to the joker scary girl is just normal girl

a very “stable” relationship - We Are The Tigers (Pt. 1, 1636 words)

pairing: evaleigh (Eva x Annleigh)

CW: horses are the main focus! otherwise, it’s just fluff! ^^

—————

“Are you sure this is okay...?” 

Eva had been asking this for the past hour or so. It wasn’t unlike her to be chatty when she was nervous, but her girlfriend found this level of uncertainty rather adorable. The horseback rider was so used to being the one who needed constant reassurance. The flier was crazy smart, super talented, and generally just so charming that you couldn’t help but love her. Some days, Annleigh felt like she was just... well... Annleigh. 

So, it did feel a little bit nice to get to be the confident one. Just for a little bit. 

(And not at all because she liked getting the opportunity to show off for her girlfriend. Nope.) 

“It’s gonna be fine!” The taller girl gave her girlfriend’s hand a squeeze as the two of them approached the large, wooden structure. Annleigh’s boots clomped along loudly, walking the familiar path. She’d attempted to offer Eva a pair, too, but the flier’s feet were much smaller than her own. Her girlfriend had just settled on her sneakers. Well, had “settled” on them after at least a forty-five minute freak out session about whether she should buy boots for the occasion. Annleigh had assured her that it wouldn’t be necessary.

“I already called Kathy and set everything up over the phone. I used to practically live here, so she trusts me to not kill you or anything. Plus, you already signed the release waiver. All we have to do is put this under the door to her office and we’ll be good to go!” Annleigh led the climatologist through the large doors, inhaling the familiar scent as she did so. Nothing like the smell of hay and manure to send you into nostalgia. 

Next to her, Eva was wide-eyed. She gazed around at all the stalls with fascination, taking in all the horses. It was unfairly cute, but Annleigh had to force herself to focus. She couldn’t be distracted by her girlfriend was right now. Not when she was the one who was supposed to know what to do for once. 

As they reached the office, the taller girl retrieved Eva’s waver that she’d signed last night from her pocket and slid it under the door. It was nice Kathy still trusted her so much. It had been two years since college had started, and she only got to come back to ride over the holidays. Annleigh was grateful for how hands-off her trainer was in this respect. Not that she didn’t love the woman, of course. It was just... her instructor was practically like family, after as long as she’d ridden here. The thought of introducing her to her girlfriend was almost as scary as when she’d introduced Eva to her parents. 

(Of course, Eva had never made a bad impression in her life. More than anything, it would have been another ‘how’d you land such a catch’ kind of thing. Not that Annleigh didn’t think that to herself every day already.) 

Beside her, her girlfriend let out a low whistle. “It’s so much bigger than I thought it was going to be. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many horses in one place...!” 

Annleigh giggled, retaking Eva’s hand to lead her through the aisle. It was pretty early in the day, but the barn wasn’t too busy. A few younger kids here and there who must have been homeschooled waved in greeting to the two of them, but the arenas were both empty. That was good. Really good, actually. 

As much as she tried not to show it, the equestrian was probably just as nervous as her girlfriend was. Maybe more nervous, actually. She really, really, really wanted this to go well. Eva’s interest in horses had been what the two of them had initially bonded over, back in high school. Although she’d never gotten a chance to ride growing up like Annleigh had, she was pretty sure the flier would have loved to if there’d been the option.

“And... here we are...!” Annleigh stopped in front of a stall, releasing Eva’s hand to open the feeding latch so the horse could stick his head out. The gelding, who’d been dozing towards the back wall, perked an ear up at the sound of her voice. Blinking lazily, the animal wandered over and poked his nose out, pushing Annleigh’s hand as she reached up to pet him. “Hi, buddy!” She chuckled, allowing him to sniff her hair. His breath was warm. “Okay, okay. I missed you too!” 

Eva was hanging back, gazing at the horse and her girlfriend in awe. “This is your horse?” 

The brunette nodded. “Mostly mine, anyway. He’s leased out right now to a few kids since we’re at college, but otherwise. Yep! This is the one!” 

The gelding snorted, kicking the stall once to indicate that he was very much not receiving the ideal amount of attention. Eva jumped a bit at the loud sound. Annleigh snorted at her horse’s antics. “Goodness! Sorryyy, Mister~!” She scratched his blaze. “Where are my manners? Pegasus, this is Eva! Eva, this is Pegasus.” 

Eva looked unsure of what to do, so she did a little wave in greeting. “Uhh... nice to meet you, Pegasus?” She was still gazing at him in wonder. Annleigh had to resist the urge to smile. The two of them were going to get along just fine, she could tell. The gelding loved attention, especially from people who would talk to him. It was a match made in Heaven, really. 

“Here, you can come closer, if you want.” Annleigh opened the gate a little further so Pegasus could crane his neck out. She swatted him lightly as he tried to paw at the stall again. “He’s assured me that he’s going to be on his best behavior. Right, Gus?” 

Pegasus gave a snort. Annleigh decided to take that as a ‘yes, Mom, of course I’ll be perfect with your girlfriend! Why would you ever worry about this?’ sort of noise. Rather than a ‘Mom, I’m going to absolutely wreck your relationship’ snort. 

Please let it be the first one. Oh Lord, please let it be the first one. 

The shorter girl approached cautiously, hands tucked into the pockets of the jacket she always wore. The buttons jingled a bit, metal catching the rays of light steeping in from the roof and making them sparkle. “Uhh... hey there, boy?” Eva phrased it more as a question, glancing at Annleigh for confirmation that she was approaching him correctly. The brunette had to keep herself from giggling. The whole thing was so sweet. She really didn’t deserve to know Eva Sanchez. 

Pegasus, apparently, thought that he certainly did, however. He thrust his head out further, bracing his neck against the door and turning it at a ninety degree angle. It made him look like an undercooked giraffe. Eva snorted and looked at Annleigh questioningly, with a look that clearly read ‘uhhhhh.... is he supposed to be doing that?’ 

The rider nodded, motioning her to continue to approach him. “He’s just being silly! Keep going, you’re doing great!” With her other hand, she was digging through her pocket for her phone. She had to get a photo of this. Pegasus had always hated her Polaroid, but she’d take iPhone evidence if it meant she could film this moment. Annleigh flashed a thumbs up to Eva as the other girl reached out to pet the horse’s head. 

“Oh!” The climatologist’s grin grew even larger as she stroked his nose. “He’s super soft!” She gasped lightly as he nudged her, stepping backwards a bit while Pegasus moved his lips down to nibble at her pocket. “Uhh. Whatcha doing?” 

Annleigh rolled her eyes. “Gus, that is very rude.” She stopped snapping photos long enough to push his nose more forcefully away from her girlfriend’s jacket. Please, if you rip that, I will be in so much trouble— 

“He thinks you might have a cookie for him. Even though he knows,” Annleigh said the second part directly to the bay, who was blinking his brown eyes innocently at her. “That he doesn’t get any until after he goes for a ride.”  

The horse snorted. Pegasus had always been a little too intelligent for his own good. Annleigh could never tell exactly how much of any conversation he could understand, but it was more than enough to be a little unnerving. She glared at him to ensure another round of ‘do not mess this up for us’ was communicated. He blinked back. 

... it was hard to tell if he’d gotten the message or not. Horses were hard to read. 

Her girlfriend laughed, reaching up to scratch his blaze again. “Sorry, boy. I didn’t bring any treats. Plus, your mom said no.” 

This did not seem to deter the gelding. Almost as soon as Annleigh had gone back to trying to film, he’d returned to his interest in Eva’s jacket. The horse seemed enchanted by her pins. As they watched, he fumbled the rainbow heart one and attempted to pull it away from her jacket, almost sending Eva toppling forward if Annie hadn’t moved forward to catch her. 

“Pegasus!” She swatted him back, the bay looking entirely too pleased with himself for his own good, and moved to relatch the door. “That’s it. Five minute time out. We do not attempt to steal pins in this family!” When she closed the door, she turned back to Eva, dusting her breeches off. “Jeez, sorry about him. You go away for a few months to school and somebody forgets all their manners. I don’t know what’s up with him... he’s not usually so naughty!” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Uh, babe, I think your horse might be homophobic.” Eva was barely containing her smile. 

