We know a lot about you,' Donatti said smoothly. 'But, as I said, it will all be held in strictest confidence.' 'I'm getting out of here,' Morrison said thinly. He stood up.

'Stay a bit longer.'

Morrison looked at him closely. Donatti wasn't upset. In fact, he looked a little amused. The face of a man who has seen this reaction scores of times - maybe hundreds.

'All right. But it better be good.'

'Oh, it is.' Donatti leaned back. 'I told you we were pragmatists here. As pragmatists, we have to start by realizing how difficult it is to cure an addiction to tobacco. The relapse rate is almost eight-five per cent. The relapse rate for heroin addicts is lower than that. It is an extraordinary problem. Extraordinary.'

Morrison glanced into the wastebasket. One of the cigarettes, although twisted, still looked smokeable.

Donatti laughed good-naturedly, reached into the wastebasket, and broke it between his fingers.

'State legislatures sometimes hear a request that the prison systems do away with the weekly cigarette ration. Such proposals are invariably defeated. In a few cases where they have passed, there have been fierce prison riots. Riots, Mr Morrison. Imagine it.' 'I,' Morrison said, 'am not surprised.'

'But consider the implications. When you put a man in prison you take away any normal sex life, you take away his liquor, his politics, his freedom of movement. No riots - or few in comparison to the number of prisons. But when you take away his cigarettes - wham! bam!' He slammed his fist on the desk for emphasis.

'During World War I, when no one on the German home front could get cigarettes, the sight of German aristocrats picking butts out of the gutter was a common one. During World War II, many American women turned to pipes when they were unable to obtain cigarettes. A fascinating problem for the true pragmatist, Mr Morrison.'

'Could we get to the treatment?'

'Momentarily. Step over here, please.' Donatti had risen and was standing by the green curtains Morrison had noticed yesterday.

Donatti drew the curtains, discovering a rectangular window that looked into a bare room. No, not quite bare. There was a rabbit on the floor, eating pellets out of a dish.

'Pretty bunny,' Morrison commented.

'Indeed. Watch him.' Donatti pressed a button by the window-sill. The rabbit stopped eating and began to hop about crazily. It seemed to leap higher each time its feet struck the floor. Its fur stood out spikily in all directions. Its eyes were wild.

'Stop that! You're electrocuting him!'

Donatti released the button. 'Far from it. There's a very low-yield charge in the floor. Watch the rabbit, Mr Morrison!'

The rabbit was crouched about ten feet away from the dish of pellets. His nose wriggled. All at once he hopped away into a corner.

'If the rabbit gets a jolt often enough while he's eating,' Donatti said, 'he makes the association very quickly. Eating causes pain. Therefore, he won't eat. A few more shocks, and the rabbit will starve to death in front of his food. It's called aversion training.' Light dawned in Morrison's head.

'No, thanks.' He started for the door.

'Wait, please, Morrison.'

Morrison didn't pause. He grasped the doorknob . and felt it slip solidly through his hand. 'Unlock this.' 'Mr Morrison, if you'll just sit down -'

'Unlock this door or I'll have the cops on you before you can say Marlboro Man.' 'Sit down.' The voice was as cold as shaved ice.

Morrison looked at Donatti. His brown eyes were muddy and frightening. My God, he thought, I'm locked in here with a psycho. He licked his lips. He wanted a cigarette more than he ever had in his life.

'Let me explain the treatment in more detail,' Donatti said.

'You don't understand,' Morrison said with counterfeit patience. 'I don't want the treatment. I've decided against it.'

'No, Mr Morrison. You're the one who doesn't understand. You don't have any choice. When I told you the treatment had already begun, I was speaking the literal truth. I would have thought you'd tipped to that by now.' 'You're crazy,' Morrison said wonderingly.

'No. Only a pragmatist. Let me tell you all about the treatment.'

'Sure,' Morrison said. 'As long as you understand that as soon as I get out of here I'm going to buy five packs of cigarettes and smoke them all on the way to the police station.' He suddenly realized he was biting his thumb-nail, sucking on it, and made himself stop.

'As you wish. But I think you'll change your mind when you see the whole picture.' Morrison said nothing. He sat down again and folded his hands.

'For the first month of the treatment, our operatives will have you under constant supervision,' Donatti said. 'You'll be able to spot some of them. Not all. But they'll always be with you. Always. If they see you smoke a cigarette, I get a call.'

'And I suppose you bring me here and do the old rabbit trick,' Morrison said. He tried to sound cold and sarcastic, but he suddenly felt horribly frightened. This was a nightmare.

'Oh, no,' Donatti said. 'Your wife gets the rabbit trick, not you.' Morrison looked at him dumbly.

Donatti smiled. 'You,' he said, 'get to watch.'

After Donatti let him out, Morrison walked for over two hours in a complete daze. It was another fine day, but he didn't notice. The monstrousness of Donatti's smiling face blotted out all else.

'You see,' he had said, 'a pragmatic problem demands pragmatic solutions. You must realize we have your best interests at heart.

Quitters, Inc., according to Donatti, was a sort of foundation - a non-profit organization begun by the man in the wall portrait. The gentleman had been extremely successful in several family businesses - including slot machines, massage parlours, numbers, and a brisk (although clandestine) trade between New York and Turkey. Mort 'Three-Fingers' Minelli had been a heavy smoker - up in the three-pack-a-day range. The paper he was holding in the picture was a doctor's diagnosis: lung cancer. Mort had died in 1970, after endowing Quitters, Inc., with family funds.

'We try to keep as close to breaking even as possible,' Donatti had said. 'But we're more interested in helping our fellow man. And of course, it's a great tax angle.'

The treatment was chillingly simple. A first offence and Cindy would be brought to what Donatti called 'the rabbit room'. A second offence, and Morrison would get the dose. On a third offence, both of them would be brought in together. A fourth offence would show grave co-operation problems and would require sterner measures. An operative would be sent to Alvin's school to work the boy over.

'Imagine,' Donatti said, smiling, 'how horrible it will be for the boy. He wouldn't understand it even jf someone explained. He'll only know someone is hurting him because Daddy was bad. He'll be very frightened.'

'You bastard,' Morrison said helplessly. He felt close to tears. 'You dirty, filthy bastard.'

'Don't misunderstand,' Donatti said. He was smiling sympathetically. 'I'm sure it won't happen. Forty per cent of our clients never have to be disciplined at all - and only ten per cent have more than three falls from grace. Those are reassuring figures, aren't they?'

Morrison didn't find them reassuring. He found them terrifying.

'Of course, if you transgress a fifth time -'

'What do you mean?'

Donatti beamed. 'The room for you and your wife, a second beating for your son, and a beating for your wife.'

Morrison, driven beyond the point of rational consideration, lunged over the desk at Donatti. Donatti moved with amazing speed for a man who had apparently been completely relaxed. He shoved the chair backwards and drove both of his feet over the desk and into Morrison's belly. Gagging and coughing, Morrison staggered backward.

'Sit down, Mr Morrison,' Donatti said benignly. 'Let's talk this over like rational men.'

When he could get his breath, Morrison did as he was told. Nightmares had to end some time, didn't they?

Quitters, Inc., Donatti had explained further, operated on a ten-step punishment scale. Steps six, seven, and eight consisted of further trips to the rabbit room (and increased voltage) and more serious beatings. The ninth step would be the breaking of his son's arms.

'And the tenth?' Morrison asked, his mouth dry.

Donatti shook his head sadly. 'Then we give up, Mr Morrison. You become part of the unregenerate two per cent.'

'You really give up?'

'In a manner of speaking.' He opened one of the desk drawers and laid a silenced .45 on the desk. He smiled into Morrison's eyes. 'But even the unregenerate two per cent never smoke again. We guarantee it.'

The Friday Night Movie was Bullitt, one of Cindy's favourites, but after an hour of Morrison's mutterings and fidgetings, her concentration was broken.

'What's the matter with you?' she asked during station identification.

'Nothing . . . everything,' he growled. 'I'm giving up smoking.'

She laughed. 'Since when? Five minutes ago?'

'Since three o'clock this afternoon.'

'You really haven't had a cigarette since then?'

'No,' he said, and began to gnaw his thumb-nail. It was ragged, down to the quick.

'That's wonderful! What ever made you decide to quit?'

'You,' he said. 'And. . . and Alvin.'

Her eyes widened, and when the movie came back on, she didn't notice. Dick rarely mentioned their retarded son. She came over, looked at the empty ashtray by his right hand, and then into his eyes: 'Are you really trying to quit, Dick?'

'Really.' And if I go to the cops, he added mentally, the local goon squad will be around to rearrange your face, Cindy.

'I'm glad. Even if you don't make it, we both thank you for the thought, Dick.'

'Oh, I think I'll make it,' he said, thinking of the muddy, homicidal look that had come into Donatti's eyes when he kicked him in the stomach.

He slept badly that night, dozing in and out of sleep. Around three o'clock he woke up completely. His craving for a cigarette was like a low-grade fever. He went downstairs and to his study. The room was in the middle of the house. No windows. He slid open the top drawer of his desk and looked in, fascinated by the cigarette box. He looked around and licked his lips.

Constant supervision during the first month, Donatti had said. Eighteen hours a day during the next two - but he would never know which eighteen. During the fourth month, the month when most clients backslid, the 'service' would return to twenty-four hours a day.

Then twelve hours of broken surveillance each day for the rest of the year. After that? Random surveillance for the rest of the client's life.

For the rest of his life.

'We may audit you every other month,' Donatti said. 'Or every other day. Or constantly for one week two years from now. The point is, you won't know. If you smoke, you'll be gambling with loaded dice. Are they watching? Are they picking up my wife or sending a man after my son right now? Beautiful, isn't it? And if you do sneak a smoke, it'll taste awful. It will taste like your son's blood.'

But they couldn't be watching now, in the dead of night, in his own study. The house was grave-quiet.

