#I say this but i'm actually playing paper jam right now
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she’s an angel
eddie munson x female sinclair reader
synopsis: you’re a cheerleader and he’s the school freak who’s had a crush on you forever. little does he know, you got a thing for him too.
contents: fluff, some angst, eddie being a corny mess, cussing, mutual pining
word count: 1.2k
a/n: THIS IS GONNA BE A SERIES. idk what I'm doing and this might suck but I gotta write some eddie ff 😤 additionally i am a black woman, so i wrote this for myself and everyone else who wants the representation! THE TEXT MAY BE GLITCHED. if that’s the case im so sorry, i don’t know how to fix it😭
also let’s pretend that none of the vecna stuff is happening cause this is totally not following the canon story. sorry, not sorry 😮💨
chapter song (updated because this fits better in my opinion):
series masterlist
⭑･ﾟ･*.｡༅･ﾟ:*✿*ﾟ:༅･ﾟ｡.:*･ﾟ･⭑･ﾟ*.｡༅･ﾟ:*:✿:*ﾟ:༅･ﾟ｡.･ﾟ･⭑
It was the night of the championship game and Eddie's final campaign. Normally you would have gone straight home with Chrissy to hang out, but Lucas had found you during the game to spoil your plans.
“So, kind of a long story, but basically Erica’s here playing D&D in my place, and you gotta take her home.”
“And why exactly is this on me? That sounds like a Lucas problem.”
“Well now it’s a Y/n problem cause she biked here, it’s pitch black out and you know mom and dad will-“
“Completely freak if I don’t bring her back. Yeah yeah, I got it.”
You turn to Chrissy and apologize saying you’ll give her a call when you're home.
She smiles at you, “Y/n it’s okay. Sisterly duties call, plus this gives me an excuse to go to the after-party we were so desperately looking forward to avoiding. Jason’s going to be thrilled.” You both laugh and go back to watching the game while you're not cheering.
⭑･ﾟ･*.｡༅･ﾟ:*✿*ﾟ:༅･ﾟ｡.:*･ﾟ･⭑･ﾟ*.｡༅･ﾟ:*:✿:*ﾟ:༅･ﾟ｡.･ﾟ･⭑
You knock again, louder this time, hoping they might actually hear it but you end up waiting a full minute before deciding to just go in. You begin to turn the handle but find the door is jammed. Placing all your weight against it, you keep pushing until-
“What the hell is going on! Oh-” You were now on the floor looking up to see the one and only Eddie Munson looking down at you with his big brown eyes.
“What the hell is going on! Oh-” You were now on the floor looking up to see the one and only Eddie Munson looking down at you with his big brown eyes.
“Oh shit, Y/n. Are you okay?” He asks, concern laced in his voice.
Eddie had always been sweet to you.
He sat behind you in Ms. O'Donall's class and never failed to make you laugh with his random outbursts. Whenever you took tests you’d always move your paper to the far right of your desk knowing he was peeking behind you.
However, it wasn’t enough to help him get a passing grade, but you always tried helping him out because you knew he was smart, he just didn’t care to study. It had caused you to develop a bit of a crush on him if you were being honest.
You look at him in the eyes and just burst out in laughter, Eddie had never heard you laugh before, well, really laugh. You’d always giggle at his jokes or laugh with your friends, but it was never like this. You were clutching your stomach and holding back tears, he thought you looked so beautiful. So real.
“I’m so sorry, I must’ve scared the shit outta you. with all that banging.” Eddie reaches his hand out for you, which you gladly take and stand up. “So why have you graced me with your presence m’lady?”
You blush, “Oh I’m just looking for Erica, I gotta take her home since it so dark out. Um, where is she by the way?”
“Ah the littlest Sinclair, I just met her today. She's very... pleasant." You look at him with wide eyes, "Are you sure we're talking about the same Erica?" He laughs at your comment.
"She just walked out with the others, I’m sure they haven’t gone too far. I could maybe… um.” Eddie stops talking when he realized you were still holding onto his hand, tightly, your thumb grazing his rings.
Eddie has had a crush on you since middle school. You caught his eye during the talent show when you sang 'I Will Survive'. You were nervous at first but ended up having so much fun on that stage and your voice was angelic, he fell in love instantly. And now you were standing in front of him and holding his hand.
You wave your free hand in front of his face, “Earth to Eddie, are you alright?” He snaps out of his trance and looks up at you.
“Oh yeah, um I was just going to say I could help you out, i- if you wanted me to of course!” He was bright pink, and you were still holding his hand.
“That’d be nice. Could probably use some help finding that little brat anyway.” You laugh before letting go of his hand and picking up your bag which had fallen down with you earlier.
As you release your hold on him, he quickly turns around to gather his stuff, face red as a tomato.
“By the way, I heard you earlier. Nice vocals, you should be in a band or something.” You joked, but soon saw Eddie’s face as he looked at you with a sad look.
“You don’t remember. Shit you don’t remember.”
“What are you talking about Munson?”
Eddie looks you dead in the face then suddenly jumps up onto the table and starts shredding an air guitar along to the music. After his performance, he jumps down and looks at you with hope in his eyes. “Nothin’? You’re killing me here Sinclair!” He holds his hands out and dramatically brings them to his chest as if he were holding a knife.
“Eddie what the hell are you- OH MY GOD WAIT. In middle school, you were totally in a band!” He claps his hands together triumphantly.
“I’m actually still in a band, but I’ll take it. Yeah, we’re uh-“ You quickly cut him off, “Corroded Coffin. How could I forget, your hair was all buzzed, I used to think it was so cute.”
Eddie was breathless. You thought he was cute. Not only that but you had remembered the stupid haircut he sported in his younger years. “Yeah well, your sister thinks I’m a ‘long-haired freak’ so maybe I should’ve kept it short.” You laugh, the real laugh that he was falling in love with.
“Well if it makes you feel better, I’m glad you grew it out. It’s very…” You stop and think about the best word to use, “metal. That and those tattoos you got."
Eddie’s heart stopped. There’s no way that you were right here in front of him complimenting his appearance that most of your friends had made fun of throughout the years. Oh so beautiful you, standing there and getting closer to him… getting very close to him. So close he thinks he might pass out right now. “Truthfully, I think you’re very handsome Eddie, no matter what stupid haircut you might have.”
Before he can respond, you plant a kiss on his pink cheek then run to the door, “I’ll see you outside Eds.”
Eddie gripped the table behind him to balance himself, trying wrap his head around what just happened. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by none other than Dustin.
“Eddie, what's the hold-up? You’ve been in here for a while are you okay?”
“I must’ve died and gone to heaven because an angel just kissed me”
“What the hell are you talking abou-“ Dustin stopped before smiling at Eddie putting 2 and 2 together after seeing you smiling like a lunatic in the hallway, “OH MY GOD YOU AND Y/N KISSED?! I gotta tell Lucas, he's gonna lose his shit.”
Before Dustin could run from the room, Eddie grabbed his collar to hold him back.
“Not a word to anyone Henderson. Not a fucking word.” Dustin nodded aggressively so he'd let him go.
“Now," Eddie puts on his jacket and composes himself, "let’s go outside, she’s waiting for me.”
a/n: that’s all 🧍🏽♀️ i hope this wasn’t terrible, i really tried my best! hoping to write a few more parts soon but i got work and stuff lol ☺️
im gonna make a taglist too, pls fill out this form if you wanna be on it!
taglist form
chapter 2
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x black reader#eddie munson x black!reader#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x sinclair!reader#eddie#stranger things 4#stranger things season 4#st4#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fics#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x sinclair reader#Spotify#she's an angel series
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I just found your page and I absolutely love (also wanna smack the shit out of ghost for having double standards) the New roommate ghost prompt.
Can I be bit greedy (Forgive me) and ask for two prompts at once?
Number 11 - I'm a sick fuck 'cause I like when you ignore me!
And number 17 - I don't give a fuck about your friends; I'm right here!
With Ghost.
(make him Grovel for love)
Please. 🥺🥺🙏🙏
you got it! 😈
so sorry for the delay! work has been hell the last two weeks, and i'm coming off a 12-day stretch, so today is the first day in a while i've had to actually sit down and write. less groveling than intended, but i'm secretly working on a v long one-shot with PLENTY of it
simon "ghost" riley x reader
implied situationship, but he needs wants more
MDNI - 18+ (minor & ageless blogs will be blocked)
He doesn’t mean to let his gaze linger as long as it does, honestly. Simon is nothing if not observant, a quick glance at every patron who enters the door, and you truly are a sight to behold. You’re always stunning, no doubt about it, but something about the dim bar lights and how dangerously low cut your dress is has him damn near panting like a bitch in heat beneath his mask.
It’s like a never-ending game of tag between the two of you. You’ll make subtle flirtatious comments, he’ll make equally suggestive remarks in return; neither moves towards home base, tagbacks are allowed. Sometimes play stalls for a few days, you dance around each other in silence, unwilling to be the first to step out of turn, but it always resumes as quickly as it tapers.
You’ve been a bit off as of late, though. Simon winks at you in passing, you give him a curt nod as you walk by. He compliments you, you offer a hushed “thanks” and leave it at that. He so much as makes eye contact with you, and you’re immediately casting your gaze downward. You avoid him as often as you can now, and it puts him in a tailspin. Forbidden fruit and such, it’s kind of hot that you’re suddenly acting like he doesn’t faze you. On the other hand, though, it’s frustrating. Has he done something to upset you? He loves seeing you get all hot under the collar just for him, and it’s maddening to have no idea why you’re acting this way. He’s determined to find out where you stand, what it is that caused the sudden switch.
Drink in hand, Simon watches from his darkened corner as you down your first and second drinks with ease. He bides his time, swirling the pinch of bourbon left in his short glass until all the ice has melted. You’ll step away from your friends soon enough, and the second you do, he seizes his opportunity. It’s rare enough for him to get you alone, and he’s not stupid enough to pass up the split second he’ll need to make it happen.
Clinging to the shadows, he slinks along the wall with almost frightening stealth, slipping into the restroom just behind you. Verifying you’re the only person in there, he snags the stop from beneath the sink and jams it under the door. No interruptions, not now.
He patiently awaits the telltale tear of paper, leaning back against the countertop housing a pair of sinks. His arms cross over his chest, a stance he often assumes to look bigger, more imposing, more menacing. Simon’s noticed the way your thighs clench and you have to stop yourself from drooling when he takes to that particular pose in front of you. It would be downright irresponsible for him to deprive you of whatever it makes you feel when he’s trying to find his way back into those good graces.
You step out of the stall, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. The second you spot Simon, you freeze in place, and he swears he can hear your heart raging against your ribcage. Surprise widens your eyes and furrows your brows as he offers a cocked eyebrow, tilting his head just a hair.
“Lieutenant Riley,” you breathe, almost a question, pausing a moment before saying, “What are you doing here?”
“Here in the bar or here in the bathroom?”
“Either, really.”
“It’s the closest bar to base, love. Crawling with grunts, if ya didn’t notice.”
You roll your eyes at that, and there’s a strong urge for Simon to spend his entire night making them roll back over and over and over again. It’s not his fault, really; there’s just something about you that tests his resolve.
“As for the latter,” he continues. “Just wanted a private word with you, ‘less you’re gonna keep runnin’ away from me.”
“I‘m not running, sir.”
“You’re avoiding me; same thing.”
“No, I’m not.” He scoffs dryly. You start spitting out bullshit excuses for why you stay away from him, and he shrugs, indifferent to anything that isn’t the truth. It’s genuinely humorous that you think he can’t smell a lie from a mile away. He can’t help but chuckle.
You look flustered, perturbed. It’s cute, but it does make Simon feel a bit guilty.
“Sergeant, don’t think for a second that I didn’t notice you can’t stand to even be in the same room as me anymore. You used to bite back, used to bark first, and now you wanna act all demure and proper when I talk to you? You can hardly manage to look me in the eye. What did I do?”
The twinge of hurt in his tone doesn’t sit well with him. It borders on pathetic, and he’s praying to a god he doesn’t even believe in that you’re still too stunned by his presence to hear it, too. To your credit, if you do, you certainly don’t acknowledge it.
“With all due respect, I don’t think this is an appropriate place for that conversation, Lieutenant. My friends are waiting for me.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your friends; I’m right here. Let’s talk it out so shit can stop being weird, yeah?”
“It’s not weird, sir. I just - “
“No excuses, doll. Spit it out.”
“Will you - “
“C’mon, love. Tell me what I did wrong.”
