#actually. okay. I have gotten to 5 months but I lost my streak at like. 5 months + 1 week and I think that was my longest

[identitty-dickruption]

engaging in some arts and crafts on this fine evening…. if the AA-goers get little chips lord knows I’m gonna get a little colourful thing too

[shelby-love]

KELLY SEVERIDE

Skeletons and Whatnot.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: I feel like this is rubbish, but I also feel like it’s not. 50/50 (1.6K words - might come back to edit it tomorrow)

Also you can see how tired I am (it's 4:30AM) I mean what is this title??? GOOD NIGHT.

~

"That's not possible. Check again."

"But I already did! Like a million times!"

"Adam, I swear to God-"

"Alright, alright…" Your colleague mumbled, turning on his chair to run the data yet again.

While he sat on the chair, looking through files he didn't have a clue about, you were leaning against the wall and shaking in your boots. Your heart hammered and your palms felt clammy.

Not possible. I killed him.

"No look it says right there," Adam declared; proud of himself for being able to gather information like this on his own. "Some girl named Lucy Riggs pawned a gun she got off some guy named Jon Prescott.

You squinted your eyes at the information that made no sense. "Get to the point."

Adam visibly swallowed, "Turns out the guy's name isn't Jon. Shocker. It's actually Parker Torres."

Your blood ran cold at his words. A million thoughts raced through your head. You wondered where he was, what he was doing… The questions that evaded your mind are usually normal, but here, when you thought about the dark man of your past, the questions seemed to be anything but normal.

"What about the gun?"

Adam clicked away until a picture of a metallic gun popped out. "Smith & Wesson Model 64 revolver."

Next thing you knew, a chain of vulgar profanities escaped your mouth, and you couldn't stop them. Ruzek's eyes widened ever so slightly at your lack of composure. "Mind telling me what this all about?"

You took a deep breath. "My skeleton escaped the closet."

***

The lack of information you found within the last couple of days was mind blowing. The only lead you had was the gun that wasn't even in your possession, having gotten lost in a misfit of undocumented sales.

Lucy wasn't of help either. The poor girl just wanted to get rid of her husband's gun, saying everything but useful information along the way. "If he wants a gun, then he better get a good one… A new one too! I don't want that piece of garbage in my house. God only knows who used that gun!" Lucy told you, just 48 hours ago. Those exact same words.

She was right about one thing.

That dammed gun went through so many hands and took double more lives.

And you didn't even have a lead.

"You look like crap," Kevin Atwater teased, handing you a steaming cup of coffee.

You didn't even manage to smile, looking at him through your shades that were, so far, doing a great job at concealing the bags under your eyes from the world.

"Rough night?"

"Mhmm."

Kevin didn't know that you no longer lived with Kelly. The temporary solution to your problems turned out to be moving back to your own place. Putting Kelly in harm's way, no matter how much he thought otherwise, was something you didn't want to do. The comfort of his bed and body were replaced by a thin blanked and an uncomfortable dining chair.

Dozens of glass decorations were laid out all over your apartment. On every window still, next to every door… On every surface, really. You slept on the dining chair 5 yards from your front door with a pistol strapped to your back, a shotgun under the chair and a rifle wrapped around your two arms, acting as a teddy bear for every time you dozed off.

Friends from Interpol would call here and there, with nothing more than sad news.

Hank Voight was pulling out every contact from his little notebook, but not even they could solve your years long case.

You wanted to throw up.

"Hey Kev."

"What's up?"

"You still friends with that FBI agent?"

***

"Second floor clear," The grip on your radio loosened after the second you needed to inform your team about your situation had passed and you moved on upstairs. You could hear them respond in the same matter as you held your gun with both hands and carefully climbed up the stairs.

You didn't let a sound slip your lips as you trekked the stairs up to the very last floor, save for the attic. For a drug house, everything was eerily quiet. It didn't feel like someone left in a hasty hurry.

It felt like as though there was no one there in the first place.

Your need to report that to your Sergeant faded away quickly once you saw smoke. It seized your full attention within a few seconds.

Smoke grenade was your first guess. Nasty things but nothing new.

That was, until you took several steps closer and the smell of the source journeyed through your nostrils. It clicked in your head immediately. Three years of being a squad lieutenant's girlfriend can do that to you. The scent of fire is nauseating and sweet, putrid and steaky, or something like leather being tanned over a flame. The smell  of it can be so thick and rich that it's almost a taste. Kelly's words rung in your head, and  you pulled your radio to your mouth.

"Call CFD! There's a fire on the third floor!" You informed, shielding your eyes. "Stand down! I repeat –"

Things went black after those words.

***

"We have a detective trapped on the third floor," Voight informed the first responders. "That's where the fire started."

Wallace nodded, "Squad 3, take the third floor."

Unlike Wallace, who had found his source of information in Voight, Kelly Severide had found it in Jay, who stood on the street visibly stressed. "Jay where's Y/N?"

Jay frowned, "She went to scope ahead. She was on the third floor when the whole place just blew up…"

"She could be unconscious right now," Kelly muttered. "Squad 3 let's go!"

Kelly Severide was already in the burning building when Chief Boden found out just who was trapped upstairs. "Dammit."

***

"Y/N?!"

Kelly's patience was thinning by the second. Knowing that his time is limited and that the place could blow in a stronger matter at any moment, he paced toward your unconscious body expeditiously.

Noticing the angry streak of blood that came from your nose had his heart in his throat. You were twisted in a way not normal for a human body to be in, catching him off guard the moment he laid his eyes on you.

Despite all that, Kelly still swooped in to grasp your limp body in his arms.

The stress of the last few days he went through didn't come close to a match with this very moment. "I'm coming down chief!"

For a moment Wallace wanted to bark back, but he bit his tongue. Love makes people do crazy things.

He knew that better than anyone.

"Get the hoses ready!" Boden announced and turned to the Intelligence.

"She'll be okay."

***

You were okay.

Maybe even better than you thought possible.

"Kelly wake up."

You smiled cheekily at doctor Mannig, who stood by your hospital bed, waiting for Kelly to wake up with the same thin line of patience as you.

You woke him up with a slap to his shoulder.

Natalie was beaming, her eyes sparkled despite the fact that she was the doctor to the most heavily guarded patient in the whole city of Chicago. "I think congratulations are in order."

"What do you mean?"

She winked before handing you the tablet, "You're 11 weeks along Y/N. Congratulations you two."

You shook your head wildly and pressed a palm to your mouth, acting out what your defense mechanism wanted you to do. "Oh God…"

"Really?" Kelly asked next to you. He had already grabbed your hand and gripped it tightly, holding you to the ground of your new reality. "Are you for real?"

She nodded, "The tests don't lie. I'm so happy for you two."

Natalie hugged you both closely before disappearing back into the crowded ER.

"Hey," Kelly murmured, grasping your chin with his index finger and thumb. "What's wrong? You're not happy? I thought…"

You shook your head immediately, stopping him from saying something that was untrue. "No, Kelly… I'm really happy."

Two heartbeats within one body. Your body.

A child that was going to take after you and the man you loved most in this world…

You felt so incredibly lucky at that moment.

Yet so guilty.

"Our baby could've died today…"

Fresh onset of tears attacked your eyes, pushing through until the moisture was dripping down your face, and you tried to muffle the hiccups with your hands. Everything started to make sense.

"Baby you didn't know…" He tried to calm you.

