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sipsteainanxiety · 9 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

i was tagged by @coopigeoncoo @andypantsx3 @willowser and @namodawrites to do this lil self fic rec game and after finally sitting down to think about it for a very... long... time... i have done it! thank you all for the tag i kiss you each on the forehead and give you a bowl of sliced fruit<3

after looking at all the wips i have in docs right now, i can definitely say that this list would be completely different if i had finished a few of them, but for now this is my ranked list for things i've published already lol

devil's glare — demon!bkg x reader

bakugou katsuki is a powerful demon that you have the pleasure of dating. but when he pisses you off one day, you decide to get back at him in a pretty petty way: drawing a salt circle around you to force him to apologize

i had THEE most fun writing this one shot LMAO. it was based on a tiktok of all things that i'd found back when i was still on the app pfft. i just loved the idea of bkg being all surly and aggravated that his little human had purposely drawn a salt circle to prevent him from encroaching on their space. and like... him dealing with wanting to idk kiss you so bad but you're trying to teach him a lesson and he's sooooo mad and fuck, he's gonna do whatever he can to get you to comply to him lmao. if i could draw, there's this one scene where you're wearing this like. cute little set of pjs staring up at this big ass demon, wings unfurled threateningly, snarl on his face, arms crossed with a line of salt in between the two of you. like i have a vision. too bad i can't draw it LMFAOO. maybe one day

2. holding out (just for you) — dragon!bkg x reader

in which you find a horrendously injured dragon in a cave and make it your duty to heal him, not knowing that he’s the infamous dragonshifter, bakugo katsuki, who has been cursed to remain trapped in his dragon form forever—unless the spell is broken

this fic... oh boy. i've been working on this fic since mmm 2021 i think? i can't believe it's been a year since the big bang LMFAOO. i also can't blv this shit evolved from being a standalone to having 3 spinoffs and a sequel but well. here we are. complaints aside i really do have fun writing this fic!! i dunno!! i dont think i'd ever read a dragon bkg fic before and i was like fine i'll do it myself and this happened. i added way too much plot and you guys don't even know about half the worldbuilding and shit i have planned for the sequel HAHA. i can't even talk about it bc it would be major spoilers rn rhrsfjhrjfrjrhjg. it's also been giving me such a rough time lately pfft, especially with having to make sure everything lines up for the spinoffs n stuff. im so afraid of publishing ch4 and having to go back and tweak things bc i havent planned out far enough sdkjfsjkdf. i think it just means i'm gonna have to go on a hiatus or smthn and write out all the spinoffs + ch4 at once idk

3. and i give my all (to you) — merman!bkg x reader

you think you bit off more than you could chew when you decided to do your dissertation on ocean acidification, leaving you stranded out in the open ocean. alone. for months. well… maybe you weren’t so alone after all

this is another fic that i've been working on way longer than it's been posted for pfft. i can't blv the first chapter was released over a year ago LMAOOO i am so sorry. i do like this fic tho bc it's one of the easier ones to write and i go back to it sometimes between writing for dragon bkg lol. like i have the chapters all mapped out, all i have to do is sit down and write em. ch2's at abt 3k rn tho and i hit a spot where i'm like oof i dont wanna write these descriptions dfhdkfg it's just a silly goofy story with merbaku and dealing with some of the subtle intricacies of getting to know a mermaid. actually, fun fact, this originally started off as a fic for jotaro from jjba, back when i was in my jjba era. but then i went back to my bkg era and switched it over. i didn't even have to change much LMFAOO jotaro and bkg act the same sometimes. also!! this is the first fic where i'm like... drawing little doodles for each chapter!! and it's so nice but also i'm like damn wtf do i draw for the rest of these chapters.... i'll figure it out ig

4. loving all the parts of you — pro hero!bkg x reader

in which you learn to love all the prickly parts that make up bakugou katsuki

i.. don't think i've thought about this fic for a very, very long time. but i just scrolled thru the masterlist and stuff and i... really liked writing it (when i was focused on it anyways). it's one of my gentler fics tbh. it's more of a character study of bkg, exploring a different aspect of him in each chapter. tbh i need to go through and reread it and make edits so it can better match the writing style i have now, but i rly liked thinking abt what would make bkg tick as a pro and as a person. and tbh, with what i know now of the manga and anime i think i could go very deep with it pfft. also the banner i made for this fic is so cute LOL. it's not high on my priority list rn bc i have other things i wanna work on, but i do hope to return to it one day.

5. forget me not — pro hero!bkg x reader

When you first woke up, you found yourself in a white room, lights blinding you from all directions. A bit disoriented, you squinted and looked around, realizing you were chained to a chair, your arms locked behind you. In front of you was a poster of a man, muscles rippling throughout his body, a spiky mess of ash blond hair nestled on his head, and striking crimson eyes glaring right at you from behind a black mask. In the upper right corner was the name “DYNAMIGHT” in black and orange letters. As you observed the poster, the sound of a P.A. system suddenly rang into existence, the deep, hoarse voice of an unknown person echoing around you. “Your name is [Name] [Surname],” the voice said without emotion, “and you hate the man named Bakugou Katsuki.”

THIS FIC... THIS FCKIN FIC. i have so much i can say about this fic and i am so sorry for the oncoming ramble pfft. firstly, it's both my baby and my number one fucking enemy. like, holy shit i think it gave me the most paralyzing anxiety and bc of this it took me like 3-4 years to finish (apart from being generally busy of course). i started it literally while i was in high school n applying to college, so of course there are aspects of it that i look at now and i'm like mmm don't like that. not to mention there have been so many things that happened in the anime/manga that i wasn't able to add or delve deeper into!! like the war!! bkg's fcking trauma!! midoriya's quirks!! i was an anime only when i first started releasing chapters (and i still am), so i didnt know about the endeavor agency arc or anything so i defaulted to shit with best jeanist and idkidk.

if i could rewrite all of fmn, i think i would. or maybe not all, but a good chunk of it. like i'd condense the first few chapters probably. i also have a different grasp of bkg's characterization now compared to when i was younger lmao. putting bkg in that specific circumstance (iykyk, i wont spoil it) only happened bc of certain outside factors that forced him into that position. which was how i was able to justify it. but... idk. IDK!! this fic had so many things to it that i was not knowledgeable about so i winged a lot of things without doing proper research (i.e. hospitals, police investigations, general bureaucracy and whatnot) and i feel like this has caused certain plot holes that i am not able to detect, but like.... it's been so long already that i'm too lazy to fix it.

