#i did do a bit of balance testing with a fort last month but i haven't been playing df as much lately

[chickenmcnuggies]

sometimes I see you on my dash and I'm like "wow these posts are pretty good but I dont remember why I followed this person" and then I load up my dwarf fort with my beloved hippogryphs

YEAAAAH im glad you like them! the hippogriffs and griffons are two of my absolute favorite creatures, so im very biased to them :) (also glad that you can tolerate my other post lol)

i suppose on that topic, it gives me a good excuse to show off the last 6 beast/giant variants going into the mods since i already finished all their sprites.

first up is the stymphalian bird! it's a small bird with feathers composed of bronze. they're docile by nature but are capable of shooting out their metal feathers to attack their predators

...on the other hand there's the giant variant, which is vicious by extension of living in savage lands

speaking of giant variants, there's 5 other ones being added

(griffon, fae dragon, bicorn, warg (it's default sprite was changed and the old sprite repurposed), and chimera)

the other brand new creatures are:

owl bear, a large carnivore with claws capable of slashing through metal. inspired by the cool looking owl bears from baldur's gate 3 that i saw when a friend was streaming the game. can be war trained if tamed

basilisk and mandrake

the basilisk are aggressive carnivores which possess a gaze that can turn their prey to stone, similar to the gorgons. unlike the gorgon's stare though, supposing their victim doesn't die while in statue form, they will return to normal after an in game week (they dont require food/water/breathing while afflicted)

Mandrake are small plant creatures who live rarely in underground lakes, where they 'breed' by planting their seeds in the ground. upon death they drop their seeds which can be planted to make very potent ale. the ale has many beneficial effects, such as helping infection and stress relief, but also has a grocery list of rare (2-10% odds) of triggering multiple ill side effects, such as nausea and sending a person into a fit of rage. made entirely just to make taverns all the more FUN

something i didn't plan to add, but added based on request: a tressym! flying cats from forgotten realms (and also baldur's gate) that i thought looked cool and had interesting enough lore to make a good addition. I only actually finished their sprites earlier tonight, and their raws aren't made yet.

going off what i read about them, they were going to be the same size as a cat, capable of being 4 different colors/coat patters, and immune to poison. it also mentioned them being able to see invisible creatures, so i'd like to play around with them having extra vision/high stats to be able to detect ambushers, tho i'd need to test to make sure they dont completely trivialize it. Was planning to make them like the griffons and wargs, where they have the [PET] token, but not [COMMON_DOMESTIC], so there's a chance for dwarves and humans to tame them in world gen, but they would hopefully be very rare due to their spawn biome (taiga?) and frequency (was thinking around 7%)

last but not least, another mega beast, this time the Undead Dragon! an undead mega beast that's intended to be a similar difficulty to the bronze colossus. it lacks blood, and damaging organs or connections doesn't bother it. It is capable of raising corpses once a day, and breathing a cool breath that makes a target drowsy and nauseous. while it can of course be killed in the usual dwarven solutions (magma, crushing) it can also be killed instantly by being speared in the skull by a spear, or decapitated. it is not capable of flight due to it's body being too rotted.

#answered #modding #dwarf fortress #sorry if the response was much longer than you anticipated! but i realized i haven't shown stuff off in awhile #i did do a bit of balance testing with a fort last month but i haven't been playing df as much lately #i was pretty busy working on the last gay fates update but now that that's done- #the mythical beast update will hopefully be out around next month? idk i like testing pretty extensively #on one hand im not proud of the mandrake sprite on the other hand it's very silly and it charms me #i do think i kinda cooked on the giant sprites tho. im very proud of how they all turned out! #the giant griffon especially bc the regular griffon sprite was the very first one i did #and i still feel i didn't quite capture what i wanted to with it. though i have come to like the normal griffon sprite now

[captains-simp]

heksbdkshs you’re jock!carol fics give me life, could you do one where jock!carol and the reader have been keeping their relationship a secret and one of those girls that love gossip finds out and like the next day everyone knows ??

You've met soft!jock!Carol. Now it's time for angsty!jock!Carol

4.6k words

Warning: homophobia (plus slurs), bullying, mentions of declining mental health mild violence and some clique high school douchebags (yes that gets a warning)

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You barely looked up when the paper airplane landed swiftly on your desk in front of you. It was only when you caught a glimpse of the red and blue stripe along the side that you spared it a glance. You prodded it with your pen and dragged it across the desk towards you, feeling a pair of eyes watching you eagerly from the back of the class. You unfolded the note carefully until a small sprawl of letters became visible, barely spelling out the word 'purple'.

You bit back a smile at the message and scrunched it up into a tight ball, throwing it in the bin near your desk before going back to writing your notes. You wanted to turn around and meet the eyes you were certain were staring at the back of your head but you knew you couldn't. It had become routine and you swore it was still the hardest part of your day - pretending you didn't notice her.

The bell in the corridor rung loudly and the second it did everyone in the class got up from their seats, ignoring the final reminders from the teacher at the front. Students swarmed into the corridor and amongst the crowd you lost sight of her for a few short moments until the wave of blonde hair appeared ahead of you where she maneuver to the side to be greeted by others in the same blue jacket. You caught her eye for a split second as you went by but it was no more than that. You wished so much that it could have been longer, that you could confidently stroll down those corridors hand in hand with her. A short hug. A brief kiss. A small smile. Anything. You just wished you could have more than fleeting moments with the blonde.

It felt like you could finally breathe properly when you left the suffocating building. The crowd dispersed into smaller groups while you walked out of the school grounds with a slight trot in your step. The further you went the less people you saw until the streets you walked down were near empty. The small corner shop eventually came into sight and you sped up slightly at the sight of your destination, not spying the red car you were always looking out for but knowing she was somewhere close by, she always got there first.

Instead of going into the corner store, you went through the narrow alleyway besides it and around the back of the store. You weren't in a sketchy part of town and even if you were you wouldn't have been afraid of going down the alley, not when you knew who was around the corner waiting for you. You had told her that last time you were there when she had asked you out of sheer curiosity. Apparently she wanted to challenge that truth.

A pair of hands shot out besides your and covered your eyes in an instant, not giving you any chance to stop it. Before you could even give a startled cry, her body pressed firmly against your back and the familiar smell of vanilla surrounded you. Relaxing in her grip, you felt her sway playfully as she leaned forwards to plant soft kisses along your neck. "Guess who?" She mused and you smiled as you tilted your head back for her.

"Hey, Care Bear." Carol groaned against your neck as she pulled her hands away. "I told you not to call me that." She complained, though her smile betrayed her when she spun you around to face her. You instinctively wrapped your arms around her neck as she held your waist softly, kissing you with enough passion to tell you she had been missing you too.

"How'd your test go?" Carol asked between kisses as she guided you backwards to lean against the nearest wall.

"Okay, I passed." You said absentmindedly. "How'd your game go?"

"Okay, I won." She copied and you couldn't help but smile faintly.

"That film you wanted to watch is on tonight, at 11. Wanna go?" The Captain asked as she stopped kissing you to talk properly and kept her hold on you so you stayed close.

"There's show times a lot earlier than 11." You laughed but stilled when Carol scrunched up her nose. "What? You don't want to be seen in public with me?" You teased but there was something very genuine to your question. You felt a familiar pang in your chest when Carol's grip loosened and she looked away.

"Y/n, we've talked about this." Your girlfriend sighed.

"I know, I'm sorry." You muttered as you tried to look as unbothered as possible but knew your face gave away the disappointment you felt so intensely. "You know if I could I would go out at all hours with you, where ever you'd want to go. It's just not that simple." It was hard to truly believe those words when your girlfriend sounded so exasperated, like she was having to explain to a child why they couldn't draw on the walls or have candy for breakfast.

"I know." You said because you really did and you felt guilty for bringing it up.

Carol had told you before you had even started dating her that your relationship would have to be secret. You didn't go to the most gay-friendly school for one thing. There were no openly gay couples there and to be honest you didn't have the nerve to be the first. Carol was content on being popular and you were happy staying under the radar with no intentions to change that. Above all Carol believed it would make securing her scholarship a great deal harder. You were never sure if that was just her fears or if it could really affect it but you respected where she was coming from. That didn't stop it hurting. It didn't stop you envying all the couples that got to openly love their partners. You always reminded yourself that keeping your relationship secret took as much of a toll on Carol as it did on you, she was just far better at hiding it. She was good at hiding a lot.

"Is that a no on the movie?" Carol asked with a strong hint of upset in her voice and unintentionally heart wrenching puppy dog eyes.

"11 right? Sounds like we have a lot of time to kill." You smiled wholly as you glanced at the old blanket fort you had built together months ago, right after you had gotten red and blue slushies that you had spilt on one of the blankets inside and stained purple. That wasn't the only thing that was turned purple that day but was the one that seemed to be permanent.

Carol smiled eagerly and wrapped her arms around you tightly again. "I love you, you know that right?" She asked genuinely and you returned her bright smile.

"Always, and I love you too, Care Bear." Carol rolled her eyes but kissed you softly again, treasuring the feeling of your soft lips against hers and the vague taste of the lunch she had discreetly bought you that day.

*

You swung open your locker door and made to shove as many of your school books inside as you could until you halted at the sight of a small, folded up, piece of paper in the base of your locker. You crammed your books into the tight space and stood as close as you could to it as you unfolded the note, knowing it wasn't for the eyes of the rest of the world. 'East feild field supply shed, lunch' was all it read in the familiarly rushed handwriting. You scrunched the note up and put it in your pocket, locked your locker and made your way down the corridor with a sense of uncertainty in your step. Carol never wanted to meet inside school - it was practically a rule. You would text each other as much as you could and even call if you were lucky, but you were never physically together.

You continued on to the field and walked across as nonchalantly as you could. You only vaguely knew where that specific supply shed was because it was rarely ever used and not to mention half submerged in the woodland bordering part of the field. You glanced around as you neared it and when you were sure no one was near by you dipped behind the back to an awaiting Carol, sat cross legged on the floor and trying to balance a spoon on her nose.

"Hey, are you alright?" You asked hastily as you put your bag down on the floor and stared at your girlfriend in concern.

"Of course I am, you're here." She said simply and held both her hands out to you. You took them with a confused smile as Carol guided you to sit on her lap and cupped your cheek with her hand.

"Are you sure? We don't usually- we never-" Carol pecked your lips to successfully silence you.

"I know, but I missed you too much." She said with a contagious smile. "Really. I just wanted to see you." Your smile grew as you nodded and lent forward slightly to kiss the blonde back.

"I missed you too."

You stayed like that for the rest of your lunch break, enjoying each other's company and embrace as you ignored the rest of the world that wasn't shielded by the old wood around you. It was pretty much perfect. You knew it couldn't become habit so you tried your hardest to just focus on the there and then. Carol seemed to be thinking the same thing, letting her guard down more than she ever had when you had to part days.

The Captain chuckled as she kissed you after backing you into the shed door. You pushed her back lightly with a giggle, feeling giddy from everything happening. "We gotta go." You laughed more when Carol trapped you against the shed, clearly not having any desire to attend her next lesson. "Carol." You scorned, making her pull away only to gaze at you adoringly.

"Okay." She huffed and stepped back to give you space to move. The moment you did she laced your fingers together and held up your hand to her lips, giving the back of it a soft kiss before letting you go. You grinned back at her as you started in opposite directions, your hand still tingling from your girlfriend's soft imprint.

You were both so blissfully unaware of your surroundings you forgot to make a quick check of anyone near by. Neither of you were aware of the eager eyes following both your steps, nor the digital lens that followed with them. However that was something that became very much apparent the next day. The eyes that landed on you as you ventured down the school corridors weren't subtle. They weren't kind either.

You felt like there was a spot light on you everywhere you went and it went on for a while. Some people would look away once you glanced anxiously in their direction while others stared back with a distasteful and all together brutal glare. It was clear that everyone knew something you didn't, something that soon brought your mind to Carol. Where was she?

That was a question you had to wait a while to be answered. Your girlfriend wasn't in any of the few classes you had together, something that wasn't completely unheard of for her but was especially anxiety inducing on that day. It was during lunch break that you finally saw her. You were thrilled and filled with relief when you saw the blonde hair and blue jacketed figure making its way towards you where you sat under a tree on the far edge of the field. However as she got closer and you were able to distinguish the infuriated look upon her face, all the relief drained away. You had seen her angry before. She had been known to have a short fuse and with a team that wasn't the brightest and some games not going the way she would have wanted, you knew what angry Carol entailed. But what you saw that day was something new.

"What the fuck?!" She yelled and you stumbled back a couple of steps in shock.

"W-what?" You fumbled when you realized Carol's new found fury was directed at you.

"What did you do?" She demanded as she advanced to being a short step away from you. Suddenly, having Carol so close didn't hold the comfort it usually did.

"I don't know. I don't know what's going on! Everything was fine until..." you trailed off when the Captain turned her attention to her phone. You glanced between her and the screen, not understanding why she suddenly didn't want to pay you any attention. However, when she showed you her screen your heart dropped. Any other couple wouldn't have minded the picture. They may even have loved it. You and Carol couldn't take a moment to admire the moment that was captured, because you both knew what it meant. You were so close together in the photo, arms tightly around each other as you shared a kiss. You were unbreakable. Were...

"Who... how did they..." You barely managed to speak, feeling far too numb.

"You tell me, y/n." Carol crossed her arms defensively and continued to glare right into your eyes. You thought that hurt more than anything else that had happened that day and honestly ever.

"I didn't do this." You whispered, too shocked to fully comprehend what your girlfriend was accusing you of.

"You wanna rethink that answer? Because this secret has always bothered you a lot more than it has for me." What? You felt sick at hearing her words. You had spent the whole relationship thinking, fooling yourself into believing that it was both sided. How much did she care?

"There was a time you wouldn't fucking shut up about it for two seconds and no matter how many times I explained to you why we couldn't go running around holding hands like goddamn kinder-gardeners you still couldn't get it through your skull that is was the smart decision. Do you not like what's happening today, y/n? Does it upset you?" She gritted in a sickeningly mocking tone that you had never heard before. It was just plain cruel. "Well buckle the fuck up because it's going to get a hell of a lot worse, especially for me. You'll be happy though, won't you? This is what you wanted." Carol finished, chest heaving and eyes ablaze. That was all you could really make it through your teary eyes.

"No this isn't what I wanted." You started to sob as you reached out for Carol's hand but she smacked it away hard. You recoiled in alarm and tried again. "Please Carol, I would never do this. I just wanted what you did." Carol scoffed at your pathetic attempt at explaining yourself, far from believing you in your hysteric state.

"Fuck off." She spat as she gave you one final glare and turned sharply on her heels to leave you were stood. Alone.

"Carol, please!" You begged but the blonde had had enough.

"Stay away from me." She shouted back and you stopped in your tracks, only able to watch her leave.

"No." You whimpered in defeat and dropped to your knees, breaking down in tears as you felt like your world was crumbling around you and there was nothing you could do to fix it. There wasn't even anyone who could help you through it anymore.

*

Carol was right. Things did get a lot worse after that, in a lot of different ways. Your heartbreak was the worse thing. You spent every moment you weren't in school curled up in bed, soaking your sheets and pillows with tears, scolding yourself for everything that had gone wrong. You knew, deep down, that it wasn't you fault, that it was Carol who was entirely in the wrong but you found it impossible to hate her. It would have been so much easier if you had been able to. It might have hurt less.

School was a much worse place to be. You saw Carol every day but a word was never passed between you. Anytime you caught her eye she looked away quicker than you could read her so it was hard to tell if she still hated you. All you knew was you weren't her favourite person. That was one thing, but the bullying was something else. It was relentless, ranging from everything between graffitied slurs on your locker to being shoved into them. Your grades dropped and your mental health declined with it.

"Move, fag." You gave a low 'oof' as you were tripped into the railings along the stairs. You held your stomach and winced at the instant throbbing pain there. You avoided the eyes you knew were on you but when you risked a glance up you saw the blonde you weren't sure if you were avoiding or not. You held her gaze longer than you had since she had broken your heart, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the undeniable pity written across her face. In that moment you found yourself wanting to go up to her. What you would do or say you weren't sure of, maybe it would have come to you got there.

You took a bold step forwards until you were cut off by a junior who gave you the first friendly smile you had seen in a while. You didn't trust it at all, like it was a mask worn by the devil himself to trick you. "Hey." He greeted. You opened your mouth to speak but you had no clue of what to say. "I just wanted to say I thinks it's pretty cool what you did." He said simply.

"What I did?" You asked slowly and he nodded back with the same smile.

"The picture." He clarified. You clenched your jaw and peered over at the blonde who was still watching you cautiously. "I know it wasn't you choice to have it taken or anything." He rushed when he noticed your defensive stance. "And I can't imagine what you're going through right now." He added with a sympathetic look. "But seeing you guys together in a town that isn't exactly the best place for it has given a lot of us a some hope. Most of the world is becoming more acceptant, it's only a matter of time before things change here too, even if you're not here when it does." He shrugged before getting distracted by someone in the corridor. "Plus you guys are a cute couple." Ouch. He smiled at you and waved at his friend as he made to leave.

"I gotta go but I hope I see you around." You nodded slightly as you pondered his words. You glanced at Carol and was surprised to still see her standing by her locker, it felt like some strange stand off and you wondered if she had heard what the junior had said to you. She wasn't that far away by the corridor was beginning to get crowded and loud.

You made to walk towards Carol but the second you did she took off like a startled deer. You sighed as you watched her go. Maybe it was for the best that you stay out of each other's way after all. Despite whatever the hell had just happened, the blonde's last words to you played as clear as ever in your head. They still made your heart ache as much as it did the first time around.

Things didn't change between you and Carol after that. It was hard, near impossible on some days, but you started to try and get over her. You didn't want to forget and you certainly didn't want to regret it because until the end, your relationship with Carol was the best thing that ever happened to you. Knowing that made it so much harder to move on. Not to mention a large part of you didn't even want to. You loved Carol. Making yourself fall out of love with her was just as difficult as when you had tried to stop yourself falling in love her nearly a year prior.

Given the absence of progress between you and the Captain, you honestly thought you were hallucinating when she called your name one day after school. You spun around in every direction to find her, something that wasn't that hard when she came jogging towards you. "Can we go somewhere more private?" She asked as she glanced at the onlookers. You nodded quickly, your mouth and throat feeling far too dry for you to even attempt to speak.

You walked in an extremely awkward silence towards the field. You were waiting for Carol to speak first and you were hoping she wasn't thinking that you would do the same thing given she had approached you. Unless she had done it on a whim, you really hoped not. It was only when you were alone that she piped up.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out. You glanced at her in surprise, an apology was the last thing you were expecting. "I'm so so sorry. I was so stupid- beyond stupid. What I did was something I promised I never would and I hate myself every moment for it." You stared at the blonde blankly as she continued to ramble away. You had never seen her so frantic and you were so taken off guard by it you didn't have a chance to notice the irony of what was happening and how drastically the roles had been reversed.

"I was just so scared and that's not an excuse I'm just trying to explain." She paused to peer at you properly, waiting to see if you really understood that. You gave her another weak nod. "I didn't know what to do. It felt like I couldn't trust anyone and I got defensive to try and protect myself. I didn't mean any of it. Anything. Especially about not finding the secret hard." That was something you had been longing to hear but once you did you couldn't bring it in yourself to believe her. "There were days I had to stop myself screaming in the corridors or in the cafeteria that I was in love with you. It was even harder not being able to hug or kiss you whenever I wanted to." You listened on intently.

"I just wanted what was best for you and I didn't know what that was." She admitted. You had the sudden strong urge to reach out and hug Carol, but you also wanted to walk away. You didn't get much chance to consider your options because a group of Carol's old friends came sauntering around the corner, eyes lighting up at the sight of you and the Captain.

"Don't stop on our account." One of them snickered.

"If you're gonna dyke out you might as well make a show out of it." Another added. Your skin crawled in discomfort and Carol noticed instantly.

"Fuck off." She spat but the group ignored her.

"You know you probably just haven't had the right dick." The first one said as he eyed you up and down. You backed up and found yourself moving closer to Carol. "I'm sure I could make you straight again." He mused sickeningly and made to grab your wrist but the blonde stepped in front of you.

"I said fuck off. No one wants your two inches, Walker." She challenged and got an instant reaction. He went to swing at Carol but she swiftly kneed him in the groin before he got the chance, barely able to stop herself smirking when he doubled over with a groan. The blonde turned to you and jumped forwards when she saw one of the other boys go to grab you.

"You get the fuck away from her." Acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, Carol swung her fist forwards and caught the jock in the jaw with a crunch. The other boys looked between the two injured and Carol, quickly making their call in grabbing their friends to leave.

Carol turned to you swiftly with worry and concern on every inch of her face. "Are you alright?" She asked as her eyes scanned you for any signs of injury. You gave a shaky yes, avoiding Carol's gaze. "Fuck, this is the kind of thing I was always afraid of, above everything else." She said as she ran a hand through her hair. You caught sight of her red fist and without any thought, took ahold of her hand gently. You ran your fingers over the redness softly, not realizing you were crying until a tear dropped down onto Carol's hand. At the sight of it you broke down crying more.

"Oh ba- y/n." The blonde sighed, heart breaking in smaller pieces at the sight of you. It hurt even more to see when she wasn't sure if she could hug you or not. Luckily for her she didn't have to feel useless for long because you reached out for her and clung onto her jacket as you buried your face into her chest, crying harder. "I've got you. It's okay, they're gone." She cooed. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again." You knew she was thinking of herself more than the boys when she said that.

You stood like that for a while, crying against Carol as she rubbed your back and continued to whisper reassurances to you. "Promise." You hiccuped between sniffles.

"I promise." She said instantly. You slowly pulled away to read Carol properly, watching closely for any tell of a lie and finding none. "Could you give me another chance?" The blonde asked, barely above a whisper as she feared your response. She would respect it entirely if you said no, but she really hoped you wouldn't. "There won't be anymore secrets and I'll never be a dick to you ever again."

"I'm scared." You admitted and Carol nodded tightly as she fought back tears herself.

"Me too." She admitted. "We don't have to stay here." You lifted your head up to look at Carol clearly and she continued. "We could leave, go where ever we want. There's only a couple months left of this shithole."

"A couple months." You repeated. Carol nodded encouragingly, desperate to find a bright side and winning point.

"Could you do a couple more months here?" She asked carefully and you nodded after a few seconds.

"Lets do it." You said with a sharp intake of breath.

"Fuck, really?" She laughed lightly and you found yourself doing the same.

"Yeah." You smiled. "I can't stop loving you and I don't want to." Tears started to fall down Carol's cheeks. You cupped her face gently and wiped the tears away with your thumbs. The blonde's own hands held yours as she smiled down at you.

"I love you too." With a sudden, unexpected, burst of confidence, you leaned forwards and kissed Carol longingly. She deepened the kiss instantly and wrapped her arms around your waist to keep you as close as possible, like she never wanted to let you go again.

"Everything's gonna work out." She whispered once she pulled away to rest your foreheads together.

"Of course it is." You smiled softly. "You'll be with me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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[literalprincess]

Their Love Was Made of Promises

Pairing: Fremione

Summary: Fred and Hermione’s relationship began in his final year and ended in hers.

Excerpt: “You better watch it, Fred.” She warned. “I have the power to give you detentions this year if you act up and I won’t go easy.”

“Promise?” Fred asked challengingly.

Word count: 4750

AO3

“To Ron and Hermione being announced as prefects,” Molly held up her glass in a toast. Everyone sat around the large dining table at 12 Grimmauld Place cheered. It was the night before they were set to return to Hogwarts and the Order had gathered to celebrate.

“Don’t worry, Harry. Your dad and I weren’t picked for prefects either. Something about a ‘spotty record’ or something like that.” Sirius said with a wink to his godson. Harry smiled back at him, cheered by his revelation.

“May we also congratulate Harry, who was cleared of all charges and allowed to attend Hogwarts this year!” Molly continued and another whoop came from the table. “And well done to Fred and George for making it to their final year.”

The twins stood during their cheer, bowing dramatically.

“Thank you, mother,” George said.

“We certainly were surprised too,” Fred added.

“We can’t say we’ll be the smartest,” George admitted.

“But we will certainly make it interesting.” Fred finished as the two once again bowed and returned to their seats while everyone else laughed.

Fred turned to his right where Hermione was sat. “Aren’t you excited, Granger?”

“You better watch it, Fred.” She warned. “I have the power to give you detentions this year if you act up and I won’t go easy.”

“Promise?” Fred asked challengingly.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

She definitely didn’t go easy on him. Fred had amassed three detentions in the first few weeks of classes for advertising to test his inventions on students. He had argued it was unfair, why should he alone be made to sit in detention when George was equally guilty. Hermione rationalised that it was because she hadn’t seen George hanging posters and trying to talk first years into risking their health. It had gone back and forth until finally, Fred conceded. If his punishment was to be stuck in a classroom for an hour at a time with Hermione, then he would happily serve his time.

“You know,” Fred said after they had been sitting in the charms room for forty-five of the sixty-minute detention. “This is sort of like a date.”

“Oh really?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah well, it’s just me and you alone.” He gestured between them. “Sat closely in an empty room.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “Anything could happen.”

“You’re the one that sat next to me,” she said. “I’m pretty sure you’re not even supposed to be this side of the desk.” She gestured to the teacher’s desk and where he had pulled up a chair beside her.

“It’s cold,” He justified. “It’s not my fault it’s September and you picked a room without a fireplace.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Is that all that constitutes a date to you, then? Being sat alone in a room.”

“To start with.” He said. “Though I would have much preferred our first date to be somewhere a little nicer than Flitwick’s room” He sighed as he looked around at the dusty room. “Still, I’m sure we can still make this work.”

Hermione snorted at his words. “Say this was a date, where exactly would it have been?” She asked a bit too curiously.

“You’ll have to find out.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his response “Wha-”

“Times up,” Fred announced, pointing to the clock. “But how about Saturday? I can show you what a real date should look like.” He playfully winked as he helped her gather her belongings.

“Okay,” She replied, her cheeks dusted pink. “But promise to stop testing your products on unsuspecting first years, I really do worry about them,” Hermione asked seriously as they left the classroom. “And tuck your shirt in, Weasley.”

“For you, Hermione? Anything.”

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Since Fred and George’s shop had opened earlier that month it had been wildly successful. Hermione had seemed to love the design when she had first seen it. The mismatched furniture, the insane colour scheme and the constantly bustling shop, she claimed, fit them perfectly. He had been pleased to hear it, not realising until then how much he had wanted her approval.

He stayed at the Burrow during her easter break, not wanting to waste any time with her. They spent their days after he finished in the shop going for adventures in the surrounding fields. He showed her where he and George had built a fort years ago.

“We did it the muggle way,” he bragged as he showed off the small den. It had been assembled by gathering large sticks and balancing them together like a teepee. “Though, it’s a bit small for us now.” He tapped the hut with the toe of his shoe. He wasn’t sure if even his whole torso would fit in there anymore.

“It’s brilliant,” Hermione stated, smiling at the charming structure.

“I’ve been thinking,” Fred said that night in the front room. It had been a couple of hours since everyone else had gone to bed. Hermione’s leg was thrown over one of his, her head tucked under his chin. The heat of the fire and the blankets piled on them kept them in a snuggly state on the sofa.

“Hm?” She asked wordlessly, blissfully dozing on his chest.

“I love you,” He said. He wanted to say it before she had to return for the next term of school.

She raised herself on her elbows, looking down at him with fervent eyes. “I love you too.”

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That summer, Fred had been ecstatic when Hemione had asked to help experiment with new ideas for products. She had taken to staying with him in the flat upstairs on the nights they were up late trialling new potions or talking.

“Hermione!” Fred called from the experimentation room one morning. The potion he was working on had just blown up in his face, casting off large gooey chunks all over the room and on him. There was no way he could clean all this himself.

“Yeah?” Her voice came distantly from the living room upstairs.

“Remember how you promised to love me no matter what?” He called back, already bracing himself for a scolding.

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“I got you something,” Fred said when they were waiting at the platform for the Hogwarts Express.

“Really?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Yeah, for your birthday and to congratulate you on achieving ten O.W.L.s,” she had amazed him by her brilliance, “but also to keep you from missing me too much this year.” He said teasingly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.

“It’s not going to explode is it?” She asked warily, eyeing the box in her hand.

“No spoilers,” Fred replied. “Just, wait till your birthday to open it, okay?”

His wrist warmed when he was in bed a few weeks later. She had waited.