“You - “
“Cat got your tongue, huh?”
“Fine!” you shout, throwing your arms out. “You want to know what the fucking problem is, Simon? You want to know why I stay away from you? Well, here you fucking go: I can’t stand being around you because I am so fucking head over heels for you, and I know you don’t feel the same.”
You clap a hand over your mouth, and Simon can see that you’re positively mortified. He goaded you into verbalizing how you really feel, and it turns his face a violent shade of pink.
“You what?”
“I…” You bite your lip, anxious. Your eyes avoid his at all costs. “I know it’s inappropriate, sir. It’s just a silly little crush, and keeping my distance is helping me work through it.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
His arms drop, feet moving before he can think better of it. The space between you is crushed in a stride and a half, and he’s peeling up his mask and slotting his mouth against yours almost immediately. It’s all teeth and tongue, want, need; searing and heated and almost animalistic. He’s been waiting ages, it seems, and now, the game has come to an end. You won, and it’s a scarce occurrence, but he’s glad to take the loss.
When you break from him for air, he laughs, pressing another kiss against your hairline.
“I’m a sick fuck ‘cause I like when you ignore me. Rather you don't anymore, though.”
Pick a prompt and character here!
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley#cod x you#cod x reader#cod imagine#simon ghost riley drabble#cod drabble#jj writes
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Thinking about plots dealing with Luigi being (technincally) a Bowser Minion and member of his army while playing also playing Superstar and minion's Quest (I am alternating between storylines so that main is ahead but not *too* far ahead)
And now I really really want a spin off where Bowser has been kidnapped by an evil Princess who wants to be an evil Queen and is trying to force him to marry her and because of a series of both politics and hilarious hijinks, Luigi has to work his way up the army ranks so he can go and rescue Bowser. mostly I am imaging him deciding he needs a Cunning Disguise and uses the Mr L- evil minion of evil persona from Super Paper Mario
Bonus mental image that keeps making me laugh: Optional party members Mr M (Mario disguises as an evil minion) and Miss P (Peach disguised as an evil minion)
The Plan was, at first, for Luigi to sneak into Bowser's castle to learn what Bowser had been up to (no Peach kidnapping attempt in four months ? Not even on her birthday ? Something must be Wrong) because just kicking his door down and demanding answers would be very rude. So since Luigi is technically part of the Koopa Troop, he's technically allowed to go in there and look around, right ? The magic in Bowser's Castle seems to agree and let him in.
Then the Plan had to be tweaked because Luigi came across some of Bowser's actual minions and unlike the Castle, they are very untrustworthy of random humans wandering around.
"Hey !! What do you think you're doing ?"
"Waaah! I'm-I'm... the newest recruit"
"What."
"Y-yeah, Bowser hired me himself ! Y-you can ask him if you’d like!"
"Haha, very funny. What's your designation then, Mister ??"
"I'm Misteeeeer..." *panic panic panic* "...L ?"
"What"
"Err. Yeah. Mister L. ?"
"(what a lame name) Yeah okay, registration office is this way, I'm not paid enough to actually care"
Thankfully, even if most minions have faced Luigi at least once at some point, he's discrete and shy enough that almost everyone forgets his face, but still, there are a couple of scares with someone going “wait, why do you remind me of someone ...?”, so a change of attire seems logical.
Also, turns out Koopa bureaucracy is obscure and frustrating enough that by the time Luigi grabs a mask and a change of black clothes and tweaks his cap, everyone just rolls with the situation and "Mr L" is just. Part of the deal now.
They also have bigger problems to care right now, like the whole Bowser kidnapping situation. Not that Luigi is aware of that at first, he’s trying his best to get closer to Bowser, but everyone is very Mad and Ready to Fight so he’s trying his best to not step on any toes.
Still, Luigi should really learn to say no, especially in situations like "HEY YOU! Get over here, the rescue mission in the Death Lands is about to leave!!"
I don't know how canon Super Paper Mario would be here, and to me the M&L games and the Paper Mario games are separate continuities (Paper Jam confirms it, no?). So either Paper Jam already happened and M&L!Luigi has vaguely heard of Paper Luigi's bout in evildom, either M&L!Luigi does come up with the persona on his own
Either way, I honestly think that while Luigi is a big cowardly scaredy cat, he can be brave and even as fearless as Mario, but only if he hides behind something : a disguise (Princess Peach), a persona (Mr L, Mario when Luigi gets hypnotised in Superstar Saga, Dreamy Luigi) or his brother himself (if Mario is rushing ahead, or if he’s in danger, he follows). In any case, the less he gives himself time to think, the less he risks to gets trapped into his own anxiety and paranoia. So what to do when you need to Not Think and get answers at the same time ? You rush ahead and pray that no one catches on that you have no idea what you’re doing
the Green Thunder moniker comes fairly quickly, because Bowser’s minions love gossip and a guy in green using lightning attacks is pretty awesome.
The Plan gets some more tweaks when the Koopa Troop comes across Mario himself, and of course, they throw the new guy at him because it’s a hazing ritual to get stomped by Mario.
Does Mario recognize Luigi and play along (and even goad Luigi into giving his all) ? Does he not know who that new minion is, and unlike Luigi he doesn’t know what to expect ? In any case, Mr L gets a lot more respect from everyone after tasering Mario into a waterfall.
Bonus for the bowuigi crowd : when Luigi finally finds Bowser :
“What are you doing here ??“
“Saving you from a forced wedding to an evil queen, apparently!”
“Tch, does that make you Mario ?”
“I don’t know, does that make you Peach ??”
And they promptly shut up because now they realize the Implications and try to not think about (it doesn’t work)
Badass team up rescue though!! With the bonus of knowing each other more than they expected!
(Just me who likes the aesthetic of a smaller character climbing on another bigger character’s back when they team up in a fight)
Honestly I’m not sure how much Peach and Mario could effectively pass as minions, but it would make a very funny reason for Wario’s existence in that verse
#super mario bros#mario & luigi#bowser#luigi#bowuigi#answers#I'm approaching the end of Superstar Saga and I don't want it to eeeeend#mr l
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Heyy
How did u revise your past grades ...and how much time it took ?
I want to revise all of my grades too
HIYA LOVE 💗
ooo that's a great question! I'll go into the most fullest details for you 💗
Backstory: so I remember, back in middle school, I was grieving over the fact I didn't do good in my midterm exams, considering the fact my parents were strict at that time, I was anxious and worried, however, on the last day of answering the exam, we were told to come tomorrow for the exam results.
I can't tell you much how this made me so scared and worried, this meant I only had half a day left to manifest a new change of grades, but thank God, I didn't let that thought stop me, I'm going to tell you again, manifesting on a time crunch is absolutely possible and really easy
How I did it: I came back home from the last day of the exam, still thinking about tomorrow, that's when I stopped myself, and did an experiment, I grabbed my headphones, then played this subliminal on loop for hours and hours, and of course I took breaks, I played songs over it and vibed over it, acted like I already got my good grades, it sounded hard to act like your grades are all good when you feel the nagging of the past telling you that it's not true, but it was easy, I forgot everything and jammed to the song, busied myself, continued to listen to the music with the subliminal.
Now here is what I did next, when nighttime came, I laid on my bed and read some book, until I became so sleepy, I was super sleepy, on the verge of passing out I mean, putting my book down and I started to command my subconscious mind almost unconsciously, I just repeated to myself over and over "ohhh wow, the fact my grades are all so high? I'm truly a genius" or saying "my subconscious mind already knows all of my exam papers have the right answers on them", so I slept with that idea, and honestly, I slept soundly, didn't let the nagging take my comfort away.
Results: when I woke up, I felt refreshed, and actually for once, I wasn't worried? It felt natural, after going to school and getting my grades, my mouth was literally about to fall from seeing the exam papers that are graded back in my hands, listen, I wasn't surprised by the grades, but literally by the answers, there were answers I didn't wrote it that way??? Yet it was my handwriting???! This made me completely have faith in my subconscious mind, because the answers that I gave back in my old reality was different from the answers that was written on this paper, I aced every one of my exams
So yeah! That's all it! Hope you get the idea love 💗, and trust me, it's the most easiest thing ever, you can do this 💗
(p.s// the subliminal I linked is a reupload from the original)
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Hi! I've been thinking about diegesis and fourth-wall-breaking in sitcoms, and I wanted to see if you had any thoughts on it because of your general areas of interest. What prompted this is S1E13 of Arrested Development where the judge says there are no cameras in the court room, and everything else in the courtroom is shot from out in the hall despite the rest of the show not acting like it's filmed in-universe. From there I got onto thinking about the way Parks and Rec uses a mockumentary format mostly for the aesthetics of it/being able to get characters thoughts, but unlike The Office it isn't an in-universe documentary and in fact many of the scenes wouldn't make sense as actually filmed by a camera crew the characters are aware of. Basically, I was wondering how you think that contributes to a show and what playing with diegesis does for a story/how a viewer interacts with framing devices like that.
oooh my god how long has this ask been in my inbox?!?!?!?! i'm so sorry if it's been there forever. i'm not good at noticing when i get new asks. but this shit is my JAM. i actually wrote my final paper sort of exactly on this topic for a class last semester.
okay i have like....17 minutes to write about this before my next meeting so.
BASICALLY i think mockumentaries are the new laugh track--and that's not necessarily a bad thing!
so: what is a laugh? it is (in one sense) a social response to hearing a joke. and what is a joke without a laugh? is it even a joke? how do you know something is funny when there's no laugh? you might be able to tell by yourself when you find something funny, but there's no denying that the more the people around you laugh, the more you laugh. comedy is a social thing. and thus, laughter is a "social echo"--a kind of call-and-response rhythm. when a joke is told and it doesn't get a laugh, it falls flat--especially when a laugh is anticipated. it's like a skipped beat. it's like when you're singing along with a song and you think it's gonna go into the chorus but oops there's one more verse before the chorus and now you look like an idiot.
so that was the main issue when comedy first moved from live performances on stage to broadcasted performances over radio and, later, television. THAT is why laugh tracks and studio audiences were born--because comedy sucked without it. it wasn't because the comedy sucked, though. it was because there was an essential social aspect that was missing.
when The Office (UK) came along, at first, some people didn't get it. where were the jokes? there were no laugh tracks. the rhythm of comedy wasn't quite there.
BUT. people got it eventually. and do you know why? because instead of laughter punctuating each joke, Tim would look at the camera. Tim was our laugh track. by making eye contact with the camera, he made eye contact with us, and he provided the social reaction that was missing without laugh tracks. the "talking heads" also help fill the gap left by the social echo, because again, they are talking to us (through the camera). not only does that aid the narrative by making exposition easy, the talking heads trope also allows us to see character reactions to humorous events. AND rhythmic camera zooms aid the tempo, make it feel comedic. so when The Office goes [awkward occurrence] [Zoom in on Tim] [Tim looks at camera] [David Brent talking head trying to defend awkward occurrence] that gives us THREE "social echos" that preserve comedy. and the fact that it's supposed to be a "documentary" also adds in a social echo.
but you're right, there are plenty of "mockumentary style" comedies that DON'T maintain the pretense of being a documentary. like parks and rec, or also modern family, or the later seasons of the office (US). BUT the social echo still functions, which is why it doesn't matter that it's not realistic that Leslie and Ben would have their first kiss in front of a camera.
there are other methods of social echo that "replace" laugh trakcs (or do the job of them). these include: silly musical stings, pop culture references, and metatextual humor. i've been working on thinking of others because this might end up being my thesis. lol
anyway i hope that this answered your ask in some meaningful way! i love thinking about this shit
#interestingly enough always sunny is the one sitcom i've found that doesn't regularly do ANY of these tropes#unless you count talking really fast
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Oh my god your writing has me in a choke hold!!! I’m curious about Hands and/or Shut Up, please! Your brain is amazing and lovely and I’m very excited to hear anything you have to share about your WIPs💚
Thank you so much! I've got a couple Hands asks marinating and nothing to offer for them yet, so Shut Up is the Twitter Beef AU (another excerpt here) where Hob is a comparative lit professor and Dream is an underground electronic artist, and Hob comes for him on Twitter. Death meddles and drops a diss track. Hob finds out at his last lecture before hols and plays it for his course in a fit of pique, and...ends up having the best two hours of his teaching career?