He looked at the cigarettes in the box for almost two minutes, unable to tear his gaze away. Then he went to the study door, peered out into the empty hall, and went back to look at the cigarettes some more. A horrible picture came: his life stretching before him and not a cigarette to be found. How in the name of God was he ever going to be able to make another tough presentation to a wary client, without that cigarette burning nonchalantly between his fingers as he approached the charts and layouts? How would he be able to endure Cindy's endless garden shows without a cigarette? How could he even get up in the morning and face the day without a cigarette to smoke as he drank his coffee and read the paper?

He cursed himself for getting into this. He cursed Donatti. And most of all, he cursed Jimmy McCann. How could he have done it?

The son of a bitch had known. His hands trembled in their desire to get hold of Jimmy Judas McCann.

Stealthily, he glanced around the study again. He reached into the drawer and brought out a cigarette. He caressed it, fondled it. What was that old slogan? So round, so firm, so fully packed. Truer words had never been spoken. He put the cigarette in his mouth and then paused, cocking his head.

Had there been the slightest noise from the closet? A faint shifting? Surely not. But -Another mental image - that rabbit hopping crazily in the grip of electricity. The thought of Cindy in that room -He listened desperately and heard nothing. He told himself that all he had to do was go to the closet door and yank it open. But he was too afraid of what he might find. He went back to bed but didn't sleep for a long time.

In spite of how lousy he felt in the morning, breakfast tasted good. After a moment's hesitation, he followed his customary bowl of cornflakes with scrambled eggs. He was grumpily washing out the pan when Cindy came downstairs in her robe.

'Richard Morrison! You haven't eaten an egg for break-fast since Hector was a pup.

Morrison grunted. He considered since Hector was a pup to be one of Cindy's stupider sayings, on a par with I should smile and kiss a pig.

'Have you smoked yet?' she asked, pouring orange juice.

'No.'

'You'll be back on them by noon,' she proclaimed airily. 'Lot of goddamn help you are!' he rasped, rounding on her. 'You and anyone else who doesn't smoke, you all think ah, never mind.'

He expected her to be angry, but she was looking at him F with something like wonder. 'You're really serious,' she said. 'You really are.'

'You bet I am.' You'll never know how serious. I hope.

'Poor baby,' she said, going to him. 'You look like death warmed over. But I'm very proud.' Morrison held her tightly.

Scenes from the life of Richard Morrison, October-November:

Morrison and a crony from Larkin Studios at Jack Dempsey's bar. Crony offers a cigarette. Morrison grips his glass a little more tightly and says: I'm quitting. Crony laughs and says: I give you a week.

Morrison waiting for the morning train, looking over the top of the Times at a young man in a blue suit. He sees the young man almost every morning now, and sometimes at other places. At Onde's, where he is meeting a client. Looking at 45s in Sam Goody's, where Morrison is looking for a Sam Cooke album. Once in a foursome behind Morrison's group at the local golf course.

Morrison getting drunk at a party, wanting a cigarette -but not quite drunk enough to take one.

Morrison visiting his son, bringing him a large ball that squeaked when you squeezed it. His son's slobbering, delighted kiss.

Somehow not as repulsive as before. Hugging his son tightly, realizing what Donatti and his colleagues had so cynically realized before him: love is the most pernicious drug of all. Let the romantics debate its existence. Pragmatists accept it and use it.

Morrison losing the physical compulsion to smoke little by little, but never quite losing the psychological craving, or the need to have something in his mouth - cough drops, Life Savers, a tooth-pick. Poor substitutes, all of them.

And finally, Morrison hung up in a colossal traffic jam in the Midtown Tunnel. Darkness. Horns blaring. Air stinking. Traffic hopelessly snarled. And suddenly, thumbing open the glove compartment and seeing the half-open pack of cigarettes in there. He looked at them for a moment, then snatched one and lit it with the dashboard lighter. If anything happens, it's Cindy's fault, he told himself defiantly. I told her to get rid of all the damn cigarettes.

The first drag made him cough smoke out furiously. The second made his eyes water. The third made him feel light-headed and swoony. It tastes awful, he thought.

And on the heels of that: My God, what am I doing?

Horns blatted impatiently behind him. Ahead, the traffic had begun to move again. He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray, opened both front windows, opened the vents, and then fanned the air helplessly like a kid who has just flushed his first butt down the john.

He joined the traffic flow jerkily and. drove home.

'Cindy?' he called. 'I'm home.' No answer.

'Cindy? Where are you, hon?'

The phone rang, and he pounced on it. 'Hello? Cindy?'

'Hello, Mr Morrison,' Donatti said. He sounded pleasantly brisk and businesslike. 'It seems we have a small business matter to attend to. Would five o'clock be convenient?'

'Have you got my wife?'

'Yes, indeed.' Donatti chuckled indulgently.

'Look, let her go,' Morrison babbled. 'It won't happen again. It was a slip, just a slip, that's all. I only had three drags and for God's sake it didn't even taste good!'

'That's a shame. I'll count on you for five then, shall I?'

'Please,' Morrison said, close to tears. 'Please -He was speaking to a dead line.

At 5p.m. the reception room was empty except for the secretary, who gave him a twinkly smile that ignored Morrison's pallor and dishevelled appearance. 'Mr Donatti?' she said into the intercom. 'Mr Morrison to see you.' She nodded to Morrison. 'Go right in.'

Donatti was waiting outside the unmarked room with a man who was wearing a SMILE sweatshirt and carrying a .38. He was built like an ape.

'Listen,' Morrison said to Donatti. 'We can work something out, can't we? I'll pay you. I'll-' 'Shaddap,' the man in the SMILE sweatshirt said.

'It's good to see you,' Donatti said. 'Sorry it has to be under such adverse circumstances. Will you come with me? We'll make this as brief as possible. I can assure you your wife won't be hurt. . . this time.' Morrison tensed himself to leap at Donatti.

'Come, come,' Donatti said, looking annoyed. 'If you do that, Junk here is going to pistol-whip you and your wife is still going to get it. Now where's the percentage in that?'

'I hope you rot in hell,' he told Donatti.

Donatti sighed. 'If I had a nickel for every time someone expressed a similar sentiment, I could retire. Let it be a lesson to you, Mr Morrison. When a romantic tries to do a good thing and fails, they give him a medal. When a pragmatist succeeds, they wish him in hell. Shall we go?'

Junk motioned with the pistol.

Morrison preceded them into the room. He felt numb.

The small green curtain had been pulled. Junk prodded him with the gun. This is what being a witness at the gas chamber must have been like, he thought.

He looked in. Cindy was there, looking around bewilderedly.

'Cindy!' Morrison called miserably. 'Cindy, they -'

'She can't hear or see you,' Donatti said. 'One-way glass. Well, let's get it over with. It really was a very small slip. I believe thirty seconds should be enough. Junk?'

Junk pressed the button with one hand and kept the pistol jammed firmly into Morrison's back with the other.

It was the longest thirty seconds of his life.

When it was over, Donatti put a hand on Morrison's shoulder and said, 'Are you going to throw up?'

'No,' Morrison said weakly. His forehead was against the glass. His legs were jelly. 'I don't think so.' He turned around and saw that

Junk was gone.

'Come with me,' Donatti said.

'Where?' Morrison asked apathetically.

'I think you have a few things to explain, don't you?'

'How can I face her? How can I tell her that I. . .I . . 'I think you're going to be surprised,' Donatti said.

The room was empty except for a sofa. Cindy was on it, sobbing helplessly.

'Cindy?' he said gently.

She looked up, her eyes magnified by tears. 'Dick?' she whispered. 'Dick? Oh . . . Oh God . . .' He held her tightly. 'Two men,' she said against his chest. 'In the house and at first I thought they were burglars and then I thought they were going to rape me and then they took me someplace with a blindfold over my eyes and. . . and. . . oh it was h-horrible -' 'Shhh,' he said. 'Shhh.'

'But why?' she asked, looking up at him. 'Why would they -'

'Because of me,' he said 'I have to tell you a story, Cindy -'

When he had finished he was silent a moment and then said, 'I suppose you hate me. I wouldn't blame you.'

He was looking at the floor, and she took his face in both hands and turned it to hers. 'No,' she said. 'I don't hate you.' He looked at her in mute surprise.

'It was worth it,' she said. 'God bless these people. They've let you out of prison.'

'Do you mean that?'

'Yes,' she said, and kissed him. 'Can we go home now? I feel much better. Ever so much.'

The phone rang one evening a week later, and when Morrison recognized Donatti's voice, he said, 'Your boys have got it wrong. I haven't even been near a cigarette.'

'We know that. We have a final matter to talk over. Can you stop by tomorrow afternoon?'

'Is it -,

'No, nothing serious. Book-keeping really. By the way, congratulations on your promotion.'

'How did you know about that?'

'We're keeping tabs,' Donatti said noncommittally, and hungup.

When they entered the small room, Donatti said, 'Don't look so nervous. No one's going to bite you. Step over here, please.'

Morrison saw an ordinary bathroom scale. 'Listen, I've gained a little weight, but -'

'Yes, seventy-three per cent of our clients do. Step up, please.' Morrison did, and tipped the scales at one seventy-four.

'Okay, fine. You can step off. How tall are you, Mr Morrison?'

'Five-eleven.'

'Okay, let's see.' He pulled a small card laminated in plastic from his breast pocket. 'Well, that's not too bad. I'm going to write you a prescrip for some highly illegal diet pills. Use them sparingly and according to directions. And I'm going to set your maximum weight at. . . let's see . .

He consulted the card again. 'One eighty-two, how does that sound? And since this is December first, I'll expect you the first of every month for a weigh-in. No problem if you can't make it, as long as you call in advance.'

'And what happens if I go over one-eighty-two?'