He looked down at the thin bracelet on his wrist, the twin to Hermione’s. He had gotten the idea from her last year with the DA coins. If they were to tap the band twice with two fingers, the other’s band would warm. He had thought that that way, they could let the other know they were thinking about them.

He soon after received an owl from her.

Thank you for my bracelet, I love it. I swear I’m never going to take it off.

Love you, H.

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“What an arse,” Fred said. He had been owling Hermione during her first term back and was less than impressed by Cormac Mclaggen’s pursuit of Hermione. She had been made very uncomfortable, especially when he had relentlessly followed her around at Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party. In her latest letter, she had recalled his latest attempt to impress her by bragging about his Quidditch skills. His attempts to put down Harry, Ginny and Ron in order to upraise his own prestige had irritated Hermione to the point of an outburst. Fred wished he could have been there. Instead, he sent Mclaggen a gift.

Hermione and Fred spent boxing day in his new muggle-style fort, a surprise from Hermione. After the loud celebratory Christmas, they both enjoyed the quiet day spent in the woods together.

“I think we could stay here,” Fred said as he looked around at the sizable fortress. He could already imagine where he’d put furniture. “No one would find us this far out.”

It was a tempting offer, but Hermione shook her head. “No, I’d need running water. Besides, how would we find food? I doubt you watched Bear Grylls growing up.”

“Bear who?”

“Exactly. We’d be hopeless.”

“Well, it’s an option.” He was almost gutted. “We could avoid everyone if we wanted.”

“Hmm, speaking of avoiding people,” Hermione had been reminded of her last dinner before returning home for Christmas “did you anonymously owl Mclaggen a boxing telescope?” Hermione asked.

“..would you still love me if I did?” Fred asked.

She smiled.

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“I bet you a fiver you cry at the vows,” Fred said as they exited the fireplace. The majority of their day had been spent making last-minute changes and plans for Bill and Fleur’s upcoming wedding.

“You may never know if I do,” Hermione said. “It’s not too late to buy a fascinator, I’ll wear one and you won’t be able to tell from the front.”

“You little witch.” Fred flopped down on the sofa, patting the spot next to him for her to join him. “I’ll know, though. You can try and hide it but I would see it on your face.”

“Maybe.” He would, he had spent enough hours staring at her.

“We can’t hide anything from each other. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, you’re stuck with me.”

She hadn’t smiled as he had expected. In fact, her gaze became troubled and she focused on a spot on the wall.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

She looked up at him again, her face apprehensive.

“Why are you upset?” He asked, unsure why her mood had shifted so suddenly. “It’s soon, isn’t it? When you leave.”

She nodded her head, unable to talk past her choked throat.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He said, his mind already in turmoil. He had to be strong for her.

“It won’t.” She was right, of course, she always was. “Fred, I can’t do this. I’m not ready.” The pain in her eyes broke his heart.

“You are ready, I know you are. I know you.” He pulled her into his side. “You’ll do this and then you can come home and we will finally adopt a cat because George will bugger off and move out.”

She huffed a laugh.

“Life will go on after all of this ends. I promise it will.”

“Fred,” Her eyes were anguished. “We need to-” She cut herself off, struggling to find the right words. “There is a very real possibility that something will go wrong and I won’t come back. I need to tell you that-”

This time it was he who interrupted her. “Nothing will go wrong. You will survive this. I will make sure of it.”

“No one has the power to guarantee that.”

“I do. I would trade my life for yours if it came down to it, don’t think I won’t.”

“Then maybe you don’t know me. You can’t say you’ll do that, I would not let that happen.”

“Like hell, I can’t. Watch me.” She had been through so much pain, she had made herself an orphan just to keep her parents safe and was facing an unknown amount of time on the run from a terrorist group set out to kill her and her best friends. He would protect her or he would die trying.

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The morning of the wedding Hermione had smiled at breakfast, laughing with his sister as they fluttered around getting ready. Fred had almost made himself late just watching her. She wore red, the same shade as the jumper he had given her two years ago when they had started dating. The golden ‘F’ knitted in the front had looked too pretty on her for him to ever take back.

She cried during the ceremony, just as he had bet, but he felt no victory from her tears. He caught her gaze, trying to reassure her from his position in line with his brothers. She had given him a watery smile before looking down to her small beaded bag.

When they danced, he held her tight, her head tucked under his chin. Soon she would be leaving, it was an inevitability. They hadn’t discussed it again, when he had tried to bring it up she had hushed him and told him that she didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to remain in the present, tucked into his arms.

They slowly spun on the dancefloor, completely absorbed in each other. He felt her tears wet his shirt. The moisture made his chest contract. He squeezed her closer, the movement compelling a small sob from her. He pulled back enough to look at her. Her face was red, she looked agonised.

“What is it, love?” He asked her. He would tear his heart from his chest if it would stop her misery.

“I-.” She said, struggling past a lump in her throat.

He brought her out of the tent, leading her inside the quiet cottage. The sofa on which she sat was where he had first told her he loved her by the light of the fire over a year ago.

“I don’t love you anymore.” She said as he knelt in front of her. Her tears had stopped, her face solidified into impassiveness.

“What? Since when?” He asked, confused.

“Now.” She said as she looked into the low fire. “Just now.”

He made her look at him in the eye. “You’re just scared. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving, I love you. None of it matters.”

“It’s too late,” She said, still stone-faced. “I don’t love you anymore.”

“Stop doing this. Don’t pull away from me when we need each other the most.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t need you.”

“Can you honestly say you feel nothing for me? You can’t, I know you can’t. Just, please. Don’t do this,” he pleaded with her. “You aren’t helping either of us by doing this.”

She didn’t reply to him, she just continued to stare at him. This was not the person who had been in love with him since she was twelve years old, who had planned the rest of her life with him. That person had stepped away, allowing this stranger control.

She didn’t speak again, regardless of how much he begged her to please talk to him. The only thing she did respond to was a sudden commotion from outside. There was screaming and chaos, the sky alight with fire. She rose for the door but he grabbed her arm before she could leave.

“You promised,” He said, his voice breaking.

He pleaded with his eyes for her to stay but she just turned away. He could have collapsed into a heap from the force of that final blow but his family was out there. The ministry had fallen, the Death Eaters had arrived.  Hermione was already gone.

When the Death Eaters had finally gone and the remaining Weasley family had finished cleaning the disorder, Fred got more drunk than he had been since he was sixteen.

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It had been three months since she had gone. George had since moved back into the Burrow, claiming a want to be there for their Mum. Fred suspected it was to avoid him, not that he could blame George. He couldn’t bring himself to wash the sheets or move anything Hermione had left in the flat. There was one of his t-shirts she liked to sleep in still neatly folded under her pillow where she had put it the morning of the wedding. Her books piled on most empty surfaces of his living room, she had meant to clean them but hadn’t gotten around to doing so. She existed only as a ghost to him now. He embraced it, the haunting memory of her love the only way he could feel she was with him. He could hear her in the silence of the flat, see her in the corner of his eye. If she were to come back, Fred would be right where she had left him.

He considered that maybe this wasn’t healthy, that she was still alive and fighting to end the war, but she had refused any and all communication. She had taken off her bracelet without him even realising. He had found it in her bedside drawer. He sent a Patronus one night, the bird impatiently flying out of his open window. He had wondered that if he could fly fast enough, would if he able to follow the bird to her. Even if he could have, he was disappointed to find later the wispy figure returned having been unable to find her. She had made herself untraceable, even to him.

It was on one of the days George had dragged him to the Burrow that they received any type of update. Ron trudged through the kitchen door, shabby and crabby but no worse for wear. For a heartbeat, Fred allowed himself to hope that it was over. That Hermione and Harry would follow in behind him, smiles on their faces. It wasn’t over.

He learnt from Ron that they had been listening to Lee Jordans’s Potterwatch. This made his heart lift by some degree. He had put, into the broadcasts, messages to Hermione to remind her that he was still here, waiting for her, fighting for her. He insisted, when the next broadcast came, to speak.

Christmas was the most melancholy in Weasley history. Not only were Harry and Hermione still out facing Merlin knows what, Percy was still in London, Arthur was under strict surveillance at the Ministry and Ginny’s account of Hogwarts sounded near dystopian. Ron had also grown more and more miserable. He spent most of his day in silence, stewing. Fred pulled him aside that night when everyone had retreated to bed early, eager to have the day be over.

“You’re going back, aren’t you?” Fred asked.

“I don’t know how, but I’m going to try,” Ron admitted.

Fred nodded at him. “I need you to do something for me.”

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He was woken from his bed in the middle of the night. Disorientated in the unfamiliar bedroom at their Aunt Muriels, he almost missed George’s words. “She’s at the cottage.”

He shot up, alert. “What do you mean? Bill’s cottage? Right now?” He raced around the room already getting dressed.

“Fred, sit down,” George said morosely from where he sat on the bed. “That’s not all.”

Fred sat down begrudgingly, already apprehensive of the expression on his brother’s face. “What else is there?”

“They got caught by snatchers.” George began slowly.

Fred shot up again, unable to remain still. He wanted to rush there. Why was his brother still sitting?

“Fred,” George said. His voice caught and Fred saw for the first time that there were tears running down his face. “She was taken to Malfoy Manor. They-” He again choked on his words. “They interrogated her; used the cruciatus curse and carved into her arm.”

Fred sank to the floor. This had to be wrong. Hermione was fine, she had to be fine. He shot up, once again rushing to get ready. “Why aren’t we leaving? We need to see her.”

“I’m sorry, Freddie,” George said, still sitting on the bed. “I’ve only just found out. Harry had Bill and Fleur sworn to secrecy for their own safety.”

Fred stopped. “What are you saying, George?” He looked at him in dread.

“They’re leaving,” George explained.

“What do you mean ‘leaving’? She needs to heal!” Fred said frantically.

“They’ve been there for weeks already,” George said. “They need to keep going now more than ever, you know they do.”

Fred sat on the bed beside his brother, wiping his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “When do they go?” He asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” George admitted. “But if you leave now, you might catch them.”

Fred looked to him, a hopeful glint in George’s eye. He stood without speaking and apparated out of their small room.

He apparated on the beach. The cascading waves tremulously pounded into the sand, the shriek of gulls echoing in his ears. From the raised cliffs a small distance away, he saw four figures. One was short, he thought perhaps a goblin, two were Ron and Harry, he was sure of it after recognising them during quidditch so often from a distance. The last, however, was a mystery. It was a woman, he was sure of that, but her stature was unfamiliar to him. They disappeared from the cliff before he had the chance to call out.

He looked to the small house, Hermione must still be within. He ran, kicking up sand and almost tripping in the weeds. He charged through the door, scaring Bill and Fleur inside.

“Fred?” They looked to him in confusion.

“Where’s Hermione?” he blurted, already hectically searching the kitchen. When he didn’t find her he charged through the door, searching the whole house before returning to the kitchen. He looked at them expectantly.

“She just left,” Bill said, baffled by his brother's behaviour.

“But I,” Fred began, deflating. “No one told me.”

Bill got up, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Fred. She told us she didn’t want you to know.”

He had to get out of this house, the house where she had hidden from him in. He stormed out of the door, apparating away as soon as he was outside of the surrounding boundary.

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Fred hadn’t remembered putting it in his jacket, the fake Galleon he had received from Hermione as part of Dumbledore’s army two years ago, but the next day it reactivated. The heat of the coin cut through the fabric, warming his chest where it rested against his skin. Pulling it out, Fred examined it. The date had changed around the edge. Today. Now. He had to tell George.

His twin already knew, in his hand a small radio calling repeatedly:

Lightning has struck! Lightning has struck!

“Ready Fred?” George asked.

“Ready George!” Fred replied.

He wasn’t sure if it was purposeful, clothes matching with his brother’s, or a subconscious link to connect them through what was to come. Either way, when they stepped into the tunnel in the Hog’s Head, they did it as a team.

They entered the cramped base, like the other Order members, to whoops and cheers. Dozens of students crowded around the mouth of the tunnel to greet them. Fred paid them half-hearted greetings, his eyes searching the room.

He found her by instinct, seven years of watching her had that effect. She was scruffy, her favourite hoodie smeared with dirt and her hair half falling out of its braid, but her eyes were alight and met his.

He pushed through the crowd, desperate to be closer to her. When he approached, neither said any words and moulded against each other in a tight embrace. Home. He was home for the first time in months. Both of their faces were soaked with tears when they parted, coming together in a watery kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said against his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She kept repeating it, pulling him closer as she did.

“Hermione,” Fred said, pulling back the least he could to see her. “It’s good to see you.”

They didn’t have time for a longer reunion. Snape was rallying all of the students, it was time. They kept ahold of each other all the while, from the seventh floor to the Great Hall and through everything that happened. When Snape retreated through the large stained glass window, glass showering down around them, they knew they had to let go.

“I need to go, he needs me.” She said.

“I know,” He replied. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She said, reaching up to give him a slow, meaningful kiss.

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The battle raged on around Fred who narrowly avoided the spells flying past his head. Midnight had passed and Voldemort’s forces had invaded the castle. He hadn’t seen Hermione since their separation before her search for the diadem. He could feel her presence through the bracelet he had had returned to her the day after Christmas.

With Percy at his back, they fought their way through the castle. Red and green exploded around them like fireworks. A distant part of Fred’s brain thought of the last time he had been in this castle and the exuberant display he had George had released. It felt so much longer than eighteen months ago.

Hermione, Ron and Harry emerged from down the corridor. The warmth caused by his proximity to Hermione fuelling his reflection and aiming of spells. He felt more alive and happy than he could ever remember feeling.

An errant spell de-masked the Death Eater Percy was duelling with. It was the Minister of Magic. Percy, likely filled with the same exhilaration as the rest of them, quipped to his superior.

“You actually are joking, Perce. I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were-”

Everything cut out.

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It had been the last time Fred had truly laughed in nine months. When they pulled his body from the wreckage of the demolished wall, the smile was still etched upon his face.

They had to move him, that much was clear, but Hermione didn’t want to abandon him again. She wouldn’t stuff him in a niche where a suit of armour had previously been as the others urged. There was only one Horcrux left, Harry and Ron could finish it together. She stayed with Fred as the world continued to fall apart.

They had come so close their happy ending. But that didn’t matter now.

Fred was dead.

They won the war in the end but a large part of Hermione never left that battle.

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She spent over a month clearing his stuff out of the flat. Seeing the physical impact of her decisions tormented her. He hadn’t moved anything, she was almost certain that if she went into the bathroom even her toiletries would be in the exact place she had left them. She had devastated him, made him miserable. How could she justify that breaking up with him had been what she had thought was best for him.

In the trunk at the end of their bed, she found a collection of parchment tied together by a cord of leather. They were letters, or at least some were, others were just half-finished notes or scribbled sentences.

Hermione, love, please let me speak to you.

Running away doesn’t help anyone...

I know why you did it but…

I miss you.

I still love you.  

The phrases jumped from the pages, each of them a fresh strike. It took days before she could approach the trunk again. Buried at the bottom of the trunk, she found a sealed envelope with her name carefully written on it. Tentatively, she broke the wax to remove the letter.

Hermione,

If you’re reading this, I’ve died. I know I said nothing bad would happen so it would appear you are right again. Even the best of us are wrong sometimes, you’ll have to forgive me for that. Everyone wants a happy ending, mine was to live here with you until we were both old and grey. Life doesn’t guarantee anything, however, so capture happiness wherever you can.

I don’t blame you for leaving me. We are both very stubborn and I probably would have done the same in your position. I only regret the time we lost but I will be waiting on this side until you join me. Promise it won’t be for a long, long time. Until then, don’t be sad or mourn me. I have had a great life in this world and you have shown me what it means to truly love somebody and be loved in return. For that, I will forever be grateful. I am onto the next great adventure discovering the mysteries of what lies beyond.

I have written letters for George and the rest of my family, please deliver them for me. Give them all a kiss from me, for you have all of my love now and always.

Forever yours,

Fred.

#fremione #fremione fanfiction #fremione fanfic #fred weasley #fred deserved better #Fred Weasley x Hermione Granger #Fred x Hermione #Harry Potter #hp #hp ff #hp fandom #hp fanfiction #fremione ff #weasley twins #fred and George weasley #fred and george #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fan fiction #dont hate me #I had to

[snowdice]

Something Left (Part 1 of the series Is There Anything Left of Patton?)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Logan, Logan/Patton(?)

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Patton(?)

Summary:  Virgil has been living in Logan’s house for 3 months and they get along pretty good. Their abilities seem to balance each other out making them a good team for the apocalyptic world outside their door.

Then he finds the secret in Logan’s basement... He almost wishes that secret was as simple as he first thought it was.

In which I set up a world where Logan is probably crying like 85% of the time.

Notes: Zombie Apocalypse AU, Past major character death(?), Look it’s a zombie AU so you can probably guess why there’s a question mark after everything involving Patton.

Three months. It had been what passed for a normal three months, a good three months even. Especially when compared to the three months before it and even more to the three months before that. Don’t even get him started on the three months before that; those months had been the shittiest months. Those three months had started out with him working at a coffee shop trying to pay rent while look for a better job and ended with him almost dying because he had to jump off a bridge into running water to save himself from a pack of zombies.

These last three months had been good comparatively. This was mostly because he’d been living in Logan’s house for almost the entire time. Logan’s house had actually been his (as far as Virgil could tell) from before. That or he’d bothered to lug cases of old college textbooks with his handwriting scribbled in the margins and boxes of photographs with him in them through the zombie apocalypse.

It was a nice house even now and sat on the outskirts of what used to be a town. Virgil had no idea how he’d managed to hold down the fort during the outbreak or how he’d managed to not get overrun after it. He imagined that the population of the dead in the vicinity of his house was a lot smaller now than it had been at onset, but it was still sizable enough that Virgil had almost gotten eaten while scavenging in a neighboring house. That is how his met Logan.

Virgil had been certain he’d been about to die since he’d just barely been holding back teeth from chomping his face, when a single bullet had gone through the zombie’s head and embedded itself right to the left of Virgil’s own skull. Even just the one gunshot, of course, alerted every mindless carnivore in the area of their location, so they’d scrambled into his house to wait it out.

Virgil had just… not left. He’d never really been invited, but he’d also never been asked to leave so he’d just stayed. He contributed of course. Virgil was pretty good with the little garden out back while Logan seemed to have… whatever the opposite of a green thumb was. He seemed to appreciate Virgil taking it over. Virgil was pretty sure the plants themselves cried in relief.

Despite his lack of skill in the gardening department, Logan was pretty good at things like hunting (managing to only kill the zombie and not also shoot Virgil had not been a lucky shot) and keeping the house structurally sound. They both were okay at scavenging which was much easier with two of them and they worked well together.

Also, Logan was nice to talk to, especially since Virgil had been alone for a long time during the last year. He was a good guy if a bit eccentric. He’d disappear for hours into the maze that was his house and Virgil often found him reading in odd places, but he was chill and smart.

Well.

At least, that’s what Virgil had thought.

“God dammit. You’re one of those people. Fuck.” Virgil said.

“It,” he said standing in his secret, fucking, dead body prison basement, “It isn’t like that.”

“You know, Logan,” Virgil said. “That’s what they all say.” He gestured at the thing in the cage. Even though he knew there was nothing going on in its head, Virgil couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for it all trussed up like that in the corner, squirming and making horrible sounds behind a gag. “So, what? Huh? Is it someone you think you care about too much to put out of its misery even though it might kill anything it comes into contact with? Are you keeping it for some sort of last-minute defense for your house? Do you do science experiments on it out of some perverted need to know more about them? Tell me, because I’ve honestly run the gambit of crazy assholes in the last year.”

“No,” Logan said. “I…” he sighed. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I don’t understand?” Virgil scoffed. “Why don’t you explain it to me? Why do you have a zombie in the basement of your house. The house I lived in for the past three months without you thinking to tell me about this?”

Logan looked at him for a moment. “Very well.” He grabbed a set of keys on the wall and moved over to the enclosure.

Virgil lunged forward to grab his arm when he moved to put the key in the lock. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Logan didn’t try to pull away from his hold. He just spoke calmly, face neutral. “He is restrained well on the other side of this cell. I will lock the door behind me. You won’t be in danger.”

“You’re fucking nuts,” Virgil spat. “What am I supposed to do. Just stand on the other side of the bars and watch you get ripped to shreds by that thing?”

“I will not get ripped to shreds,” Logan promised. “I’ve been in that cell many times. I know how to deal with him. Please let me explain myself.”

Virgil cursed, but released him. He took a few long steps back while Logan unlocked the cage. His warry eyes went to the creature who was stirring at the noise, but it did seem well restrained. As he had promised, Logan locked the door behind himself.

The thing grew more agitated as Logan approached, straining against its bonds and making sickening noises behind the gag. Logan went to his knees in front of it, a sad smile on his face. “Hello Patton.” Logan reached for the handcuff locks.

“You’re so fucking nuts!” Virgil said, but it did not deter the other man and it was not like Virgil could stop him from the other side of the bars. He didn’t even have the keys if he wanted to enter the cage. When Logan released the thing’s arms, it reached forward, its fingers grazing Logan’s cheeks in a move Virgil recognized. He’d seen people get pulled in with motions like that. Mindless dead fingers grabbed and grabbed, pulling you toward deadly teeth so they could tear you apart. The only thing keeping Logan from being a snack was the gag in the things mouth, but as Virgil watched, he reached up a hand to take that out. From experience, Virgil expected it to lunge directly towards Logan’s neck, but it… but it didn’t.

It continued to reach for him, and the raspy moans got even more haunting without the gag smothering them, but it did not attack. Despite all rational thought, Virgil felt himself draw closer to the bars of the cell to watch. Logan calmly set the gag to the side as though he was not being clawed at by a mindless dead thing and then, he reached up to press the inside of his wrist to the creature’s mouth. “I don’t know why,” Logan said, very much not being bitten. The creature seemed discontented with this new thing covering its mouth and titled its face to get away. “Perhaps it is a different strain of the virus or something went wrong with the turning. Maybe it’s just him. He was a good man in his life. He wouldn’t even let me kill bugs he found in the house. Perhaps there is an echo of that leftover that keeps him from hurting people. Or maybe it’s just me; I wouldn’t risk anyone else to test out if he’d attack another. That’s why I keep him restrained here.”

“I…” Virgil said. “Fuck.”

Logan looked up and Virgil was shocked to see that despite the level tone he’d been using the whole time, there were tears leaking from his eyes. “You can see why I can’t just finish him off though. Even if perhaps I should. I just…” and his voice finally wavered as he gave an aborted sob. The creature reached and reached mindlessly for him, brushing his face again and again with its fingertips. Logan grabbed its hands and held them between his own. “I-I don’t know what you want, dear,” he whispered. The creature wiggled and pulled against the grip. Logan cleared his throat. “Virgil would you perhaps mind sliding me the first aid kit on the table over there?”

Virgil obeyed, grabbing it and sliding it through the bars to him. He took it and opened it with practiced ease. “You’ve hurt yourself again,” Logan said at a volume that made Virgil sure it was not meant for him. “Here, I’ll fix you right up. It’s okay.” There was a minute pause in the sounds it made. A reaction to the words? To the tone of them? Or did it just finally need a breath? Virgil could not be sure. It did not pause in the reaching, and the moaning started full force again right after. Logan rubbed some sort of cream into a mark near the creature’s elbow.

“Does that work?” Virgil asked. Most zombies he’d seen didn’t appear like they ever healed. They were often rotted and limping.

“He’s still living in some sense of the word. He heals if wounds are properly treated and he has enough nutrition. In fact, he seems to heal faster than before.”

Nutrition. “And uh, what do you feed him?”

“Meat. He doesn’t seem to have a preference for cooked or raw. He won’t eat anything else. Well, except for baked potatoes for some reason.”

“Backed potatoes?”

“He won’t eat mashed or fried.”

The creature stopped reaching for Logan in favor of attempted to get at the cream on its skin with its mouth. “No,” Logan scolded. It did not respond. He pushed its head back and picked up bandages to start wrapping the area.

“You know this is crazy, right?” Virgil asked.

“I do, but what do you expect me to do when there is something left of him?”

“I. Fuck,” was Virgil’s response. “Fuck.”

Want to read more? This is now part of a series! Click below for the next part of this story.

Someone You’ll Never Meet

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #adriana writes #zombie au #past major character death #angst #italop

[sxypigeon]

Chapter 20 - Bolin tries to write a screen play and everyone has a bad day

Book 5 Absolution (a mostly canon korrasami story)

Things in the refugee camps have gone downhill, Korra checks on Kuvira, and Asami tries not to murder Varrik.

Chapters  1,  19

---

The scene: A dusty Earth Kingdom village on the edge of the Si Wong Desert - a sleepy tourist town in its off season at dusk.

Enter: Ting-Ting in disguise wearing sandbender wraps and clothes, looking for his informant.  He walks down a side street and into the shadiest tavern, through the torn sheet acting as a door.  The interior is crowded and smokey, just the way Ting-Ting likes it.  He approaches the bar and says to the bartender -

“Bolin!”

Said earth bender turned from the window of the airship he’d been vacantly staring out of to his brother.  “What, I’m here - yes! . . . Um, could you repeat that in case I missed everything you just said?”

Mako sighed and rolled his eyes from his seat opposite him, next to Jeong.  “I asked you if you enjoyed your time with Opal, but judging by the look you just had, I guess I don’t need an answer.”

Bolin frowned at the pair of them as they shared a smug smile.  “Of course I did, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about.  I have this idea for a mover I’m working on-”

“Still?” Mako asks in surprise.

“Well, yeah.  What with working on uniting the Earth Kingdom and then saving Republic City, I haven’t had a whole lot of time to work on it.”

“What’s it about?” Jeong asked with interest.

“Oh, here we go,” Mako muttered with a small exasperated grin.

A huge grin lit up Bolin’s face.  “It’s about an ex-United Forces operative named Ting-Ting who’s on the trail of his kidnapped love Ivy.  His arch-nemesis Dr. Razor took her as revenge for Ting-Ting’s last mission with the United Forces to shut down his illegal laboratory where he forced spirits and thugs to merge and become his minions.  Ting-Ting’s research leads him to the edge of the Si Wong Desert where his former partner, Lee, is undercover trying to bust a smuggling ring among the sandbenders.  All clues point to Dr. Razor using the lost city of Sobata in the middle of the desert as his base and the center of the sandbender’s smuggling operation.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of information.  Do you think people will be able to follow along with the plot?”

“Sure, I mean, maybe there’ll have to be a voiceover explaining some of the finer details, but I think-”

“We’re here,” Mako interrupted.  

Jeong smiled and shrugged, “Next time.”

“Yeah,” Bolin muttered, “maybe by then I’ll have a bit more of the plot worked out and not just the backstory.”

---

“What do you mean you took over an Earth Empire reeducation camp?  Where are you?!”

Kuvira sighed tiredly and rubbed her eyes.  The avatar, as usual, had chosen an inopportune time to appear.  “Reeducation Camp 11, just east of the mountains and Fort Senlin.”  She paused to yawn.  “I helped the prisoners overthrow their guards and we currently control the camp and it seems like the Empire forces are unaware.  Was that all - can I go back to sleep?  It’s been a long two days.”

The spectral form of the avatar glared at her for a moment before worry won out over anger.  “What’s your plan for the camp?  Are you going to keep control of it or shut it down?  I don’t think the prisoners will want to stay long if they have the option of leaving.”

She is the wettest blanket.  No appreciation for taking over a camp singlehandedly, I see.  “We’re working on a way to send some of the prisoners by boat to Republic City, others want to stay in the area and fight the Empire locally and reunite with their families,” Kuvira muttered through a yawn.  “Seriously, I’ve had maybe three hours of sleep in the last two days.  Let’s hurry this up.”

“Do you need back up or me to help in any way?”

“Other than going away and letting me sleep?”  Kuvira ignored another glare.  “Send a ship to meet the boat in three days.”

“What about the guards?”

“What about them?”

“Are they dead or your prisoners?  Do they need to be moved?”

“No one has died per your orders,” she sighed.  “I was going to destroy all of the camp except the cells and leave a few days of food.  Someone will investigate if radio-silence goes more than forty-eight hours.”

“Okay, what’s after this?”

I’m working on that, but your pestering isn’t helping.  Kuvira was quickly losing what little patience she had left.  “If all of this works?  Who knows, maybe I’ll open a tea shop in the middle ring of Ba Sing Se and retire.”

Korra looked ready to explode.  “I’m trying to help you!  We both want the same thing!  I can’t do anything for you if you don’t let me in on what you’re thinking.”

“And I’m telling you, right now, what I’m thinking about is sleep.  Now kindly disappear since that seems to be something you’re good at.”