He slides into Dream's DMs for the first time under the cut:
He catches sight of the time and is surprised to see it’s five minutes past the hour. Normally, his cue is when a handful of students start pointedly packing their things in the last few minutes of the lecture. “Okay, we’ve gone on too long, because you’re all still here, letting me, but I do need to get to office hours, so let me conclude with the argument that this is why textual analysis is so important, right? The author chooses their words to say more than one thing, and, as we learned, having additional knowledge of where they’re coming from - historically, socially, culturally - is the real Rosetta stone for understanding their message. I encourage you to think about that while you choose your final paper topics over break. A final reminder that your draft thesis is due on our first week back, and yes, I will be able to tell if you came up with it that morning, so please, please, give it some thought. If anyone feels keen and wants to talk about their ideas now, you know where to find me. Office hours go until 6. Alright, go, be free. My apologies to anyone who was excited for Marlowe - we’ll cover him when we come back instead! Have an amazing break, folks.”
Students are coming over already and he holds up a quelling hand. “Office hours, guys. I have other classes! I’ll see you there.”
It’s true, of course, but also he wants just a quick moment to himself to do something. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pulls out his phone and ignores all his notifications to send a DM to Morpheus before he can think too hard on what he’s doing.
didn't know you needed to be protected by your big sis, next time i'll go easier on you x
He hesitates, deletes the x, and sends it, and jams his phone back into his pocket. After his office hours - exhaustingly well-attended - he finally has a chance to check his phone again. He's not used to actually having three hours worth of students to talk to.
There's three messages from Morpheus.
she insisted
also i wrote most of it
for the record
He raises his eyebrows. The messages are from nearly two hours ago, which he hopes means it's not uncool and weird if he replies right now.
it was you?
it's incredible writing
Then, feeling suddenly far too earnest, he quickly adds:
almost like you went to school for being something other than a pretentious goth cunt
His reply is marked read immediately and he nearly chokes on his tea. He desperately wishes he could delete the last message now. Too much, he thinks. Always too much, Hobsie. Morpheus is typing.
don't need to go to school for that x
and thanks
He puts down his phone violently and stands up, breathes out. He feels like a teenager with a crush. His phone buzzes again and he snatches it back.
meanwhile i bet u have student loans still prof
Hob laughs.
only a little. some of us had to learn how to be pretentious actually x
He thinks for a moment, then adds, wincing a little at the size of the text block:
thanks btw. aside from threats from ur insane fans I also had the best lecture attendance in ages and my office hours were 'sold out' lol. if all I had to do for better student engagement was get in an internet feud with a random musician I'd have done it years earlier.
so u concede i'm a musician :)
you still have terrible taste in shoes
hey i see you typing
if you say anything about my sweatervest i'm blocking you!!
then have a good night, professor gadling
you too
Then he waits a little too long, maybe, before adding:
morpheus
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@trippyvulcan @bonsaibovine and two anons have asked for Pickle at the stakeout and who am I to argue?
"How do you spell 'mountain?" Pickle asked.
Izzy glanced in the rearview mirror. She was sitting in a way she tartly informed him was now called 'criss-cross applesauce' in the backseat with her little lapdesk pulled close. It was purple (never pink, she only liked purple) and there was a star pattern on the soft bottom. She had a few colored pencils in one hand, writing carefully with the other.
"M," Read said patiently, waiting for her to form the entire letter before offering the next.
Jim, in the passenger seat, hds unwavering focus on their target until Read says , 'I'
"A," Jim said absently.
"Really?" Read frowned.
"Yeah, A then I" Jim nods. "Pretty sure."
Pickle caught Izzy's eye in the mirror, apparently waiting for a deciding vote.
"Jim's right."
"Okay," she went on writing.
"I blame the public school system," Read muttered. "And spellcheck."
"Blame it on the rain," Jim shrugged. "Who cares? You're not getting graded on...what are you actually doing, P?"
"They show us a picture and we have to write three sentences about it," she sighed like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "It's dumb."
"Homework is the worst," Read said sympathetically. "I gotta write a ten page paper when I get home."
"Ten?" Pickle asked, appalled. "How many sentences is that? A hundred?"
"At least," Read agreed.
"Did you do something wrong?"
"Nope. College classes are just like that sometimes."
"What do you have to write about?"
"Uh," Read, who was currently taking a truly disturbing class in child abuse that had resulted in several late night conversations where she and Izzy did not make eye contact and occasionally drank heavily, fumbled. "Boring adult stuff."
"Okay," Pickle accepted that. "Can I have a snack?"
"You already had one," Izzy reminded her. "Your mother will shatter my eardrums if I ruin your dinner."
"Again," Jim mumbled, lips twitching.
"I gotta pee," she announced another minute later.
Everyone groaned.
"I got it," Read decided. "There's a convenience store with one a block back, I'll get a bottle of water. Anyone else?"
"Yeah, thanks," Izzy nodded.
"I'm good," Jim shrugged.
It was definitely not stealth for Pickle to tumble out of the car, drop half her pencils in the process, pick them up with much carrying on while Read tried to make sure she wasn't hit by oncoming traffic. Then again, who would think that such a scene would come from a car doing surveillance? It probably worked out.
"She's bored," Jim observed.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed. "But we're all being paid to be here."
"Don't understand why. Standard point and click."
"I don't argue with fat wallets."
So of course five minutes later, a guy in just his underwear and carrying a very large gun tapped on their window.
"Your turn," Jim groaned.
"Nope, I got the fucker with the automatic last month."
"He wasn't even holding it right!"
"Still counts," he said smugly.
"Fine!"
Jim slammed the door open, jamming the gun into the guys chest then burst outward to land a punch into his nose. Doubled over, they went to work and Izzy waited for them to quit playing with their food before getting out.
He approached the guy, standing over him with a shake of the head,
"Your wife just wanted to know who you were fucking, dumbass."
"I know!" The guy groaned, curling in around his many aches. Jim was breaking down the gun, pocketing the bullets. "She'll leave me if she finds out!"
"Yeah, sounds like a you problem."
"Uncle Izzy?" Pickle asked from behind him. Shit. "Does that guy need help?"
Jim shot him a wide-eyed look. Izzy, who would never be a strategist, but was maybe a little more creative these days, kept his voice level.
"Nope. He just got a little confused. He's gonna get up and go back home now. Right?" Izzy gave the guy his best dead-eyed stare and reached into his jacket.
"Yeah! Yep. Going!" The guy stumbled to his feet and rabbited off, giving the neighborhood a long eyeful of too much skin. "Sorry to bother you!"
Izzy dropped his hand away. He had a knife on him, but it was in his boot. Waist sheaths were a nightmare if you were going to be sitting for any length of time. Idiot.
"Why was he in his underwear?" Pickle asked.
"Poor planning," Jim said gravely.
They both turned to look at her. Pickle was wearing her favorite shirt with some cartoon dog with a truly upsetting proportion of eyes to face, purple leggings and shoes that despite being almost brand new, looked like they'd been attacked by bears. Her expression was so Delly-like, all judgement and thunder that Izzy felt a little haunted.
"I think you guys beat him up," she decided, crossing her arms over his chest.
"Well-" Izzy started.
"And I missed it!" She stomped one foot. "No fair!"
Read caught up with them, holding a collection of water bottles and, unmistakably, Pickle's favorite potato chips. Goddamnit. Now he didn't even have anything to bribe her with.
"It wasn't a very good beating," Jim offered. "He kind of just fell over. Pretty boring."
"I never get to see anything cool," she fumed onward.
"Good news is, we get to go back to the office."
"Can I cut up old paper?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Yeah, sure," Izzy said readily. Pickle had really taken to shredding documents. Did a decent job too.
"Do I have to finish my homework?"
Silence. Read and Jim were having a conversation of facial expressions that Izzy was ignoring so he wouldn't have to murder them both at a later time.
"How about you get as much done in the car as you can?"
"...deal," she capitulated.
"And you're telling Delly you fed her chips," Izzy hissed at Read.
"That's cool, she likes me better than you anyway," Read said breezily.
Which was probably true considering Read would occasionally babysit for date nights, something Izzy rarely consented to do since they coincided with his own date nights. Lucius liked Pickle in theory, but was charmingly terrified of small children that were left in his care for any length of time. He was better with teenagers.
Fuck, Pickle at fifteen would be a horror show. World enough and time for that. Maybe Izzy would die before it happened, that was a cheering thought.
"Hey, boss," Jim said halfway back to the agency. "Do we have to go out again tomorrow? We didn't actually get the shot."
"....shit. I'll call her, let her know what happened. See how she wants to play it," he blew out a breath. "What a stupid piece of shit."
"Don't say stupid," Pickle scolded from the backseat.
"Yeah, boss," Jim cackled.
"What should I say instead?" He asked, resigned.
"Silly," Pickle informed him.
Jim and Read were both looking at him expectantly.
"No."
"Aw, c'mon," Read pleaded. "Just once."
"It's only appropriate to model good behavior," Jim said flatly, in the way they did when they were borrowing Stede-talk. He fucking hated Stede's bullshit, but it was somehow even worse when filtered through Jim's irony.
"I will stop here, kick you out and make you walk back."
"Pickle would get tired," Read frowned.
"Pickle can stay," he snorted. "She's doing her fucking job. You're being pains in the ass because you can be."
"Yeah!" Pickle grinned. "Wait, what's my job?"
"Being 8," he told her. "Your job responsibilities are finishing the damn homework sheet, cutting up pieces of paper and causing aneurysms. You get compensated in juice boxes and potato chips."
"Cool," she decided and started writing again.
"I think she should renegotiate," Read suggested.
"If you three unionize against me, I'm retiring. You can run the place."
"But the accounting software hates us," Jim wrinkled their nose.
"It's not doing errors at you if you keep feeding the wrong data in."
"You always say that," Jim grumbled.
"Always fucking true."
Back at the office, everyone dispersed to their separate corners. Pickle got the client chair, a massive pair of scissors and a stack of confidential papers to shred.
Read was clearly working on her paper, but since her hours were exceedingly random at this point between classwork and her second job, Izzy left her to it. Jim was transcribing, headphones in and tapping away.
All in all, it felt like an industrious workplace, even if it was partially fictional.
"Hey, what's the word when you're like...careful, but in a bad way?" Read asked. "My brain is mush today."
"Over cautious," Jim suggested.
Read shook her head.
"Paranoid," Izzy provided.
"Oh thank fuck, yes that's it."
"Can I have a juice box?" Pickle asked, coming perilously close to her fingers. She'd never done it yet though, so he left her to it and fished a juice box out from the mini fridge.
He had to duck under the lemon tree to get it and when he turned around to hand it to her, he spotted.
"Holy shit," he leaned in to make sure he wasn't imagiing it, but htere it was. "Jim!"
"What?"
"Your s-" he caught himself and then resignedly plowed on. "Your silly fucking lemon tree finally made a lemon."
"No way!" Jim got to their feet and rushed over. Pickle weaseled in between their legs and Read was practically pressed to his back.
He pointed up to the higher leaves where there was perfectly beautiful yellow fruit.
"I guess it just needed some time," Read whispered like the words might scare the fruit away.
"What do you do with it?" Pickle asked, craning her head up. "Lemonade needs more lemons, right?"
"We still got sugar packets from the last coffee run?" Jim was already turning looking for them. Read fished a few out from the box on top of the mini fridge.
Which was how Delly came to pick up Pickle and found three grown people and her daughter, all sucking on lemon slices coated in sugar.
"You know what?" Delly decided. "I don't even want to know."
"It's really good!" Pickle bounced to her feet, gathering her things. "And I learned how to spell 'mountain'."
"That's great," Delly smiled at her, then darted an acessing look to her brother. Izzy shrugged, and picked up his remaining slice. "Want one?"
"...yes," she took it from him with a sigh. "It smells great in here actually."
The lemon tree produced a great many more lemons from there on out, but it was the first one that stayed with Izzy the most. Sour as anything, sweetened by scrounged sugar packets and the company he had learned to keep.
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I love that i’ve just. Put finishing my ace attorney games on hold for the moment. It’s only because I REALLY want to beat at least one of the M&L games i started almost 2 years ago now (I can’t believe i’ve only beaten superstar saga) and those are my insurance to make sure i don’t start hyperfixating too hard
#shit i also need to finish origami king#i have 2 streamers left so that's not gonna be too hard#But i need the record to show i bought BiS + Bowser Jr.'s Journey RIGHT before getting into ace attorney#i need to finish it I don't care if that means stopping my playthrough of the original right now#emily rambles#I say this but i'm actually playing paper jam right now#paper mario being a different timeline is only a good take when it's funny#and not to go on that ramble but there's evidence to suggest that tat doesn't mean that the paper games didn't happen in the main series#except origami king...that one can stay in paper form please.