Donatti smiled. 'We'll send someone out to your house to cut off your wife's little finger,' he said. 'You can leave through this door, Mr Morrison. Have a nice day.' Eight months later:

Morrison runs into the crony from the Larkin Studios at Dempsey's bar. Morrison is down to what Cindy proudly calls his fighting weight: one sixty-seven. He works out three times a week and looks as fit as whipcord. The crony from Larkin, by comparison, looks like something the cat dragged in.

Crony: Lord, how'd you ever stop? I'm locked into this damn habit tighter than Tillie. The crony stubs his cigarette out with real revulsion and drains his scotch.

Morrison looks at him speculatively and then takes a small white business card out of his wallet. He puts it on the bar between them.

You know, he says, these guys changed my life.

Twelve months later:

Morrison receives a bill in the mail. The bill says:

QUITTERS, INC.

237 East 46th Street

New York, N.Y. 10017

1 Treatment $2500.00

Counsellor (Victor Donatti) $2500.00

Electricity $ .50

TOTAL (Please pay this amount) $5000.50

Those sons of bitches! he explodes. They charged me for the electricity they used to. . . to Just pay it, she says, and kisses him.

Twenty months later:

Quite by accident, Morrison and his wife meet the Jimmy McCanns at the Helen Hayes Theatre. Introductions are made all around.

Jimmy looks as good, if not better than he did on that day in the airport terminal so long ago. Morrison has never met his wife. She is pretty in the radiant way plain girls sometimes have when they are very, very happy.

She offers her hand and Morrison shakes it. There is something odd about her grip, and halfway through the second act, he realizes what it was. The little finger on her right hand is missing.

0 notes

j-exclamationmark-l · 6 years

Text

How I got where I am now - 3

April warned me fairly early that October wouldn’t be able to text me often. That was fair, I thought. He’s very busy. Every two or three days he’d send me a message, and it always made me happy. I was slightly jealous that she heard from her boyfriend more often than I heard from mine, but there was nothing that could be done. Singers are naturally more talkative, right? And I knew October was very dedicated to his music. But I wondered sometimes why it had to be April who explained everything to me, and why October didn’t explain it, himself.

Dating October filled me with a confidence I’d never felt before and I began to talking to many different people in my school, something I’d never felt the need to do in America. It was also probably thanks to the friendliness of people like December and June, who kind of knew my secret but knew to keep their mouths shut about it, especially around May. At the school, I met a few more girls who liked visual kei. One night, a girl from Texas began chatting with me - March. To my surprise, March actually knew of April and seemed to know a lot about her, having added her randomly on Facebook some time before, though she admitted to me they’d never met in person.

Looking back, March frankly gave me the creeps, but because I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why, I continued to talk to her. I should have listened to that gut feeling.

Despite the small things like May outright accusing me of ruining her entire trip, though, my first autumn in Japan felt like a fairy tale. At school, I got good grades; I loved spending time with my classmates December and November and June; after school, we’d go to karaoke and I was able to sing October’s music; and every so often, I’d have a date with October, or was invited to see him perform. April showed me around Tokyo and, being a model, was able to invite me to all kinds of events that I never would have known about, let alone been able to get into, without her. I watched December and June develop crushes on each other and eventually start dating, and being in a relationship, myself, I actually felt happy for them.

I loved everything and felt loved in return.

Then Christmas came.

Everyone (except April, who was not a student at our school) was scheduled to fly back for the winter holiday once finals were over. I said goodbye to October and promised to see him again soon, my heart soaring so high that I was blinded to what obviously laid in wait for me.

Almost the minute I stepped off the airplane, my mother called my cell phone and we got into a fight about where in the airport I was. I eventually hung up on her (I mean, I warned her I was, too) so I could get on the subway that lead from the part of the airport I was to where she had come to pick me up.

I put my suitcase in the car and got in the back without a word. My dad was driving, my brother in the passenger’s seat, playing some game, and my mother sat beside me. My dad was yelling about how hungry he was and how he was promised they’d go get breakfast if he came - my mother said we could, and he yelled back a passive-aggressive “NEVER MIND, YOU CLEARLY DON’T WANT TO.” I didn’t know what to say in the midst of everything and remained silent. Even after they were finished arguing, I didn’t know what to say. I’d been sitting there for fifteen minutes, would it be appropriate to say hello? Nice to see you again? Lovely weather we’re having?

Finally, my mother passed me a note telling me to ask my dad how he was. I did, and he screamed back, “I JUST SAID I WAS HUNGRY. DO YOU EVER LISTEN?”

It was a long car ride.

Once we arrived at the house, I dragged my suitcase upstairs by myself. It felt weird to be back, but to be treated like I wasn’t gone at all. I checked my phone, sent October a message saying I’d arrived, then wandered back downstairs into the kitchen.

Finally, my mother looked at me and said, “So, how was Japan?”

I had so much I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her about my friends, I wanted to tell her about April and her modeling gigs and Japan’s fashion, I wanted to tell her about December and June and November. I wanted to tell her I had a new boyfriend, an amazing boyfriend who was courteous and polite and smart and talented and oh-so cute. It would be okay if I said his real name and not his stage name, right? I wanted to tell crazy stories about May or of the absolutely bonkers things I’d seen, I wanted to tell her about the first time I went to karaoke and the food I ate and the places I went and the time we took a field trip and--

But before I could open my mouth to speak, my dad cut me off.

“Absolutely hated it.”

I turned around, previously unaware that he was even in the room.

“When I stopped there years ago - ugh! It was miserable, but my connecting flight out had been postponed, so I was stuck there...”

It took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t part of the conversation. And it wasn’t my mom’s fault, she tried. But eventually I felt so lonely, like it didn’t matter if I was there or not, that I just stood and wandered back upstairs without a word. I opened up my laptop and connected to the wifi, pulling up the dorm group chat.

“Yeah, I got off the plane and my sisters started sobbing because it had been months since we’ve seen each other, and everyone said ‘welcome home,’“ December said.

I began to tear up. Welcome home? Welcome home? I felt my insides twist up with envy.

I wished someone would tell me welcome home.

“I miss you guys,” I typed.

“I miss June,” December replied.

“I miss September,” said November.

“I miss you, too, November!”

I angrily logged off, curled up into a ball and read and reread October’s messages, trying to remember what those past three months felt like and failing, finally crying myself to sleep.

I made no effort to readjust to Seattle’s time zone. I hated reading about my friends preparing for Christmas, hated reading about or seeing pictures of their trees and lights. I hated December for talking about baking cookies with his mother. I hated it because it’s what I wanted more than anything. My own house looked no different. We had some family over, but it wasn’t ever a Christmas-themed event.The image of red and green and snow filled me with rage.

Christmas day... I don’t remember what sparked it. My mother doesn’t try to make me angry, I think she tried to be the balance of the household but... nothing could bring me and my dad together. He talks more than I do and complains more than I do, and I try to keep it all inside, so she hears his side and tries to...

I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.

I remember being dragged into the living room. I remember my dad screaming. I remember sobbing uncontrollably, unable to utter a single word, curled up into a ball. I remember crying so hard I thought I would pass out or vomit. I desperately hoped I would, because maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with anything. I remember apologizing for everything I could think of in hopes they’d let me go. I remember apologizing for being alive. I remember envisioning the knife in my room, I remember thinking about slitting my own throat with it. I remember apologizing for being alive. I remember apologizing for being born.

And suddenly my dad lit up, like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He stopped screaming. I couldn’t hear anything they were saying, all I could focus on was the knife. But they let me go.

I ran upstairs as fast as my legs could carry me.

It almost feels unreal that at that moment, as I wrenched open the door of my dark room, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

“Merry Christmas! I love you and can’t wait to see you in January.”

I lost all feeling in my legs and collapsed to the floor. I began sobbing all over again.

What had I been thinking? I couldn’t believe myself. I couldn’t believe it. Had I actually been contemplating...?

Staring at October’s message, I felt like I had just been awakened from a terrible nightmare. I couldn’t believe it, it felt like I had been in a trance, that I had no control over my actions or thoughts just moments before. Heartbreak and loneliness had become demons that possessed me, pushed me aside and drove me to think horrible things, and there was no way to guarantee they wouldn’t be back.

Unless...

I placed all my faith in October. He’d save me, I was sure of it. I curled up into a ball on my floor and typed to him, “Merry Christmas, October! I miss you so much and can’t wait to see you again.”

I dedicated myself to playing dead my last few days in America. I did not speak and neither was I spoken to. I was driven to the airport. Maybe someone said goodbye, maybe I said goodbye. Maybe I didn’t, maybe no one did. I felt numb and could only think of getting back to October.

I got off the plane at Narita once more. My first time, I was greeted by new people and we all moved together in the warm autumn afternoon. This time, it was cold, and I was alone with my baggage in the dark. I texted October to tell him I was back in Japan while I was on the train, trying desperately not to think of anything.

The dorms were quiet when I returned. I could see the others watching TV in the common room, but I made no effort to talk to them or tell them I was back. It didn’t seem important. I made eye contact with November through the window and continued on my way.

I pulled my suitcase up to my room and collapsed on my bed. I felt exhausted, emotionally and physically. Before I drifted off to sleep, I checked my messages. I had one from October.

“お帰り!” he said.

Welcome home.

And I cried again.

#not rereading it or checking for mistakes #that was too hard to type

6 notes · View notes

imwastingmylifeinhere · 7 years

Text

I’m drawn to you

Summary: Magnus Chase would never have expected to have a secret admirer, much less one that sends him beautiful drawing and sketches with each letter, but here he is.

Yes, I needed to make the chapter a bad pun, you know how I am. And yes, I did name Magnus's transphobic teacher after one of mine, though I don't know how she would have reacted to a trans student (then again, she did say gay people asking for marriage equality was 'going too far' so yeah). Anyway, enough with stupid teachers, on with the story! Be glad I don't pay attention in algebra because that's where I thought of this.

Magnus found the first note sometime around the middle of October.