i just really wanted to write about having amnesia but... still having this muscle memory and ache of the person you were in love with. that you can fall in love with them all over again. but, jeez, i put the reader through so much that there's so much... trauma and brainwashing and just rhhrhjrkhrhgrkjg. she's a mess and a half!! and this makes it so difficult to read fmn bc she's so frustrating!! but! at the same time idk it was interesting exploring that kind of ptsd and recovery. i think at my core i love writing about truly heartwrenching topics and horror. i rmb i had the most fun writing about reader's nightmares or that one chapter where she was messing around with illusions. actually- one of the things i would change is the reader's fckin quirk and hero name LMAOOOOO what the fuck i made her so op i basically just smashed together dr strange's and wanda's powers for her pfft. i'd also tweak her personality a little, i think.

i digress. anyways. im in the process of editing all of fmn (just like. writing tweaks. changing the phrasing of certain sentences. adding more fluff to descriptions) and i can really see how much my style has evolved lol. like, i am the most happy and proud of the later chapters, where you can really feel certain emotions with bkg and reader. like... the beach scene, or the stakeout scene, or the party scene!! i think i would also add more substance to the investigation and how being a hero is like post-war. the antagonists as well!! there's just so much that could've been built on, but at the same time... i didn't want to go too deep into it bc i was writing an amnesia recovery story.

flaming aside, i am very glad i was able to pull those plot twists successfully LOL. i loved reading people's theories back when i was still updating it, seeing them question things and being like wait a minute... no way... it can't be... it was an era i will never forget pfft. but... because of that expectation i think i was very nervous to reveal specific things or even write the ending bc i didn't know if people would be satisfied lol. fmn was so complicated and for what sdfkjhs. fanfic shouldnt make you this anxious fr and yet there i was. i'm glad im done with it, but at the same time.. i do miss it.

tldr: fmn is the fic that i am the most proud of but also the most insecure LMFAOO. i do eventually want to get to the extra chapters from bkg's pov for it but... idk. i don't wanna even look at it right now sdhfskdfjsf

thank u all for coming to my ted talk B) i'm sorry if u've been tagged alr in this but here we go anyways!! no pressure tags: @earthtooz @call-me-ko @thecatduet422 @boo-kugo @theloveinc <3

#jeez that fmn ramble rly is long but it is what it is #i could go on even more about it ngl #but i wont sdkhksdf #gamer girling w shay

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starssunsoftheinfinite · 1 year

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MasterPost Please Read

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

WRITTING REQUESTS {OPEN still working on that Loki fic but I'm now in a spot where I can fill in more requests while I do it! Might be a little slow though<3 my apologies}

ART REQUESTS {OPEN}

Full Fanfictions can be found posted separately here, as well as eventually a large collection of one-shots from Tumblr as I write them for ease of reading ☆

Who will I write for? {more to come}

☆MCU☆

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier {Please specify if you'd like WS Bucky}

Loki/Jotun Loki {Please specify if you'd like Jotun Loki to be canonical as in smaller than the usual frost giants or something more like the what if? Jotun loki}

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Peter Parker {I won't write smut for him thats anything more than extensive kissing}

☆The Witcher☆

Jaskier

Geralt

☆The Hobbit☆

Bilbo Baggins

Thorin Oakensheild

Fili

Kili

Thranduil

Legolas {Please specify if youd like Hobbit Legolas or LOTR Legolas}

Bard

☆The Lord of the Rings☆

Frodo Baggins

Samwise Gamgee

Pippin Took

Merry Brandybuck

Aragorn

Gimli

Legolas

Sauron {He would be portrayed in a physical form, please specify if you'd want your own description of him, please provide this in the ask, Sauron in his armor, Rings of Power Sauron, or the Sauron that's often depicted in fanart E.G the long blonde hair ect}

Elrond

Lindir

☆Castlevania☆

Alucard

Trevor

Would you write for ships?

Yes! Nothing incestuous {that includes thorki} or with questionable dynamics/age differences {e.g tony stark and peter parker} though.

Even if it's an obscure ship or a rare pare such as Loki and Bucky or something like that I'm willing to give it a go.

I will write ships for all the fandoms I have in my Bio.

Do you write x readers?

Yes! If you don't specify what gender you'd like them to be for, I will always go for completely neutral {Please message me if you notice any slip-ups that give the reader a gender identity in these fics!}

I'll happily write for Cis men, Nonbinary{transmasc or transfem}, Agender, Genderfluid, Transmen, or any other identity you'd like to be written about.

However, I don't feel comfortable writing Female readers, my apologies.

When requesting a trans reader, please specify things that you want to be mentioned such as does the reader wear a binder, have top surgery, or neither? Bottom surgery? Hormone therapy? etc... If any of these aren't specified I will do my best to keep the language either neutral or on the more masculine side for Transmasc or Transman readers {E.G referring to the genitalia as a dick in smut fics if needed whether they have surgery or not}

What kinds of things can I ask for in smutfics?

Im open to writing most kinks.

I WONT WRITE {more things to be added as time goes on}

age play {in nonsexual situations its fine}

race play

excessive food play {I'll write it lightly but I dont like to get too into it}

Non-con or dubious consent {this includes if both of either character is intoxicated in some way}

Urine play

Scat fetishes

Fart play

I will not write the use of slurs during sexual interactions

Can I be given a nickname if I want to ask anonymously but still want you to know it's me?

Of course! Just request a nickname or emoji/symbol to be used for you and Ill add you to a list I have to make sure only one person has that nickname.

Taken sign offs - 💚

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you have any questions please send them in my ask box

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lovesickvexy · 2 years

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'♡ RULES & REQS!

masterlist — about me — welcome — add..

✦。CURRENTLY ACCEPTING REQUESTS!

·›₊ ꕤ i accept request from any genre of fandoms, if it’s something i quite enjoy writing. for instance; i will write inuyasha, toilet bound hanako-kun, al!smp, plus others. i do not have a certain limits of fandoms. (of course, i don’t know lots of shows, video games, etc,, so i cannot always write about those.)

˖ ࣪⊹ ⸝⸝ i will write ;; fluff, angst, romance, platonic, comfort/hurt, adventure, drama ( i will try), comedies, au’s (with details), poly relationships, short prompts, long prompts, modern au’s and headcanons (i mostly do write headcanons!!) — i will accept some other writing ideas, but not anything in the “i will not write” description.

please be specific (like details!) on what you would like me to write. tell me if you want the reader to be female, male or gender neutral. make sure to include if you’d like the prompt to be a fanfic or a headcanon; as well as describe how long you would want it to be. i can write things like panic attacks, small triggers but nothing in the IWNW description. most of my work will not be proof-read. i’m okay with writing semi-suggestive stuff. (making out). nothing smut or nsfw though. after all i am a minor. please do not force me to write anything i’m uncomfortable with or you’ll be blocked.