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Sad Girl Music | Bucky Barnes x Reader
Hi, friends! I don't know about y'all but I've been listening to nothing but All Too Well (10 minute version) and it sparked this idea in me today!
As always, send me any comments, questions, or suggestions! 🤗
Tag list: @beefybuckrrito, @shadytalementality, @everything-burns-down, @rainbow-unicorn-pony, @mandersshow, @emetophilily 💕💕💕
--------------------------------------
Sam did a double-take as he passed the living room, surprised to see Bucky sitting on the couch alone.
"Hey, Buck. Whatcha doin' in here? Where's your boo thing?"
You and Bucky had basically been inseparable when you were just friends, and now that you were dating, it was almost impossible to see one of you without the other.
"She's in our room," Bucky said with a chuckle. "She's been listening to this one song all weekend while cleaning out her closet and I wanted to come in here for some quiet reading time".
A knowing look splashed across Sam's face and he sat down across from Bucky, ready to deliver some less than stellar news. "Let me guess,” Sam tiptoed toward the topic, “is the song called All Too Well?"
Bucky nodded, confused as to why it would matter what song you'd been listening to on repeat.
“And is it about, say, ten minutes long?”
Once again, Bucky nodded.
"I'm gonna cut to the chase", Sam sighed, "That's some sad girl music right there. Or mad girl music. A bit of both actually..."
Bucky dog-eared the page he'd been reading and sat forward as his heart began to race. "What do you mean?" he asked, concern coloring his words.
"I mean, that you've got lady troubles. You did something wrong, man. Her listening to All Too Well over and over again does not bode well for your relationship."
Without hesitation Bucky took off toward the bedroom you shared, anxiety washing over him with every passing second. He heard you before he saw you, and paused for a moment to listen to you scream-sing along with Taylor:
"AND YOU CALL ME UP AGAIN
JUST TO BREAK ME LIKE A PROMISE!
SO CASUALLY CRUEL
IN THE NAME OF BEING HONEST.
I'M A CRUMPLED UP
PIECE OF PAPER LYING HERE
CAUSE I REMEMBER IT
ALLLLL TOO WELL!"
He swallowed hard before opening the door as Sam's words echoed through his mind. He took a few cautious steps inside and he watched you sitting there amongst your clothes. He couldn’t help but notice that you were absolutely jamming and seemed to be having a great time. A smile instantly appeared on his face; seeing you so happy warmed his heart- you were just so goddamn cute.
"Buck!" you called, dropping the sweater you'd been folding and throwing yourself into his arms.
He paused for a moment before hugging you back, confused as to why you were showing him so much affection if you were mad at him like Sam said. "Hey, baby" he whispered against your neck.
You pulled back, studying the every detail of his face-something about him seemed off. "JARVIS, turn the music off, please" you called. The room fell silent and you turned your attention back to Bucky, lightly stroking his stubble. "Is everything okay?"
A quiet laugh rumbled out of Bucky's chest and he reached for his dog tags, playing with them like he always did when his anxiety got the best of him. "Yeah. Or, at least I thought everything was okay. It's kind of stupid actually, but," he sighed, "I told Sam you'd been listening to that song on repeat, and he said that it was 'sad girl music'. He told me I probably fucked up somehow...it made me nervous."
You pressed the sweetest, gentlest kiss you could manage against Bucky's lips and pulled him close, weaving your fingers in his hair and pressing your body against his.
"First things first: you didn't do anything wrong" you promised, watching as the worry slowly melted from his face. "It's just a great song. And second, never take relationship advice from Sam".
Bucky laughed and nodded, pulling you in for another deep, loving kiss. "It's a really good song", he whispered, "now that I know you're not singing it about me".
"Definitely not singing it about you" you reassured him with a smile. Just then an idea popped into your head and you couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, let me give you some context okay?"
He nodded naively, unaware that you were about to drop decades old Taylor Swift lore into his lap. You dragged him over to the bed and sat him down, preparing to give him your T-Swift soliloquy.
"Okay," you began, "It all started with this guy Jake Gyllenhaal..."
#bucky barnes#james bucky barnes#james buchanan bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#bucky fluff#bucky fic#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes reader insert#bucky barnes x avenger!reader#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky Barnes x reader#bucky barnes x yn#bucky barns x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky fanfiction#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#all too well#taylor swift#Spotify
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➳who cursed the bludger? ♡
in which the reader's dominant hand is injured badly after a rogue bludger slams into it and none other than fred weasley is behind it. who cursed the bludger?
fred weasley x fem!reader
word count: ± 2k
tw: serious injury, a little bit of swearing
drop a follow if you wanna see more of this content!!
my masterlist:D
ft. penny clearwater
who cursed the bludger?
y/n was currently draped lazily over her broomstick, haven given up trying to teach penelope clearwater how to fly. said prefect was on the grass, smirking as y/n embarrassedly looked around.
"penny that's not ok to ask!"
"fine, fine," she pondered for a moment, "hey, what's up with you and fred weasley, huh?"
"nothing at all," y/n answered a little too quick for penny's liking.
"c'mon, y/n, you're younger than me, i should know all that happens. you two are very...flirty."
"yeah well, my dear pennysylvania, we have flirty personalities. duh."
"no, you don't."
"okay, i don't. he does."
"but he seems like he means it."
"of course he means it? he says it in a joking way? y'know, he means it as a joke."
"hmm, nope, i don't think so, y/n. he's looking your way right now."
"i'm probably blocking the space, let's move outta the way."
"you're not gonna play with them?"
"already play in matches, why now? let's chat."
fred was silently eavesdropping on their conversation as he heard his name.
"sooo you and perceeee??" y/n dragged out, grinning as she did loop-do-loops with her broomstick.
penny blushed, but looked disappointed, "he likes oliver."
"oh. well, f percy, what about marcus??"
"he's just marcus. we're best friends, y/n."
"my fav trope of romance is best friends to lovers," y/n wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and penny shook her head in amusement.
"my one is the opposites attract."
"hmm yeah, that's a good one too, it's really cute! say, aren't you and mar-"
"i was meaning you!"
"huh?"
"you and fred."
fred smirked as he listened, flicking back the bludger harshly at angelina.
"oh yes because we are totally meant for each other," y/n sarcastically replied.
"what's that supposed to mean?"
"yes."
"you're doing this on purpose!"
"hmm? what?"
"oh my goodness, merlin you're stupid bro!" penny said exasperatedly.
"and you just realised. congrats, penny."
"anyway, what i'm saying is you and fred are rather like opposites. although he's extroverted and you're extroverted, you're a cute little nerd," y/n huffed at this 'i am n o t a nerd for the last time!' "and he's a class clown in the most charming way. you like reading and he likes pranking people and quidditch. you're a goody two shoes, an adorable one, but he's this foolish jock," penny looked proud with her argument so y/n laughed, "you're modest and he's very confident. and you're both hot."
y/n smiled, "i am not hot!" she giggled, "that's stupid."
"oi, ange!" penny called to angelina who looked over at her in amusement.
"yeah?"
"is y/n hot?"
"oh, totally!" angelina casually threw the quaffle into the hoop, "10/10."
"guyyys you flatTer me," y/n stretched out as the three of them laughed, "i'm bLushIng."
"you actually are," angie quipped.
"it's a command thing. if she wants to blush, she'll blush," replied penny.
they burst into giggles again.
fred watched y/n. a rosy pink, sure enough, had spread across her cheeks. that was enough to get her blushing?
"oi, l/n!"
y/n's head snapped his way, her eyes narrowed as if expecting an insult being thrown her way.
"your lips are pretty!"
her form relaxed, "thanks! yours are too!!"
penny giggled as angie rolled around laughing.
"what?" y/n looked around.
"the way you return flirting is hilarious."
"a compliment for a compliment, isn't that what they say?"
angelina snorted, "no one says that."
"oh well i say it, so deal with it."
"hey, i have an idea!" penny brightened up.
"let's hear it!"
"let's teach y/n pick up lines, ange!"
"oh you're a genius, penny!"
"okay, so-"
a bludger came whizzing at y/n as she screamed, trying frantically to dodge it. it hit her hand and a crack was heard.
luckily she immediately hopped off calmly, taking out her wand shakily and stunning the bludger, before penny and angie helped her over to the hospital ward, fred lagging guiltily behind.
she was ordered to stay in bed rest and with drowsy eyes she drifted off.
fred watched her feeling so terrible as he saw her heavily bandaged hand, imagining how he was going to tell her that he was in fact the one that had charmed it.
the next day, she was out and about, gently cradling her hand which was broken.
"um, hey, y/n," he nervously approached her.
"oh, hello!"
"i might have jinxed the bludger to go wild," he confessed abruptly, "i'm really sorry i didn't mean to-"
"no, it's fine, really." she gave him a reassuring smile and walked off.
he noticed that she couldn't write in class. usually she was scribbling away, but she just sat awkwardly at her desk, trying frantically to get anything legible down with her non-dominant hand. the fact she was so courteous and forgiving about everything just made it worse.
by now, y/n was dying inside. she couldn't write notes, and even though she wanted to ask any willing person for a duplicate of their notes, she'd have to explain the whole broken hand thing.
"ange?"
"yep?"
"do you have history of magic notes?" y/n did puppy eyes.
"nope, you forgot i dropped out."
"oh."
"do you want mine?" fred asked, smirking as he looked y/n up and down.
"you take notes?!!!" y/n was shook.
"only for you, 'cause i felt bad."
"you didn't need to!"
"i did. you want them?"
"yes please, thank you so much, you're a lifesaver!!"
"you're acting like you're not the one the bludger hit," angie quipped and y/n frowned, completely forgetting fred was still there, browsing the notes.
"c'mon, it was just an accident. and i've always wanted to be ambidextrous."
"lovely, you were struggling. i'll take all your notes. my handwriting isn't neat but i owe you."
y/n ducked to hide the light blush she could not control at all.
immediately she got a confused look from fred.
and instantly she thought of something that might make the blush go away. he didn't mean it, it slipped out, she thought and she felt her face cooling down, a slight frown appearing on her face.
"o-okay, thanks fred."
"no problems, darling," he flirted.
"that's good, darling," she flirted graciously back, bravely tilting her head up and looking him in the eye.
he took it well.
"where did you learn how to flirt so well, my little love??"
"why, freddie," she joked flirtatiously, "from you of course!"
he coughed and excused himself.
"he should really be careful with who he's flirting mindlessly with," y/n rolled her eyes.
angelina laughed, "flirting mindlessly? do you see the way he looks at you?"
"personality," y/n stated simply.
"or not."
true to his word, notes in fred's flurry of handwriting appeared neatly stacked every day. they were far too thorough and consisted of stupid flirty notes by the side. sometimes a little note, written in class, was jammed in there probably by accident:
hello freddie!
i have a crush on you 0-o, hogsmeade at 7pm on sunday?
-jamie <3, boy who sits in front of you in arithmancy
jamie,
i already have my eye on someone :) not you, sorry, y/n cringed at the bluntness of his words
you are very nice, perhaps try trera rivera if you swing that way? or illinois ann if you swing all ways?
oh i'm so sorry, i didn't know that! i'll talk to both. was the gracious answer
-jamie
and again! the lucky boy! this time from a girl.
weasley-
i know we hate each other but give me a chance to explain myself? broom closet at 9 tomorrow ? it trailed off to something that y/n didn't even want to think about.
k.o
fuck off. i don't fucking like you, i like someone else, ffs.
was the reply as y/n laughed and made sure to give the note back to fred.
it wasn't everyday someone confessed to you, right?
she underlined all the words that simply weren't legible to ask fred about.
and aNOTHER ONE?? how did this boy have so many admirers? y/n had received 0 love letters from any boy, let alone people of the same gender. you knew you were good with the ladies (and the gentlemen) when everyone sent you these letters.
dearest frederick-
it droned quite sweetly on about him and loving him and the writing was really magnificent.
margaret perrer
hi marg
i'm really really sorry. you seem like such a nice person, and it's not you, it's me. i, however, have a friend who really adores you: kenneth. he'll be an amazing friend and maybe more.
i also already am interested in another girl, so it really isn't you. thank you for your beautiful letter, hopefully we can be friends!
fred
oh he was very nice. feeling like she had overstepped the boundaries, she put them aside, discovering more and more but putting them all in a stack. she felt slightly insecure, especially when they all looked relatively neW?? the perfume on the flowers still smelled fresh?? who was this guy?
she sighed, finishing her read through and being thoroughly impressed with the sheer quality of the notes.
but there were around 100 words she had underlined. she skipped down into the great hall where she spotted two gingers. as soon as one (she couldn't see which one) saw her, he got up, whispered to the other something, and left.
when she approached the one that was left behind, she saw it was george.