He and the rest of his friends – Mallory, T.J, Halfborn and Sam – were going to go to Halfborn’s house after school ended for a group study session. (Meaning they would try to work on their assignments, eats lots of snacks and gossip like bored housewives.) Sam’s elusive half-sister, Alex, wasn’t been able to make it and Magnus would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. He had seen Alex around Sam before a few times and he had talked to her even less than that, but she was undeniably one of the most attractive people Magnus had ever seen and he really wanted to talk to her more. His friends teased him that he stared at Alex whenever they were in the same room together, which might have been true, but Magnus would like to keep his dignity about it.

Anyway, they were supposed to pile up inside Halfborn’s old truck after school to go to his house, but they were half way to the car when Magnus remembered he had a left one of his books at class.

“Do you need to get it?” Mallory asked, her shoulders slumping at the thought of having to go all the way back to Magnus’s English class to get it.

“Yeah I do, that’s what the assignment I have is on.” As much as Magnus disliked Miss. Marlene – she keeps getting his pronouns and name wrong, despite him telling her every time – he didn’t need any more reasons for her to be after him, and not doing an assignment would definitely put him in her black list (more so than he already is). “Go ahead and go to the car, I��ll be back quickly.”

“Okay, just hurry back!” Mallory yelled after him. “If you’re too late we’ll leave you here!”

Ah, isn’t friendship amazing?

Magnus run to the English classroom as quickly as he could. He made it there surprisingly quickly, since the corridors were devoid of students. (There was just something about an empty school that was really creepy.) Magnus walked into the classroom heaving, reminded once again why he wasn’t in any sports’ teams. He really wasn’t the sports type anyway, unlike a lot of his friends, and running in his binder wasn’t the best.

His book was waiting for him on his desk near the back of the class. Nobody had taken it, which Magnus was thankful for; he didn’t even want to think what explaining that to Miss. Marlene would be like, though nobody would want a boring English book anyway. He was about to pick it up and shove it into his backpack when he noticed a paper sticking out of it.

Weird, I don’t think I put that there.

After checking again to make sure this was his book, Magnus pulled the paper out. What he saw when he did was an honestly mind-blowing sketch of a boy with his head resting boredly on his hand while he read a book. It wasn’t any boy either. It was him.

Magnus wasn’t sure whether he should admire the artist’s skill (they had made him look attractive, that was quite a fit) or be creeped out over the fact somebody had left him a drawing of himself inside one of his books. Maybe a bit of both was fine.

He examined the sketch more, completely baffled by how somebody could even begin to draw something like this, how they were able to turn a bunch of lines into something that looked this good even with him as the subject matter. Wondering who had drawn this, Magnus turned the paper to see if the artist had left their name on the back. They hadn’t, but they had left a note.

Dear Magnus,

I know this looks creepy.

Well, at least they’re self aware, Magnus thought and kept reading the short letter.

Trust me, I know it does. Some stranger leaves a sketch of you and a letter inside one of your books. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t read this letter. Actually, don’t read the rest, you’ll save me a lot of trouble. I didn’t want to do this anyway, my sister forced me to, and if writing you a weird love letter will get her off my back I’m willing to do anything.

So, yeah, this is a love letter. I have a crush on you. There, I said it. And I know what you’re thinking, who writes their crushes love letters in this day and age? Me, apparently. My sister was trying to convince me to do the “sensible” thing and talk to you and ask you out, but I joked that I’d rather write you a cringy love letter than actually have to talk to you and inevitably get rejected, so she kept nagging me until I finally did it. I should have never mentioned it to her in the first place, but she sees you sketching a boy in your notes and immediately wants all the details. Sisters, right? Anyway, yeah, I have a humongous crush on you and my sister can be very persistent.

You probably won’t do it, but she’s standing over me right now telling me to write this, so if you want t write back (which, again, you probably won’t do)leave your letter in that big dusty red dictionary in the Spanish classroom. Nobody touches that thing.

With love,

Your secret admirer.

P.S. I can’t believe I just wrote that, Jesus fuck.

By the time Magnus finished the letter, he was smiling at the stranger’s salty, sarcastic remarks for their sister. Still, even his amusement couldn’t stop him from reading the letter again two times, even then he still couldn’t understand how it was real.

Someone had a crush on him. On him, of all people. How was that possible? He wasn’t exactly the most handsome or popular guy in school, he was pretty far from that, honestly. There were a ton more people you could get a crush on, so why him of all people?

Still, even if he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t deny the warm feeling the spread through him as his face flushed red. Somebody had a crush on him and the thought was extremely flattering, especially with whoever his secret admirer was clearly seeing him as a boy and nothing else.

Magnus was brought out of his daze when his phone started vibrating in his pocket as one of his friends called him to ask where he was.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m coming, just a minute!” Magnus said into the phone as he shoved the book and the letter inside his backpack and sprinted to the parking lot.

/////

Alex didn’t know what made him check. He knew there wouldn’t be a response, why would somebody reply to some random stranger’s love letter, especially when said letter came along with a drawing of you? (Alex still can’t believe he sent Magnus one of them. He cringed and blushed just thinking about it.) (And yes, he had drawn Magnus more than once. You say he’s head over heels, he says he was just practicing.)

So yeah, his mind knew it that there wouldn’t be a response, but he still checked the old dictionary. Maybe a part of him hoped there would be a letter waiting for him, but he did his best to squash that part down. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. Magnus wouldn’t write back to him and Alex’s letter would probably get thrown in the trash, maybe after getting a laugh out of it with his friends. Alex just didn’t understand why Sam insisted he wrote it.

The bell rang and everybody spilled out of the Spanish classroom, eager to be anywhere else but here. Alex lingered around more, pretending to be putting his books away as everybody, even the teacher, went away. There was no one in the room by the time he put his sketchbook away. Alex already knew Spanish, he was only taking the class because he figured it would be easy, and it was, so he used the period to sit in the back and sketch to his heart’s content.

With no one left to see him, Alex took the old dictionary from the bookcase and skimmed through it boredly. This was a waste of time, but he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else unless he did this – wait, what was that?

Curiously, Alex went back to the part where the book’s pages had a small gap. It couldn’t be…

But sure enough, there, between alphabetized Spanish words, was a folded piece of paper. With his stupid heart doing summersaults inside his chest, Alex pulled the paper out and unfolded it.

Dear secret admirer,

Thank you a lot for your letter, though I’m glad you understand it looked a bit creepy at first.

Alex was split between smiling like a doofus because he had gotten a response and slapping himself because of course that drawing was creepy, why the hell did you send it?

I mean, I’m not complaining, it was a really good drawing, you have some serious talent if you can make me look good. Which I guess means I should address the elephant in the room, being the fact that you have a crush on me? How? Honestly, I’m flattered, but I can’t see why you would have a crush on me of all people. I don’t think I’m exactly the most crushable person around. But hey, um, thanks.

Anyway, I don’t know why I wrote this letter. Maybe I was just curious? Maybe because you were so sure I wouldn’t respond and I subconsciously wanted to piss you off? I don’t know. But your letter has been stuck in my head ever since I got it so I felt like I’d blow up if I didn’t do something, so. Tell me about yourself, I guess? (Why am I this awkward with starting conversations even in a letter?) What are your pronouns? What grade are you in? What do you look like? (You won’t answer this probably but I wrote it anyway.) What are your hobbies? Do you have bad taste in everything or just crushes? (Ah, self-deprecating humor, my specialty.)

So, ah, yeah, that’s all I have to say. See you. (Or well, read you, but you know what I mean.)

Sincerely,

Magnus Chase.

Alex reread the letter about three times before he finally accepted the fact that Magnus had actually written back. Magnus had actually written back, complimented his drawing and asked to learn more about him. Alex wanted to slap himself for the stupid smile threatening to take over his face and the uncoordinated beating of his heart as he thought back to the letter. Curse you, human feelings!

The bell snapped Alex back to reality. He shoved the letter in his pocket and run to his next class. He made it just before the lesson started and he took his seat, not caring about the rest of the students looking at him or for the teacher going “ts, ts”. He knew he should be paying attention to whatever the teacher was saying, or at least pretend to, but Alex really couldn’t be bothered right now, not when he was thinking hard about what he should write back to Magnus.

/////

Magnus found the next note in his locker. A folded piece of paper was lying on a stack of books, his admirer’s (just thinking that felt so surreal) handwriting looking up at him the simple To: Magnus (duh) written at the front of the paper.

Magnus pulled it out and unfolded the paper. The back of the paper, where his name was written, was filled from top to bottom in random doodles. Stars and crisscrossed lines decorated the margins of the paper, lone eyes and hands doting the page wherever there was a bit of space. There was a small sketch of Miss. Dods, the algebra teacher, with horns sprouting from her head and wings from her back like some short of demon, throwing ‘x’s and ‘y’s and a ton more incomprehensible algebra things at a cartoonish crowd of screaming students. Near the top of the paper was a doodle of what Magnus guessed was a green haired Eliza from Hamilton holding a letter to her chest with “Helpless” written above her head in fancy badly-done cursive. Half-finished sketches of who must have been (a more attractive) Magnus were spread throughout the paper.

Magnus’s lips were tugging upwards in a small smile as he turned the paper to look at the letter.

Dear Magnus,

I can’t believe you actually answered me. I think I made it pretty clear in my first letter that I didn’t expect you to. Though if you were trying to piss me off by doing that, you failed because it just made me weirdly happy. (Don’t tell that to anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.)

Thank you for your compliment, but I have to disagree because someone would need to have a lot of talent to do you justice. I suppose people don’t tell you often that you’re very pretty, huh? Well, you are, so there.