---

This was a mistake.  Why did I ever agree to this?  This was one of the most important buildings in Asami’s entire company . . . and she was letting a known swindler and thief in through the front door.

“You know, I came up with something like this in a dream eighteen months ago,” Varrik said thoughtfully while passing an airplane large enough to hold two dozen people.

There is no plausible way this will end any way, but in disaster.  “As a reminder, Varrik, everything in this building and in or around the surrounding complex is off limits to you and Zhu Li.  These are trade secr-”

“Yeah, yeah.  Zhu Li, did you remember to pack the pumice scrub?  You know how bad my calluses get.” 

Asami gritted her teeth, but maintained a smile for her employee leading the tour.  He will steal at least one of my R&D designs.  He’ll steal it, copyright it, and then counter sue me when I try to take him to court over it.

Varrik wildly flung his arm in the direction of his wife’s head and pointed, “Hey, is that the break room?  Does it have a full kitchen?  Top quality genius requires expertly prepared, well-balanced meals.

He’s going to drive me insane and I’m going to kill him . . . then I’ll go to prison and never see Korra again . . . or I could go on the run and maybe Korra could come with me . . . as long as I don’t have to live in the sewers again.

The group came to a stop just inside the break room while Varrik tested the water pressure and temperature coming out of the taps in the kitchenette.  The tour guide, the head of the research building, approached her with a calm smile born from years of dealing with eccentric researchers. “Will there be anything else, Miss Sato?” 

“No, thank you, Mr. Taka.  That will be all,” she replied.  She waited for him to leave before waving her guests over and addressing them.  “I cannot emphasize this enough: everything you see here falls under the heading Trade Secret and cannot be copied or reproduced in any form-”

Varrik rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Asami’s shoulders.  “What are you, a broken record?.  I remember the forms your lawyer made us sign.  She read them all out loud - it nearly put me to sleep.”

“You can never be too careful,” Asami said with a forced smile.  Remember to breathe.  Maiming him won’t make this easier . . . or will it?  “Would you like some time to settle in or-”

“Heck no!  Let’s get straight to business!”  He stepped away, with a hand behind his back and a hand in the air, counting off what he needed on his fingers.  We’re going to need three heavy-duty electro-magnets, five industrial spools of thirty gauge copper wire, multiple sheets of pure platinum ranging from 0.25mm thickness to 5mm, and a pot of black tea every fifty-two minutes.”

Asami attempted to unclench her jaw before answering.  “Zhu Li warned - informed me of what we’d need.  It’s all set up in the lab.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?!  Zhu Li, do the thing!”

Asami watched the newlyweds practically run toward the ballistic R&D laboratory hopelessly.  Maybe everything will go fine . . . and maybe the Earth Empire will spontaneously surrender and give up their super weapons . . . and just maybe I’ll come out of this with my sanity intact.

---

“Is it just me or do these people not seem happy to see us?”  Bolin asked

Mako kept his head on a swivel.  Everyone on their path hurried away as they approached.  “They do not.”

“I don’t like this,” Jeong whispered.  “Something must have happened while we were away.”  She led the group down the dirt path between the rows of tents at a brisk pace.  “Dad!  What’s going on?  What-”

Jeong was stopped in front of her family's tent when the boys caught up to her.  The stricken look on the man’s face told them nearly all of the story.

Mako stepped beside the silent young woman and addressed her father gently, “What happened, sir?”

He breathed deeply and squared his shoulder, trying to hold his emotions in check.  “My son . . . and at least two other members of the neighborhood watch have been abducted.”

“No,” Bolin muttered hopelessly behind Mako.

“Did someone see any of this take place?  Are you sure they’re being held against their will?” Mako asked as he took out his notepad.

“Letters were sent to the families . . . delivered by young orphans we’ve seen with Triple Threat members.”

“This is my fault,” Jeong muttered in shock to herself.  “I stole that weapon.  I set up the watch.  I tried to drive the Triple Threats out of the area-”

“No!  You helped your neighbors!” Bolin insisted.  “Everything you did was to make everyone safer.  We’re going to get everyone back and bring the Triple Threats to justice!”

“Assigning blame isn’t going to help the situation,” Mako cut in, mostly to prevent Bolin from making more promises he wasn’t sure they could keep.  “May I see the letter you received?  Jeong, I need you to stay with your family while Bolin and I look into this.”

Perhaps as a sign of how distraught she was, Jeong simply nodded and headed into the tent.  Her father sighed sadly once she was inside.  “She’s tried so hard to help.  Here, find the bastards and bring my son home . . . please.”

Mako met his eyes and nodded as he took the letter.  “We’ll do everything in our power, sir.  I’ll let you know when I’ve learned anything.”  He grabbed Bolin by the arm and marched them back toward the airship they arrived on.

“Wait, aren’t we going to collect evidence and question the neighbors or stake out a . . .a tent or something?” Bolin asked.

Mako kept his face neutral.  “The two of us can’t take on an entire gang by ourselves.  We’re going to need back up.  There’s a radio in the airship.”

“Oh, right.  We can call for backup?”

“I hope so,” Mako muttered to himself.  If there is any . . .

---

Thanks for reading!

#korrasami #legend of korra #mako #bolin #Asami Sato #kuvira

[adrenaline-roulette]

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word count: 2K+ Warnings: Swearing, that’s really the only one for this chapter, I’ll change the warnings as necessary for each part. 

*Disclaimer, I really don’t know anything about the world of computer hacking and such, but I tried my best! 

Chapter one: Finding yourself

                                                  Well hello there! Look, I’m embarrassed and ashamed to admit this, but it’s taken me up until this past weekend to finally getting around to watching 6 Underground.

Now let me tell you, that shit was intense, hilarious, amazing, and my golly gosh, Ben Hardy has stolen my heart once again! There I was, thinking that he couldn’t get any more attractive after playing Roger, but no! I was oh so very wrong!

So basically, I fell down a rabbit hole of Four x Reader fics, and then while I was driving to work the other morning, I had an idea of my own for a story, and now here we are! I’ll let you all know now, this first chapter is basically just introducing Eight, but as of chapter 2 (Which will likely either be out tonight or at the very least by the end of this week), we will begin to get into the actual plot, and lets be honest, the smut. (We all want it, don’t pretend you don’t!)

I’m hoping you all enjoy this, and I would love to hear from you if you do!

@everything-isfucked, my sister from another mister, this goes out to you (You had better like it!)

Anyways, on with the show!!!

⫷⫷⫸⫸

Chapter one: Finding yourself

When your friends had asked you to join them for a night out on Friday, you had lied and said you had already made other plans. It wasn’t entirely a lie, however to most people, by saying you had plans, one would think they would involve you going out, and interacting with other people. This however, was not the case. To an extent you were interacting with people, actually no, let’s rephrase that, you were interacting with other people’s money.

Technology was your forte, everyone knew this, whether they understood the extent of your knowledge in the field, that was another question entirely. During school, all your subjects revolved around computer sciences, and it was to no one’s surprise when you had selected a degree in this exact field. Though you quickly found your assignments to be mundane and repetitive, designing a fully functioning website? You did that in your free time when you were seventeen! Create an app which allowed users to stream Netflix onto two screens at the same time? You had one upped that assignment with ease, your app allowed people to stream Netflix on one screen, YouTube on another screen, Or you could split screen, and have both playing at the same time on the same screen. Needless to say, while you professors were impressed with your abilities, your classmates were often found to be leering at you, snarky comments about how ‘because of you getting such a high grade, everyone else’s got dropped lower because they couldn’t compete.’ To you though, this wasn’t a competition, it was just something you loved to do! Of course, after years of doing the same sort of thing, your interests inevitably began to change. You knew the ins and outs of most apps and websites by now, you had studied them relentlessly when in the process of developing your own. So really, how hard would it be to use their coding against them, wreak a little havoc from the inside?

You had started off innocently enough, getting into your friend’s social media accounts, tweaking things in their settings just to get on their nerves. Slowly you built up to larger scale hacking, such as remotely logging into your professor’s laptop, not only finding the answers to the next five tests your class had, (Which you promptly made several copies of, selling them to your classmates online for $100 each) but also retrieving a few passwords that could have been far stronger than they were, (There’s a reason why most websites tell you if your password is weak, it’s to try and stop people like you from figuring it out!) With the passwords at hand, you were able to grant yourself access to anything you wanted in relation to your professor.  His bank account details? You had them. The password to access his bank account?  Well that just so happened to be the same password he used for his emails, which, oh look, you had that too! You had the ability to transfer all of his money from his account and into yours, something which you found yourself unable to do, despite his flawed internet security, you had no issue with the Professor, and although your moral compass was severely lacking by now, it was still strong enough to sway you away from robbing the man.

Your moral compass could only last for so long though, bills were piling up, your tuition fee was astronomical, add on top of that, your rent for the small apartment you had decided to stay in, to both escape your parents, and to avoid student housing, well the landlord had just upped the cost by $150 per week. You had a part time job, but the shifts had been dwindling as of late, and your savings account had reached dangerously low levels. Anyone else in your situation would do the same if they knew how, you told yourself as you found yourself diving deeper into a list of names you had found after weeks of searching. The list played host to the names of multi-millionaires  who were so called, ‘off the grid’. The people who were in hiding for one reason or another, the people who even the government didn’t know about, and definitely the kind of people that you, a broke student, should have nothing to do with, or know they exist.

All you had to do was select a name, just any name, then came the hard part, snoop around and find everything you need to grant yourself access to their bank. It was one thing to find the details needed when it was your Professor, but a totally other thing when it came the people on this list. These were the kind of people who had passwords to protect their passwords, passwords! Your eyes scan over the list one final time, before stopping on a somewhat familiar name. “What are you doing here?” You hum out, cocking your head to the side as you make up your mind, this is the person.

It took close to three weeks before you had retrieved all the information you required, and in that time, your savings were now obsolete, but that didn’t matter, it was Friday night, and you were about to make yourself filthy rich! “Sorry mate, it’s either this or I move back home.” You smirk, spinning back and forth on the black leather computer chair, your eyes sparkling as you look over the enormous number which was the balance of this strangers account. You knew what you were doing with this part, quickly you entered in  the necessary details, answering each and every security question with ease, before it finally came time to transfer the money to your account. “Just a bit to start with.” You decide, removing a few of the 0’s you had added for the amount you would transfer, “Can’t have the banks getting suspicious.”

                                                                               ********

The man stared at his phone, eyes narrowing into slits as he glared at the ever-changing bank balance. He hadn’t noticed it at first, I mean there was always so much money in there, how was he supposed to remember exactly how much he had? But the balance was dropping rapidly now, not by enough to cause him any concern, but surely enough to get on his nerves. There was nothing he could do to stop this though; he could hardly walk into his bank and demand they track down whoever had somehow gained access to his account.

No, he would have to solve this problem himself, surely it couldn’t be that hard to track them down, right?

                                                                              ********

Hacking was one hell of a slippery slope. One minute you were stealing someone’s money, and the next, you were assisting a group thieves who were robbing an exhibition which had come to the City’s largest museum. The exhibition was a collection of Georgian era clothes, and jewellery, which had been travelling across the globe, displaying some of the most exquisite pieces of fashion the world had ever seen. So far, the collection had made it three quarters of the way through its journey, and it was set to remain in your city for two months, before being packed up and moving on once again.

You don’t know whose idea it was for you all to use walkie talkies to communicate, but you felt like a child playing spies when you were handed yours that night. You didn’t give yourself the chance to think about that for too long though, as you quickly logged on to your set up, having situated yourself in a hotel which stood right across from the museum.  Usually it was packed with tourists, though after offering to pay triple the price for a room with a view of the museum for the night, miraculously the staff had found you an empty room. You had spent the entire afternoon lugging your bags up to the room, all your computer components securely housed in each bag. None of the hotel staff had paid you any mind as you brought up you twelfth and final bag, simply turning a blind eye to the oddity of the situation.

“Okay, I have eyes on the security guards.” You announce through your walkie talkie, eyes trained on one of the monitors which mirrored what the security cameras inside the museum saw. “Foxtrot, you need to go left up ahead. Romeo, stand still, don’t move until I say so, there’s a guard right near you.  Lima, you are getting way too close to a camera up ahead, either turn right now and go another way, or wait a few moments for it to pan back the way it came.”

This situation was stressful as hell, but the adrenaline which pumped through your veins kept you going, igniting a fire within you which begged for more. The trio in the museum listened to your every word, obeying each command as they crept closer to their target. An oval room near the far left of the museum, in this room there sat twenty pedestals, each playing host to necklaces, earrings, rings, and bracelets. Glass boxes encasing each item to keep them safe and protected. Not for much longer. “I can hear footsteps Quebec.” Lima whispers to you, and you frown, looking back to your monitors, scanning for anyone who may be approaching. At first you missed it, your eyes moving on to the next screen, but quickly they dart back, landing on a guard who had been up until a few minutes ago, permanently positioned near the bathrooms.

“Fuck, yes I see him. Foxtrot, Romeo, your path is clear for the rest of the way, but stop when you get to the doors of the oval room, don’t go in until I say so.” You watch the two figures nod their heads in understanding, before making their way as instructed. “Lima, go back the way you came, see if you can get into the storage closet at the end of the hall, I’ll tell you when to come out.”

“Quebec, we’re here and ready to go in.” Foxtrot announces, as you watch Lima close the closet door behind him, the guard who had been closing in on him none the wiser.

“Okay, here’s where it’s going to get loud.” You announce, turning to a new computer, fingers gliding across the keyboard at lighting speed. Delving deep into the security system for the museum, you finally stop when a window pops open, requesting an override password.  You had three chances to get this right, and you had four theories of what the password was. ‘Incorrect password’ the window reads, before you enter your second attempt. You hold your breath, waiting for the same message to appear, though this time it doesn’t. “Thank fuck.” You mumble, typing in the code needed for your distraction.

The fire alarms blares to life, a loud siren sounding throughout the entire museum. The security guards do just as you had expected, they all leave their posts and make their way to the front desk, all trying to find out what had caused the alarm to begin. It wouldn’t take them long to come to the conclusion that the alarm had tripped itself, but it would give your team long enough to smash and grab what they could. The sound of three hammers simultaneously smashing glass in the oval room is obscured by the alarm, and you watch as your masked teammates snatch up jewellery left, right and centre, shoving the items into their backpacks “That’s the last of it.” Foxtrot informs you, throwing the bag back over his shoulder.

“Okay, this is where we go blind, I’m cutting the cameras now, anyone who looks through them will see you arrive, but will never see you leave.” This is the tricky part, not only for your team who have to navigate their way out of the museum through the back entrance without your eyes to guide them. But also for you, who must now cut the security cameras for the entire museum, and then for the street cameras from the buildings out the back of the museum. You don’t have to do all the cameras outside, just enough to give your team room to make a clean getaway, leaving no trace of them to be found. You swipe your phone unlocked, resting it on the desk beside you, hitting shuffle on your playlist, Nutbush city limits playing at full volume. Smiling, you get to work, the song adding to the exhilaration of what you had just done.  Sure, not many people would be proud of robbing priceless artefacts from a museum, but hey, each to their own.

As you finish with the last building, its cameras shut off, your music drowns out the sound of the hotel door clicking shut softly. “Alright, you have a camera free street ahead of you. I’ll see you back at the rendezvous point for my cut.” You sign off on the walkie talkie, switching it off, after hearing an affirmative from your team on the ground. “Fuck yeah!” You cry happily, clapping your hands together three times, taking a moment to congratulate yourself on pulling off something that was this large scale.

“I wouldn’t say fuck yeah, in fact, I was leaning more towards fuck you.” Comes a voice from behind you, causing you to leap to your feet in surprise, spinning on the spot to face the stranger in your room.

“Who the hell are you?” You shriek, hands grabbing blindly at the desk behind you, searching for something you could use to defend yourself with.

“I’m the man you’ve been robbing for the past few months. I’m also the man who is going to kill you for doing so.”

Your fingers wrap around a solid object, and you lift it before you, holding it up in self-defence. You realise too late, that the hotel provided paper weight you were wielding, was nothing against the gun that was pointed directly at your chest.

Chapter Two My Masterlist

#four x reader #6 underground four #billy four #ben hardy four #6 underground fanfiction #four #hacker reader #number four #6 underground #reader insert #fan fic #fan fiction #6 underground one #6 underground two #6 underground three #6 underground five #6 underground seven #guns #murder? #theft #hacking #computer hacking #computer genius #robbery #heist #probably not how hacking works #sorry if I offend anyone with my lack of computer knowledge #Ben hardy #four fanfiction

[beanfic]

Simple Mistake - Ch.1

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: drinking, throwing up, too much alcohol, josh dancing, and mmm i think that is it? 

Author’s note: here it is!! the first chapter (of 5!) i really hope you guys enjoy and feedback is appreciated! also Y/F/N means ‘your friend’s name’ (and is gender neutral)

Chapter 2

“You look nice!” Your mom smiled at you as you slowly stumbled down the stairs. “Going somewhere?”

“Just to the bars with some friends,” you mumbled. You’ve been 21 for a while now, but it still was an odd concept that you could go drink and come back home with your parents and they would be alright with it. 

“You’re not driving are you?” 

“No, Tyler ordered us an uber. I believe it’s picking him up first, then Josh, and then a few others before swinging by here.” 

“Be safe!” Your mom shuffled over to you and placed a soft kiss on your temple. 

“I will, Mom.” You waved to her as you headed outside to sit on your porch. It was around 8 pm and the sun was starting to set. That was your favorite part about it being May, are the late sunsets. You looked out towards the sky which was painted with deep red and orange strokes. 

It was silent outside. Tranquil. Your heart was fluttering as you received a text in the group message. 

Josh: almost to your place, Y/N

Tyler: be ready

You smiled to yourself as you quickly typed out a response.

Y/N: waiting outside. The sunset is pretty.

Josh: almost as pretty as Tyler

Tyler: awe, thanks dude

You locked your phone and took a deep breath as you gazed back up at the sky. There were two birds flying through the distance, and you wondered if they were in love. Birds could fall in love, right? 

Sometimes you wondered if you would ever have someone to fly around with, metaphorically of course. You’ve tried the dating apps, you’ve tried having your friends act like wingmen, and you have even tried meeting someone at the bars but it wasn’t your thing. You couldn’t find yourself having those feelings, the ones you felt for a certain someone. 

A certain someone that you knew did not share those same feelings as you. 

A certain someone that you had fallen for about two years ago. A certain someone who has had a girlfriend for the past eight months. A certain someone that you had to act like you were just best friends with. 

That certain someone just happened to be Tyler Joseph. 

“Y/N!” your name was shouted from a distance. As you turned your head to gaze down the street, you spotted the Uber coming out and could see Josh sticking his head out the window.

“Hey guys,” you hopped into the back seat putting yourself next to Tyler who was sitting in the middle. 

“Josh decided to take two shots back at the apartment before heading out, so he has been quite something tonight,” your friend giggled from the front seat. 

“Of course he did,” you shook your head and you buckled yourself in. Your hand softly grazed against Tyler’s as you were trying to snap the buckle.

“Sorry,” you both mumbled in unison. Your cheeks felt hot so you decided to open the window.

“The sunset is really something, huh?” the uber driver broke the silence in the car. 

“I would call it gorge babyyy,” Josh put an emphasis on the last syllable. 

“Where is Jen?” you turned to Tyler who was busy playing a game on his phone.

“She had to study for a test coming up.”

“Ah,” you bit your bottom lip trying to hide the smirk that was making its way to your face. It wasn’t that you disliked Jen, she just wasn’t your favorite person to be around. You weren’t sure if it was because you hated how optimistic she was all the time, or if it was because she was dating Tyler.

Your feelings for Tyler were only known by one other person, Y/F/N, who sat in the front seat and made eye contact with you in the rearview as they eavesdropped on the conversation. They always had pushed you to be honest with Tyler, especially since if you had been honest with him a year ago, then he would have never started dating Jen in the first place.

The issue was that you were certain Tyler did not share those same feelings that you did, despite the fact that Y/F/N and Josh has mentioned once or twice that Tyler did like you. 

Josh was busy explaining a story about how he sold three guitars at once during his last shift as the car pulled up to your favorite bar. It was usually filled with younger people, so you didn’t have to worry about older creeps. 

“Josh, no one cares about your story!” Tyler teased him as everyone piled out of the car. You quickly stood next to Y/F/N as you grabbed your ID out of your wallet, following the boys into the bar. 

“Who wants to start with shots?” the bartender greeted you all with a smile. 

“I’m down!” you raised your hand and Tyler nodded, handing the bartender his card.

“Drinks are all on me tonight, so start the tab!” he shouted over the loud music. You looked over at him with wide eyes.

“Tyler! It’s going to be so expensive!”

“Don’t worry,” he flashed a smile your way. 

“I love this song!” Josh shouted. Feels Like the First Time by Foreigner came pumping out of the speakers. The bartender handed each of you a shot glass filled with a ruby red liquid. 

“On 3!” Y/F/N held up their hands and slowly counted down and in unison, you all tilted your heads back as the liquid burned down your throat.

“Jesus,” you mumbled. Shots were not your forte. 

“What are you going to get to drink?” Tyler turned to you and you shrugged. 

“Probably a mai tai.”

“Yummy,” Tyler licked his lips and you swear you couldn’t peel your eyes away from them. 

“You?”

“Going with a beer.”

“That’s not very original, Joseph,” you teased.

“I don’t plan on getting wasted, especially when I know I will end up having to take care of mister smooth over here.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to Josh who was already making small talk with a group of girls. 

You chuckled, “He can be a handful.”

“Y/N! Come dance with me!” Y/F/N rushed over and grabbed your hand, pulling you swiftly towards the direction of the dance floor. You looked back at Tyler who seemed to be smirking as you were being dragged away. 

Single Ladies by Beyonce boomed over the speakers, and you followed Y/F/N’s footsteps as they flowed with the music. You kept on taking sips of your drink, knowing that only alcohol would be able to make you feel comfortable dancing. 

The lights were dim and there was a disco ball overhead that punctuated the dark club with streaks of chaotic light. You were having a good time. The more you moved, the more the shot you had taken earlier mixed with your bloodstream. 

The song was finishing up, and you excused yourself to get a refill on your drink. Y/F/N followed. 

“Where are the boys?” you asked, scanning the crowded bar.

“Josh is back there on the dance floor so we should go back and join him!” 

“I’m not drunk enough to dance with the Josh Dun,” you cackled. You spotted him twerking in the middle of a circle. 

“He’s wild,” Y/F/N sipped on their new drink. You grabbed yours from the bartender and took a long gulp, trying to ignore the burn. You never understood how people enjoyed that feeling.

“I still don’t see Tyler.” You frowned. 

“Oh, there he is! He’s on his phone!” You finally spotted him, sitting at the end of the bar with a beer in his left hand and the phone in his right. 

“Party pooper,” you huffed. You took another gulp of your drink and waltzed over to him. 

“I’m going to the dance floor with Josh!” Y/F/N called out and you shot them a thumbs up. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Joseph?” you leaned against the bar and he looked up at you. 

“Hm?” 

“We’re supposed to be having a good time and you look like mister frowny pants over here! Moping over your phone.”

“It’s just Jen is being difficult, I guess apparently when she said it’s fine that I came out tonight she didn’t mean it.”

“That seems toxic,” the words slipped out of your mouth without you realizing what you had said. “Sorry, that was mean.”

Tyler chuckled and took a swig from his beer, “Nah, you have a point. I shouldn’t worry about her and have a good time with my friends who care about me.”

“We do care about you!” you agreed. “Want to go dance? Josh is being a maniac as usual.”

“I need another shot, I think.” He motioned for the bartender.

“I’ll join you.” The last thing you needed right now was another shot, but you thought you would be able to let loose more. 

“On 3?” Tyler hands you the glass, this time filled with a clear liquid. 

“On 3,” you agreed. You both swished the liquid down, and you couldn’t help but cough. 

“I’m ready now,” Tyler spoke, chasing the shot with the rest of his beer. You two squeezed your way through the sweaty crowd until you caught a glimpse of Josh and Y/F/N.

“Tyler! Y/N!” Josh threw his hands up in the air and literally skipped over to you.

“How you feeling?” you asked him.

“Dude, spectacular!” he patted Tyler on the back and went back to the dance floor.

“Yes, this song!” you squealed as Livin’ On A Prayer came on. None of your friends had planned on getting this smashed, but you didn’t seem to care too much. You let yourself go and just flowed with the music. Your hips would sway to the beat and you closed your eyes as everyone sang the chorus together.

When you opened your eyes you were met with Tyler’s staring back at you. He came over to you and grabbed your hands and continued to playfully dance with you as if you were little kids dancing at a wiggles concert. 

“We’re halfway there!” you both shouted. “Living on a prayer!” You were laughing more than singing, as Tyler dramatically pretended he had an invisible microphone. 

The room was now spinning and it was difficult for you to keep your balance as you kept on stumbling over your two feet.

“Grab my shoulders!” Tyler shouted over the music and you did as he said as the music picked up. 

“I love this song!” you slurred. Your hand somehow got intertwined with Tyler’s and he was twirling you in a circle.

“Me too,” he giggled. 

“You’re giggly when you’re drunk,” you placed your hands back on Tyler’s shoulders so you wouldn’t fall over.

“You’re silly when you’re drunk,” he teased back. You stuck your tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes. 

“I like this shirt,” you mumbled. You didn’t even notice, but Tyler’s hands were now on your waist. Probably just trying to keep you up straight. 

“I like your shirt too,” he spoke softly. His vision became just as blurry as yours. 

“I like you,” you whispered with a smirk. You looked up at Tyler, expecting him to move away from you, but instead, you watched his brown eyes move from your eyes to gaze down at your lips. 

“Is that so?” his head moved closer towards you until your noses were practically touching. The heavy scent of alcohol burned your nostrils. Your heart was racing and felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. The alcohol was making it difficult for you to figure out what was reality. 

“Mhm.” You bit your bottom lip innocently. Tyler’s lips were so close to yours that you could feel his hot breath on yours. He smelled like beer.

“Kiss me,” he reached his hand up so it was cupping your cheek and guided your lips to his. They softly collided and you melted away in his arms. You had dreamt of this moment for the past two years. 

The background music dissolved in with the sounds of voices singing and the only thing you actually could hear was the sound of your own heart beating uncontrollably as you stood there, kissing your best friend. 

Tyler abruptly pulled his face away from his and you met with a look of shock. His eyes were wide and all you could hear was him mumble “shit” before slipping away from you, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the crowd.

What just happened?

♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

tag list: @nonsenseverses​ (if anyone else would like to be added, just let me know!

#tyler joseph fanfiction #tyler joseph fanfic #twenty one pilots #twenty one pilots fanfic #tyler joseph #twenty one pilots fanfiction #tyler joseph imagine #tyler joseph fluff #tyler joseph angst #twenty one pilots imagine #tyler joseph x reader #twenty one pilots x reader #josh dun #tøp fanfic #tøp fanfiction #tøp imagine #tøp x reader #tyler x reader #beanfic #simple mistake

[heathendolan]

Boys Will Be Bugs -- Lemon Boy Series [E.D]

Summary: Ethan’s mean and bitter for a lot of reasons, but none of them have to do with the shy bookworm who shows him was a real friend is. / A better look at how Ethan really feels about… well, everything. From his impressionable and incredibly sensitive toddler years to the end of college, it’s his turn to talk.

Warnings: MAKES WAY MORE SENSE IF YOU’VE READ LEMON BOY + 888 FIRST !!!

A/N: hi everybody, i feel like i’m new again and i’m as nervous as i was when i first published on here lmfao. i heard cavetown’s ‘boys will be bugs’ a few weeks ago and just about exploded with how accurate it was for ethan and was completely inspired to write a part from his narrative. also, this anon also did me solid with this request, so thank you so fkn much!! extended author’s note here, cause i have mucho to say. mmkay. love y’all 

WC: 23.2K+ || masterlist || PLAYLIST

SERIES | 1: Lemon Boy | 1½: Banana Bread | 2: 888 | 3½: It’s U

Ethan isn't right. He isn't wrong. Well, his parents say he's isn't--but his teachers say he's 'a little... different', and Ethan knows just what that means. He knows that when they say things like "Ethan just doesn't fit well with the other kids," in hushed voices at the semiannual kindergarten parent-teacher conferences, they're implying that he's the problem, and moreover that he's noncompliant to some degree. They only confirm this theory when they say things like "Ethan, go build blocks with Jacob and Cory," knowing full and well that he'd much rather sit underneath the tented blanket-walls of his own personal fort and read The BFG. Teachers call his fort 'antisocial'. Ethan calls his fort 'exclusive'. (He read that word in Charlotte's Web once). (He hopes he's using it right). (And pronouncing it right, for that matter).