They both burst out laughing. 

| MER-MAID FOR EACH OTHER | A Stashi One-shot Mermaid AU | Fairy Tail Next Generation |

Ships: Nashi Dragneel x Storm Fullbuster (Magma mermaid x Sharkboy)

Dedicated to @primaverafrog @luna-chan00 @biorckstudios18 @cxndy-stxrs and that random fact I read about sharks thriving in volcanoes.

If there was anything Nashi's dad taught her, it was this.

It was her mom that had sat her down and told her about how she couldn't play with the other mermaids and the do's and don'ts and safe spaces and creeks that reeked of danger and bad merfolk. Nashi nodded half-heartedly, too upset to barely talk back like she usually did.

But Nashi's dad, bless his soul, beckoned her to him one fine day and said, "No matter what you are and what you can do, don't hide a single part of you. Fight for what you want and what you deserve no matter how ridiculous it looks in the grand scheme of things. We'll always be here," he poked at her chest, "supporting you. Always."

Of course, turns out it was regarding a 'big, juicy mackerel' he lost to a 'dumb, fucking orca of all fish', but she liked to think it applied to other aspects of her life too.

The mer peered at the children giggling and trying to outswim each other across the reef and sighed.

As amazing as living in a volcano was, it sure was lonely sometimes.

Magma merfolk had several restrictions because of the seething temperatures their bodies possessed. Basically, if she touched a mer, they'd get burnt (super bad). It wasn't like there was a chance of that happening anyway, considering how scared merfolk were of them.

Pearl (a curious whitefish she'd come across on one of her hunts) swam in circles around her, obviously in a playful mood. She slightly smiled and brought a finger to her lips.

The children screeched as they spotted her swimming rapidly towards them and scattered away. The pinkette chortled at them.

"You'd think they'd have learnt by now, eh, Pearl?"

Pearl made a noise of delight, wading amongst the reeds. She huffed. "I knew you were hungry, you silly little fishy. Which reminds me, I have a date with destiny!"

Her best friend clicked. (Sorry hun, a mermaid has needs. Sweet, sweet protein; sign her up please!) She squinted, scanning the waters for her next meal. Her eyes registered a faint figure.

Tapping her tail thrice to get Pearl's attention, she swam ahead at a careful pace, ducking behind giant kelp to get a closer look. The figure continued its path, paying her no notice. Which was when she realised what it was headed straight for.

Pearl.

Her heart beating violently, she let out a war-cry and flexed her tail harder. Her vision saw red as she rammed into-

"WHAT THE FLIPPING HECK?!"

Both the bodies crashed into a boulder and Nashi let out a small groan, her sight blurry. Blinking back into consciousness, she tilted her head up.

She wasn't going to lie, the first thing she saw was his jaw filled with sharp canines. Her blood ran cold as she slowly, carefully, looked up only to gaze at perfect cerulean blue eyes.

She blinked. He blinked. Then the screaming ensued.

"WHAT'S A SHARK DOING IN MAGMA REEF?! AM I GOING TO DIE?! HOLY FLIPPING MAVIS-"

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TACKLE ME LIKE THAT?! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, YOU CRAZY MER?!"

6 minutes later, Pearl floated by, unimpressed by their shrieking. The shark-guy (shark-man, shark-douche, whatever) reached out to grab her and Pearl and Nashi collectively squeaked, the latter smacking him at the back of his head. He snarled.

"I'm trying TO CATCH MY NEXT MEAL! DO YOU MIND?!" He yelled.

"YES, I MIND! PEARL IS MY FRIEND, NOT FOOD!"

"Oh dear Triton, she's one of the vegan loons...." He muttered under his breath. She clicked her tongue.

"Even if I am, that doesn't explain the fact that YOU'RE ON MY TURF!!" She retorted, and he flinched at her tone.

"I DON'T SEE A SIGN ANYWHERE!!"

Nashi growled at him, "You have 7 seconds to run before I burn you to ashes!" Which is when she noticed that she was still on top of him.

"Wait, you aren't- what?" She furrowed her eyebrows and inspected him. "You're- wha- how?"

"What is it?!" He frowned. "It's considered rude to sta- HEY!"

She frantically patted and touched his chest and arms for something, anything and let out a breath of bewilderment. "You're- You don't feel anything?"

"Well, you are a little warmer than the others," he admitted. The shark raised an eyebrow curiously, "Uh- why?"

Nashi blinked out of her stupor, then pointed at herself, "Magma mermaid."

"Oh." He blinked back. "You're not as scary as they make you out to be. Unless," he held her shoulders and scanned her (Uhhhhhhhh....) "You're a baby!"

"WHAT! NO, YOU DUMBASS!"

"So you're saying that you're old?" He teased.

"I'm the appropriate age!" She huffed back.

"Appropriate age for?"

"Uh, stuff?"

"Yeah huh."

"YEAH HUH!"

He bit his lip, fighting back a smile. "Now, what am I going to do about lunch?"

Nashi's eyes widened. "Kelpsicles, I have to hunt too!" Both met each other's gazes before he shrugged. "Truce?"

"It's Nashi, actually," she smirked.

"Cool, I'm Storm."

............

An hour later, Storm managed to piss her off again.

"What do you mean you don't like burnt fish?! It's flipping amazing!"

Storm sighed (The audacity!) "Have you even tried raw fish?"

She spluttered, "Of course I have-" At the disbelieving look he shot her, she mumbled, "Not."

"Open up then."

"Excuse me?!" She shrieked indignantly. "I barely know you! You could poison me for all-" she choked as he shoved a piece in her mouth mid-sentence.

"I don't wanna hear it," he interrupted her before she could yell at him, "So? How's it taste?"

"I still like burnt fish." She mumbled, flustered.

"D'aww, is the iddle widdle mermaid embarrassed?" He cooed. "How ador-" Now it was his turn to choke as she shoved the entire fish down his throat.

She snorted, "Now that's peak humour." He shot her the middle flipper.

.............

"Damn, the humans are at it again."

"What's new?" Storm grumbled.

Nashi's grin widened, "Wanna check it out?"

"I don't know Nash, this bunch looks- Nash?" He groaned at her figure wading upwards, "Woman, get back here!"

Nashi was too busy taking in the sun's warmth to pay him any attention the first time. The second time however, she swivelled around only to register his panicked look. The third time, she found her tail stuck. In a net.

"STORM!! FLIPPING- HELP!!" She screeched, pushing, propelling herself out, trying anything, everything. She was getting dizzier by the second.

A giant thud resonated from behind her, and the net shook back and forth but she waddled undeterred until Rip! She was free!

"Oh thank Triton!" She gasped, trying to catch her breath. The humans were yelling but she didn't want to stick around and find out.

A pair of arms wrapped around her making her flinch. Storm had a dark look on his face as he pulled her against him and swam forth, not uttering a word.

He'd rocked the boat. He'd- he'd saved her from-

"Don't ever leave my side again." He murmured against her hair.

.................

"Nash, stoppppp," Storm whined, "It's only 15 minutes awayyyyy."

"You said that 15 minutes ago! And what's the big deal anyway?" She snickered, reaching out for his fin again, only to be swatted again, "Ticklish?"

"Very much so." He raised an eyebrow, daring her to try again. "You can't stay one minute without trying to feel me up, can you?"

She spluttered and even Pearl (dumb fish!) joined Storm as he chortled at the indignant face she made.

"We're here!" He cheered, only to be tackled by a bunch of sharks. Nashi felt her breath quicken.

"Storm?" She blinked. The group turned to stare at her in awe.

"STORM BROUGHT A GIRL HOME!"

"SHE'S PRETTY!"

"ARE YOU TWO MARRIED YET?!"

"Uhhh..." What was happening again?

Storm laughed at her confusion. "I figured you'd be lonely up there so I thought you'd like to stay with my family for a change. Don't mind Kai and Gale," he shot them a look. "They're dumbasses."

"If you won't date her, I might," Kai smirked at her. She nervously smiled at him, confused.

