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sunsetinmyvein · 3 years

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You Pick a Fight - P3

I have long since forgotten what prompts from the prompt list that we used for this, but as requested by @imagine-that-100, the third and final part of You Pick a Fight. Enjoy!

True to his word, Matty absolutely did give me hell for everything I had said and done while in hospital. Word spread pretty fast in our circle of friends about how soft I had remarked his hair was, much to my dismay. But my thumb survived, and that was the main concern. I could tolerate the berating for the sake of still having all of my digits. And to be fair, Matty was very helpful in hospital that day, as much as he didn’t tell anyone else about that half of the story. A part of my anaesthesia haze ramblings stayed with me even past that hectic evening. I suddenly felt like I gave that man too much grief throughout our friendship, maybe a few of my pranks were edging on too mean. Not that I was going to give up entirely on that side of our friendship, but I definitely had a feeling that it was time to pull back from how intense they had been becoming. When every interaction between us wasn’t laced with sarcasm and spent looking over your shoulder for what could be coming next, spending time with Matty was actually… fairly pleasant? I found myself actually wanting to be around him.

“Mattyyyy.” I spoke into my phone as I propped it up between my shoulder and my ear.

“Yes?” His voice crackled back down the line.

“I need to ask you a favour.” I started. At this point, Matty was no stranger to my random phone calls for help. I mean, come on, he was rolling in it and had connections everywhere, I wasn’t just going to let that go to waste.

“Mm?”

“My high school reunion is coming up…” I stared at the invitation stuck to my fridge.

“And?” He prompted.

“And it would feel extremely vindicating to have a nice date to rub in everyone’s faces.” I finally suggested. Making this call wasn’t easy, I didn’t like the connotations that came with asking this. But, I did really like the connotations that came with rocking up with Matthew Healy in tow. And if I had to go, I wanted to have some fun with it.

There was a pause, and I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me at first. “Ooo, I’m not sure.” He eventually said, sounding like he was thinking on it. “But I can see why you’d ask.” He added.

“What?” I frowned in confusion, not that he could see my expression anyway.

“I mean, why wouldn’t you want to be seen with someone as drop dead gorgeous as me?” He said. I gave a snort of laughter in response, but he didn’t continue any further.

I let out a deep sigh, then said the thing I knew would get him to go, “There’s an open bar.”

“I’ll be there.” He replied instantly.

“Great. Thanks.” I nodded.

“My pleasure.” I could just see his shit eating grin through the phone. Hopefully this idea didn’t backfire on me.

* * *

After a few weeks, the fateful evening rolled around. As promised, Matty drove round to my place, dressed very smartly in a nice button down. Which, after the crocs getup I’d seen him in literally the day prior, this was a vast improvement. But I couldn’t help but notice the bags under his eyes, and the way his eyelids drooped.

“Are… are you feeling okay?” I asked apprehensively as I let him in.

“Huh?” He seemed pretty out of it.

“How long has it been since you’ve sleep?” I asked with a short laugh.

“A week?” He answered, seeming entirely serious about his answer.

“Jesus, Matty. Why? What’s keeping you up?” I asked in concern, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Erm… Album stuff, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Are you sure you’re good to go to this thing?” He looked in no state to be on a night out. But as soon as I questioned his ability to attend, he perked up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nodded quickly, running a hand through his messy curls. As much as he’d dressed up, it seemed that there was no controlling that hair of his. “C’mon, let’s go.” He said as he gestured back to the door.

We ordered an Uber, neither of us wanting to commit to being the designated driver and passing up on the free booze. Once we had clambered inside, I laid down a few ground rules about what to tell people if they asked. All the stuff about how we met, why we got together, the things that we had to make sure to agree on to get our story straight and seem believable.

“All right, so I’d appreciate if you tried to be a bit more tactful than usual.” I ended my spiel, giving him a serious look.

“Be as embarrassing as possible, got it.” He said with a firm nod.

“Can you please just listen to me for once?” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“Or-” He said, pointing a finger at me for emphasis, “I could not listen to you, and we could pull many fantastic pranks at this stuffy party.” He suggested.

I thought on this for a moment. “What did you have in mind?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.

“We can raise hell together - spike the punch, spread rumours, heckle the speeches, that sort of thing.” He elaborated with a devious smile.

The offer was tempting, but then I remembered that I was meant to be making a good impression. “No, no. I just… would rather be quietly impressive instead of causing a scene like we usually do.” I said, tearing my gaze away from him and looking back out the window.

“Whatever you say.”

When we rocked up at my old high school, it probably shouldn’t have surprised me that everything looked exactly the same as what it did when I was a student. The buildings were a slight bit more run down, the signs were starting to wear away, it was nostalgic in a very uncomfortable way. We followed the small arrows staked in the ground, making our way through the school to where the reunion was being held. As we approached the doors, Matty stopped me, looping his arm with mine with a smile before walking in. The gesture instantly reminded me of why I had been worried about asking him to come as my faux date. Other than him getting the wrong idea, I didn’t want to dredge up any repressed feelings since that day in the hospital a few months ago. This thought was quickly squashed once we stepped into the room and had the tacky decorations shoved right into our faces. I had no idea what theme they were trying to achieve, but if it was ‘awkward high school disco’ they had successfully done it. However, I was pretty chuffed with the stares that we were getting as we walked through the room. By the look of the whispers that I saw being passed around, clearly Matty was recognised. Most of the people I had spotted I didn’t overly want to talk to, so I was glad to have brought a plus one that I could hang out with to avoid stifled pleasantries with people I’d not seen in over a decade.

“Why is there a deer in the room?” Matty whispered in my ear as he gestured to the large buck that was sectioned off in the corner.

“School mascot.” I answered.

“What?” He asked with a frown.

“The football team, they’re called the bucks or something.” I explained, pointing out a banner on the wall with the cartoon version of the animal.

“So… they have a deer? A real live deer?” He continued with an incredulous laugh.

“Yep.” I nodded.

“Let’s go tie shit on its antlers.” He said eagerly, attempting to drag me towards the animal.

“No.” I quickly hissed, pulling him back towards the bar. “Let’s go get a drink.” I offered instead.

With a drink in hand, Matty was much easier to keep under control. We drifted around to a few conversations, dropping stories of accomplishments and various other brag worthy things. After about half an hour, though, he started to get restless.

“Hey, where’s the woodshop?” He asked quietly as his eyes darted around the room.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked back, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

“No reason.” He said with a shrug. “What about the art room?” He questioned with a smile playing on his lips.

“What are you scheming?” I accused.

“Nothing!” He threw his hands up in defence. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then get another drink. You want one?” He asked.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to work out what idea was turning over in that head of his. “Sure.” I conceded, watching as he strolled off.

I was apprehensive about letting him wander off alone, what with his track record. But I had no reason to stop him. Once left to my own devices, I had to begrudgingly start conversations with my old classmates alone. I didn’t realise how much I missed having Matty to bounce off of in conversation until he wasn’t there. The time ticked by, and he still hadn’t returned. When I finally felt the need to go looking for Matty in case he got lost, I spotted him on the other side of the room sparking up conversation with a group of people. He looked very animated in whatever story he was telling, and then I saw him gesture to his thumb. Oh, no.

“Whatever he’s saying, he’s lying!” I called out, interrupting the person who had been speaking to me. Matty, clearly hearing my voice, looked up and waved with a smirk.

“Why did you even come with him if you were worried about his behaviour?” The guy I was speaking to huffed.

“I’m starting to forget.” I muttered, making my way through the crowd to work out what on earth he was saying. When I made my way to the small crowd that had formed around him, he was indeed telling the story about how I’d nearly cut off my thumb. However, he was telling it in a way I hadn’t heard before. He was embellishing the details about how helpful he was, about how happy I’d been to see him when I woke up, instead of his usual speech about how embarrassing it was for me. It felt pretty heart-warming to actually hear him acknowledge the other side of that night.

“That’s so sweet of you!” One of the girls from my English class cooed.

“She’s worth it.” Matty replied as he planted a kiss on my cheek. I instantly felt myself burning up, before plastering a smile on my face to try and keep up the charade I had concocted.

When I finally pried him away from his crowd, we went to go get another drink. What was the point of an open bar if you didn’t take advantage of it?

“You really think I’d throw you under the bus in front of your own classmates?” He asked as he nudged me in the ribs playfully.

“I just never know with you sometimes.” I chuckled as I grabbed a bottle of cider. “Are you feeling better, then?” I added, noting his much more jovial appearance than when I first saw him today.

“Hm?” He questioned as he took a swig from his drink.

“You looked pretty sleep deprived when you rocked up at mine earlier today.” I clarified.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Much better.” He nodded, glancing down at his dress shoes.

“What’s been keeping you up?” I asked in curiosity, starting to walk back over to the centre of the room.

“Well, if I’m honest-”

“All right everyone, take your seats.” A voice interrupted over the loud speakers.

Right, the speeches. People who had been notable in high school had been asked if they wanted to stand up and tell people all about where they were at now. Thank fuck I hadn’t been picked for that. We began shuffling over to the lined-up seats at the front of the room near the stage, Matty and I happily taking a spot near the back. As the speakers went to sit down in their chairs on the stage, all of the legs collapsed beneath them, sending the six people up there sprawling onto the wooden floor. A few quiet laughs came from the crowd. But I recognised that handiwork.

“Did you do that?” I asked, turning to Matty.

“I have no idea why you’d suspect me.” He answered, clearly trying (and failing) not to smile.

“Is that why you were asking about the woodshop?” I realised, my voice growing in volume slightly as it clicked in my head. Someone shushed me from the row behind us.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak dumbass.” He shrugged.

“Real mature.” I mumbled, turning back to the stage to see them bringing new chairs over. He just wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side.

After that, the speeches continued without a hitch. I had to admit, at least Matty’s antics had brought some fun to the dull event. Because besides the chairs collapsing, the hour-long spectacle nearly put me to sleep. Once they’d finished up, they began playing the music a bit louder than what they had been and packed the chairs in front of the stage away, encouraging people to use it as a dancefloor.

“Do you have any idea on how frustrating you can really be?” I frowned as we made our way over to the corner of the room to speak without people overhearing us. “You could’ve hurt someone.”

“Come ooooon.” He said, rolling his eyes. “You know you want to make this place a bit livelier. You’re never gonna see these people again, right?” He continued, leaning against a rail.

“Right.” I agreed.

“So, let’s have some fun.” He grinned. “You know we make a good team.”

I thought about it for a moment, and he had a point. This event was pretty boring, and we were a good team. Matty had been going out of his way tonight to do what I had asked of him, the least I could do was let him get some enjoyment too. “Fine.” I agreed. Watching as the large buck began chewing on Matty’s arm. “You might wanna keep an eye on your jacket, though.” I said as I gestured to the animal.

“Huh? Oh, wha- Hey!” He shouted as he yanked his sleeve out of the deer’s mouth.

Once he had been given permission, Matty kicked into full prank mode. Shoelaces were tired together under tables, lettering on signs were rearranged, jackets and hats mysteriously changed tables. Most of what he wanted to do was harmless fun, and it was entertaining to watch him dart around the room and work his magic. Tonight was actually turning out to be pretty fun. I had thought that maybe Matty might feel awkward about it, or maybe I’d feel awkward about it, but things were going really well. It was nice to get the chance to have an evening with just him. Normally it was a group of us and I always felt mildly attention seeking for taking up his time. To have his undivided attention for the whole night left me with a warm feeling. Matty eventually wore himself out, and guests were beginning to get suspicious of the guy who seemed to constantly be in the background of every minor inconvenience. When he seemed satiated prank wise, he managed to con me into getting onto the dancefloor with him. Normally I’d be pretty intimidated about dancing in front of such a judging crowd, but between the good company and the many drinks I’d had, I didn’t really care.

Suddenly, a bunch of glitter starting spewing out through the vents onto the dance floor. The music stopped, drawing everyone’s attention up to the sparkly downfall. To be honest, this looked far better than any theming the school had done themselves. But I knew this was not something that they had planned.

“I admit, this is pretty impressive.” I said quietly to Matty, who just had a very proud smile.

“See? I told you that we should raise hell.” He laughed loudly.

“I guess it was pretty fun.” I confessed.

“You should really listen to me more.” He said softly, taking my hand in his. I watched the glitter fall for a moment, before looking back down to see him still staring at me. I frowned at him, waiting for him to say something. “You have the cutest smile I’ve ever seen right now.”

“You’re looking pretty starry-eyed yourself there, mister.” I shot back, figuring that he was joking.

“Well, it’s hard not to be when you’ve got the best date in the room.” He added, tugging on my hand, pulling me closer to him.

“Wasn’t that meant to be my plan?” I said with a chuckle.

“After speaking to your classmates, I’m pretty sure you got it backwards.” He answered as I placed a hand on his shoulder.

A moment or two passed before Matty took in a deep breath. “I was up all week because I was worried about ruining this for you.” He blurted out. “I didn’t want to be a disappointment.”

“You’d never disappoint me.” I dismissed.

“Things are always more daunting when you’re doing them with someone that you’re into, you know.” He explained.

“I… you… what?” In my surprise, I couldn’t get my words out right. Had he not been kidding for the last five minutes with everything that he was saying? A lot of moments over the last six months suddenly made a lot more sense.

“You’re not getting me to say it twice.” He said with a small smile.

“How long?” Was all I could manage to ask.

“For ages.” He said simply. “Why do you think I stayed with you in the hospital? Why do you think I spend so much time with you? Why do you think I bother you so much? You think that it’s me who’s teasing you to the guys, but it’s them teasing me about you.” He answered.

Everything that I had felt in the hospital was now in the forefront of my mind. Maybe I hadn’t been so crazy to want to flirt with Matty then. Certainly, in this moment, his confession had my heart rate picking up and my mind reeling. “Then what was with all the pranks?” I said, shoving his shoulder slightly.

“Kept your attention, didn’t it?” He chuckled.

“I suppose so.” I agreed. “I think I’m into you too.” I said quietly.

“I know.” He nodded.

“What?”

“You told me so when you first woke up in hospital. You slept for a few hours after that, though.” He elaborated. “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head, but for what I did remember, if I had said that, it made sense. “So… is this a real date then?” I asked out of curiosity.

“It can be.” He shrugged.

“I’d like that.” I smiled, leaning up slightly to catch him off guard and kiss him briefly. “But first, we’d better get out of here before they realise what you did.”

Part One

Part Two

#Matthew Healy x Reader #Matty Healy x Reader #sunsetinmyvein #Sunsetinmyvein prompts #Sunsetinmyvein requests

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

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"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this

Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann

and coincidentally, this older one

Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves

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Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate.

So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.

On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.

The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections.

They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”

"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.

Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!

The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.

“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.

It drove Newt fucking batty.

It also made him, like, super turned on.

The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.

So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.

The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.

On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.

He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.

Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.

The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.

Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.

“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.

“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”

The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”

Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.

Why did Newt invite him here, again?

Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”

This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--

“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”

“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”

Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”

“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”

He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.

“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”

“It’s the radius squared--”

“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”

And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard.

They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.

Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...

It’s not likely.

It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”

A familiar clearing of a throat.

Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”

Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”

“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”

“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”

He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”

Neither of them talk much, after that.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #thxstral

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finnyboywolfhard · 4 years

Text

Song That The Music Brings (Chapter One)

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Reader

Summary: Nearly 3 months after the divide in Y/N’s friendship, she is faced with new hardships with her little brother and her surroundings in life.

warnings: cursing, angst, follows the plot of S1, little plot tinkering

catch up here

word count: 1.9k

Y/N Henderson’s junior year had already been a doozy. Trying to balance her schoolwork and her job at the station had found to be a little bit more troubling than she had first thought. But now that the circumstances of the summer had past, she now had a lot more time to spend with her Mom and Brother. Dustin was really special to her now that he was at an age where they were developing similarities, and in just a short time he was now her best friend. She had been working on a paper for her English class when he finally got back from his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign with his friends.

“Hey Dusty! How was it?”

“It was fun, Mike did a good job with this one, but the Demogorgon got Will at the end.” Although she had no idea what any of those words had meant, she just went along with it.

“How are the Wheelers doing?”

“The same as usual, except Nancy.”

“What happened to Nancy?”

“She’s been a real bitch since she started dating that douche bag Steve Harrington.” At the mention of his name, Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach. Although she hears about him all day at school, she never expected his name to fall from Dustin’s mouth in that context. The story of what when down was never brought up to him after Claudia told Y/N it might be too much to tell him about.

“Steve isn’t a douche bag Dusty. He’s just a stupid teenage boy who is trying too hard to impress people.”

“Why don’t you act like Steve or Nancy then? Do you not want to impress people?” He asked that sarcastically, knowing it would push her buttons.

“Dusty. I am just far more mature than the dumbasses in my grade. Now go get ready for bed, we have school tomorrow, remember?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m going. Goodnight mini mom.”