Ethan feels a little like a BFG--Big Friendly Giant--and it isn't because he's oversized or anything, because he's actually a bit of a runt, like Wilbur the pig. He's like a Big Friendly Giant in the sense that he feels really alone in a sea of kindergarten boys, ones that are bent on perfecting spiral throws and effective tackles. Grayson, his twin, is sort of like that; Ethan thinks his daddy probably likes him better than Ethan for that reason. Ethan's more like his mommy. He likes to read (and he's happy to tell you that he's already at a second-grade reading level, thank you very much), and he likes to read a lot.  (Hence the fort.) And even if he didn't like to read (which he does), he would prefer building blocks in isolation. Ethan's sensitive--another word he learned in Charlotte's Web. The other kids are mean, even when Ethan knows they aren't trying to be. So when he misses his mommy and Jacob Kronwell says, 'suck it up', he bursts into tears, and that's alright. And on that note, what does 'rub some dirt on it' even mean? His daddy says boys just gotta be tough, but why? Why would Ethan ever choose football over a reclusive reading hut if he doesn't even like football all that much? To look cool? Ethan doesn't care about being cool. He cares about getting to the end of this chapter and lunch. And so what if he cries? He just can't help it--he feels better when he cries, and he's not going to stop just cause Jacob says he acts like a girl. That's hardly an insult--last time he checked, his sister Cameron was the coolest person he knew.  Ethan hopes first grade is better.

- Ethan loves summer. Summer is almost better than The Adventures of Captain Underpants. (Almost). His mom takes him to the library almost every day. The first time they walked hand in hand into the big building, Ethan's jaw fell to the floor; how on Earth had they been hiding all these books from him? He was frozen solid in place with shock while his mom chatted away with the librarian, carrying polite small talk about how 'simply stunning this colonial architecture was' and how she was 'heartbroken she hadn't been here sooner'. Ethan thinks she's overcompensating with compliments because they only moved to Allentown about a year ago. He noticed it a few months ago when she talked to the checkout clerk at the local grocery store for a full hour about the rising prices of milk. He asked her why she did that. She told him that was how people made friends. Ethan thinks anybody that only wants to be friends with his mom because she can jab about milk for an hour is stupid, but he's not allowed to use that word yet. Now is not the time for jabbing about milk or colonial architecture Ethan decides, and he wiggles right out of his mother's grip and clambers over to the kid's section, completely ignoring the way his mom calls his name and apologizes meekly to the librarian. He doesn't care what the librarian thinks about him. He cares about books. And there's so many of them. He has to crane his neck just to catch a glimpse of the tower of shelves with books, upon books, upon books. He sees all of the books that are in his scholastic book fair catalog and then some. The priest at his church talks about heaven a lot, and Ethan thinks he found it. His mom is hot on his trail though, because she scoops him up in her arms and balances him on her hip, pulling him in snug and warm. Ethan loves his mom and all the affection she gives, and he wraps his arms around her neck. "See one you like?" she asks, kissing his temple. Some of the kids in his kindergarten class hate being picked up by their mom, and Ethan doesn't really get that. They would always say things like 'Mom, stop,' and 'go away' and he doesn't understand; his mom was by far his best friend. And probably his only friend, besides Gray. And Cam. And Dad. And they said things like 'you still call your mom 'mommy'?', and that's why Ethan loves summer the most, because he can be himself without those comments. "Yeah," Ethan says, poking generally at the whole stack of books. "I wanna read them all." His mom merely chuckles and nods. "Alright, we have all summer," she says. "Grab one and we'll read it, and then we'll return it and grab a new one." Ethan reaches blindly and grabs the first one he can wrap his stubby fingers around. "James and the Giant Peach?" she clarifies. "You know that's from the same guy who wrote The BFG, right?"  Ethan already knows this one is going to be his new favorite.  - Kids are mean. Ethan thinks just about half his classmates are minions of Count Olaf, the villain in his newest literary obsession, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Ethan feels a bit like one of the Baudelaire children. Not because his parents died in a house fire or that he's been relocated to various relatives, each stranger than the last, and most certainly not because he's inheriting a gazillion dollars (because that part is super untrue. His family's sort of struggling right now). He feels like a Baudelaire child because it seems like everywhere he turns is a dead end full of people that want to kill him. Okay, maybe 'kill' isn't the right term, but God, it feels like it when Riley Johnson purposely trips him in dodgeball--especially when they're on the same frickin' team. (Ethan's in second grade now, so he's allowed to use that word). (Not around his mom though, but his dad's okay with it). (However, the phrase 'shut up' is one hundred and ten percent off limits). And Cory Willson, frankly, is nearly confirmed to be the spawn of satan. He flicked a meatball at Ethan at lunch on the first day of school--picture day. And that stain took two separate washes to get out of his nice white polo. But Cory is simply a grain of salt on Ethan's plate of problems.  And Jacob Kronwell? Well, Jacob Kronwell is the twelve ounce, medium-rare steak and the side of mashed potatoes. He's probably the steamed vegetables in this metaphor, too. Jacob Kronwell is Ethan Dolan's personal Count Olaf. He is no spawn of Satan, he is Satan, with a capital S.  It started in kindergarten, and it hasn't stopped yet. If anything, it has only gotten worse. It began with exclusion, name-calling, and stealing his pencils without asking. Ethan could tune out being called a girl (and honestly, didn't mind all that much if he's honest). Ethan can't ignore Jacob when he steals his books and throws them into Mr. Franken’s yard, the most feared (and coincidentally--or not--most elderly) neighbor in all of Allentown. Ethan has had to fork over a lot of toys and allowances to pay the library fees. And it didn't stop there. Jacob figured out early on that being the largest kid in second grade included a lot of benefits, serious benefits. Not only was he the best at football (and baseball, and basketball, and dodgeball), but he was really good at wrestling. Ethan would know; he's been the test subject of Jacob's poorly rehearsed WWE moves since Jacob discovered America's most violent live-action soap opera. But Jacob's getting more creative every month, and now that he's seen A Christmas Story, Ethan's been forced to stick his tongue to a pole in the middle of a New Jersey winter and, subsequently, Ethan's been sent home with half of a (very bloody) tongue. Jacob wasn't generous enough to let his mutilated tongue heal before he made him do it again. Grayson's lucky--so lucky--that he can play football. And it is ironic--so ironic--that Grayson gets off scot-free because of it. It's a god blessed frickin' miracle that Grayson hasn't been mistaken for Ethan and been given a swirly yet. Or had a huge chunk cut out of his hair with scissors. Or been trapped in a locker. Ethan's practically defenseless; he doesn't have many friends (besides Grayson, Mom, Dad, and Cam) and he's pretty small, and Jacob knows that. That's what makes Ethan such easy prey. And he's created this stigma towards Ethan that's circulated through the whole school at this point. He overheard him telling Holly Brinkins that he picks and eats his boogers. No one wants to be friends with that kind of outcast, not even kindergarteners--and they actually pick and eat their boogers. Ethan's not too lonely though. He already has all he needs: his family, a colossal stack of fifth-grade-reading-level books (and he's only eight!), and Ginger, the frickin' best dog in the whole wide world. His mom let him pick out a dog from the local humane society so that he'd have his very own friend, and it was the best gift ever. So who needs friends or school lunch on most days? Jacob can eat two helpings all he wants, Ethan doesn't even like the school's mystery meat. - "What'd'ya wanna do when you get older, E?" Grayson asks as they hike up the alpine mountain in the forest behind their house. Ethan knows it's technically a hill, and not even a big one at that, but listen: he just discovered the word 'alpine' and it sounds kinda cool on his tongue, and he's got chicken legs. It feels like Mount Everest to him. "The King of Narnia, no doubt," he responds, a wheeze in his words and an ache in his calves. The walk to their hidden (and super cool) basin seems to stretch longer every single day. Grayson's cut out for this with his quarterback physique--even if it is only little league--but Ethan... Ethan's a little bit of a 'NAF.' Jacob told him so. "Ethan," Grayson grumbles, twisting his head towards him to pointedly roll his eyes. "I'm serious. Be a little more realistic." "I don't know Grayson, what do you want to be?" Ethan asks. "Tom Brady." "I see you're taking a pragmatic approach as well," Ethan scoffs, kicking a stray rock into the jungle. Sometimes Ethan sits outside in this forest of his and reads and pretends the bluejays that chirp are really some tropical parrots from Lord of the Flies. In all reality, he could sit inside next to their new parakeet, Gizmo, and get the same effect, but he's decided to permanently hate that bird ever since they had to get rid of Ginger. He's been bitter ever since. He doesn't care if Grayson can't control the fact that he's allergic. "See," Grayson sighs, halting in the dirt path, "when you say shit like 'pragmatic' you make me wanna to kick you. I don't even know what that means." Grayson and Ethan are not allowed to say words like 'shit', 'fuck', 'damn', or 'Jesus' yet, and certainly not phrases like 'ass-clown', but they’ve made a sworn truce to never tattle. They even spit and shook hands, so it's practically motherfuckin' law.  Ethan scowls at him. "Probably cause you're dyslexic." Grayson is already winding up when Ethan cowers, and Grayson knows to just give it up. Ethan deals with enough during the school year.  "E, I'm just saying. If you didn't say words like that, maybe you wouldn't get beat up. Well, at least, not by me," Grayson hurries out, knowing it's a sore subject, Ethan getting beat up. "Oh right, because that's the reason I get my ass kicked," Ethan grumbles, trudging past Grayson. Grayson is quick to catch up, following on Ethan's heels like a troubled puppy. "Look, all I wanted to know was what you wanted to be when you were older." Ethan knows Grayson doesn't mean to be mean. Ethan thinks most kids actually don't mean to be mean; it's sixth grade, everybody's already got their friend groups. It's not that anybody's excluding him at this point, it's just that no one's including him. People discarded the term 'cooties' a long time ago, and nobody thinks he picks and eats his boogers anymore. People just grew up together without Ethan. He's adjusted. He's alright. But Jacob's still a fucking asshole. He isn't violent anymore--he abandoned hair pulling, foot stomping, and locker stuffing around fourth grade when Ethan got to be as big as him. He's just mean. He leans up behind him and tells him that Chloe Krass will never like him back and that Grayson would never be friends with him if he wasn't forced to be. And it sucks, because it's true. It is absolutely true. He'd rather give Jacob his lunch for the rest of his life than have him stomp on his heart. Ethan's sensitive--he always has been. And you know what? It's dumb that people feed off of his sensitivity. It's fucking bullshit.  "Gonna make fun of me?" Ethan tests, giving Grayson a sideways glance and lifting his chin protectively. "No," Grayson insists.  "Alright. I... I wanna write books," Ethan admits, his chin lifted high in the air for some faux-confidence. He casts a glance at Grayson and finds that Grayson's face has disappointment painted all over it. Grayson's brows are drawn tight together, ready to chastise him, and he's opened his mouth to say, "Ethan," irritably.  "And if you don't like that," Ethan growls out quickly, "then you can go fuck yourself, Grayson." Grayson's shock is all Ethan needs to prove he's figured out a loophole to this drama, and Ethan speeds off towards the pond feeling a little bigger, a little stronger, and a hell of a lot tougher. - Ethan's underneath his comforter with his head buried under his pillow, his entire body numb. It feels like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, what happened today. "Mom, it wasn't his fault! You know how terrible Jacob is to him," Grayson defends in the kitchen, screaming frustratedly. "Jacob Kronwell's father is threatening to sue, Grayson. Do you think they're going to take the side of the kid who beat another kid to a bloody pulp? This is so much bigger than you think it is," his mom hisses back, slapping her palm against the granite table. "Lord knows what will happen. Your brother's definitely expelled. We can't afford to be sued." He can hear his mother's voice crackle with tears. He doesn't want her to cry. He doesn't even know how it happened. One moment he was washing his hands in the boys bathroom, the next he was being circled, the next he was having his head shoved into the bowl of a toilet for the hundredth time, and then a moment later he had Jacob on the ground with blood gushing from his nose. And he just kept kicking, and kicking, and kicking until he felt the principal dragging him out of the bathroom. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, and the part of his brain surged out with how unfair his life in Allentown has been so far, and he just let go of all the anger pent up inside him. Jacob had been torturing him for eight years, and for what? Why? It was so fucking unfair. He knows what he did was wrong, but he doesn't really regret it. Not at all, actually.  "Mom, you don't get it! Jacob's the worst!" Grayson yelled still, crying himself. Everybody was crying and it was all Ethan's fault. "Your father's going to have to find a new job," his mom whined. "your brother's going to be expelled. I don't know what we're going to do. I don't know what we're going to do," she pressed on, her voice shaking.  Ethan felt like his chest was caving, or his stomach was twisting into an impossibly tight knot, or his skin was on fire. Jacob's always been right: Ethan's a fuck up, a waste of space, a piece of shit, trash, garbage, stupid, worthless. "Honey, it's going to be okay," his dad says from the kitchen. "I don't know what we'll do either. But it'll work out." "Are we going to have to change schools?" Cameron asks. "I only have a few months left before graduation, can we just stay? Please?" There's an awkward pause that probably answers the million dollar question: they are going to have to move, Cameron's going to have to graduate with a bunch of strangers, their dad's going to have to find a new job, their mom's going to have to open a different shop. All because of Ethan. All because of Ethan. - "So I just got off the phone with Scott Kronwell and he's decided to drop all charges if we get the hell out of dodge," Ethan's dad says the following Monday. It's just Ethan, his mom, and his dad in the kitchen for lunch; Ethan's been suspended for seven days. Not that he minds; he sort of sees it as an early spring break. Any time spent away from school is good for Ethan. "What's that mean?" his mom asks before she bites into her sandwich. "Well," his dad sighs, pinching his eyes together with his index and thumb fingers. "I told him how a bunch of teachers have been emailing me willing to testify against Jacob for bullying, which is pretty stupid if you ask me, because that means they saw how he was treating E and didn't do shit. I think it spooked Scott, because the guy basically threatened me. Said we have two weeks to move districts or he'll press charges. Such a dick. Ethan, I'm kind of glad you beat up his kid." "Sean," his mom scolds, her lips in a tight line. "Thanks," Ethan mumbles with a faint grin. If his dad approves, he really doesn't regret it. "Luckily, we're in a good place financially to just get up and leave. But no Bora Bora in December," his dad sighs, staring blankly at the table. Ethan knows Cameron's going to be pissed. First, she has to move schools with three months of high school left, then she gets robbed of her dream vacation? Ethan will be sleeping with one eye open. His mom sighs with both relief and grief and lays her head on her arms. "Ethan, no more fighting, okay?" she asks weakly, lifting her head only enough to stare at him with pleading eyes. He never wants to see his mom make that face again. "I won't," Ethan promises, and means it. He never wants to lose control like that again; it's been a week and he still can't remember a damn thing about what happened. He dislikes that side of himself the most--and Ethan hates just about every bit of himself.  - Ethan likes their new house a lot. He gets his own room, it's big, it's old, and it's probably haunted. It's perfect. There's a river in the forest behind this house, too. It's got a waterfall at the beginning, about a mile north of his house, and if he treks down the stream, he can find a cluster of miniature cliffs just waiting to be jumped off of. The river seems deep enough to swim in and venture through and it probably has a ton of cool rocks in the shallower parts. He and Grayson spend most of their summer there unless they're at the local beach like they are now. "I think the kids at our school are scared of you," Grayson says, skipping a slippery stone across the still lake. The boys watch it bounce once, twice, thrice before dipping beneath the water.  "So?" Ethan snipes. He's had to put a lot of work into being scary. He thinks he'll have frown lines by twenty-five if he keeps glaring at everybody. "Well, I don't think you're going to make many friends if you don't say anything to anyone," Grayson shrugs, plucking another rock from the sand and skipping it even farther than the last.  "Not like anyone wants to be my friend anyway," Ethan retorts. That was a stupid thing to say on Grayson's behalf. It seemed like people were afraid of Ethan the moment he stepped foot in Long Valley, but he's beginning to think that might be Ethan's intentions. He gets it; it's better to be feared than bullied, but the boys in their grade are getting more comfortable with him. Grayson's doing just fine. He's already decided he'll play football this coming fall and he's made a few friends through lacrosse, but he's never had problems making friends. "You could always hang out with me and my friends..." Grayson offers meekly. "I heard your friend Carter call me a mute back in May. No thanks," he nips. It's a lost cause, and all Grayson can really do is pray that someone, anyone will befriend Ethan. He's not asking for too much he doesn't think. Is he? 

​​​​​​-

Ethan slides into his seat at the kitchen island, Romeo and Juliet in his grip and a blanket draped around his shoulders. Grayson’s cooking up something terrible—but arguably edible—for them as an after-school snack, rushing around the kitchen far too much for Ethan to focus on the already complicated book. He had heard that girl (Y/N) mumble something negative under her breath when it came to Shakespeare, and he has to agree—his novels were complete garbage.

“So, how was the first day of school,” Grayson sing-songs sardonically, popping his hip out like their mom.

Ethan shrugs lamely, taking a sip of his water. “S’alright.”

“And what about that girl, (Y/N)?” Grayson prods, waggling his eyebrows. Ethan sputters on his water, coughing and encouraging Grayson’s teasing. With a smirk, Grayson continues, “She’s pretty cute, huh? She seems into you.”

Ethan glares at him once he stops hacking, wiping his mouth on the fabric of his blanket. “Not funny,” he says.

She is pretty cute—and pretty kind, too. He couldn’t get it out of his head all day, the way she just asked him about his tattoo—talked to him, with genuine interest and curiosity. And furthermore, she’s smart. He couldn’t believe she’d read the entire list too, willingly. Ethan read it over the summer out of pure boredom and because his dad wouldn’t stop harping him about it, but she seemed like she really enjoyed reading. And she wasn’t a snob about it either, she seemed a little shy and humble—unlike Tanya. Ethan’s already floated off into his own daydream of their first conversation, right in the middle of the hallway with her papers askew when Grayson calls out his name impatiently.

“What?” he grumbles.

“I’m serious dude, she’s into you! Heard her talking to her friends at lunch,” Grayson pushes, raising his eyebrows. “She’s got a crush on you. Big one, too.”

Ethan feels a blush creep up the back of his neck and he scratches it. It’s impossible. It’s simply impossible. ”Shut up," he says, his voice cracky.

Grayson pops a few pieces of bread into the toaster and pushes down on the handle. “No dude, I'm not kidding. Like, all her friends knew about it and they were like, teasing her and stuff. They wanted to hear all about her conversation with you."

Ethan's fighting to keep the shock off his face. A girl like that? Having a crush on a guy like him? It defied all laws of logic.

"Whatever," Ethan chokes out, feeling butterflies parade through his stomach. He doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining the notion with himself—this is frankly pure lunacy.

"She's hot dude. If you knew what was good for you, you would jump on that," Grayson shrugs nonchalantly.

Ethan's cheeks grow even hotter at his comment. With his mouth gaping like a fish’s, he sputters, "I-I'm not going to jump on that, what the fuck Grays-"

"That's not what I meant!" Grayson laughs, shaking his head. "I just mean, she's going to have a bunch of guys' attention. She does seem kind of quiet, though."

Defensively, Ethan thinks, what does that have to do with anything? But, in an effort to stay discreet, he just shrugs for the umpteenth time.

"Whatcha boys talking about?" Ethan's dad asks as he walks into the kitchen, surfing through the refrigerator for a good snack. A flash of heat decorates Ethan’s cheeks again and his eyes widen as he mentally prays, begs, pleads for Grayson to just keep his gigantic mouth shut on this one.

“Ethan’s giant crush,” Grayson teases, squinting smugly at Ethan. Behind his dad's back, Ethan gives Grayson the middle finger and mouths 'fuck you'.

"(Y/N), huh?" his dad replies easily, already well aware of who they’re talking about. Ethan’s jaw just about hits the floor. Grayson begins snickering loudly as he butters his freshly baked toast, and Ethan briefly weighs the pros and cons of vaulting himself over the kitchen island and just strangling him quiet. But before he can make a proper decision, his dad’s continuing. ”Ethan, she's one smart cookie. The whole list! Blew my mind," he says with a shake of his head.

Ethan doesn't note that he himself had also read the list, because he knows it's different. “Yep,” he mutters, tapping his fingers along the granite.

“So you have a crush on her?” his dad asks, peering over his shoulder from where he hovers in the refrigerator’s doorway.  

Ethan says, "No!" the same time Grayson says, "Yes."

"I'll keep that in mind, Kiddo," his dad says.

Ethan just whines, already so very aware of how humiliating it will be to have his dad prod at him. But deep down—deep, deep, deep down—he hopes by some miracle it'll be beneficial because it's true; Ethan would be crazy to not have a crush on her. He already knows he's in deep when he catches himself smiling for the thousandth time that day over their measly conversation in the hall.

-

Ethan’s never been so bored in his life. No, that isn’t true, and yes, it is incredibly dramatic, but he means it, okay? With Grayson at football camp for a week and Cameron working overtime at the ice cream parlor, Ethan’s feeling stir crazy while he stares up at his ceiling fan and watches it spin round and around and around and around. He knows he could go for a swim down by the riverbed, but he’s done that the last two days. And sure, he could shoot hoops in the driveway, but what’s the fun in doing that alone? It’s only been a day and a half since Grayson’s left, and he thinks he might just die before next Monday comes around. He’ll never admit how attached he is to him.

He huffs and he puffs and he sighs and he whimpers, but nothing comes to mind. He feels a frenzy in the pit of his stomach, one that’s begging him to just move, and he hops upright, ready to pace around his room if it means getting some of this energy out. He jumps up and down—even throws in a few jumping jacks just for some spice—but it’s useless; he needs interest.

His mind wonders off to (Y/N) again like it has every single hour of every single day since summer began. He wonders, for the gazillionth time, how she’s spending this unusually hot July day, what she’s doing, where she’s doing whatever she’s doing. Ethan realizes these thoughts only make him antsier because the idea of (Y/N) alone makes him nervous in general, so he smacks his forehead childishly to swat away the thoughts. She’s probably reading. But reading what?

Harry Potter, of course, unless she’s marking off the Composition reading list one by one. But who would want to do that on a day like today? He’s sure she’s spending it with a book in her hand and probably sunning at the local beach, her peers alongside her. She’s quiet, but not unsocial; the gaggle of girls she has are nice—well, nice enough—and murderously loyal, it seems. Ethan approves of her friend group most out of the entire student body; sometimes they say hello to him, and that’s more than 99% of the mass population would ever do for him.

The way she talks about those Harry Potters, Ethan would think they’re magic. Well, duh, he thinks. But they’re children’s books—what could possibly be so good?

Ethan knows what he’s going to do today.

He hauls himself to the local library, a good four miles away (which is more than enough for him to rid himself of some of this boyish energy he has), and checks out the first two books. Then he cracks the spine of the first one and begins reading and walking on his way home.

His first impression is terrible; he hates the Dursleys, and Harry is frankly quite bland. But before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages just to find out what happens next, and then he’s scrunching his nose bitterly at characters he hates and grinning whenever Hagrid is featured in a chapter. He’s decided to hate Severus Snape until his dying breath and he’s almost certain he’d be sorted into Slytherin and he has full intentions to name his first child Ron whether it’s a boy or a girl—and it’s only been five chapters. He gets it—he totally freakin’ gets why she loves these books so much. He feels like a kid again. He’s so lost in the plot that he brings his book to the dinner table and flips pages between forkfuls.

“Ethan!” his mom shouts, smacking her palm against the table.

Ethan jumps, startled. “What?” he asks innocently, his heart still racing from his abrupt interruption.

"Honey, I've called your name eight times!" she laughs, eyeing him disbelievingly.

"Sorry," he mumbles around a bite of steak, already turning back to his story.

"Nuh-uh, it's dinner time, put the book away," his mom warns, a quirk in her eyebrow and discipline clear in her voice. Ethan shrinks in his chair and dog-ears his page, reluctant but compliant.

"What are you reading?" his dad asks, tilting his head to try and make out the title. "Oh, Miss (Y/N)'s favorite book, I see," he smirks.

Ethan frowns as his jaw falls. "How did you-"

"Oh please, you two weren't all that quiet when you were flirting up a storm in my English class. I'm pretty sure I know just as much about her as you do," he snorts, shaking his head and shoveling in another bite of meat.

Ethan pouts into his plate, embarrassed and annoyed. So what if he wanted to read her favorite books? They were friends. He was allowed.

"Are you talking about (Y/N)?" Cameron pipes up from across the table, a smug smile on her lips.

"Save it, Cam," Ethan grumbles, feeling sour.

"So you don't want to hear all about her visit to the ice cream parlor today?" Cameron quips, speaking theatrically loftily. "Because her friends sure had a lot to say about you..."

Ethan ponders over whether he should play it cool or embrace his excitement. "What'd they say?" he squeaks quickly, sounding more desperate than he's ever heard himself.

His family chuckles at his eagerness and eyes one another. Normally this would really irk him, but he has bigger interests.

"Oh, just that she talks about you all the time," Cameron sings. "She didn't say as much as I said, though."

Ethan's blood runs cold in his system. "W-what did you say?"

"Oh, just that you never shut up about her and that you have a huge crush on her," Cameron smirks, squinting evilly at him across the table.

Ethan's read Dante's Inferno and he is absolutely, positively, 1000% certain that he has just entered the ninth ring of hell. Oh my God. Oh my God.

"Cameron!" he shrieks, hopping from his spot. He doesn't even realize he's grabbed his steak knife along for defense, but suddenly everyone's rising from their seats and demanding he calms down. Ethan feels hot tears spring in his eyes; his friend, his only willing friend knows about his stupid dumb crush. She's never going to talk to him again. She's never going to-

Ethan thinks he's going to pass out.

"Dude, chill out! I already told you she likes you too!" Cameron shouts back, her hands raised defensively.

Ethan's sensitive. His whole family knows it, but even they're shocked when his bottom lip begins to wobble and a tear slips down his cheek. He's so glad Grayson isn't here to see him cry like a fucking baby.

"E, c'mon," Cameron coaxes, looking at him with bewilderment. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"Easy for you to say!" Ethan screams, collapsing in his chair. She's going to hate him, she's going to hate him, she's going to hate him. She does some charity work, befriends the freak, and then she realizes she has to deal with his obsessive crush? Why wouldn't she walk away? This isn't even fair--he would have kept his mouth shut about his stupid crush for life if it meant keeping her as a friend. "She's my only friend!"

The dinner table falls quiet; Ethan's unpopularity has always been the elephant in the room. Ethan's scrubbing the hot tears away from his cheeks and grinding his teeth together to keep the emotion better at bay but it isn't any use; the thought of (Y/N) joining the army of people absolutely disgusted with Ethan is too much; he has to cry.

He knows Cam had good intentions; she's just being a sister. But what's done is done, and he doesn't think he can look (Y/N) in the eye ever again.

Cameron slips out of her chair and over to Ethan, cuddling his frame close to hers. Ethan cries into her shoulder pathetically, and he knows this is all so unusual for his family, seeing him weep so openly like this, but this is just too much. He doesn't know what he'll do when he sees her in a month. He thinks about homeschooling.

"Ethan," Cameron whispers. "She looked excited. She clearly likes you too."

Ethan shoves away at her shoulder, angry all over again. "Cameron, don't try and soothe the wound. The damage is done."

Cameron scoffs, stands, and folds her arms over her chest. "Okay Princess, I was being gentle, but now you're just being a prima donna. She likes you. Accept that you're likable."

"That's not even funny, Cameron," Ethan whimpers, another wave of self-hatred washing ashore.

"Honey," his mom coos, "(Y/N) would be very lucky to have a boy like you."

Ethan's getting angrier by the second, and he's about ready to stomp off with his plate and his book and his pride. The realization that his family has just seen him sob over a girl makes his cheeks melt with shame.

"And you would be lucky to have a girl like (Y/N)," his dad pipes up. "I'm telling you guys, her Scarlett Letter analysis was just out of this w-"

Cameron groans loudly, stuffing her face in her palms. "Would you shut up about her Scarlett Letter analysis!"

Lisa gasps beside her. "Cameron June! Do not speak to your father like that."

"Well seriously, he mentions it like every day!" she quacks back.

"Well, it's worth talking about! I mean really Ethan, that girl is going to win a Pulitzer Prize one day and I want her last name to be Dolan when she does," his dad urges, raising his eyebrow and biting a forkful of steak.