"hi georgie!" she greeted him and thrust the papers into his hand, "where's fred?"
george shrugs, "left, for a date or something."
"oh, okay, could you translate these for me, the underlined words?" if y/n was disappointed, she didn't show it.
"oh yeah, sure, his handwriting's rubbish, isn't it."
"yes it is, i can barely read half of it."
george finished scribbling words next to the underlined ones.
"oh! and give these back to him? i'm pretty sure he dropped them in, probably got mixed up." she gave him the pile of letters, now neatly bundled in rope she had found.
"oh, yeah sure," george smirked, "of course."
"nice, well that's it, thanks for the help!"
"anything else?"
"tell fred good luck."
"right, right, mhm."
"yea."
once she'd left, george took out his walkie talkie.
"got that, freddie?"
"crystal clear."
"you're pining, pffft, hahahahah," george smirked as fred sighed.
"it didn't even work?"
"which plan?"
"the one to drop the letters in."
"i'm pretty sure she read like two, she didn't seem that disappointed?"
"exactly."
"you're an idiot. just tell her."
"but that's boringggg."
"well drop the hints then, merlin fred you're terrible at this."
"i haven't dated a billion girls like you!"
"then learn how to date my goodness."
"true."
"come fucking back."
"hickies or no?"
"eh go for it. i wanna see her reaction and then we can decide whether she likes you or not."
fred strided handsomely in, neck littered with little hickies and his top had two buttons open, freckles and pale broad shoulders showing.
george rolled his eyes, muttering, "drama queen," as he subtlely watched y/n. she managed not to look so surprised, her eyes widening then looking down quickly at her hands.
he would have thought she felt nothing for his twin if a light pink had not dusted over her face and if angie had not nudged her with a concerned look on her face.
y/n was wondering what the hell happened, disappointment rising slowly in her.
"okay, she's into you," george whispered as fred began removing the spell, leaving the unbuttoned shirt unbuttoned.
"cool beans."
"oh and she gives these back," george smirked.
"oh look at how she bundled it! so adorable georgie!"
"you're disgusting."
y/n hurried to the library at 6pm. she had heard the book she had waited for was finally available.
as she settled down with it, a paper aeroplane hit her.
"ahh!" she screamed as she caught it.
it read:
forbidden forest, 8pm.
huh? was this meant for her? it was in neat handwriting and on the smoothest parchment, with a single flower that smelt like fresh rain.
#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley x you#fred weasly x reader#fred weasley fluff#fred weasley#fred weasley angst#fred weasley fic#fred weasley imagine#fred and george#weasley twins#weasley family#harry potter#fanfic#gryffindor#y/n#frederick weasley#fredweasley#fred weasley x reader#hogwarts#harrypotter
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Hey 👋
Welcome back, I'm glad the little step away was good for you 😊💛
I was wondering if I could request the first time reader buys Captain Rex a gift or has a little surprise day planned for him and he gets a bit emotional because hes not use to being treated well 😭
Thank you 💛
ahhhh okay! So I kind of just took this and...ran with it lol. I hope this is kind of what you wanted!
Surprise!
Captain Rex x Reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: none - unbeta’d
»»————- ♡ ————-««
Being in a long term relationship with a clone was not something you had ever seen in your cards as a Jedi Commander for the 501st. Especially when the clone in question was Captain of said battalion. However, you wouldn’t change it for anything in the galaxy, especially since you have Anakin and Ahsoka by your side to help you and Rex fly under the radar of the Council. Anakin was in a relationship after all, so he understood what it was like.
Today, you have taken one of the rare days off you and your boys get to throw together the surprise you have had in mind for Rex for the past few weeks. None of the clones have real birthdays, but you wanted to celebrate him and managed to get him to pick a random date for his birthday. You smiled fondly at the memory as you sat a plate of cookies on the table.
“None of the clones have birthdays, cyare, you know that. We weren’t born, we were created.” The last words leave his lips with a hint of venom to them, and you can’t help your lips from tugging downward into a slight frown.
“I know that, Rex,” you say softly, adjusting from where you lay on his chest so you can look up at him slightly, “Humor me,” you tease, giving him a small smile, “Since you don’t have an actual date, just pick one!”
Rex gives you a sideways look before finally letting out a sigh at the puppy dog eyes you send him. He is never able to say no to you. After thinking for a moment, he finally settles on a date - the date he became a Captain is the one he chose.
“See now was that so hard?” you chastise lightly before leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before settling back down into bed, his arms still wrapped securely around you.
After that, the conversation had never come up again, and Rex had assumed you forgot about the silly birthday date you made him pick out. However, you were just determined to surprise him. You recruited Anakin and Ahsoka to keep Rex busy while you prepared your private quarters for the surprise, and while Rex was none the wiser as to why he was being sent on a wild bantha chase around the base - he felt a sense of relief wash over him when he was finally released from their plot. He has already taken his helmet off as he approaches your shared quarters, eyes tired yet shoulders relaxed at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. He was planning to just relax with you, relish in the rare day off you both have received and maybe watch one of those cheesy holofilms you loved so much.
However, when he finally arrives at the room and the door swishes open, his eyes widen in surprise at the sight that greets him. The space is brightly lit with soft music playing in the background and a small handmade sign attached to the wall opposite the door reads: Happy Birthday Rex! In neat handwriting. His eyes fall from the sign to take in the spread of food and deserts on the table near the kitchen, more than either of you could eat in days. He slowly sets his helmet down on the ground by the door before approaching the table. There’s a cake in the center that reads the same as the sign when he walked in, but the letters are iced delicately over the white base layer in 501st blue.
Rex feels his chest constrict, an overwhelming sense of gratitude paired with a slight sense of confusion distract him from your entrance into the room. He ‘s only pulled from his observations when he hears a small gasp from behind him.
“Rex, you’re back!” you say happily, rushing over and wrapping your arms around him as he turns to face you. You couldn’t care less that he was still in his armor, you were just happy he was here. “You got here faster than I was anticipating! I was going to have the candles on the cake lit and everything for when you got back.”
He watches as you pull yourself from his embrace and flit around the room, grabbing a lighter and lighting the candles all while babbling away about the food you cooked and the plans you’ve made and how it took you weeks to find the special jam to put between the layers of cake. You were so consumed in your explanations, that you didn’t even notice when Rex’s eyes fell to the four neatly wrapped parcels on the end of the table. All of them had his name on them followed by the person who they were from - at least that’s what Rex assumed.
He pulls his gloves from his hands before running his fingers gently over the colorful paper, looking up at you in confusion as he interrupts your speech. “What are these?”
Your brow furrows in confusion before realization dawns on you. Rex had never had a birthday gift before. Let alone a party all for himself. You give him a gentle smile and walk over to be at his side as you speak. “They’re presents, for your birthday,” you explain, “Anakin and Ahsoka each got you one when they heard what I was planning,” you chuckled a little, “Anakin won’t admit it, but he spent a lot of time picking out his gift. And then,” you reach out and grab the smaller box, “This is from the boys - your brothers - they all pitched in when they heard about it too.”
Rex could already feel the unfamiliar burn at the back of his eyes, but he tried to reign in his emotions as he pointed to the last one. “What-” he has to clear his throat, “What about that one?”
You grab the box from the table and turn to him, smiling the biggest smile as you hold it out for him to take. “This one’s from me! I couldn’t very well throw you a birthday bash and not get you a present now could I?”
At this revelation, Rex can no longer hold the tears back as he takes the small gift from your hands. He sees your eyes widen at his reaction and a slight panic overtakes your features.
“Oh no,” you mumble, reaching out to place your hands over his own, “Rex what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, wiping the stray tears away before taking a deep breath, “Nothing’s wrong, cyare,” he assures you, looking around the room at all you did for him before looking back to you with a smile on his face, “I’ve just…” he trails off for a moment before continuing, “I’ve never gotten a present before. Let alone a whole celebration dedicated to me being here.”
Your heart breaks slightly at his words, despite knowing the truth behind them. Clones aren’t seen as much more than machines of war to most people - expendable and replaceable things for the war. But Rex is so much more to you, and you were determined to show him that. You smile at him and set the gift in his hands aside, as you steer him over towards the cake.
“Well,” you begin, “As long as I’m still here I’m going to make every single day a celebration about you. Because you deserve to be celebrated.”
“Well I don’t know about that,” Rex tries to argue but you shake your head and point to the lit candles on the cake.
“Oh hush,” you gently scold, “Now, all you have to do for this birthday tradition is blow out the candles and make a wish.”
“A wish?” he asks, turning to look at you incredulously, “A wish for what?”
You shrug, “Anything you want.”
He turns to face the cake again, the candles casting a slight glow onto his golden skin and you can’t help but smile when he finally leans forward and blows the candles out. Once finished he pulls back and turns towards you, a smile on his face as he reaches out to take your hands in his.
“Did you make a wish?” you ask.
He shakes his head, “No.”
Your mouth falls open and you give out a disbelieving scoff, “Rex!” you whine, “That’s the whole point of blowing out the candles. Why didn’t you wish for anything?”
“Because everything I could wish for is standing right here in front of me.”
And before you can protest, he presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, suddenly very thankful for birthdays and very thankful for you.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
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hey, so, I had an art related question... if all of this is too much, feel free to ignore it.
the backstory is that I've had the same laptop since early high school but recently I had a birthday (I'm 28 now). my parents got me an HP laptop, and my friend got me a tablet, which she bought off of an online friend for $30. the problem is that I haven't had new technology like... ever? none that was actually mine anyway, and certainly nothing that could handle me using it for art.
and this is especially a problem when it comes to the tablet. my friend helped me get firealpaca onto the laptop, and get the tablet set up with the right drivers, aaaaand... I cannot make one line that looks good using it. I've been using pen and paper for so long and I have a really light touch, and it feels like I have to jam the pen down to get it to register, at which point I might as well have not set the pen sensitivity to anything at all because the thickest line is the only kind I can make?? any lighter and it won't show up on the screen at all. like I can ctrl+z and it doesn't even go back a step, the line didn't get drawn. there's like a 20% chance that any line I try to put down won't actually register. and tbh this isn't really what I had wanted... it's a huion tablet, which is the brand I wanted, but I was gonna buy myself one where you can see what you're drawing on the screen of the tablet itself. not just due to coordination issues, I think I could get used to that part, but because I feel like I wouldn't be having this specific problem with getting things to register. every single line I make looks like crap with this tablet, it makes me feel like I might as well be drawing with my feet, and I've been fidgeting with settings, and it doesn't seem like anything helps. I also still don't have a mouse for the laptop yet, so I can't click and drag anything very well because it has a trackpad, so messing with sliders is already aggravating.
I feel so lost and overwhelmed, and like if I buy anything else, I'm just going to end up with more unusable stuff because *I'm* probably the problem. I just don't know anything, and trying is mentally fatiguing me so quickly... my brain knows what I want my art to look like, and my hands can do it with a real pen. I just have absolutely no clue how to make this machine produce anything.
so I guess my questions are stuff like, what equipment do you use? are there tablets that will register a light touch or am I really going to have to be this heavy handed in order to work with one? what resolution/canvas size do you usually work on? any recommendations for what program to use?
overall, I'd really like to get myself something that feels more intuitive than the tablet... honestly, I was finding some success drawing with just my finger on the touch screen of my phone at one point. there were still a lot of problems with that, but the nail in the coffin was that my phone's memory space filled up and I had to get rid of the drawing app to make it functional again (it's an iphone, which is why). maybe I should just get an ipad or something...? though, one more thing on the mountain of potential options is the last thing my crumbling ADHD brain needs. I've been taking a break from art in general because I've still maintained my 40-hours-a-week work schedule through the whole pandemic... I do 10 hour shifts and work overnight, so I technically have free time since I only work 4 days a week, but the type of work I do leaves me with no energy at all. so I've been in an art slump and I've been wanting to get out of it, but this is just making art feel impossible, even though the whole reason why I've always wished I could draw digitally is so that I can color digitally. I had been drawing things in pen and scanning them to color in photoshop, but cleanup takes so long that I literally can't produce finished work anymore. I'm out of options that aren't prohibitively labor intensive and frustrating.
this was probably way too much information, but if you have any advice I'd be really grateful.