“Goodnight Dusty.” She smiled watching her brother go off to bed. He could annoy her to no end, but she had no idea what she would do without his sarcasm, his compassion or his brotherly love in her life. The time became overly apparent to her, realizing that maybe she should listen to what she had just told Dustin.

The next morning, just as she was serving Dustin his breakfast, the phone started ringing, causing her to jump a little. Immediately, she assumed it was her mom calling from work to make sure Dustin was up since he had a campaign last night. However her assumption soon fell when she heard Joyce Byer’s voice from the other end of the phone.

“Hi Y/N, I was just wondering if Will had stayed at your house with Dustin last night?”

“No, sorry Joyce he didn’t. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Will just went to school early or something. Thank you Y/N.”

“No problem Joyce, have a good one.” The phone was placed back on the receiver. Y/N’s gut started to twist thinking about how nervous Joyce had sounded, and the severity of Will not going home last night.

“Hey Dusty?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you and Will bike home together last night?”

“Yeah, we always do. Why?”

“That was Joyce, she asked if he stayed here last night. I don’t think he went home.”

The boy brushed it off the same way Joyce tried to, by saying he probably just left early for school. Something still didn’t sit quite right to her, but she let it go. Dustin told her he was going to bike to school today, so she didn’t have to worry about taking him. The girl got ready on her own time and found her way into school a little late. She had two free periods at the beginning of the day where she usually went to the station, but crime in Hawkins was the same as usual: slow. So, she found herself going in for her classes whenever she wanted. When she got to school, she immediately went to the bathroom to check her appearance, knowing she had a presentation in her first class.

“Oh, sorry Y/N.” said Nancy Wheeler as she was walking out of the bathroom.

She looked a little flustered, but Y/N thought nothing of it at first. That swiftly changed when she saw him. There he was in all his glory, tall hair and all. She stalled for a second, not really knowing what to do. She hadn’t talked to him in almost 3 months. The tension in the room was so thick; it felt like she was walking through molasses to get to the mirror.

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hi Steve.” The first words she had spoken to the boy who had previously known everything about her.

“How have you been recently?”

“I’ve been alright, been spending a lot of time with my brother or at the station. Same thing every day.” She smiled towards him.

“So you’ve been spending a lot of time with your crush then huh?” He joked towards her, it was a little relieving that he wasn’t being weird.

“Ha-Ha very funny Steve. And trust me; he’s now more like my dad than anything else. That man would kill anyone who hurts me. What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Nothing really, letting life take its course. I’ve been seeing Nancy Wheeler. I think it might work out.”

At this point, the girl felt her breath fall short, and she knew she needed to get out of this bathroom soon. So she did what she always did, found an excuse to leave.

“That’s really good to hear Steve, but I really got to head out, I have a presentation next period. Nice talking to you.” She left before she could hear what he had to say.

After school, she went to the station, just to check in before going home and the entire station was bustled up over the news of Will Byers going missing. She was called onto the search committee for him by Hopper.

She liked spending time helping her community, and she knew Hopper did too, but that didn’t mean he liked opening up to the people in the community. Mr. Clarke was a sweet man, who Y/N had met multiple times because of Dustin being in AV club with him. Which is why she felt comfortable in informing him that Hopper had lied to him about Sara.

“She died a few years back. “ Mr. Clarke jumped a bit by the sudden presence beside him.

“Who did?”

“Hopper’s kid. He doesn’t like talking about it.” She gave him a faint smile and ran ahead to catch up with Hopper.

“Hey Chief.”

“Hey kid, how are you doing with all this?”

“I’m doing alright. Will was kinda quiet, so I don’t know him that well. But I know that he was really close with my brother. They always ride home together. Dustin is holding in there. But I gotta be honest Hop, I’m really worried about Joyce.”

“You have nothing to worry about Y/N. Joyce is an incredibly strong woman, I know that she’ll make it through this no matter what. Save your worries for your brother and yourself, alright?”

“Alright.” She gave him a side hug, relishing in the moment of being wrapped in his stronger arms. It was moments spent with Hopper that she remembered what it was like to have a fatherly figure in your life. As the night progressed, Hopper had sent her home to make sure Dustin was alright.

When she got home, the only company she had was Mews. Her mom had picked up another shift at work for the night. She sat at the kitchen table, doing her homework and eating soup that she had warmed up. Worries were filling her head wondering where Dustin could be.

“Y/N! Dusty! I’m home!”

“Hi mom! In the kitchen!” Claudia walked in and gave her daughter a huge smile before leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Y/N honey, where’s Dustin?”

“Oh, he had a rough day after the news broke, so he’s over at Mike’s.” She felt horrible lying to her mother, she always did.

“Oh, alright. I was hoping I’d get to see him before I headed to bed, but I guess not. Tell him I love him, alright?” Y/N shook her head yes. “Goodnight my dearest, I love you. Trees, Leaves and Needles.” Ever since Y/N was a little girl, Claudia always said those 10 words before she would go to bed. ‘Trees, Leaves and Needles’ was her way of saying she loved her more than the amount of trees, the amount of leaves and the amount of tree needles in the world.

“Goodnight Mom, I love you. Trees, Leaves and Needles.”

The equations on the paper looked like a foreign language to her. The paper wasn’t going to do itself, but then again the stress of where Dustin actually was had begun to weigh inside her gut. The sound of the door opening snapped her attention from the homework idly sitting on the table.

“Dustin! Where the hell have you been?”

“Y/N, please calm down.” His voice was hushed and relaxed.

“No! I’m not gonna calm down! You’re best friend just went missing while being out at night! I was literally on a search party for him tonight! Hopper told me he told you guys to stay out of things. You’re lucky I was able to lie to mom and tell her you had a bad day, but you’re not getting off that easy from me. Where were you?”

“You’re gonna get mad.”

“I’m already mad.” Dustin sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“We went out tonight to look for Will-“

“Dustin!”

“-But, we didn’t find him. We did find something else though.” At this point, she thinks that her stomach will now permanently be in the shape of a knot, this whole situation isn’t going to get any easier.

“What did you find?”

“You have to promise not to tell.” She glared at him, and he took the message.

“We found a girl out in the woods…”

“A girl?! What do you mean a girl? Did you take her to the cops? Someone is probably looking for her.”

“There was a girl standing in the woods. We didn’t take her yet, because we don’t want to get in trouble for being out. We’re gonna get help from Mrs. Wheeler tomorrow, she’s staying in their basement tonight. Y/N, you can’t tell anyone, please.”

The party had found a random girl in the woods and decided to keep her in Mike’s basement. This didn’t make Y/N’s life any easier.

“Fine, but I am going with you the next time you go out searching or go to Mike’s about anything that has to do with Will, alright?”

“Alright mini mom, I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight, love you.”

“Night Dusty, I love you too. “

The phone rang just as Y/N cleaned up her work from the table and organized herself for the time being.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/N, I was wondering if you would mind helping me hang up posters for Will tomorrow?” Jonathan Byers voice carried over through the phone. The two weren’t super close, but they had certainly gotten closer over the past few months. With the boys hanging out all the time, and the two being able to drive led to a lot of communication. He was a sweet guy, and it hurt her to see him constantly sitting on the sidelines. He might be the strongest person she knows.

“Absolutely, do you want to meet somewhere in the morning?”

“I was thinking for starting at Melvalds.”

“Okie dokie, I’ll meet you there at like 7:30?”

“Sounds good. Thanks Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Night Jonathan.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things x y/n #stranger things