Storm growled, "Back off, she's mine!"

Nashi choked. Even Pearl cheered as they proceeded to carry her into their coven? Cliff? Ridge maybe....

"Since when am I yours?" She inquired, bewildered.

"We'll work on the specifics later. For now," he wrapped an arm around her torso and grinned at her, "Yeah, you're mine."

.................

Bonus: (that no one asked for)

"Sing it with me, River! BABY SHARK DO DO DO DO DO DO! BABY SHARK DO DO DO DO DO DO! BABY SHARK DO DO DO DO DO DO! BABY SHARK!"

Storm grumbled, "If his first word is baby, it'll be your fault."

Nashi shrugged, "As long as it's not Daddy, I don't mind at all. Say mommy, sweetie! Mo-mmy! See!"

The tiny shark ("He loves raw fish! He's a natural predator!" Storm cheered, making funny faces at his giggling son) paid no heed to his parents, distracted by Pearl swimming in circles around him.

"Pearl, you're going to make him take his first paddle before he says Momma at this rate," Nashi warned.

"You mean Dadda."

"Momma!"

"Dadda!"

"Momma!"

"Dadda!"

"Ma- da," River giggled, clapping his hands. Both of them blinked at him.

"Well that solves that," Storm smiled.

"Yeah...." Nashi sighed. "Who's a good little sharkie? Yes, you are!" She cooed, carrying him in her arms. "I love you!" She poked at him.

"What about me?" Storm pouted. She rolled her eyes and pecked him on the lips. "I love you too, Snarky."

He flicked her on the nose.

.....................

A single dad hawks au reposted from my Wattpad

Word count: 1425

This was just something small that I wrote AGES AGO and thought I’d just repost it from my Wattpad over to here. I haven’t proof read it or even read it since I wrote it so.... you know... might be awful.

I have many talented friends who write amazing stuff on here and thought I’d just give it a try.

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"MEGUMI TAKAMI!"

The little girl giggled lightly and shuffled further under her bed, the red blanket hanging slightly to conceal her from view. It was around 8am on a Monday. Usually by now megumi would be walking hand in hand with her dad down through the city on the way to school. But she decided it was the perfect day to test her fathers patience, knowing that if they were running late she might just get to fly to school instead of walking.

"Where are you little chicken?"

Keigo was tiptoeing down the corridor, wings trailing behind him as he stalked the way to his daughters room. Stepping inside he could see a pair of little feet sticking out from under the bed. His face adorned a playful smirk as he clambered onto the tiny mattress. The room was silent until he stuck he's head under the bed, megumi's eyes widened at the sight of her upside down dad. "BOO!" He yelled, reaching under the bed with extended arms.

Squealing happily the little girl shuffled quickly out from under, only to be tackled by her father. Strong arms lifted her up into his chest and surrounded them both with his wings, she was still giggling. "Looks like I caught myself a little chick," keigo acted surprised for his little girl, earning another happy laugh from her. "A little chick that should be getting ready for school." His eyebrow raised and she gave him a mischievous smile.

One that she learned from her father.

The two of them lived alone in keigo's city apartment. It would be wrong to say that it wasn't difficult for the pro hero. With managing the time spent with his little girl and his designated hours as a hero it was rare that he ever got a break. Every single day he would get her ready, take her to school, go to work, pick her up, either hand her over to miruko for the evening and go back to work or spend the evening himself with her. Miruko was a major help in his life. She took care of megumi a few days a week when keigo was on night patrol, this was because she opted to take morning patrol anyway so had the time to spare.

Megumi was only four so obviously it was hard for her to understand sometimes. Of course she loved spending time with "auntie miruko" but it wasn't unusual for her to ask for her dad and want to spend time with him instead. Countless times the pro hero had been called out of meetings for his daughter but he never hesitated to put her first before his job. Megumi was his pride and joy, his greatest achievement. Putting her first may have cost him a few pay checks or deals but to him it wasn't about that. Megumi deserved everything that he didn't get as a kid so he didn't hesitate to come to her aid for whatever she may need.

"Come on chickie you gotta put your hair up. Your teacher already sent me an angry email to tell me that it shouldn't be down. She's scary you know." Keigo, used his hands to softly comb the strands of her blonde hair into two pigtails. Being a single dad this was something he had to learn how to do fairly quickly, watching many videos on how to tie hair he was finally getting the hang of it. Securing each bundle with red hair ties he checked in the mirror to make sure they were even.

In the mirror two faces stared back, megumi was the spitting image of her father. Bright yellow eyes, blonde hair, long thick black eyelashes and to top it all of she even had small red wings sprouting from her back. They were slightly different however because the tips of each feather appeared to be dipped in what looked like a shiny metal. The reason for this was megumi's mother, keigo dated a woman with a metal based quirk. However after megumi was born- they were already broken up at this point- the woman was unable to care for her daughter.

Keigo offered her help, a place to stay and plenty of money to help her stay afloat but it seemed as if the financial issue wasn't the problem. To put it bluntly megumi's mother didn't want anything to do with either of them. Breaking up with Keigo meant that she was reminded of him every time she laid eyes on her daughter. So after dropping her off at her dads for the weekend- megumi was only a baby at the time- she took off and made no effort to keep contact. Keigo gained full custody of his daughter and they've been living together ever since.

The break up was not even on bad terms, Keigo treated megumi's mother like a princess. they were simply young and fell out of love quickly. Both of them were only 22 when she fell pregnant, after deciding to keep the baby Keigo was scared of what the future might hold for not just the two of them but for this new life they were bringing into the world. Shortly after she was born the two began to fight over petty things and most of the work was left to Keigo. That was probably for the best because it was clear that megumi's mother just wasn't cut out to be a parent.

Keigo was happy that she was out of the picture as megumi was the best thing that ever happened to the pro hero.

"You wanna fly to school?"

"YEAH!"

"I know that's why you hid isn't it chickie?"

"Nuh uh, I hid because I DON'T wanna go school."

"Well what a shame. Let's go."

"Pappaaaaa."

Megumi hung off her dad's arm as he stepped towards the door. Already dressed in his hero suit he swung megumi's "hawks" themed backpack over his shoulder. Obviously completing the final look. He then picked her up, putting her inside his jacket to keep warm and then locking the door. "What are you doing papa? We need go out the door, silly." Megumi scolded him but Keigo simply smirked. "Who said we were going out the front door."

He headed towards the balcony instead.

Standing on the ledge he told her to hold on tight before simply.

Jumping off.

Well it could have been classified as "falling."

The little girl screamed in happiness as the sound of her fathers wings beating filled her ears. Little hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt but she knew she was safe due to the seatbelt like arm holding onto her. All her trust went into her dad when they went flying, her wings were too small for her to fly along side him but she loved the sensation of the air whipping at her face as they glided through the air. Keigo's eyes flicked between their destination and his little girl. Smiling widely at the sight of her ecstatic expression.

The flight was short lived as her school was very close to where they lived in the city. Landing with a few more beats of his wings keigo's feet touched the concrete playground. Everyone was staring at the two of them but neither were fazed.

What? never seen someone fly into preschool before?

"Right, you got everything? Papa's gotta get to work, chicken." He crouched down to her level, his shining wings folded behind him. "Yep! I even got my notebook with your face on it!"

"Chicken all your school stuff has my face on it."

"YEAH BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

Keigo chuckled, ruffling her hair and giving the little girl a kiss on the forehead. Going to stand up however the man was pulled back down into a crouch. In front of him a little fist was waving in his face. Without a second thought Keigo fist bumped his daughter and watched as she exclaimed a loud "POW!" Afterwards.

Let's just say he left for work with a blinding smile on his face.

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@sugas-sweetheart

ooo can u write something for that highschool au it seems cute,,,

I’m sorry this took me like two weeks! I’ve been really sick ;-; It’s my ninth, nearly tenth, day of being sick D: But I wrote a cute lil fluffy oneshot and I hope you like it

“You got into another fight?”

Feliciano looks like a sad, kicked puppy. Lovino walks - no, he fucking hobbles - into the room silently, feeling like the worst person in the world but his pride not allowing him to say a damn thing.