Now, as for your questions: I’m genderfluid, so my pronouns keep changing, but she/ her would be a safe guess most days (though I’m male as I’m writing this). I’m in tenth grade like you. As you guessed, I can’t tell you what I look like because, trust me, you would be able to figure out who I am immediately. My hobbies are mostly art, especially pottery. I also like fantasy/ sci-fi/ adventure books and hiking or going camping. And since you seem to think nobody would have a crush on you (I’m obviously the exception to that rule), here’s a nice little list of reasons why:

· You have really nice hair. It’s sorta old-fashioned and it makes you look a bit like Kurt Cobain, but I like it. It suits you and it looks really soft. It’s also fun to draw.

· I swear to my pottery wheel your eyes are amazing and no matter how many times I have tried, I just can’t get the color right from memory.

· Your whole face lights up when you laugh a lot and I have to remind myself not to stare because that would be creepy.

· You look like a personified ball of sunshine but you are really sarcastic and cynical and seeing you roast someone is one of the best things I’ve seen in my life.

· Speaking of roasting, that one time you sassed Marlene in front of the entire class because she kept getting your pronouns wrong and you told her off so well that she was gapping like a fish for a few seconds. That was epic (and hot) (don’t judge me). (Also, yes, I’m in your English class. Spoilers, I guess?)

· You’re just generally adorable? Like, what more do you want me to say? I’m in deep. (Btw, enjoy this because I don’t think I’ve ever said the word ‘adorable’ to describe anyone out loud and probably never will, but this is a letter and I feel more comfortable to call you cute than I would in person.)

· You’re a nice person. Like, honestly, you’re such a Hufflepuff it’s ridiculous, but really endearing and I’ve seen you help out people around school you don’t even know. Like, yeah, blame me for falling for a saint!

That’s everything that comes to mind right now that I can actually fit in this paper. If I wrote down everything this thing would be bigger than the list of idiots at this school.

I don’t know if writing to each other will be a thing but I really hope it will be.

You seriously need to work on your self-esteem dude,

Your secret admirer.

Magnus hadn’t realized it – probably because he was too busy feeling his skin melt of his face because of how hard he was blushing - but he was smiling at the letter like an idiot. He was so caught up in the warmth that flooded through his body because of this person’s word that he didn’t notice Halfborn, Mallory and T.J sneak up on him.

“Boo!” Halfborn said right in his ear, because, as someone who was graduating this year, that’s how mature he was when it came to his friends. Magnus yelped in surprised and reflexively shoved the letter behind a sweatshirt in his locker. God forbid any of his friends found out about the letters, they would never let him hear the end of it.

“Halfborn, what the hell?” Magnus turned around, still positively red in the face, to look at the shit-eating grins on his friends’ faces.

Apparently, scaring him into almost having a heart-attack was funny, because Halfborn laughed. “Aw, don’t be like that, Magnus. I was just trying to cheer you up before you have to go suffer in Miss. Hitler’s class.”

Magnus’s good mood soured as he realized that, yes, his next class was with his most hated teacher. He groaned and threw his head back. “Damnit, I’d rather you kill me than have to deal with her for forty five minutes.”

Mallory nodded solemnly and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, you’ll be fine. Think of the bright side,” she said, that familiar teasing tone creeping into her voice, “you’ll get to see your crush.”

Magnus immediately flushed red (well, redder). He had English with Alex Fierro and course they would tease him about it.

“I don’t have a crush,” he hissed at them. They just smiled, the little shits, and shot each other these looks™, like they were talking without actually saying anything. The unfortunate side effects of becoming friends with people who have known each other since kindergarten.

“Now, now, Magnus,” T.J said in a sweet fatherly kind of tone, ruffling up Magnus’s hair. “There’s nothing wrong with having a crush. You’ll feel better if you admit it.”

“I. Don’t. Have. A. Crush,” Magnus said slowly, emphasizing every word. Yet his face was still burning and a small voice in the back of his head was saying, who are you kidding?

Shut up, brain, this does not concern you.

Magnus’s friends didn’t look convinced, but the boy didn’t look at them, instead turning around to shove the books he needed and the letter inside his back. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said before running away lest they keep teasing him.

Magnus was almost to the door of the English classroom where he had an important realization. His secret admirer was in the same English class as him.

Suddenly dreading this period much less than usual, Magnus walked through the door and shut down at his desk. He was early, normally he postponed having to come here as much as he could, and the classroom wasn’t full yet. He got his books out and pretended to look at them while he watched the door and each person that walked through it, trying to figure out who could be the person writing him letters.

Who did he know at school that was genderfluid? Okay, not many people, but there was always the possibility they weren’t out yet. Still, simply asking that question brought a single person to the forefront of his mind. As if on cue, lo and behold, Alex Fierro walked into the classroom.

Magnus gasped a little, just a little, but he was too distracted to yell at himself for it. Alex was wearing pink and green, as usual, but damn did she pull it off. A pronoun bottom was pinned to her hoodie, informing the world that today was a she/her day. Her hair was pulled back in a tiny ponytail at the base of her neck and there were paint stains on her fingers.

Magnus didn’t realize he was staring until Alex sat down at her desk next to his and waved hello at him. He waved back awkwardly, praying to the universe that he wasn’t blushing as much as he felt he was (curse his pale skin!).

“How long do you think she’ll manage to last before throwing somebody out of the class?” Alex asked, leaning over closer to Magnus. The blonde couldn’t help but be surprised. Alex spent most of her time in this class pretending to be paying attention, wanting to kill the teacher and doodling. They spoke occasionally, but even that didn’t happen so commonly, mostly because Magnus sucked at keeping conversations going, especially with beautiful people.

“I say ten minutes,” Magnus guessed, glancing at Miss. Marlene at the front of the room. She had a habit of getting angry at students even when they didn’t do anything and she almost always yelled at and/or kicked out a few specific students. (Two of which were Magnus and Alex.)

Alex hummed thoughtfully. “I say five. She looked like she wanted to cut my head off last time.”

Magnus snickered as he remembered their last lesson, where Alex had been feeling especially rebellious and kept mocking Miss. Marlene whenever her back was turned. Magnus’s eyes closed as he laughed and he didn’t see the lovestruck way Alex was looking at him.

They didn’t get the chance to talk much more because the bell rang and Miss. Marlene slammed the door shut, demanding attention from everybody in the class. Magnus soon tuned out what she was saying, having perfected the art in his time in high school.

Who could be his secret admirer? He looked around the class discretely, mentally crossing off the people that couldn’t possibly be his mysterious pen pall. It had to be someone genderfluid, who disliked the English professor as much as him, was into art and was striking enough appearance wise that it’d be easy to find them in a crowd. One by one, the students in the class were crossed out, leaving just a handful of people that fit the criteria, one of them sticking out to Magnus more than anyone else.

It couldn’t possibly be Alex… Right?

Like, Magnus really wanted it to be her. A picture formed in his mind of Alex sneaking around to leave the notes in his book and locker, of her looking at him when he wasn’t paying attention. His heart did a little acrobatic trick at the thought, his cheeks warming up. Without realizing it, his lips had turned up in a small smile. That would be nice.

He kept smiling like an idiot until his mind caught up with his heart and he mentally scolded himself. Idiot, like that would happen, the pessimistic side of his brain said. There’s no way you’d be that lucky. Don’t get your hopes up.

Still, the other side of his brain said. It’d be nice if I was.

In the end, Magnus and his secret admirer exchanging letters had become common place. Magnus wasn’t keep replying to this person, but he couldn’t deny he liked her. They just got along well, they shared a lot of the same sarcastic attitude and interests. Talking (or, well, writing) to her was a lot of fun. Magnus had become accustomed to checking his locker every chance he got to see if there was a note there and his heart always soared whenever he found one

Of course, being Magnus, the realization didn’t hit him until sometime in December. He was in physics class, reading his admirer’s latest lesson instead of paying attention to whatever the teacher was talking about. He tapped his fingers on the desk as he tried to figure out what to write back, his mind constantly drifting off and stopping him from forming coherent sentences. He kept thinking back to all the other letters, their jokes and barbs at each other. How funny she was and how beautiful her sketches were, even though she kept insisting they weren’t anything special. How much he’d like to know who she was so they could spend time and person and actually hear her laugh instead of seeing it wrote on paper and –

That’s when it hit him, like a bucket of cold water to the face, as his heart fluttered at the thought. Do I have a crush on her?

He scrunched his eyes and shook his head, like that would get the thought to go away. A few students (that weren’t dozing off on their desks) looked at him confused but Magnus couldn’t be bothered to care about them; he was having a crisis here.

He couldn’t like her, right? Like, he had a crush on Alex, even though he couldn’t see himself acting out on it, he couldn’t have a crush on two people at the same time. Could he? He tried to reason with himself that he was wrong, after all, he hadn’t met her, but that wasn’t quite right, was it? He’d been talking to her for months now; even if it wasn’t face to face, he knew her and she knew him.

Confused, Magnus rubbed at his temples like he had a headache, a sight that wasn’t uncommon in this class. Sweet falafel, why is this happening to me? I can’t deal with one crush, what am I supposed to do with two?

If Magnus wasn’t paying attention to class before, he sure as hell wasn’t doing it now. His mind was flooded with thoughts of letters and startling eyes, sketches and green hair. Alex Fierro and the mysterious girl assaulted his mind, the butterflies in his stomach going on a rampage no matter which one he was thinking of.

Magnus’s crisis was still going strong by the time the school day ended and three days later, he still couldn’t come up with an answer as to which one he was crushing on harder. Is this what all the stupid main characters in bad YA novels felt like? After the third day of mentally questioning himself, Magnus resulted to the good old method of not thinking about it and hopping it will go away.

That always works, right?

… Oh, who is he kidding? He’s fucked. (And not in the good way.)

And to make matters worse (or better, if you like to see him suffer, like the universe does), in her last class before Christmas break, Miss. Marlene announced they would have to complete an assignment over the break in pairs. The students groaned because one, homework, and two, Miss. Marlene never lets you choose your partner, meaning you could be stuck with someone you’ve never spoken to in your whole career in this hellhole.