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moonscarsandstars · 4 years

Text

michelangelo

Part 1

Part 2

did i almost forget this was a thing? that’s a secret i’ll never tell you.

~~~

The splintered wood of the door frame scratched against the back of Remus’s neck as he leant against it.

He couldn’t help the bubbling excitement in his stomach, biting his lip to distract him from the nervousness and excitement rioting inside.

This was like a high school crush all over again.

The soft buzz of chatter from inside the cafe, and the deep, almost sickening scent of coffee beans- though that might’ve been because Remus was so erratically nervous for some reason- distracted him from the racket of cars and trucks rushing past him.

“Michelangelo?”

The voice nearly made him jump.

Remus turned around, and felt a grin tug at the side of his mouth as he took the man’s hand.

“Guilty as charged.”

His heart sped up as the man’s appearance seemed to sink in.

The first thing Remus noticed were his eyes, how could anyone not notice them? They were sharp, and intense. Normally, Remus would shudder under his gaze, but there was something about the way the man looked at him that made butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“Sirius. I- I’m Sirius,” the man blurted out

“You’re serious about what?”

“That’s my name,” he drawled dryly.

“Oh- shit, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay everyone makes that mistake anyway, my parents’ fault for naming me.”

“If it helps, my parents must’ve been possessed by a mythology book while naming me. Remus Lupin.”

“You have a brother called Romulus?”

“Only child. What about you, have a sister called- what was it- Adura?”

“It’s Aludra,” chuckled the man- Sirius. “I have a brother called Regulus.”

“Honestly, I like that idea. Naming children after stars. Much better than whatever my parents were thinking when they named me, at least.”

“Can’t say the same, can I? Makes introductions a nightmare.”

Remus let out a small chuckle. “Want to go inside then?”

“Unless you’re planning to stay out here forever.”

It was as they’d stepped inside that Remus noticed Sirius’s entire appearance. Messy hair fell down to his shoulders, with a small, messy bun behind his mane, and small, silver rings hung from his ears.

Sharp cheekbones defined a large portion of his cheeks, and gave him a sort of aristocratic look, though the rest of his messy, devil-may-care style definitely said otherwise.

Sirius sat at a small booth- Remus blushed as he realised- one typically for couples.

Picking up the small menu, which was pinned onto a clipboard, Remus stole a look at Sirius. He was biting a lip, and pulling a wavy strand of hair that fell over his face.

His eyes met Remus, who blushed, but returned a polite smile.

“Why’d you choose this place if you aren’t a coffee person?”

Remus turned his face up at the word, and saw a quizzical look occupying Sirius’s face.

“Lily did- my friend. She hijacked my phone. Apparently my password’s that easy to guess.”

“Was the password Michelangelo? Tell me it was Michelangelo,” said Sirius eagerly, sitting up in his seat and leaning against the table.

“Masaccio. It even had a capital ‘M’!”

“Sorry Moony, she probably knows how to use the caps lock button. Truly a travesty.”

“Moony?”

Sirius’s eyes flicked down to a small tattoo on Remus’s collarbone. A small lunar phase one, that just peaked from Remus’s sagging jumper.

“That’s going to stick, isn’t it?” Remus trailed his finger over the ink, trying to keep himself from drowning in the memories tied to it.

Sirius smirked. “Of course it will, Moons.”

“Up for anything?” A waitress with messy blonde hair and a large grin had almost scared Remus out of his skin.

Sirius, however, was much more composed, looking Remus straight in the eye while ordering two coffees.

“I’ll have a black tea,” said Remus, earning him a mock disgusted look from Sirius.

“I apologise for having such a distasteful companion-”

“Tea is better!”

“-I assure you, he’ll come to his senses at one point.”

The waitress stifled a laugh, her eyes flicking between the two, before scribbling down in her notepad. “Anything else?”

Remus looked expectantly at Sirius, who shook his head. “No thanks, we’re good.”

“How do you not like coffee?” Sirius looked incredulous, amusing Remus.

“Why?” Remus stretched the word out.

“I offered to take you out, so I deserve to know.”

“Tell me our potential relationship won’t form on the basis on the fact that I prefer tea,” groaned Remus, but through his hands that were plastered on his face, he was smiling.

“Relationship?” Sirius blushed slightly.

“That- I didn’t mean- are- you’re”

“No, no I’m really not. Straight, that is.”

“I never was too religious, but thank god above.”

“Oh Moony, you flatter me.”

“Trust me, that’s not the only thing I wish to do to you,” mumbled Remus, blushing as the words escaped his mouth.

“Oi! Think about the children, Moony!”

“The children? Where’d we get children from?”

“Their poor innocent ears!”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Probably smoking, making love, disappointing us in somehow or the other.”

“Do you have no faith in our children?”

“Not really if I’m honest.”

“You wound me, Moony. I would never have offered to take you out to such a beautiful place if I knew-”

“Trust me when I say there’re other places I’d much rather visit.”

Sirius blushed slightly, making Remus’s heart raise a little. The waitress appeared, carrying a tray. She kept down Remus’s tea, and giving him an apologetic look, she placed down the two coffees next to an eager Sirius.

“It’d probably be beneficial to remind you of our no violence policy,” she said, tone dripping with sarcasm, and a grin on her face.

Another waitress whispered “Marlene!” aggressively, puling the blonde waitress back and shooting an apologetic look at the two.

“Bet you another coffee they’re dating.”

“I really don’t understand your obsession, honestly.”

“You will once you drink this cup,” said Sirius, taking off his leather jacket, and revealing his faded Queen shirt, which Remus’s eyes travelled to.

“Really keep up with the punk rock vibe, don’t you? Studded ears, band shirt, leather jacket, what next, a Harley Davidson?”

Sirius blushed and gave a small, sheepish grin.

“No. Absolutely not.” Remus’s jaw dropped.

Sirius merely shrugged. “I was sixteen, and I’d found out that my uncle left his fortune to me. So of course, the second I turned eighteen...”

“You had an entire fortune left to you, and you bought a bike?”

“What would you have done?”

“Invested it, and books.”

“That’s it? Not some fancy holiday or something?”

“No, I absolutely love literature. I’m taking English and History, and honestly both those subjects mean everything to me.”

“What career ’re you planning to take, then?”

“I... don’t know. Lily said I’d be a great teacher, or tutor, but I’m an absolute mess around people, let alone trying to teach an entire class.”

“You’d make a great teacher. Kids’d love you,” said Sirius, his eyes filled with an indescribably emotion. Somewhere near awe, noted Remus, his heart fluttering again.

“You’ve known me for twenty minutes, Sirius. Don’t get me wrong, an absolutely beautiful twenty minutes, but less than an hour nonetheless.”

“Trust me, I’d take all the time in the world to get to know you.”

Remus caught on his words, and decided now would be an apt time to take a long sip of the tea in his hands. It was scalding hot.

“I wanted to become an artist, as a side job. So I took art ‘nd art history. And James said I’d be good at some sort of job in business or media, so i took communications too.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Not really- I mean, yeah- sort of. I- experiment a bit, and I really like charcoal, and- well-”

“I’m sure you’re brilliant at it,” said Remus earnestly, making Sirius meet his eyes.

“Thanks.”

The small smile, and the way Sirius’s eyes lit up warmed Remus’s heart. He knew he could spend hours in blissful silence with Sirius, and still stay interested.

“D’you- perhaps- want to see it? Sorry- that- that was a bit forward, but I mean, you’re obviously into- into art, so-”

“I’d love to!”

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benscursedkid · 4 years

Text

Rebekah’s Extended Family: Maternal Side

Paternal Side / Immediate

Aunt: Adelaide Leá Cordeau (née Leon)

Born: October 31st, 1947

Sign: Scorpio

House: Slytherin

Wand: Laurel Wood, Dragon Heartstring and Demiguise Hair Core, 12 ¾ Inches, Soft Flexibility

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

Occupation: Alchemy Professor at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Oldest of the two, Adelaide was very fond and very protective of her sister

Feared her parents, particularly her father, and therefore was more impressionable, more likely to follow orders and obey them mindlessly

Even if it was just to satiate them and keep herself out of trouble

Scared of what would happen if she disagreed with him so she let herself be manipulated

Better to safe than sorry is her motto

She used to try to appeal to her mother when she was younger but soon realized it was useless

Their mother was a numb, empty woman and advised Delphine to leave her be when she started trying to do the same

Though during summer breaks she did try as often as she could to keep her and Delphine out of the house

But at the end of the day, they always had to come back

That stuck with her

Quieter than her sister, more studious, though they shared equal ambition

Immensely skilled in Potions and Alchemy and was a star pupil in the Slug Club as a student

The only one in her family who was skilled in singing– something she loved to tease Delphine about

Her humor was a bit dry and biting, but witty and very sarcastic

You’d really never realize exactly how respectful or polite she was if you didn’t take the chance to look

She was just as kind and caring as her sister, but not as bold or as daring, and a bit tougher around the edges

Where her sister was outgoing at school and trying— whether it worked or not is another matter —to make friends, she was much more introverted and uncomfortable in the presence of people she didn’t know or couldn’t understand

Good at reading people and used that to her advantage

Tried to take as much of the trouble as she could off of Delphine when their parents got angry, but it only deepened her fear of them

Learned to confuse fear with respect because of this

These actions went unbeknownst to her sister and she liked it that way

It’s better for her not to know, she doesn’t like pity

When she graduated she was similarly married off to a French pure-blood wizard, Jacques Cordeau, who worked as an Obliviator for the French Ministry (she moved to France to accommodate his job and was hired by Beauxbatons)

Covered for her sister when she begged to have her own life for a year and was manipulated by her parents into regretting it when she ended up marrying a muggle

Ignored her entirely for a solid year until she found out Delphine was pregnant and then cut ties with her own family to try and patch things up with her little sister (successfully)

Eventually fell genuinely in love with her husband and had two children

Her niece and nephew are very important to her

Uncle (by marriage): Jacques Emile Cordeau

Born: September 16th, 1945

Sign: Virgo

School: Graduated from Beauxbatons

Wand: Vine Wood, Phoenix Feather Core, 13”, Springy Flexibility

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

Occupation: Obliviator

Grew up with a hefty family fortune

Also an only child, and it often times rendered him rather lonely

Both his parents were business people and they always seemed to not have enough time for him

Not necessarily bad parents, just absent, rather hands-off

A lot of the time when he would ask to spend time with them, they threw money at him and told him to do whatever he wants with it…

“cause that’s what you want, right?”

Suffice to say, it became a learned behavior and he grew up doing much the same thing

Turned into a bit of a loner

And very stand-offish

Came to resent his parents’ money, but because he was practically raised off of it alone he doesn’t know what he would do without it

Very used and accustomed to the classy, rich lifestyle

Doesn’t mean to be rude, but he likes compartmentalizing and prioritizing his time so he hates distractions

Graduated top of his class and gained a very respectable job at the Ministry, people were always sucking up to him

He didn’t like it much and he knew they didn’t really like or respect him just his money or his title

So to get them off his back, he did what his parents would do to him

Tried to do that to Adelaide when they got married, as arranged by their parents

She wouldn’t have it though, instead she took to ignoring him

It took a few years of a loveless marriage for them to open up to each other but they eventually got there

She saw past his face value and commended him for wanting to pursue a profession that helps people

Even if obliviator doesn’t seem like much of a “helping hand” job, Jacques takes pride in it and loves meeting new people

Especially when they don’t know who he is

Was able to see all the regrets Adelaide held in regards to her sister and the fear of her parents she kept buried inside

Had two children, after beginning their relationship a bit backwards, who he adores and absolutely coddles

Enjoys spending time with Adelaide’s family

The ‘Fun Uncle’ to which they always tease “You’re our only uncle!”

Devastated to hear about Jacob

Really thought that kid would go places

Cousin: Priscilla Eloise Cordeau

Born: May 9th, 1970

Sign: Taurus

School: Attended Beauxbatons

Wand: Yew Wood, Unicorn Hair Core, 12 ¾ Inches, Reasonably Swishy Flexibility

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

Her name is Priscilla but will cut you if you call her that

Just kidding

No I’m not

Prefers Pris

Her and her brother, at their roots, are very similar

They both love arguing and debating for fun

Thrive off proving people wrong

Have 194739201 different skills that just kinda happened

Will not hesitate to tell it like it is

The difference? Unlike Dominic she has some sense of dignity

A very classy girl

She’s respectful and polite, knows her manners, and when to hold her tongue

But cross her at your own peril

Everything she does is intentional

Every glance, smile, pat on the back, eyebrow arch is calculated

And she is good at math

But girl has a temper if you’ve ever seen one

Where her brother is more laid-back and, for all his own snark, easy-going, she’s impatient remembers things

You could say petty but she picks her battles

She won’t hold a grudge over little things or even big things so long as you aren’t a problem to her and your mistake won’t change or ruin anything in her routine or her ambitions

But she loathes incompetent and ignorant people

If you are either one of those… just stay clear

Tries to be the nice guy but she truly has little tolerance for such nuisances

Really isn’t that bad once you get to know her

But a lot of people don’t try

Most of them either think she’s really smart and hilarious with her sarcasm

Or extremely bitchy and insensitive

But she does have her redeeming qualities of course

For example, though it’s hard earned, she’s loyal to a fault and will never send any of her friends or family away if they need her

Doesn’t like most strangers or people she doesn’t know but also strangely likes giving back

Does some volunteer work just because “this world already sucks but maybe if I help it’ll be more tolerable”

That’s Pris for “I want to help”

Has a sweet tooth and a soft spot for animals of all kinds

Good with kids

Very be either really crude or extremely graceful... it’s really a coin toss as to which one in the moment

Actually loves history and can’t ever be found without a book on hand

Plays the flute and violin

Good at art and her brother hates it

Cousin: Dominic Jules Cordeau

Born: February 28th, 1974

Sign: Pisces

School: Attended Beauxbatons

Wand: Walnut Wood, Unicorn Hair Core, 11 ½ Inches, Brittle Flexibility

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

A smugly sarcastic little shit and he knows it

Can and will call you out, don’t try him

Sets insanely high expectations for himself so don’t be surprised if he exceeds yours

It’s in his nature to thrive, to be the best

I’m not really one for saying “if xyz was in Hogwarts they would be in abc house”

But this boy has Slytherin written all over him good god

Super ambitious and if he’s thinks you’re competition will cut you down

“It’s nothing personal, you’re just in my way”

Really, though, it’s not personal

At all

It actually takes a lot for him to hold a grudge and dislike a person

So it’s likely he just feels threatened if he gets aggressive with you

For all his tough talk this boy is sensitive

Hates insults and back-handed compliments unless you’re oh so clearly just teasing him and he’s 10008337% sure you’re joking

Has this kicked puppy expression but Pris (and his cousins whenever they’re around) are the only ones he’ll show it to without concern

Really athletic too and can absolutely annihilate you in Quidditch

But he just doesn’t most of the time because his grades are what really matter to him

Is either absolutely shameless or…

no that’s it

He’s just shameless

He can sing, he can dance, likely plays like seven instruments (like the cello and guitar) and speaks two languages aside from French and English, good at sports, math and literature (!?), and flirts like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it

He doesn’t

But Merlin’s beard whatever you do, please do not give this child a pencil

Or literally anything else that leaves a mark

Absolutely terrible at art and drawing of any kind

And he knows this

And does it anyway

You’d think it wouldn’t be much of a problem when he messes around and draws dicks all over everything because really you can’t ever tell what it is

But that’s exactly why he feels the need to explain it

Chaotic Neutral and proud

Also a hardcore feminist, he drinks his respect women juice

Close with his sister and if you think they’re arguing you’re wrong

Bickering is just how they express their love

She’s a lot like him but classier™️

And she loves to remind him

Grandmother: Chanel Vivian Leon (née Sinclair)

Born: October 11th, 1921

Sign: Libra

School: Attended Beauxbatons

Wand: Pine Wood, Unicorn Hair Core, 10”, Slightly Yielding Flexibility

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

Occupation: Retired Ministry Employee

Youngest of four children, has three older brothers

Used to be close with her second brother, but then he began to socialize with muggle-borns and her parents told her he was a disgrace

Didn’t want to believe them at first

Hasn’t spoken to him since he graduated

Used to love nature and even to this day always keeps a white carnation in her room

Lost the taste for it a long time ago but can’t seem to let that habit go

Can’t really tell if she’s evil or just empty

Not much of an evil-doer herself but is definitely not one to put a stop to it

She just wants to be left alone

Altogether a mediocre human being at best

But her parents were able to get her a husband because she’s Pretty

Shouldn’t have been a wife

Definitely shouldn’t have been a mother

She kinda just sits

And wonders were the time went

How she lost her youth

Why she can’t feel anymore

When the world turned into just a million shades of grey

She’s just a little tired

Grandfather: Cado Josicaiah Leon

Born: August 1st, 1918

Sign: Leo

House: Slytherin

Wand: Red Oak Wood, Doxy Wing Core, 12 ½ Inches, Unyielding Flexibility

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

Occupation: Worked as an employee in the Department of Magic Regulation at the Ministry

Was the middle child of three kids, had an older sister and a younger brother

They’re doing well now, he thinks

Wishes he didn’t push them away in adolescence but too proud to admit it

Has a lot of regrets he’s unwilling to own up to

Became a death eater in the first war but didn’t serve a long term because he provided the Ministry with useful information on his colleagues

Didn’t learn his lesson though

The downfall of The Dark Lord only further pushes him to prove his superiority

Was a very controlling, power hungry man

Didn’t have charisma to hide it

But people respected him anyway because of his family fortune

Very classy and strict

A dictator in the house, liked having the say over his wife and children

Never bothered to hide the fact that he wished he’d had a son instead

Manipulated Adelaide consistently through her childhood and was extremely irritated Delphine seemed to not sway to his beliefs

Disowned her when she married a muggle and convinced Adelaide to do the same

Until even she betrayed him and he was left alone in his house with a wife who never loved him

Joined the Dark Lord again in the second war and got a life sentence in Azkaban that he did not get out of this time

Never met Rebekah and Jacob

Still in prison

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imaginedisish · 5 years

Text

Noise Pollution (Colin Ritman x Reader) (Bandersnatch)

A/N: Heyyoooo. This took me waaayy too long to write lol. But, here it is!!! (It’s based on an anon request about present-day!colin being super into conspiracy theories, so he and the reader talk ab them. I kinda took it in a different, but similar direction) The title is based off of a Portugal the Man song. It’s a bop go listen. Ight it’s 12am where I’m at and I gotta wake up at 6 tomorrow so GN GUYS! Stefan fluff tomorrow...get ready :) (once again thank you for all the love xxxxxx)

Summary: Present-day!Colin and the reader meet after an English lecture at university, and they quickly hit things off. (lots of fluff...and getting high)

Warnings: Drug use, some language, pretty much it! oh FLUFFFFFF <3 (au)