˖ ࣪⊹ ⸝⸝ i will not write ;; gore , nsfw/smut , irl x irl, character x oc, toxic relationship, toxicity in general, yandere, stereotypes and su1c1d3. — i will add anything else later on!!

smut/nsfw, gore will not be tolerated on my account, because there are minors, including myself who do not feel safe or like to write those type of topics. yandere type series will also not be tolerated here, it makes me uncomfortable. toxic relationships, or 4bus3 type fics could trigger people, and i don’t want that. — along gore, i can write injuries, maybe loosing a limb but nothing heavy or extreme. —

✦。CURRENT RULES! (5.20.22)

⊹ ⸝⸝ do not rush me. i will not do your prompt if you rush me, i need motivation and it takes me a bit to receive it.

⊹ ⸝⸝ be respectful. to me and anyone in my comment section. if you don’t show me or any respect, do not victimize yourself and expect to be respected back.

⊹ ⸝⸝ i have all the right to refuse. if a character im not familiar with or am uncomfortable writing about, i cant refuse. it pretty much depends on how good i can write a character.

⊹ ⸝⸝ ranting. you could feel free to ramble about your character, i don’t mind! as i, too, have characters who i love to a huge extent.

⊹ ⸝⸝ pro-ships / irl ships / ocxcc/c. i dont like pro-ships or shippers, so please leave /lh. — irl ships, if a content creator isn’t comfortable with that, i will not write it. + i’m not that well with writing irl type prompts, but i will try! — ocxcc/c, i’m not good at writing prompts like these.

⊹ ⸝⸝ ( adding more later .. )

#🖇 — vex’s post #hello <33 #rules #fanfiction rules #fandoms #fanfic

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phonecallwithsatan · 3 years

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just look for my owl (three)

a.n. : I am in awe that there are TEN of you that follow me. I don’t even care if I get bullied for geeking out over ten followers. I’m so happy and glad you all enjoy what i’ve written. My lovelies, here is chapter three of this series. I think its getting interesting but im too scared to add mature stuff in here because i dont know how you all will react. Look at me, speaking to my ten followers. It’s a press conference at this point. Chap. four is soon to follow tonight so please keep out for that! This fic is a they/them reader, so I will only refer to you as they/them. 3k words, fred weasley x y/n, enjoy!<3

Our beloved Fred Weasley falls for Ilvermorny student [y/n] [l/n]. He’s determined to get to them, but the only way he can is through post sent through the two. The only thing left for the pair is to just look for an owl.

Check out chapter two before you read this!

☾

It had been four days since that owl came in to deliver Fred Weasley’s Professor a parcel from [Y/n l/n].

It had been four days since Fred hadn’t stopped thinking about [y/n].

Luckily, no suspicions from his professor were brought up about the missing photo, and he was glad. The professor even came in during his quidditch practice to chat with the students cheerfully, even taking a few photos of the team as a whole and separately.

Today was the 31st of October, and the Triwizard champions were chosen shortly after Fred began to dig into his food, irritated at the interruption that faced him.

Or maybe he should say the Quartet champions now that Harry was facing the tournament too.

Dinner wrapped up a bit after that, and the two twins carried on to their dorms surprisingly silent the whole way. Not causing any ruckus or speaking even.

Perhaps it was because they were disappointed at the selection of Harry even though he was younger than the two twins. They could have had a chance now that he was chosen, but Fred knew that it wasn’t about that.

He didn't know about his twin at the moment, normally he does, but Fred was in a hurry to get to his dorm and sleep, as he had no homework.

Everyday for these past four days, Fred has dreamed about [y/n]. Dreaming, thinking, pondering, it was all connected to them. Not a particular storyline, not at all, his dreams were more of the idea of a real-life physical them.

[y/n] in his jumper, [y/n] in Hogwarts robes, their hand in his under the table during dinner at the great hall, how they would say his name in any context. His thoughts were severely occupied with them and Fred was okay with that.

These ideas followed their way through the portrait hole, into the Gryffindor common room, and up the stairs to the boys dorm.

He had yet to wash himself off after his long day, so Fred went off to the left side of the dorm to access his trunk at the end of his bed. He takes out a simple orange towel and closes the chest up. He then takes off his sweater vest only to place it on his bedspread.

Walking over to his bedside table, Fred decides to let [y/n] take a dip into his daydreams as he looks in his drawer for the photo of them.

No, thinks Fred. No, no, no, no, no, cascading words now fill Fred’s brain as he panics about the fact that his polaroid was missing.

The polaroid of [y/n] was now missing from Fred’s bedside table, confused as to how exactly he misplaced something so golden.

His whole dresser was obviously rummaged through. There were a few sickles missing along with an extra jar of ink and- his stash of Fizzing Whizzbees and Jelly Slugs. He genuinely frowned at the candy more than anything else, but then he remembered about the photo that was missing- stolen now.

Fred whipped his head back to see who was in the boys’ shared dorm, and the only person he saw was his twin chatting with a visiting fifth year student.

Now completely turned, Fred walks to the front of his bed and pulls out his trunk, wondering if he had left it in there by accident, but it was no luck.

“George,” started Fred with his back to his twin.

George turned to his brother.

“What is it, Fred?” He asked with confusion. He noticed the drawer hanging on by a thread off the rest of the table and decided to completely disregard his conversation at that point. “I’ll catch you later.”

As the friend walks out of the boys’ dormitories, Fred begins to explain what had happened, hand motions waving around. They usually appear when there is something wrong.

“Someone rummaged through my stuff,” Fred motions to his dresser, “did you let anyone else come in here and mistake it for yours?”

George looked at his twin with furrowed brows until his face lightened up a bit from the clarity.

“Yeah, actually. Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff was in here and he asked me for some ink.”

“George, what the hell.” Fred was beyond confused as to what, first of all, Cedric Diggory, one of the Triwizard champions, was doing in the Gryffindor common room. Why he was needing ink in the middle of the day and why his drawer. “You let him go through it? Half of my items are missing.” Fred was furious at how irresponsible his brother was at the moment.

“He was desperate and I felt bad.” A simple response from a boy with little to no empathy when it came to using a twelve-year-old student as a lab rat for their inventions. A particular unnamed candy that is still a work in progress gave her severe diarrhea for weeks straight.

“George, he stole money, candy, and t- What is wrong with you?” He cut himself quick before he could expose [y/n] to his brother. He was mad at him and now was not the time to gush about them.

“It’s fine, we’ll talk to him tomorrow.” George laughs at his twin for being unmanageable, but Fred is unamused.

“Piss off.” Fred takes his towel and goes town to the bathrooms, bringing a change of clothes with him.

☾

Fred was a bit after hours for students, but he couldn't wait to get the bath located in the prefect's bathroom.

Yes, Fred had snuck in there, but that's because the boys’ dormitory bathroom was disgustingly filled with too many boys in one perimeter. So with this in mind, Fred knew exactly where to go to relax from the fuming that happened between himself and his brother.