Ethan snorts goodheartedly, still anxious but exhausted from emotion more than anything. In an effort to escape the conversation and his family, he excuses himself and tucks himself in his room, ready to devour his book again.

He loves this book. He loves this book. It's maybe the best he's ever read. He's flying through the pages so quickly he has to reread some parts to really enjoy it properly. It's edging ten in the evening and he's just about to venture into the Forbidden Forest with Harry and Malfoy when he hears a soft knock on his door.

"Hey," Cameron mutters, peaking her head in.

Ethan folds his novel in his lap, prepared to have a forced heart to heart with his offender. "Mom send you up here?" he asks rhetorically.

Cameron cracks a grin and nods. "Yeah, but I wanted to say sorry anyway. So..." she trails off shifting between her feet. "...Sorry."

"Thanks," Ethan snorts.

Cameron hobbles over and plops herself on the edge of his bed, plucking the story from his comforter. "These are such good books," she nods, leafing through a few pages to get an idea of where he is in the plot.

"I know, I can't believe I've never read them. The way (Y/N) talks about these books, you'd think they hung the stars in the sky," Ethan murmurs, chuckling to himself.

Cameron purses her lips and gives him a sidelong glance. "She seems pretty cool, sort of shy, but sweet."

Ethan's brows furrow together. "I don't get why people always say that like it's a bad thing," he deadpans, encouraging her to rethink her statement. "She's shy, so what? She's really nice."

Cameron giggles and shakes her head. "Look at you, all defensive," she prods, ruffling his hair. Ethan's beginning to regret ever inviting her into his room. Cameron smiles more to herself and says, "I'm happy you have a crush, it's, er... healthy. And I think she's a good person to have a crush on--she's super cute."

Ethan laughs to himself and decides to let his guard down, if only for a moment. "Tell me about it."

Cameron's lips spread so wide her teeth peek out from under them. The two are quiet for a minute, and it isn't awkward. Ethan doesn't hate his sister, even if she ruined his only friendship.

As if reading his thoughts, Cameron stirs the pot some more. ”Ethan, she likes you, okay? And maybe you don't see that, but I know it," Cameron swears, grabbing his hand where it lays on the bed.

Ethan yanks it away, uncaring of his blunt rejection. "You don't know shit," he grouches.

"E," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Trust me, she does. I'm a girl, I know how they act. And you know what? Quit being so bitter. No one likes a pessimist."

I know, Ethan thinks, That's the problem.

"So suck it up, or... or you'll have to deal with my two friends, lefty and righty," Cameron threatens, waving her fists around 'threateningly'. Ethan thinks she needs a lesson or two on intimidation.

He chuckles, which clearly bruises her ego, because she begins tickling him torturously, and after half an hour of a tickling war, all is forgiven. Cameron eventually deserts him with his book and Ethan returns to his own little literature world, more excited than he’s ever been about a series.

-

Miraculously, when Ethan sees (Y/N) on the first day of school, she doesn’t hate him or his newly dyed purple stripe. She actually calls him hot, and Ethan knows that he’ll absolutely never get over it. He’s made it through a month of school with her by his side, the two as close as what he imagines a best friend would be like. He hasn’t had one besides Grayson, and he knows that that doesn’t count. But things are going alright, and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Well, except for every other person involved in his school. Since everyone had survived their first year of high school, they were much less skittish and much meaner. Ethan’s had comments thrown his way every single day since the start, and he’s even been shoved once or twice, just like he’s seen in movies. He’s seriously wondering if they’ll lock him in a locker soon. He hasn’t experienced that since eighth grade.

But Ethan isn’t going to let that happen. He’s bulked up over the summer—gained a few inches and more than a dozen pounds—and he knows how to fight. Obviously, bites a voice in the back of his head. You almost killed a kid.

Ethan worries about the day when (Y/N) finds that out, that he'd nearly been expelled for almost murdering Jacob Kronwell at the innocent age of thirteen. He shudders at the thought and stuffs it down, down, down and just prays she never finds out.

Career day is, by far, the least interesting school-fueled 'holiday' Ethan can imagine, and he's considering spirit day and all its pep-fest activities. Career day is just tedious, plain and simple. It annoys the faculty, it annoys the students, and infinitely more importantly, it annoys Ethan because he knows what he wants to do. He wants to write books, and Long Valley was seriously lacking world-renowned authors and best-selling novelists, which meant the other teachers, scrambling for anything to jam-pack his day, would tell him to visit the journalism booth or the English teacher division, which in itself was completely useless. His own dad was an English teacher--if he had questions, he could ask them over spaghetti tonight.   

And then there was that bit where he had to listen to certain people drone on and on about their solid, reliable plans of being 'The Next Michael Jordan' or 'The Next Tom Brady' or, most unrealistic of all, 'The Next Kim Kardashian.' Ethan seriously doubts that if they don't have a booth for creative writing, they won't have a booth for the profound artistry of face-tuning or the ambitious marketing strategies for FitTea Tummy. But that's just Ethan.

It's not like he's going to find out anyway; he plans to lock himself away in his dad's quaint English room for most of the afternoon, lower the lights, draw the blinds, and stuff himself in the beanbag tucked in the corner just for him and finish Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. He has been fervently reading them ever since he stole the first copy from the library, and he's really edging towards the climax of this one. He's dug it out every spare second, reading between class periods and during his lunch. They truly are very, very good books.

When he arrives at school that morning, it as chaotic as he had imagined; every student is swarming about the halls, jabbing about what professions they'll bore themselves with for a few hours. He assumes they'll be too preoccupied to bother with their typical harsh stares and obvious gossip, but he's hardly made it to his locker when Cole Eptom eyes him quizzically from a few slots down. "Hey Dolan," he calls, nodding his head.

Ethan debates momentarily over whether he should tune him out or give Cole the benefit of the doubt and engage in what could only be small talk or torture. Suppressing a sigh, Ethan turns to look Cole's way with a raised eyebrow.

"That pink hair's fucking queer," Cole sneers, shutting his locker and marching off with his monochromatic Career Day pamphlet and his enormous, inflated ego.

It shouldn't bother Ethan. He knew last night when he spontaneously bought a box of hot pink hair dye and painted the bleached tuff above his eyes that he'd get a few stares. He thinks he's seen Cole wear the same pair of basketball shorts every day for the past month, and Cole himself said that jeans would only be reserved for five star restaurants. Cole doesn't know shit about fashion, and furthermore, Cole's hideous. And mean. His opinion shouldn't bother Ethan.

It does.

Ethan's feeling sourer than normal today, with Career Day's boisterous chatter infiltrating his ears (even after he'd stuffed them with headphones and extremely loud music) and the unending sly and taunting comments about his hair. It felt like every pair of eyes that existed in this building were zeroing in on the fuchsia tuft blanketing his forehead.

Queer. Queer. Queer. Queer.

He heard Cole's comment over and over and over again in his head and had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to keep his nausea at bay. What was he thinking, dying his hair bubblegum pink? What was he thinking? He wasn't. Ethan never thinks, he just does, and that is why he didn't have many friends. Impulsive and stupid were such a terrible combination. Ethan wouldn't touch himself with a ten-foot pole.

He's being harsh on himself, he knows he is, but he can't help it now. Fuck, it feels like his clothes don't fit him right, like they're too small and woven with needle-sharp fragments of glass. And it's hot in his sweatshirt, too warm and suffocating and it's boiling beneath the base of his neck, right where his collar starts, and only then does he realize just how tight it feels around his throat-

"Hello!" (Y/N) calls, looking bewildered. She smacks his arm as she sidles up next him by his locker. "How the fuck can't you hear me?"

Ethan's not one for cliches, but he almost immediately feels at least half of the weight burdening his shoulders float off, off, off at the sight of her. She's similarly cozied up in an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves falling past the tips of her fingers, and he wonders briefly if her hands are cold. He hopes not.

"Sorry," Ethan mumbles, chewing on his lip. "I'm just... stressed."

Ethan thinks stressed might be a better word than anxious, because then she'd ask questions because she cares. She cares a lot about Ethan, and he knows it, and he feels the weight drift off his shoulders some more.

"Well, your hair looks great," she says, blushing terribly. Her cheeks are scorned a bright pink, nearly mimicking the neon tuft dangling above Ethan's eyes.

"No it doesn't," he grumbles, glaring up at the strands.

"No, it does," she pushes, though her voice is squeaky and weak. "H-Hot pink for a hot guy, right?"

And then her face is scrunching up, embarrassment etching her features adorably, and slapping her palm against her forehead. She looks tortured with her eyes screwed shut and her neck flushed a deep red, she's tucking in on herself with humiliation and Ethan's hardly able to contain his grin. He doesn't try, just lets his lips split over his teeth, big and wide, and chuckles.

"Hot pink for a hot guy," Ethan agrees, smirking with kind eyes down at her shielded figure.

She peaks through her fingers to glare at him and smacks his shoulder, and she looks so sweet and gentle. His heart begins thumping and thumping in his chest, so loud it drowns out all the snide comments he's had thrown at him this morning. He chokes back the feelings, whatever feelings these are, and shakes his head, leaning back against his locker confidently.

"Oh, fuck off," she mumbles, crossing her arms.

"You sound more and more like me every day," he laughs, poking her side teasingly. "Lemon girl."

"Not a chance," she replies loftily, rolling her eyes. Ethan loves this side of her more than anything; it is sound proof that she is completely comfortable around him, despite the way she acts so constantly nervous. "I actually wake up on the right side of the bed sometimes, which can't be said for you."

In return, Ethan rolls his own eyes with a smile. "Right," he snorts, "but today is clearly not one of those days."

"No," she groans, falling forward and pressing her forehead on the ball of his shoulder. "I feel so sick. Feel my forehead. Sympathize."

Ethan laughs outright and scrubs a hand down her back. "Poor (Y/N)," he simpers dramatically. "Don't tell me it's the plague."

She burrows her head deeper into his figure and he prays she can't feel the way his heart rate picks up considerably. "Just might be."

"Look, if you die on me, I'll have to befriend that Tara chick from Comp just to spite you in the afterlife," he says, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

With an absent-mind he realizes, uncaringly, that they probably look quite cozy to any of the students passing by in the hallway, with Ethan cradling her comfortably and her nose buried in his collarbone. He doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all.

"You wouldn't dare," she threatens, her words muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. "I'd fuckin' haunt you until you died, and then I'd kick your ass from beyond the grave."

Ethan's glad she's tucked into him so she can't see the way he's biting back laughter.

"You know I could kick your ass, right?" she pushes.

"Of course," he complies.

All too soon she's uncurling from him, wiping her sleeve over her nose, and sniffling. "What career day things are you going to?" she asks, digging her pamphlet out of her backpack and scanning it.

"Dunno," he says, shrugging lamely. He knows he isn't attending any of them, but he's saving his breath. "What about you?"

She frowns bitterly and squints at the paper. "You're kidding me. There's a booth for Veterinary Acupuncture but not a single booth for creative writing?" She has disgust painted all over her pretty features when she says, "E, I'm sorry. That's fucked up."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" Ethan asks surprisedly.

"Cause, I know you wanna write when you get older and it's twisted that they don't have anything catering to that. I mean seriously they- oh my god, they have a booth for Clown Academy but not-!"

"How'd you know that?" Ethan asks with a furrow in his brow.

He can't ever remember sharing that with anyone, not besides Grayson, and that was years ago. He wouldn't share that with anyone. He'd never want to.

"Says right here on the brochure, Clown Academy, right above Counseling."

"No, not- not the clown academy thing, that I wanted to write."

She lifts a brow, puzzled. "You told me," she elaborates obviously. "That's why you got that little pen tattoo next to Grayson's birthday, right? You told me on the last day of school last year."

He did. He remembers it now, faint and vague, but he's gobsmacked she'd remember such a thing. Almost as gobsmacked as he is that he told her.

"Right..." he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. He ducks his head and says, "Yeah, no, it's stupid that they don't have anything."

"Stupid's one word for it," she continues, shaking her head and glowering at the sheet she's holding. "Kind of bothers me too since I want to do something with writing."

"Really?" Ethan asks, his head popping up to meet her eyes. "You want to write? Like what? Like journalism? Or like books? Or-"

"Easy tiger, you're talking to a girl half drugged up on DayQuil," she giggles, quirking a brow.

Ethan feels himself flood with embarrassment once he realizes how ridiculously giddy he sounded just then. He just cares a lot, okay? And he bets her writing is simply stunning, he could probably read it forever if she let-

Ethan feels panic rise up in his throat and all through his chest when he realizes there's no prospect of "forever" with a girl like her. Ethan reminds himself that this friendship is a stroke of luck--practically a miracle, considering everyone else sees what Ethan sees in himself--and that he can't even pray for anything more than a high school friendship with her. And that's that.

(Y/N) is completely oblivious to his storm of emotions as she says, "Dunno yet, could be something with romance--I'm big on cheesy novels," with a giggle. "But I've got three more years of high school, maybe by then I'll have dreams of law or med school or being a swimming pig island guide. We'll see."

Maybe you'll be mine, Ethan thinks before he can stop himself. He nearly slaps himself in the face. Stop it, we just had this conversation, he thinks. And after thinking that, he realizes he's talking to himself. Freak.

"But anyway, I'm gonna drop my stuff off at my locker and then head to the gym, wanna walk me down?" she offers.

Ethan, as much as he would absolutely love even another second with her, realizes he must ditch her for that cozy book nook in his dad's room that'll host him all day. So, he says, "Would, but I've gotta piss and then talk to my dad."

Her nose scrunches adorably and he feels his stomach swoop. "Could you be less, uh, gross?"

"Never, you love it," he shrugs.

Momentarily, her friendly expression caves and she looks as though she's been caught in the act of something with her flushed skin and doe eyes. "Right," she squeaks. "Well, I'll see you around."

The two part ways and Ethan immediately jogs to his dad's room feeling the best kind of tired and excited to snuggle up under the blanket he's stashed under his dad's desk. He burrows himself in the bean bag and cracks the spine of his Harry Potter and gets to work, ignorant to the hours that slip by or the chaos that is most definitely ensuing in the gymnasium.

His dad stops in once or twice to check on him and backhandedly scold him for ditching such a fantastic and beneficial expo, saying things like 'It's such a shame kids don't attend such a well-stacked organization,' and 'the journalism department has some gifted staff members that have such fantastic brochures.' It is snooze worthy for Ethan, especially in comparison to the duel between Harry and Voldemort that he's reading about.

Around noon Ethan is forced to get up and stretch, moan and groan as the joints in his back pop and shift from his fetal position in his bean bag, because, for starters, he's absolutely famished and, for enders, he's just finished one of the best books he's ever read in his whole entire life. He can totally understand why (Y/N) gushes about them so much.

On his walk to the library, he thinks about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios in Florida, and wonders how much two plane tickets and passes would be, just to see her face light up when she takes her first sip of butterbeer. Or better yet, when she flicks her newly purchased wand around in her newly purchased robes and jumps up and down like the kid she is at heart. Or, even better yet, how she'd spill every bit of knowledge she had about the books before, during, and after their little adventure, all throughout the plane ride there and all throughout the plane ride home. It's just too perfect--it is exactly what she deserves.

And then Ethan catches himself grinning almost wolfishly his smile is so big, and he shakes his head like a cartoon character trying to rid himself of these crazed thoughts, because there are so many complications. One, he is broke as can be, two, his mother is incredibly strict and would never let him whisk away his giant crush to paradise, some 15 states away, and three, he doubts (Y/N) would ever want to go with him. He imagines she'd want to go--just not with him. And that is understandable, so as his fantasy explodes with a mournful pop!, he hurries into the library and grabs the cleanest copy of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix and dashes out. Clearly, the smell of books--which he has already associated with (Y/N) for some unrelated reason--is too intoxicating for a clear mind.

After chomping away at the lunch he'd packed that morning, Ethan again nestles himself in his bean bag chair, ready to float from reality between the pages of what is undoubtedly his next favorite book. However, just as he's flicking open the cover, a tentative knock sounds at the door.

"Mr. Dolan?" calls a voice, one sweet like honey, from outside the room. "Mr. Dolan, you in there?"

Ethan quickly shoves the book underneath the bean bag before clearing throat and lowering his voice comically, "Come in."

"Mr. Dolan, I'm sorry to interrupt your lun-" (Y/N) stops dead in her tracks when she realizes there is no Mr. Dolan, well, no Sean by any means, but that Ethan's looking at her expectantly. "Where's Mr. Dolan?" she asks.

"He's right here," Ethan says, gesturing to his comfy figure in his comfy bean bag.

Her lips crack into a grin and she says, "No, you dummy, I mean your dad. Is he on his lunch break? And why are you in here? I was wondering why I hadn't seen you at Career Day."

Ethan shrugs lamely and surveys her; if he didn't think she looked like an angel, he would have thought she looked like hell: she had deep, dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin had paled even more throughout the day, the base of her nose scrubbed from rubbing it all day and her lips parted and cracked from mouth-breathing. Her clothes even look more rumply, like she's been curling up every spare second she's gotten.

"Go home," is all he says, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "You look like you're dying."

"Ugh, I am," she complains, folding her face in between her two palms. "I seriously think I might have something bad. My body's killing me."

"Then go home," Ethan encourages again, frowning sadly.

"Can't," she says, "got things to do."

Ethan rolls his eyes irritatedly, annoyed with her ambition when she is so obviously sick. "No, I'm not asking."

"Me neither," she shrugs. "Not like I can drive home anyway, I just have to tough today out."

"Well... well, don't go back to career day, the last thing you need is all that activity. And you could get a lot of people sick..." Ethan mumbles, fumbling for a decent excuse to just get her to stay in this room with him so he can ensure she doesn't die or something. Obviously.

"I'll be fine, I don't have another option," she says, sniffling.

"Hang out in here!" Ethan blurts, his words loud and unpredicted. "I- I mean, you can take the bean bag, and I'll lay on the floor, and I can set up a movie on the SmartBoard or something, okay? You shouldn't deal with all that- that activity for Career Day, and like I said, you could still get people sick."

She's watching him with amusement, and Ethan feels his embarrassment grow. But soon enough, she's asking still, "And what about you? What if I get you sick?"

Ethan could not care less about her getting him sick. He doesn't think he's ever felt so apathetic about a risk. "I'm just one person," he defends weakly.

"But an important one," she singsongs, but she's already working her way over to his beanbag. "But I'm sold. Put on a John Hughes movie--Pretty In Pink!" she cries, clapping her hands. "Just like you! Because of the new, pretty and pink hair you've got. Get it?"

Ethan's almost forgotten his latest hair alteration, and chuckles. She thinks he's pretty in pink?

As he's clicking away at the computer and setting up her film of choice, she asks, "Hey, is this your Harry Potter book?!"

He spins around to find her holding the copy he had stuffed under the beanbag and feels nervous for some reason. He hasn't told her he's reading the series, because he likes the way she explains things when she thinks he doesn't already know them, like a really excited kid. So, he says "Psh, no!”

As if that wasn't the shittiest way to tell a lie.

It doesn't seem dishonest to her, because she says, "Ugh, E, you gotta read them. Whoever was reading this has great taste."

"Not much of a reader," he snorts sarcastically, finally starting the film and heading back over to her to curl up on the floor.

"Whatever," she laughs, patting his head--too kind to ever smack him hard enough. "I'll read them to you. You have to find out how great these books are."

Ethan thinks about how wonderful that would be, her reading to him, and feels his heart flutter. Ethan Dolan is a fifteen year old boy who has just felt his heart flutter. He knows he's in much, much too deep. "Alright," he squeaks. "I'm holding you to that."

And then they watch the movie, and Ethan isn't even bothered when she coughs through half of it.

-

“Is it weird to get (Y/N) a present?” Ethan blurts as he waltzes into Grayson’s room, opting to pace back and forth anxiously instead of seating himself on his bed.

Grayson yanks out of one his earbuds and cocks a brow. He was all snuggled up under his comforter and enjoying the ache that comes with an overstuffed belly after Thanksgiving, ready to doze off any minute. He would be annoyed with Ethan, but he looks like a nervous wreck as he walks back and forth across his rug, and Grayson really likes (Y/N). Not to mention, he knows how much (Y/N) means to Ethan, as a friend and as the love of his life, so he knows this is serious.

“Um…” Grayson mumbles, processing his question.

“Um means no, right?” Ethan squawks, halting in his footsteps. “Right? I just- I know that it’s dumb, but listen, I have the perfect idea and-“

Grayson laughs in disbelief and shakes his head. “You’ve got it so bad.”

“I know!” Ethan growls viciously, and Grayson’s almost scared. “I know, okay! But that’s not what this is about!”

Grayson isn’t trying to be rude, he’s just stating the obvious. Anyone that’s almost in tears over stress because of a Christmas present—with the holiday still a month away—clearly cares a lot. Ethan’s never bought Christmas presents for anyone else but Gray, Cam, their parents, and their grandparents before, so this is a whole new milestone for him. But, Grayson realizes nobody else has ever really cared about Ethan. “Okay, okay,” Grayson says softly, removing his other earbud and folding his hands on his lap. “What’s your idea?”

Ethan whines and scampers over to his bed, looking more vulnerable than Grayson’s ever seen him in his life. Once Ethan’s seated criss-crossed, he takes a deep breath he begins rambling again. “So, her favorite books ever are the Harry Potters, and JK Rowling just came out with limited house edition versions of the Philospher’s Stone. I just think that’d be so perfect for her—a limited edition of her favorite book. But here’s the problem, I don’t know what house she’s in! And I can’t ask, because if I ask then-“

“Well, how about I ask her?” Grayson offers, fighting a crooked smile off his lips.

“No,” Ethan says, shaking his head. “No, this needs to be a complete surprise. You’ve never even talked about the Harry Potters with her. I just need to get them all.”

Grayson blinks in shock. “Get them all? That’s your solution? E, that’s like at least $80.”

“$100,” Ethan mumbles around the nail he’s nibbling on. “Not including shipping and handling.”

“$100! You can’t drop $100 on (Y/N)’s Christmas present!” Grayson stammers, bewildered and gobsmacked.

“Well, why not?” Ethan grumbles, glaring at his lap.

“Ethan,” Grayson breathes, his face collapsing in his hands. “Why do you want to spend $100 on her Christmas present?” Ethan shrugs his shoulders lazily, distancing himself from Grayson emotionally. He can practically see the guards going up. He sighs as he says, “I’m not judging bro, I just want to know.”

“She’d just really like it,” Ethan elaborates, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“She’d probably really like a bar of chocolate, Ethan. Anything you get her she’ll love. Do you really want to make a dent in your bank account like that over some girl?”

Grayson can see he’s struck a nerve, and he knows just how before the words even come out of Ethan’s mouth. “She isn’t just some girl, are you serious? This is my best friend. This is my only friend.”

Grayson scratches at the back of his neck. “Is this to make her like you? Do you think she’s going to like if you buy her stuff?”

It came out wrong. It came out wrong, but he still meant it. What does Ethan think he’s doing?

“Fuck you, Grayson,” Ethan bites out before hopping off the mattress and stomping towards the door.

“Bro, come back here, you know that’s not what I- Ethan, stop being a bitch,” Grayson grumbles, sliding out from his bed and chasing Ethan into his own room. The walk is uncomfortable with Grayson’s overstuffed gut, but he knows he needs to tend to Ethan’s giant, sensitive heart. Upon arrival, Grayson finds that Ethan’s actually locked the door on him. He knocks once, twice, three times without an answer before he just bangs his head against the wood. “You’re such a child.”

“And you’re such a dick,” Ethan snarks from the other side.

Ethan knows he’s overreacting, but Grayson knows better than to say things like that; he’s done it before and received the same treatment. It’s not fair that everyone always treats her like she’s average or disposable—Ethan would buy her the world if he could, and Grayson damn well knows it. Moreover, Ethan doesn’t expect anything in return from her; not a gift, not a relationship, not even a thanks. He just loves that he has someone to care for, even platonically. He’s never had this kind of opportunity. He’s never had this kind of friendship.

“Look, I’m sorry about calling your friend, er, ‘some girl’. And I’m sorry for the other part, too. But seriously E, do you really want to spend all that money? You don’t even have a job. This is like, birthday money and stuff…” Grayson tries, wincing.

“Yep,” Ethan replies flatly.

Exhaling a deep sigh, Grayson shakes his head against the wood. “Have you made up your mind?” he asks rhetorically.

Ethan doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.

After a pause, Grayson sighs once more. “I’ll grab your wallet.”

-

“Ethan,” his dad calls, stomping his feet off of snow on the welcome mat in the foyer. “Gotta gift for ya.”

Ethan frowns where he sits on the couch with Grayson by his side, a pair of festive elf hats adorning both of their heads for Christmas day. “Me?” he asks incredulously, spinning in his spot.

“Is there another Ethan living in this house?” his dad asks with an eye roll before tossing him the package. It’s about as big as a shoebox, if not a little bigger, and there’s a glinting metallic red bow on the face of its white wrapping paper. He knows immediately that it’s from (Y/N) somehow.

He feels nervous. What if she was returning the books for some reason? It wasn’t heavy enough for that, but maybe she kept her preferred house and returned the rest… or maybe it’s just a letter softly letting him down, that his present was out of line and that she’s seen through his lies this past year and that she knows for certain he’s in love with her. Ethan let’s his mind whirl around torturously for a full minute.

Grayson can tell what Ethan’s thinking as he watches his brother stare at the wrapping paper with wide eyes and an anxious frown, so he says, “Ethan, just open the damn box.”

“Grayson!” his mother chastises from the couch across the coffee table. “No swearing! And on Christmas too?!”

Grayson barely holds back his eye roll. “Sorry, but look at this idiot. He’s about to have an anxiety attack over a gift!”

His snarky comment awakes Ethan from his terrible daydream and Ethan elbows his side. “Shut up,” he growls. “I’m going upstairs to open this.”

Grayson leans in close so his family can’t hear him. “What, think it might be lingerie?” he snickers.

Ethan’s cheeks burst with color and he gapes. “No!” he shouts, pushing off the couch and running to his room, ignoring the way Grayson cackles maniacally behind him.

He seals himself away in his space, hops into his bed and flicks on his bedside lamp. His hands are shaking with the suspense of it and he has to tell himself to calm down twice. Then he counts to three and begins tearing at the paper, shredding it and splitting open the tape that boxes it.

It’s simple, but so perfect. He grabs the plush T-rex tucked inside, chuckling when he realizes it’s a token from their conversation on the last day of freshman year in advanced English. He squeezes it to his body and hugs it so tight it hurts.

Then he pulls out the giant box of sour patch kids candy and laughs at the note, ‘For a sweet n sour kind of guy.’ Then he finds two bookmarks, one with lemons patterning the front and the second is just blank with a polaroid the two of them took at their local bowling alley taped on top. He feels his throat begin to choke up with emotion and his heart’s beating really, really fast.

Lastly, he digs out the two prompt books from the bottom with stickers that boast ‘Over 2000 prompts inside!’. On the cover of the first is a sticky note that says, ‘Hopefully you can find some inspiration in here.’

And beneath it all is a tiny note on three-holed paper written in blue ink.

Merry Christmas Ethy. Never make me cry like that again, okay? I almost sobbed to death. You mean the world to me and are a great friend. Give the fam a hug for me.

Ethan’s crying. He’s crying so hard that he thinks he’ll never stop because she is such a good friend. She’s too good for him, and she doesn’t know it, and he never wants her to figure that out because he wants her for life. Friend, girlfriend, whatever. It doesn’t matter as long as she’s around him.

His mom knocks on the door gently from outside his room, hearing his wails all the way from the staircase. “Etee?” she calls. “Can I come in?”

Ethan makes a noise of approval through his choking sobs, and she enters the room, fearing the worst.

But then she sees him hugging a stuffed animal undoubtedly gifted by (Y/N) and her heart swells three times its size. She is so proud of her Ethan, and she is so proud of her (Y/N) now, too. She loves that girl like her own.

Ethan’s mom sneaks over and wraps him up in a hug and squeezes him once because she loves him, twice because she loves his best friend, and three times because it’s Christmas, and makes a mental note to find a gift for (Y/N) next Christmas, too.

-

Entering the final weeks of his junior year, Ethan's beginning to relax, finally. Him and (Y/N) have been best friends for over a year now and spend just about every waking minute together, going to movies every weekend, bowling every Tuesday, swimming in the summer, sledding in the snow; the two could have fun in a cardboard box at this point. They know each other like the back of their hands, and they've grown so close even Grayson's beginning to get jealous of the amount of time they spend together. But Grayson--and everyone else--knows that it is only because they are so blindly in love with one another. He'll let them be ignorant for a little bit longer.