Word Count: 1,857

Tick, tock, tick tock.

Time passed by slowly as you stared down the clock, waiting for the weekend to begin. You felt as though the longer you stared at hands, the slower the clock moved. English was your favorite class. It had to be, since you were an English major, but the week had felt so long. You needed to relax. You needed a break.

“Now can anyone tell me how Austen displays the separation and disconnect between class through Harriet and Emma’s relationship?” You professors asks, his eyes glossing over the bored class. He knows he’s losing the his student’s attention as the grasp of the weekend reaches into the minds of each individual student.

You look over at the blonde boy a few seats down from you, his feet resting on top of the empty chair in front of him as he clearly dies of disinterest. He adjusts the silver frames resting on the bridge of his nose, and rolls his eyes at the professor’s question.

“Mr, Ritman,” Your professor calls out, annoyed. The blonde boy’s eyes perk up. “You clearly have an opinion, care to take the floor?”

“Not really, mate. But thanks for asking.” The sarcasm in the boy’s voice is evident.

And inexplicably sexy, you think to yourself. Giggles drift throughout the classroom at his response, and you can’t help but smirk along with the rest of your peers.

“I want an answer, Ritman. Or else,” your professor pauses for dramatic effect, “I’m failing you for the remained of the semester.” The blonde boy rolls his eyes once again, and sits up appropriately in his seat.

“Emma is a know it all twat who thinks marrying off her less fortunate friend to some filthy rich wanker is going to solve all her problems,” the blonde boy quickly rambles. He then pauses, collecting his thoughts.

“Language, Mr. Ritman,” your professor reprimands.

Then he continues on. “Emma has independence due to her personal wealth. Harriets lacks the social status of Emma, therefore limiting her independence and choices in society, thus highlighting the unfair advantages of the upper class during the time period.” Everything he says is so nonchalant, yet so intelligent. The whole class is in awe of his statement.

The blonde boy has a brain, you think to yourself.

“And would you look at the time! Class dismissed!” The blonde boy stands as he says this, motioning for the rest of the class to stand as well. The room bursts into a booming laughter.

“Not so fast, everyone. Your Jane Austen test will be on Monday. Prepare yourselves accordingly,” Your professor says finally, as your peers rush out of the lecture hall and into the arms of the weekend.

Unlike your classmates, you take your time getting your things together. You carefully place your laptop in your bag, then throwing your heavy backpack over your shoulders. You begin to walk down the stairs.

“I like your shirt,” You hear from behind you. The voice is familiar. You turn around.

Blonde boy.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, caught off guard by his compliment.

“The Strokes are a brilliant band. Julian Casablancas fucking shreds,” The blonde boy smirks, looking down at your shirt.

“Yeah, they really are,” you say, smiling, starting to feel much more confident.

“Colin, Colin Ritman,” Blonde boy says, extending a hand out towards you. You accept the gesture, putting your hand in his.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” You say to him, he nods in response, pulling his hand away from yours.

“Well, (Y/N), what else do you listen to?” Colin questions, walking ahead of you. You catch up to him.

“Oh, well I love David Bowie!” You exclaim, a smile plastered on your face. David Bowie really got you going, you loved that man and all his music.

“He’s a pretty amazing guy,” Colin says, opening the door for you. You two walk out of the bland lecture hall. “You ever listen to Arcade Fire? They worked with Bowie a couple years back.”

“Yes! I absolutely love them! Bowie produced their Reflektor album,” You say back, your smile growing by the second.

You two continue to walk around the hallways of the building, talking about bands like LCD Soundsystem, Arctic Monkeys, Nirvana, The Beatles, and your shared loved for new wave.

“Look I know we just met and I’m probably just some cocky bloke to you, but would you wanna,” Colin pauses, tensing up, scratching the back of his neck, “hangout or something? We can go back to my place.” Butterflies flutter around your stomach excitedly.

“I’d love that,” You say, and Colin grins and relaxes. You two walk side by side, your arm occasionally brushing against his. You two talk the entire way to his flat.

“So what made you chose to be an English major?” Colin asks, arching a brow in your direction.

“I love literature. I hope to be an author some day,” You say back to him. He smiles at you, admiring your passion. “What about you?”

“For fun, quite honestly. I’m a video game programmer and designer,” Colin answers. “I work for an up and coming company called Tuckersoft.”

“That’s amazing!” You’re awestruck. He was so intelligent, so witty, so ambitious, so attractive. His blonde hair was practically translucent in the sunlight. His blue eyes shimmered, collecting rays from the sun as if it was what they were created to do.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest. You had always admired Colin from afar in class, but now you two were actually interacting. There was something special about him, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You two walked a short way more before stopping in front of a tall high rise.

“This is the place,” Colin says. You two head inside, and up to his floor.

His apartment was spotless, something you didn’t expect at all. He seemed like a slacker. Everything had an organized, designated place. It was gorgeous, modern, clean lines and vibrant colors everywhere.

“Your apartment is beautiful.” You walk over to a large bookshelf, searching through Colin’s extensive collection. Fahrenheit 451, The Great Gatsby, Richard III, The Scarlet Letter, Crime and Punishment, and many more classics adorn his wide range of novels. He even had some collections of Sylvia Plath’s poetry, which happened to be your very favorite. You select one, and skim through carefully.

On the top of the bookshelf is Colin’s record collection. He had everything from The Beatles, to Radiohead, to Queen, to Lou Reed, to Arcade Fire, and more. It was the biggest collection you had ever seen.

“Quick question,” Colin asks. You hear a lighter click behind you. “Do you smoke?” A joint rests in between Colin’s index finger and thumb. You nod. Colin smiles, and lights the joint. He plops himself down on the couch, and puts the blunt precariously in between his lips, inhaling deeply. He motions for you to sit down next to him.

You sit next to him, Colin passes you the joint. You part your lips, carefully placing the joint in the gap you created. You inhale slowly, relaxing into your high.

“Want some music?” Colin asks, his eyes now slightly bloodshot.

“Play some Beatles,” you say, allowing your eyes to fall closed.

“Good call,” Colin responds, standing up, and walking over to his bookshelf. You open your eyes to see which record he selects. You watch as he picks up The White Album, and you can’t help but giggle lightly. “What’s so funny? The White Album isn’t good enough?”

“No, it’s just,” you laugh heavily now, taking another hit from the joint, “Paul is dead. You know, Revolution 9?” Colin joins in and giggles with you, creating a chorus of laughter.

“I love conspiracy theories,” Collin says, setting up the record, placing the needle on the now spinning vinyl. Back in the USSR starts up, and you hum in pleasure. Colin sits back down next to you, and you pass the joint back to him. “Wanna shotgun?”

You’re taken back for a moment, and Colin could tell. “If you aren’t comfortable we don’t have to do that, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you feel-,”

“No,” you giggle. “I was just shocked that you finally asked, I didn’t think you were going to.”

Colin smiles and nods, taking a big hit from the blunt. He leans into you, and presses his lips against yours. You part your lips, and Colin does the same, blowing the smoke into your mouth. You suck it in carefully, and he presses another kiss against your lips before pulling away.

“How was that, love?” Colin coos.

“Perfect,” You whisper back.

You two continue to talk through the entire first side of the record, practically ignoring the fact that it’s on.

“What if we’re living in some simulation, (Y/N),” Colin says, bringing up the topic of conspiracy theories yet again. He adjusts his glasses as he awaits your answer.

“I mean if we play games like The Sims, someone has to be playing us in some universe, right?” You state, matter of factly.

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” Colin practically shouts, his excited state making you giggle. “Free will is a construct, so is time. It’s all consumerist bullshit. Noise pollution, ya know? All talk, no real proof of any existence or truth.”

“That whole “time” thing you just said, it isn’t even a theory, it’s a fact,” You state confidently.

“Exactly. Society forces time upon us. It’s used to keep us in line, you know?” You nod, agreeing with him as he rambled on.

After a while, you feel your eyes begin to grow heavy. You rest your head against Colin’s chest. You two had stopped talking about conspiracy theories, and he switched the record from The White Album to Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me by The Cure as per your request. You didn’t want to have to hear Revolution 9, and Colin thought it was adorable that you were so scared of a song.

You two just sit there, resting on the couch, taking your newfound relationship in. You listen to Colin’s heart beat heavily in his chest. Every now and then he takes a deep breath, the sound making your stomach somersault.

“Hey Colin?” You call out, as if you don’t know where he is.

“Yeah, (Y/N)?” Colin replies.

“I think I’m in like with you,” You say, laughing and closing your eyes. Colin suddenly brings a hand up to the nape of your neck, and he begins to play with your hair. His free arm wraps around you, keeping you pressed against his body.

“I think I’m in like with you too, (Y/N),” Colin purrs. “You wanna stay over? We don’t have to do anything, we can just keep doing this.”

“I’d like that a lot,” You say back, looking up at Colin, a wide smile stretching across his face.

You two stayed there, in Colin’s apartment, together, all weekend, free from “the noise pollution” of the “consumerist lies” of the London streets below.

It was the beginning of something beautiful.

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donttellstiles · 4 years

Text

The Tell

THE TELL

CH.5

unedited

♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦

masterlist

Previous chapter --- Next chapter

(gif credit to owner)

''Can somebody help me find The Notebook?'' Jackson was too busy walking around clueless to pick up on the eerie vibe. I't wasn't till the phone began to rang where he started to question his surroundings.

''Hello?'' He called out, glancing around. The store had looked pretty vacant.

''Is anybody working here?'' He could still hear the phone ringing in the background.

''You gotta be kidding me'' Jackson sighed to himself in annoyance. He kept walking through the different aisles of movies, deciding to just look for it himself.

He stopped short when he saw feet on the ground behind one of the movie rows in front of him. He squinted his eyes before moving closer. Once he had approached the row, he stopped short to see a body laying against the shelf, his throat cut open with blood oozing out of the wound. Jackson's eyes widen as he began to become fearful. He back up so fast that his back hit the ladder that was propped up beside him holding a light in place. It soon came tumbling down along with the light and wiring, causing the store to start flickering.

He began to move away but was stop short by a menacing growl. He slowly turned around and gulped. Once his eyes adjusted to the figure he freaked, quickly taking cover behind one of the movie shelves. When he's breathing calmed a bit he peeked around the corner, it took a few seconds for the flash of an animal to run past. He quickly pulled himself back behind the shelves and began to quiver with more fear.

The sound of the shelves tumbling brought him back as he soon got up to try and get away before he was squished. His legs get caught, pining him to the ground face first. He groaned in pain though he stopped once he heard low breathing just above him. He felt something touch is neck before an angry growl, the animal soon running away through a glass window causing it to shatter.

~*~*~*~*

I had spent my entire night pondering over what had happened this afternoon. I over analysed everything and just ended up with a headache. I didn't know what to make of everything but I did know one thing. I was going to stay far away from Stiles and Scott no matter what.

''Hey, are you okay?'' I heard Allison's voice drift in through the doorway. I quickly wiped away a tear and turned to face her with a smile.

''Yeah, just stressed over school, are you okay?'' I knew if I bounced the question back onto her she may miss the lie. She did.

''Honestly no'' She walks in and closes the door behind her. I move over on my bed and make room for her to sit down next to me.

''What's up?''

''It's Scott.. He's acting weird'' I tried to keep my face without expression so she couldn't see that I was keeping something from her.

''McCall is always acting weird'' I joked causing us both to chuckle slightly. Her frown soon returns after.

''It seemed more than that, like he was.. hiding something'' Her voice trails off. I gulped nervously, fidgeting with my hands in my lap.

''I'm sure it's nothing, that boy is so bad at lying'' I lied. She turned to face me and smiled and nodded her head agreeing with me, wiping away underneath her eyes.

''Yeah you're probably right, like always'' She jokes, but she's the only one who laughs this time.

''I'm gonna call it a night, I'm pretty tired'' I tell Allison as she turns to face me and smiles. She nods he head and gets up, saying goodnight before closing my bedroom door behind her. I sighed and laid back, letting my eyes fall close as to hopefully forget about this whole day altogether.

~*~*~*~*

I popped my Chemistry, History and English books into my backpack. I did a double take of myself in the mirror, touching up on my lip gloss as my Aunt Kate walks in.

''Hey...'' I turn to face her and smile.

''Listen, you know I... feel totally horrible about my behavior the other morning, right?'' Kate says with a hopeful smile and I nod to her.

''Oh, totally forgotten'' I blow it off.

''No, not forgotten by me, I bruised you something fierce and I'm really sorry'' I smile and shake my head.

''It's okay, really'' it really was.

''Come on, call me a horrid bitch or something'' I laugh to myself and shaky my head.

''You were just, being protective'' I said, glancing at her seriously.

''I was being a protective, horrid bitch...'' Once again I laugh.

''Who is giving you your birthday present early so you'll forgive her'' She pulls out a box behind her back and mouth drops open in surprise. I greedily take it from her and open it, gasping once I saw the most gorgeous bracelet.

''Forgiven?'' She asks, as if that was necessary. I smile and nod my head so fast as I giggle. She giggles too as I snatch the bracelet out and let her pop it on my wrist.

''I love it!''

''It's a family heirloom'' Kate begins. I look up to her in confusion.

''And you know me, I hate and loathe all sentimental crap'' I laugh.

''But that, well, look at the symbol in the middle of the charm. See that?'' I glance down at the biggest dangly charm and smile once I see a wolf.

''Yeah'' I respond, my eyes glued to it.

''You ever wanna learn a little something about your family? Look it up'' I glance up at her and furrow my eyebrows but continue to smile.

''You're gonna make me work for it'' I realise, popping my wrist up so I can get a better view.

''Some mysteries are worth the effort'' I glance at her she fiddles with the charm herself and smirk.

''In that case, challenge accepted'' We both laugh before grabbing my things, walking out my bedroom closing the door behind me.

~*~*~*~*

I was shocked to say the least when I opened my locker to see it full of balloons and streamers. In annoyance I slammed my locker shut and sighed to myself, not bothering to even read the card that was there. Lydia, who else would have known?

''Hey...'' On hearing that twice this morning I pivot around to see Stiles nervously standing there, his hands in his pockets.

''What do you want'' I snarled at him. He seemed taken aback but not surprised at my outburst.

''The balloons... is today your birthday?'' He asks, a hopeful glint in his eye. I rolled my eyes and turned away from him.

''No'' I lied in anger as I turned to walk away from him and towards first period. Reminder, kill Lydia once I see her.

''Just a friendly reminder, parent/teacher conferences are tonight. Students below a 'C' average are required to attend. I won't name you because the shame and self-disgust should be more than enough punishment. Has anyone seen Scott McCall?'' I was almost livid when Stiles chose to sit next to me in Chemistry. Though Harris made the class so much more enjoyable, note the sarcasm.

The door opened and Jackson walked in. taking a seat across from Stiles and I. I smiled up at him as he returned it timidly, sitting down at his desk. I furrow my eyebrows.

''Hey, Jackson. If you need to leave early for any reason, you let me know'' God he gave you the creeps.

''Everyone, start reading chapter nine'' I turned to face Stiles with a disgusted look. He shook his head and glanced back at me in confusion.

''What?'' He whispers.

''You couldn't find some other place to sit, loner boy?'' He dropped his look and lent back in his chair in annoyance.

''How original, never heard that before'' His sarcasm was seriously going to be the death of me. I glared.

''Look, stay far away from me and-''

''Why are you so friendly with Jackson?'' He cut me off. I sighed angrily and turned to face my work.

''That's none of your business'' I stated still angry. I heard one of his highlighters fall onto his textbook.

''Of course Miss and Mr popular would be 'friendly' with-'' I whipped my head so fast his way.

''Shut your mouth, nobody, before I rip it right off and-''

''Miss Argent, I suggest you focus more on chemistry than running your mouth'' I instantly shut up but turn to face Stiles with a glare. I quickly look away and focus back on my work, deciding to ignore him for the rest of class.

''Hey, Danny, Can I ask you a question?'' I couldn't help but overhear Stiles saying to Danny who was just in front of us.

''No'' I smiled.

''Well, I'm going to anyway'' I rolled my eyes.

''Um, did Lydia show up in your home room today?'' He was asking about Lydia? Why would he be- oh. I smirked.

''No'' Danny replies with a sigh.

''Can I ask you another question?'' Stiles persisted, probably starting to piss Danny off seeing as he already didn't like the guy.

''Answer's still no'' I couldn't help but to smile to myself now at their little conversation. As much as I had wanted to be angry at Stiles I really couldn't. Yes, him and his friend were beyond weird and psycho yet... he was still dorkish and charming in his own way. Oh my god, Avery get a grip, you're starting to sound like love sick Allison.

''Does anyone know what happened to her and Jackson last night?'' I myself had heard a rumor going around and last night, apparently Lydia and Jackson we're in some sort of accident at the video store. An unpleasant shiver went down my spine, my thoughts reeling with all the possibilities. All the animal attacks lately that were happening to this town, it was turning into something of a horror movie.

''No'' Danny sounded a little upset as he said this. He and Jackson were best friends so it was a little odd that he didn't know anything. That or he didn't want to say which would be fair enough.

''He wouldn't tell me'' Unfortunately my heart bled a little for Danny. They always seemed close yet Jackson had been pulling away for quite some time now.

''But, he's your best friend'' And as quickly as my anger vanished it quickly returned again. I spun around, made sure the teacher wasn't looking and softly slapped Mr Annoying over the back of his head.

'Hey! Ow!'' He turned to face me with a scowl. I scoffed.

''Stay out of other peoples business, Creep'' I could see out of the corner of my eye Danny smiling at my words. Mr Annoying just rolled his eyes in response before turning around to face Danny again.

''One more question'' Creep lent forward a little in his seat probably so I couldn't hear what he was going to say next.

''What?!'' Danny was beyond annoyed now.

''Do you find me attractive?'' I stopped what I was currently doing and stifled a laugh. Mr Annoying must have heard me because he spun around to me so fast and scowled once again, though with a hint of red on his cheeks this time.

~*~*~*~*

The next two periods dragged on so painfully slowly. I was happy at least that no one else even mentioned my birthday. It was weird not to see Allison though. Once class had finished and break loomed over I pulled out my phone once I exited class.

''Hey Allison, where are you?'' I heard her giggle in the background before she answered me.

''Please don't tell Mum and Dad'' I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion but let her continue.

''I'm sort of... not at school'' I rolled my eyes at her obviousness.

''I'm not an idiot, I figured as much'' I said softly, making sure I was being rude but in fact sarcastic.

''You've grown more and more sarcastic lately'' Allison spoke, alerting Scott to their conversation. He smiled to himself, thinking it was Stiles having this effect on her.