Fred dropped his towel by the edge of the water and took off his shoes. Setting them neatly by the towel, he began to work on his shirt. He loosened his tie but not all the way so the loop in it would stay. He began to unbutton his shirt, hands working a bit slower than normal. He did not come here often, nor was he a prefect, so he took his time.

He looked up from his hands and Fred looked at the mermaid mural on the stained glass, thinking of [y/n], the beauty remarkable from either photo. Not that Fred was comparing physical features from the mermaid and from [y/n], he was rather just acknowledging how both were, to put it literally, breathtaking.

The colors from it shaded his body in colors of pinks and blues, diluting a bit now that the white shirt was shrugged off his body. The color was not as vibrant now, but his light skin and freckles that were splattered all over his chest created a new palette of shades.

He dropped his shirt on top of his other items and he undid his belt, leaving it on the belt loops of his pants as he takes them off as well, folding them up unlike his shirt and dropping them on his pile of clothes. All he had left were his boxers, and they were soon added to the tower of items on his right side.

He stepped into the water while simultaneously checking for any other visitors. It was a bit late for that, though, considering that he was completely exposed at that point.

The moonlight shone through the glass, some areas of the floor painted colors with the light. The water was flowing from a few taps and bubbles were flying everywhere. Fred shifted a bit from his old placement in the giant pool so his arms were now propped on the edge.

Now with the photo in the hands of a certain someone he considered a snake, even though they were in Hufflepuff, Fred needed to confront Cedric for not only his money, his candy, and his ink without consent, Fred needed to confront him about [y/n]. What kind of a freak just steals a photo?

Oh, thought Fred.

What if, somehow, Cedric gets a hold of [y/n]? Impossible, he reassured himself. Cedric doesn't even know their name. He knows nothing. He's a loathsome rat who steals money, candy, ink, and photos.

Smiling to himself for coming up with that description, Fred quickly goes down the same road again.

What if, somehow, [y/n] likes him, instead? What if- His mind was filled with ‘what-ifs’ and ‘somehows’ that clouded his brain. Cedric shouldn't have been running through his mind regardless. There’s just no possibility where [y/n] would even meet him.

He was consumed with someone who did not know he existed Fred was jealous that someone else was in possession of that photograph.

The only way to eliminate Cedric was to get to [y/n] first, and he knew his plan from the moment he saw their photo.

He was going to catch his professor at the owlery in the castle, and sneak his own letter in there. This way, both parcels would miraculously be carried over the Atlantic ocean.

His professor wouldn't notice and hopefully [y/n] wouldn't be too freaked out.

The tap finished spewing water and the room went silent except for a few drips coming from one of the spouts. Fred estimated his time and decided to waste none of it, so he dunked his head underwater out of impulse and came back up with his hair sticking to his forehead.

He needed to write.

☾

Fred was now back in his common room sitting on a couch with his parchment spread out over his legs and couch, and his wet hair slowly dripping on it, making the ink smear a bit. He had crumpled up at least five different drafts of a few sentences while sitting there.

He was wearing grey pants and a gryffindor jumper, keeping him warm on the first day of November. It was about one at night and he could hear his brother, Ron Weasley, snoring from the upstairs dorms.

He dug up a few polaroids he had taken with his brother at the beginning of the year to drop in the parcel. Fred had decided to make this out to his mother, Molly Weasley, hence the photos would have been for her. Molly wanted photos taken with their new camera and photos of their new brooms for Quidditch being put to use properlly.

Normally, Fred didn't really use muggle instruments, but he did have a shared camera with his twin, George. Luckily, a shop in Hogsmeade sold refills for it.

And they would have, Fred and George ended up taking photos of themselves during Quidditch practice, making sure to hide the camera from teachers and spectators so it wouldn't be taken away. Snape would make it his life goal to snatch it away from them when really it did no harm. They took photos of their jerseys, the field, a few separates, a few with the team, and two separate ones of the twins. They were planning to give them to their mum, but these photos would be put to use differently.

It was a brilliant plan in his eyes. [y/n] would surely respond to his so-called mistake, right? Hopefully they would send a letter back, and maybe a few polaroids for himself to keep. It’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Fred began his sixth attempt at writing out a letter to his own [y/n].

Mum,

We miss the burrow. And you and dad, of course.

As promised, the photos. We think you’ll really enjoy these, since you probably miss our ravishing looks.

There’s not much to write about, mum. Ginny is okay, Ron is alright, and George is asleep somewhere right now. Otherwise, they would have scribbled something on here.

Fred

It was too short but he couldn’t think of anything else to write to his mum. She had written to Ginny a few days prior so he had given all viable information to Ginny’s response letter.

He reacted quickly to the water that dripped off his hair and snatched the parchment before it could bleed and combine with the ink. The script was perfect, absolutely incomparable to his other drafts.

Time moved fast and it was now two in the morning. Fred took his parchment and placed it neatly in the parcel. He took his stack of polaroids and placed them in the parcel.

Almost forgetting, Fred searched through the polaroids and found the two individual snapshots of the twins in their uniforms. Molly constantly mixed the two up when they wore their quidditch uniforms, always forgetting who was #5 and who was #6. Their own mother. It severely got worse every year.

From totally forgetting to absolutely forgetting, Fred forgot that this letter wasn’t even going to reach his mother. He had already marked up the photos though, that was just an afterthought.

He looked at the photo of himself and his twin standing in front of the center field, astonished as to how clear it was. He could see his features perfectly unlike the photo he previously had of [y/n] that was blurry but nonetheless readable.

Shoving the photos back into the parcel, he wrapped it up nicely and carefully wrote the address of the burrow on it.

His plan was slowly coming into action, and Fred was just excited to see it play out.

☾

Fred had ended up spilling everything to his twin the day he planned to sneak his letter along with McGonagall’s.

“So you have no clue who [y/n] is, and you’re providing photos of you and your friends to this person, might I add again, who you don’t know? Fred, this is ridiculous.” George was talking to his twin in the corridor right before the owlery as they were both waiting for the professor to return with a response letter. Fred had been holding onto the parcel for a few days now, and yesterday, he saw that familiar brown owl arrive again.

McGonagall greeted the owl mid-class and took the letter in hand to place it safely in her desk. The owl remained on the window perch for the rest of class.

Fred wasn’t able to see who sent it, but he knew that owl all too well to be mistaken for someone else owling his Professor.

Just as Fred was about to respond to his brothers snarky question, they heard footsteps down the hall and they began to walk up to the owlery.

They had decided to distract McGonagall with a familiar owl, Hedwig. Harry had been complaining how she had been squawking too much for normal. Harry wouldn’t mind, though, because he never had to know that his owl was involved in a hopelessly romantic ploy.