Huh, well first off HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUDE!! Congrats on the sweet new tech (even if it's been a bit frustrating) and well-deserved celebration!
From the sounds of it I think the main issue is probably your tablet (this is pure speculation on my end though, so you know, grain of salt and all). You're right in that you shouldn't have to fight against your equipment. I have a really light touch too and I've never had the same issue. I personally don't have any experience with huion tablets, but if you're having trouble getting your lines to register then it might have been worn down by the previous user. It's not so much about buying a monitor (the screen one) vs. tablet so much as getting working equipment.
An iPad is a great alternative!! I've played around with the apple pencil and procreate and it's a super intuitive program with (obviously) super easy set up! You get the drawing on the screen AND really nice pen pressure. I'm really happy seeing it opening up new doors for more people to get into digital art!
In terms of your current laptop/tablet situation:
My set up rn is pretty pricey ngl; I have a PC desktop computer with a 16 inch Wacom Cintiq. Getting started in digital art doesn't mean you have to drop a bag on a ton of equipment right from the get go though! If you're looking for a safe small investment, I'd recommend getting a Wacom Bamboo pen tablet!
This lil' baby right here is what I started with!! I think cost-wise it floats around 70ish bucks, but that's exponentially more affordable than buying a huge monitor. One of my friends who's also a pro artist uses a similar small tablet because it works great! That's an alternative that might be worth looking into.
You can also get free trials on other drawing programs (clip studio paint is a great one!) To test and see if it's a software issue with firealpaca.
You could also try checking online forums to see if anyone else is running into similar issues, or watch some YouTube videos of people reviewing different tablets. I know this might be even more overwhelming, so I'd try and narrow the scope to focus on one thing at a time.
My best advice right now would actually be to get a mouse, or any other accessories you need. I've also been in your shoes where I was completely overwhelmed, and I can say that checking off all the small easy things makes a HUGE difference! It makes you feel more in control of the situation, and even if you're still having trouble with digital art you can at least get more comfortable using your laptop in the mean time.
You got this dude!! I believe in you!!
EDIT:
Thanks @wooliebirds!
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HI CLAIRE!!! I AM COMING BACK AGAIN TO JOIN THE MATCH UP 😩 I hope you don't mind!
CONGRATS AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL CLAIRE!!! I hope Ran always come to your dreams every single night 😌💖 We should discussing our fantasy about him again soon 😌
And here is me! (I edited this so I can give you a complete description about me)
I'm 8w9 INTP sp/sx sun: Leo moon: gemini, my height is 153cm and I have a petite body. Mentally ill? Yes, I am bipolar and having anorexia (more like relapsing again after surgery). When I am at my manic episode, I almost kill my family at the car-crash because I got too irritated that I pulled my sister's hair while she was driving—luckily she's a good driver or I am gonna be in jail rn 😩 When I was a kid, I used to get into some fights with boys (I won ofc) but since my father died, I tried not to get into fight ( I don't want to deal with my mother's dramatic and victim-mentality ass ) and I (gladly) never fight again after that 😌 That's why I really good at sport ( as a female I always got the highest point—even when compared to the male, I still on the top 5 on sport ) I really good on art ngl that's the reason I am at uni rn because I got scholarship (I won several art competition)! Also, I did english debate competition back then, but we were this 🤏 close to get into semi-final but bruh we defeated by 0.20 point! 🥲 I can do all those things by self-taught!
When I feel sad or miserable, I punish myself by starving myself lmao. Or I will usually get quiet and cut people around me.
My social skills? Fine I think. I weirdly get along with a lot of people (everyone kinda knows me) but I never talk to them first. Even though I have a lot of friends, I only have one close friend ( tragic right:") )
My personality is rude—blunt in the rude way(?), I do whatever I want to because I seek freedom of expression, LOVE debating about certain issues, and surprisingly I'm quite a wise person. But, I have no jam. Right, I couldn't make any jokes since I usually use the wrong tone in my voice :( I prefer to keep my joke inside my imagination or write it down somewhere. I always try to dominate my man, but I want my man to dominate me too ( do you get what I mean here? 😭 ) I love to be alone too. I HATE loud voices, reptiles, and crowds. I'm not the type of person who easily shows my love to anyone. I think because I have a really high pride *sigh. I felt like my kin actually is Rindou Haitani. But when I took the quiz I got Kazutora, Getou, Mori, Eren, and Dio Brando (that's the funny one)
I'm working as a graphic designer. Which somehow makes me currently don't have any interest. But I love listening to music (pop-rock and r&b ) . I love watching wwe/mma and hate romance anime/movies.
I'd like JJK and Haikyuu match up, please🥺 NSFW and I want male!
—Sorry for long ask :(
Hey my sweet plum, I read your request thousand times, let me say that I got worried and a bit sad hearing what you had to face in your life. I hope your mental health, despite your bipolarism, it isn't too messed up, lot of genius such as Michelangelo suffered bipolar disorder and see what he was capable to create! Ran woke me up this weekend, he wanted company 😁
Anyway, here your escort for my birthday party:
Jujutsu Kaisen - Megumi Fushiguro
Babe it was him or Nanamin, I opted that Megumi could be better since he has more patience than Nanami for your bratty attitude.
Megumi has the sharp mind to get through your facade, to understand your struggles and cope without problems with your rythm.
When you're manic episodes appear, he knows how to support every idea you get, even the strangest one. The first times he was worried to see you this active and in the mood to do things but now he got used to it.
Talking about these episodes, he enjoys when you're in the mood to debate with him or others.
He often suggest to watch some educative documentaries or biopic movies especially the ones that involves human rights. You get in a fiery mood when you watch it and try to explain why the things that the characthers had to endure are atrocious and illegally and how we should fight to eradicate them from the society.
Going to the other facade of the your personality, the depressive episodes are quite difficult to handle, you stay a lot in bed, you don't want to do anything.
He always brings you a cup of tea and cuddles you for hour, sometimes he gives you a paper to let you draw.
He hates when he needs to get you up for work, he knows you struggle and sometimes even cry but in the end when you get a grip you feel a little bit better.
In these cases, he brings you out for a jog or just a walk with his divine dogs or the little bunnies ready to pet.
Overall Megumi has a lot of patience with you but he's repaid when he sees the portrait and the things you cook for him, the struggle worths the prize in the end!
Haikyuu - Daichi Sawamura
I decided you definitely need a calm but strict man in your life and Daichi is perfect for this!
In Haikyuu universe you definitely play in the female team and you met Daichi during a combined training! You're a middle blocker in your team and you can't get me think otherwise!
You are strong and Daichi is astonished to see this, but when Nekoma came for the second time in Miyagi and Kuroo got on you, to give you some advices for a better tecnique, that's where Daichi got really jealous! He saw you for first and he definitely doesn't want, that roosterhead to hit on you!
"Marv go out with me!" it wasn't a question, it was a statement "I guess asking isn't in your knowledge, but Daichi there are proper times when to ask me out. Not when I'm sweaty and in a middle of a training!" you say with sharp eyes, Kuroo laughed at your bluntness and went away, but Daichi reply "Yep, sorry I got carried away and I felt to say it know" you smirk and say "Jelous are we? Ne Daichi don't blush!".
Your relationship is pretty natural, your dates consist in training and homemade dinner
You're pretty active and energetic in Daichi's mind, that's why when you went in one of your depressive episodes he got really worried.
As Megumi he took a lot of care of you, but the difference is that he prefers that you recover from yourself, also, if you have a therapy it's really difficult for you to take it in these moments and he obliges you to eat something and help you bring down the pill.
Normally you would hate these moments, but Daichi knows really well how to handle them, comfort foods such as pizza, tacos, ice cream, sushi are there for you to help you improve your mood and somehow it helps.
When you get a bit better, you can't go out training but you definitely draw or play sports with the Wii at home, this is definitely quality time for him.
Overall it could sound strange but Daichi doesn't hate these episodes, because he can see that you can do chores or just have fun, and this is definitely a proof of strenght for him!
He definitely loves Marv the warrior girl!
I finished! Babe hope this wasn't too sad for you, but I figured out that seeing you needed fluff and comfort, thanks for opening up and join the event, if you want to help me with a little gift here this is my Ko-Fi!
#claire milestone#claire birthday event#haikyuu!!#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#haikyu x reader#fushiguro megumi#fushiguro x reader#daichi sawamura#daichi x reader
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well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to
treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot
exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a
single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if
you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.
anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in
his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs
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Well... never thought I would do this, but eyo.
Guess I'm starting a collection of self-insert thingies on my AO3. Witness my first one, Playlist of the Heart, here.
And if ya wanna listen to the playlist I actually made for this a couple years back it is on Spotify and Youtube.
And, I guess if ya wanna be tagged in future writings, send me an ask? And I'll be sure to tag you on the posts in the future.
Edit: I forgot to, uh, actually post the writing sjsjfjdjf omg for those of y'all who don't use AO3, it's below the cut.
Ever since they established their friendship, Nikki was eager to share her playlists and Jazz was just as eager to listen to them. The human’s music tastes are interesting to say the least. The playlists she makes always keep him on his toes. Jazz never expected to hear death metal, rock and roll, and dance pop back-to-back in a singular soundtrack.
He loves it.
Sharing music and building playlists together was a key bonding activity for them. Sometimes they’ll work on a playlist or two when they’re both at the base and Jazz isn’t particularly busy. Every time they do, they both leave with a small list of recommendations to listen to and play with until they’re next able to meet up.
His favorite moments together, though, are listening to music during drives with her. Nobody else being around means fewer eyes on Nikki, which then means she’ll actually enjoy the music. Whether it’s lightly headbanging in the passenger seat, doing her best to match pitch with the singers, or even her voice cracking on Halestorm’s high notes; it’s always a good time.
There are moments when he wishes the others could see how hard she jams to “Everytime We Touch,” But he revels in knowing she does it around him and him alone.
It’s times like those that make him fall for her even more.
Being her music-loving friend has other perks, too. Every month, Nikki delivers a new playlist to him. They always vary in theme, prompt, and the mix of genres they’re made up of. He doesn’t believe he’s ever heard a playlist from her that held only one genre. This has become his favorite way to discover songs. Gone are the days of flipping through radio stations, he’s now amassed a collection of sick playlists.
Sometimes he wishes she would make a playlist for him. What music makes her think of him? What genres does she associate with spending time with him?
Today is the day. The day of playlist sharing. Or so she thought.
When Nikki walks into the base, everyone is quite busy fixing up something or another. Battles at the base tend to get a little scrappy, so that’s not anything new. She acknowledges that now might be a bad time, but now is the only time she can do this. If she backs down now, it could be who knows how many months until she gets this strength again.
This is a very personal playlist. And the time, she’s decided, is now.
She finds Jazz fixing up comm systems with Blaster. It’s a decent distance away from everyone else, not so many people around. Her shoulders relax a bit.
Blaster notices her first and gains Jazz’s attention for her.
The second in command turns to her for a moment, barely noticing her stiff and awkward posture.
“Sorry, I know you guys are busy right now… I just wanted to go ahead and drop this off.” She holds out a paper, it sports the signature scan code of a playlist.
Jazz gives her a smile and a quick thanks. With an awkward wave, Nikki takes off.
“Hey, Blaster, you don’t mind if I give Nikki’s new playlist a listen while we finish up, do ya?”
Blaster gives him a side eye. His music taste is hard set in the heavy rock genre, and as much as he’s Nikki’s friend their music tastes don’t usually align. He gives a shrug and a sigh, “Know yourself out. We shouldn’t be here for much longer.”
The communications officer soon regrets his agreement when the first song that plays is Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch.” He groans in annoyance while Jazz chuckles at his plight. This song has such happy memories for the SIC. As much as he loves it, though, he soon tunes it and everything else out to focus on the job at hand.
Before he knows it, two hours have passed by. The work is finished, and Blaster is more than happy to get out of there.
“How long is that playlist, anyway? Was she really gonna make you listen to two straight hours of love songs? It’s killin’ my vibe.”
Jazz takes a minute to process what Blaster just said. Has it really been two hours? And only romance songs?
As Blaster starts to make his way out of the room, Jazz finally checks the name of the playlist. The title looks aggressive, but in a way that seems to be directed toward the creator, not the listener. It’s titled: A FUCKIN CONFESSION PLAYLIST??? REALLY???
Oh.
Oh.
OH!