He’s roughed up good, with a large bruise on his cheek, a busted lip, and some bloody cuts scattered across his face and arms. His hair’s a wreck, his shirt’s just hanging off his shoulder, and he looks completely pissed. But you know, he feels like he deserves it after seeing Feli’s face and how sweet and innocent and hurt he looked by it all.

“Not my fault,” Lovino finally grumbles out, taking his usual seat on the bathroom counter. “This asshole was asking for it! He kept following me around and fucking taunting me, like ‘Ooh, you think you’re so tough. Why don’t you show me what you’re made of?’”

Feliciano sighs softly. He’s only half listening as he rummages around in one of the drawers for the first-aid kit. Having Lovino as his best friend… he sorta needed to keep it stocked up at all costs. Cause God knows Lovino’s too prideful to take care of himself after a fight. Without Feli, who knows what would’ve happened to him by now? He really didn’t want to think about it…

“And then he got his girlfriend to join in. Fucking coward, coming at me with two on one! Anyway, she slapped me in the face and the stupid ass ring she was wearing left some cuts.”

“She hit you?!”

Somehow, Feliciano seems even more upset than before. He’s got tears in his eyes and almost looks angry.

It’s not fair to gang up on Lovino like that! Maybe he gets into fights a lot and is really foul-mouthed and comes off as super mean and scary at first glance, but he’s a good guy! Really!

Feli finally pulls out the first-aid kit and sets it down on the counter. The contents inside are just the usual: gauze, wipes, bandages, painkillers, etc. Not like the painkillers serve any purpose with how stubborn Lovino is, though.

“I’d rather be on my deathbed than take those fancy ass pills you call medicine,” he’d say whenever Feliciano tried to force him to take a painkiller or two.

Sometimes, after lots of begging from, he’d eventually give in. But Feli had learned the hard way that it’s not worth it, it really isn’t. If Lovino wants to sit around in pain, then that’s his choice.

“But I couldn’t fight back because she’s a girl and I’d get my ass handed to me if I even thought about hitting back, so I had to run like a fucking coward. And of course the guy’s laughing in my wake and his girlfriend looks so damn pleased with herself.”

Feliciano applies some alcohol to a rag and dabs it over the cuts on Lovino’s cheek while he’s caught up in mid-rant. Lovino flinches back and hisses like an angry kitten that just got disturbed during it’s bathtime.

“Hey! At least warn me first, for fuck’s sake.”

Feliciano gives a small, guilty smile. “Sorry!”

Lovino grumbles but doesn’t say anything else and doesn’t dare to fight Feliciano for healing him up, unless he wants to deal with his whining about how it’s gonna get infected and he’ll probably die. He seems pretty much done with his ranting about the whole thing and is silent as the little nurse of sorts works on healing him up.

Feliciano pours a bit more alcohol on the rag and gently wipes it over Lovino’s bloody lower lip. He doesn’t mind fixing Lovino up, and heck, he even enjoys it since he gets to be so close to his crush, but this was getting a bit old. He really worried about Lovino sometimes…

…And there’s that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach again. Every time Lovino comes over after a fight, covered in bruises and bloody slap and scratch marks, Feli’s terrified he’s not going to be able to fix it. He doesn’t want to lose Lovino… He’s always had anxiety about losing the people he cares about, and Lovino’s violent nature doesn’t help at all.

“You know…” Feliciano says suddenly, finally working up the courage to bring it up, “You said you’d quit getting into so many fights…”

He leans over and grabs the box of bandaids, pulling out a bright blue one and sticking it to Lovino’s face.

“Yeah, I say a lot of things,” Lovino replies emotionlessly. His green eyes wander around the room with disinterest. Feliciano is too upset to get lost in them like he normally would. He sighs, looking down and gently kicking his foot against the floor.

“I worry about you… What if you get hurt and I can’t help you?”

Lovino rolls his eyes. Like that’s gonna fucking happen. He took very good care of himself in fights, thank you very much. The last time he’d lost was before Feli and him had even met, and that was nearly two years ago. People knew not to mess with him unless they wanted to see stars, and not the kind of stars in the sky. But he will kick their asses into space if needed.

He was going to say something smart, he really was, but then, he saw the sad and sweet and concerned look on Feliciano’s face, and oh yeah, this boy’s probably the only person in the world who actually gives a shit about him, isn’t he? Lovino sighs, not able to find it in himself to be a dick.

“Look, this guy was threatening you, okay? I couldn’t just do nothing…”

With that, he turns his head away in embarrassment. There. He confessed. Nothing to be ashamed of now, so leave him be!

If he saw the way Feli’s face lit up at those words, so bright and happy as if he’d just opened up a box full of kittens, he’d just be even more embarrassed about the whole thing.

“You do care!”

Feliciano throws his arms around Lovino and snuggles him tight. There’s surprisingly little protest.

“Yeah, yeah, of course I do.”

Lovino returns the hug loosely, a slight smile forcing its way to his lips. He really does love this affectionate little dork. Even though he cries a lot and always follows him around and seems to come in at the worst times (like when he’s trying to seduce his girlfriend, thanks for ruining it, Feli)… All the kids who pick on him are fucking assholes.

If Lovino with his big bad self wasn’t there, there’s no telling what would’ve become of Feli. One of the first times they’d met, some guy was harassing him, and things very well could’ve gotten physical if Lovino hadn’t stepped in. Contrary to popular belief, he was very against bullying. Just because he had piercings and shit, people thought he was some sort of bad boy. It was stupid.

Even Feliciano was intimidated by Lovino at first, but he was also so grateful he’d saved him. Actually, grateful was an understatement. The kid literally followed Lovino around for days after the incident. And it had been annoying as hell at first, but eventually Lovino decided that having this cute lil guy following him around wasn’t so bad after all.

Feliciano returns to patching him up. He’s humming a little tune as he works and swaying back and forth. It’s the adorable things like this that make Lovino not really mind getting some bruises every now and then. He doesn’t even complain when Feli places another bright pink bandaid right on his cheek. Back in the day, he’d protest, acting as if those brightly colored bandages were the bane of his existence, but overtime, he’d come to like them. They were another little thing he associated with Feli.

“Done~” Feliciano sings when he finishes at last.

He’d just put on the last bandaid and tossed a bloodied rag in the trash.

Lovino scoots off the counter and stands on the floor. “Finally,” he mutters, turning around to glance in the mirror. Half of his face is covered in neon colored bandages. He looks like a fool and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Waaait,” Feliciano whines, tugging on Lovino’s sleeve to get his attention. “I haven’t kissed you better yet.”

The pout on his face says it all. His best friend is such a child. Lovino swears he does it on purpose sometimes, the manipulative little shit. He only grumbles as he plops his butt back down on the counter.

Feliciano looks pleased. He always had to kiss Lovino’s wounds before letting him go. It was their little ritual. Maybe it’s silly, but he doesn’t care.This way he was sure to get better fast! Love’s the best medicine, after all.

He kisses the bruise on Lovino’s arm and the pile of bandages on his cheek, but then when it comes to his busted lip, Feli freezes, cheeks turning pink.

Lovino’s lips quirk in amusement, but he’s also a little confused… Okay, so Feliciano will walk in on him in the shower like it was nothing, just two bros hanging out with one of them butt naked, nothing unusual! But he wouldn’t kiss Lovino on the lips. Wow. This kid had the weirdest fucking morals.

“Hey,” Lovino says. “I don’t have all day.”

Feliciano’s head snaps up and his face grows warm. He had been staring at Lovino’s lips.

“R-Right! Sorry.”

It was just a kiss. No, not even a kiss. He was just kissing his friend’s wounds better, and one of those wounds happened to be on his lip, but that didn’t make it a kiss or anything! …Did it?

Feli was so flustered by the thought. He was going to kiss the guy he had a huge crush on. On the lips. You can’t blame him for panicking, okay! These kind of opportunities don’t just happen!

It seems he was taking too long to initiate things because Lovino suddenly sighs, leans in, and quickly brushes his lips over Feli’s before the other can even comprehend what was happening.