Fred and George were now in the owlery next to Hedwig, feeding her snacks they had brought for compensation. It was only fair to her that she got something in response. A few strange squawks escaped her beak.

“Good morning Mr. and Mr. Weasley. Are you writing someone?” McGonagall was an expert at knowing who was who just off the back of their heads. Granted, she could probably tell the two apart without them turning around.

“Just paying a visit to Hedwig here, professor. We need to get going soon.” George glanced at Hedwig mid-sentence and gave the professor a small smile.

Their plan was failing terribly. McGonagall was getting her owl ready for the journey by winding the ribbon around its leg to hold the letter more in place.

Normally, Fred and George would just place a note in Errol's beak, but since it was a longer distance they would have to find a way to tie it around the owls leg.

Luckily, Hedwig served as an amazing distraction as she began to choke and squawk on the snacks they were giving her. It was a time of crisis but the twins had to act fast.

McGonagall turned to the twins and quickly discarded her owl to help them. She pushed them aside and began to aid the choking owl, George began to laugh a at the visual of an owl choking, but quickly put it away as he got a scolding look from McGonagall, who was now shaking the owl.

Fred used this distraction to run over and tie his letter to the owls leg, attaching his and his professors letter to the owl. The animal began to flap its wings, confused as to why an unknown ginger was picking at his feet, but Fred was too busy to yell at it.

By attaching his letter to McGonagall’s owl, Fred didn't need to get authorization from someone to send it. He also did not have to get it searched, as he was sneaking it through.

He turned to see George motioning him to hurry, laughing at the same time because his professor was still talking to the bird, trying to get it to stop choking.

Fred was able to tie the letters successfully and shooed the owl quickly, noticing how the two letters weighed it him down a little, making Fred laugh too. He didn’y understand how he pulled it off, but he was happy it worked- somewhat. The owl was steadily flapping it’s wings but Fred could see that it wasn’t used to that type of weight on its feet.

He speed walked back to his professor who was oblivious as to what happened behind her back. The twins were wrong for laughing at the McGonagall who wanted to just help them deal with the animal cruelty they put on Hegwig, but it was a visual they would never forget. And truly, it was a little funny and dramatic.

Fred wondered again how the hell his absurd plan worked, but he was glad that he was able to send out the parcel, and avoid murdering his friends owl with food.

“There, girl. You’re alright. You spit out.” McGonagall consoled the owl by patting her head. She turned to the twins and scolded them for being so irresponsible with someone else's owl.

“Potter doesn’t know, does he?” She asked.

The two twins looked at eachother and ran off laughing, leaving McGonagall clueless to everything that just happened.

Soon after that, Fred realized that he had just created the beginning of something new in his life. Something that he had yet to receive not in person, but rather in a form of a letter.

All he had left to do was look for that Brown owl.

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x gender neutral reader #fred weasley series #hogwarts #harry potter fanfic #goblet of fire #goblet of fire fred weasley

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hannahindie · 7 years

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Maple Leaves and Flannel

Characters: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester (mentioned) Word Count: 2,608 Warnings: Cutesy fluff and extreme descriptions of fall. (I don’t think that’s really a warning, but I’m a wordy girl so...maybe?) A/N: I wrote this for @impalaimagining’s Favorite Seasons Gif Challenge! Fall is my favorite time of year, so I was excited to get to write a fic that primarily focused on that.

Beta’d by my wonderful @trexrambling, because without her, a lot of my thoughts would be jumbled: “THIS. HANNAH, THIS!!!!!! YESSSSSSS I LOVE THIS LINE IT IS MY NEW FAVORITE LINE. Gaaaaaaaaaah this is wonderful.”

And my sweet @pinknerdpanda, who encourages me even when I hate nearly everything I wrote and feel like starting over: “ I love this whole sentence sooooo much!”

As usual, tags are at the bottom. Please let me know if you’d like to be added!!

Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Summer had its moments, but when the stifling heat finally started melting into cool breezes, when I could enjoy the sun’s warmth on my face without immediate fear of being burnt to a crisp, I was in my happy place. If anyone were to ask me why fall was my favorite, besides the cooler temperatures and the lack of sun poisoning, it would be hard to pinpoint an exact thing.

It could be the brilliant colors the leaves inevitably changed to, a magnificent splash of reds and oranges and yellows all mixing together to make it look like the landscape was on fire. The slow appearance of Halloween decorations that would go up bit by bit; a zombie here, purple and green lights there, fake spiderweb stretching across every available surface. The extraordinary amount of pumpkins that would just appear with no warning on porch steps, balanced precariously on hay bales that also would magically appear, a majority of which had simple faces that had been painstakingly carved into them by excited children who cared less about the carving and more about cleaning out the slimy guts inside.

So, had you asked me what my favorite thing about fall was, I would have told you it was too hard to choose and wandered off with my pumpkin spice latte to find some crunchy leaves to jump in.

Well, that’s what I would have said. But then I saw him.

Right in the middle of town is a large maple tree. Large is really an understatement. This maple tree is one of the oldest I’ve ever seen, and it’s huge. It’s right on the edge of the sidewalk, and the roots have pushed up the concrete slabs like they’re made out of foam. Every year, I expect one of the massive branches to break off and land on top of the old, Victorian-style house that sits empty next to it, but every year it proves me wrong. It also sits directly on the path I take from my apartment to the library, and every time I walk past, regardless of what I might be doing at the time, I glance up at the huge spanning limbs and falling leaves. Most days, there’s nothing remarkable about it. It’s beautiful, yes, and it’s one of my favorite things about my town...but generally speaking, it’s the same scene every single day.

Except one day when there was an addition to the normal scenery.

I had just crossed the street and was making my way down the sidewalk when I glanced up out of habit and stopped dead in my tracks. Standing just under the maple was a tall man, his head bent as he looked down at his phone. His shaggy, chestnut hair hung down and obscured most of his face, and I held my breath as I waited for him to look up. He was wearing a burnt orange coat and a lighter orange flannel; he was like the perfect autumn day in a ruggedly handsome, broad shouldered package. He must have realized someone was staring at him because he looked up and locked eyes with me, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice deep and smooth.

I finally released the breath I’d been holding, my eyes wide. “H-hello.”

He took a couple of steps towards me and pocketed his phone as he did, “Sorry to bother you, but do you live around here?” I nodded but remained quiet. “Do you know much about this house?”

“Oh, yea, it’s one of my favorite places in town. Are you...are you interested in buying it?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded, “Yea, actually. Me and my brother grew up in a house like this, and I just happened to be driving through when I saw it.”

“So do you live close by?” Surely I would have remembered seeing him around.