With nary a word spoken in defense of his music selection for the day, Jazz transforms and speeds his way out of the base.
Nikki walks out of her favorite coffee shop, an iced latte in her hand, and immediately makes a beeline for the crosswalk down the street. She’s not rushing to get anywhere in particular, but in her mind the more she can occupy her thoughts with literally anything else, the better off she’ll be. She did something very stupid today. Something that could absolutely ruin a perfectly good friendship.
Why did she do it???
She missed her chance to cross before the lights changed, traffic now sipping across the lanes she had been hoping to cross. A car pulls up next to her, music playing just quietly enough that she can’t make out the lyrics. The window rolls down and she braces herself for a pick-up line or catcall. When neither of those things happen, she spares the vehicle a glance.
Her face grows red when she inevitably recognizes the car. Oh Gods, oh no.
“Hey, Nikki. Go for a ride with me?”
Nikki’s hands fidget around the coffee cup, eyes darting around. Jazz opens the passenger door to her, KISS’ “I Was Made for Loving You” filling the air via his speakers as she weighs her options. She glances at the crosswalk light. It’s counting down now and the lights will soon change. She could keep walking, but he would likely just follow her from the road until she agrees…
Taking a deep breath, she gets in.
She sits in the passenger seat, silently sipping on her coffee as the music switches from KISS to Dodie to Lady Gaga to Sydnee Carter. There’s no mistaking the fact that this is the playlist she gave him some hours ago. How long has he been listening to it?
Something at the back of her mind tries to convince her that this is some shitty attempt to mock her feelings, to make her feel stupid for doing what she did. But Jazz isn’t like that, she knows he isn’t.
“Do you… like the playlist?” Her voice wavers, but it’s hopeful.
“Haven’t stopped listening to it since you gave it to me.”
Her nails tap against her cup, just barely offbeat from the song currently playing.
“It’s an interesting way to confess. Don’t think I’ve ever seen it done this way before.” Jazz comes to a stop, having driven out of town now. There being nobody around, he lets Nikki out and transforms again. Ever an anxious wreck, she’s glad to be able to see his face now.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he scoops her up into his hands, this action almost costing her the coffee she just got.
Her face heats up again, eyes looking everywhere but at him. “So, does this mean…”
“I feel the same way? Absolutely, can’t believe you ever had a doubt about that.” He can’t help but chuckle at the little pout she makes at his words.
“It’s not my fault. Blaster says you’re a real klutz when it comes to having a crush, and you just seemed too composed around me for me to believe you felt the same.”
Oh, if she only knew how badly Blaster and some of the others teased him when she left the base. He usually managed to keep his cool when she was around, but even the smallest slip up was quickly picked up on and used against him. It was never malicious, but it did get a bit annoying.
“Well, I’m glad it’s all in the open. Now I can drive around with you serenading me with that sweet playlist of yours.”
Nikki flusters rather than responds, but meekly agrees.
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Chapter 01: Midtown High School
Summary: The first chapter of my full Peter Parker fanfiction, The World Around Us, also on Wattpad. Dylan West was the quiet girl in the corner. Headphones were shoved in her ears and dreams occupied her mind. Dreams to escape the reality that was High School and dreams that she could change the world. But what she didn't know was that her locker neighbor, Peter Parker, had the same dreams. The only difference was that Peter's dreams were becoming a reality, but not in the way he expected.
Warnings: some curse words
Word Count: 4809
I ran out into the kitchen to see my older brother spreading jam onto his toast. Noah turned to look at me, a smug smile painted on his face.
"What, my dear little sister?" He responded lightly and took a bite out of his toast.
I stalked up to him and tore the toast out of his hand. "You know exactly what you did, dumbass." I took a bite out of the toast and crunched on it obnoxiously. "How many times do I have to tell you that when I'm at school, do not do the laundry? I've said it a million times because you always do it wrong. My whites are now all pink because you left one of your damn red socks in the pile. Do you know how much I hate pink?"
He nodded and smirked, popping another piece of bread into the toaster. "Now you know! Don't watch your stupid shows around me while my friends are over."
"Your friends are all idiots who spend most of their days playing call of duty in their parent's basements with a Costco-sized bag of Doritos!" I shoved the rest of my bother's toast in my mouth."The only one that I actually enjoy spending time with is Nathan Leeds! So yes, I'm going to watch my shows on the only TV in our damn apartment that has cable. That doesn't mean you go and make my favorite sweatshirt pink!"
Noah laughed and I immediately ran to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked like I normally did in the mornings, my hair a matted mess and a giant t-shirt on with pajama shorts. Today I had extra crumbs around my face from the toast, but besides that, I wore my normal morning clothes. I ran back into the kitchen and saw Noah laughing his ass off. I continued to look around, still confused. "What?" I finally asked. He looked at me again and calmed himself.
"That is very true, what you said about my friends. I even have a picture of Mark-" Noah broke off laughing again, then took a deep breath. "Of Mark playing call of duty and eating a fun-sized bag of Doritos."
I rolled my eyes, a smile making its way to my face. I chuckled, "Well that's why I said it." Noah's toast popped out of the toaster and he began to spread jam on it again.
"Okay, well now you have about ten minutes to make it to the subway. You better hurry." My eyes widened and I ran into my room throwing on the first things I could find, a large Dunder Mifflin Paper Co. t-shirt, and a pair of skinny jeans. I ran into the bathroom to wash my face, I had to do this every day. Being an acne-prone teenager sucks. Then I put on barely any makeup, threw my hair up into a bun, grabbed my house keys, and made my way to the door where my backpack laid. "Don't forget your card." I hear my brother say as I head out the door.
"Right," I whispered and quickly made my way back to my room where my subway pass sat on my desk.
"Love you, sis," Noah called.
"Love you too," I yell back and make my way to the station, barely catching the last subway train to Midtown High School.
* * *
Walking through a hall of judgmental teenagers was hard enough on a normal day. Running through a hall of judgmental teenagers with an oversized shirt that looked almost like a dress and sported a logo of a TV show that ended a while ago, along with barely any makeup and ratty hair, made it much worse. The bell had already rung and people were making their way to the first period, forcing me to have to fight to get to my locker.
I pushed past the crowd of people, not caring enough to say sorry like I usually did because they never said "it's okay" or "sorry" back. I shoved past a group of cheerleaders who looked at me as if I had just chipped one of their perfectly manicured nails. I didn't believe in stereotypes when I started high school and treated the cheerleaders with respect like I did with any other person. They didn't treat me the same way, and being in the marching band as well as the academic decathlon team did not help the way they decided to act towards me. I ended up treating them how they treated me, rudely.
When I finally got to my locker, I saw Peter Parker struggling to get his locker open, looking very rushed as well. "Peter!" The brown-haired boy glanced at me before returning to jiggling his lock. Peter was a quiet boy. Usually, I'd see him on the outskirts of things with his best friend Ned Leeds, Nathan Leeds's younger brother. Peter was considered very smart in many ways, he was exceptional in all of his subjects and the top of our class, though he tried not to draw much attention to himself. Peter was in marching band with Ned and me, which was how I first met him. He was also on the Academic Decathlon team. When High School began we ended up having lockers next to each other. Even though we did a lot of the same extra circulars, we weren't very close. Our relationship consisted of a mutual hello, and/or small talk to our first period, which we had together.
"Hey Dylan," he forced open his locker and took out an English book as I opened my locker with ease. "I like your shirt." Peter smiled and looked me up and down, taking in my horrid appearance, but he wasn't looking any better. His hair was in every direction, bags resided under his eyes, and his shirt had something spilled on it. I pulled out my English book and nodded for us to walk to class. "Thank you. I see you've had a bad morning as well."
Peter scratched his neck and chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. My Uncle Ben was mad at me for forgetting to do my homework, and I forgot to set my alarm."
"Peter Parker forgot to do his homework?" I gasped dramatically and Peter rolled his eyes as I returned to our previous conversation. "I woke up on time, but," I yawned, "but Noah did my laundry and made all my white clothing pink, on purpose. So I got mad at him and wasted a ton of time to get ready, ultimately making myself late."
Peter jolted, holding in a laugh, then concealed it with a cough and looked back to me. "Uh, yeah, that sucks. I'm sorry."
I rolled my eyes then laughed a little myself. "It does sound a little ridiculous, doesn't it? Well, be happy you don't have an older brother." I smiled and stopped him in front of our English classroom. "Let me fix your hair, you have a horrible bedhead, Pete." I reached up, due to him being almost half a foot taller, and tried to pat his curly hair down. My hairdressing skills worked partially, but some strands were still sticking up a little on the sides.
"We are such wrecks." He said, awkwardly taking a step back. I laughed just as the second bell rang, signaling that we needed to get to class. Peter opened the door and stood back, holding it for me. He scratched the back of his neck, "Uh-ladies first."
"Oh, thanks." I moved past him and stepped into the classroom, walking towards my seat. I sat in the back row and Peter sat one desk ahead of me.
Our teacher stopped his lesson, which had begun only a second before, watched us take our seats. "Notes?" I and Peter made eye contact.
"Uh, no, Mr. Johns," Peter answered hesitantly.
Mr. Johns sighed, "You two are lucky you've never been late before. Next time you are, it's detention." We both nodded and placed our notebooks and textbooks on our desks. Our teacher stood up and slammed a book on the table that sat at in front of the two first front row desks. "Poetry." Mr. Johns stated simply.
He began to write the definition on the white board, followed by a numerical list. While he was turned around I shoved a headphone into my right ear and took out a notebook, beginning to write down poetry as the heading. While Mr. Johns continued to talk about the definition, I doodled. The word poetry became bubble lettered and blown up to look like a balloon, while the lyrics from my favorite songs surrounded it. "Dylan?"
"Hm?" I looked up from my notebook to see Mr. Johns staring at me expectantly and I jerked the headphone out of my ear. My cheeks heated up and I gulped, trying to remain calm as the other students snickered and as Peter turned around to look at me."I'm sorry, could you please repeat the question?" My voice came out shaky, much to my dislike.
"Distracted by your music again, Dylan?" He asked with a smile. I nodded sheepishly and sunk into my chair. "Don't worry, that's not the question." I could feel everyone's eyes on me, especially Peter's. "The question was, what is poetry in your own words?"
"Um..." I looked down at my notebook at the lyrics of different songs and made eye contact with my teacher again. Song lyrics are poetry, right? I hoped so. "Poetry-uh-can create a feeling and gives us, humans, emotions from words. Poetry is written to tell a story through metaphors and similes that everyone can relate to in their own way." I smiled, happy with the response that I randomly plucked out of my brain, and muttered, "Yeah, okay, that's good enough." Peter was still turned around and gave me a confused look.
"How did you do that?" He mouthed and I shrugged and shook my head in response.
My teacher chuckled. "Pretty good, West. Where'd get that answer?" I shrugged again and he turned around to write what I said on the board.
"You're not going to confiscate her phone and headphones?" Flash Thompson pestered and our teacher turned around with his eyebrows raised.
"No. I'm not."
"You are just going to let her keep listening to music in the middle class?" His annoying voice continued, "She already sits in the back of the class and was late. Plus, she's being tutored by Parker! And you're not going to take her phone?"
My hands curled into fists as I sat up straighter, trying to contain my anger. "I'm not being tutored and my grades are fine," I piped up and then mumbled under my breath, "dumbass."
Mr. Johns chuckled and Flash continued to look at him, confused. "Someday you're going to get bitch slapped and I'm not going to do a thing to stop it. Now get out of my class."
"But-"
"Uh-" The teacher pretended to zip up his lips and throw the key away, and pointed at the door. Flash got up and gathered his stuff before quickly exiting the room. "Now, your assignment is to write a poem on whatever the hell you want, but it has to be somewhat decent otherwise you'll embarrass yourself when reading it to the class Monday. Ready, set, go. And people on the Decathlon team, practices are on Monday during second lunch or the underclassmen's study hall."
* * *
"So you have to write a poem?" Natalie asked while we wrote down notes on chemical reactions. I nodded. "What are you going to write it on?" Me and Natalie basically grew up together. After meeting in kindergarten, we became inseparable. Neither of us was popular, we sat at our own table at lunch and studied alone as well. Sure, we knew people but they weren't very close to us. Michelle was the exception. But Natalie had been there for me since the beginning, and nothing has changed that.
I shrugged and stopped writing. "I really don't know. I'm still mentally laughing at the fact that Mr. Johns kicked Flash out of the class."