As Miss. Marlene announced the pairs, Magnus’s eyes wandered around the room, mentally ticking off the people that already had a partner or the people he just didn’t want to work with. His eyes were on Alex when, as if on cue, Miss. Marlene told him his partner for the project.

“Mari – Sorry, Magnus Chase, you’ll be working with Alex Fierro.”

Magnus froze.

Wait… what?

It took a few moments for what he just heard to register in Magnus’s mind, during which he looked at the teacher in a dumbfounded expression. Unbeknown to him, Alex was in the exact same state.

You have to be kidding me, he thought.

Miss. Marlene went on to explain how they had to make a summary of a Shakespearean play and present it to class in any way they wanted. She went on to list out the kind of things they couldn’t do, like strip naked (because yes, that happened once), but Magnus wasn’t paying attention at all. His eyes trailed over to Alex where he was staring holes in his notebook, one hand buried in his green locks, the loose curls framing his dark skin and-

Okay, forget getting a good grade, Magnus will be lucky if he doesn’t turn into a pile of mush by the time they’ve finished the project.

In the desk next to his, Alex was having a similar crisis. He had to work on a project with Magnus. Magnus. Fuck, he already knew Miss. Marlene was evil, but he didn’t expect her to want him to die from too much cuteness! (Because have you looked at Magnus Chase? Alex is pretty sure his doing this just to torture him.) (By ‘this’ he means existing.)

He spends the rest of the period glaring at his notebook, like it will somehow give him all the answers he needs. Before he realizes any time has passed, the bell has rang and Magnus is standing awkwardly by his desk.

“So, um, what should we do for the assignment?” The blonde boy asked. Magnus got up and they started talking as Alex suggested plays they could do, slowly slimming down their choices to Macbeth because it’s a classic and because they both like the part where Macbeth is so sure there’s no way he can just for him to lose. Alex is awfully acute of the half written letter in his bag, and a weird feeling settles into his stomach as they stop in front of Magnus’s locker. It’s so weird to think he’ll be sneaking around to leave that same letter in Magnus’s locker tomorrow. (He would like to leave it today, but he doesn’t have a free period and he still hasn’t finished his drawing at the back of it. Yes, he has to draw something, it’s a thing by this point and he won’t ruin it.)

“So, should we meet up after school to work on it?” Magnus asked. “Get it out of the way as soon as possible so we can forget about it?”

Alex nodded. Personally, he would have procrastinated till the last day, but anything for the human ball of sunshine. “Sure. Where do you want to meet?”

Magnus seemed to tense up at that and Alex guessed he hadn’t actually thought of that. “My house, I guess? It’s not far from school, we could walk there after school tomorrow.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then, Maggie.”

It was as Alex was walking away, trying to appear as cool and natural as possible, that it sank in. I’m going to Magnus’s house tomorrow. Sweet fuck.

Magnus was waiting for Alex by the main doors of the school the next day while the rest of the students all but run away. Magnus couldn’t really blame them for it; he wanted to do the same right now.

Ok, relax, it’s just a school assignment, he told to himself. It’s not like he has never spoken to Alex one on one for more than fifteen minutes and they will be alone in his room for who knows how long with nobody around other than his adopted fathers who know how much he likes her and will certainly embarrass him. He’ll be fine.

Oh, who is he kidding?

Magnus fiddles with his shirt when he finally sees Alex’s green head of hair among the sea of students. He straightens his back suddenly, for what purpose he doesn’t know, but he does it. Alex struggles a bit too get out of the crowd of students, by trough a lot of ducking and elbowing people taller than her, she manages to get to where Magnus is and holly kebab.

Now, Magnus will be the first to tell you that Alex Fierro can’t look bad, even when she’s in an old hoodie that’s long enough to work as a dress and has paint stains and clay bits all over her. She just looks good and Magnus has accepted the fact he will never get a break from how pretty she is and the heart attacks she subsequently gives him, but is she trying to kill him right now?

She’s in boots and patterned pink tights, a worn parka with pink fur at the hood open over a dark green sweater with ‘Fuck you’ written in Christmas lights. She doesn’t look to be affected by the cold weather that has Magnus looking like an onion (he’s wearing five layers of clothes) and he would have been upset at the injustice of it if Alex didn’t look tiny inside her large jacket.

“Hey, Magnus,” she greeted when she came closer. The boy in question had to do a double take – was she wearing make up? Admittedly, it was very little but it made her captivating eyes pop even more than they already did and Magnus would not make it through to the end of the night, he was sure of that.

“Hey, Alex,” he said back, hoping with everything he had he didn’t sound too awkward. Over Alex’s shoulder, he saw Halfborn, Mallory, T.J and Sam give him thumbs up and mouth encouragements at him (T.J was holding up a notebook with “GO TIGER!” written on it). His stomach dropped and he wished as hard as he could Alex wouldn’t turn around because if she did he would die.

“Should we get going?” Alex asked, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“Yeah, I’m freezing here.” Also my friends want to embarrass me in front of my crush.

“I don’t know, it’s not that cold,” Alex said as they walked away from the school and Magnus’s friends. Magnus turned to look at her so fast he almost got whiplash.

“‘Not that cold’? Not that cold?” Magnus nearly yelled. “My tits are freezing off – and honestly, be my guest – but still! How are you not cold?”

Alex shrugged, a smile on her lips. “I don’t know. I guess… the cold never bothered me anyway.”

Magnus stared at her blankly. Alex kept looking at him with a shit eating grin.

“You didn’t just do that.”

“Oh, come on, it was too good to pass up.” Alex was smiling so widely that she had wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Magnus himself was trying hard not to smile and all his previous worries about today were forgotten. “You would have said it too.”

Magnus couldn’t so no to that. “Yeah, you’re right. So if you’re Elsa, who does that make me?”

Alex hummed as she thought, pouting slightly and why is the world doing this to him? “Marshmallow- no, Olaf! Marshmallow is like a gentle giant, you’re nowhere near a giant.”

“I’m still taller than you,” he pointed out. Alex glared at him from her three inches shorter height.

“And don’t you love pointing that out.”

Magnus laughed. They kept walking though the street, occasionally to jump inside a pile of snow against their better judgment. By the time they made it to Magnus’s apartment their noses were red and they had snow in their shoes.

“My room is down the hall to the left,” Magnus said as he kicked off his boots. If they were lucky, he could get Alex into his room and out of sight before Hearthstone saw her (Blitzen should still be at the shop at this hour).

Just when Magnus though they were safe, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He yelped, an embarrassingly high sound he would deny later, and turned to find Hearthstone behind him.

“Hi, Magnus. Who’s your friend?” Hearth signed and despite playing innocent Magnus could tell from his little smirk that he knew exactly who this was.

“Hearth, this is Alex. Alex, this is Hearth, his one of my dads,” he said, signing as he spoke.

“It’s nice to finally meet Magnus’s crush. He doesn’t shut up about you.” The cheeky little shit was smiling the whole time he was signing that; to anyone who didn’t know him it would seem like a perfectly normal smile, but Magnus knew he was evil in the inside. Thankfully for him, Alex didn’t seem to understand what Hearth had signed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know sign language.”

“He said he happy to meet one of my friends and that he’s heard a lot about you,” Magnus quickly translated. Hearth was smirking at him but Alex didn’t seem to notice.

“Only good things, I hope.”

Magnus cocked his head to the side. “There are good things to say about you?”

Alex rolled her eyes and punched him lightly in the arm while Hearth, much to Magnus’s horror, signed, “Young love. I remember when Blitzen and I first met.”

“We’re gonna go start working on that project now!” Magnus all but yelled, glaring at Hearth over his shoulder as he pushed Alex towards his room. Hearth just smiled and signed, “Go lover-boy.”

Once safely inside his room, Magnus was finally able to relax. “Make yourself comfortable,” he told Alex, who was looking curiously around his room at different posters and books. “I’m just gonna…” he made a few awkward hand gestures, pointing awkwardly towards his chest before grabbing a sports bra (that was hanging off the back of his desk chair, why didn’t he think to tidy his room before Alex came?) and going to the bathroom to change.

When he came back, Alex was looking at the summary at the back of Six of Crows and didn’t seem to really pay attention to Magnus putting his binder away inside his closet. He glanced nervously to the second drawer in his desk, hoping Alex didn’t snoop around in there while he was in the bathroom. He kept the letters from his secret admirer there and he didn’t dare imagine what would happen if Alex found them. He would never be able to live it down.

Speaking of letters, he still hadn’t gotten a reply to his last letter even though he left it two days ago. He figured she was just busy with school or the holidays, but he was still curious about why she hadn’t responded to him yet.

“This sounds nice,” Alex said, putting the book back on the self before joining Magnus where he was sitting on the floor. Magnus offered to let her borrow it and they soon got to work, brainstorming ideas for their summary of Macbeth and roasting Miss. Marlene. They had decided on a sarcastic, stand-up comedy kind of summary and after coming up with a few jokes, they decided to start writing down their lines.

“We need some paper,” Magnus mumbled, reaching out to open Alex’s notebook where it lay on the floor and opening it in the back to start writing.

“Magnus, wait-“Alex said, eyes going wide when she saw him taking the notebook but it was too late. Magnus had already opened at the very back, where an all too familiar handwriting looked up at him.

Dear Magnus,

I am appalled to know you have never seen The Exorcist or The Shining. I am truly disappointed in you, how dare you. I don’t care if you say you don’t like horror movies, you need to watch them.

You-

Magnus wasn’t able to read any more of it because Alex reaped the notebook from his hands. “Give that!” she yelled, eyes wide with panic as she clutched it to her chest, like it would somehow make Magnus forget what he had seen.

“You’re…” he started, looking at Alex frozen in place. He felt like someone had just thrown him inside a freezing lake. Alex was his secret admirer? “You were the one writing me letters?”