Ethan's situated in the rigid reigns of his unassigned-assigned seat in the very back of his college interpersonal communications class, pencil in hand, brows sloped together and feeling low as he ever could.

The assignment was simple. He was confirming or denying personality traits and ranking them on a scale from one to ten with one being inaccurate and ten being suitable. For example, Ethan's eyes hardly ghosted over the phrase '3. I am sociable' before his pencil darted over to the one column and jotted down the number 3 since the phrase 'sociable' was practically an antonym for 'Ethan Dolan'. The assignment is generic enough, but for some reason, Ethan feels targeted. He supposes he should put number '4. I am paranoid' under column eight.

Ethan's hard on himself. And he thinks that, after placing '6. I am revolting' under column nine, he should probably lighten up, but he agrees, okay? And he is anxious, he is argumentative, he's immature and impatient and cowardly. The further he skims down this list, the more cons he agrees with. However, there's a fair balance of disagreement: he certainly isn't affectionate, charming, or humorous and he certainly is not, er, 'happy-go-lucky'. He's being honest with himself--and that's what this activity is all about.

But it hurts. Ethan's foot is bobbing so fast against the rung of his chair his whole desk is practically vibrating and his throat feels tight and he feels cold, cold and cold-hearted. Before long, he's listing phrases like '11. I am snobbish' under category ten without a second thought.

'16. I am sensitive.'

Ethan's pencil hovers. He isn't sensitive. He is not sensitive, not anymore; his skin has thickened over the years, hardened with scars by the paper cuts of snide remarks and deep gashes of his own cruel thoughts. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even cried. His heart was practically dry ice at this point.

That's not true. You are still weak. You are still so weak.

Ethan feels his own insult slide down the length of his spine, cold and humiliating and it leaves his cheeks burning because it's true. He doesn't cry and that doesn't mean shit. He is still pathetic and lowly and he knows it, he knows better than to lie to himself like this. There is no place for dishonesty in his own mind--it is quick to reprimand him. He puts the number 16 under ten.

'17. I am lovable.'

His eyes pinch shut, stinging with tears, and he groans inwardly, aching with the pure cruelty of it. He can't think of a less applicable phrase. He ditches the one column completely and creates an entirely new scale, zero, and writes 17 twice.

He's hardly noticed that he's hunched over, his hand buried in his mop of hair and protectively shielding his vulnerable, tearful eyes. He's tucking in on himself until he's small, cowering under the weight of his thoughts. It hurts. It hurts.

He doesn't know where this wave of emotion came from, but he's digging his nails into his palm in order to distract him enough while the teacher's speaking.

"Now, the second part of the assignment is to see how other people rank you. I'll hand out a second copy and you will give it to them and give them the same instructions with you in mind," Ms. Stogerson says as the bell chimes overhead. "Bring it back tomorrow!" she cries as people file out of the room.

Ethan is last to leave with a heavy heart and a head full of heavy thoughts. He's practically sleep walking to his locker, his mind's so far away, and he jumps when (Y/N) puts a hand on his arm.

"Hey, you okay?" she asks gently, her eyebrows slung together with worry.

No. "Yeah, course," Ethan mumbles, staring down at his sheet littered with personal, personal insults. "Listen, um, you busy during study hall?" he asks.

She shakes her head no and waits for him to continue.

He sighs and nibbles on his lip. "Could you help me out with an assignment maybe?"

"Of course," she smiles easily. Ethan was dreading her response. He really, really, really doesn't want to do this. "What's the assignment?" she asks as he twists the lock on his locker.

"Um," he drags on, "it's kind of a weird one. You're supposed to like, rank me. Well, okay," he grumbles, ducking his head into his cubby for a moment of privacy. He sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping the tears that still well in his eyes will soak back. "It's, uh..."

"Ethy? You okay? Seriously," she pushes, grabbing his forearm where it holds the rail of his door.

"Yeah," he tries, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and then steels himself. "Yes, I'm fine," he says with more certainty. "Basically, you have to rank my character traits from one to ten, with one being inaccurate, five being average, and ten being accurate. So like... so for instance, if the sentence was 'I am athletic', you'd rank me at like, a one since I'm not athletic at all. Get it?"

She squints at him and nods, tipping her head towards the classroom so they can begin walking. "Yeah, I get it, but I wouldn't rank you at a one. You might not be in sports, but I'm pretty sure you could kick someone's ass, and I saw you in gym class; you singlehandedly won capture-the-football for your team. I'd put you at like, an eight," she shrugs.

Ethan hadn't considered that. He really wasn't all that unathletic when he really thought about it. He frowns at his sheet. "Well... alright. But, you get it then?"

"Yeah, sounds like a piece of cake," she says and snags the sheet out of his hand.

Once they seat themselves in their study hall, (Y/N) breaks out her pencil and begins jotting down on the worksheet, and Ethan's almost sweating he's so anxious from what she'll say about him.

He knows she won't cut him down, she never has. But this is pure honesty, this says everything about what she thinks of him, how highly she sees him; it's as if he's asking her each question. Do you think I'm honest? Do you think I'm unique? Do you think I'm approachable? And she'll answer him.

It's an exercise based on self-evaluation and the mirror theory, and Ethan's supposed to find out if he sees in himself what others see in him. But he doesn't care what people think about him, he just cares what she thinks about him.

"Are you almost done?" Ethan mumbles, fidgeting with his hands.

She gives him a sidelong glance and a grin. "Yes, Mr. Impatient. Just... one... more. There," she says, sliding the sheet his way.

Ethan can't believe it. He really can't believe any of it. "You ranked me as a 10 on the attractive scale?" he gapes, bringing the paper close to his face to see if his vision had deceived him.

When he turns to look at her, she's blushing terribly but shrugging nonchalantly, as if she doesn't care if he knows that she thinks he's a ten. Ethan could throw a party.

"And another ten for charming? And a ten for humorous? And a nine for kind? Are you out of your mind?" he snorts, scanning her list. "Those are ones and twos on my list."

She blinks at him with horror. "How?" she asks incredulously.

"Charming? When am I ever charming?" he pushes.

"Er, well..." she says, avoiding his eyes entirely.

"And when am I funny?" he asks still.

"Oh, you know that you're funny, don't be stupid," she deadpans. "You make me laugh all the time. Let me see your list." Before Ethan can stuff it in her binder, away from her reach, she snags it and begins reviewing it studiously. Her frown deepens and deepens and her eyes get the look as if she's just seen animal abuse first hand, and Ethan hates it. He hates her sympathy, he hates her need to console him because he doesn't need it. He doesn't need sympathy.

"Ethan, how can you even say you're snobbish? When the fuck are you snobbish?" she mumbles, shaking her head.

"Well, I don't talk to anyone in this school besides you. I think that's kind of snobby of me," he shrugs, chewing on a hangnail.

"Ethan, you don't talk to anyone because they're all a bunch of assholes. I would be concerned if you did talk to them. Give me that," she says, grabbing his pencil from his hand and erasing his work. "We're doing this together."

"Why are you erasing revolting? That belongs in column ten!" he cries, grasping for the pencil.

"You're out of your mind, you are anything but revolting," she growls back, still erasing. "Now, why do you think you're irresponsible? You have a 4.0, Ethan."

He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders lamely. "I don't know, I forgot to lock my locker one time and Kyle Henz sprayed shaving cream all over my books. If I'd remembered to lock it, that wouldn't have happened, you know?"

(Y/N)'s jaw clenches next to him and her knuckles turn white where they hold the pencil. "Well, Kyle Henz is a piece of shit, and that isn't your fault. You're responsible. It's going in column eight. I'll admit you're insecure, I'll leave that in column ten, but you shouldn't be. You are... so great," she says, shaking her head like she can't believe anyone like Ethan would be hard on themselves.

She makes him want to not be so hard on himself. She makes him want to believe in himself like she believes in him.

They go down the list until Ethan actually agrees with her on some. He doesn't know why he thought he was insensitive or bossy or dishonest because he just isn't. He is plenty of insulting words, but he isn't any of those, or half of the words he said he was an hour ago. (Y/N) makes an effort to give him an example with each one, why he's polite, why he's kind, why he's interesting, and it lifts his spirits higher than they've been in a long, long time.

"Why'd you pick me for this assignment?" she asks as the hour draws to an end.

Ethan doesn't really know. It's not because she was the first person he saw, because he would have picked her anyway. After a moment, he chews on his lip and murmurs, "You know me better than anyone else."

"Even Gray?"

"Even Gray," he nods.

She grins big at him and nods to herself. "Well, I know you better than anyone else, and look at what I think of you," she says, tapping to her sheet full of positives.

Ethan guesses that's one way to look at it.

They share a look, a look they share too often, a look that makes Ethan think that maybe she feels the same way too, a look that makes him believe that someday they could work out. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and the bell chimes overhead, and the moment's lost to reality.

"See you after school," she says to him breathlessly.

All Ethan can do is nod and watch her hurry out of the study hall room.

-

Ethan never does things right for too long. A year and a half of friendship was much, much more than he could have ever asked for, so he doesn't know why he's shocked. He doesn't know why he's even hurt.

He walks into his home robotically, his feet carrying him to his parents' room without him even knowing it. He doesn't even register that he's there until he hears his mom's gasp and feels her hands cradling his face. "Ethan Grant, how did you get that?" she asks.

He knows she's talking about the black eye that's marking the left half of his face, and he tries to answer her, but all that comes out is, "I think I lost (Y/N)."

He needs to talk about this. He needs to cry about this. He feels like something is eating him alive, starting with his heart; his heart, it hurts so bad.

"Honey, what do you mean? What do you mean you think you lost (Y/N)?" his mom asks, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone and staring up at him with worry all over her features.

He just falls on her, lets her hold him like a child, and thinks about the times they used to go to the library and read together. He misses that innocence, that simpleness right now. He doesn't want to be so sad. Ethan is shaking with sobs and chokes on his own cries and sniffing loudly, trying to see through his blurry vision and calm down. He begins to hyperventilate and his mom leads him out into the living room, wrapping him in a blanket and attempting to console him, but it is very little use because Ethan is heartbroken.

He is absolutely heartbroken.

-

Ethan can hardly open his eyes the next morning, they're so puffy. He's still on the couch, and his mom is still by his side. He blinks blearily and looks around to find himself draped in a thick comforter and a cup of tea on the coffee table, still steaming. His mom looks as sad as him, and he can feel the disappointment radiating off of her. Whether it's from him fighting or him losing (Y/N), he doesn't know, but he hates it. It feels like another weight on him.

She cards her fingers through his tousled bangs and smiles sadly at him. "There's a delivery for you," she whispers to him, "from (Y/N)."

The name alone sends his heart jolting, and tears flood his eyes uninvited. He sniffs and nods, sitting up from his spot and propping himself up on his elbows. His mom leaps from her seat and pads into the foyer, her slippers scuffling on the marble floors, and returns soon enough with a laundry tote overflowing with books.

Ethan's brows furrow on his forehead, but he doesn't ask any questions. She simply drops it at his feet and leaves him alone with it.

Ethan wipes his eyes with the back of his fist and stretches a sore arm out to grab the first book within reach. He picks up the Great Gatsby and finds a sticky note on the cover. 'Here's something you haven't told me'.

Ethan reads and rereads it a few times, but it doesn't make any more sense the sixth or seventh time. So, he just cracks the spine and opens it to the first chapter. Ethan doesn't know what he's expecting, but nothing’s out of the ordinary for the first three pages and after a while he forgets what he's looking for and just reads instead. He's convinced he'll never hate a character from a first impression more than he'll hate Daisy Buchanan, and his annoyance grows bigger and bigger as he keeps reading. He figures he ought to just finish the chapter--even though he knows how it'll end--now that he's started it, and as he flips to the final page, he's glad he did. He skips over the paragraph and just reads the scribbled pen at the bottom in the space beneath the last paragraph.

I think Ethan would hate Daisy. Well, I hate Daisy. I hate her so fucking much.

Ethan laughs outright, even if it comes out a little strangled with his hoarse voice, at (Y/N)'s bluntness. She was shy and reserved in real life, but in her own fictional world, she was as bold as anyone he’d ever met.

I can't even figure out how Ethan made it past the first chapter with how shitty it is. I feel like his dad told him to read it, so he did, and he just ended up loving it, because if I didn't know the great reputation this book had, I would throw it in the garbage after the first chapter. I hate Daisy Buchanan. She’s a ditz.

She's absolutely right; Ethan only read it because his dad told him to. And he hates Daisy, he hates her so goddamn much from the start. But he's giddy with the realization that (Y/N) probably writes something at the end of every chapter, and begins leafing through the pages to find out what more is on her mind. On most pages after that, he finds highlighted quotes and margin notes and even little doodles, all pertaining to her thoughts on the book and what she thinks Ethan thinks, and most of the time, they're spot on.

After a while, he discards The Great Gatsby and grabs The Perks of Being a Wallflower and finds that it's similarly stained almost completely in highlighter and pen ink. Every single book in the overflowing laundry tote is well-worn, well-read, and well-marked. Ethan realizes after the eighth book that these are all of his favorites.

It's well into the evening when he stops searching each book and reading all the thoughts she took the time to scribble down. She knows him better than anyone in the world, better than Cameron, better than his dad, better than Grayson, better than his mom. She knows him better than anyone and she still loves him. She loves him like a friend, and maybe even more, and Ethan figures now is a better time than ever to just spit it out--he is so fucking in love with her, and he's going to tell her.

-

It's been six months and a day since that god-awful day, and six months since (Y/N) became Ethan's. That's one hell of a silver lining.

Her, Ethan, and the other four Dolans are seated around the Dolan's porch with oversized pumpkins in their laps and carving tools in their hands, sipping hot cocoa and eating recently decorated sugar cookies. Ethan can't think of a better way to spend his Halloween.

It means a lot to him because (Y/N) was invited to at least three parties and her friends were threatening to kidnap her if she didn't show up herself, and she turned them all down. She knows it's Ethan's favorite holiday, and she knows he doesn't like parties. She wouldn't have wanted to go without him, anyway.

"Ethy, pass me the scooper," she demands, making grabby hands at his toolset.

Ethan passes it along to her without a snarky comment because he's overjoyed. Nothing can bring him down.

"(Y/N), did we ever tell you about the time Ethan cried over you at the dinner table?" Cameron smirks, glaring smugly at Ethan.

Ethan lied. This can definitely bring him down. "Why no," (Y/N) drawls, grinning toothily, "you haven't Cammy. Fill me in."

"Absolutely not," Ethan growls. He raises the kitchen knife next to his pumpkin only half-jokingly. "Shut it."

But Cameron has no interest in keeping quiet. In fact, she's inviting everyone to chime in if they so please. "Dad? You remember that? Mom?"

"Of course," his mom giggles, her eyes lighting up happily. "Sean, you remember that right? Right after Cam met her at the ice cream parlor?"

"Remember that (Y/N)?" Cameron laughs, reaching over to grab her arm in delight. "When you and all your friends stopped in and we met? Well I told Ethan that I told you that he had a crush on you, and I swear to God I've never seen the kid cry so hard in my life, he was sobbing," she snorts, leaning forward as she wheezes.

"Oh my God, and he was reading the first Harry Potter and we were teasing him and he was getting so upset," his mom joins. Ethan's fuming. He's fuming!

"Stop," Ethan barks, glaring down at his pumpkin.

"That's not the first or last time he'd cry over you, either," Grayson scoffs, shaking his head. "When he picked out your Christmas present sophomore year, he was almost in tears he was so nervous."

Ethan's about ready to just leave, head inside and lock himself in his room with the way his girlfriend's giggling along and everyone's mocking him and his sensitivity. He opens his mouth to shout something obscene, but (Y/N) starts talking. "That's definitely not as embarrassing as the times that I've cried. When he first got that lavender stripe in his hair, my friends told me some other girl was going to snatch him right from me and I went home and sobbed to my mom," she laughs, covers her mouth and shaking her head. "She literally had to give me NyQuil because I cried all night."

His whole family bursts into a chorus of laughter; his dad's holding his stomach, his mom's wiping tears, and Cameron and Grayson are staring at each other with complete mirth.

"A-and then," she continues, her giggles breaking up her words, "on the last day of school freshman year, I cried all night long because I wasn't going to see Ethan for three whole months. I didn't even know him yet!"

Ethan finds himself chuckling deep in his chest too with a big wide grin, and he clears his throat.  "You're kidding," he snorts, jabbing her shoulder with his elbow.

"No, I'm not," she says with a giggle, shaking her head. "I think I cried like, a dozen times over you. Just too in love, I guess," she smiles sweetly.

Ethan doesn't know why he was so worried about being embarrassed around her--he knows she'll never judge him. And he knows she loves him too, so what's his problem?

The laughter dies down after awhile and everyone returns to their pumpkin carving, debating over the best slasher horror movie and which one they'll watch later. Ethan knows he'll be so scared he can't sleep, but that doesn't actually bother him all that much. His reality's so much better than any of his dreams, anyway.

-

Ethan's graduated. He is finally fucking graduated. He's never felt so good in his life.

He feels like someone's uncuffed his handcuffs, untied his reigns, or some other analogy for breathing a fresh breath of freedom. He can't remember anything ever being so physically relieving, outside of the moment (Y/N) confessed her love for him too. On second thought, there is something better than graduation, and it's standing in his driveway.

That thing is plopped on the pavement, with its limbs stretched out and its bare feet tickling the sidewalk at the end with a baby blue bit of chalk in its hand, writing in bubble letters 'WELCOME!'. Its got its tongue poking out of its lips and its hair is falling sideways around it and it’s looking absolutely stunning in its best sundress. Ethan can't believe he ever thought, even dramatically, anything as simple as graduation was as good as it.

And it, of course, is (Y/N). She's already spent the morning hanging streamers around the garage and setting up poster boards of Ethan and Grayson with Lisa and carrying out gigantic tupperware with large portions of food and sneaking a cupcake (Ethan saw) out of the dessert stand. And all for a graduation party that isn't even her own.

Ethan is anxious--which is a phrase that is often said and even oftener felt by him. But that does not mean he does not feel any less nauseous, any less dizzy, or any less on edge than he has all those times before; if anything, he is feeling more anxious than he has in months, because Ethan is less than popular at Long Valley, and half of the school is going to be coming to his house on his territory and they are going to be just as cruel as usual. And there's nothing Ethan can do; in fact, he's supposed to welcome them.

They've all been invited by Grayson, the twin who can actually speak, the twin who is a social butterfly. And Ethan gets it--it's not Grayson's fault he's likable. But he's been a little bitter ever since Grayson warned him that Cole Eptom and Alex Peterson were invited and attending. Where's Grayson's loyalty? This has been a clear violation of the Bro-Code, and he knows it.

More than this, it'll just be awkward. It'll be awkward when everyone's rushing up to Grayson and hanging off the edge of his every word, and no one is coming up to Ethan. And that's how it has always been, but it's frankly unfair and downright impolite when the celebration is about Ethan too, after all. He feels a little like his name is in fine print on their cheesy graduation banner.

(Y/N) stands up from where she was lying on the cement and claps the chalk off her palms. She stares down at her masterpiece with a frown and then swipes her tongue across her thumb and smudges out a bit of the W, and then grins contently and looks to Ethan for confirmation. Ethan doesn’t really care what it looks like if he’s honest, but he gives her two thumbs up and a big wide grin. She’s smiling, and that’s all that really matters.

She patters over to him, her white sandals scraping against the pavement and her matching white dress flowing with her body, and sidles up next to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. “You excited?” she asks.

Of course he isn’t. “Yeah, should be fun,” Ethan says.

She snorts disbelievingly and shakes her head. “No you aren’t, I haven’t seen you smile all morning.”

Ethan throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in tighter, kissing the top of her head. “That’s cause you’ve been busy helping and not paying me any attention. At all.”

She sneaks out from under his hold and slides her fingers up his jawline, eager to pull him in for a chaste kiss. They end up forgetting the ‘chaste’ part and making out in the driveway, oblivious to the commotion going about around them—the tables being set up, the decorative plants being vased, the food being set—and get lost in the feeling of each other. Ethan thinks it’s the best distraction he could have thought of. Their moment is so quickly ruined though when he feels a tiny bar--which he soon realizes is a carrot from the veggie tray--pelt the back of his neck, and he flinches and pulls away.

“Are you guys serious!” Grayson calls from the garage, his arms outstretched with dubiety. “We have a graduation party, dumbass!”

Ethan grumbles and pulls (Y/N) flush to his chest, both arms secure around her shoulders, and lifts his chin over his shoulder to pierce his twin with a glare. “Not for another half hour, fuck off.”

“It starts in five minutes, Ethan. For fuck’s sake, Grandma could walk up any second and see you guys tongue-fucking each other.”

“Or, Grandma could walk up and hear you using foul language, Grayson Bailey,” Grandma Adrianne scolds, her frown etching deep crevices in her face. Ethan’s never felt so smug as he does when he watches Grayson’s life flash before his eyes.

“Grandma Adrianne!” Grayson chokes out, faux-cheeriness in his strangled voice. “When did you-“

“Save it, you’re lucky I don’t tell your mother to wash your mouth out with soap,” she grumbles, waving him away. She’s quick to hurry up behind (Y/N) and snatch her from Ethan, pulling her into her arms and swaying the two of them back and forth. Ethan almost wants to be offended that she’s chosen his own girlfriend over him, but his belly feels warm with the reality that his family loves (Y/N) just as much as he does—some days, he actually thinks they might love her more. But that is a ridiculous thought. “Hi, Honey,” Grandma Adrianne says to her, patting her back. “How have you been? You takin’ care of my Etee?”

(Y/N) pulls away and holds onto her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You know it, Lord knows what would happen if I wasn’t,” she says with an eyeroll.

“Good. We need you and Lisa by him always, the little devil.”

“Hey!” Ethan calls, his arms flying out defensively.

“Oh trust me, you aren’t near as bad as your brother over there,” Grandma Adrianne assures, waddling over to hug Ethan. She squeezes him tight and kisses his cheek, and Ethan smiles. “Quite the potty-mouth. Where do you even find words like ‘tongue-fu-‘“

“Grandma,” Ethan laughs.

“I’m not kidding, he’s in hot water with me. I told you boys no swearing, it’s unnecessary.”

“Lucky for you, I am a saint,” Ethan fibs, winking at (Y/N) over Grandma Adrianne’s shoulder. She rolls her eyes playfully in return and shakes her head, a blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah right, Kid,” Grandma says. “Now where did Grayson run off to? I bet he’s hiding,” she says and chases him into the kitchen where he is undoubtedly cowering.

Ethan takes the spare moment of privacy to kiss (Y/N) one last time, sadly chastely, and burrow his nose in the crook of her neck despite the way he has to dip down. He feels protected by her in a way he can’t explain—he knows she’d never leave him defenseless, nonetheless hurt him, because she has had that opportunity for years and yet, she has been nothing but kind, gentle, patient, and caring. Ethan’s reminded by this when she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear and whispers, “You’re going to be fine. Breathe easy. You’ve got this,” even though he hasn’t spoken a word of his churning anxiety. She just knows.

After that, Grandma Bernadette and Poppy John hobble in, followed by the twins’ little cousins, all eager to speak to the boys and snag a cupcake or two. However, after that files in their chemistry teacher, a girl Ethan doesn’t quite know, and half of the soccer team, all of which hardly grant Ethan so much as a glance. It doesn’t bother him; (Y/N) is secure by his side, chatting off his ear and playing iSpy.

But it keeps happening, just like Ethan knew it would. His history teacher is polite enough to say hello and ask him how it feels to be a graduate, but other than that, the dozens of people filling his garage are practically seeing right through him, while Grayson has a lengthy line just waiting to talk to him. His mother is sheepish, trying her best to entertain him with small talk until she’s hauled away by a visitor, and his dad is busy talking to his fellow coworkers. It’s just Ethan and (Y/N), ignoring the elephant in the room—Ethan is so, so unpopular.

He’s not letting it get to him. He isn’t going to. This is way too common for him to get all worked up today—there’s nothing different about today than yesterday, or the day before that, or any of the days at school. Grayson is simply more likable, Ethan knows that. Ethan knows that if he wasn’t so fucking quiet, so fucking grouchy, maybe, just maybe people would talk to him. But then he thinks about six-year-old-Ethan, neither grouchy nor particularly quiet, who was still just as unlikable. Is there something wrong with him? Is there just a wavelength that surrounds him, so negative and intolerant that people won’t even speak to him at his own graduation party? Because, in all honesty, today is different. Today is about Ethan just as much as it is about Grayson, but people are still avoiding him like the black plague. And these are nice people—people who have manners, who are polite enough to know to at least acknowledge his presence. What the fuck is wrong with Ethan?

(Y/N) squeezes his hand beside him, a frown on her lips and curiosity in her doe eyes. “What’s wrong?” she whispers, leaning in close.

“Nothing,” Ethan breathes, sighing breathily. “Nothing at all.”

She knows better, and he knows that she knows. But he's close, so close to tearing up in his garage in front of the cluster of people to his left, hanging off of Grayson's every word.

It was so unfair. He knows it's pointless to be asked where he's attending college since him and Grayson are going to the same place, he knows it's pointless to be asked who he's rooming with, but they could ask him about his major, they could ask him if he wanted to study abroad, they could ask him so many other questions. He did not deserve this.

Or did he? There must be a reason people hate him so quickly, almost inherently. It was as if everyone just knew to hate him. Hating Ethan seems like a knee jerk reflex for the mass population.

It can't be his looks--he sees the way girls fawn over Grayson, and he looks just like him. It can't be his last name, because everyone loves Cameron and his dad and his mom and Grayson. He's mulling over why, why, why people hated him so much they won't even speak to him at his own graduation party. He's mulling over why so much, that he hardly notices (Y/N) poking his side.

"Hey, Ethy," she says tentatively, jabbing him. "Someone's here to see you," she coos.

Ethan lifts his gaze slowly to stare at the woman in front of him--(Y/N)'s mom. He only realizes he's been frowning so bitterly at the ground when he begins to smile, ready to speak to one of his favorite people. "Hi!" he cheers, dropping (Y/N)'s hand to throw her mom in a hug. "Thank you for coming!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Honey," she giggles in his ear, squeezing him back. "Gonna miss it?" she jokes, pointing to the pair of caps and diplomas on the table.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head. "Not a bit," he says.

"Good, those people suck," she whispers to him, discreetly thumbing to the crowd by Grayson.

Ethan smiles happily and nods in full agreement. "You can hop in line and talk to Grayson if you want," Ethan says politely, cocking his head to where Grayson's chatting away with a member of the volleyball team.

(Y/N)'s mom rolls her eyes. "He looks busy," she says flatly. "Besides, we have to go over more important matters; what flavor are the cupcakes?"

Ethan chuckles and grabs (Y/N)'s hand again, the knot in his stomach unwinding. "Red velvet with cream cheese frosting, just for (Y/N) here." He looks down to see his girlfriend is already munching on what seems to be her third cupcake, a speck of frosting dotting the tip of her nose. He swipes it off with a grin and licks his finger.

(Y/N)'s mom has already grabbed two and is in a hurry to make it to the food line. "Ethan, I hope you don't mind, but (Y/N) and I invited a few people. I already talked to your mom and she said it's fine," (Y/N)'s mom calls to him, stacking chips and sandwiches on her paper plate.

Ethan's brows slump together and he looks down to (Y/N) who is carefully avoiding his gaze. "Uh, yeah I guess that's fine? Who'd you invite?"

There is no time to answer, however, because the entirety of (Y/N)'s extended family is ushering into the garage, squeezing past tables and chairs, forming their own line to speak to Ethan twice as long as Grayson's. People are beginning to stare as (Y/N)'s cousins argue over who gets to speak to him first, her aunts are already coddling him, and her grandparents are hobbling up to the front, claiming 'dibs'. Ethan's mom is grinning so big he thinks her dimples might be permanent, and Ethan's dad is hardly paying attention to his coworkers, and neither of them mind when the family leaves late into the afternoon after dozens and dozens of hugs and kisses and conversations with Ethan and only Ethan.

-

Ethan isn't nervous for his first day of class, he's not. He has no reason to be. No one cares about him at university, and that's just how he likes it.

Well, he’s a little nervous. Not because he thinks people will pick on him, but because he thinks everyone will care so little about him that no one will bother to speak to him. It’s definitely better than bullying still, Ethan thinks. He just wants a decent spot in his lecture hall.