''Well to deal with a sort-of-someone I kinda have to be'' You guys were getting off track. She giggled once again. The sound made you smile, finally glad to see she was enjoying her birthday for once.

''I won't say anything, I promise. But you do owe me'' I smile. Allison thanks me before hanging up her phone. I keep the smile on my face as I pocketed mine, turning around to face my locker. Once I opened it more balloons fell out this time, along with a birthday card. I quickly glanced around me, noticing only a few people in the hallways seeing as everyone else had already made their way to the cafeteria. I groaned and turned back around, trying to take all the balloons out and grabbing a pen from my pocket. Yes, I kept pens in my pocket cause I was often losing them in my bag.

One by one I started popping them, the loud pops echoing throughout the hallway. The people that were here turned to stare for a few seconds before minding their own business once again.

''Is it your birthday?'' I just simply looked at the guy behind me and scowled, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone. It was weird acting tough all the time, something I was still getting use to. But I was not going to let myself get walked all over like last time, I was not going to be that same pathetic girl who was bullied, tormented and laughed at for being different. I was never going to let anyone know about my secret, no one here will ever know about the old me and what she'd done.

I snapped out of my thoughts and reached forward for the card, deciding to read it first to see if the person had left a name. A name I was going to find and kill them for even knowing such personal information about me.

''Happy birthday, Stiles'' I rolled my eyes in annoyance and just decided to pop the card back in the locker, slamming it shut angrily. When I found this Stiles he was going to be a dead man.

~*~*~*~*

Using my charm on the student boy receptionist in the office I managed to find Stiles information, where he lived precisely so I could see what he knew and tell him to stay away from me. I knew this was a little too much but I couldn't have people digging in my past, not again..

''Here you go, please don't tell anyone about this'' I gave my best, charming smile towards the boy, biting my lip a little with a subtle wink.

''It'll be our little secret''

♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦

word count: 2523 edited; not yet

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years

Text

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

Tagged by @sunshinerami thank you!!!

Also apologies to all these got long because I’ve been feeling talkative lately.

Are you named after anyone?

My grandfather's middle name and my aunt’s middle name is Lee, and I chose it, so I named myself after them technically. Part of why I wanted Lee in particular as my name-my history with my family is complicated, but I like having the connection nonetheless. Also Lee Pace is a wonderful actor, and liking him and his work was part of what made me consider Lee as my new first name.

When was the last time you cried?

Sunday night. Had a breakdown about life, the state of things, various other issues, and then just crying because...idk. Sometimes the depression just goes Crying Time! and I am useless to do much other than obey.

Do you have kids?

No, and as of the last year I've become absolutely certain I don't want them. Pregnancy terrifies me, I'm still working to unlearn the abusive shit my mother continues to heap on me, and what sort of world would I be bringing a child into right now? At my core, I don't think I'd be a good parent, so my goal is not to have kids. Let the folks who want them and are capable of raising them do that. If my friends with kids want me to take them for the afternoon, be the babysitter/fun uncle who buys them a toy and ice cream, become the person they can call to pick them up when they do stupid shit as a teen that makes them too scared to call their parents for help (though the parents are gonna find out, I’ll just get them out of the bad situation first), that all I can and will happily do. But I don’t think I could ever have kids of my own.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Despite my ASD, sarcasm and humor in general are something I don’t struggle with too much and use quite a bit. To be honest, it’s definitely in part a defense mechanism along with making jokes about the rough shit in my life. But it works, and sometimes I even make people laugh, which is nice.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

I had to think about this during work because I hadn’t really considered it, and when I focused I found that the thing I tend to notice first, weirdly enough is gait. I think it’s because I’m used to watching my mum after her major ankle injury, and knowing to help her out more and be extra nice on days she’s limping. It makes me wonder what I noticed about people before this point in time though, because for some reason I just never thought about it lol.

Scary movie or happy ending?

I like both; it varies by day as to which I want. I also think you can have a happy ending to a scary movie, and that a happy ending can be the most horrific thing if it comes at the expense of others, or hurts others.

Any special talents?

I don’t know if this counts because my psychologist and I figure this has to do with my ASD, but I’m really good at memorizing lyrics. Like, I can have my own little radio station playing all day in my head, and if you ask me to I can sing a song in full with no mistakes, or can write out the full lyrics easy as anything. As to how well I can sing it depends on the song (I can sing soprano if I have to because my high school choir teacher did give me a bit of operatic training since he’d thought I sounded good doing it, but my diaphragm really prefers me to stay in alto or tenor ranges lol) but like...they just stick in my head. I can hate the song, but if I’ve heard it once then It Is In There, and if I want to forget it I have to focus on doing that really hard. Makes me wish I sang better, honestly. Might even be a useful talent then.

Where were you born?

Somewhere near Oceanside, CA, outside of the Marine Corps base there. Per my mum, we lived on-base, but the base hospital was shit so she insisted on being taken to the nearest city. I think Oceanside is what’s on my birth certificate at least.

What are your hobbies?

Writing is also my job, but I think it technically also counts as a hobby. Reading and drawing are on the list too, though I’m not great at drawing. I’d like writing lyrics and composing to be a job at some point, but right now they’re still just a hobby too I think.

Do you have any pets?

My cat, Nisha. She rules over me with an iron paw, and I love her dearly.

What sports do you play/have you played?

I played volleyball as a kid for a bit, was good at it and liked it (and still do tbh) but got made fun of for being the chubby one on the team, so I quit. Really liked softball and was told I had a good pitching arm, but again got made fun of constantly for not ‘looking athletic’ so never pursued it. I love badminton and tennis, but no one else I know does so I never get a chance to play it. I will destroy a motherfucker in badminton if they let me.

How tall are you?

Probably more like 5′2 nearing 5′3, but I put 5′3 on my state ID so let’s say that lol.

Favorite subject in school?

I was a Certified Nerd and Academic Freak during school, so I had a bunch rather than just one. Loved English class, of course. Creative Writing I got to do in high school, loved that. Any and all History classes were great, but the year they finally introduced a Native American History class was the best. We got to learn about the local tribes and had folks associated with the tribe come in every now and again, and along with being some of the nicest people I’ve ever met, they were also wonderful to learn from. I wish they’d offered it again each year of school. Languages like French, Spanish, and German were another favorite. Band class was fun until the entire class started making fun of me. Criminal Law I took in high school and my god did I love it. I still even remember the teacher’s name. Mrs. Forde, if you’re out there somehow reading this, you’re wonderful and I’d take that class again in a heartbeat just so I could enjoy it all over again.

Dream job?

Author/screen-writer/actor, either just one or a combo of them. I’d also love to be a musician too, but goodness knows I don’t have the ability to carry that wish.

Tagging: @maythefirthbewithyou, @a-small-fuck-you, @hobbadehoy, @persipneiwrites, @xmxisxforxmaybe, @the-heebiejeebies, @riotpunch, @my-space-and-all-within, @apineappleheart, @pinatafarmer, @starmoonchildfromthebeamsabove, @trans-karkat, @sherlollydramoine, @plupluru, @rysespieces98 no pressure if y’all ain’t feelin’ it of course!

#text post #ask box things #thank you for tagging me in this!#someday science will know exactly why I love these little sorts of things so much #maybe it is just the submitting to the mortifying ideal of being known #maybe it is because everyone likes to talk about themselves every now and again #idk but this made me happy so thank you

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bezazzled · 5 years

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more quotes that nobody asked for

my friends are really dumb sometimes there’s some ns//fw in here, change pronouns to fit also sorry this one’s extremely long lmao, i’ve heard a lot since i last posted one of these. i’ll be nice and throw it in a readmore for dash convenience

“What if I don’t want extra bones?” “I got a backstack on I’ll still drop this ass what you doin’.” “The trap card is me! Fuck!” “Hey, how many voices do you have in your head?” “Hang on, lemme count how many skittles are in this bag and then I’ll tell you.” “Milk neutralizes the evil.” “Yo, that is piss accurate.” “Vote for me and maybe I won’t piss on your dick.” “That’s not Pepsi, that is straight carbonation water.” “If the word ‘toy’ was a person, it’d be that really annoying kid in your class that acts really fuckin’ dumb because he thinks it’s funny.” “No, listen, what if we only existed... on weekends?” “If you hard, you hard.” “This has been a public service announcement, brought to you by paper fuckers.” “Do you want weed lotion?” “This is why we pick apples, so they can’t touch our teeth.” “Do bees have souls?” “Don’t slurp the chocolate pudding. That’s not okay.” “You made me talk about my kinks again, damn it!” “Y’all eat your rice krispies all at once or one at a time?” “My face is two inches long.” “It’s in first person AND backwards.” “So you met H.P. Lovecraft as a hemispherical dresser?” “Things don’t last, but dick jokes are forever.” “How do you fight a man that’s a hundred percent nut?” “I am a really attractive salmon.” “All the weak chips are at the bottom.” “Choke on cotton candy, you amazing fucker.” “I’m offended by my own existence.” “I’m the wing boy!” “Are you telling me that tops deal with internalized homophobia?” “Just for that, I’m forcing you to kin me.” “You’re just a fish.” “We could always play youtube, youtube is multiplayer.” “He’s a burnt piece of toast with some peanut butter on it.” “What the fuck is a sport?” “I didn’t know his name so I’m the homophobe.” “Just spilled water all over me because I’m a dirty water whore.” “Oh dude, that’s a fuck good thought.” “My legs are made of meat.” “I can’t wait to die because Republicans.” “Your sexuality is heterphobia, you’re welcome.” “He is at least seventy-five percent done at all times.” “Apply at your local grocery store. They’re always hiring and don’t care if you’ve committed a crime.” “Oh, I forgot, you’re a napkin.” “Brains are wrong sometimes.” “If anyone’s a bad significant other, it’s me. Call me signif-I-can’t.” “I got paid to eat chicken, bitch!” “I am the god of your happiness.” “Go be unhappy in your unhappy pants.” “Oh look, now they’re offering existential dread meals.” “Welcome to the SS, here’s your shitty trash meme pistol.” “I would a hundred percent dedicate my entire life to the first person who buys me a subway sandwich right now.” “That’s my life. Just one big dab.” “We’ll be stroke twins.” “Time is fake, fuck you.” “I am a dribbling bag of sodium and carbon.” “Sorry for the flex, I’ll go.” “It’s not my birthday anymore, cowards.” “One thing I liked about becoming you is that I got to call everyone a coward and I didn’t have to feel bad about it.” “You thought it was over? Ha. The central time zone exists.” “I’m really not drunk enough to dance right now.” “I’m into... Animal Farm... That’s about... communism...” “His mouth is like a triangle.” “Black holes are the bisexual agenda.” “A man just needs to not exist sometimes.” “Good noodlin’, brother.” “I will take mayonnaise to get my mayonnaise.” “Why am I always up to something in your brain? Maybe sometimes I’m just stupid.” “Fucking spelling is stupid.” “You need triangles?” “I think celery tastes like the devil’s armpit, and you can fight me.” “You wanna join me in the bitchening?” “Don’t forget, your dad flossed today.” “It walks like it’s got a whole tree in its ass.” “My eyes are absolutely burning. The sun is an asshole.” “Oh, good! I wasn’t sure that the English language existed.” “Eat grapes with your duck!” “The seventies can suck my ass!” “Please don’t make me eat my sarcasm.” “Real allies let us shut the fuck up.” “Do you think love can bloom in a Taco Bell?” “I don’t need drugs because I already don’t make any sense as it is. I wish I was a breadstick.” “Yeah, I’m just not that passionate about soup.” “Unless something of minor inconvenience happens, I cannot cry.” “Who else tryin’a start beef with onion boy by calling him a Shrek offspring?” “Is this almost over? I’m gonna have stage four cancer.” “This movie is a fucking fake.” “The amount of gay I am is rising significantly, and that’s really saying something.” “Heterosexuality is stored in the boobs.” “Pepsi man is my polar opposite in these trying times.” “Everyone go to the nut house group chat, I’m about to post a link.” “One day I’ll be successful, and one day after that I’ll be able to write without going through all seven stages of gay after writing one word.” “Hey, wanna hear something controversial? I don’t care.” “Would you fistfight a kindergartner for fifty bucks?” “I’d fistfight a kindergartner for a dollar and a Reese’s cup.”

#sentence starters #rp starters #;; ok to reblog #lost boy // ooc #[[ this is so long.................. ]]#[[ to tbf i havent posted one since july '18 ]]#[[ and a lot has happened since then ]]

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damienhasmoved · 6 years

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Kiyotaka Ishimaru is Autistic - A Writeup

Hey there!

As you’ve probably guessed from the title, this is gonna be a pretty long post about Kiyotaka Ishimaru from the Dangan Ronpa series, and how I believe that he is autistic. Note that I am #actuallyautistic myself, so a lot of this is drawn from my own experiences of autism, as well as some common symptoms Kiyotaka displays. This is one of my personal favourite headcanons, because I relate to Kiyotaka a lot, and it’s nice to be able to relate to him on a neurological level as well. That being said, despite the evidence I’m going to cover in this writeup, it is still a headcanon- so of course you can feel free to disregard this if you don’t agree with me (just don’t come and fight about it on the post... because a lot of that tends to go into “autism is a bad thing” territory and as an autistic person it kinda makes me feel shitty).

With that out of the way, the rest of the post will be under a readmore, because this is about to get kinda long.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru is a fairly minor character when it comes to the Dangan Ronpa franchise. He’s a member of the cast of the first game, and dies halfway through, with almost no re-appearances or further mentions in the rest of the series. However, his personality is very distinct, and he’s been consistently seen as one of the most popular characters from the first game because of this.

Kiyotaka’s personality boils down to a few essential parts- his keen sense of justice and morals, his lack of social skills and social intelligence, his drive to be the best in his schoolwork, and his encouraging, yet strict nature towards his classmates. Just from this base analysis of his personality you can start seeing some autistic traits- namely in his idealization of morals and ethics, and his lack of general social skills. The former is so important to his character, it’s what gives him his talent- as the Ultimate Moral Compass (Disciplinary Committee Member in the Japanese version of the game, and Hall Monitor/Prefect in a few fan translations).

It’s quite common for autistic people to be unusually obsessed with justice or morality. I know from my own experiences that I absolutely hate situations I perceive as “unfair” or “unjust”- where I’ve been punished for doing things I didn’t do, when other people have been punished for things they didn’t do- I even find it hard to lie in certain situations. Kiyotaka certainly seems to display this pattern of thinking- his entire talent ties into making sure that those who do wrong are suitably punished, and those that do right are rewarded accordingly. The only time he goes against his morals and potentially condemns innocents are when he votes for himself instead of Mondo in the Chapter Two Trial, which seems to be him not fully realising that someone he associates with “being good, just and moral” (his new, and only, friend) doing something as amoral as murder.

He simply doesn’t believe that someone he trusted could turn out to do something so wrong- to the point where, at the end of the second trial, he is begging everyone else to give him another explanation, or for Mondo to at least explain why he did the things he did. I understand that this is a reasonable reaction when one’s friend is faced with death, but consider this in the context of the Dangan Ronpa games. To keep up the flow of the games, characters usually seem to brush aside the murders and executions once the trials are over. Otherwise, things would drag out too long while the cast mourned. Even Naegi, who was good friends with Sayaka and knew her all the way back in middle school, only spared a few hours or so mourning her after the end of her trial.

Kiyotaka’s reaction is the most drastic in the first game, even surpassing Asahina’s bid to make Sakura’s suicide a mistrial. She’s only shown to be seriously affected by Sakura’s death for the duration of the trial, and afterwards is composed enough to fight back against the mastermind. Consider also that Asahina and Sakura were friends for the entire duration of the first game, and that Kiyotaka and Mondo were only friends for one day, and you can see how exaggerated and strange Kiyotaka’s reaction really is.

Kiyotaka’s reaction is so strong compared to the other characters because Mondo’s killing is not only a betrayal to their friendship, but the betrayal to Kiyotaka’s perceived view of the world and what’s right and wrong. He fixates on his hatred of geniuses to an almost unhealthy level, and will not listen to anyone who tries to tell him that these “geniuses” can be good people as well. Simularily, he’s put Mondo into a box- a box that raises him above the amoral sensibilities of the killing game, making him someone who can do no wrong in Kiyotaka’s eyes- until he does.

This is the only time Kiyotaka’s moral compass seems to be seriously tested in the killing game, and it destroys him. He relies so much on his fixation with morals, that the second they are shattered, he breaks apart. Of course, this is only a minor reason for his breakdown, but we’ll get into the rest of that later.

Another big clue to Kiyotaka being autistic comes in the form of his social skills- or, rather, his lack of them. Kiyotaka, in his entire life, has made one genuine friend. Mondo Oowada seems to be the only person he’s truly connected with, and he even states that he’s “never had a proper conversation before” in one of Naegi’s FTEs. It’s not hard to see why- Kiyotaka has very little social intelligence, which displays itself multiple times throughout the story.

He doesn’t understand that people watch TV shows and play video games to form connections over them- he just thinks they do so to get a temporary buzz out of them. He’s surprised when Naegi describes what people normally do when they hang out, and his idea of a social setting is a very old-fashioned Japanese tradition of communicating naked in a bathhouse with other men. It’s obvious that he’s personally never had an experience like this before, as he’s reportedly “never held a conversation longer than three minutes”, so he’s most likely picked this up from old Japanese literature or other media and assumed that’s still how teenagers hang out.

Mimicking behaviours from media is another common autistic trait, and even though Kiyotaka doesn’t seem the type to read a lot of books outside of school-assigned ones, he still displays this trait. Mimicking other people in general seems to be his go-to when it comes to social interaction- he calls Naegi a “Professor” when Naegi tells him how to hold a regular conversation, and says he will study the same games and TV shows Naegi knows about to be able to hold conversations just like he does. Kiyotaka, once befriending Mondo, is shown to be mimicking him in some ways- he starts calling Mondo “kyoudai”, something common amongst gangsters in Japan. In the English localisation, this is changed to “bro”, slang that would also most likely be picked up from Mondo.

After Mondo dies, Kiyotaka copes by completely mimicking him, even combining their names together and acting like Mondo to feel closer to him.