“Y-yeah…” Alex was avoiding looking at him, the notebook clutched to her chest, looking like a turtle trying to hide in its shell.

In hindsight, Magnus knew what he did wasn’t the best move, but the absurdity of the situation caught up to him. Here he was, crushing so hard on Alex for the past few months, stressing over what he should do when he realized he was crushing on his admirer too. He rejected the idea that she could ever possibly be his admirer when he had been right and she was the one he was exchanging letters with all this months. It was so ridiculous that he couldn’t help bursting out in laughter.

With his eyes scrunched close, Magnus didn’t the hurt flashing in Alex’s eyes that quickly turned to anger. With tears she refused to let fall in her eyes, she grabbed her bag from the floor and shoved the notebook inside. “I’m leaving,” she said, her voice breaking despite how hard she tried to sound normal.

Magnus’s laughter died in his throat when he saw Alex moving towards the door in a hurry, desperately trying to hold back tears. “Alex, wait!” He cried out, grabbing her wrist just before she was able to open the door and leave.

“Why?” she snapped turning back to him. “Why? So you can laugh at me more? Stupid Alex with her stupid crush, writing you fucking letters! I’m sure it’s so funny, did you show the letters to your friends so you could all laugh over them?”

Alex’s face was red with rage, tears making their way down her cheeks. Her voice was raw as she yelled at him, but she kept going. Magnus had never felt such guilt before in his life, like a hand was squeezing his heart.

“I didn’t, Alex, no one else knows about them but us,” he said. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist as Alex’s shoulders shook and he looked her in the eyes, wishing with all his might she’ll believe him.

“And why should I believe you?” she yelled. “You just found out I’ve been crushing on you like an idiot and you laughed in my face!”

“Yes, because I didn’t think you of all people would like me!” Magnus yelled back. The anger in Alex’s face seemed to subside and he took his chance to explain himself. “I didn’t think I could ever possibly be that lucky! I’ve been crushing on you since you came to this school! My friends tease me on a daily basis because I stare at you like a lovesick puppy without realizing! When you started writing to me, I tried to figure out who you were, and I wondered if it was you but rejected the idea because I didn’t think you’d like me! And then I started getting a crush on the person writing me letters only to find out that she and my crush were the same person!”

Magnus hadn’t realized how loud he had gotten until he stopped speaking. Silence fell between them as Alex stared at him with wide eyes.

“You mean that?” Alex finally asked hesitantly.

“Yes! Yes, I do! I like you so much, you have no idea, and I’m sorry I laughed at you and made you cry, I didn’t mean to do that, but the situation was so absurd and it just came out and-“

A laugh stopped Magnus’s frantic rambling. Alex was wiping the tears from her eyes as she laughed at him and Magnus’s heart swelled at the sound.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble like that, I just got nervous,” he muttered, looking awkwardly to the side. Alex chuckled again and Magnus wouldn’t mind making a fool of himself all the time if it would get her to laugh.

“It’s fine, idiot,” she said. Magnus didn’t know someone could make idiot sound so much like a pet name. “So… will you stop holding my wrist and hold my hand?”

Magnus’s heart skipped a sonnet’s worth of beats. “Y-yeah.” He moved his hind down and took her hand in his. “Is this okay?”

Alex grinned at him and squeezed him hand. “I asked you to do it, didn’t I?”

Magnus smiled back happily and for a moment, they stayed there, just holding hands and smiling. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Hearthstone came in with a tray of snacks. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the two teens holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes and smiling like they were in a romance movie. He slowly set the tray down.

“Excuse me for interrupting,” he signed. “Carry on.”

He closed the door behind him and left. Then, he opened it again just a second later and signed, “Also, if you just got together, congratulations. It was about time.”

This time when Hearth left he didn’t come back and the new couple burst into laughing at what had just happened. When they finally got their breath back and they weren’t doubled over anymore, Magnus spoke up.

“So, are we a couple now?”

Alex rolled her eyes at him with a smirk. “What do you think?” she asked and leaned in to plant a kiss on Magnus’s lips. No matter how many times he had imagined kissing Alex, he had never imagined her kisses would be so soft and sweet.

Magnus must have still been too caught up on the fact that Alex had just kissed him because he didn’t speak after Alex pulled away. Alex’s brows furrowed with worry at the silence.

“Was that not okay?” she asked quietly. A huge smile broke out on Magnus’s face, one of those smiles that looked brighter than the sun to Alex and he leaned in to kiss her again.

“It was perfect.”

#magnus chase #alex fierro #fierrochase #fanfiction #My fic

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sufferthesea · 7 years

Note

Hi again! Could you please do another scenario with Genma with a shy reader that's not a ninja and it's there first date but she ends up getting sick and he surprises her by coming to take care of her?

This was perfectly timed because I always get sick in October-November. Now if only I had a cute ninja boy coming to take care of me while I sat on the couch and watched movies all day. /sigh/

Thank you for the request!! I had a lot of fun writing this!! Please let me know if you think my scenarios/headcanons are too long! Also I literally just figured out how to write Genma, idk how he’d text 😂 I did my best.

Words: 3.144Rating: General Pairing: Genma x Reader

Thiswasn’t how it was supposed to go. When Genma asked you out twoweeks ago you had been so excited that you were near to crying - butyou were also incredibly nervous. Genma was one of the mostinteresting guys you’d ever met, and you felt as if you were theequivalent of a talking potato sack. Not to mention you weren’teven a ninja so why onearth he’d even bother with a civilian was beyond you. Someone ofhis caliber should really be looking for a girl just as strong andknowledgeable and brave and outgoing ashim. (You’d barely managed to squeak out a “yes” when he askedyou to dinner, and it took every ounce of strength just to look himin the eyes when he spoke to you.) He must’ve read the confusion onyour face because almost immediately after asking you out, he said:

“You know, you’rereally cute when you act shy. And I figured if I didn’t ask youout, we’d never get anywhere.”

You’dthought about that for the last fortnight, your face bright red and ashy giggle falling from your lips whenever his face appeared in yourmind. But among the excitement was a bit of fear and the typicalinsecurity you often faced. You’d never really gone on a datebefore and certainly had never been asked out by someone like Genma.He’d suggested something simple - just a small dinner at a curryshop outside of the village. He said it was a cute little place andhe was sure you’d like it because it was out of the way and fewpeople went all the way out there to eat. It was nice of him to thinkof you like that, but there was still so much pressure. Would youlike the food there? What if it was too spicy? What if he thought youate too much? Or not enough? The thought of someone watching you eatwas a little overwhelming. And what if - did you dare to evenentertain this thought so early in the relationship? - what if at theend of the night he tried to kiss you? What if he kissedyou and you had curry breath? You’dabsolutely die on the spot.

Unfortunately,stressing out for the last fourteen days had done the exact oppositeof helping your health and you woke up the day of the date with asore throat, runny nose, and pounding headache. You had somehowstressed yourself into a cold,and now you were even more miserable than before. (Of course itsurely had nothing todo with the fact that you’d left open the bedroom window the nightbefore and had kicked off your blanket in the middle of the night…)

“I can’t go on adate l-like this,” you shuddered, pulling a thick woolen blanketover your shoulders and sneezing into a tissue. “I can’t l-lethim see me like this.”

Forlornly,you looked towards the clock hanging on the wall and your heartdropped. It was already noon; six hours until you were supposed tomeet Genma at the gates so he could walk you to the restaurant. Thiswasn’t good. It’s not like you could take some magic pill to getbetter immediately, and you were certain that if you decided to go onthe date then something mortifying would happen - you’d sneeze onhim, or go into a coughing fit while eating, or you’d get himsick. You couldn’t risk it - not when you’d somehow managed tograb his attention in the first place. You weren’t going to ruin itby being grossly sick all over him in a restaurant. There was onlyone option, and it killed you to even think of it.

You’d have tocancel the date.

It’d be a lie tosay you didn’t cry for a few moments as you convinced yourself thatit’s what was best. Did you want to cancel the date or did you wantto show up and gross him out?

Gathering whateverremaining strength you had, you dug your phone out of your sweatpantspocket and went through your list of contacts before you foundGenma’s number. He’d given it to you when he asked you out, butyou hadn’t texted him before. Would your first text to him reallybe canceling the date? Sometimes the universe sucked.

Steadying your handsenough to text out a legible message, you pressed send and waitedwith bated breath, the pressure behind your eyes and in the bridgeof your nose growing.

Genma - can’tmake it. im sick. rain check?

Itwasn’t good to sit there and wait so you placed your phone on thefarthest part of the coffee table and curled up on the couch, feelingawful. Everything was starting to ache and you weren’t sure whatyou should do to feel better. Going to the hospital was out of thequestion - you weren’t dying,you just had a cold. And you didn’t want to be a burden on anybodyelse by asking them to come over and take care of you. So you werestuck with the only solution - suffer alone until you were better.

Your heart jumped atthe sudden buzzing of your phone vibrating on the table and you leaptup to grab it, hands shaking as you eagerly read the message fromGenma.

That sucks. We’llreschedule. Hope u feel better soon

He hoped you feltbetter soon?! That was so nice of him! Before you could finishgushing over the simple text, a second one came through.

Let me know ifthere’s anything I can do to help

Yourfingers moved quickly to type that he didn’t have to do anything,but then you stopped. He was asking - offering - to help you throughthis dreadful time. Would it be ruder to accept his invitation andpossibly get him sick, or to decline it and spare him the vision ofyou stuffed up and snotty? It really didn’t matter if you were at arestaurant or at home, you didn’t wanthim to witness you blowing your nose or hacking or just looking likeyou’d crawled out some Pit Of Disgusting. You hated to admit it,but you got kind of whiny whenever you were ill and it was prettyembarrassing. With a little bit of heartache, you finished the textand sent it.

No, that’s okay- thx tho. I appreciate it

Almost immediately,another response sent your phone buzzing in your hands.