“There.”

Feliciano just stands there for a moment, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. Then he finally takes in what just happened and blushes furiously. There’s the slight metallic taste of blood on his lips, but he doesn’t even care. His crush just kissed him.

Lovino is incredibly amused by Feli’s reaction, assuming he’s only so flustered because he’s super innocent. Not even for a moment does it cross his mind that it could be because the boy has a crush on him or anything.

“Quit being so gay,” Lovino teases as he hops off the counter. “It was just a kiss.”

Just a kiss, just a kiss… That was easy for him to say.

Feliciano looks up at him, still a little shellshocked from the whole ordeal. He thanks God that he hadn’t given himself away, that Lovino was so casual about this. He should’ve been more casual about it, too. It’s not like he’s never kissed anyone before. But… things were always so different with Lovino.

For one, he was another guy, and definitely not Feli’s type either (and Feli wasn’t exactly sure what his type was, but he knew it wasn’t the, uh, scary ones). Lovino made him feel things that pretty girls never made him feel. He made him feel loved and safe, safe from the world and everything in it.

“Right!” he squeaks, after a moment of silence. “I just wasn’t expecting it is all!”

Lovino’s amused smirk does nothing to help Feliciano’s flustered state, and he pouts slightly in response.

“Whatever, let’s just get out of this cramped bathroom.”

“I’ll cook something for you,” Feliciano says, quickly changing the subject to something he knows Lovino couldn’t resist: food.

It works, because Lovino stops mid door-opening and perks up.

“Hell yeah.”

HMH Teen Teaser: MEET CUTE!

January can be cold and brutal, but we’ve got the perfect antidote to winter publishing right after New Year’s...MEET CUTE, an anthology of romances by incredible YA authors like Nicola Yoon, Ibi Zoboi, Meredith Russo, Jennifer Armentrout, and so many more. 

Today we have a fun teaser for you from New York Times Bestseller Julie Murphy’s story! It’s adorable: two girls meet while competing on a reality TV show to win the heart of their favorite celebrities...but they wind up falling for one another instead. Scroll down to read more!

SOMETHING REAL by Julie Murphy

I would like to say that the first words I said to Dylan were some- thing to the effect of how thrilled I was to meet him or how much his work has meant to me, but instead it was more of a word salad: “Much tall you are.”

I’ve been sitting by the craft services table for an hour and a half now, contemplating each and every single one of those words. It’s been a constant stream of crew members grazing past as they each tell me we should be back to filming any minute now.

It’d be a lie if I didn’t admit that I was just slightly disappointed to find that after his initial hello, Dylan has been squirreled away in a super-fancy trailer with a security guard stationed outside the door. Some silly part of me thought that maybe I’d get to hang out with Dylan during downtime and we’d develop a rapport. Maybe we’d have inside jokes. I shake my head, and roll my eyes at my own naïveté.

“Hey!” says Martha as she plops down next to me. “You found the food. Good place to set up camp.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’ll be the first to admit that I’m pro-food, like, all the way, but my nerves have got me way too anxious to even gnaw on celery sticks.”

“Oh my God,” she says, leaning in toward me, her hand resting on my thigh for a moment. “Me too.”

I smile at her gratefully. I’m so glad she’s not the version of my competition that existed in my head. I didn’t know what I expected from my competitor. Cattiness? Bitingly rude? But Martha is just good. And I think that maybe she deserves this more than I do.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” I tell her.

She half smiles. “Me too.” After a moment, she adds, “She would die all over again if she knew I was here doing this.”

I cough, not sure what exactly to say. “That was a bad joke, huh?” asks Martha.

I let out a short laugh. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a good one.”

She shrugs. “Me and Marisa always had a vicious sense of humor. I think she’d approve.”

Something inside me unlocks. Something I didn’t even know was locked away to begin with. I have this wonderful and scary and heart-stopping feeling that I could tell Martha my most hideous thoughts and my most ridiculous hopes and she’d just sit here like she is right now, unfazed. And that’s sort of a wonderful thing if you think about it.

“All right, ladies,” says Jill as she power walks toward us. “We’ve got you all set up for the challenge portion of the show. So let’s head over there and Daria will freshen you up.”

“Cool,” says Martha. “What’s the challenge?”

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach. This is the part I’ve been most anxious about. There’s always one challenge. Sometimes it’s a race or an obstacle course or trivia or some type of competition, but whatever it is, it always ends poorly, with at least one of the contes- tants being humiliated.

“No can do,” says Jill. “We like for the on-camera reaction to be as authentic as possible.”

She walks off, and then turns, beckoning for us to follow her. “Yeah,” Martha says under her breath, “because the first thing I think of when I think of A Date Come True is authentic.”

I hiss out a knowing sigh that surprises me. And then it doesn’t. I don’t even know if I should be here anymore. I’ve barely even seen Dylan anyway. I take a deep breath, trying my best to shake off the negativity.

A few minutes later, we find ourselves standing in a studio with white curtains concealing the walls around us. And Dylan is there, too.

Daria flutters around touching up our makeup before dedicating her attention to Dylan.

“Nate,” says Jill, bringing over a man in a perfectly tailored tux. “This is Martha and June, our competitors for this episode.”

Nate doesn’t really need introductions, though. He’s the host and face of A Date Come True. There’s something comforting about the way his makeup settles into the creases around his eyes. Not everything is as it appears on TV. That’s for sure.

Nate’s smile dazzles as he winks at the two of us, reminding us that he’s a pro charmer. “You nervous?” he asks. “Don’t be nervous.” He holds up his hands for us to see. “You’re in very good hands, I swear.”

After he walks off, Martha and I turn to each other, and in uni- son say, “Gross.”

We break out in a fit of giggles, but we’re cut short by Jill. “Let’s do this thing. We only want to do one take here, so bring your A-game, people!”

Nate takes his position between Dylan and Martha and me as Jill counts down to action. “Okay, we’re back,” he says.

I feel my whole body straighten as I realize I’m on camera again. Nate turns to Dylan, his voice as smooth as a radio host’s. “Now, Dylan, you’ve thought long and hard about our challenge this week, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” says Dylan. “I guess you could say I cooked up something really cool.”

“Let’s drop the curtains, shall we?” asks Nate.

All around us the tall white curtains whoosh to the ground and Martha and I find ourselves in a state-of-the-art double kitchen with brand-new stainless-steel appliances. Over one side hangs a sign that reads #TeamJune and the other side has a sign bearing #TeamMartha.

My anxiety washes away for a moment as I realize that — Oh my God! — this is a cooking challenge! I can cook. I can really freaking cook. I’ve got this shit in the bag.

Then I look to Martha, her eyes huge and full of terror. My stomach twists into a knot as I’m reminded that my success is her failure. It’s not that I feel bad for her or think she should win by default on account of her sister. There’s just this nagging feeling inside of me that wishes we’d met in real life.

But this isn’t real life. “Martha,” says Dylan. “June.”

My name! He said my name! Some animalistic instinct in my brain switches on and I turn into a monster fangirl with blurred vision for anything that isn’t Dylan. And hey, don’t forget about the freaking cameras, I remind myself.

“I’m a total foodie these days,” continues Dylan. “But back when I was just a little kid, my favorite meal was dinosaur-shaped nuggets with ketchup. So I’ve decided to ask you ladies to blend my foodie love with my old-school fave and make me some panko-crusted dino nuggets with ketchup made from scratch. You’ve each been given the same ingredients, and there may or may not be a few red herrings in there.”

Nate laughs. “A woman’s place is in the kitchen, am I right?” Dylan snickers quietly.

I nearly gag. Martha and I exchange a look. More like misogyny, am I right?

“Right,” says Nate, “so you’ll each have five minutes of Wi-Fi time sponsored by Tunez Headphones, and then you’ll each have one hour to re-create Dylan’s childhood dish. Aaaaaand your five minutes starts now!”

“Cut!” shouts Jill. “I should force you to do a retake for that sexist bullshit you pulled, Nate, but we’ll just cut it in post.”

Nate shrugs and walks off to his dressing room. “You can’t get rid of me, Jillybean!”