You shook your head violently, dropping his attempts into the water. "I should've known better. We didn't use protection... Then I felt so sick last week."

"Y/N-"

"But I was so obsessed with Parker Torres that-" You couldn't even finish the sentence because the guilt turned into anger. "God I'm so stupid!"

"Babe, look at me," Kelly's voice hardened yet the hands with which he cupped your face were gentle and comforting. "You didn't know, so none of this is your fault. If you knowingly went in there that's when it would have been your fault."

He kissed your tears away and gave you the softest smile ever. "Do you want to have this baby with me? Because if you don't, we can…"

You stopped him with a kiss.

You were venerable in the moment of the kiss, yet you never felt more at home. In this kiss is the promise of years of love and the sweetness of life. No one mattered at that moment. Not Parker… Not anyone. Only you two and the vow you just shared.

The next few weeks will be hard, that much you knew. You were introduced to a new reality and priorities shifted. The hunt for your skeleton will continue in the hands of the people you trust most and as months go by the light will greet the darkness of your tunnel.

But the next few years, you see nothing but light and happiness.

No skeletons to torture your life, but a baby and a soulmate to make it better.

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MASTERLIST

[luvlyrv]

Another Dance (Duel Pt. 2) | Seulgi x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, knight!au

Summary: Seulgi has taught you how to dance, but now she needs to teach you what this new feeling brewing in your chest means.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Sorry this took a while to get out. Thank you again to my editor I always love your suggestions. I hope everything in this follow up makes sense.

Date: 5/9/21

Click here to read part one

Perhaps these last few months of your life have been the best. Despite the fact that training has been more brutal due to your nearing graduation into knighthood, every moment has felt brighter than the past several years of your life. Maybe all? You can’t remember ever waking up to a feeling like this all the time.

Yes, this feeling right here in your chest. The feeling you get when you wake up startled and in a frenzy from a dream of spending a day with Seulgi. A life with Seulgi. It’s the feeling that you get when she asks for your hand so that the two of you can make a fool of yourselves dancing. The strange way your chest seems to contract and hurt when Seulgi sneaks a smile while the commandment screams orders at you.

Since when did you feel like this? You’re not sure. Maybe it was that one night the two of you spent together weeks ago, where you finally felt confident enough to lead the dance for once. You had pulled her close with a bold move you didn’t even plan to make, making Seulgi give you a shocked look before glancing away, barely catching her soft smile. Maybe she was proud of you in that moment, you don’t know. You don’t know anything anymore besides Seulgi, besides the fact that you were hyper aware of her breath that night. Of the way her garments clung so close to skin, the rise and fall of her chest, the length of her eyelashes, the slope of her nose.

Every day you’re greeted by the sunrise, only to be anticipating its set.

Before you can spend your cherished time with Seulgi though, you had to go through the motions of your day. Time seemed to pass slowly as you sparred and trained. Nowadays though there was a lightness in your body that wasn’t there before, and your eyes had become better at reading the flowing movements of your opponents. You were ecstatic to see your improvement, likewise were the commanding officers and fellow apprentices, it seemed. Some officers urged you to continue to carry out whatever it was that you were doing to improve and to finally displace Seulgi. Meanwhile the knights-in-training were muttering among themselves about your progress and how it was done.

To say that you were happy that morning training ended would be an understatement. The second highlight of your day would be the precious half hour you spent with Seulgi during your afternoon meal. As you impatiently wait in line to be served whatever was deemed nutritious for prospecting knights, you think about how you were just a couple months ago. After spending some time with Seulgi you wanted to somehow be even closer to her, to spend time beyond the midnight dances you two shared.

When you had first decided to sit next to Seulgi instead of by your lonesome, you were uncharacteristically nervous. You were sure that if people looked carefully enough they could have noticed how your steady sword-arm shook as you held onto your tray of food. People didn’t hide their raised eyebrows at your approach, some people left the area, terrified at the thought of you possibly coming over to terrorize them.

It was a surprise when you had quietly asked if it was okay for you to seat yourself next to Seulgi. She didn’t hesitate to say yes, flashing you her crescent eyes you had unknowingly grown accustomed to. The surrounding witnesses to the sight were confused. When would you have willingly associated with anyone? Especially Seulgi, and in such a shy manner?

When you finally get your meal you walk towards the familiar table and remember your present day situation. Now that time has passed people are less wary around you and how you seemingly lack the intention to verbally abuse and berate people. In fact, when you began to take Seulgi’s advice of smiling more people seemed to… like you? It helped that you lost most of your competitive streak, instead favoring to focus on yourself and what you can do. Mostly your dancing, though, as you yearned to impress Seulgi more each and every night.

The clank of your tray against the wooden aging table alerts Seulgi of your presence. Quickly turning her head away from the person she was talking to, she opens her mouth to greet you. That was until Markus, a man who came from a noble family with notable enough skills, called out for you. You move to face the source of his voice, only to notice him uncomfortably close to your side. It was odd for him to suddenly appear when you swore you didn’t notice him on your way over.

“Hey, I was just wondering if you’d like to duel me in the afternoon? You know, since we haven’t gotten an opportunity to do so for the past couple weeks. Maybe go on a walk afterwards?” He throws you a shy, maybe even a cheeky smile. If there was one thing you knew about him it was that you’ve had much more encounters with him than you’d like recently, and that smile of his was one he’d thrown at other female trainees in the past. If anything, he was merely a passing thought.

“Sure, I don’t care.” You say in your signature neutral tone. Hoping that he’d leave you alone now, you began to turn back to Seulgi. Your movement is stopped when Markus puts his hand on your shoulder and swipes a finger across your cheek.

“You had some dirt there from practice. Just wanted to get it off.” He grins tortuously wide before excusing himself from the table. You sigh, and when you finally get to look at Seulgi she has a raised brow, her mouth forming a tight line. Not sure what to do at her sudden change of mood, you pick at your food a bit. You feel like you can’t eat anything under her intense stare.

You’re starting to feel nervous until Seulgi decides to tap on your shoulder. Glancing up from your plate you see her with a handkerchief in hand.

“I think," she pauses, "Markus made it worse, actually.” She adds before gently rubbing the dirt that became spread across your face. You scrunch your nose and eyes but a small smirk forms in affection.

“Does it really matter, though? I don’t care about how I look.”

“I think you look cuter without it. And more hygienic.”

**

After your meal came your academic and strategical studies. Your brain dulls into mush after countless hours of toiling over geography and the endless ways a person can kill someone. Although you still do well in a more scholar-like learning environment, your body greatly preferred the battlefield. You let out a sigh of happiness when you were allowed to stretch and start another round of sparring.

Keeping to your promise, you await as you lean into your training sword until Markus shows up in your vision again. He walks towards you with such unnerving confidence and a grin you think is permanently scribbled on his face.

“Are you ready, my lady?”

“Don’t patronize me.” You mumble. The two of you back away from each other to an appropriate distance before getting into your stances. Some people gather around the scene, which wasn’t uncommon for your battles. They want to make a spectacle of your fight.

When you rush forward towards Markus you get a good stab straight in his stomach. His reflexes seemed almost slow, or at least much slower than yours or Seulgi’s. He lets out a grunt, but the training armor and his natural durability keeps him on his feet. In an attempt to make you fall, he swings his sword arm directly downwards towards your back. You easily sidestep and continue a relentless sequence of parries and hard smacks against his arms and legs.