The walk to campus is easy enough. It’s sunny and seventy-eight, the perfect temperature for an early September morning. He kicks a rock all the way down the sidewalk and keeps his head down to pass the time and distract him of his thoughts. Before he knows it, he’s yanking on the door to his building and nearing the hall, and he’s nervous. He’s nervous and he’ll admit it to himself, because there’s no way he can deny the frenzy in his stomach or the sweat dampening his hands.

He walks into the room and it’s bigger than he thought it would be and already flooded with students. There’s a spot open here and there, but he’d have to cross the sea of bodies in each row to get to it, and he feels himself overflow with anxiety.

“Hey, need a spot?” a guy a few rows up the stairs asks, waving his pencil.

The guy seems nice enough but kind of intimidating; he’s absolutely jacked. Ethan knows he’s probably not a dick like Cole Eptom or Alex Peterson or Jacob Kronwell, but if he happened to be, he could kick Ethan’s ass. Despite his paranoia, he offers a nervous grin and climbs the stairs to sit in the spot next to him.

“I’m Rocky,” the guy introduces himself, offering out a hand for Ethan to shake.

Ethan takes it firmly and smiles at him. “Ethan,” he says back.

Rocky taps his pencil against his open notebook and bounces his foot against the floor. “You know anything about, er, The Evolution of Roman Literature?” he asks, squinting at the syllabus they grabbed at the entrance.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head quickly. “I don’t know shit about the Romans in general,” Ethan snorts.

“God, me neither,” Rocky responds, laughing with him. “What hall are you in?”

“Krater,” Ethan nods. “I room with my brother, how about you?”

“Hey, I’m in Krater too!” Rocky cheers, grinning with a row of white, pearly teeth. Ethan worries that this guy is too attractive to be within a mile radius of (Y/N). “I room with my best friend from my hometown, Collin. He’s pretty cool, you should meet him.”

Ethan’s making friends. He doesn’t know the process all that well, but he’s doing okay, he thinks. This is what making friends is like.

“For sure,” Ethan nods, drumming his fingers against the table. “You, uh, gotta meet my twin Grayson, he’s nice enough. But he can’t cook for shit, just warning you.”

Rocky tips his head back and laughs, and Ethan feels himself easing up significantly. “You’re funny,” Rocky nods as if it he’s confirming it to himself. “Look, if you wanna stop by my room after class we can pick up Collin and Grayson and get some food—Collin just texted me that he found the best sushi place in New Jersey just downtown. You in?”

Ethan’s in.

-

“Pay up, bitch,” Charlotte shouts in Ethan’s face, waving a hand of rainbow money across his nose. He knows for sure that she’s tipsy if not drunk because Charlotte rarely swears. He has no idea how she is best friends with (Y/N), the swearer of the century.

Charlotte, Hera, Marcy, Carlos, Collin, Baasim, Christian, Rocky, Grayson, and of course, (Y/N) formed a circle in their too-tiny living room, cramped so close their knees overlapped. In the center was a monopoly board with eleven tokens (ten sterling silver pieces and a single, makeshift character—a stale cheez it—for Christian) all mapped out in different sections. Carlos was thriving, Baasim was nearly asleep, and Hera had been to jail four times. Everyone had cried from laughter twice. All was well.

“Fine,” Ethan grumbles, forking over a pink bill. “Fuck you.”

(Y/N) cuddles into his side, touchy from the liquor she had ingested, and tips her head on his shoulder.

“Can we get away from your PDA for one night? Just one? You guys make me sick,” Christian snorts, picking up his cheez it figurine and tossing it at Ethan’s forehead.

Ethan smirks and reaches down to squeeze (Y/N)’s ass for all to see and groan.

“This is ridiculous, I shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff every day,” Marcy says, though she’s tucked in Carlos’s lap comfily. (Y/N) glares at her and jabs her pointer finger at the couple, pointing out their hypocrisy.

“This is actually a miracle,” Ethan shrugs. “Pipsqueak here was shy as fuck in high school. She would never let me even touch her in public.”

“(Y/N)? Shy? I find that hard to believe,” Hera laughs, reaching over and pinching (Y/N)’s cheek lightly. She grabs Hera’s hand and kisses the knuckles, which sends everyone giggling all over again. She really must be feeling affectionate tonight.

“’S true though,” Grayson pipes up, nodding. “I knocked over (Y/N)’s books the first day of my freshman year and I thought she was going to have a heart attack or something.”

(Y/N) sits up and pins Grayson with a hazy glare. “Worth it,” she slurs out. “Otherwise I’d never have the guts to talk to my crushhhh,” she cheers, throwing her arms around Ethan’s neck. Everyone laughs and boos, groaning theatrically and pretending to throw up.

“Yeah, cause Ethan here was a punk back in the day,” Grayson says. It’s the first time they’ve ever mentioned Ethan’s bitterness in high school, but Ethan’s not worried. He has nothing to hide; these people are his family.

“Punk? Really?” Rocky pushes.

“Oh yeah, had a huge emo-phase,” Ethan snorts. “Used to have a neon stripe in my bangs,” he elaborates, pulling on the now natural-colored tuft. “Hot pink.”

The group gasps and shouts a collection of ‘No!’s through their laughter, their ribs all hurting with the idea of Ethan in pink.

“He was so pretty!” (Y/N) chimes from beside him. “Don’t laugh!”

But she’s giggling too, feeling giddy and carefree in the chorus of laughter. Ethan’s got his face in his hands with shame and Rocky leans over to throw him in a headlock, tearing him from (Y/N)’s grasp and scraping his fist against his scalp. They spend the night drunk on cheap beer and laughter, feeling broke but in good company in their sophomore year inside their overstuffed apartment.

-

(Y/N) is seated on the couch with her legs strewn out across Ethan’s lap, with his legs strewn out onto the coffee table. She has a bowl of Reese’s Puffs being spooned into her mouth, and she’s watching Tom and Jerry and wiggling her toes to the intro-song. Ethan’s nervous.

He’s just received a letter from Penguin publishing company offering him a position as an editing intern. He’s overjoyed, really, but he’s stressed about (Y/N). Where’s she going to go? What’s she going to do? Penguin’s all the way over in Manhattan, and it’s a tough area for fresh-starters. He’s absolutely amazed that they sought him out.

He can’t honestly think of a better start for himself. He’s not sure what he’s going to publish, but he’s sure he’s going to publish something, and working at the biggest publishing company in the world makes for good connections. Furthermore, he’ll get to read and critique for a job—two of his favorite things. He knows (Y/N) would love that job. So how does he explain that to her?

It’s not that she won’t be happy for him, she’ll be overjoyed. But she’ll probably be a bit jealous, a little insecure, a little confused as to why they didn’t pick her instead. Ethan’s just as lost as her; she has a better GPA than him and everything about her is just perfect.

The job’s rare too. It’s a highly competitive field, and Ethan was chosen alongside nine others to work in cubicles with stacks, upon stacks, upon stacks of manuscripts, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

But it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right having a secure job without knowing (Y/N) has one too. And they’ll have to move to Manhattan-

What if she gets an internship in West New Jersey? What if they’re completely split? Do they break up?

Absolutely not. As crazy as it sounds, Ethan would never take his dream job over her.

But what do they do? If she doesn’t have an internship, does she follow him to Manhattan and find work there? Manhattan’s huge, would she like it there? Charlotte’s committed to an internship over in Newark for magazine journalism, which wouldn’t be too far away from her. But was that enough? Was Ethan enough of a reason to want to move to Manhattan?

“What’s on your mind?” (Y/N) asked around her spoon, crunching on her cereal still.

“I got an internship at Penguin publishing company,” Ethan blurts thoughtlessly, his chest heaving breathlessly after his admission.

That was the worst way to say it. That was the absolute worst way to say it.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, scrubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I found out last week. I didn’t want to tell you yet because-“

“Me too!” (Y/N) screamed, setting down her cereal bowl and sitting upright. “Ethan, me too!”

But Ethan wasn’t listening, he was just rambling. “I just didn’t want you to be upset because I know it’s far away in Manhattan, I don’t-“

“Ethan,” she laughed, pulling at his arm.

“I will totally drop it if you don’t want to be in Manhattan. I will totally-“

“Ethan!” she shouted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Me too! I got an internship at Penguin, too!”

Ethan couldn’t have possibly heard her right. “What?” he breathes, setting his hands on either side of her face. “Really?” he asks, shifting excitedly in his spot.

“Yes!” she cries, leaning forward to peck his lips. “Yes, they sent me a letter last week, too. I didn’t want to tell you either,” she giggled.

“You’re kidding. You’re kidding!” he whooped, pulling her into him and hugging her oh-so-tight. Only ten candidates and two of them were himself and (Y/N)? This was god-sent.

“Not kidding at all. This way I can keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t flirt with the receptionist,” she teases, tapping his nose.

Ethan snorts and shakes his head, amazed she’d even suggest it with how obsessed he is with her. “Right,” he says. “you’ll definitely need to keep an eye on me.”

“Mhm,” she agrees, kissing his jawline.

“And we can spend our lunch break together,” Ethan grins, thinking of all the cool cafes he can take her out to. She gasps and smiles at him excitedly.

“You mean it? You won’t get sick of me, spending so much time together?”

Ethan’s never heard anything stupider.

-

Ethan doesn’t think Miami is the place for him, and luckily, he doesn’t think Miami is the place for (Y/N) either. It is most definitely the place for Carlos and Marcy though, that much he does know.

They’ve hardly made it to their Air BNB before everyone’s clambering around, scrambling to call dibs on rooms and wheeling their squeaky luggage around the marbled floors, wonkily up the stairs, and all around the halls; he needs some ibuprofen for his oncoming headache. (Y/N) looks the same next to him, with her hair tousled from the turbulence and her oversized clothes rumpled from curling up on Ethan’s shoulder during the flight. He’s no stranger to her post-flight daze; this is their fourth and final spring break trip. He knows how this will go hour by hour.

First, Charlotte is going to slip into her suit and dive headfirst into the pool before anyone can even unpack, and then she will convince everyone to ditch their tasks and join her. Then, they’ll get drunk while swimming (and in Hera’s case, sunning a good ten feet from the water) and let the first day slip away without a thought of their itinerary. Then, someone (Marcy) will beg to play Kings and then someone (Marcy) will get so belligerently drunk that someone (Marcy) will fall asleep in the tub and refuse to get out, and that someone’s fiance (Carlos) will have to carry them back to their room. However, the party will be far from over still, and Ethan and (Y/N) will be kept wide awake until the early hours of the morning, laughing until they have tears streaming down their faces with their best friends. He isn’t sure where, but he’s also certain that a pizza will be ordered somewhere amidst all that chaos.

“Has anyone seen my suitcase?” Charlotte shouts through the echoey halls of their gaudy mansion. (Thanks, Carlos’s parents’ money). “I need my swimsuit!”

A series of ‘no’s and a single ‘yes’ return her way, and Ethan decides at that moment that he needs an ibuprofen or he might just die. (Y/N) is curled up on her chair by the kitchen island, half asleep where she has her head propped on her palm. Ethan smiles to himself and pads over to the refrigerator to grab her a juice and an apple, knowing that’s what she’ll ask for any minute now.

“Ethy, can you grab me- oh, thanks,” she giggles as he slides her the snacks.

“Welcome, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, smirking triumphantly and raiding the cabinets for a bottle of ibuprofen. He checks over his shoulder just to ensure she’s grinning bashfully at her lap and feels funny all over when she is. He’ll never, never, never get tired of her.

“Think we’re gonna go clubbing tonight?” she asks him around a mouthful of crunchy apple.

Ethan laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Me neither,” she agrees with a grin. They know their best friends better than their own families.

Charlotte comes thundering down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the marble, and races out the backdoor by the kitchen, a towel in one hand and a portable speaker in the other. Ethan and (Y/N) share one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud.

“Enough!” Baasim wails as he rounds the corner, his swim trunks on a tacky white stripe of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, you guys have got to stop eye-fucking each other.”

“We aren’t eye-fucking each other,” (Y/N) laughs, breaking their gaze to flick Baasim’s bare shoulder. “If we were, Ethan’s dick would be standing straight out.”

Collin begins dramatically hacking up make-believe vomit when he enters the kitchen, groaning and rubbing his stomach. “Never mention Ethan’s dick around me again,” he states.

Christian nods in agreement. “But she’s right. They were probably just doing their gross ‘we’re totally going to be in love until we’re a hundred years old’ looks, and those are so much worse than their eye-fucking looks. Trust me, I’ve seen both many, many times.”

Baasim shakes his head sympathetically at Collin and they pout together. However, Grayson steps in quickly after them with a lot to say. “You two don’t know the fucking half of it,” he grumbles, a beer already in hand.

Ethan rolls his eyes before pointing to his drink. “Where did you get-“

“There’s a mini fridge in my room! Carlos’s parents must be fuckin’ stacked.”

“They are,” Carlos replies snobbishly, a towel over his shoulder. He lowers his sunglasses momentarily to wink at the crew and they all swat at him mindlessly, paying no mind to his ridiculous ego. Marcy’s on his arm and eager as always to get out and swim, so they follow Charlotte outside right away. Soon enough, everyone’s filing out into the fenced-in backyard and a little more than tipsy.

The first night goes exactly as planned. Well, not according to their itinerary, but according to Ethan’s: there was pizza, there were drunk-bathtub-slumbers, there was Kings, and there was no sleeping until well after four in the morning. But the second is more well-mapped because Hera informs everyone that she’s secured them all wristbands to the VIP section of the Rockwell, and nobody’s willing to pass up that opportunity. And it’s fun—Ethan’s not one to deny himself of a good time—but the group is itching to return the next night, and Ethan’s just not as stoked as everyone else.

“Dude, Rockwell is so fuckin’ steeze,” Rocky nods.

Ethan snorts at his comment and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m going to go tonight,” he shrugs, spooning a bite of Reese’s Puffs into his mouth.

It’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, but Rocky and Ethan are the only ones awake; last night’s wild rendezvous have left everyone drained and hung-over. Ethan’s already set out a bottle of Advil and two glasses of water by (Y/N)’s bedside table.

“Not going? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Rocky asks, squinting at him incredulously.

Ethan isn’t out of his fuckin’ mind, he just knows how to pace himself. They have six days in Miami and he has the party-endurance of an eighty-year-old man—two days of heavy drinking in a row means he must take a night off. “Nope,” Ethan says. “You’ll have to tell me everything tomorrow morning if you can remember it.”

Rocky shakes his head with raised brows and stares at his toast. “Last night was insane.”

“Too insane.”

“Too insane,” Rocky confirms. “This is the shit you tell your kids about.”

Ethan thinks about that for a moment and realizes him and Rocky are just different people. Spring break is fun, unforgettable even, but Ethan would never peg it as life-changing. He knows what he’s going to tell his kids about—the time (Y/N) laughed so hard she peed on Grayson’s dorm bed and told him she spilled apple juice on his sheets. He’s going to tell them about the time she and he played hide-and-go-seek in their freshman residence hall for five hours. He’s going to tell them about the first time she snorted while laughing around him and he got it on video, and then how she tripped while chasing him and nearly had to get stitches. What’s the point in talking about the nights you can’t even remember? He wants to talk about the things he’ll never forget.

“Definitely,” Ethan nods, too tired to disagree.

“Is (Y/N) going to stay here too then?” Rocky asks.

Ethan shrugs but then nods. “Probably. I’ll honestly be surprised if she can even function after last night—she drank more than me, and she’s kind of a lightweight,” he says, chuckling to himself. He thinks about the way he had seen her throwing back twice-spiked pina-coladas and grins so hard his dimples pop in his cheeks.

“Gross…” Rocky says aloud, scrunching his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Stop being so in love. Just get married already.”

Ethan’s no stranger to comments like these, and they don’t startle or unsettle him. He has full intentions, he just doesn’t know how, when, or where to pop the question. He doesn’t even have a ring yet. But he’s ready, so very ready—he’s been waiting since ninth grade.

"Soon," Ethan murmurs back.

"Really?" Rocky says, pausing mid-chew. "When do you think you're going to ask her?"

Ethan doesn't know. "Soon," is all he says.

Rocky seems to notice he shouldn't push anymore because he backs off the topic. Around two in the afternoon, people start sleep-walking into the kitchen and fetching themselves some food, acting more like zombies than humans. When it takes (Y/N) an extra hour to drag her body down the steps, Ethan knows for certain she'll be sticking in the Air BNB with him all night long.

"Good morning," Ethan whispers quietly to her, kissing her hair softly. He knows her temples are sensitive today, so he doesn't dare kiss any part of her forehead.

She doesn't reply, just nods in return.

"Good morning, (Y/N)!" Rocky cheers obnoxiously. Ethan fears homicide.

"Go fuck yourself," she growls back, covering her ears protectively and folding herself into Ethan. Everyone's amused by her grumpiness since she is usually such a cheerful friend, but she's not in the mood to entertain. She grabs a carton of strawberries from the refrigerator and Ethan's wrist and tugs both upstairs to their bedroom where the blinds are drawn completely closed. The air conditioning's blasting on high, the bed is fixed with thick, fuzzy blankets, and the sound of drizzling rain is playing from her phone's speaker. She slips off the sweatpants she was wearing and snuggles under the comforter in Ethan's giant tee. He knows she isn't leaving this room until well into the evening.

He doesn't mind a bit. He'd choose a quiet nap with her over all the parties, all the alcohol, all the friends in the world. He would rather spend an hour with her than a lifetime with his closest friends, and even that thought doesn't scare him. Because she's his best friend. She's his other half and his favorite girl in the world. He's actually excited to have the place to themselves tonight.

The two doze off, sent to sleep by their aching bodies and pounding headaches. When they awake they don't necessarily feel refreshed, but they feel a little less like death, and that's good enough to crawl out of their den and order a pizza. They munch and gossip and watch a collection of movies, giddy to be with each other and in paradise.

“Do you think she’s in it for his money?” Ethan whispers with a glint in his eye, his hands on top of her bare thighs and a smile on his lips.

She nods around her slice of pizza, the gooey cheese slipping off the crust and sending her cackling as she tries to catch it. She stares over at the screen for a moment, grinning at Ferris Bueller and all his antics, before swallowing. “I think they really love each other, just never more than they’ll love themselves. And the money is definitely a perk, I mean, look at this place,” she says, pointing to the high ceilings of the living room. “Could get lost in here.”

Ethan nods and grabs another piece from the box, chowing it down in a few bites. “No kidding. Carlos’s head is too big for his body, I think he’d marry a mirror if he could.”

It’s all lighthearted; Ethan would die for Carlos, and (Y/N) would die for Marcy. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

(Y/N) giggles and tangles her fingers with Ethan’s where they lie on her legs. “Bet they’ll buy this mansion and live in paradise forever.”

He nods and smiles and hopes it’s true. They deserve their own kind of happiness—it isn’t his place to judge. He’s already the happiest he could be. “Could you ever live in a place like this?”

She tears her gaze away from the movie and shrugs a shoulder. “Dunno. I don’t think I’d ever be opposed to a mansion, but I definitely don’t need it,” she snorts. “I’d be happy in a cardboard box if you’re in there with me.”

Ethan’s stomach swoops at the domesticity of her comment, the way she says it casually, confidently, comfortably like the thought doesn’t scare her one bit. “Good, ‘cause I can’t afford this,” he laughs, taking down the last bite of his pizza and falling into her arms. She chuckles and wraps him up, cradles him like the baby he is sometimes, and he lays comfortably between her legs with his head on her chest. They talk forever about nothing and their minds don’t stray to their friends crazy night out once.

Around two in the morning, they find themselves in the kitchen, (Y/N) propped up on the granite island with her legs dangling off the sides and Ethan raiding the cabinets. Music is playing off the speaker from Ethan’s phone, and they both have the case of the giggles. God, they’re so in love.

“Want some whip cream?” Ethan asks with his head buried in the refrigerator like an emu.

“Is that a question?” she replies, though it comes out funny with her mouth stuffed with doritos. He tosses her the bottle blindly and she catches it, tipping the bottle above her head and spraying a good glob past her lips. Then, she hears the opening chords of a guitar and she gasps, sending her coughing.

Ethan’s only a little concerned because she’s laughing so hard during all of it, but he turns to check on her. “Are you o-?”

“There once was a bittersweet man and they called him lemon boy,” (Y/N) sings, hopping down from her counter throne and smirking at him smugly.

“No,” Ethan groans, laughing outright and groaning into his hands.

“He was growing in my garden and I pulled him out by his hair, like a weed,” she taunts, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging. Ethan reaches out and pinches her side, and she scampers around the island to escape him, giggling still.

“(Y/N), don’t,” he whines, embarrassment flooding his features. He begins racing around the table to catch her and muffle her teasing, but she’s quick and bubbling with laughter.

“Lemon Boy and me started to get along, together,” she squeals, barely dodging his grabbing hands. “I helped him- Eek!”

“Quit it!” he calls through laughter, his fingers skimming the back of the giant tee shirt flowing from her back.

“It’s actually pretty easy, being nice, to a bitter boy like him,” she cheers, her hands raised above her head joyously with her eyes closed. Ethan pauses where he trails behind her and just waits for her to run into him blindly. She does, falls flat against his frame, and throws her arms around his neck in defeat. “So I got myself, a citrus friend!” she cries, swaying the two of them back and forth.

Ethan doesn’t have the heart to be even the least annoyed, because she is just perfect for him. It has been long, so, so long since he’s been bitter. He slides his hand up the back of her shirt and rubs his thumb over the ink below her shoulder blade, grinning to himself. Feels too good to be true sometimes. He takes her vulnerability as an opportunity to tickle her until she screams.

He has his hands around her sides, wiggling his fingers all around her tummy and her sides and under her arms, and she’s screeching and begging him to stop, but he loves the way she laughs so he doesn’t. He throws her over his shoulder and smacks her bum, races around the island some more and chuckles at the way she squeals. He feels like a kid with her and he never wants to grow up. 

He never wants to grow up.

“Lemon boy and I, we’re gonna live forever,” she sings still, hung upside down on him.

“Like Snufkin and Little My, we’ll get around, wherever,” he chimes in much to her delight. She smacks his back and pleads for him to put him down, that the turbulence on this ride is worse than their Spirit Airline flight down to Miami.

He obliges and lifts her back to her righteous spot on the island, sliding into the space between her legs. “Yeah we’re the bitterest guys around, and I got myself, a citrus friend,” she finishes, placing her palm on his bare chest and pressing his mouth to his cheek with a loud smack. They’re out of breath and still so giggly, but then they’re sharing one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud, and Ethan’s so happy that they have the house all to themselves tonight. It feels like a honeymoon.

“Love you,” he whispers and plants a kiss on her forehead in return. He means it more than ever.

“Love you more,” she murmurs back.

Ethan hears a series of beats and a single guitar strum before he realizes what song is drifting through the air. “Ever heard this song?” he asks quietly, his hands settling at her waist. She shakes her head and slips her arms around his neck, already rocking back and forth to the easy music. “’S called Japanese Denim. It’s one of my favorites,” he explains as he burrows his nose in her hair.

“Sing it to me,” she says.

Ethan isn’t much of a singer. It doesn’t matter. He wants her to know that he thinks of her during every cheesy love song.

He hums to the tune and begins his serenade. “You’re my four leaf clover, I’m so in love, so in love,” he rasps out, squeezing her tight to him. He takes the time to pull back and kiss her slow and soft, as sweet as their first time. “My blue jeans,” he coos. “Will last me all my life. So should we, I’m spending all this time…”

She runs her fingers through the bangs of his tousled hair and smooths her thumb over his cheekbone. She loves him and she’ll love him forever.

“I’m reaching Nirvana, goodbye sweet Rwanda,” he continues, chuckling as he speaks the next bit, “High school was never for me. I say let it be, let it be, Forever’s a long time.”

High school has never felt further away with Ethan so happy, so optimistic, so friendly, so sociable. He can’t even remember the names of the terrible people, the words of their comments, the spots where they bruised him, the dates that he cried. He can’t imagine where they are now, and he never wants to. High school gave him his most prized possession, his best friend, his future wife, his soulmate, his other half. He couldn’t be more grateful.

They sway softly, trapped in their one little world. They don’t even notice when the group comes home, quiet with hoarse throats and all boozed out. But they find the couple in the kitchen, dancing in place to a love song, more in love than they could ever hope for themselves. They’re tucked in on each other and mumbling about something the crew can’t hear, and none of them have the heart—not even Grayson or Baasim— to break up their moment, so they just grin to themselves and slip off to bed. They just hope they’re all part of their wedding in the near future.

If Ethan could hear their thoughts, he would tell them they don’t have to worry. He’s already decided to propose right after graduation. And he knows just how he’s going to do it.

-

NEXT: 3½ | It’s U

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan imagines #ethan dolan fanfiction #dolan twins #dolan twins fanfiction #dolan twins imagines #dolan twins imagine #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan imagines #grayson dolan fanfiction #youtube #writing

[tryingthisfangirlthing]

Love, I’ve Missed You In A Million Different Ways (How Is It We Keep On Writing Tragedies Together?) 3/14-ish

So this is part 3 of my @bering-and-wells-exchange gift for @dapperdorian. This section kept kicking my behind, and I wasn’t happy with it, and I wasn’t happy with it but I had a plan to follow. Then last Friday this idea bowled me over out of left field, and exploded, and, well. It’s not soft longing, more like love-hate if-things-were-different repressed wanting.

And warning for implied major character death.

3. She Would Have Given Everything

“I never want to meet you like this again,” Myka bit out, as she grabbed Helena's hand and jumped them both to the posh downtown lobby.

“Well, don't.” Helena lifted one shoulder. “But I'm not going to aside while this plague wrecks —”

“If you want to help, go back to your lab. You are not Batman! Or — Batwoman, or whoever. One of these days you're going to get yourself killed!” And her concern was very real. “And we need you.”

“That fictional, pouty, playboy Gary Stu? I should hope not!” Helena arched her eyebrows at Myka, and shook her head in disbelief. “Quite frankly, I’m offended that comparison even occurred to you.”

“Helena, you’re not super,” Myka hissed at her. “And you have —”

A loud crash rang out above them. Amanda lost the queen, Steve relayed.

On it. “Get out of here, and stay out,” Myka grit out, and jumped back to the 10th floor to search.

Higher than 10. Lower than 15. Closer to 15 than 10, judging by the volume of the ruckus. Coming higher, the screech of metal giving way under demonic claws. Elevator shaft. To confirm, she jumped several floors below, inside the shaft.

The breathless cold split second of everywhere and nowhere. Steeling herself against the rushing freefall, the crack of instinctual panic. Up, look up.

A forked tail, lashing out, snagged her hair. That was too close. Closing her eyes, she jumped again, without those strands.

Solid ground beneath her feet, no large, otherworldly presence. Definitely in the elevator, and climbing, Steve. Then she fell onto all fours, shaky and ungainly.

“Don't you dare talk to me about risking my life, when they need you just as much.” A fierce murmur in her ear, and a vial was pressed against her hand. “Drink.”

Myka opened her eyes just in time to see the swarm zipping up the avenue, Helena flinging a grenade through the doors into the middle of it. Flame burst through the cloud of insects, licking at wings and silencing snapping mandibles. The drones are here. First wave is dealt with, but I'm sure more are coming.

Copy. She could hear the frown in Steve's thoughts. We need to get these civilians out of here.

Shit. Why here? It wasn't a food source for them (like the nuclear power plant just outside of town) or on the dessert menu (the slaughterhouse just across the county line) or even a good nesting spot (no large, open yet enclosed spaces).

Better here than almost anywhere else.

Office complex on a Saturday afternoon… You have a point.

Helena gave you something. Take it.

You connected her, too? A miserable foreboding rose in Myka's throat. But that was Pete's forte, not hers.

Safer for everyone, was all Steve offered in return.

Myka uncorked the vial and drank. It didn't happen all at once, but her heartbeat slowed, a new energy crackling through her veins.

“What was that stuff?” She called across the lobby, as she straightened, rising, testing her knees.

“Just something I cooked up.” Helena didn't spare her a glance, alternating between eyeing the street outside and a flashing gadget on the marble floor by her feet.

“Yeah, I got that much.” She rolled her shoulders, checking for any aches.

“Well, I don't have the time to explain the various biochemical process involved,” Helena snapped.

“I was pre-med, you know. Before —” She couldn't find the words for — this madness. “Before.”

“I didn't know,” Helena said, softly, and Myka glanced at her to find that this was the thing that got her attention. A kind of sorrow flickered in her dark eyes, and Myka almost wondered if she was thinking, for the first time, about how her screw-up had affected everyone else.

“I was going to switch over to pre-law, though.” She brushed it off. Something wasn't quite right, that last jump... “Just didn't know how to tell my dad. You kind of saved me the trouble.” Because the last thing she needed was pity from Helena fucking Wells.