He shook his head, “No, I'm here on business. I've been kind of looking for a place to start over, and since I was already here, I thought I'd look around.” He held his hand out, “My name is Sam, by the way. Sam Winchester.” I took his hand, and I was unsurprised when his totally engulfed mine.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same.” He smiled again, and just as he opened his mouth to say something else, a muffled ring interrupted him. He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a quick glance, he looked at me apologetically, “I'm sorry, that's my brother. I gotta go meet him...family business stuff to work on. Maybe I'll see you around?”

I smiled at him, “Yea, that would be nice. See you later.”

He gave a small wave and started walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction that I was going. Luckily, that wasn't the last time I saw Sam Winchester.

The second time I saw Sam Winchester I was at the library, coffee in hand as I flipped through pages upon pages of town history. I had just started at the local newspaper, and my first assignment was to put together a large series leading up to the town’s centennial celebration. Most people would have wondered what they had done to deserve such a fate, but I loved stuff like that. There was something about getting lost in old newspapers and books, scattered photographs that lay forgotten in people's attics, only remembered when you ask them if they have anything that would help you. I could sit all day at the library, curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs with a giant book. Most of my days consisted of that, actually.

I had been reading about The Great Flood of 1928 when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up to see Sam looking at me, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Sam,” I said as I shifted into a more upright position. “How are you?”

He shrugged, “Pretty good. I think we’ll be here for a few more days.” He nodded towards my stack of books, “What are you researching?”

I glanced down at the book in my hand, “Currently, a catastrophic flood that destroyed most of the town in 1928. In general, just getting some information for a series I'm writing for the paper. The centennial is coming up. Although I have to say, there's less interesting and happy things than there are devastating natural disasters, murder, and general bad luck.” I closed my book and sat it on the table. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I needed to do some research of my own. The librarian told me you might have a book I need. It's actually a collection of property deeds and stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow, “That sounds…”

“Boring,” Sam laughed. “It is. Which is why I'm here and not my brother.” He sat the books he'd already claimed down, “Mind if I join you?”

I shook my head as I handed him the book he was looking for, “Not at all. I can't promise that I'll be exciting company, though,”

He laughed, “At least we can be boring together.”

And so we sat, the next three hours consumed with what was supposed to be serious research but had quickly turned into us laughing about some of the more ridiculous things that had happened in town.

Sam sat back with a laugh, and I couldn't help but stare at the deep dimples that formed when he allowed himself to truly smile. “Wow, it's been awhile since I laughed that much. That was nice.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and his smile quickly disappeared, “But it looks like it's time for me to head out.” He stood and shouldered his coat on, “Hopefully I'll get to see you before we leave.”

I smiled, “I would enjoy that. See you around.” Sam smiled and strode quickly out of the library. I looked down to find that he'd left the book he'd asked for open, and I pulled it around to look at the page he'd marked.

The deed was for the old abandoned house with the giant maple in the yard.

The last time I saw Sam Winchester is a little blurry. It's kind of a long story, and honestly I'm not even sure that I have all the details. I remember seeing the deed for the old house. Curiosity got the better of me and I did the one thing that I'm surprised I hadn't done before but realize now should never have; I googled the address of the Victorian house with the town’s oldest maple tree.

I vaguely recall reading what had to have been one of the more disturbing stories of our town that I had soundly decided not to include in our centennial write up. But even after I sat down to read something else, determined to not focus on the vicious quadruple murder/suicide that had occurred in the house, my mind kept returning to it.

Which had led me to my next question; why was Sam so interested in that house? And what family business was he doing that he needed the deed information? Nothing was adding up, and I was beginning to wonder what that handsome stranger was up to.

I remember leaving the library, bag in tow and determined to figure out what was going on. I had stopped at the end of the sidewalk before taking a big breath and striding up the cracked concrete like I owned the place.

And that's when things get a little fuzzy. All I can really remember is that I saw something that shouldn't have been real. That moment of pause, the shock of seeing a man that was long dead standing directly in front of me, nearly cost me my life. What I do remember is Sam appearing out of nowhere, quickly followed by a shorter man with bright eyes that I guessed was his brother, and a loud shotgun blast.

Then I was outside, my back against the maple tree and a large, rough hand cradled against my face.

“Y/N...hey, are you alright?” Any other time, opening my eyes to that handsome face would have been welcome. As it was, I could barely remember where I was, much less who was in front of me.

“I...yea...I think so...what happened?”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, “It’s a long story.”

I shifted my weight and groaned as my bruised ribs protested at the movement, “What exactly do you and your brother do, anyway?”

He chuckled, “That's also a long story.” He helped me stand up, and I grimaced again. “Are you sure you're okay?”

I nodded, “Aside from the fact that I just saw something impossible, and said impossible thing tried to kill me...I'm pretty sure I'm good. Ask me tomorrow.” He smiled sadly and my chest ached, “You won't be here, will you?”

He shook his head, “No, we uh...we have some other things to take care of.” I stared at him for a moment and tried to memorize the way his hair fell in his face, the little mole on his chin, how his eyes seemed to change color. There were too many details, and I knew it would be impossible to do him justice in my spotty memory. So instead, I put my arms around his waist and pressed my ear to his chest and listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

“It was nice to meet you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam didn't say anything, but he wrapped his arms around me and held me a little tighter.

It's been a year since I last saw Sam Winchester. A year since I saw him standing under that maple tree, its bright red and orange leaves falling around him as he looked at his phone, unaware of the dumbstruck girl staring at him.

It's been a year since I let curiosity win out over common sense and I discovered that there was far more to this world than I could have ever imagined, and that the gentle giant that I had laughed with over coffee was responsible for keeping it all in check.

Sam and Dean had driven me home and the ride there was mostly silent. Sam sat in the back with me, his long legs tucked in as well as he could, and I had curled tightly into his side. My ribs complained the entire ride, but I ignored them; I wasn't passing up what could be my last chance to be this close to Sam.

Sam walked me to my door and pulled me into one last hug, and it took everything I had not to beg him to at least stay the night. He'd started to walk away, but at the last minute, turned back and pulled me into him, his soft lips working against mine almost desperately before he pulled back, gave me a tight lipped smile, and walked to the car. The next morning I went to stick my hand in my jacket pocket and found a piece of a napkin containing small, cramped handwriting. There was a number, and under that a single word - 'Sam'.

We had texted quite a bit for awhile; what he and Dean were up to, plans to get coffee when they finally made it back into town to visit, the most recent book we'd read. I knew that with their lifestyle, it would probably be awhile before I got to see Sam again, but I held on to hope. Then, finally, the messages stopped.

I'd like to think that he's okay, that he's saving people from the monsters that linger in the shadows, but I often worry that something happened. I think I'd feel it, though. For that much good to leave the world, I'm sure my heart would know.