This continues on for minutes on minutes, much longer than the vast majority of your fights. Markus has proven himself to be a bad fighter, and the only reason you haven’t won yet is the fact that your sword wasn’t made to kill and the fact that Markus has stupidly good endurance. It’s hard for you to keep fighting. Not because you were lacking stamina but on account of the monotony of his moves started to bore you greatly.

Your mind wanders as you automatically parry Markus’ pathetic slashes without much thought. You recall how you have to go on a walk with Markus when he slips a slight grin, but after that you can go about your day and eventually spend the night with Seulgi. You think about how her smile looks in the moonlight, how her hair bounces as you move to a make-believe rhythm. You unconsciously put on a broad grin as you hope she teaches you something new tonight.

You’ve let your attention slip for too long though. When you get a grip on reality again, you realize that you’re now on the ground and Markus’ blade is descending on your body. Your reaction allows you to bring up your sword to his, a loud clang traveling through the air. With all your might you push back, trying to angle your sword so his would slide off and break free from contact. It seems like you may be able to fend off his weapon for a second, but he yells as he delivers all of his strength into pushing down on you.

The force is more than enough to make your sword lose contact with his. With the blade right on your throat he throws on a victorious expression and screams in happiness. The crowd around you softly murmur as they look at each other. Markus drinks in his win and he looks at everyone and then at you.

“You’ve gone soft on me, haven’t you?”

“What? What do you mean?” You try to brush the dirt off your back as you get up.

“I mean, why would you all of a sudden smile and let me win like that otherwise?” He chuckles with his words as he approaches you and places a hand on your back.

“I was just distracted.” You try to get away from him, but he gets closer and whispers in your ear.

“By me, right?” You hear a certain kind of joy and conceitedness in his voice that makes you want to vomit while simultaneously punching him.

“No. Now let's just get this walk done with so I can go shower or shoot my bow, or something.” At your words he shuffles away and uncomfortably leaves some space between the two of you as you go for a quick walk in the woods. Everybody watches as you two leave the area, and as you pass by you hear their whispers.

“…like him?”

“ …usually ruthless…why’d she let him win?”

“…was right…gone soft.”

You aren’t sure what to do about their theorizing or their mindless gossip, nor what to do with the man who was now clinging onto your side. What was usually a peaceful and quiet trail for you became loud and annoying as Markus kept trying to flirt despite your silence and lack of response to his remarks. It was hard to appreciate the beauty in the trees and forest life over the talkativeness of the man next to you. If you could, you wouldn’t have gone on a walk with him, but you felt like it was dishonorable of you to break an appointment or promise.

You think that next time you should bring Seulgi with you instead, it would be a pleasant experience then.

After what felt like a century of walking, you had finally looped around the trail and made it back to the beginning of the forest. You continue to trek forward and almost leave Markus behind, but he grips onto your waist and looks at you for a moment. The tinge of expectancy that gleamed in his eyes, and that's when you knew. You watch in a panic as he flutters his eyes and brings his lips to yours.

There’s a ringing in your ears from how hard you slap him.

“Don’t.” You say while walking away from him.

You decide that you should go to the shower to wash off his filth, then go to the archery range to practice shooting his face in your head.

**

It would be a lie to say you weren’t sore from the amount of work you forced upon your body today. As you hunker towards the barracks though, a sudden burst of energy renews the feelings in your limbs when you find Seulgi patiently awaiting you like always. The area clears out of people until it’s just you and Seulgi. She comes by your side to walk with you towards the field.

Your dance begins and you drink in the comfortable silence until Seulgi decided to speak.

“So, Markus, how do you feel about him?” There’s a sense of inquisitiveness that you haven’t heard from her before.

“Hm? He’s just a person.” She makes a face at your answer, scrunching her eyebrows as she pushes further,

“Really? You know, when I finished my practice match and walked around everybody was talking about the two of you… you know. How you’re a thing or something.”

“Just a misunderstanding.” You assert, but Seulgi seems to want to hear more.

“Do you not like him? What about anybody else? I feel like everybody is dying for your attention these days.” With the last sentence there’s a subtle shift to a sadder, even disgruntled tone in her voice. You watch as she bites her lip waiting for an answer, entranced enough to almost forget to reply. The insecurity was hard to ignore.

“I don’t really talk to anyone besides you, Seulgi, and I don’t know why people bother. Maybe they just respect my abilities and think now that I’m friendlier I’d be interested in a conversation. Also, you aren’t one to talk. You’ve had people following you around and worshipping you since day one.” Thinking about it, you can‘t ever remember a time where Seulgi didn’t have someone by her side.

Another wave of silence envelopes you as Seulgi finally nods, maybe settling with this answer. Or at least is mulling over your words. As she takes the time to think, you remember the events that happened earlier in the day and the question that had been bothering you.

“By the way, are you making me soft?”

You interrupt the dance you shared by taking a step back. You cock your head in examination. Recently it’s been hard to tell if Seulgi’s influence over you had been helpful or harmful. Especially since there were instances where you almost completely lost your focus like you did today.

“Where is this coming from?” She asks while putting on a confused smile, as if to say ‘excuse me?’.

“Well, obviously I’m more approachable now because of your advice, but now you’re getting in the way of my fighting.”

“Huh?” Seulgi is taken aback by your words and how you state them so matter-of-factly.

“Sometimes I lose focus in the middle of fights now. They accused me of becoming soft.”

“How can I possibly be at fault for that?”

“Well, it’s you that I think about. All the time.” You reach out for her hand, gently tugging it towards you and then onto your chest. “And you make my heart beat real fast. Faster than any running commandment has made us done. It kind of hurts my chest, really. Have you casted a spell on me too?”

You feel Seulgi’s hand tremble in a quake.

“Y/N, are you joking right now?”

“No, I just want to know, why do I feel like this all the time around you?” Looking at Seulgi’s face you spot how the tips of her ears turned a bright red, despite the darkness of the night. Your other hand pulls back her hair so you can examine it further. With a worried look you ask, “Oh, are you cold? Should we go back inside?” You panic a little as you see the pink had spread onto the rest of her face.

“You…” Seulgi’s breath has quickened, and she rescinds her hand from yours. You’re worried you’ve done something wrong as Seulgi refused to even look at you, instead she's staring at her feet. “You like me, stupid.” The dramatic atmosphere turns lighthearted as she laughs boisterously.

“Huh? Is that what this means?”

“Are you being serious with me?” Seulgi keeps laughing at you, much to your frustration.

“Yes! I am! I don’t understand! I’ve never felt this way before, that’s why I have to ask.” Your face lapses to a pout and that seems to encourage her to keep laughing at you.

“Hey, stop pouting!” Her laughing reduced to giggles as she walked closer to you. She brings her hands forward as they cup your face. Your knees feel weak, buckling at the warmth in her hands and the care they seemed to radiate. She finally calms down when she asks you, “Now, if you really like me then tell me," she sucks in a quick breath," would you like to kiss me right now?”

For a second you’re frozen, but soon enough you bashfully nod your head a little too hard.

Her lips reach yours and you instantly smile. The lips that you’ve stared at for hours, the ones that say the words that have moved you the most, the ones that curve adorably and ignites the dormant happiness within you. You stay that way for a moment that both felt like forever and like no time at all. Seulgi breaks away before kissing each of your cheeks.

“Oh,” she sighs while staring at you, “you’ve made me the happiest person in the world.”