"Serves him right, I don't know how his ego fits into that small body, I mean it's like," she pinched her fingers together, "this big."
I giggled, "No, that's the size of his dick." We shared a mutual dislike for dear Eugene since we met him in seventh grade. He was always second to the top of our class, right behind Peter. Eugene earned his nickname from how fast he would answer questions in class. Basically, his hand shot up in a flash, and so one of the teachers called him that, and then everyone started to use the nickname. He liked to pick on kids, usually his fellow freshmen, and was a total asshole most days. Eugene also believed he ruled the school and contains an ego as large as Mount Everest in the frame of a five-foot-eight-inch body.
The bell rang and Natalie and I packed up our stuff. "Well, there's no denying that." She laughed. We walked out into the mob of teenagers and continued to shuffle our way to the cafeteria. I put one earbud in again. "Dylan, do you need music to breathe?" I rolled my eyes at her.
"Nat, why the hell do you think I chose to be in band if I don't need music to be alive?"
Natalie looked at me again and then sighed, "Here we go again."
"Music can be understood in any language, at any time, in any place. I could go up to anyone, play them a song from my phone, and they could understand how I feel. It also can alter your mood in a matter of minutes." I ranted as we made our way to the multi-purpose room, "In one piece, you could go from happy to angry to sad to scared multiple times because that's how the music makes you feel. Isn't that amazing? That hearing a string of notes with different pitches and different dynamics can make you feel something totally different than what you were feeling a second before?"
Natalie smiled, "Everyone really does need music to breathe... blah blah blah. Yes I know Dyl, we've been over this a couple of thousand times."
I saw someone appear in the corner of my eye, "More like a couple million," Michelle said.
"Your back!" I screamed. Michelle jumped at the loud sound of my voice and I tackled her with a hug in the middle of one of the two doorways into the cafeteria.
Michelle wasn't one for personal contact and patted me somewhat awkwardly on the back. "Dylan calm down it's not like I died and came back. I've only been gone like, two weeks."
I pulled away, "Michelle, you'd be surprised how uneventful it's been. I don't have any of your drawings, sarcastic jokes, and hilarious comments to make my boring days less boring."
Natalie moved in for a hug now, and again Michelle awkwardly patted her on the back. "Yeah, we are bored. Nothing goes on here."
"Move out of the way, assholes!" Flash yelled from his lunch table. Michelle broke the hug and flipped him off. I grabbed my friends by their sleeves and pulled them to a lunch table in the very back of the cafeteria. Michelle looked at my appearance and her eyebrows creased.
"Did you get hit by a bus?" She asked and I sighed.
"Long story."
"So," Natalie began, "how was Hawaii? I still can't believe your cousins live there." They both pulled out brown paper bags that contained food.
"Oh, I need to get lunch today!" I started to walk away then quickly turned around and went back. "Don't start telling Nat about Hawaii without me." I pointed at both of them then walked to get my food.
I made my way to the mess of a lunch line, it was a bunch of kids in the middle of the cafeteria with no organization to the line at all. The reason is that the kids who were more popular or more intimidating always cut in the line in order to get their food first. That day I saw the usual, popular and rich Harry Osborn with his girlfriend Elizabeth Mercado cut in front of a kid who could not protest. Believe it or not Natalie and I use to be friends with him before High School. He got past his awkward stage and pretended to actually like his dad, and his dad rewarded him for it. When I knew him he was a brace-faced nerd who cared and loved his friends, and would never have hurt anyone. Natalie was the most hurt when Harry ditched us and still had to see him from time to time when their dad's met for work.
A small tap on my shoulder jerked me out of my thoughts. I turned around to see Ned Leeds. "Oh, hey Ned. What's up?"
Ned shrugged, "The ceiling," then he paused and sighed. "You have no idea how much I hate myself for saying that."
I chuckled, "Don't worry, I've said it too. Have you gotten your clarinet fixed yet? Mr. Heimlich didn't seem very happy when you dropped it." I met Ned the same way I met Peter, a week before school started at marching band camp. The band doesn't stay the night or anything but for eight hours for seven days the freshman learn how to march and the sophomores, juniors, and seniors get a refresher course. Peter was much shyer than Ned, so I got to know him a little more than I did Peter. Eventually, I found out that he was Nathan Leeds's little brother.
Ned pulled out his wallet and looked through it. "Yeah, he wasn't. I got it fixed though, my mom was pretty mad about it. She said that it was a lot of extra money down the drain." He pulled out a five-dollar bill and put the wallet back in his pocket.
I mimicked him and pulled three dollars from my pants pocket, which was pretty surprising considering that I didn't remember putting any money there. I must have put it there last time I got food, I thought. "If I did that I would probably have to play my instrument broken until I had enough money to fix it. Noah would be so mad."
We finally made it to the front of the 'line' and gave the lunch lady our money. "Peter said you had a bad morning. Bro got you down?" Ned asked as we grabbed our treys.
I chuckled at his comment. "Nah, just this mystery meat that I am forced to eat today." The lunch lady glared at me as she slopped a piece of meatloaf onto my tray. I gave her an apologetic look.
"Are you kidding? Mystery meat is the bomb, you just need some ketchup." We moved through the line. I picked up an apple and shoved it into my mouth while Ned asked for extra mashed potatoes.
"Wow, that's a lot of food," I stated and put extra ketchup on my meatloaf like Ned said to do.
Ned shrugged, "I'm a fifteen-year-old boy who can never be filled, if you think I eat a lot, you should see Peter." He snorted and I looked to my friend's table to see them talking to Peter, which was odd because we rarely sat with different people. I started to walk towards them, Ned by my side. "You think they're talking about us? I bet they're talking about us." He whispered.
I laughed quietly, "Yes, Ned, they are totally talking about us." Ned rolled his eyes and made his way to Peter while I sat next to my friends on the other side of the table.
"Now you can talk about Hawaii." I plopped down and Michelle groaned, throwing her head back.
"But I just finished telling Nat!" She whined and shoved a handful of goldfish into her mouth. She munched on them and then showed me her tongue.
"Ugh, gross!" I pushed her away as she continued to mac on her cheesy crackers, clearly content with the fact that she didn't have to retell the story.
"Hey," I looked over to Peter and Ned, "what are you guys staring at?" I had noticed Peter had a flannel covering the shirt he was wearing earlier. Must've got it from Ned, I thought.
The two very hormonal fifteen-year-old boys had their heads resting on their hands staring dreamily into the distance. They continued to ignore me and the two other girls looking at them. Natalie turned around and laughed. "Yeah, keep dreaming." Michelle and I turned to look, and my friend cracked up.
"Liz Allen?" I asked even though I already knew. Liz was the most popular and sweetest girl in school, she basically defied all stereotypes. I met her a couple of months ago when I joined the academic decathlon team. Peter's attention was jerked away from the junior to me while Ned's gaze was still fixed on the girl.
"Y-Yeah."
"Why?" Nat asked as she looked back to see Liz hanging up a poster for the Almond Bowl, a big football game against our rival high school. Underclassmen lunch was the upperclassmen study hall so she must have had leadership that day, I thought. Natalie turned back around. "I mean, every one of the guys in our grade has a crush on her. What makes her special?"
It was Ned's turn to answer this time. "Hair, eyes, smile, clothes..." He trailed on in a dreamy manner. Peter continued the list.
"Personality," Peter stated and shrugged then went back to eating. I couldn't argue with Peter on that one, Liz was one of the nicest people I have met besides my friends. I dipped some of my mystery meatloaf in ketchup and ate it grudgingly, but to my surprise, it was actually very tasty.
I looked to Ned who was awaiting my reaction. "Ned you were right. This is the bomb." I took another bite and Ned laughed as I scarfed down all my food.
"Excuse me, but, 'the bomb'?" Natalie scrunched her eyebrows together.
Michelle chuckled and picked up a banana and used it as a fake phone, "Oh, Dylan, it's for you. The nineties called, they want their phrase back." I rolled my eyes and pointed to Ned.
"He said it first!" Ned put his hands up in the air and shook his head, unable to talk due to his mouth being stuffed with mystery meatloaf. "Oh stop acting so innocent, Leeds. I know what you did." Ned gulped and started coughing. Peter hit him on his back to help Ned's choking. I smiled at Peter who gave me a sheepish smile in return.
"She's way out of your league," Michelle commented and picked up her bag. Peter rolled his eyes and I looked up, about to question her actions. She nodded, "I'm going to the library, you coming?" I sighed and grabbed my bag, Natalie did the same.
* * *
I made my way into the library after school ended. After walking in I decided to wander the shelves aimlessly. Natalie was heading back on the subway and Michelle decided to head to the detention room again, and knowing my friend she was probably drawing some poor kid in distress. I needed to work on the English poem that was due Monday and would be walking home. Not really liking the idea of homework this weekend I decided to get this over with. The only problem was, I had nothing to write about.
I found a random section that contained Shakespeare and skimmed the shelves, looking for any book that caught my eye. Eventually, I found Romeo and Juliet, I knew it was what we were going to read next in English and I thought Shakespeare did stuff with poem-like things, maybe I could get ideas. I plucked the book out of the shelves and wandered around trying to find a seat.
The library was nearly empty, containing only a couple of hunched-over students. I scanned the tables, looking for someone I recognized, it wasn't until I walked over to sit by the window that I noticed Peter sitting in between the shelves. A notebook was placed in front of his crisscrossed legs and his English book sat wide open next to him. A black pen was tucked behind his ear and a pair of glasses sat on his nose while his eyes scanned the page of a book.
"I didn't know you wore glasses." He jumped as I sat down across from him, crossing my legs as well. "Can I study with you?"
Peter pushed the glasses back on his nose and closed his book. "Um, yeah, sure. I wear glasses, my eyesight isn't that bad but I wear them while studying." I nodded.
"Are you working on the poem too?" I began to pull out my pen and notebook and set them in front of me. I placed Romeo and Juliet in my lap and opened it.
Peter looked down at his empty paper and then back to me. "Yeah, I have no idea what to write though."
I snorted. "I seem to have the same issue." I stared at my blank piece of paper practically wishing that something in my brain would click and I could just write down an amazing poem without a thought. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case, and staring at that mind-numbing piece of college ruled lined notebook paper didn't help me whatsoever.
I saw Peter glance at the book in front of me, and then continue to scribble stuff into his notebook."Why do you have Romeo and Juliet with you?"
I shrugged and flipped a couple of pages. "Everyone's heard the story, and Shakespeare writes sonnets and poems so I thought, why not? It may give me some ideas." I read a couple of lines then sighed, "If I can understand it."
Peter chuckled, "Here. Let me try it." I handed the book over to him and he scanned a couple of pages while I stared at my blank notebook again. "I think that Romeo is in love with some random girl and his cousin is saying you need to find another girl because this one hates you? I may be wrong?"
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, how poetic of Shakespeare. Really helping me out." I said as Peter handed the book back to me.
The boy smiled. "Did you know that Shakespeare created almost two thousand of his own words? And they are common too, we use them a lot. So cut the guy some slack Dylan, he wrote about teenager problems, and apparently falling in love with a girl that hates you is one of them." I laughed at his comment, then contained myself as I saw Peter shrug. "What? It's true!" He smirked and then looked to his notebook again.
We fell into a comfortable silence as I read through little bits of the play. I finally began to write some of my poems, only completing about half of it before my phone buzzed. Peter looked up from his poem and made eye contact with me.
"Who is it?" He asked.
"Nat." He nodded and looked back to his poem. "Hello?" I answered the phone.
"What's up girl you are coming over now I'm not taking no for an answer, goodbye." Natalie hung up and a startled look was plastered onto my face.
"Um..okay then," I said and Peter looked up at me again. "I have to go now apparently," I told him and started gathering my stuff and placing it in my backpack.
"Is something wrong? I can help you if you guys need help with something." Peter quickly took off his glasses and placed them in a case that he had taken out of his backpack.
"No, Peter it's okay," I smiled, "Natalie just basically forced me to go to her house in a span of thirty seconds over a phone."
Peter relaxed a little, "Oh, okay. I thought she was hurt or something."
I grinned, "Yes it was a very abrupt invitation." I stood up and threw my backpack onto my back. Peter stood up too, then awkwardly held his hand out for a handshake.
He coughed, "Uh... it was a pleasure working with you, Miss West."
I shook his hand, "Same to you, Mr. Parker." I let go and moved past him then turned to face him as I was walking away. "See ya tomorrow." I turned back around and made my way out of the deserted school and onto the streets of New York City.
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