Reviews for With Love, Your Socially Awkward Butterfly
Winter Aquamarine chapter 49 . 7/9/2014
Aww. Such a sweet story.

Really sad about Ian though.
Winter Aquamarine chapter 21 . 7/8/2014
Really interesting story. Can't stop reading it!
paintedbywords chapter 33 . 6/19/2014
I really love this story but I really dislike Leah's personality. She is just so insanely selfish and like can we just focus on the fact that Ian is FOURTEEN and she is 22? If the genders were switched, and Ian was the 22 year old and Leah was 14, people would be freaking out over how Ian's a pedophile! But it's Leah! That is truly disgusting, as is the way she continues to make everything about her.
Guest chapter 43 . 4/27/2014
i read harry Clearwater as harry potter their is something wrong with me
Gothic-Angel342 chapter 1 . 4/25/2014
true that
SundaySolis chapter 1 . 4/21/2014
...t hat is so like me when i talk in front oft he class. Except im like a super duper deep shade of red. Like, it is its own completely new kind of red never before seen
ChocolatePotterCrossiant chapter 50 . 2/18/2014
Oh my God. This is the best story I've ever read on Fanfiction. But.. YOU ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED WITH A LAPTOP, YOU KILLED MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER! How could you? This is the best story ever though. I actually started reading 'I'll be your Juliet if you be my Somerhalder' before this and you haven't updated that in a while, i really think you should! AMAZING AWESOME FABULOUS STORY ;))
DelfineNotPadfoot chapter 50 . 2/5/2014
I NEVER review Twilight stories, but here I am, reviewing yours, because it was bloody amazing. I loved your Seth, I loved your Leah (the final letter made me laugh really hard ), and I loved Bailey and her awkwardness. Nothing was clichéd, as we, French, say it :D (I'm so proud to be French, right now), everything was well balanced, and I just loved it.
I would've liked to read something else by you, but I saw that they were unfinished, so... maybe not! Maybe I'll be coming back, though.
dearuserurgreat chapter 46 . 1/27/2014
i wrote the review you wont have liked with the long winded zed story rant and there you go i wanted to say sorry its a great story. i really mean it which is why i done my own thankyou so much. x
Guest chapter 1 . 1/25/2014
I think this is so well written and the characters have many dimensions. I can't past chapter 41 though!
KookierThanFiction chapter 11 . 1/20/2014
Really liked this chapter. Funny, cute, AND oddly touching. :)
itsalotofcrap2 chapter 1 . 1/3/2014
I… I… let me begin
I’ve been waiting here for such a long, long time. I am not an impatient man I paid my dues an elementary teacher for nearly twenty years till April 20th 2017 when a car bomb was sealed in my water closet at school and my son was killed attending in the fourth grade. Air whistles past my teeth I punch the number into my dying cell. The other end is just a dial and a voice box but I cling to Maddie’s recorded voice like she is god himself, still after the divorce, I hated contacting family fiercely until last weekend. I spent my last day on earth as I knew it in my ignorant state of relaxation across the lounge from our shared outdated nineties kitchen. That was a day like any other with the same morning routine, napping the weekend away in my armchair. Inside an hour I was slumbering a good dream better than many I have had in days, if I sleep at all that we were in the car stopping to pump gas and get on the road to work. The kids were still with me and my ex-wife Madders sitting chewing gum abreast me.
The sun was shining a heat wave on the sleepy town of Craw one of the hottest I seen. Weather just perfect for fishing, past time of mine’s camping on long weekends in Strafford. As I slumbered in my rocking chair half conscious in the nook by the corner stand where I leave my gun, content as could be for a man who had just been laid off.
Completely unaware of the riots breaking across town and my neighbours panic and confusion as her husband didn’t come home.
I still wonder where he went where they all went so soon after the news broke that we had been quarantined.

here and now clear sky turns grey and swirls above in broken fluffy clouds calm large and patchy unaware of the tragic ends multiplying below and everywhere light and unchanging the same blue it was before a reminder of a forgotten way of life.
The wind howls outside this shelter. If that’s what people would call it.
I am the last.
I am the last person I have seen apart from zed fighters. My family was destroyed.
And so I sit and I wait.
And wait
Down here for something
Anything. Or anyone, or death, whoever whatever happens first.
I don’t know who will find me first my side or theirs I would give in but I can’t have that I have to fight they told us not to drink the water. A bomb had gone off in the local tavern and damaged the water supply a man was found dead then another drifting over Johnson dam then another corpse up the track on the letterman grove junction east of the highway and a baby in his little bouncer suit got sick and died and his mother reported gone mad with a fever and committed. We thought it was a road accident looked that way then three days later people got sick real sick. A while ago and we thought we had them beat. The zeds were chased to New Mexico and we thought they were leaving. We were wrong.
I stare at the cracked and damaged poster board walls around me and the darkness ebbs into the corners of my mind.
But to pass the time I fix the water boiler in this dank basement. The water is hot only when I boil it with my pocket gas cylinder I found in the attic of one of the looted farms I slept amongst the rafters, old sturdy wood and hay strewn to cover my fat bulging limbs and tattoos. I’d gander out to gaze the stars possibly one last time.