I've kept the same routine this whole year. I walk the same path, go to the same job, live in the same apartment. And every day, I walk past the old Victorian, the maple looming over it with its canopy of fiery leaves. I’d always looked towards the house, only now I do so in hopes that I'll see a man, dressed like fall, and smiling. When I don't see him there, I like to imagine that he's off saving the world with his brother, one monster at a time.

That is, until today.

Because today, I walked the same path down the same road, crossed at the same corner, and just like I did exactly one year ago, I looked up at the house and the maple. Under its falling leaves, standing just where he was the first time I saw him, was Sam. Only this time, he wasn't looking down at his phone; this time he was looking straight at me. He was a bit thinner than he was back then, and he'd cut his hair a little different, but the smile was the same. I stopped a few feet away, afraid that if I blinked he'd disappear.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said softly, “things got a little...crazy.”

I nodded, “Long story?”

Sam chuckled, “Yea, you could say that.”

I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist, my ear to his chest, and sighed happily. I never realized how relieved I would feel to hear someone’s heartbeat. “You know what, I have all day.”

Like what you see? Would you like to read more? Check out my Master List here!

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deanssweetheart23 @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion @myloveforyouxx-deactivated20171 @atc74 @mrsbateshotel53 @easelweasel @there-must-be-a-lock

#Taylor’s Favorite Seasons Gif Challenge #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #sam x reader #autumn #fall #fluff

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sincerlyyme-blog · 7 years

Text

Group Therapy (CONNOR MURPHY x READER)

AUTHORS NOTE: hello!!!!! i am back!!!!!!! i wrote this little thing, in hopes of making it a multiple part series. so this is just part one! but if you guys dont like it, let me know and ill just leave it as it is. I also want to take a moment to say that i am back to UPLOADING A FIC OR HEADCANON ONCE A DAY!! when i first started this blog, that was my uploading schedule. life got in the way, but im back baby!!!!!

Word Count: 2.4k ish

TW: suicide, suicide descriptions, swearing, therapy groups , etc

PS: i have been to many group therapies, so this is all just based purely on personal experience. so if this is triggering to you, please dont read any further!!!!

Connor Murphy was special. Not special in the way you would describe a rare artifact or gem. He was special like the waves in the ocean, the colours in the sky, or oil paint on a canvas. He was special because you knew what to expect. Like a wave in the ocean, you expected to crash. Like the colours in the sky, you expected to fade out after hours of daylight. Like oil paint on a canvas, you expected to dry and harden after creating something beautiful. Connor Murphy was a synonym for beautiful; only the rarest of poets could find in a dictionary. He was the sound that rolled off of the tongue of a politician. He was the feeling of warm laundry, draping around your body. Connor was all of these things—which is why his downfall was to be expected.

You had tried numerous group therapies in the past. None of them seemed to improve your feelings or behaviors. But they stabilized your health, which is all you could really ask for. There was something equally pleasing and eerie about joining group therapy. It was oddly satisfying to hear everyone bitch and complain, but also eerie that the painted beige walls would contain a group of kids who tried to kill themselves. Talk about a Suicide Squad.

You drove yourself to group therapy. This one was named Youth Wonders: Group Therapy and Psychiatrics. The name was slathered on the brick building in bronze lettering. It looked ancient. Maybe it looked cool back in 2002, but it made you roll your eyes just at the sight. You were 5 minutes early. Your keys were still lodged into your car ignition. This was the hardest part: getting out of the car. There was always that part of you that was tempted to ditch, go eat some McDonald’s for the hour, and go back home to tell your dad that everything went well. The feeling of guilt spread over your stomach just at the thought. You have lied to your father many times before. He didn’t deserve to be lied to again.

Finally, you slumped out of the driver’s seat and walked into the horrid building. It smelt like old carpet and candle wax. Kind of like a church. But nothing Holy grew an abundance to you whilst walking through the halls. A white, thick door was stood open with a brick. On the inside if the door, facing you, a pink slip of paper was taped up.

“TEEN YOUTH SUICIDAL THERAPY GROUP”

They really don’t sugar coat anything here. Your footsteps grew heavier as you walked through the door. Plastic chairs were all set up in a circle. Inside there were only four teenagers, and a woman who had a strange resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg.

“Name, please?” her scratchy voice echoed off the walls. Her dry hands where clutching a clipboard and her pink pen was held between her fingers, like a cigarette.

“Oh, uh, Y/N L/N,” you frowned, taking a seat across from her.

According to the amount of chairs set up, there were only six people in the group. You, an empty chair, Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, and an empty chair. The empty chair was to your left. You stared at it, feeling cold. The awkward tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You took this moment of silence as an opportunity to look around the room. All of the teens glared at their feet.

The girl next to you had red hair. Her face was populated with cystic acne that looked painful to the touch. Her ginger locks were pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a large men’s sweater that hung off of her skinny body. Sitting to her left was a large Filipino boy. He wore a purple sweater and old hiking shoes. The toe of the boots were worn out and his big toe peeked out. His hair was greasy, and he looked in need of a shower. Down the line, in the circle, sat a Latina girl. Her hair was done perfectly and her ears were pierced. Big golden hoops dangled from the lobes, reaching her collarbone. She was chewing bubblegum, and wearing a croptop – even though the temperature was just above freezing. Finally, in the corner sat a very pale white boy. He was short and skinny. He looked like he was 12 years old. His minecraft shirt had large orange stains, and had blonde whiskers growing in on his upper lip.

Whoopi-Goldberg-lady took a final sigh, clicking her pen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, another person stomped in.

“You finally decided to join us…” the woman looked at her clipboard before reading out loud, “Connor?”

The boy grunted in response, throwing his body down onto the chair next to you. You winced at the sound. He had long hair. The ends curled into the collar of his denim jacket. Your eyes trailed up to his face. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he grinded his teeth together. The Whoopi-lady stood up, smoothing out the material of her chiffon blouse.

“Welcome, everyone. My name is Liz,” she spoke above her gravely tone.

Her name was Liz. Finally, you could stop referring to her as the Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, in your head.

“I will be your counselor and guide for this group. Within our 9 weeks here, I expect all of you to hit a few goals. The first being: opening up. I want you to share your story, knowing that whatever is said in here, stays in here.”

You could hear the boy next to you, practically scoff.

“So the first thing we are going to do is; go around the room, say your name, age, and explain why you are here.”

You could feel everyone tense up.

“Let’s start with,” Liz glanced at her clipboard. “Jamie.”

The red-haired girl sat up straight. She removed her fingers from her mouth, as she was just chewing on her cuticles moments ago. Her bleeding fingers dove into the sleeves of her sweater.

“Hi, I’m Jamie,” she spoke softly, almost like a robot. “I’m 15 and I’m here because I overdosed on sleeping pills.”