[woozisnoots]

modest jeon wonwoo

° pairing: wonwoo x reader ° genre: university!au, host club!au, fluff ° word count: ~1.7k �� warnings: none! ° a/n: this had no business being this long and idek if i like it lol but I want to specifically dedicate this piece to @wonwoosimp​​ bc she’s literally the sweetest, best bean in the world [insert uwu meme here] thank you for gifting me my very first photocard, I literally cried opening it! I love you so much, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to the svt host club!

masterlist!

you entered university with a certain goal, a purpose. eventually, you were going to be the pediatric surgeon that the 13 year old you ushered you to be.

…let's just hope the knowledge of your brain was enough to get you through the first four years of pre-med. with your 3.7 high school GPA, you were lucky to get into your first choice college, let alone your current major

from the start of the semester, you dedicated yourself to studying the anatomy and physiology of the body until you knew every nook and cranny there was to know. and the library was the perfect sanctuary to get your shit together

as much as you loved your roommates, their constant fights over closet space and boy toys gave you no peace of mind what-so-ever

bless the library for being opened 24/7. If your roommates found you sleeping on their only working desk, you would find yourself waking up to the sound of tripping freshmen trying to get to their first 8am class right in the middle of the hallway

but the lone table in the corner of the library just on the third floor did you good at staying focused. even provided some good naps in between every now and then

the day before your first anatomy test, you LOCKED yourself in the library. no one was going in OR OUT of the premise just to sit across from you on YOUR table until you fully memorized the different layers of epithelial tissue >:(

gosh, you even scattered all your notes across the table just so people got the memo that this seat was: [OFF LIMITS]

yes, off limits to everyone except a certain jeon wonwoo.

the way you met was abrupt to say the least

besides your table, you had a pretty good view of the entire campus — from the main health science building all the way to the student parking lot

and just below you, an astonishing sight of a mob of screaming girls chasing after a mouse guy in glasses. not to be inconsiderate and heartless, but unless you heard someone scream bloody murder, diving back into your flashcard you go

tissue after tissue, you start to get delusional because at this point, everything is starting to look the same

slumping down into your chair, you take a second to mentally recharge, drinking the water you’ve neglected for the past three hours

you time yourself for a five minute break, going through the notifications on your phone

before you could read your roommate’s ongoing ramble on the latest update of the “crazy good looking, god-like, elite host club that the university has to offer”

a ‘club’ that you didn’t even know anything about nor cared for

you hear a loud ‘thud’ coming from the bookcase in front of you

from the side the tall, lean guy with glasses that you saw earlier emerged with his hands gripping his tricep

you try not to draw too much attention to him. half the reason being you didn’t want to embarrass him by laughing at the fact he ran into a 10 feet tall bookcase

and you did not need this man distracting you. it’s your eight week streak being this productive, a new record for anything you’ve done in your entire life and your pride wouldn’t let you have it if you lost it just because you saw an attractive man on sight

you scribble down a decent guess to the tissue identification question that you’ve been stuck on for the past few minutes, not bothering to look up

“that’s actually dense connective tissue, not smooth”

jolting up from your seat, you look up realizing the guy 5 feet away is now right in front of your face looking down at all your papers

“you can tell because they’re striated”

you stare at him in disbelief wondering how he could have gotten so fast with just looking at it for a few seconds. eyeing him up and down, he definitely looked around the same age as you but he wasn’t someone you’ve seen around the science buildings. and you would know since you took the liberty of familiarizing almost everyone within the department

“do you mind if i sit here?” his hands already on the edge of the chair ready to pull it out from underneath him

“...yeah sure”

“oh i’m wonwoo by the way,” he says as you both exchange awkward stares and knowledgeable nods

okay well since he’s proven that he might be of help to you, you might as let him stay. from what you’ve gathered, he didn’t have any stuff on him aside from his phone that you watch him get out of his front pocket, getting ready to play pacman

forget how attractive he is, this guy has some brains.

for the rest of the day, as you guys sat across from each other, wonwoo would occasionally bounce back and forth between giving you study tips and playing whatever game he decides to play at that moment in time

he was surprisingly really good at this? he knew more things about the subject than your professors did, and that’s saying a lot. like you’ve been looking at cells for WEEKS and you were lucky to get at least half of them. which begs the question:

“how do you magically know all this?”

the blank expression on his face tells you he wasn’t expecting that question but he quickly shrugs it off. “i just know a few things from my parents that’s all”

you would have questioned him further but the time on your phone read “22:57” and you already broke your number rule about sleeping early before a big test

as you pack up all your stuff, wonwoo pushes his chair in, bidding you farewell

“good luck on your test tomorrow!”

you appreciate the gesture, mentally thanking him for his help and proceed to go back to your dorms, preparing yourself to tell your roommate all about the exciting? day you had

“YOU MORON. JEON WONWOO?”

laying flat on your back on your bed, you cover the bottom half of your face, quivering under your sheets as you stare at your roommate’s outrageous outburst

you explain what happened and who you met today at the library. when your roommate asked to describe him in more detail, all you said was that he was pretty smart for someone who wasn’t particularly in your major

your roommate lets out a loud scream into their pillow, gripping the bed sheets before giving you the earful of the century

“he’s just being modest. he’s a korean lit major but he’s one of the uni’s top students since both his parents are the head of the science department.

…AND he’s one of the most requested host club members. so you caught yourself one big fish today bud.”

top student? science department? HOST CLUB? none of that was processing in your brain. the one club that you wanted nothing to do with and you just happened to meet their top money maker

grand.

the thought didn’t keep you up at night only because you thought that today’s encounter was just coincidence and you probably would never have to see him again.

(sad though, your roommate was right. he is rather good looking.)

the time that it took for you to take your test the next day flew by so fast that you questioned if it even happened. the first step you took out the classroom, you start to second guess all your answers, regretting that you didn’t check a third or even fourth time before submitting

your train of thought halts when you see jeon wonwoo standing in the empty hallway

“i’m sure you aced it”

and just like in a netflix original romance movie, he reveals a bouquet of pink begonias from behind his back while shyly adjusting his glasses

“these are for you. to congratulate you”

weird way to phrase it but you were still gonna take the flowers. “host club tendencies?”

“so you found out?”

from a distance, you can hear the rushing footsteps from downstairs followed by a sense of purpose. “i think i was bound to” :/

you didn’t know how you felt about the current situation. you had no idea what host club was until you got here and you still don’t know what they even do. for all you knew, this could just be a gesture to get them more clients

but if his actions were genuine… you wouldn’t mind seeing him again

“i have to start learning muscles for our next exam. heard it was one of the hardest ones. i’m not sure if you have more studying tricks up your sleeve?”

“i might.” a cocking little grin now appearing on his face

“good. same place at the library tomorrow then. and this time? try not to bring your dedicated fans wherever you go”

so these study sessions continued. you guys occasionally had to change spots - from cafe to an empty bio lab - if the mob ever saw a single hair follicle that might be his

but each time, wonwoo brought something more just himself. one day it would be coffee, others days it would be food. things to keep you motivated.

for a korean lit major, he was taking a lot of time out of his day to help you, being attentive to all the strategies that help you study and such

possibly making your assumption from months back, true.

by the time finals rolled around, aside from the spursts of review here and there, study sessions became more casual. you didn’t feel the need to overwork our brain since you already knew all the information (something you actually learned from wonwoo himself)

possibly the last meeting you’d have with him was similar to your first: just you two together but him playing on his phone. and yet before the night ended

“i have a proposal.”