Anything for you;)

Youvaulted the phone away quickly, your body instantly burning hot, asurprised laugh escaping your mouth. “Wh-What? What was that?”you wheezed, pulling the blanket up to your face and staring inelation at the phone now lying on the floor across the room. “He -He put a - a winking face! What does th-that mean? Does he … oh mygosh.” Hiding under the blanket, you allowed yourself to gigglechildishly and closed your eyes tight. Genma’s perfect face wasthere - a smile gracing his features. He put a winkingface! That was good, right? Andhe’d said “anything for you”. Anythingfor you. Anything for you.How did he mean it? Would he really do anything for you? Your stomachgrowled and you grimaced; maybe you should have asked him to bringyou something to eat …

The phone buzzedagain and you practically threw yourself across the room to grab it,scrambling to clutch it close your face and read the message.

U allergic toanything?

Confused, you rereadthe message and checked to see who it was from. Genma had sent it,that was certain but … Did he think you’d called off the datebecause you had had an allergic reaction or something? Or - did hethink you’d canceled the date because you were allergic to curry?You were legitimately sick and this boy thought you were skipping outbecause you didn’t like his taste in food?

No - im good. Notcurry!! hahaha I was looking forward to eating there /:

Thatwas good enough, right? Assure him that you weren’t avoiding himbecause of that little restaurant, and that you actually didwant to go with him.

Same. Oh well.Maybe next week.

Then, a secondlater:

What r ursymptoms? Like are u coughing and sneezing? Sore throat? Or somethingelse?

Was he concernedthat your illness would still be there by next week when you actuallywent on your date? You shifted on the ground, resting on your elbowsas you thought over what to say. The point of canceling the date wasto keep him from knowing what you were going through at the moment.

Youtyped slowly, regretting every letter of your text: headache,sore throat, runny nose, congestion, sinus, everything hurts!!! ))):I feel like death tbh

Five minutes passedof absolute silence and your chest twisted in embarrassment. Had yousaid too much? You knew it - you’d messed this up. No good. Genmawould surely ditch you and go for some girl with a perfect immunesystem who looked absolutely glamorous even when she was suffering,and certainly didn’t complain about it. When another five minutespassed without a response, you pulled yourself back onto the couchand cuddled under your blanket and sighed heavily. Why did it have tohappen now?! Today of all days.

The phone buzzedagainst your chest and you yelped, jolting upwards and dropping it tothe ground. Fumbling around for it, you grabbed another tissue fromthe nearly empty box on the table and dabbed at your sore nose.

Grape or orange?

Nowthis was getting weird. Your response was only: what?

Genmaswiftly replied: Do you prefer grape or orange? Or cherry??

Uh… I don’t …care????? What is this for?

Insteadof answering, he simply asked: did u still want to go tothe curry place next week? I’ll pick u up next time. What’s uraddress?

Stumped, you staredat the glaring screen in your hands. What was going on? He was actingstrange. But your cold-infested brain wasn’t willing to work withyou to figure out what he was doing so you merely texted back youraddress. He stopped responding and you wondered if it was a mistaketo tell him where you lived. It was almost one o’clock and youreyes were feeling the weight of your illness. Sniffling into yourhandful of tissues, you curled up on your side and let yourself fallasleep.

An hour later youwere woken up by heavy knocks at your front door. It startled youawake and you rolled off of the couch, dazed and utterly lost as towhat was happening. Scrambling to your feet, you wiped drool off ofyour face and ambled over to the door, your voice croaking in pain asyou muttered, “Coming …”

Groggily, you pulledopen the door and looked blearily out into the bright world. Youshaded your eyes and squinted at the shadowed figure filling yourdoorway.

“You look as badas you said you feel,” came a voice.

Your eyes widenedand you dropped your hand, finally realizing that it was none otherthan Genma standing at your door.

“Wh-What are youd-doing here?!” you shouted, throwing your hands up to coveryourself although there was nothing to be covered. You were alreadydressed in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, and although your hair waswild and uncombed and your nose was as red as the swirl on Genma’sjonin jacket, you weren’t indecent. Still it was almost shameful tobe standing before such a beautiful man looking like you’d climbedout of a dumpster recently.

“Aren’t yougoing to invite me in?” Genma asked, a small smirk playing on hislips.

Youglanced back at your small apartment and you could almost feelyour cold lingering on the air. He didn’t want to go in there. “Uh… you’ll … you’re gonna get sick -!”

“Don’t worry, Igot it covered.” Genma reached into one of the half dozen bags hewas carrying and pulled out a white surgical mask, using one hand tomaneuver it onto his face. You’d only just now noticed his senbon was nowhere to be seen. “See? Now I won’t catch whatever youhave. Heh, do I look like Kakashi now?”

“What?”

“He… you’re not a ninja. Right. You’ve probably seen him around.Kind of weird … got hair out to herethat’s silver, always has a mask on, always reading that orangebook.”

“No, I - I knowwho you’re talking about. I m-mean … What is all that?” Youmotioned to the different bags Genma was carrying and he grinned fromear to ear (not that you could see it).

“Well I figuredsince you weren’t up to going out tonight, we could have a nightin. Is that alright?”

“What? Really?”

“Sure.” He heldup a few bags with a local market’s logo across it. “This is somemedicine - I got three different kinds, since none of them coveredall of your symptoms. I also got you some tissues - it sounded likeyou’d need them.”

You looked away andblushed, trying to stealthily dab at your running nose with acrumpled tissue. “Th-Thanks.”

“Noproblem. I also got us dinner - or lunch, I guess.” He held up two paper bags from arestaurant you’d passed by before. “I wasn’t entirely sure whatyou eat, so I got a few different things.” He then shook a fewother bags strung along his arm, “And then I grabbed us somedrinks. Nothing alcoholic, though. Didn’t think you needed to betipsy and sick. Iwouldn’t make you wake up tomorrow hungover with a cold.”

You stared inabsolute awe at the man, a happy smile spreading across your face. “W… Wow! That’s so n-nice of you! I d-didn’t think … I thoughtyou’d …”

Hecocked an eyebrow and showed you the bags again. “Listen, Iappreciate the thanks but canI come in? I’ve walked all over the village with these.”

“Oh! R-Right.Sorry.” You stepped aside to let him in and he glanced around yourapartment.

“This is cute. Youlive alone?”

“Y-Yes …”

“Good. I don’twant anyone disturbing our date.” He dropped the bags onto thecoffee table and looked back at you. “Actually, I just don’t wantto share my food with anyone but you.”

A dry, croakygiggle jumped out of your throat before you could stop it and youcovered your face in shame. Genma gave a soft laugh himself and wavedyou over to the couch.

“Don’t beembarrassed; you’re sick. Come on. I also bought tea leaves to makeyou something hot to drink, since I’m sure you could use it. Whydon’t you put a movie in and I’ll get started on making the tea?”

Defeated, youcrumpled to the floor in front of the small media cabinet that yourtelevision was sitting on. You only had a few DVDs and you’dwatched them all to death, but if picking a movie meant you’d getyour date after all then you’d bite your tongue and suck it up. Youchose one of the more exciting films - something you’d seen once inthe village’s theater and had liked enough to purchase - and pushedthe disc into the DVD player. By the time you made it back to yourseat on the couch, Genma was arriving with two mugs full of hot tea.He handed you one and your entire body warmed with the heat of thecup. He pushed the edge of your blanket out of the way and sat downnext to you, setting aside his cup and digging through the plasticbags on the table.

“Here’s themedicine,” he said as he deposited one bag into your lap and pulledanother bag closer.

Whenyou looked through it you found three different flavors of cold syrup - orange, grape, and cherry. So that’swhat he was talking about.

“And here’s thetissues.” He then opened the two paper bags and pulled out steamingtake-out cartons. “Just tell me what you want and you can have it.”

Silently, youadmired the man beside you as he shuffled around the cartons and setup a line of bottled drinks. He caught your eye and raised aneyebrow, and you could sense the questioning smile hiding behind thesurgical mask.

“What?”

“Noth-Nothing!”You held your cup tighter and brought it to your face, breathing inthe earthy scent of tea. “I just … really appreciate this.Th-Thank you.”

“No problem. Iwasn’t going to pass on an opportunity to go on a date with you.Even if it’s …” He motioned around the apartment and shrugged.“I didn’t really feel like walking all the way out to that curryplace tonight anyway.”

Feeling a bit bold,you gave him a serious look (which was made fairly intimidating withthe deep bags under your eyes and the raw skin around your nose) andsaid, “Well don’t think - uhm - that you’ll get out of t-takingme there one day … You promised me a-a date there … and I expectt-to go there.”

Genma pulled downthe mask to reveal his broad grin, his eyes locked on yours. “We’llgo when you feel better. Promise.”

You smiled back andpressed the rim of the hot cup to your lips. “You know - you didn’thave to go through all of this for me.”

“I said anything,didn’t I?”

“Huh?”

Genma pulled out apair of disposable chopsticks and broke them apart, handing you oneof the take-out containers. “I said I’d do anything for you,right? I meant it. Mostly. Some things I wouldn’t - … Anythingwithin reason, I guess. This was no bother. This the movie you wantto watch?”

He changed thesubject so quickly your foggy brain had a hard time keeping up. “Yeah… uhm, thank - thank you.”

Genma gave you asideways glance and a small smile pulled at his mouth. “You’dbetter stop talking before you lose your voice. We won’t be able totalk when we go out next week. Then what’ll we do?”

Shrinking into thewarmth of the blanket, you nodded. “Uh - oh, well … What if I’mnot feeling better by next week?”

“Oh, you will,”Genma said as he relaxed into the couch, kicking his legs up onto thecoffee table. “I’m gonna take care of you until you feel better,so you’ll have no excuse for canceling our next date.”

Blushing hotly, younodded and smiled down into your tea. You were starting to think thatmaybe being sick wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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