I realize that I have a quick moment to say something to Dylan besides how tall he is. I take a step toward him. “Hi,” I say. “Your, um, music means so much to me.” When I say it out loud like that, it sounds so much more generic than how it actually feels.

He turns to me, sliding his sunglasses on. “I would hope so.” He laughs to himself. “I mean, that’s why you’re here, right?”

I force out a dry chuckle, but I can’t ignore the disappointment settling in my chest. “Yeah. Totally.”

“Oh, but thanks,” he adds just as he’s swarmed by people armed with cell phones and itineraries.

As he’s quickly whisked away, crew members buzz around us like bees, changing the lighting for our contest. My throat goes dry, and my stomach feels suddenly heavy. It’s that same feeling I get when I’m driving somewhere and I know — I just know — I’ve taken a wrong turn or missed my exit no matter what my GPS says.

“Okay, girls,” says Jill as she hands us each an apron and ridic- ulous chef hat, both emblazoned with the show logo. “It’s just like they said. You get an hour to cook and five minutes on the Internet with these bad boys.” She hands over two tablets, provided by spon- sors too, I’m sure. “We’ll start rolling in a bit, and we won’t interfere, really, unless there’s an emergency. Oh, and uh, no talking to each other during this or trading secrets or something.” She smiles. “Not that you’d want to, right?”

We both nod.

After   she   walks   away,   Martha   looks   to   me   and   says, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” It comes out like one of my brother’s long burps that he does on command.

I laugh. “It’s just a dumb challenge,” I tell her. “Dylan doesn’t really care if you can cook.” Or maybe he just doesn’t care in general.

She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. I really, really can’t cook. And not to be a total pain in the ass, but I’m a vegetarian, too. Just the sight of raw meat makes me want to puke.” The color begins to slowly drain from her face.

I take a step closer. “Listen,” I whisper, my lips nearly brushing against her hair, “I know we’re not supposed to be helping each other, but just, like, do what I do.”

For a brief moment, she squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how much that will help, but thank you. I really appreciate it.”

As we’re carefully positioned with our tablets and notebooks in our own personal kitchens, facing opposite each other, cameras hover around us. I search for things like baking instructions and tips for breading and ketchup recipes. I’m not sure what Martha is searching for, but she looks downright manic.

As our time ends, our tablets are taken away and we’re left with our notes, our ingredients, and our intuition.

I decide to bake instead of deep-fry — mainly because I think it might be easier for Martha to follow along. I start in on the chicken, pounding it into submission. I search my supplies and come up with a few different shapes of dinosaur cookie-cutters. I push through the chicken, using my weight. It’s not easy, but it works.

As I mix my bread crumbs and beat my eggs, I glance over to Martha, whose once beautiful velvet dress is covered in flour, despite her apron. She mumbles a stream of curse words, and I try to offer an encouraging smile, but she’s lost in her frustration. I feel awful for her, but the camera guys seem to be really into her cooking- nightmare  meltdown.

I don’t think that cooking is specifically for women, but in my house, my mom was always the one in the kitchen. It was her happy place, and she let me share that with her. But unfortunately, the kitchen was her one and only happy place in our house, so when she split when I was in seventh grade, her kitchen became mine.

Nothing about being on camera makes me comfortable, but being in a kitchen can almost make me forget that millions of peo- ple will be watching me from the comfort of their homes in a few weeks’ time.

As our hour fades into minutes, I put the finishing touches on my ketchup, including a sprig of parsley.

“Time!” Jill shouts.

 Martha and I wait in silence for a few minutes as Dylan is sum- moned from his trailer. We both look and feel like messes.

Nate and Dylan stand between Martha and me in front of a table with our presented entrées. Mine is a pile of dinosaur nuggets—some more misshapen than others — alongside what I hope is not-totally- disgusting ketchup made from scratch. And Martha’s dish is fury personified. On her plate is one uncooked chicken breast covered in ketchup with a giant chopping knife sticking out of it.

I sigh. There’s no competition. One is edible and the other is decidedly . . . not.

We quickly regroup, and Daria swings through to lightly powder our faces, but she takes no pains to hide the mess we’ve made of our hair and clothes.

“Well,” says Nate as the cameras begin to roll again, “I guess we won’t be doing a blind taste test this time.”

I look to Martha and can practically hear her gulp.

“Uh, yeah,” says Dylan as he chuckles nervously. “Looks like some kind of horror movie over there.”

Martha shrinks back a little. I guess there’s a chance she could still win, but it doesn’t look good.

“June, let’s give your dish a go,” says Nate.

I nod and hold my plate for the two of them, and they each swipe a nugget through ketchup before chomping down.

“Hey, this is pretty great!” Dylan says, his mouth still full.

 “My wife’s gonna kill me if those bread crumbs have gluten in them,” says Nate. “But it was worth it!”

I roll my eyes.

“Cut!” shouts Jill. “Let’s get the girls all cleaned up and ready for the rose gazebo.”

Daria waves for us to follow her back to the makeup trailer, and once again Dylan is ushered away by a crowd of assistants and man- agers.

I practically jog to catch up to Martha. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 “It’s just a dumb TV show,” I tell her as we come to a stop at the trailer, the door swinging shut behind Daria.

Martha turns to face me, and I can see that she’s pressing her lips shut in some attempt to hold back tears. She shakes her headagain before finally bursting, tears streaming down her flour-coated cheeks. “I just thought that if I came on this show, and won some dumb date with this ridiculous singer who I don’t even really like . . . I just thought it would give me some kind of closure.” She uses the tips of her fingers to press under her eyes, like she’s trying to push the tears back in.

I reach for her sticky hands and hold them tightly in  mine. “That’s not silly or dumb or whatever,” I say. “I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to lose a sibling. Shit. I don’t even like my brother and I’d still be a wreck.”

We stand there for a moment, hand in hand. We’re just two people who were randomly driven together in the most ludicrous of ways by some reality TV show that I can now say, without a doubt, is more fake than it is real. But standing here with her. This is real. There’s just something about her that makes me feel like we could really be something to each other in real life. For reasons I don’t know how to explain, Martha makes every nerve in my body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s like when Joey Scheck kissed me after eighth-grade graduation and for the first time ever I felt like my life was a movie and I was finally the star.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with this ceremony, but I hope that there was a reason for all of this,” I finally say. “And maybe it’s not something you’ll understand anytime soon.”

She looks up and squeezes my fingers tight before giving me a floppy shrug. “Or maybe I will.”

The door swings open and we startle apart, like we’ve been caught doing something much more than holding hands. “Ladies! I can’t do my job without your faces!” says Daria.

 *** 

We look much more glamorous than we feel. In the makeup trailer, we gave ourselves glorified sponge baths in an attempt to rid our- selves of sweat and kitchen smells before Daria performed transfor- mations on each of us.

My waves have been refreshed and lay perfectly over my shoul- ders. Wardrobe has put me in a royal-blue chiffon dress that sweeps the floor. And Martha is downright stunning in a lacy burgundy dress with a trumpet skirt.

After a few hours of waiting to be beckoned, we’re driven on a golf cart to one of the far-off lots behind the studio. The set looks like a small town square with a gazebo, and the whole place is drip- ping with twinkly lights. I recognize it as the usual backdrop for the rose ceremony. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that this was a set and not some tiny little town center outside of Los Ange- les, but it’s just as fake as the rest of the show. Still, it’s hard not to get swept up in the beauty of it — if you can manage to ignore Jill’s shouting and all the grunting camera operators.

Nate is in his signature tux and Dylan wears his same holey jeans, but with the added touch of a slim-cut, flat, black button-down shirt.

I think I’m going to win. How can they even pick Martha after the kitchen fiasco? But do I even want to win anymore? It’s hard to imagine my “date” with Dylan doing anything more than ruining the version of him that lives in my head. The version of him whose voice cradled me, letting me know that even in my darkest hour, I was not alone. Already, there’s this sense of mourning settling inside me that I can’t quite explain except to say that maybe the version of Dylan I’d built up in my head never existed at all. It’s nearly impos- sible for me to even recall the edge-of-my-seat excitement I felt this morning at the prospect of this moment.