Kiyotaka doesn’t seem to understand sarcasm or humour, in most cases. Kiyotaka seems a little oblivious in general, and tends to brush aside other’s criticism- a lot of the times because he doesn’t understand it. He takes things very literally, which is a key autistic trait.

He also wholeheartedly does seemingly idiotic things in an attempt to help others in the class trials- such as calling for the murderer to raise their hand, and stating obvious facts that were taken as a given (examples: “I propose that the victim was Sayaka Maizono”, and “We can be sure the knife was the weapon because of where it was found- sticking out of the victim’s midsection!”). Kiyotaka also displays this kind of well-intentioned, yet obvious advice when everyone is searching the school for an escape route- while others take note of potential danger and means of escape, Kiyotaka’s only contribution is to say that everyone has a dorm room.

This makes sense for him, and most likely for others with autism- nobody’s mentioned it, and he has the information, so he thinks it will be helpful to share it. He doesn’t get the subtext that people will already know these things, and that clarifying them further wastes time and isn’t helpful in the grand scheme of things.

While his dedication to morals and his lack of social skills are the most major identifiers of his autism, he also displays a few more subtler autistic traits.

Kiyotaka insists on holding the class meetings at a certain time in the morning, and arriving to the cafeteria at another set time. He’s always a punctual early comer, and he gets annoyed when others are late (holding back the time of his meeting). It can also be inferred that Kiyotaka is one to plan things- he has to be, if he’s taking on studying (and presumably kendo practise, due to the sword found in his room) as his only hobbies. This, and his love of the school system, can be hints towards him needing to function on a schedule. School is good for Kiyotaka because it’s structured, and planned, and not very subject to change. His hobbies of practise and studying are also not subject to sudden reschedules (unless he takes kendo lessons, but with his family’s financial situation, I don’t think that’s the case). A steady schedule is imperative for autistic people to function on a day-to-day basis.

Kiyotaka only wears one set of clothes- his school uniform. He owns several copies of it, and refuses to wear anything else. It’s implied that he doesn’t own anything else. This could be his dedication to being a good student, but it could also easily be a manifestation of sensory issues. Kiyotaka may only feel comfortable in the material of his uniform, and doesn’t like wearing other clothes because they make him feel uncomfortable. As a fellow autistic who prefers their school uniform to their other clothes, I can definitely understand this path of logic.

Similarly, Kiyotaka is a one-note cook. It’s revealed in School Mode that he can only cook rice balls and green tea. This seems like another case of sensory issues, where the textures of rice balls and green tea are soothing to him compared to other food tastes and textures. It seems a little odd that he’s put enough practise into creating his “famous green tea”, but wouldn’t branch out to cooking different kinds of foods than simply rice balls, especially if he wants to have a more balanced diet.

Kiyotaka’s fixation with the things he does know how to talk about seem to be extremely intense. Kiyotaka seems completely ready to engage in a long debate with Naegi over politics, international affairs, and the economy. He also seems to have memorised his school’s old policy, and seems delighted to talk about schoolwork. These could be examples of special interests, topics that Kiyotaka fixates on and ignores all others. Kiyotaka’s biggest special interest seems to be revolving around politics, a career path he hopes to succeed in in the future. Other than that, he seems to have a special interest in school policy and the school’s curriculum, shown with his dedication to school code and his continued study of everything he has to learn about. He doesn’t understand that other people can do recreational activities that don’t revolve around these two interests of his.

Physically, Kiyotaka has an almost unnaturally straight posture. He stands with his legs pressed tightly together, and seems extremely rigid. An unnaturally rigid posture is a trait of autism (as is an unnaturally slouched or floppy posture, but that’s not relevant here). Kiyotaka is extremely prone to crying fits, even in the middle of regular conversation. He is shown holding his head and sobbing full-force in some of his FTEs, which then turns into him cheerfully laughing a few seconds later. Extreme mood swings and unprompted crying or laughing are traits of autism. When Kiyotaka is reprimanded, or when he believes that he’s done something wrong, he immediately switches into an over-reaction where he cries and begs someone to hit or “punish” him. Breakdowns like these are also common in autistics.

Kiyotaka’s speech is abnormally loud. He seems to have trouble speaking quietly or whispering, and most of his lines are yelled. Volume control like this is a classic autistic trait. Kiyotaka’s dialogue also seems stiff and stilted at times, or verbalised in a strange manner.

I could go on more about Kiyotaka’s autistic traits, but I think I’ve said enough for one post! This is long enough as-is! I definitely think that Kiyotaka Ishimaru is autistic, but it’s up for you to decide if you agree with me.

#kiyotaka ishimaru #ishimaru kiyotaka #dangan ronpa #character analysis #autistic headcanon #actuallyautistic #my post

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teddywancurlobi · 6 years

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pretty little liars [01.01]

and here we are again.

a walk down memory lane.

who picked the song they were listening to in the opening scene? a tween?

aria: someone’s out there.

me: nah. it’s just the wind.... or a ghost that wants to possess you. you never know.

why does it look like aria and emily are the least scared looking into the darkness during this walk to the door? they don’t look ready to beat ass, but they don’t look nervous or anxious to might pop their head in either. they just look like they don’t know what the fuck is going on or super fucking high.

alison: friends share secrets. that’s what keeps us close.

me: and gives you fodder to blackmail your friends since you didn’t share a damn thing with them because you are commander in chief petty bitch.

drink up? nah. y’all can have fun though. keeping my eye on you, ya bish.

hanna: where are ali and spencer?

aria: we don’t know.

me: girl, how are you gonna know? you two only just woke up. you turned your head side to side for tend seconds. how are you gonna find them like that?

only a minute thirty four into this travesty and i’m already peeved as fuck.

i’m gonna be real (just kidding not real) with y’all for a minute:

spencer was never really spencer. that was when alex made her first appearance. alex was spencer all along.

spencer: i think i heard her scream.

me: ...... why do i find that unbelievable as all hell? oh well. continue.

one year later and still missing. bitch, i’m still missing too. where’s my picture in that fucking paper?

how does it sound like a celebration? it isn’t like the entire fucking town is poppin’ bottles in their homes, on every street corner, or even in their driveways. if that was happening, i would consider moving out of rosewood... again.

@ byron: you are a dirty ass hat. making your daughter carry this secret of yours for a damn year. secrets can brun you alive. you should be a torch by now or maybe just a pile of ashes that you will never resurrect from.

amsterdam? he was out, getting hella fucking high.

ezero... still one of the biggest creeps. nothing has changed one bit.

ezero: what’s your major?

me: nah, my dude. here major is nada with a minor in dick me good because my character is gonna revolve more around my relationship that shouldn’t exist with you.

ezero: i’d like to know more about you.

aroo: yeah. i’d like to know more about you too.

me: SKIP

real true love starts in the bathroom of hollis bar and grill on top of the sink while a grown ass man gives you a tongue massage with his tongue. /sarcasm: offline

GRAND THEFT SUNGLASSES: starring hanna ‘bitch i got your sunglasses’ marin and mona ‘peep this scarf’ vanderwaal ft. spencer ‘i ain’t got time, i’m a boss’ hastings

dork with flashy sunglasses pops on a boner. that’s what his face screams.

spencer: she’s gone, but she’s everywhere

ali: you have no idea, bitch.

me:

hanna: see you on the playground.

me: better stay out of sandbox.

and vandermarin really begins.

you can be sorry and love ella, but not telling her right away is worse than running away from your infidelity. get your balls out of your fanny pack, put them on, and tell her. i already know you won’t and someone else is gonna do it for your sorry ass.

emily: the first to bring up ali being dead.

me: truth is and i have said this before, but i really believe it would have been better to have left alison dead. it would have made for a better mystery since no one knew what happened. film at least three seasons up to maybe five and then have a short film on what really happened that night.

emily: i hear the new teacher’s really hot.

..... okay.

tfw you see the hollis b/g girl in the high school english class you teach:

me when i see ezero teaching aroo’s high school english class:

i dream of making it out of rosewood and i’m only just visiting.

so... the boyfriend maya speaks about is only brought up once and we never hear about him again? okay... no surprise, but okay. i can only speculate they broke up or he died.

maya: so i’m corrupting you. you okay with that:

em: (internally) CORRUPT THIS PUSSY.

em: (externally) yeah. i think i am.

ezoria: 20:30 - 21:01

aroo: acts like a love sick puppy

aroo: i’m still that same girl. nothing’s changed

ezero: yes, it has. i’m your teacher.

me: watches them suspiciously

aroo: i know it’s not just me. you feel like this is right for us too.

ezero: but it’s not right. i just can’t.

me: okay motherfucker. you gucci for now.

also me: looks like someone just blew up aroo’s barbie doll.

emaya: touch hands

me:

emaya: almost kiss on the lips

emily: gets flustered

me: girl... calm down. it was barely on your lips.

the fact that they (spencer, wren, and the writers) made an innocent rubbing of the shoulders sexual says a lot. they both looked guilty as hell for it. melissa really needs to pump the fucking brakes if they were worried about how she would perceive the little massage.

@ hanna: you should have know that sooner or later that you would have been in those silver bracelets. you were sloppy and got caught. suffer the consequences.

@ ashley: girl... let your daughter learn from this bullshit instead of saving her from it. i know you won’t, but still worth a shot.

ashley just pimped herself out to wilden to keep her daughter suffering the consequences of her actions.

rosewood pd: the most incompetent police force unless it is convenient for them to be competent due to sloppy writing.

maya: they found alisons’ body.

me, who has been through this shit show before:

ashley maybe: slay my vagene, mr. officer. you are such a corrupt bastard.

ezoria: 37:54 - 39:15

ezero: (38:01 - 38:06) i don’t know what i feel worse about: staying away or being a jerk about it.

me: *screams demonically in the background*

aroo: thank you. i would never want to do anything to get you in trouble.

me: TOO FUCKING LATE.

ezoria: 38:34 - 39:05

me: *dies in agony, spirit is released, and screams in ghost*

hanna: anyone we know?

aria: no. it’s just my mom.....

me: NO??! FUCKING NO??! DO THEY NOT KNOW WHO HER MOM IS? THEY HAVE BEEN FRIENDS. HOW DO THEY NOT KNOW HER MOM? WHO WROTE THAT LINE? turn on your location.

spencer: do we know you?

me: hanna does.

darren wilden: rest assured, i will find out what happened that summer.

narrator: yeah, no. alison doesn’t even remember what happened that summer.

i’m still here bitches...

... and i know everything. - A

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boyf-canons · 7 years

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Connor Murphy x Reader: Boy next door

{Very basic but hey. Connor’s phone number is supposedly the Easter bunny’s number. Anybody wanna call & see if that’s true? Feel free to request one shots or headcanons! That would be awesome.}

* This was it. You were finally finished moving into your new house in a new city with new everythings. Nothing was familiar. Your dad had gotten a major promotion in his job, which would require a move. A move specifically 3 states away from home.

You were happy for your dad, really. You were just a little less happy for you. Being a teenage girl, starting over completely at a brand new highschool in a new city with no friends was going to be a challenge. You weren’t going to lie; you were terrified. Tomorrow marked the beginning of the new school year.

In the meantime, however, you found yourself getting ready for a dinner with your neighbors; the Murphy family. Your parents were thrilled when they received the invitation, and despite all your desperate protests you were being forced into going. You were less than thrilled, to say at the least.

“(Y/N), are you ready?” Your mom called from outside your room. You finished brushing your hair, took one more look to observe your finished look for the night, and yelled back.

“Yeah, I’m coming!”

You muttered to yourself. “Let’s get this over with.”

Half an hour later you found yourself sitting with your family around a dining room table in a home that belonged to two parents, a daughter, and a son. Cynthia & Larry, Zoe, and Connor Murphy to be specific. The introductions were slightly awkward, but the family seemed nice enough. There was a little bit of tension between Connor and everybody else for a reason you didn’t know, but other than that things were going fine.

“So (Y/N),” Cynthia speaks up, “what are your interests? What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Well, I like theatre, yoga, knitting and sewing, reading.. Just boring stuff like that, nothing special.” You answer, feeling a little sheepish. You notice Connor perk up, but don’t mention anything. Mainly because he’s a genuinely intimidating person, but hey.

“Oh! You like knitting? Connor here loves to knit!” Cynthia exclaims, gesturing to her son. “Of course he won’t let us see what he makes, but he’s always having to go out and buy supplies.”

Connor face palms. Really hard. “Fucking hell.” He mutters, getting up and trying to retreat to his room.

“Connor honey, sit down. We have company.” Cynthia orders. He does as he’s told but sports a very irked expression.

The rest of dinner after that was awkward, the tension that hung in the room earlier even heavier now. Everyone tried to ignore the fact that Connor seemed uncomfortable and angry. Still, the sets of parents continued to make civil conversations while both you and the Murphy teens chewed in silence. By the time everyone finished their meals, your mom said it was probably time for you all to head home. Thanking the Murphy’s for dinner and saying individual goodbyes, you and your parents were out the door.

Well, that could have gone worse.

* You woke the next morning to the dreaded beeping of your alarm, rolling over to shut it off before you went crazy. Realizing what today was, you took a deep breathe and groaned.

“This is it. Let’s make it count, me.” You say to yourself, jumping out of bed and getting ready as fast as possible since you had to be at school early to get your schedule. The car ride to school went faster than you wished it would have, and before you knew it you were climbing out to go inside.

You made your way to the front office, went through all the necessary introductions, you had a teacher run you through where your classes were and took your printed schedule. Heading to your 1st period English 4 class, you clutched your coffee tighter and trudged through the hallways.

When you walked through the door, you glanced around the room to see what seats were taken and which weren’t. Your eyes landed on a familiar face; Connor Murphy. Your new neighbor Connor Murphy, to be exact. You smiled lightly, taking comfort in knowing there was someone you were at least a little bit familiar with in your class. You walked towards his seat and sat down beside him, analyzing his face as he looked up at you. His expression was blank.

“You?”

“Uh.. Yeah. Me.”

Connor rolled his eyes, but spoke again. “Didn’t know you were going to this school, (Y/N).” He said, definitely uninterested.

“This was the only public school in my district, so here I am.”

“By the way you present yourself I’d assume you belong in private, but okay.”

“What does that mean?” You questioned, confused.

He let out a small laugh to himself and answered, “You just seem like a goody-two shoes, prissy type of girl. To clarify, the type of people I don’t hang around with.”

You scoffed. “I am not a priss! Do you know how judgmental it is to make that assumption about someone because of one totally silent dinner and one outfit? Because that’s kind of a dick move, Connor. Plus, I’m new and literally don’t know anybody else so if you could do me the miraculous favor of just letting me sit next to you, that’d be fantastic. Cut me some slack.” You said with full sincerity. It was a small comment Connor made, but you were picked on at your old school and you weren’t standing for anything this time around.

You noticed his face fall a little bit, but he still bit back with “Whatever you say, princess.”

“Great.” You muttered, sarcasm dripping from your voice. Before Connor could react, the teacher waltzed in holding a hot pocket.

“Hello class,” he began with a sing-song voice, “I’m Mr. Reyes. I’m your teacher for English 4. I’ll allow you to sit wherever you want, just as long as you don’t disrupt my class. Now! Let’s go over the curriculum.” Mr Reyes practically sang his introduction.

To your surprise, Connor leaned over to whisper to you. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of distractions from this guy.” He placed a note on your desk, and you read the writing.

Connor(me): 973-409-3313

You gave him a quizzical look, but pulled out your cell phone and quickly added his number to your contacts. Sending a new message, you simply typed ‘sup’. Connor smiled, pulling out his phone too and immediately logging into it to message you back.

Connor M Who brings a hot pocket to school? Lol

You laughed softly to yourself and wrote back.

(Y/N) Mr. Reyes apparently. What classes do u have?

Connor M Why? Wanna see if we have any more together?

(Y/N) You wish. Whatev, idc. So Connor. Knitting, huh? Your mom said u like it B)

Connor M Fuck off it’s therapeutic

(Y/N) Rude. So u actually do it?

Connor M Yeah. Problem?

(Y/N) Nah, I love knitting. I make lots of hats, scarves, socks, and I made a sweater once. It’s pink

Connor M Cool. Never tried hats b4. Or any of that other stuff.

(Y/N) Huh? So what do u make?

The bell rang.

Time had gone on so fast that you didn’t realize an entire period has passed. You locked your phone and packed up your stuff. Connor did the same.

“See ya, Murphy.” You called, standing up and turning to leave the class.

“Yeah, see ya.” Connor looked up at you, watching you leave. His eyes seemed kinder than when you first walked in.

* You somehow made it halfway through the day okay and found your way to the lunchroom, which was an accomplishment. Major accomplishment. Now your main challenge was actually finding people to sit with. You could either stay inside in the lunchroom or head out to the courtyard outside. You decided on the latter, thinking if you were going to be alone you might as well do it in a less crowded place with nice weather. The sun’s out today.

You carried your blue lunch box and pulled out your phone so you could pretend to be texting while walking to the courtyard. It was less embarrassing to be alone that way if you look like you’re busy anyways. Typing random letters into your notes, you collided with someone. Directly slamming your face into their chest, collided. Talk about humiliating.

You looked up, already beginning to spew out frantic apologies when you saw who it was.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t- Oh. Connor.”

“Pfft. Look where you’re going, much?” He asked, looking down on you.

“Hello to you too. Sorry, I was just trying to find somewhere to sit.” You told him half-heartedly.

“On your phone?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think your phone will tell you where to go.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it.” You throw out. You look at the ground, avoiding Connor’s gaze. “Can I sit with you? I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

He didn’t answer for a second, which worried you. You lifted your head to see him, and he looked slightly confused, but he nodded his head. “Follow me.”

You walked with Connor to a small picnic table under a tree where he had a soda and a sack lunch splayed out. You sat down and unpacked your things, and you both ate. There wasn’t much conversation, but it wasn’t total silence. It wasn’t bad.

The rest of the day passed you by oh-so-slowly. You were beyond relieved when you finally got to go home. Your mom came to pick you up since you didn’t have the energy to drive. She made the average 'how was school’ small talk until you got home, but after that she let you be and you went up to your room, flinging yourself onto the bed. Ugh.

Your phone buzzed and for the second time that day, you saw a brand new message from Connor Murphy.

Connor M How was ur first day? Our school sucks

(Y/N) I mean? It was okay I guess. Didn’t make any friends but I made it through ok.