“i’m not giving you money for your dumb club.” bold of him to assume you would-

“no but i really appreciate the thought :)

why don’t we turn these study sessions into… study dates instead?”

:0

your assumption after 6 months later: finally confirmed

“but that’s only IF you ace your finals.”

well let’s just say at the very end, you had a successful first semester and are now one step closer towards being the surgeon of your dreams.

plus, you even landed yourself a pretty cool boyfriend in the process

let’s hope his parents put in a good word for you when you apply to med school!

[redsector-a]

AO3 Ask Game

I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still). 1. How many works do you have on ao3?

46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

309662 according to the stats.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm. Basically AO3 can be summed up as: Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related) Torchwood Highlander But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best. Highlander Star Wars Babylon 5 Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count) Torchwood Star Trek LOTR Stargate (SG-1, SGA) Mortal Kombat I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1: You rearrange me till I’m sane Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes. Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him. Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living. 2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.

3: Puck Luck Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.

It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?

4: Loose Lips Launch Ships

Based on the following prompt: “We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-” Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.

5: Indelible Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...

(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At the moment? Probably: Look at you look at me Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be. For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love (I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin). Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;) Torch Song Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes. --- A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way). The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -

The Immortal Mr. Jones A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones. My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist*  The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands* Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is  it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around.  One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible. Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Four Times Nathan Proposed and One Time He Meant it

Hi! This is my humble contribution to @nolypats and @hockeyboysiguess campaign for Nathan MacKinnon for Hockey Boy of the Month. Please see their blogs for more info, also just because they’re amazing writers. This is my first time trying a 4+1, I thought it would be nice to put something out before the next chapter of Flatbush & Atlantic. It was genuinely so much fun writing this, so please let me know what you think!

Wine pairing: Rotari rosé. @hockeyboysiguess and I have started to pair all of our writings with their own wine, bearing in mind that neither of us knows anything about wine. It’s all about the VIBES. 

4 times Nathan proposed and 1 time he meant it

The first time (February)

Jordan knocked on the door, a glass dish balanced precariously on her hip. She and Nathan tried to have a standing date night every week, something that wasn’t grabbing lunch when they were both free or meeting for coffee before she had to head to work and he went to practice. That was, unless there was a game. Or a roadie. Or a team event. So needless to say, the two had been a little strapped for “couple time” recently, and they were both feeling it. She had an article due the next day, a co-write about the use of illegal dark money in a recently-elected congressman’s campaign. Nathan had a long practice that morning and wasn’t feeling too up to anything that would require him to move too far from his couch. 

He opened the door, giving her a quick kiss. “I pulled up a few movies I thought you might be into, but didn’t want to pick anything until you got here.”

“You’re so considerate, I think I’m going to swoon,” Jordan said.

Nathan shrugged. “I’ll catch you if you fall.” Deep down, he really was a romantic, though the boys would chirp him endlessly if they knew. 

Jordan padded into the kitchen, setting the dish onto the counter and opening up the cabinet right above the toaster oven, grabbing two plates. Even apart from date night, it wasn’t uncommon for them to eat in; partly due to the fact that there were few things in this world Nathan loved more than being able to fly under the radar, something that was a little bit difficult to do when you wore the A for the Colorado Avalanche, but partly because in his own way, it was letting Jordan into his life. “What movies were you looking at?”

“Depends what you’re feeling,” Nathan replied. “We’ve got...Star Wars, Captain Marvel, and 10 Things I Hate About You.”

Her ears perked up. “The one with Heath Ledger?”

“That’s the one. Sound good to you?” 

Jordan had always had a penchant for movies of the late-90s and early 2000s, especially if they were romcoms, and especially if said romcoms starred Julia Stiles. As a little girl, there was definitely more than once where she had herself entirely convinced that her life would turn out exactly like The Prince and Me. Minus, of course, the fact that the beginning of Paige and Edvard’s entire relationship was built on lies. Mainly, she was just really into crowns and big poofy dresses as a little girl. “Sounds good to me!” She said brightly. “You want a brownie?”

Nate craned his neck to look at her in the kitchen, looking expectantly at him with one hand holding a spatula. “You made brownies?”

Jordan giggled. “I did. I take it that’s a yes?”

“That’s a definitely, please, my God give me one right this second or I might combust.” She slid the plate onto the side table a minute later, grabbing two napkins. “Are these normal brownies?” Nathan asked, picking one up and inspecting it with a semi-confused look on his face. 

“They’re triple-layer, it’s an old recipe for slutty brownies from when I was in college. Bottom’s cookie dough, then Oreos, then fudge brownie on top of that.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Slutty brownies?”

Jordan swatted at his shoulder. “I know it’s a weird name, just give them a chance. I know you’ve been feeling a little down with the losing streak, and thought you could use a pick-me-up. They were my go-to for breakups, always seemed to help the girls feel better, so I thought it might work for you too.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but Nathan’s heart skipped a beat with Jordan’s words. “Guess I’ll have to see,” he said, taking a bite out the corner. His face melted. “This is...literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Seriously, it’s so good. So good. Oh my God, marry me.”

Jordan flushed, turning to take a sip of water so he wouldn’t see. “I’m glad you like them.”

The second time (May)

It was 11:38 on a Friday night, and Jordan and Nathan were at a bar. To be precise, Jordan, Nathan, and pretty much the whole team were at a bar, plus what seemed like the entire population of Denver. Springtime meant playoff season for the NHL, and winning a series meant going out. Jordan normally had to pass whenever the team decided to hit up a bar or club after a win; as much as she would have liked to go, she was a journalist who kept a 9-5 job, which meant that she had to at least get some modicum of sleep if she was going to be able to function in the newsroom without an injection of caffeine straight into her veins. But it was the weekend, and she’d be damned if she was going to miss out on this. 

For the most part, the fans weren’t making a fuss; there was the occasional picture taken or pat on the back for winning the conference semifinals for the first time in twenty years, but nothing out of hand. Sipping her Dark & Stormy, she looked fondly over at Nate, who was having what looked to be a very animated conversation with Burky. Already two and a half drinks in, Nathan was starting to act a little tipsy; while he was normally more reserved about public displays of affection, he kissed Jordan more than one as the night went on. Not like she was complaining. Picking up a refill from the bar, she scooted back into the booth next to Nate. He planted a messy kiss on her cheek. “Where’d you go, Jo?”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Unlike some of us, I can’t just snap my fingers and have alcohol appear at will. I had to actually go to the bar for another drink,” she teased. 

Nathan threw his head back laughing. “‘S’pose you’ve got a point there, babe.” He slung one arm over her shoulders. Jordan unconsciously leaned into his touch. “What’d you think of the game?” She wasn’t able to make it to every game, but was lucky that she could get down to the Pepsi Center more often than not. The Avalanche had beaten the Flames in 6, after dropping the first two games in Calgary and being pegged as another likely sweep, they had come back to win the next four and the series. 

“Just trying to stroke your own ego, eh, MacKinnon?”

“Picking up some Canadian slang, eh, Murphy?”

She tilted her head. “Maybe, maybe not. But the game was amazing. You know that. You did amazing, Nate.” In the 3-1 win, Nathan had scored two points, an assist and an absolute beauty of a power-play goal that just barely squeaked into the top left corner above Rittich’s shoulder. 