Helena nodded, slowly, her gaze wandering back to the now-beeping device at her feet. “I was a writer, before.”

“I know. Writer, inventor, physicist, all-around polymath.” Something in Myka's back clicked into place, and all her atoms lined up again — sans that shorn-off hair, she reminded herself, running the flat of her hand over the ragged curls. If she tried to reassemble more matter than was there…

You good to go?

“You did?” There shouldn't be that much surprise in Helena's voice, for someone once heralded as “the next Jules Verne or Anne McCaffrey.”

Yep. Where?

They were all huddled in a storage closet on the 7th floor, eight weekend workaholics, one with a kid. Steve was shielding them all from the creature’s senses for now, but the effort it was taking him slipped over their connection as well.

She jumped.

Her eidetic memory served her unspeakably well, in that she could look at a roomful of people and know exactly how to reassemble them. “Hold hands, please,” as she reached for Steve to one side of her and the nearest civilian on the other. “No disabilities or chronic conditions?”

“Asthma,” one person in the back piped up.

“All right, noted. Shouldn't be a problem.” Where to?

Mall on King and McAllister. It was a good three blocks away, but definitely out of any potential lines of fire. Myka drew on all of her focus, making sure she could feel every one of them, and jumped.

A tug, a weight on her core, as she pulled them all through spacetime. Head throbbing as she stumbled onto the sidewalk, relief flooding her as they all came through all right.

Steve tightened his grip, wrapping his other arm around her to keep her from falling.

“You all right?” It was almost startling to her his voice in her ear, after so often hearing it only in her head.

“I will be,” she muttered.

“Get back to Helena. She'll look after you while you rest up.”

“Where the hell are Amanda and Pete?” Why couldn't one of them babysit me?

Amanda and Pete are doing their damn best to contain that queen.

Fine.

So she sucked in a breath and, for the third time in what felt like as many minutes, she jumped back to that damn lobby.

— Nearly jumped straight into Helena, careened as she shifted her destination at the last moment, Helena's startled “oh!” loud in her ear. Helena's arms wrapped around her, as she came to rest back in reality again.

“We've really got to stop meeting like this.” Low, teasing, warm breath feathering over her ear.

Myka let herself sag forward. “Screw you,” she muttered.

“You're quite welcome to, some other time.”

I just learned way more about you two than I ever wanted to know.

Butt out, Steve! And she could practically feel the same sentiment emanating from Helena, though she couldn't hear her directly.

Kinda hard right now, sorry.

Helena guided her over to a red leather armchair, Myka dragging her feet one after another. At least she shouldn't be crucial to operations now, unless they needed a scout, or bait, or a distraction, or a split-second save. Again.

Myka bent over, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, hair falling in her face. Tried not to feel awkward about how sweaty and gross she was making this nice chair.

She heard Helena make some kind of round of the space, muttering to herself, occasionally British-cursing at some gadget or another. Myka focused on breathing and getting her presence of mind back together. “Do you have another of those pick-me-ups?”

“I wouldn't recommend downing two in a row. Just as a precaution.”

“Okay.” She lifted her head, to watch as Helena watched the exterior. A laptop balanced on the narrow reception desk, floor plan of the building on display, surrounded by sporadically flashing indicators of, something, and now Helena paid this more attention than the view through the glass doors. A flash-bang off too their left, building lights flicking off and on again.

“Don’t tell me it wrecked the wiring somewhere.” God, she was getting fucking tired. Both right now, and of everything.

“That was me. Experimental chain-lightning —” she caught Myka's look — “Basically a super-sized swarm taser. Or, attempt at one.” And she frowned at the screen.

“Great. You can knock them out. Now just jump this entire freakshow back off of our plane of existence already.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve been working on that for the past six months already.” Annoyance crackled through her voice.

“Stopping every time there's even the faintest hint of an attack to go play Batman with us. Or really more Lois Lane.” Myka knew only the vaguest of comic book premises from Pete. “Or whoever the mad scientist is. Harley Quinn, maybe?”

“That is low.” Helena's voice shuddered.

“I Encountered Aliens From Another Dimension,” Claims Sci-Fi Author; The Secret Crackpot Side of Physics’ Once-Rising Star; Local Mother Institutionalized, Daughter Left In Uncle's Care; the headlines flashed across her memory, and she hung her head again. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

Helena hummed vaguely. It wasn't quite acceptance, but Myka would take it.

“Hopper, 10 o'clock.” Myka winced inwardly as its spines shattered window after window on its zigzag path through downtown, thirty feet above ground.

“Yes, I'm aware. How about you do your job and let me do mine?”

“Sorry,” Myka muttered. “Just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, you're not.”

“Besides, I wouldn't exactly call this your job.”

Can you cool it with the negative energies? Really making things difficult right now.

Myka braced herself against the loud crash upstairs, the way the entire building shivered with the massive impact. Then a loud kreee! and the creature fell to the ground outside, writhing on its back, screaming as it melted from its eight feet down.

“What — did you coat the building in something? Or has someone nearby recently discovered the power of carapace-melting acid shields?”

A wicker café chair across the side street burst into flames, and Helena swore.

“Is that going to melt through the cement?” It would be kind of impressive, if this stuff did manage that trick. It almost looked like it might, as the hopper's screams died down to a low gurgle.

“It shouldn't. It should only react with their exoskeletons but —”

“It is.” The last of the creature utterly dissolved, the acidic puddle was now carving itself its own little pondspace, sinking into the middle of the intersection.

A loud sigh. “That's what field tests are for.”

“Really? In the middle of the city?” Myka stood, outrage eating away at her. “You are utterly insane.”

Helena glared at her, and for a split second, Myka was glad those piercing eyes weren't super. “Oh, I'm sorry. Was I supposed to try to lure one out into the middle of bloody nowhere, and try to contain it, just to douse it in deadly acid, and hear from you, ‘Oh, how could you, Helena? Doing something so dangerous on your own! You're too important and we need you working to fix this reality tear you ripped open! Think about others for once!’” Her mimic was mocking, annoyingly accurate for this familiar argument.

Stop it! Fight later!

If Helena heard Steve, she gave no sign. “Myka Bering, my entire life right now is dedicated to mitigating the damage I've caused the best I know how, and I don't need to hear that sort of shite from you!”

She was trembling; they both were. In her peripheral, something burst into flames; a window shattered, smoking shrapnel landing on the entryway carpet.

Myka kicked at it, and found herself swaying on her feet. “You set up a minefield?”

“A perimeter, yes. For the moment.”

“How did you lug all this stuff here on short notice?” She hadn't helped, she knew. She rested her head in her hands again.

(“You're lucky,” she'd told Pete once. “Your powers don't leave you feeling like three-day-old roadkill afterwards.”

“Yeah,” he'd returned, “but I do spend like a billion dollars on tacos now. Besides, your powers are way cooler. I'm just a regular guy who can lift a bunch of stuff.”

Myka had surrendered to eating sugar, in frankly pathetic quantities, to combat the roadkill feeling the day after. But that wasn't something she'd tell anyone, not even her best friend.)

“I didn't.” As nonchalant as you please.

Myka looked up, narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I didn't do it on short notice.” Helena glanced at her, assessingly. “It means I set up what I hoped would be a lure for the queen here. And once she's gone, the rest should shut down.”

“And you didn't think to tell us?” Myka was striding across the room, reaching out to — to strangle her, probably.

She told me, Steve interjected, and Myka stilled. The queen showed up sooner than anyone expected.

Pete might as well have punched her in the gut. We're supposed to be a team, Steve.

“Because we all know how much faith you have in my work.” Helena's momentary smile was saccharine, sardonic.

She sucked in a breath, mind reeling like the colors of a kaleidoscope. “I think you're brilliant,” slipped out. “You've got no common sense, but you're a genius. You're, what, five years older than me? And you've found a whole other universe. Like something out of one of your books.” Helena was staring at her, lips parted, that melting gaze soft and shocked. “You're just so stupid, and — and selfish sometimes!”

Incoming! Myka!

She didn't think, just grabbed Helena and jumped.

But she didn't have some destination in mind, not even some instinctive concept of safe harbor. And now Helena was here with her, floating in this strange stillness that was everywhere and nowhere. I'm sorry, she tried to say, but there was no way to hear.

Like being thrown under a waterfall, she had no idea which way was up, air, reality. Stupid stupid, she'd been so tired, she hadn't thought — and wasn't that what she always accused Helena of? The thing she feared most in herself, the not thinking, the reason for rules... So stupid.

She tried to picture the lobby they'd left, tried to reach for any anchor.

There, that stupid blinking laptop, she could almost see it, and the ceiling plaster raining down, the claws and slobbering mandibles and gigantic five-eyed frilled head.

She pushed Helena away, through, pushed her to stumble onto that ragged red lobby carpet, and then Myka met the monster's claws.

It thrashed, resisted, but Myka yanked it with her, and then everything went black.

#bering and wells #dapperdorian #rinari's fic #love i've missed you in a million different ways (how is it we keep on writing tragedies together?) #superhero au #angst #implied character death #love-hate #sci-fi au #this is so not in character #myka is a hot mess #actually they both are #but myka is more of one #so many issues #this just exploded into a whole world and trying to write a short piece for it was just... a little bit magic #i feel bad because it's probably not entirely what you wanted but i love it anyways

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 96, March 2018

On Monday morning, I went to see Dr. Mah Mah at Narre Gate Medical Center in Narre Warren. I was running late as usual having slept in this morning, that classic Beatles song “A Day In The Life” could be a running monologue to describe most Mondays for me (Woke up, fell out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup. And looking up, I noticed I was late...).

The issues with my ears from the infection to blockage and soreness through the glands and sides of my face was becoming like an episode of Days Of Our Lives (Previously on Michael’s auditory health issues). I was doing everything possible to treat myself, even spending my actual birthday resting up in bed and giving myself regular doses of pain killers and antibiotics. And yet it still hadn’t cleared up or stop hurting.

Being a Monday morning, the waiting room was packed with mum, dads, tradies and annoying screeching children running around (luckily I could only partially hear them). I wished that my doctor could simply prescribe me with a new set of ears (maybe an ear transplant?) but alas that’s not realistic. She advised me to stop taking the Ciproxin ear drops and instead put 10 drops of Waxsol in each ear for the next two nights and came back to see her on Wednesday. I’ll seriously do anything at this point just to get rid of the pain and discomfort. https://1800bulkbill.com.au/medical-centre/narregate-medical-dental-centre

After my appointment, I had birthday shopping to do as it’s my Mum’s birthday tomorrow. Truthfully, I wasn’t in the best state health wise nor in the mood to be shopping but I didn’t really have a choice. Plus it’s my Mum and she’s important to me and I’ll happily put up with an ear infection for her. My first stop was JB HI-FI Narre Warren where I bumped into my friend Tom Armstrong who happens to work at the store. I briefly caught up with him and he helped me out with getting a powerbank. Tom is an absolute sweetheart, no joke!

Next stop was Chemist Warehouse to stock up on my drugs (of the prescription variety of course). I’ve made a couple of trips here recently and now it’s not as daunting and overwhelming as it usually is. I guess you slowly get used to where all the products are located plus it wasn’t that busy. I managed to be in and out within 10 minutes or so. I needed more waxsol drops, cotton balls, a liquid inhalant for my Euky Bear vapouriser and panadeine forte. https://www.chemistwarehouse.com.au/

Lastly I dropped into a lovely little shop called the Berwick Curtain Nook located inside the Village Arcade and off High Street, Berwick. Whilst I was feeling a little awkward coming here by myself, I pretty much knew what I wanted to buy Mum. I got her a paperback notebook with an elephant on the front, a ceramic ornament with a beautiful inspirational quote and a grey Scottish Terrier ornament.

The lady went to the trouble of wrapping the ornaments in tissue paper and placing them in a bright red gift bag as I mentioned that it was my Mum’s birthday tomorrow. Thankfully it didn’t quite turn into the scene from Love Actually with Rowan Atkinson going overboard with the gift wrapping (Any ribbon? Cellophane? Rose petals? A box? NO THANK YOU!) but my pain threshold wasn’t letting up. However, I was very grateful for her service considering how last minute this was. http://www.berwickcurtainnook.com.au/

On Tuesday morning, we celebrated Mum’s birthday by each having a much deserved massage at Body & Balance in Cranbourne Park Shopping Centre. We decided on getting the oil neck and shoulder massage plus reflexology foot massage and hot stone therapy. The lady did a really thorough job without going too intense in the pressure department. I could actually relax into it even with the noise of the broken air conditioner above me.

I did get myself a little confused though as the lady said something quickly and left the room. I was left there wondering if she was coming back or if I was supposed to go outside the room. I was still feeling half deaf and she was also softly spoken so it was difficult to hear her. Looking at the digital clock on the table, it read 10:30am meaning that I still had another 20 minutes and my massage wasn’t over. So therefore I trusted my instincts, got dressed and met her outside.

Mum and I both reclined back on these circular rotating arm chairs whilst our female massage therapists went to work on our feet. It’s been months since I’ve had a proper foot massage done so I could feel how tense and sensitive they were in places but it was still a lovely experience all the same. The only thing that bothered me was that the massage staff were all having a conversation in Chinese the entire time which I thought was kinda rude. But I decided to let it go and tried to focus on enjoying the massage. https://www.cranbournepark.com.au/stores/body-balance/

On Wednesday afternoon, Mum and I saw Dr. Mah Mah at Narre Gate Medical Center in Narre Warren. I think I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been to the doctors in the past fortnight but now I’m getting over it. Thankfully the pain in my ears has eased up quite a bit and the waxsol drops have helped to soften up the ear wax blocking up the ear canals. So it was a huge relief when Mah Mah could syringe my ears so that I could hear clearly again.

I also decided to get a blood test ordered as it’s been over a year since my last one. She added a FBE (Full Blood Count), Urea/Electrolyte/Creatine, Cholesterol/Triglycerides/HDL/LDL, Glucose, TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone) and TES (Testosterone) levels. Over the past couple of months, I’ve noticed that I’ve been having periods of low energy and chronic fatigue so I think a blood test would be really helpful in figuring out what I’m deficient in.

In addition (I literally had a list of things to see her about today, no joke!), I wanted to get the dosage of my antidepressants increased. I’ve been taking Zoloft (Sertraline) tablets at 150mg for about 5 months now and my psychologist recommended that I increase it up to 200mg due to scoring a severe level of anxiety on a recent assessment I did. Plus I have noticed that there are times where the antidepressants seem ineffective when it comes to my mood so it couldn’t hurt to try increasing it.

On Thursday morning, I had my first Employ Your Mind session with my support worker Ally Lamb at Wise Employment Narre Warren. Basically, EYM is “a program that helps build the thinking and social skills that are important for work and other areas of life”. Ally recommended it to be as she knows how much I struggle with communication in social situations and dealing with my mental health issues. http://www.fifeemploymentaccesstrust.com/employ-your-mind.html

The first session was pretty straight forward and more of an introduction to the program. There are four phases in total which each run for 6 weeks with a short break in between. Phase 1 is done individually with the learning coach (Ally Lamb) whilst Phases 2,3 and 4 are run in small groups. We went through what her role as a learning coach is and I also filled in a questionnaire called the General Self Efficacy Scale.

The second part of the session involved the concept of cognitive remediation and going through parts of the human brain (frontal lobe, parietal lobe, occipital lobe, cerebellum, temporal lobe, brain stem). Basically it’s about being able to improve cognitive or thinking skills. Lastly we discussed how mental health issues can affect or impact upon cognitive skills and make it even more difficult to learn, concentrate and retain information. http://www.wiseemployment.com.au/en/community/ndis-supports-and-services/

Unfortunately my ears were still not 100% clear even after I got them syringed/irrigated at the doctors yesterday. It’s hard to explain but they still “feel” blocked even though my hearing is a lot better than it was earlier this week. I could be experiencing tinnitus or that my ear canals are too dry and not lubricated enough. Hopefully it clears up and heals naturally over the next few days.

On Friday morning, Mum and I went to the Morning Melodies social function at the Waltzing Matilda Hotel in Springvale. We were running late (no surprises there!) so we didn’t end up getting to the function room until around 10.45am or so. Thankfully we caught most of the performance though. Today we had Brian Muldoon doing the “Johnny O’Keefe tribute” show. It was partly a history lesson as Brian talked about Johnny’s life back in the early 60’s and 70’s, the television shows we became known for and the downward spiral that followed due to his mental illness.

Brian performed many of his classic hits including Shout!, Sing Sing Sing, She Wears My Ring, So Tough, The Sun’s Gonna Shine Tomorrow, It’s too late she’s gone, The Wild One and She’s My Baby. Most of Johnny O’Keefe’s songs carried a positive, uplifting message to them in order to help people’s moods up and push through the tough times in life. I feel like this is very relevant to the challenges we face in life today. https://www.entertainoz.com.au/listings/brian-muldoon/artist_profile_details

On Friday night, I went to a Vinyasa flow yoga class with Jade Hunter at YMCA Casey ARC, Narre Warren. I haven’t been to a fitness class in nearly two weeks now due to my health problems and being busy with other commitments like my birthday, appointments and my VCAT hearing. However, considering my ears were feeling a lot better, I decided to go back tonight. It’s funny how quickly you miss the gym when you haven’t been for a while.

I also read that certain yoga poses can help to unblock and relieve the pressure built up inside the ear canals so there’s another good reason to do. Tonight was a little more challenging than usual with lots of balancing, twists and binds thrown into the mix. I wasn’t really prepared for all of that nor did I have the flexibility to do everything Jade was demonstrating (Putting my legs behind my head? Yeah right!).

We did our usual Vinyasa flow sequence (Downward Facing Dog, Plank, Chaturanga, Cobra/Updog) plus Standing Poses (Warrior 2, Standing Forward Bend, Half Lift, Chair pose, Reverse Triangle pose), Seated Poses (Boat pose, Staff pose, Wide Legged Forward Bend, Happy Baby) and Inversions (Shoulder Stand, Plow pose). I could hear my ears popping which was a good sign plus my body heated up quite quickly during the class.

Jade does go the extra mile though considering we are doing yoga inside a creche. She added candles, burning incense, beautiful yoga music and some brass Tibetan bowls and chimes to the space which gave it the appropriate atmosphere for a yoga class. https://www.doyouyoga.com/the-perfect-vinyasa-flow-routine-for-beginners-30159/

[ateamymm]

The 2018 Fort McMurray Real Estate Market

The Future of Fort McMurray Real Estate

Most residents of Fort McMurray have a significant interest the local real estate market, either as owners, landlords, or tenants.

It’s a crazy market.

And we all know that prices and rents have taken serious falls over the last three years. It has not been at all easy for owners and landlords, but people buying and renting have enjoyed an easier time than during the boom years.

What you may not know is that in recent weeks, our real estate market has become decidedly less negative. So, with the new year fast approaching, it’s a good time for an update.

I really hope you enjoy this article and find it useful in your daily life!

In July of this year, I offered a full history of the real estate correction, then in September, I wrote about 8 signs of recovery to watch for. You might also want to refer to the November article entitled “The Effect of Oil Prices, Interest Rates and Employment on the Fort McMurray Housing Market”. Some of these articles are recommended reading, and will be linked to throughout today's post.

Here’s the plan for today:

Part 1: Give a market update on what has happened since the July article Part 2: Evaluate the 8 signs of recovery. Have we seen evidence of them? Part 3: I will share some thoughts and themes for 2018, without, of course, making any predictions.[note]The interpretations of any MLS® data used are my own and don’t reflect the opinions of the Fort McMurray Real Estate Board or its members. There is plenty of my opinion in here, but the data we are using is super accurate.[/note]

In this way, we'll be able to draw a line under 2017 together and look ahead to the future.

Part 1: Market Update - The Last 6 Months of Data

Here is a graph of prices over time[note]The median selling price of homes in each month of this year. All freehold properties have been selected (those without condo fees) with the exception of vacant lots, mobiles & modular homes. The data covers only the following areas: Abasand, Beacon Hill, Dickinsfield, Downtown, Eagle Ridge, Grayling Terrace, Henning Ridge, Parsons North, Prairie Creek, Stone Creek, Thickwood, Timberlea, Waterways and Wood Buffalo.[/note]:

As you can see, since the last time we took an in-depth look at the market, median sale prices have continued to fall. Prices have fallen approximately 1-1.5% a month over the last 6 months. We remain in a buyer’s market.

In the July article, I added important events to the chart and explained how some of them may impact prices.

This time, there aren’t enough data-points to add on because the last 6 months has not been so much about events as it has been about trends.

General trends have been an improvement in the oil market, and a return to growth in Alberta. Happily, rebuilds are being completed at a steady rate. However, these have not shocked the market with large volumes of new supply. Another trend is that the rate of foreclosures coming onto the market has risen, but again, the market has not become more swamped. Over the last six months, we have seen fewer homes being listed for sale vis a vis the same period in 2015, 2016, and in the last 3 months, sales have increased slightly, year on year. We will explore these trends with a couple of charts, but for now, let’s just look at the one event that is slated to have effects Canada-wide:

Tighter Mortgage Rules & Rising Interest Rates

It had been circulated unofficially for months, but in October, the Federal Government announced a new policy that effectively lowers the pre-approvals of homebuyers with large down payments (20% down or more):

OSFI sets new mortgage rules, including stress test for uninsured borrowers

Among the major new rules is a requirement to stress test uninsured borrowers. Previously, only insured borrowers had to undergo such a test.

By law, borrowers with a down payment of under 20 per cent for a home must purchase mortgage insurance. Borrowers pay an insurance premium, but the beneficiary is actually the lender, because the insurance protects the loan giver in the event the borrower defaults on the loan. Via www.cbc.ca

This policy, which is due to come into effect January 1, 2018, is extremely similar to the rules that came into effect in February of this year, only it applies to those remaining buyers with higher down-payments. As noted in the July article, however, as a team, we have a lot of anecdotal evidence that even today, most home buyers in our marketplace (whether first, second or even third-time home buyers), tend to make purchases with less than 20% down. I’ll leave it up to the reader to determine, therefore, whether demand in our market will really be affected much.

Over the last 6 months, the Bank of Canada has increased interest rates in an attempt to control home prices in Toronto and Vancouver. Most banks give 90-day or 120-day pre-approvals however, so in practical terms, these increases are only coming into effect for people right about now. We know that some people have been searching with more urgency (and buying) this fall and winter in order to avoid paying a higher rate in say, February. Longer term impacts are explored in our November article.

Supply Is Down

There has been more demand in the last few weeks of 2017, but demand does vary greatly over time, and at this early stage, it is might not be wise to attribute this to a recovery (will it be sustained?). It could be, for example, in large part due to the new mortgage rules, or higher rates as described above.

But there is one story that is almost certainly significant. It’s the story of supply...

Here is a chart which shows inventory over the last four years[note]The total monthly count of properties listed that meet the following criteria: All homes without condo fees. Also, not including vacant lots, mobiles & modular homes. The data covers only the following areas: Abasand, Beacon Hill, Dickinsfield, Downtown, Eagle Ridge, Grayling Terrace, Henning Ridge, Parsons North, Prairie Creek, Stone Creek, Thickwood, Timberlea, Waterways and Wood Buffalo.[/note]:

Check out the point in June, where the two green lines intersect: This was the high point of supply in 2017. In all the other previous years (2014, 2015, 2016), that high point did not occur until September. Since June, inventory has fallen steadily, to the point where today, it is approximately 20% lower than the five-year average.

This could be a really important development because in late 2014, monthly sales took a 50% hit, and so far their recovery has been anemic. For prices to stop falling, we either need consistently higher sales or less inventory. So...

What has been happening?

The thing to know is that inventory at any given time is the result of a formula:

Inventory (THIS MONTH) = Inventory (LAST MONTH) + New Listings - Expireds - Sales

I’ve been studying each element of the right-hand side of the formula, and the answer, in a nutshell, is that new listings have been coming on at a significantly slower pace in Q3 and Q4 of this year.

Summary for Part 1

We still have an imbalance, so prices are still falling: however, the ratio of sales to inventory is not as much out of whack as it was in 2015, 2016 and the first half of 2017.

Foreclosures are up, and rebuilds are coming onto the market, but as they are listed, they take the place of regular resale homes (not adding to them) as potential sellers in the resale market are choosing not to list due to lower prices.

All markets eventually balance, and we are finally seeing signs in the data (particularly on the inventory side) that balanced prices are less distant in the future than they once were.

Part 2: Recovery? Evaluating the Anecdotal Evidence

In September, I outlined some signs of recovery that readers could watch for.

Let’s look at these individually & I’ll share my experience. You can keep judging using your knowledge:

1) Jobs

I hear of layoffs, but unlike in the past. I do hear of new local jobs, at site as well as in town. As retail/commercial rents have fallen, the service sector seems to be growing. New businesses in town, even small ones, which create jobs, and those jobs could eventually generate housing demand, especially in the lower price ranges. What are your thoughts?

2) Investors

In the last 6 months or so, our team has started to see investors again for the first time in a few years. They are not coming to us in large volumes, but it does look a little bit like green shoots. There are, of course, accidental landlords, too: People who need a larger home, and due to some newfound confidence, they are happier than they were in the past to buy that home, and keep, for example, their mobile/apartment as a rental.

3) Despair

It’s really tough out there, but I think the mood of the town seems to have swung back towards resilience. If it keeps up, that’s a positive sign for recovery.

4) Fewer “For Sale” Signs

See above. We have statistical evidence of this, which is way better than anecdotal evidence.

5) Peak Foreclosure

Privately, we track the number of foreclosures on the market, and it is extremely difficult to estimate, so we’re not comfortable sharing the data here. It’s further complicated because inventory changes seasonally. Our assessment is that while the number on the market appears to have stopped increasing in the last few weeks, it is too early to tell whether or not this is the peak.

6) More “SOLD” Signs

Our RE/MAX Fort McMurray broker, Lance Bussieres, noted in this CBC article that sales are up slightly this year:

"As of Nov. 30, more than 909 residences were sold in Fort McMurray," Bussieres said. That's up from the 800 sold in 2016, and is closing in on the 932 dwellings sold in 2015.

7) Other Anecdotal Evidence

Some confidence appears to be returning and this has shown up in the behaviours of buyers. There is less choice in the market, which makes buyers a little jumpier to offer. Upon first meeting buyer clients, there is less nervousness about the future, as there once was. By and large, negotiations are still favouring the buyer.

8) Lots of Consistent Data

Other than inventory (see part 1, above), it is too soon to call major changes.

Part 3: The Real Estate Market in 2018

A previous article in this series explored a few themes for things that might impact our local housing market in 2018, from employment to interest rates.

Hopefully, today’s post has given you a good sense of what is going on.

Here’s are some further thoughts as we cross the threshold of the new year:

We are still in a buyer’s market, with prices falling and negotiations, still, largely favouring buyers.

Choice in the market is down, in part for seasonal reasons, but also due to consistently fewer new listings coming online (despite foreclosures and the rebuild). In some parts of the market, quality inventory is harder to find than it once was.

The Canadian housing market continues to be more heavily regulated, and home ownership is becoming more expensive locally, too.

The Alberta economy is improving, as well as, arguably the local Fort McMurray economy. New jobs are being produced.

There is a significant supply of residential lots in rebuild areas, the vast majority of which are not currently listed on the MLS® (large shadow inventory).

We don’t know many people who are anticipating growth in prices.

We are aware of quite a lot of potential sellers with homes to sell who would list their homes if prices were even marginally higher. We also sense that buyer clients would be very sensitive to that also in that the sales volumes would not increase, in the absence of a significant improvement of the economic fundamentals.

Most people are still purchasing in the lower price ranges and entry-level housing types, but this might be starting to change (too early to tell).

We don’t know the future (we can’t). Many wise people believe strongly that the cyclical nature of the town will continue long into the future. For others, the slogan adopted by the Regional Municipality of Wood Buffalo seems to accurately describe the future:

A Balanced Future with Opportunity For All (?)

We will keep a close watch on developments because the answer will be revealed over time, as we monitor existing trends and identify new ones. We’ll share them here as we go, and if the last three years are anything to go by, it’s sure to be eventful!

Everyone at The A-Team wishes you and yours all the best in 2018, and we’re here if you need us: We pride ourselves on guiding every client with clear, unbiased information, and advice that is completely in your best interests.

If you’d like to meet us, we’d like that too, so please reach out. Thank you sincerely for reading; please feel free to share with friends & family. :)

The blog post The 2018 Fort McMurray Real Estate Market is republished from The A-Team LLC

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