Nate and Dylan wait for us on the steps of the gazebo, where a propmaster stands with one yellow rose.

Dylan wipes his brow as we take our places. “These lights are killer, huh?”

I squint up at them, but they don’t seem so bad to me. Not any different from the interview lights at least.

Nate pats his forehead to avoid messing up his makeup. “Yeah, they must be testing out something new.”

Dylan cringes a little and calls out, “Lissa, we gonna wrap on this soon? I’m not feeling so hot.”

“Yeah, babe,” someone answers from behind the sea of crew and cameras. “One and done. We’re out.”

Dylan nods as Nate lets out a loud burp.

I reach for Martha’s hand one last time, and her fingers inter- twine with mine. “Almost over,” I whisper.

She winks. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bust after all.”

Jill counts down, and our hands drift apart as we await our com- pletely unreal reality-TV-show fate.

“Ladies, our time together has come to an end, and in just a moment one of you will move on to a very romantic one-on-one date with Dylan.” Nate gestures to Dylan.

Dylan steps forward, the rose in his hand, and says, “I’ve had so much fun getting to know you both.”

Getting to know us? Our paths barely even crossed.

“And I want you to know,” he continues, “that I didn’t make this decision lightly. June, I’m so impressed by your dedication to not only me, but to my fans. Mega fans like you are what keep me going. And you slayed the kitchen challenge this afternoon. And, Martha, I feel like, whoa, for you and your family. It means so much to me that the last thing your sister heard was my voice. It’s so, like, meta.” My skin crawls at the thought of that information feeding his ego.   He holds his stomach for a minute before adding, “But after what happened during the kitchen challenge today, it’s hard for me to tell if your—” He burps into his fist. “Excuse me.” And then again. “ — if your heart is in it. Oh fuck. I feel like shit. I think I’m gonna — ” 

And then I swear to God, everything that happens next occurs in slow motion. Dylan projectile vomits in my and Martha’s exact direction. The only thing that saves me is Martha pulling me out of the path of puke.

“No, man, don’t do that,” says Nate. “You’re just gonna make me . . .” And then Nate is puking, too.

Crew members and posse members crowd both Nate and Dylan, and Martha and I are pushed back even farther, reminding us both how very unimportant we actually are.

“Those gross-ass chicken nuggets!” Dylan moans. “It’s food poisoning. That bitch poisoned me!”

I turn to Martha, my eyes wide.

Her hand flies up, the back of her palm pressed to my forehead. “How are you? Are you feeling all right?”

I shake my head. “I was too nervous to eat all day.” She laughs. “Me too.”

I clap a hand over my mouth, stumbling back. “Oh my God. I poisoned Dylan. The Dylan.”

She waves off that notion. “Psh. He’ll live. They’re probably pumping him with fluids and gold as we speak.”

We both take a minute to glance around. No one is looking for us or checking on us. It’s almost . . . a relief.

Martha takes my hand. “Let’s blow this puke show!” She pulls me with her to a golf cart with the keys in the ignition.

She slides in behind the wheel and I take my seat next to her as co-captain. “I gotta get out of this dress,” I tell her.

“Me too. I feel like a total stranger.”

As the sun sinks down behind the horizon she speeds off toward the makeup trailer where we left our street clothes.

We both take turns changing inside the trailer, and when we’re done, it’s like a makeover reveal on a TV show except this time, it’s more of an un-makeover, where we just reveal ourselves. Our regu- lar, normal, everyday selves.

I stand beneath the dusky sky in my leggings and gold flats in my favorite dress — the bright yellow one covered in all kinds of food from, hot dogs and hamburgers to sundaes and doughnuts.

Martha slinks down the steps toward me in the same stompy boots she wore earlier today and a short body-hugging violet knit skirt with a black T-shirt that says Do no harm, but take no sht. She’s the type of person who if you don’t want to kiss her, you probably want to be her. And I think I definitely want one of those things.

“There you are,” I say, my words coming out breathier than I expected.

“Here I am,” she says.

 ***

Are you swooning yet? You can finish Julie’s story and read all the other incredible MEET CUTE romances starting January 2nd! Click any of the links below to order. 

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-MillionHudson IndieBound Powell’s

Molly Ringwald Interviews John Hughes (1986)