“Sure, maybe I do know,” Nathan admitted, “but it’s one thing hearing it from fans and the media and even my teammates. It’s another hearing it from you.” Jordan loved Nathan, but he wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings out loud. She was the first one to say “I love you, to introduce him to her parents, to take just about any step forward in their relationship. It was something he was getting better at, slowly but surely, and it meant the world to Jordan that he was trying so hard. Maybe it was the liquor, or the atmosphere, or the excitement of the night, but it meant just as much to her to hear it as it probably did for him to say it. 

Half an hour and several drinks later, the last few people left were trickling out. Most had carpooled to the bar, leaving their cars back at the arena to get the next day. Jordan would have ordered Nate an Uber and then just hitched a ride with someone else back towards her apartment west of downtown, but Nate was pretty far gone. And he was a cute drunk, all things considered, but she was on her way to sobering up and felt an obligation to at least get him in bed safe. Their car pulled up, Nathan clumsily ducking in ahead of her as she shut the door behind him, buckling first his seat belt then her own. They walked through his front door fifteen minutes later, Jordan dropping him off in his bedroom to get undressed before grabbing a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. Nathan was in his boxers when she walked in, struggling to pull a t-shirt over his head. Jordan laughed, walking to his side of the bed before gently tugging it, handing him the water and two Advil. “If you take it now, it’ll help with the hangover later.” Kissing his forehead gently, she turned to leave.

“Where are you going, Jo?”

She stopped at the door. “Home?”

“I want you to stay.” 

She sighed gently, smiling at him. “Okay, I’ll spend the night.” 

“No,” Nathan interrupted, grabbing her wrist lightly as she turned to grab one of his old World Cup shirts to sleep in. “Forever. I want you to stay forever.”

The third time (August)

It was the middle of August, and Jordan and Nathan were in Canada. He had invited her earlier in the summer to visit for a few weeks, and as soon as she got the time off approved, she booked her flight. Getting to Springhill wasn’t the easiest — she flew to Toronto, had a layover, flew to Halifax, then got picked up by Nate for the two hour drive to his hometown. He had flown out in June, about a month after the Avs lost to the Kings in the conference finals, so the couple hadn’t seen each other in nearly two months. Jordan wasn’t about to complain about a few more hours. His parents had been so generous letting her stay for two weeks, and hadn’t batted an eye when Nathan had moved her into his old room. “Just don’t wake us up,” his mom had said, causing Nathan’s cheeks to turn scarlet. 

Jordan had met them a few times before; they had flown out for the All-Star game the previous January and had gotten together during the team Moms’ and Dads’ trips. And if she was around when Nathan was FaceTiming them, she always popped in for a few minutes to say hi. But she still hadn’t quite expected the ceaseless hospitality she had been offered over the past week. Maybe Canadians really were just that nice. 

Halfway through Jordan’s trip, they decided to throw a barbeque. And by they, that meant it was Nate’s idea and he roped them all into helping. Jordan had already been introduced to a few of his old friends, they had gone out for drinks to the one bar in town on her second night, but she was excited to meet everyone else. His dad Graham was keeping an eye on the grill, Nathan had filled the cooler with drinks, and Jordan was helping his mom carry out the fruit bowl and salad to the backyard. Nathan ran up to his room to change right as people started trickling in, and came back to a yard full of family and friends. He craned his neck, trying to figure out where Jordan had wandered off too, before his sister pointed to where she sat with a few of his cousins. 

Nathan opened his mouth, about to ask her something, when Jordan quietly brought a finger up to her lips. “She’s sleeping,” she whispered, gesturing to her arms, where a tiny baby was nestled, eyes firmly shut. 

He remembered that his cousin Rachel had had a baby not too long ago, but didn’t realize she’d be old enough to travel yet. “Is this Natalie?” he asked quietly, sitting in the chair next to Jordan. Rachel nodded. For a few moments, Nathan was lost in the scene, lost in how damn perfect Jordan looked with a baby in her arms. They had spoken about those sorts of things — future things — enough to know that marriage and kids were something they both wanted, but this was the first time it had hit him, like really hit him, that that could be them down the line. Over by the fire pit, his mom watched, a soft smile on her face.

Nathan stood in the kitchen with his mom a few hours later, drying off dishes from the party. Handing a plate to him, Kathy shot a curious glance at her son, as if a thought had just popped into her mind that hadn’t been there before. Nate looked back at her, confused. “What is it, mom?

Kathy nodded out the window, where Jordan was laughing at a joke his dad had just made, balancing the last round of dirty plates to bring in on her arm. “When are you going to put a ring on it, Nathan?

Nathan wasn’t particularly prone to blushing, but he had been doing a lot of it lately. “I—uh—” His mom rested a hand on his shoulder with a knowing smile. “Okay, I’ll admit that I’ve been thinking about it.”

Kathy was beaming. “I knew it. When?”

“When am I going to propose?” She nodded. He shrugged. “I don’t know when it’s going to happen, Mom, but it’s going to. I’m going to marry that girl.”

The fourth time (November)

Jordan grimaced, breathing in sharply as she braced her elbows on her desk. Elisa, her friend who worked in the cubicle beside her, looked over, a concerned expression on her face. “You good, hun?” 

Jordan nodded mechanically, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing three with a gulp of water. “Yeah, I should be fine. I should be starting my period in the next day or two, so I’m pretty sure it’s just cramps.”

“Are they usually this bad though?” Elisa had always been a worrier.

She shook her head. “No, not since I went on birth control a few years ago, but who knows. The ibuprofen will help, and it’s probably normal anyways. I’m sure it’ll go away.”

It didn’t go away. Two hours later, when Elisa was finishing up the last paragraph of her analysis of the Broncos’ new coaching hire, Jordan suddenly shot up from her desk, running at breakneck speed towards the women’s bathroom with a queasy look on her face. Elisa followed, bursting through the door to the unmistakable sharpness of vomit. She knelt down next to Jordan, pulling her hair back with the spare scrunchie she kept on her wrist. “Jordan? Are you okay?”

Jordan shook her head. “I feel awful, El.”

Eliss touched the back of her hand to Jordan’s forehead. “You’re warm. Have the cramps gotten better.”

“Worse,” Jordan admitted, wiping at the beads of sweat that had started to accumulate on her forehead. 

Elisa pulled out her phone from her back pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance. I don’t think this is cramps, Jo.” 

Jordan didn’t have the strength to argue, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to anyways. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, carting Jordan off to Denver Health Medical Center. “Any chance you could be pregnant?” one EMT asked. 

“I could be, but I shouldn’t. I’m on birth control and my boyfriend always uses protection,” Jordan said weakly. The EMT made a scribble on her paper. She barely registered pulling into the hospital, nurses pulling her into the ER, or a doctor wheeling in an ultrasound machine. She was conscious enough to recite her name, date of birth, and insurance number before being taken into the operating room, and then a mask was placed over her nose and her world went dark.

The first thing Jordan did when she woke up was check the clock in her room. It was 3; from what little she remembered, she had been taken to the hospital sometime a little after noon. “Oh, thank God,” she heard from her left side. She recognized that voice. It was Nathan’s voice. He grabbed her hand — the one that didn’t have an IV drip in it — and kissed it quickly, smoothing back the pieces of her hair that had come out of the hair tie. “Elisa called during practice, and she told me what happened, but she didn’t even know what happened, and then I left and drove over here, but then—”

Jordan laughed softly, feeling a dull pain in her lower abdomen. “It’s fine, Nate, I’m fine. What happened, anyways? I don’t remember anything after I went into surgery, I have no idea what it was even for.”