Liz nodded, “Ok. Great. Thank you, Jamie.”

Next in line was the boy in hiking boots.

“Hi, I’m Leroy. I’m 16 and I tried to hang myself from a tree,” his voice was a deep baritone. But was quickly cut off by the Latina girl beside him.

“Did the tree break, fatty?”

“Andrea,” Liz warned. “This is supposed to be a safe space.”

“Ok, yeah, whatever. I’m Andrea. I’m 18. This is my third time here. I took too much meth and blacked the fuck out. So I’m here,” she snapped her gum, fingering the golden hoop on her ear.

“Daniel, your turn,” Liz looked at the small pale boy.

“Hi, um, I’m Daniel. I’m 16 and I, uh,” the boy began to sob violently. Your heart broke a little bit. The boy next to you, Connor, scoffed. You were almost in disbelief at his heartless gesture.

“It’s ok, hun. Take your time,” Liz spoke softly.

Daniel continued, hiccupping and telling the group how he tried to end his life just two weeks prior. After many tissues, Liz continued down the line.

“Connor?”

The boy next to you, shifted in his seat. He was now sitting up, straight. His long legs tangled over each other. His large, black combat boots looked heavy against his skinny shins. He was wearing a lot of layers.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Connor. I’m 17. I tried killing myself 3 weeks ago.”

“How? You have to say how,” Andrea twirled her hair around her finger.

“Why? Do you get off to people’s backstories or some shit?” he hissed back.

Liz waved the two of them off, gesturing that it was okay to keep those details private. Next was you. And you could feel your breath become heavy. All eyes landed on you.

“Well, uh, my name is Y/N. I’m 17, also. I tried killing myself last year, but I’m here because my therapist told me to,” you spoke softly.

“That’s fucking boring.”

“Andrea!”

You were pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup, rubbing the drowsiness out of your eyes. It was the half-way mark through group therapy. The group is given a 15 minute break between the two hours, and there is a small table full of shitty snacks and coffee.

“Coffee at 1pm?” a voice spoke from behind you. You turned to see that Connor boy offering you a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “Well it’s shitty filtered coffee, and no one drinks coffee in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” you spoke while moving to the side, putting creamer and 8 packets of sugar into the small cup. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he gaped at the amount of sugar you put in.

“It’s good, you should try it some time,” you mused, taking a small sip.

Connor shook his head, pouring some of the filtered brew into a cup of his own. “No, thanks. I’d like to live well into my thirties.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of why you’re here?”

“Touché.”

The rest of the afternoon went as expected. Red-haired girl went on a rant about her dad never loving her, Daniel cried some more, and Liz gave us homework to complete for next week. The green folder full of worksheets will be added to the pile of therapy homework that you never do. You have other things on your plate. You have a job, school, and university to think about.

While walking to your car, you see the tall boy leaning against the hood of your car.

“Uh, hi?” you spoke, raising on eyebrow.

He jumped a little bit, not seeing you at first. “Oh, hey, can you drive me home? My dad is at work and my mom…” he trailed off, looking at his feet.

You scratched the back of your head, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry, I barely even know you. I should just walk home-“ he began to ramble, grabbing his messenger bag from between his feet.

“Get in,” you sighed, unlocking the car.

“Wait. Really?”

“What’s your address?”

The car ride was pretty silent. It contained the sound of your humming motor, and the small murmurs of directions from Connor. You had asked him what street he lived on, but he just told you that he would direct you there. He lived on the outskirts of the city. By following his directions, you drove into the suburbs. The houses were all parallel to each other. Each of them very large, big two-car garages, and nicely trimmed lawns. It was the type of neighborhood that would give out the good candy on Halloween.

“It’s the house on left, here,” he mumbled once again. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head.

“This one?” you took one hand off the steering-wheel to point to the house in front of you. It was gigantic. It was painted yellow with a dark blue door. It must have been at least 4 stories high. The backyard, from what you could see, was massive. Two large pillars on other side of the front door, reminding you of pictures in textbooks about ancient Rome.

As you pulled into his driveway, Connor picked at his nail polish. “What? Are you surprised?”

“A little,” you laughed, looking over at him.

He began to pick up his bag, looking over at you. The sunset in the sky casted a pink shadow in your car, making everything a rose colour.

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll see you next week,” he spoke, stepping out of your car.

You watched as the goth boy walked into the giant, yellow house. It was a sight to see.

Next week rolled around, and you were five minutes early. You sat in your car, rubbing your temples. Another night without sleep. It was beginning to take a toll. Sitting in your car became a ritual you had. It gave you time to mope, before having to put on a brave face for wherever you were going. You let out a large sigh. Your head was pounding. Placing your forehead in the palms of your hands, you laid them down on the steering wheel. Closing your eyes, you were grateful to have a second to decompose.

It was quiet until you heard your passenger door open and slam shut. You let out a scream, sitting back, looking at the man who just entered. It was Connor.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“Chill the fuck out.”

“CONNOR, YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT.”

“What? Get in someone’s car? I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You began to go on a slight rampage, telling him about how many girls get abducted by leaving their cars unlocked. He responded by telling you to ‘lock your fucking car, then’. Before you could shout another witty response, he shoved a cup of hot coffee into your hand.

“Here.” “What… What is this?”

“Coffee, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know. But why?”

He just shrugged, taking a sip out of his own cup, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“So, why do you sit in here?” he mumbled against the warm lid of his beverage.

“It’s just nice, I guess?” you spoke out softly, rubbing your eyes.

Connor nodded, drinking his coffee quietly. You did the same.

Lunch time came around. Therapy had been going well. But you couldn’t help but find yourself staring into space every other minute. It was no group participation. It consisted of Liz telling everyone that how they were feeling is “okay”. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before.

You stood up the moment Liz said that your 15 minute break began. You walked over to the snack table, pouring another cup of coffee. Connor watched you from his seat, chewing on his bottom lip.

No one else had picked up on your caffeine habits. Rather, the rest of the teenagers fought over the sugar cookies that were lined up on the table. You walked back to your seat, sighing loudly as your butt hit the chair. You took a large gulp of the cheap caffeine, letting your eyes settle close for a moment.

“You know, I never got to hear your story last week,” you spoke softly with your eyes still closed.

“Well, same goes to you, I guess,” he mumbled back, slouching into his chair.

You cracked an eye open, looking at him. “Mine isn’t as recent.”

He shrugged back, watching you as your eyes flutter shut once more.

“My family is shit. My parents hate me. Some kid wrote a weird letter about my sister. I freaked the fuck out. It was just kind of the last straw, I guess?”

It was quiet for a few more moments. You opened your mouth to speak, then Liz clapped loudly, asking everyone to return to their seats. Group began again, and Connor avoided your eyes at all costs.

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