MOLLY RINGWALD: Growing up, were you obsessed with girls, as so many of your male characters are? JOHN HUGHES: No. I was obsessed with romance. When I was in high school, I saw Doctor Zhivago every day from the day it opened until the day it left the theater. The usher would say, "Hiya, your seat's ready." And I just sat there, glued to the screen. Most of my characters are romantic rather than sexual. I think that's an essential difference in my pictures. I think they are more accurate in portraying young people as romantic - as wanting a relationship, an understanding with a member of the opposite sex more than just physical sex. MR: What about teen sex in your movies? You never show it in Sixteen Candles or Breakfast Club. Did you want to leave it up to the viewer's imagination? Or were you just looking for a PG rating? JH: No. What's the point? In Sixteen Candles, I figured it would only be gratuitous to show Samantha and Jake in anything more than a kiss. The kiss is the most beautiful moment. I was really amused when someone once called me a purveyor of horny sex comedies. He listed Breakfast Club and Mr. Mom in parentheses. MR: Oh, god! JH: I thought, "What kind of sex?" Yes, in Mr. Mom there's a baby in a bathtub and you see it's bare butt. And in Breakfast Club, there's some kissing. MR: You wouldn't believe how many people came up to me after they saw Breakfast Club and said, "So what really happened between you and Judd in the closet?" JH: Older people or younger people? MR: Mostly older people. JH: Yes, older people asked me that question too. MR: I never even thought about that. I did a phone interview and somebody said, "So, what really happened in the closet?" And I thought, "Why are you asking me that? What happened was shown there on the screen." JH: Yes. The only thing we took out of the scene was a bit of dialogue. You walked into the closet, and I cut away to the other story I was telling. MR: You did cut out one great kiss between Judd and me, though. JH: Too much kissing. I find that screen kissing wears very thin very quickly. I go into the editing room and say, "Less, less." Why watch someone kissing when people really close their eyes when they kiss? MR: I see your point, but I just thought you cut out a great kiss. Anyway, would a woman like Kelly LeBrock have been your ideal when you were a teen? JH: No. Too scary. MR: So why did you create the character she played in Weird Science? JH: Well, the object there was - MR: That she taught them a lesson, right? JH: You're making fun of me. MR: No. I'm sorry. Go on. JH: Two lonely guys tried to create the perfect woman. But, they didn't. They created a physical fantasy who turned out to be an actual person. They hadn't planned on getting a real person, just a great body. They were concentrating on the physical, which is only a very small part of anybody's identity. MR: Isn't it a contradiction to talk about how kids have more on their minds than just sex and cars and then show two characters dreaming up the perfect mate? That was purely sexual. They didn't even want to give her a brain at first. JH: No. I don't think there's a contradiction, because when those guys got her, sex was the last thing on their minds. They wanted a girl, but they had no idea what girls were. They didn't understand them at all, because girls weren't really accessible to them. So, their concept of girls was media-based. MR: Do you think that goes for most teenagers? JH: I don't think so, no. There's a very fine line there. And it's a line that I probably didn't respect enough in directing the film. You know those sexy pinup posters people put up in their bedrooms? I always saw them as being kind of silly and vacant. That was to be the point of the movie - that this glistening body in this semi-revealing outfit with this come-on look on the face is a real empty, pointless image to carry around or to look for. MR: So, which of your characters were you most like while growing up? JH: I was a little bit like Samantha. A lot of my feelings went into her character. I was also very much like Allison in Breakfast Club. I was a nobody. And I'm also a lot like Ferris Bueller. MR: But of all the characters, which would you say is most like you? JH: Most like me? I'm a cross between Samantha and Ferris. MR: How did you write the story of Pretty In Pink? JH: You told me about the Psychedelic Furs' song. MR: About Pretty In Pink? I just love that song. JH: And the title stuck in my head. I thought about your predisposition toward pink. I wrote Pretty In Pink the week after we finished Sixteen Candles. I so desperately hate to end these movies that the first thing I do when I'm done is write another one. Then I don't feel sad about having to leave and everybody going away. That's why I tend to work with the same people; I really befriend them. I couldn't speak after Sixteen Candles was over. I returned to the abandoned house, and they were tearing down your room. And I was just horrified, because I wanted to stay there forever. MR: Do you think you'll always work with young actors? JH: Not every time, maybe, but . . . MR: You won't abandon them? JH: No, I won't abandon them. MR: Do you think the Brat Pack's recent obnoxious image is deserved, or does the press just pick on them because of their age? JH: I think that this clever moniker was slapped on these young actors, and I think it's unfair. It's a label. MR: People my age were just beginning to be respected because of recent films such as yours, and now it's like someone had to bring them down a peg or two, don't you think? JH: There is definitely a little adult envy. The young actors get hit harder because of their age. Because "Rat Pack" - which Brat Pack is clearly a parody of - was not negative. "Brat Pack" is. It suggests unruly, arrogant young people, and that description isn't true of these people. And the label has been stuck on people who never even spoke to the reporter who coined it. MR: Such as myself. I've been called the Women's Auxiliary of the Brat Pack. JH: To label somebody that! It's harmful to people's careers. At any rate, young people support the movie business, and it's only fair that their stories be told. MR: A lot of people said in the reviews of The Breakfast Club, "Why should somebody make a movie about teenproblems?" I couldn't believe that. I mean, we are a part of this society . . . JH: I think it's wrong not to allow someone the right to have a problem because of their age. "People say, "Well, they're young. They have their whole lives ahead of them. What do they have to complain about?" They forget very quickly what it's like to be young. MR: Who would want to remember? I'm tortured. People forget the feeling of having to go to school on Monday and take a test in physics that you don't understand at all. It's hard. Right now, I don't think I'll ever forget it. JH: Ferris has a line where he refers to his father's saying that high school was like a great party. Ferris knows what his father was like, and he knows that his father has just forgotten the bad parts. Adults ask me all sorts of baffling questions, like, "Your teenage dialogue - how do you do that?" and "Have you actually seen teens interact?" And I wonder if they think that people under twenty-one are a separate species. We shot Ferris at my old high school, and I talked with the students a lot. And I loved it, because it was easy to strike up a conversation with them. I can walk up to a seventeen-year-old and say, "How do you get along with your friends?" and he'll say, "Okay." You ask a thirty-five-year-old the same question, and he'll say, "Why do you want to know? What's wrong? Get away from me." All those walls built up. MR: Do you think that society looks at teenagers differently today than when you were one? JH: Definitely. My generation had to be taken seriously because we were stopping things and burning things. We were able to initiate change, because we had such vast numbers. We were part of the baby boom, and when we moved, everything moved with us. But now, there are fewer teens, and they aren't taken as seriously as we were. You make a teenage movie, and critics say, "How dare you?" There's just a general lack of respect for young people now. MR: I think so, too. What were you like growing up? JH: I was kind of quiet. I grew up in a neighborhood that was mostly girls and old people. There weren't any boys my age, so I spent a lot of time by myself, imagining things. And every time we would get established somewhere, we would move. Life just started to get good in seventh grade, and then we moved to Chicago. I ended up in a really big high school, and I didn't know anybody. But then The Beatles came along. MR: Changed your whole life? JH: Changed my whole life. And then Bob Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home came out and really changed me. Thursday I was one person, and Friday I was another. My heroes were Dylan, John Lennon and Picasso, because they each moved their particular medium forward, and when they got to the point where they were comfortable, they always moved on. I liked them at a time when I was in a pretty conventional high school, where the measure of your popularity was athletic ability. And I'm not athletic - I've always hated team sports. MR: You've been sticking pretty close to Chicago, but now that you and your family have made the transition to L.A., do you think you'll go back and film everything in Chicago? JH: I think I will. I'm very comfortable there. It's out of the Hollywood spotlight. And I like the seasons. MR: What about what you were saying about the way Dylan and Lennon were constantly moving forward? Don't you think you've done a lot of movies about Chicago? JH: No, they weren't about Chicago. Chicago's a setting. MR: But, they're about suburban life . . . JH: I think it's wise for people to concern themselves with the things they know about. I don't consider myself qualified to do a movie about international intrigue - I seldom leave the country. I'd really like to do something on gangs, but to do that, I've gotto spend some time with gang members. I'd feel extremely self-conscious writing about something I don't know. MR: I think one of the most admirable things about you is that you do write about the things you know and care about. I think that teen movies were getting a bad reputation because these fifty-year-old guys were writing about things they didn't care about. JH: I love writing. When I finish a script, it's a joy to sit down and go all the way through it. It's a very private thing, because a screenplay is not like a book. When a book is written, it's a final product. But, when a script is finished, it's really just a blueprint. And it's an extraordinary experience for me to watch someone take what I wrote and imagined and make it three-dimensional. And it's great if someone adds something I hadn't thought of. MR: Would you consider yourself fashion-conscious? JH: Yeah, I think so, as far as I'm conscious of everything. I'm a former hippie, so clothes are important to me - your clothes defined you in that period. I guess clothes still defines people. But, I change a lot. I'm in my Brooks Brothers period now. I think when I first met you, it was - MR: High-top tennis shoes. JH: Yeah? But I've changed. MR: So how does your wardrobe define you? JH: My wardrobe is a hundred shirts, and I don't like any of them. How does that define me? Well, I get bored easily. I have a real short attention span, and that feeling transfers to clothes as well. And if I see somebody else wearing the same thing I am, I always think he looks better. I admire people like Judd Nelson, who have an innate sense of fashion. Judd could wear a bathrobe and sanitarium sandals and a fedora and look good. MR: If you weren't in film, what might you like to do? JH: I've always wanted to be in music, but I'm not talented at all. Now I just go to concerts, and I'm fascinated by the bands and their music. When I go to a concert, I can't believe that people pay lots of money to see a band that they obviously like and then they dance the whole time. MR: But a lot of people dance as a way of communicating. JH: You can go home and put the record on and dance. I want to watch how the band does it. I want to look at their faces. MR: When we went to see Squeeze, these girls were standing on their chairs and getting on top of people's shoulders to dance with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. They were right behind me and my sister, and we were tempted to do something violent! It really bugs me when people act like going to concerts gives them license to act like jerks. But I don't mind people dancing. In fact, I hate it when people say, "Sit down, sit down" when I want to dance. JH: I suppose it would be really alarming to an artist to play in a concert and see everybody just watching. MR: Oh, that's terrible! JH: I'm one of those who do that. MR: Yeah, I've been to a concert with you. JH: I'm not a good-time guy. I'm not one of those guys who says, "Oh, we had some good times last night." I'm just not. MR: But you wanted to be in a band at one point? JH: Yeah, but I'm too old for that now. Rock 'n' roll is a young form. People over twenty-five ruin it. This whole censorship thing has come about because old people are playing with a form that is essentially young and rebellious. Do you know how brilliant it was for The Beatles to break up when they did? MR: Yes, it was great. But I don't think rock 'n' roll burnout has anything to do with age. I just think that people can go only so far. People reach a point. JH: I can't deny people their art form. But you have to be challenged, and you have to meet that challenge. MR: What are your favorite bands? JH: The Beatles and The Clash are the greatest. I've listened to the Beatles' White Album for more than sixteen years, and when we were filming Ferris Bueller, I listened to the album every single day for fifty-six days. MR: That's the album I listened to all during Pretty In Pink, remember? JH: Yeah, I know. MR: How do you see yourself changing in the next fifteen years? JH: Growing older. MR: I know. JH: It's a foregone conclusion. What's next for you? MR: I don't know. I'd like to finish high school, and I'm totally late on everything to do with my SATs. I'm going to apply to colleges soon. So do you have anything you're dying to do? JH: I have a hundred things I'm dying to do. Make that a hundred and four. I'm going to write for a while. Going to see Pretty In Pink. Get to go sit in theaters and look at the film with great pride. I like watching you work - you know that.