Connor M Wrong. U made me

(Y/N) Yeah?

Connor M Yeah.

You sent back a smiley face and clicked your phone off, looking out your window only to notice Connor’s room was directly across from yours. Hm.

* The next day went just as your first did. Your second went the same way. And the third. The school days went okay and other than Connor, you didn’t talk to anyone. You two texted back and forth during English and ate lunch together. You talked more than you did yesterday. When you got home, Connor would text you and sometimes you’d talk from between your windows. Slowly, you two stared hanging out more outside of school.

That’s how life went for awhile.

A couple months into the school year, you found yourself hanging out in Connor’s room at 4pm on a Wednesday. You were lying on his bed while he sat in his window sill. You were explaining in detail your favorite musical, all the tiny details included.

Connor laughed. “Jesus, (Y/N). I had no idea you were so into this shit. I knew you liked theatre but I didn’t know it was this intense!”

“Shut up, I bet you have interest in something embarrassing too. Everybody has their guilty pleasures!” You defended yourself.

Connor smiled at you, but denied it. “Yeah well, I guess I’m not everybody because I do not. No Connor Murphy guilty pleasures here.” He scratched his head.

“You’re lying. You scratch your head when you lie. Don’t think I haven’t picked up on that habit, Connor.” You pointed out. In response, Connor told you to 'fuck off’ but you persisted.

“I’m serious, what is it?!” You demanded. “I won’t shut up about it until you tell me.”

“God, I know you won’t.” He paused. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell a SINGLE person. No joke, if you do I’ll kick your ass.”

“Nah, you love me too much. You would never.” You tease. “Plus, I think we’re close enough by now. I always tell you about mine, and we trust each other enough right?”

“Something like that.” He looked at you. “Whatever, just let me get something.” He stood up and dug around in his closet for awhile until he pulled out a plastic bag full of something you couldn’t quite see yet. Regretting his choice as soon as it was done, he dumped it upside down on his bed and revealed little knitted marijuana leaves. With faces.

…

“Connor.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Connor, these are so adorable! Who knew weed could be cute?!” You exclaimed, picking some up to examine them. “But I have to ask. What do you even do with these?” You questioned.

Connor’s eyes darted to the floor. “I sell them.”

You sent him a questionable look, which you knew he didn’t see but he continued anyways. “For whatever fucking reason people on Etsy eat them up. You can sell anything on there.”

“This is brilliant.”

Connor furrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t think this is weird?”

“No, I totally do. But it’s brilliant.

He rolled his eyes.

"Can I see your Etsy page?” You asked, hopeful.

“Why the fuck do you want to see my Etsy page?” He asked, confused.

“I don’t know, I just wanna see how many you’ve sold and stuff.”

Connor rolled his eyes again, but picked up his computer and logged on. As he opened Safari and logged into Etsy, you made quiet little cheers. Connor silently passed his computer to you so you could see his online shop. Browsing over his tiny creations, you began clicking on reviews.

“Wow, Connor! People really love these things.” You exclaim. “What do you even use the money for?”

Connor chuckled, and stared at you. “What do you think? I use it to pay for weed.”

“What?” You questioned. “Why can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“You know how much I smoke a week? They would know. Plus, I don’t want to owe them anything. I don’t need anything from them but the bare minimum.” He told you. You mumbled something about it 'kinda making sense’ and continued to scroll through marijuana toy reviews. Reading an interesting bit, you started giggling to yourself.

“Con… You sold these at a craft fair?”

His face went red. Which was probably the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen, second only to knitted marijuana toys. He quickly snatched his laptop out of your hands and slammed it shut as you began laughing even harder.

“Somebody wrote a review and said they got some from you at a craft fair! Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever heard.” You smiled ecstatically.

“No I didn’t. That lady was probably tripping on mushrooms and has no idea what’s she’s talking about.” He denied.

“Connor, don’t even try. I saw. This is AMAZING. I never would have thought you’d even be at a craft fair, let alone selling stuff!” You were practically yelling, you thought it was so amusing.

“Literally shut up, its not that fucking funny.”

“Yes it is! When’s the next craft fair? Will you take me?”

“I hate you so much.”

“Can I help you knit some more?”

“I’m never letting you in my house again.”

“I’ll give them the cutest facial expressions ever!”

“(Y/N), stop. I’m serious.”

“Make me. This is too good to-”

Before you could even process what was happening, his lips were on yours and his hand was cupping the side of your face. Just as quickly as it happened he pulled away, but he kept his face inches from yours. He smirked.

“Wow.” You blurted, your eyes darting back and forth between his own.

He laughed softly, and you were suddenly painfully aware of the fact that his hand was still resting on your cheek. You felt your face flush. Now too flustered to look Connor in the eye, you opted to look down instead. He moved his hand from your cheek to your chin and pulled it up, forcing you oh so gently to look at him which seemed to set your face ablaze.

“You told me to make you, it was the first thing that came to mind.” He explained.

You giggled softly, and then stared at him for a second. Without thinking, you took his face in both of your hands, leaned in and kissed him hard. He kissed back immediately, causing you to whimper softly into his mouth. He took this as an opportunity to slip his tongue in ever so slightly. You, without breaking contact, climbed on top of his lap and continued to kiss the boy. Gradually, one of your hands ended up tangled in his brown hair and he had one hand riding up your thigh. When you both were desperate for air, you pulled back.

You stared at each other. You, at Connor’s messed up hair and newly-planted pink lipstick marks; and Connor, at your swollen lips and red face. You smiled wide, and so did he.

“I should tell you to 'make me’ more often, huh?” You joked.

“Depends. Does this mean we’re dating?” Connor asked you.

You nodded and said, “If you want it to.”

“I do.” He answered.

“Okay, good. So do I.” You told him. “Suddenly I’m really grateful for the embarrassing craft fair secret.”

He shrugged off that comment and pulled you towards him and into his chest. You gladly leaned against him, taking in the smell of cologne and a slight hint of weed. It was nice. He kissed the top of your head and you smiled.

How cliche it was to fall for the boy next door. But you weren’t complaining.

-Mod Rae

I don’t know how to end things

#dear evan hansen #connor murphy #connor x reader #connor murphy x reader #evan hansen #evan hansen x reader #evan x reader #one shot #jared kleinman #jared kleinman x reader #jared x reader #musicals #theatre #fanfiction #mod rae #deh

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meeedeee · 7 years

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Writers, Entitlement, Snark – Oh, My! RSS FEED OF POST WRITTEN BY FOZMEADOWS

As busy as I am right now, I can’t seem to move past this article about Dan Thomson, a 68-year-old man who recently filed a complaint against the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, claiming they rejected his application on the basis of age discrimination. The workshop’s current director, Lan Samantha Chang, who has been in the job for over a decade, says that the selection process is based entirely on talent: though other details about the candidates are sent to the graduate school, her policy is “not to look at them and to evaluate candidates solely on the writing sample.”

To be clear at the outset: age discrimination certainly exists in the world, and is just as certainly a problem. I will, however, lay real cash-money that age is not the reason Thomson was rejected, and would have done so even before reading the blurb and first two chapters of his self-published opus on Goodreads. (And oh, goddamn, are we returning to that subject later.)

“It seems like a program just for millennials,” says Thomson. “I would have guessed there’d be a broader range of ages.” As the article points out, the program is held at a graduate school, where the main demographic is people in their twenties: just under half of those accepted since 2013 have been aged between 18 and 25, while the median age for accepted applicants is 34 and a half. The median age of all applicants, however, is only 36 – hardly a difference suggestive of bias.

Thomson, he says, isn’t interested in seeing the program reprimanded: he just wants to get in: “I wanted to make clear that somebody my age has a right to do it.”

To paraphrase The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, this must be some strange usage of the word right that I wasn’t previously aware of. While it’s certainly Thomson’s right to apply to the workshop, it is not his right to be accepted. There are only 25 spots available to the thousand-odd yearly applicants: with that sort of ratio in play, even genuine talents will inevitably miss out, not because they’re bad writers, but because there simply isn’t space for everyone.

And then we get to the kicker:

Thomson said he enjoyed his creative writing classes in college in the early 1970s, but found at the time he lacked the perspective on life to offer more than surface finery in his prose.

“It’s not prejudice against young people to say, ‘You don’t have a lot of experience,’ ” he said.

After graduate school in anthropology and law school, Thomson focused on raising his family and living a life worth writing about. Two years ago, he completed his first novel-length work, “The Candidate,” and decided to self-publish it.

He has not sought other options for publication, nor has he applied to other creative writing programs…

“It may be vanity on my part… but I have a fairly high opinion of the two pieces that I sent in,” he said.

Again, for the sake of clarity: I have nothing against self-publishing as an endeavour. I know some amazing writers who’ve opted to take that route, and have fallen in love with many an indie book as a consequence, to say nothing of self-pubbed-gone-mainstream works like Becky Chambers’ The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet. Nor do I have any bias against writers who start their careers later in life: one of the most moving novels I’ve ever read, The Gurnsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, was the first and only work of Mary Ann Shaffer, published posthumously after her death at age 74. There are plenty of great writers who never got their start until later in life, or who found success through non-traditional means, or who managed both: because, by themselves, these facts are not cause for any degree of scepticism.

But for fuck’s sake.

Among authors of any kind, a near-universal pet peeve is being told, on revealing their career, “Oh, I’d love to write a book some day!” by someone who admits to not writing now. It’s not that we have any bone-deep aversion to the idea of writing for fun as opposed to writing for money; indeed, a great many of us swim in both waters at once, or else migrated from one camp to the other without quite noticing how it happened. The objection, rather, is to those who reflexively conflate the two – “Oh, you do this as a job? I’d love that as a hobby!” – without realising how arrogantly dismissive this sounds. At best, they’re assuming that writing involves no element of craft or skill that requires refinement over time, no awareness of an ever-fluctuating market and industry, and so can be picked up by anyone at the drop of a hat. At worst, they’re boasting of their own brilliance-to-be: you might be a dedicated professional, but damned if they aren’t confident they can do just as well or better without all the years of work.

Dan Thomson, it would appear, ticks both these boxes. On the basis of no more experience than a single self-published novel, The Candidate – which, at 100 pages long, is more accurately a novella – and participation in a few writing classes forty-odd years ago, he applied to one of the most prestigious MFA programs in America. So, naturally, age discrimination is the only possible reason for his failure to make the cut.

That rumbling you hear is the sound of my jaw grinding bitten-off expletives into grist.

At age fifteen, I opined to my then-English teacher, a woman now sadly deceased, that the reason my story hadn’t won or placed in a contest to which I’d submitted it was genre bias against science fiction. Mildly, she replied that she knew of multiple students who’d won such contests with SF stories. “Oh,” I said, and deflated a little, and then forced myself to acknowledge the possibility that, regardless of my abilities, other people might indeed be better. Thomson’s seeming inability to make a similar deductive leap at age 68, coupled with his stated belief that “young people” lack sufficient life experience to write well, doesn’t suggest to me that he’d do well taking crit from other, younger writers – which is basically what an MFA entails, though I doubt Thomson realises it – even if the Iowa Writers’ Workshop did let him in.

And believe me, he would be subject to criticism. Oh, would he fucking ever.

A brief disclaimer: as someone who works as both an author and a critic, I make a conscious effort to review transparently. If I think there’s a problem in the text, I show my working; if I haven’t read the full book or have skimmed particular sections, I say so; and if a story hits my buttons, whether positively or negatively, I aim to make that fact clear. In the context of writing groups and editorial work, I try to set my stylistic preferences aside and focus instead on the author’s intentions: on providing feedback that helps them make their style better instead of more like mine. As such, I don’t usually weigh in on fragments or blurbs of a random writer’s work unless they’ve said something in public – such as in interview or at a convention – that suggests a direct link between their attitude about the world, or writing, or the world as expressed through writing, and the content they’ve produced.

That being so, and in accordance with his clear belief that his work merits the same respect as the would-be bests in the field, I will treat Thomson as I would any author possessed of such a glaring disconnect between their self-perception and reality: with sarcasm and sources.

According to the article’s author, Thomson didn’t pursue writing in his youth because, “at the time he lacked the perspective on life to offer more than surface finery in his prose,” with Thomson himself quoted as saying, “It’s not prejudice against young people to say, ‘You don’t have a lot of experience.'” This strongly suggests that Thomson has, for whatever reason, conflated life experience with literary skill: that, in his view, the way to improve as a writer isn’t to work on your prose, but to gain more inspiration. This perspective is echoed in the blurb for his novella, The Candidate, which is less a plot summary than a full paragraph of Thomson explaining why his book is important:

Can An Honest Man Be Elected President? I didn’t give the protagonist of The Candidate a face. I didn’t give him a body or a race either. That was not an oversight. I am confident you will do that for me. I did give him a voice and when you hear that voice you will assign him whatever characteristics seem appropriate to you. Listen to that voice. If you don’t know what Norman Telos has to say about life in America then you don’t know where you live. Does a fish know he is swimming in water? Does he know his pond, lake, river, ocean? After a series of wars, recessions and global warming we are wondering where we are and where we are going. There is a fear that rich powerful men have an agenda for America. The Carlisle Group did write a plan for the new American Century. They believe that war is good for our economy and our souls. War is of course older than the Carlisle Group. Eisenhower warned us of the Military Industrial Complex. Remember that a demand for more bombs requires that they be exploded. Mr. Telos also speaks of important economic realities for a democratic capitalist society. He reminds us of an unshakable truth that Karl Marx gave us. “Capitalist societies require a reserve army of the unemployed to keep wages down.” So we keep a pool of unemployed and poorly employed in poverty. This book is written for people who can think and want to think. It is not the Sermon on the Mount or holy writ, but a spark to your own thinking.

There are, I would submit, three possible explanations for the creation of such a blurb, none of which is flattering to Thomson: pure ego, a lack of awareness that fiction and non-fiction blurbs have different conventions, or a failure to distinguish between a blurb and a review. Either way, his assertion that, “If you don’t know what Norman Telos has to say about life in America then you don’t know where you live,” is suggestive both of hostility to criticism – if you don’t like, agree with or understand this book, then it’s no fault of mine – and a flat conflation of worldly experience with literary merit. It doesn’t seem a stretch to suggest that the ethos of the fictional Norman Telos is closely aligned with that of his creator: in exhorting us to value his character’s wisdom, Thomson is, with precious little deftness, hoping we’ll praise him.

Thanks to the preview function on Goodreads, I was able to read the first two chapters of The Candidate. It is not an experience I recommend, unless you like laughing angrily at the sheer bloody-minded entitlement of untalented men.

“The name of Norman Telos’ car was an automatic talk show joke,” the book begins. Thomson swiftly proceeds to describe said car in detail for the better part of three pages, making sure to tell us that it’s the best sedan since the model-T. Only then is it made clear that, rather than being a car that Norman owns, it’s actually one he’s invented. As such, we skip immediately on to the details of his next invention, a silent machine gun sold to the DOD.

And then this happens:

Norman Telos’ next series of inventions were drone cops to solve the Ferguson problems. To Norman Telos the events that happened in Fergusson, Missouri in the summer of 2014 and the shooting of the Black boy with the toy pistol in Cleveland November of 2014 were two problems of trust that could both be solved by a machine. Blacks cannot trust the police because too many police are racists. Police fear for their own lives in confrontational situations. The answer to both problems is to put officer friendly in front of a video game screen controlling a drone that takes all the risks for him. His actions will be documented solving the age old question of who polices the police. Further, the situation was safer for both the police and the policed. The drones were armed with a machine gun for extreme situations where killing to prevent killing would justify its use. More importantly the drones were equipped with nonlethal force; air powered bean bag guns that could knock any perp on his back and if he refused to surrender the bean bags could be shot at him until he had no ability to resist, an arm that carried hand cuffs to the perp and finally the machine itself was powerful enough to push over several men.

RACIST POLICING IS SOLVED FOREVER, EVERYONE CAN GO HOME NOW HAHAHA FOR SERIOUS OH WAIT oh god why.

The description of the drones goes on for several more pages. Comparisons to both R2D2 and Robocop are made – hilariously so, though comedy is clearly not the intent. Crime falls, Norman grows ever richer from his inventions, and the reader’s will to live takes a savage beating. Then, just as I was about to schedule an emergency splenectomy to help inure myself to this nonsense – taking cops out of physical danger doesn’t remove their racism, which is the actual fucking problem here, and especially not when you arm them with machine guns, are you kidding me? – I reached the wonder of Chapter 2, which suddenly introduces a Female Character! And oh. Oh, my god. YOU GUYS:

The beautiful young blond with a face like Ingrid Bergman was a two thousand dollar a day call girl. She was flown to Norman Telos’ yacht anchored in Mobile bay by helicopter. At 4 in the afternoon Norman and Jane Gray were lying relaxed and naked in Norman’s king sized bed sipping martinis. Jane asked, “So what is next for you Norm?”

Norman, “Two hours of latency recovery and then either my 65 year old penis will rise on its own for more loving or I will give it more chemical inducement.”

Jane, “That is a rather crude not too funny joke which makes me feel cheap. I may make a lot of money on this job but I refuse to be treated like or talked to like a whore. Call for your helicopter. You can have a refund.”

Norman, “Sorry. I truly didn’t mean to insult you. Please don’t be so sensitive. I saw it as a joke at my expense.”

Jane, “Ok. By next I didn’t mean here and now between us. I wanted to know what you are going to do with your billionaire career. What is next?”

Norman, “I am going to run for President.”

Jane, “Wow. I never expected to hear a thing like that and take it seriously, but coming from you, of course. So why do you want to be President.”

Norman, “I don’t really want to be President. I want to run. Winning is unlikely and would probably be a bore. Besides I will be running on the Democratic side and Diebold is likely to sell the next election to the Republicans.”