“You had appendicitis, your appendix was about two seconds away from bursting.”

Jordan let out a low whistle. “Glad that didn’t happen. Hey,” she added as an afterthought, “I thought visiting hours here didn’t start until 4?” Jordan had visited a college friend of hers who had had a baby a few weeks prior, and could have sworn that she wasn’t let in until later. 

Nate smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, they do. I couldn’t even figure out what room you were in at first. They wouldn’t tell me anything, so I told them I was your fiancé.”

“Oh, did you now?”

Nathan rubbed his thumb over her finger. Her ring finger. “I mean, it’s pretty much true. All I’ve got left to do now is ask you.”

“And get the ring,” Jordan added. 

“Nope.”

+1 (January) 

Family skates had quickly grown to be one of Jordan’s favorite parts of the season. She had loved the first one, but had felt just a tiny bit out of place; her and Nathan had only been dating for a little over six months, and it seemed like almost everyone else had known each other for years. But she’d forged some amazing friendships with other WAGs over the past year, trading babysitting duties for pies and meeting to watch the game while the boys were on a road trip, sharing new Spotify playlists and learning how to support each other along the way. The team had become her second family, even though her parents only lived an hour and a half away. 

Jordan had been a competitive figure skater throughout high school and into college, so she was no stranger to the ice. She obviously couldn’t get out nearly as often as she had before, but her skates still fit and she could still land a triple salchow after warming up. She and Nate had been skating around for an hour or so, taking a break after some “friendly competition” where Josty had made the mistake of challenging Jordan to a race around the rink. She beat him by two seconds. 

Jordan unscrewed the top of her water bottle, taking a few grateful sips before putting it back in her bag. “Babe!” Nate called from a few rows away, where some of the younger kids were gathered next to what looked like pastels. “Want to face paint?” 

She smiled, raising her eyes playfully as she popped on her blade guards and walked over towards the bench. “You sure about that one, MacKinnon? I’m not much of an artist.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s okay, I bet you’ll be great!” He was so sweet for believing in her. 

“Alright,” Jordan said, straddling the bench and picking up the box. “What would his highness like for the design? Bear in mind you’re working with a beginner here.”

“Butterfly!” He chirped excitedly. “There’s been a whole bird and insect theme going on here,” he pointed at the kids’ cheeks, covered in bees, ladybugs, and one demonic-looking...crow? Was it a crow? Did they even get crows at this time of year? “and I wouldn’t want to break the trend.”

“We couldn’t have that,” Jordan agreed. Ten minutes later Nathan had a very blue, barely-acceptable-looking butterfly on his right cheek, but he was beaming like the sun as soon as he pulled up his camera to look at it. “I love it, Jo. Thank you,” Nate said, giving her a quick kiss. 

Activities wrapped up not too long after, and Jordan and Nathan walked out of the rink hand-in-hand towards his car. They had moved in together two months earlier, and Jordan had been more than happy to move out of her tiny studio into Nate’s giant apartment, where you could see the Rockies from the rooftop on clear days. Plus, his building allowed dogs. As Nathan drove home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tangled with hers by the center console, Jordan looked over at him, with the little blue butterfly on his cheek, and she suddenly felt so unbelievably happy. So unbelievably full. It went without saying that she loved Nate. She loved him like she had never loved anyone before, and never would again. 

At the same time, Nate’s heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t surprised, but he had just realized something. He already knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jordan. Nathan had realized that months ago. And he hadn’t been lying at the hospital, he had already bought the ring. But Nathan wanted everything to be perfect when he proposed; it couldn’t be rainy outside, because what if she wanted pictures? It couldn’t be too soon after her older brother’s wedding, because then she might think that was the reason why. It couldn’t be in the summer, because then he’d go back to Nova Scotia for the summer and his mom might scalp him for leaving his fiancée in another country. But, Nathan realized as they pulled into the underground lot, there never was going to be a perfect time. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted to be Jordan’s husband. There shouldn’t be anything stopping him. There wasn’t anything stopping him. 

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Nate said as Jordan slipped off her shoes. She nodded. Nathan went up the stairs, but past the bathroom. He walked into their bedroom, into his closet, to the shoebox that had his old atom league medals. He grabbed the velvet box, opening it and taking one last look before taking a deep breath and putting it in his pocket. 

“You want to watch SVU reruns?” Jordan asked as he ambled back into the living room. 

His mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Uh—can I say something?”

Jordan looked over. “Yeah, go ahead? We can totally watch something else if you’re not feeling Law & Order, I think I saw Chopped on the Food Network, or Jurassic Park is halfway through…” She trailed off. 

Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets, turning the ring box over and over. He bit his lip. “You know how much you mean to me, right?” Jordan nodded slowly. “When I met you, I wasn’t looking for anything. I had just had my heart broken by someone who I thought would be my forever, but then you came into my life and suddenly...suddenly, it all made sense. I thought I knew love, I thought I knew what it was to be in love, but I didn’t, really. Not until you. You bring me down to earth, Jordan, when I’m too far in my head. I know you’re on my team even when we’re losing, even when it seems like nothing in my life is going right I know you’ll always be there to pick me up when I fall. And I don’t ever want to take that for granted. You challenge me in the best way, you always push me to be a better partner, a better teammate, and a better man. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for you.” Jordan was tearing up, starting to figure out where his whole speech was going and hoping beyond hope that she was right.

“I know I’m not always physically here, but I promise to always be there for you, Jordan. I’ll hold you when you’re crying, I’ll buy your favorite chips when we’re out, I’ll pay the utility bills because I know you’re terrible with remembering dates. It was eight months in when I realized you were the one.” Nathan bent down on one knee. One of Jordan’s hands was over her mouth, the remote having long since been abandoned on the couch. “I can’t wait to see where we go, Jordan. I can’t wait to get a nice house with a big backyard, go down to the animal shelter saying we’re only going to adopt one dog but come back with three. I can’t wait for the day you tell me you’re pregnant, and we get to hold our child for the first time and I get to see you be a mother. I can’t wait for us to start our lives together. I can’t wait for you to be Jordan MacKinnon.” He opened up the ring box. “Will you marry me?”

Jordan fell on her knees, hands on both sides of Nathan’s face. “Yes.”

[dayasbun]

Fame - Angus Cloud (5)

Summary- a luckily timed audition leads to you falling for your new and unexpected co-star.

Warnings- okay HI welcome to my first multi chapter series woah?! this is actually so exciting for me like wow especially since angus doesn’t have any fics yet im just really really excited- so warnings! smut for sure, bad words, lotsa fluff, angst- everything in one basically. here comes a ride and I hope you enjoy :)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 {reading now}

-

You woke up to an empty bed and cold covers. With a sigh you sat up, wondering where Storm and Z had gone. Grabbing your phone, you shook your head as you read the messages on your home screen.

Babygirl Z <3: Yoooo so we dipped cuz Angus's weird-ass kinda threatened us to gtfo out cuz he wanted to spend time w you but don't tell him I told you that, I don't wanna deal w him

Lil storm!: i think the hood boy in love with you or sum- it's weird.

Angus ☁️: you free today? i got some plans for us so if you ain't you free now

Angus ☁️: i'm playin btw like if you ain't free i can change shit around

You giggled as you heard your nails click against the phone's screen as you sent responses.