Air in here is heavy polluted and smells thanks to the zed body rotting at the top of the staircase. I can see its rotting hands it is raw rancid bile building stench knowing I will have to find a new hiding spot soon. My face mask protects me from the worst of the smell.
They will come soon the zeds then I will have my last hour, like Custer and the Indians I hope to take thirty or so out before I get killed myself. I look down at my hunter’s rifle and caress the barrel, aside it is the knife and lantern lighting the dank basement.
And so I wait…..
If you are reading this if anyone is reading this God help us all.
Because in the end we all know what hell feels like.
Because it’s here. It’s here now in this dank and oppressive silence, it’s here with everybody the dead kill it’s here and its creeping in the back of your conscience since the outbreak and the US army’s falling into martial law started the cleanup programme no one has lasted more than a month.
They got to my district a week ago from the south and there is hardly a soul on the surface. We commune through a series of underground stations.
Problem is I was cut off from my unit and I can’t radio them back to tell them I’m alive. The others will have moved on Naomi Rachel Craig Norris and Ben all of them gone my children my brother and my nephew. And I am still here…and I wait.
Thud thud thud
There is a noise and a shrill scrape coming from the hatch. Could this be my last moment?
I climb up to the peer hole slide the grate back then instinctively drop back down. There is a face staring at me it is a pink fleshy face. It’s human. It’s not just human, they, he is young. It’s a small boy. Who are you what are you? He asks looking through the window at me.
I look back and blink at the two twelve by two centimetre opening. Then I look over to my companion’s bed.
Shiloh is sleeping in a heap of rags next to the sewage pipe I use to drain water.
The water drips in a steady methodical tap tap tap down from the ceiling.
The silence is oppressive I look back to the hatch and stare at him staring at me. We are deadlocked. And then I say “I am armed you try anything funny and I will shoot you”. Then slowly peel back the stiff bolt and wooden shutter. It is then that I see boots as the hatch swings up and open there are three others on the exterior of this basement and there near a piece of a stairwell that is half blown away, a shell has crashed through its plaster and there is debris all over this part of the surface.
We communicated by tunnels at first there was an old mine under the town but we lost contact weeks ago and no one has passed this way since.
I hope this stranger who is scowling sternly has news of what if anything is to come next. He himself is a man of mixed race crouched holding a rifle and a woman both in later life, shifty eyes deadlocked on my arm opening the steel door.

Springing suddenly they seize the moment, and bombard the opening before I have time to swing it shut. He is on the ladder in a second minute and kicks me roughly in the face and I fall back and down onto the hard concrete ground below.
Tall and bearded with tan skin and a cut on his hands, scars and fresh blood coming from a gash about his knee possibly he has harmed himself if there aren’t animals out there that caused such a wound. I think of my own skin patterned with bruises one below my left eye and almost pause comparing the damage to my purple legs.
She, I’d guess is the boys custodian, a sandy blonde, with wild tangled hair, follows silently as he drops the last two feet into the basement. They are a family or a group I reason perhaps they won’t be any trouble I have stashed the supplies away but there is little covering the gap behind the old stairwell from sight. The top of the stairs is boarded up I heard movement once and am determined not to go up there.
Who knows what’s out there these days. Opening that door I believe would be a mistake and perhaps my last movement if I were to peel away the boards. There is a light at night up there but what else could it be than trouble to go up there?
Four years ago the war took a sharp turn that was unexpected the arms race lead on to nuclear destruction and chaos and we were bombed by the DDA aggressively. There is little left to salvage after the first atomic bomb went off.

There was quiet for a long time and then the remaining soldiers came to pick Mexico clean. It’s been almost a month I didn’t expect to find anyone alive out there. So I am surprised to see him swinging a grocery bag of chips and other snacks and carrying tobacco fresh in a cigar case he takes one and lights it now with a match the woman holds offered to him. I am suspicious at once, but my stomach empty growls.
I can’t decide if I am here or dead already I haven’t eaten in so long the past the whole of here and now is so repulsive what does it matter anymore?
And as I gather myself and struggle to my feet the bearded man kicks my rifle out of my range. And I go down hard onto my back as his foot cuts across my cheek and he snorts in derision as he looks at me through narrowed dark eyes.
He stoops and spits then hollers in an animalistic manner then turns to the woman to help her as she climbs down into the messy basement dank space light falls and is shadowed as she thuds heavily on chunky legs down the ladder. A series of candles I have for light cast a red orange glow, into this damp space.
Rats live here I have seen them big shiny and smelly scuttling round in the dark and Shiloh chases them away from my tent, really more ragged cloths and sheets gathered to protect from the cold that somehow penetrates deep to down here at the lower most hidden levels. Sleeping in strewn blankets I have gathered besides the odd scratch I haven’t had any issues from the rats but she, a bulldog keeps them distant.
She growls and stands on rickety legs this dog wouldn’t follow anyone else and on my last day of human life a normal life that is she was the last thing I saw. I grabbed her lead and ran from the apartment we were in down by the north side of the needle building and ran and ran to the sewers and now we are hidden in a back basement of the old town and we are waiting for what I don’t know.

She keeps me sane her life is mine and we are together since I found her on four and six in a gutter yelping for food or help. Calm and sedentary now it’s just us. If I hadn’t been the secretive type I never would’ve got this far I was never much for the social mountaintops.
In truth before I was here I wasn’t anyone I was another desk intern at New York’s Cane magazi
Guest chapter 7 . 12/12/2013
So Bailey is white?
Smh -_-
WinnieBoo chapter 12 . 10/23/2013
This seriously is the sweetest story I've ever read! I love this so much!
CrazyinAbottle chapter 41 . 8/17/2013
I have never cried so hard if my FRIGGEN life. WHY?! IAN WAS ALL SHE HAD! THEY WERE SUPOSSED TO STICK TOGETHER! WAHHH! That was like- the saddest death scene I have ever read. Like OMG I just feel like I have lost a brother.
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