It’s at this point that I stopped breathing properly and had to wheeze into my cupped hands for several minutes. (Also, lest you think that Thomson is some sort of geriatric savant who accidentally presaged our decent into the darkest timeline, I’d note that The Candidate was published in February 2016, well after Donald Trump announced his intention to run for President. Whatever other similarities lie therein, I’ll leave to a more intrepid soul to fathom.)

Norman and Jane continue to talk for the rest of the chapter. I only skimmed after that, but not distractedly enough to miss Norman posing this serious philosophical query: “Is there a god or a dyslexic dog?” Jane doesn’t answer, but that’s not surprising: she’s pretty much there as a prop to give Norman an excuse to extemporise in detail about Why Religion Is Wrong. Only then, mercifully, did my free sample come to an end.

At a base technical level, Thomson doesn’t know enough about prose writing to include the word “said” and a comma after each character name, or how to indicate the possessive for a proper noun ending in s, or any of the basic rules of pacing, structure or grammar. Even so, no line edit in the world can fix this mess. The prose is didactic and clunky in a way that only comes from being wrongly convinced of the brilliance of bad ideas, while the introduction of Jane Gray is the literal embodiment of How Not To Write A Female Character. Culturally, we spend a lot of time mocking female writers for their (supposedly) thinly-veiled self-insert characters, and yet I can say with authority that I’ve never encountered any such work by a teenage girl that manages to be anywhere near as obnoxiously obvious as the equivalent fantasies written by grown men.

So, yeah: Dan Thomson, whatever he might like to think, did not fail to get into the Iowa Writers’ Workshop because of age discrimination, but because his writing fails to meet even the most basic grammatical and structural standards you would reasonably expect a high school English graduate to know. But let’s by all means keep up the steady flow of editorials claiming whiny entitlement is a millennial problem. Like the proverbial five o’clock, it’s always a slow news day somewhere.

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Raven King, Chapter 6 – The Return Of Sassmaster McSavage

In which the Foxes and the Ravens meet, no one has any kind of chill, everyone has eaten a healthy dose of Extra and Dramatic for breakfast, and no one can keep their mouths shut – but most importantly, in which shit gets so, so fucking real.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

You guys.

You GUYS.

Remember how you keep telling me I’m not even ready?

Yeah. ABOUT THAT.

I am writing this immediately after just because I could not wait to comment on the absolute FUCKERY that went down just now.

Fun drinking game: Take a shot every time I swear in this chapter. I have no chill left.

Let’s start at the beginning.

They pulled onto the interstate with thirteen people on board: the Fox team, the two-man staff, and Aaron’s and Nicky’s dates.

Shame. I would have paid to see Andrew and Renee going as wonderful platonic goalie BFF dates.

It quickly becomes obvious that we’re in for a wild fucking ride when Mighty And Stoic Kevin Day already starts having panic attacks while still on the bus.

It wasn’t just Riko Kevin was afraid of. In twenty minutes, he’d be facing his entire former team. (…) Neil didn’t know much about [Tetsuji Moriyama]. The one time Kevin mentioned him he’d slipped and called him “the master”. Neil didn’t need to hear anything else after that.

Oh yeah. THAT SHIT.

Seriously what the FUCK is up with that family. This is 24601 shades of fucked up.

Wymack, sensing Kevin’s panic (not that that’s fucking hard at the moment) resorts to some ah – unorthodox methods to keep his striker calm.

Wymack pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and put it down beside Kevin. “You have ten seconds to inhale as much of this as possible. Go.”

It was alarming how much a man could drink when he needed an emotional crutch.

Kevin doesn’t need an emotional crutch, Kevin needs an emotional wheelchair. An emotional prosthesis. Jeez. I’d be drinking, too, if I had to go meet my lifelong abusers face-to-face at a fucking banquet, having to make polite conversation with the people who broke my hand, my self-esteem and probably my will to live.

Also, I’m starting to consider Wymack not the dad of the team, but more the grumpy uncle – not huge on emotional sappiness, getting them hard liquor, constantly calling them out on their bullshit, yet loving them all fiercely. #dicksoutforwymack

Wymack (…) turned to Neil.

“You,” he said, “attempt to behave this time. Don’t pick fights with him today.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Meaning: So, so many fights will be picked today. So many. You are not even ready for all the fight-picking my short-tempered sassy ass is about to do.

With that, the banquet is off!

Thick cushioned mats covered the polished floor to keep table legs and chairs from scraping up the wood. (…) Neil had never seen so many people on an Exy court before. There was still plenty of room to walk around between the tables, but Neil hated seeing a court repurposed like this.

Oh my gooooooood shut the hell up you obsessed knob. It’s not being used right now, so we might as well use it to fit everyone for the banquet. It’s just a wooden floor, for fuck’s sake.

And now – this is where shits starts getting good.

Did I say Neil was Extra™? Did I complain about Kevin being too dramatic?

Forget all that. Meet the true masters of Extra And Dramatic™ – introducing: The Edgar Allan Ravens.

The Ravens hadn’t brought dates. They hadn’t brought any colour along, either. All twenty-two of them were dressed head-to-toe in black. The twenty men wore the same shirts and slacks, and the two women wore identical dresses. They even sat the same way, all with their right elbows on the table, all of them with their chins in their hands.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.

Uniform is one thing, but sitting the same way, like ARE YOU ACTUALLY REAL. HOW IS THIS AN ACTUAL THING ACTUAL PEOPLE FUCKING DO.

Of course, some sly fucker in the organization committee had the hilarious idea to sit the two teams directly across from each other. Of fucking course.

Dan, ever the model captain, introduces herself and her team to Riko, as if he didn’t get completely annihilated on national TV by her striker just a few weeks ago.

That Fucker™, however, isn’t having it.

“I know who you are,” Riko said. “Who here doesn’t? You’re the woman who captains a Class I team. You’ve done admittedly well despite your disadvantages.”

“What disadvantages?”

“Do you really want me to start listing them?” Riko asked. “This is only a two-day event, Hennessey.”

OI SCREW YOU YA BIG FUCKNOODLE. I will not have you insult my treasured lionheart daughter like that.

Also, I thought her name was Wilds? The fuck is a Hennessey.

(Side note: I am sorry you guys, this recap is going to be ridiculously long. Every single line here is gold. Blame Nora for writing the sassiest, shadiest, most shocking and just in general best chapter of this series so far.)

It’s time for a new character introduction, one I’ve heard many of you ramble on about on the interwebs – that French dude.

Neil didn’t recognize the man, but he didn’t need to ask. The black number three tattooed on his left cheekbone meant he could be no one but Jean Moreau.

Lovely. Another one of those dumb ass face tattoo fuckers. I’m filing you as French and pretentious, my dude.

“You look familiar,” Jean said in heavily accented English.

“If you watched Kathy’s show you saw me there,” Neil said.

“Ah, you are right. That must be it. What was your name again? Alex? Stefan? Chris?”

In eight years on the run Neil had been through sixteen countries and twenty-two names. Hearing one name from Jean wouldn’t mean anything. Hearing three wasn’t a coincidence.

Alright, French and pretentious AND TERRIFYING. COOL.

What the hell??? How??

“Blame my mother,” Neil said. “She named me.”

“How is she doing, by the way?” Riko asked.

That Fucker™ knows. He knows.

This was bound to come around at some point. Kevin being too traumatized to recognize Neil was nothing short of amazing, but I guess we can’t always be that lucky.

It was nice knowing you, Neil, because your ass is fucking dead.

Neil might have answered, but Dan beat him to it with an annoyed “Don’t antagonize my team, Riko. This isn’t the place for it.”

“I was being polite,” Riko said. “You haven’t seen me antagonistic yet.”

And I don’t think I fucking want to, hombre.

Excuse me for a second while I nerd out over the most unexpected reference of this entire series:

Neither of them [Kevin and Jean] had anything else to say to each other, but they stared each other down unblinking. Andrew lost interest before long and leaned forward.

“Jean,” he said. “Hey, Jean. Jean Valjean. Hey. Hey. Hello.”

……………………………. did you just.

JEAN VALJEAN. AS IN, BREAD DAD. AS IN, THE PROTAGONIST OF ONE OF MY FAVOURITE MUSICALS/FILMS/FANDOMS OF ALL TIME. Like, I’ve done Les Mis cosplay. Several times. That’s how dedicated I am.

I AM #SHOOK.

However, I am decidedly not liking Jean Valjean – or either of That Fucker™’s posse, actually. They first take a few moments to talk shit about Andrew (“publicity stunt”, can you fuck the fuck off) and then they come for my firstborn daughter Renee.

The woman now on Riko’s right gave a loud snort. “If someone like that replaced you in goal, you must be downright terrible. I can’t wait to watch one of your matches. I think it will be entertaining. We would make a drinking game of it but we don’t want to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Yeah, that’s be a shame,” Dan said with heavy sarcasm.

DAN <33333

My darling angel, however, doesn’t take the bait.

“Do we have to start off so poorly?”

“Why not? You’re poor at everything else you do,” the woman said. “Is it honestly fun to be so terrible?”

“I imagine we have more fun than you do, yes,” Renee said.

Correction: My darling angel does take the bait – and brings the fucking shade.

“Fun is for children,” Jean said, looking away from Andrew.

If he’d been going to say anything else, he forgot it when he got a good look at Renee.

First of all – “fun is for children”, can you fucking chill, Monsieur Pretentieux Superlatif.

Second of all – what’s that “suddenly stopping talking when he sees Renee” thing about?? Do they have shared history as well? Is he just blinded by her angelic beauty and wants to bone her?

I am absolutely NOT LIKING the latter possibility. Protect my daughter.

The Ravens continue being The Absolute Worst™, talking about how Kevin “belongs” to them (can u fuckin not) and should come to his senses and return to them (as fucking if).

“You should reconsider our offer before we rescind it for good, Kevin. Face the facts. You pet is and always be dead weight. It’s time to –“

“What?” Andrew turned a wide-eyed look on Kevin. “You have a pet and never told us? Where do you keep it, Kevin?”

ANDREW LET ME LOVE YOU. I had to laugh so hard at that, oh my god. That’s the only proper way to respond to something like that, tbh.

That Fucker™, however, has found a new target to harass – ya boi Neil, who has kept admirably quiet so far and has probably bitten off his own tongue at this point trying to avoid bursting out in sass rants.

That is, until That Fucker™ comes for his mom.

“What a coward,” Riko said with exaggerated disappointment. “Just like his mother.”

Cue the moment I stopped breathing.

“You know, I get it,” Neil said. “Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court – yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time.”

HOLY FUCKING –

“I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you are physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

I had to take a moment. I had to put the book down and fucking scream for a moment.

SASSMASTER MCSAVAGE STRIKES AGAIN, Y’ALL.

I AM YELLING AND CLAPPING MY HANDS LIKE AN EXCITED SEAL FFS NEIL I L O V E Y O U.

Neil leaned forward and look down at the table at Dan, who sat with her face buried in her hands.

“Dan, I said please. I tried to be nice.”

Oh my GOD. That is just the cherry on top of the sundae of EPICNESS that just went down.

I SAID PLEASE.

I cannot handle this. I cannot. Holy shit.

Jean turned on Kevin and spoke in quick, furious French. “What the hell is this?”

“His antagonism is a personality flaw we’ve learned to live with,” Kevin said.

Pfftftftftftt. Kevin is entirely done with this situation and I love it.

However, fun times are immediately the fuck over, as Jean Valjean hints at someone having “bought” Neil and assumes Kevin had recruited him because of that.

And just as I was beginning to wonder hat hell he is talking about – he drops this.

“Riko will have a few moments of your time later,” Jean said. “I suggest you speak with him if you do not want everyone to know you are the Butcher’s son.”

WHAT.

OH SHIT T H E Y K N O W I FUCKING SAID IT OH SHIT WHAT.

Kevin, who has skillfully repressed his memories of Neil up until this point, is about as shocked by this development as I am and has to go have some emergency vodka, like, asap.

Neil, on the other hand, shows some wonderful, wonderful signs of character development.

“Neil, if you can’t be here say so,” Wymack said. “Abby can take you elsewhere until it’s time to leave. Get out of here and get some fresh air.”

It was the perfect opening, but Neil couldn’t take it. If he did, he really would go, and he wouldn’t come back. Running wasn’t easy, but it was easier than trusting Andrew. But Neil remembered the weight of a key in his palm, its metal soaked through with another person’s body heat. He remembered Andrew’s promise to see this year through with him.

“No,” Neil said, finally finding his voice. “I knew this was going to happen. I just wasn’t ready for it. I’m fine.”

Ma BOY <3 Neil slowly learning to trust people and deal with his problems is my No 1 kink.

Actually, No 2 kink. No 1 would be Neil absolutely shade-wrecking people.

They leave their mess of a seating arrangement and find some new spots elsewhere, and later go mingling with the other teams. This goes surprisingly well, mostly due to the fact that it gives Neil and Kevin an excuse to talk about Exy and Exy alone – which is, as we all know, the only fucking thing those two morons can talk about.

However, those admirable avoiding tactics only go well for so long.

It took him a few seconds to realize the Ravens were coming. The entire team was crossing the court toward Kevin, walking in V formation like a flock of birds going south.

Are you serious. What level of dramatic holy SHIT.

Did they, like, form this like a dance formation before walking over? Riko instructing everyone where to stand, ‘no, you over there, leave equal amounts of space, come on guys, just form a diagonal line, we need to get going, we need to look intimidating, gUYS’

Or do they do this so often that is has become second nature by now and it’s just how they go everywhere?

I genuinely don’t know which option I find funnier.

But wait – it gets better.

Riko stopped further away than Neil thought he would, but Neil understood a moment later. The rest of the Ravens kept going, flipping their V until they’d trapped the three Foxes between them.

I am crying so much how is this a thing you do, literally what level of Extra and Dramatic™ are you ON, I cannot deal with this.

Please – next time I comment on how extra the Foxes are being, remind me of The V Incident.

Now, just as I was thinking ‘oh shit, this is going to go south again so quickly’… Foxes to the rescue!

Renee appeared out of nowhere at Kevin’s other side. She looped one arm through Kevin’s and held her free hand out to Jean. “Jean, wasn’t it? My name is Renee Walker. We didn’t really get a chance to talk earlier.”

Confusion eased Jean’s stoic mask into something more than a little uncomfortable, be he accepted her handshake. “Jean Moreau.”

For real, I’m so interested in what the fuck is going on with these two. My money is on shared history. This could be my Renee’s-backstory-hungry brain talking, but reading their passages this sounds v v likely.

Did someone say backstory??

[Matt] held out his hand but didn’t look surprised when no one took it. “Guess the pleasure’s all mine.”

“We’re sure it is,” the Raven striker said, “seeing how you’re dating a prostitute.”

“Stripper,” Dan corrected as she showed up and wound an arm around Matt’s waist. (…) “Hopefully you’re smart enough to distinguish between the two professions. If you’re not, I have serious concerns about your academic standings.”

FUCK, YEAH.

DAN, MY GIRL MY DUDE MY DAUGHTER.

She was a stripper! Holy shit! And she’s not ashamed of it, but admits it freely and is even proud of it! Holy! Shit!

Positive depictions of sex workers in pop culture is so, so rare, and I’m so happy we get some here. I did not expect this and I’m v pleasantly surprised right now.

“Hennessey, right?” one of the strikers said. “Such a good name for such a fierce spirit.”

“We were a little disappointed that you didn’t sign up as part of the entertainment tonight,” one of the others said. “We were looking forward to the show.” (…)

The striker grinned at Matt over [Dan’s] shoulder, then tilted forward and sucked a deep breath against her neck.

Dan brought her stilettos between his legs inn a vicious punch.

I repeat myself: FUCK. YEAH.

Also, that’s what a Hennessey is. Noted.

Fun backstory done – That Fucker, Senior™ has arrived. Tetsuji Moriyama is about everything I don’t want near my Foxes, combined into one slimy sack of asshole. The whole “master” thing still both scares and infuriates me.

However, we don’t have to spend long enjoying his absolutely unenjoyable company as Neil is called off to have a little tête-à-tête with That Fucker, Junior™.

“Nathaniel, it has been so long.”

NATHANIEL???????

Did we just discover Neil’s true name, holy shit?????

Nathaniel is a beautiful name, though. I’ve always liked it. Shame.

Apparently, the way That Fucker™ could find Neil so quickly was by getting a glass with Neil’s fingerprints on it from Kathy Ferdinand. Well, fuck.

Riko started across the room on slow steps. “Jean says Kevin did not know who you are. After seeing Kevin’s reaction, I’m inclined to believe him. (…) But you must know who you are, so I am very, very curious to know what you think you are doing.”

Bitch, aren’t we all! Aren’t we fucking all!!

And now- we’ve reached the point where shit gets so, so painfully real.

Did I say earlier I stopped breathing when Neil was dragging Riko?

Fuck that. That was nothing compared to what followed next.

I was not remotely ready.

“You have already cost my family a sizeable fortune and eight years of trouble.”

“How?” Neil asked. “The money I took was my father’s.” (…)

“Nothing your father owned was his!” Riko snapped.

What.

Riko grabbed Neil by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Neil’s head hit hard enough to rattle teeth.

“I refuse to believe she never told you. All this time running and you never asked why?”

What.

“You were not running from your father, Nathaniel. You were running from his master.”

WHAT.

WHAT IN THE FUCKING WHAT????

What Riko was suggesting was impossible. The Butcher was one of the biggest names on the eastern seaboard. He made Baltimore his home, but his territory extended from D.C. to outer Newark. He had a fiercely loyal syndicate and a penchant for grotesque executions. (…)

If the Moriyamas really were powerful enough to keep a man like the butcher under lock and key Neil was so far in over his head he might as well be six feet under.

That is amazingly worded, well done. Also, I’m kinda peeing my pants here.

If I’ve looked this up correctly, that’s a territory about twice the size of New York City.

Like. Imagine controlling New York City. And then that – TWICE.

And THEN imagine controlling the guy who controls all of that, and then some more.

Yeah. You dead, bro.

“Learn your place. I will never tolerate this level of disrespect from you again. Do you understand?”

Neil was already in his coffin. He might as well nail it shut. “Yeah, I understand you’re a complete asshole.”

Riko: Neil, no.

The Foxes: Neil, no.

Common sense: Neil, no.

Me: NEIL, FUCK NO.

Neil: Neil, yes.

Thankfully, Matt arrives in order to save Neil from digging his sass-induced grave even deeper, and after some nice threats about ratting his shitty ass behaviour out to the ERC, Riko finally fucks off.

“I don’t think Riko likes me very much. Should I be disappointed?”

Are you fucking serious bruh. Are you serious.

Matt looked skyward as if searching for patience.

Which is, incidentally, the No 1 reaction people have to Neil speaking more than a few polite sentences at a time.

Never talk to me or my short-tempered sassmaster idiot son ever again.

And with that trainwreck of an encounter, the Foxes take their curt leave from the banquet. Some more comments are made – Neil and Kevin will have A Talk™ tomorrow, Andrew got called Doe earlier by Jean Valjean because that was his preliminary surname when he entered the foster system (which probably means the Ravens also know more about Andrew than we should be comfortable with) – but all of that pales in comparison to the absolute FUCKERY we just witnessed.

Holy shit.

I have to go, like, breathe into a bag for five hours.

See you Wednesday.

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#nicki reads tfc #tfc #trk #aftg #nora sakavic #the foxhole court #the raven king #all for the game #I know this is late but this was also a 3.5k monster so I'm really not sorry at all #enjoy my suffering #I'm still not okay

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