-mhm i'll act like i never saw this...have a good day of filming gorgeous <3

-see storm, i highly disagree

-i'm free :) is this a date mr cloud? don’t forget we have filming today

You got up brushing your teeth and washing your face. You waited for Angus's response before picking an outfit for the day, and instead decided on making breakfast for now.

Babygirl Z <3: thanks lovely same to you!!!

Lil storm! laughed at your message

Angus ☁️: shittttt ion know maybe- n yeah ik

-i'm making breakfast, come over if you want

Angus ☁️: food?? i'm already on the way

-my trailer door is unlocked so just come in

A few minutes later you heard the heavy trailer door creak open. You flipped a pancake before turning around and facing the taller man in front of you. "Gooooood morning- you look so tired?"

"Damn, thanks Y/N you look great too!" Angus said sarcastically rolling his eyes.

"Boy, I'm kidding." You grinned wrapping your arms around his waist "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept ight, you? Any dream-"

"SHUTUP!"

"I was just checking damn, just checking!"

You let off the hug and walked back over to the stove turning off the burners. "Okay, done! Pancakes and eggs- and fruit! Can't beat that." You made both you and Angus a plate and sat them down on the small table.

You both ate with smiles on your faces, talking the whole time. You learned some more about Angus and his past, and he learned more about you and what you want your future to be like. You couldn't help but laugh when he spotted a carton of store-bought sugar cookies on your counter and insisted he eat at least five. You didn't deny his request, so he polished them off with the rest of his pancakes.

As soon as the breakfast came to a close, both of your phones dinged at the exact same time.

"That's strange," You said picking up the electrical device. You quickly unlocked it as your eyes scanned the screen, and when you finished you immediately looked up at Angus. From the look on his face, you could tell that he clearly had finished reading the message as well.

"So…" he said quietly.

"Yeah."

"Yep."

The text message wasn't too big of a deal, just a simple message from Mary of a suddenly new shooting schedule. You weren't worried until you reached the paragraph that made very clear that instead of shooting you and Angus's sex scenes next week, or possibly two weeks away, they would be shot tomorrow and for the rest of the week.

Shooting the scenes wasn't exactly the problem, it was the caliber of the scenes that you two would be shooting that was the problem. Also the fact- that though there isn't much talking during the sex scenes- you would have to memorize the lines of the new episode. Even though you and Angus were more comfortable with each other, sex scenes were not anything that you two were ready for, you guys hadn't even kissed yet, whether that was a real kiss, or a kiss practicing for the scene.

"I think we need practice."

"I agree."

"So uh..." He turned red as he picked at his nails.

You let out a sigh. "Okay so look. Basically, the scene just consists of me being naked, you being naked as well, but they're going to jimmy rig something so that obviously we aren't actually doing it. Mary told me in my message that I would have some type of pad over my you know what, and you would have some type of cup on."

"But-"

"I'm not done, wait. There are covers over us; so even though I have to give the effect of riding you, I'll just kind of be awkwardly rubbing my padded- you- know- what up against the cup."

"Okay, don't we make out before?"

"Yeah, we do." You stood up and rinsed off the plates. After placing them in the dishwasher, you turned back to your male co-star. "Okay, so it's about 11 AM right now. If we practice our lines, make out some, and I awkwardly ride you clothed in my bed, I think we should be fine..what about your plans?" You asked softly.

"It’s ight, they can wait. But there's another scene- where I smash you from the back. That's the part where I gotta show my cheeks man, damn I don't wanna show my cheeks!"

You laughed a bit "You'll be fine... tomorrow we'll be shooting probably just making out, then the next day the riding scene, and then the day after that more. And I know this seems kind of shitty, but if you read over other peoples paragraphs besides just ours, a lot of their sex scenes were moved up too, and some of the pairings are a bit weird and unexpected."

"Okay let's stop talking about it and just do it."

You nodded and silently walked into your small bedroom, sitting on the messy bed. You hadn't made it because, well you didn't exactly expect to have Angus in your bedroom, let alone to do this.

"So..."

You turned to look at him with a raised brow, "What?"

"So imma kiss you."

Why did that one sentence make your heart. Skip. So. Many. Fucking. Beats.

"Yeah well, that's what the script says right?"

He nodded and licked his lips. "Come get on my lap."

"Why? That's not in the-"

"It'll be more comfortable, especially if we doing this for a minute."

You took in a breath as you went over and straddled his lap, your legs around his waist, and your arms resting comfortably on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck.

You looked into his eyes, and god they were just gorgeous. "Angus.." You said softly.

"Yeah?"

And for .2 seconds you actually debated telling him- telling him that when you kissed him, you didn't want it just to be practice for the show. Telling him that you felt like you lived for the nights that he would facetime you and tell you dumbest shit that would just have you dead tired the next day. Telling him how much he made you laugh, and how it made you so unbearably happy every time you saw his name and knew it was the cause of your phone screen lighting up. Making sure he knew that the past 2 months of your life had gotten so much brighter just because of him.

You didn't though.

But if you had? He would've told you how he felt the exact same way. He would tell you how he loved how your eyes sparkle in the sunlight, how he loved how your nose scrunched up when you laughed. About how you were the only person who would listen to his dumb Mandela effects, even though he knew you didn't believe in all of them. And how it made him blush every time you sent him a mirror selfie on Snapchat for your streak- which he always lost.

But neither of you said anything.

Instead, you made out for a full 32 minutes with absolutely no passion, no lust, no nothing. Too scared to open up to the other due to the fear of rejection.

Until he got hard.

Again.

And that was your little 'ding!' to let you know yet again, 'he wants you.'

So your hips began to move {finally, after 32 minutes of dead nothingness} and you and Angus's lips began to fight for dominance. His hands moved from being awkwardly placed on your sides to under your shirt on your waist. Feeling his hands on your bare skin, you let out a soft moan into his mouth- which you could tell completely caught him off guard.

"Fuck you moaning for?" He teased, still not letting off of the kiss.

"For you."

He bit your lip causing you to moan yet again, your hips still bucking against his hard-on- holy fuck that felt a lot better than it should've. You grinned a bit as you felt his beard brush against your face.

"God. you're so hot."

'Oh my god' you thought, 'It's happening.'

"Baby, I have nothing on you." You replied seductively, sliding your hand down from his shoulder to his crotch.

"Fuck Jess..."

You grinned as he- wait what?

Jess- right, your characters name. Reel it in, you told yourself. This is just acting, nothing more. Just acting. Though you stayed into it, something about him calling you Jess turned you off a bit. After 10 more minutes or so you stopped, getting off of his lap and sitting on the side of him.

“Wel-”

“Yeah, that was good!” You quickly cut him off. “I definitely think our awkwardness has melted away a bit.”

“But don’t you wanna talk-” 

“We have some scenes to film at 1, its 12:30 right now so we should head to wardrobe.”

Angus looked at you with a confused expression on his face, but just nodded slowly and stood up following you out.

All you two had to film was the scene of you coming back, so it was a calm and chill collection of scenes to go through. Everything ran smoothly, and by the time you two were done around 9PM, you were as tired as could be.

“You're such a good fucking actress Y/N.” Angus complimented you as you two walked back to his trailer. He offered you to stay over for the night- just to sleep of course- and you couldn't reject the offer even if you wanted to- which you didn't want to. “Thank you,” you replied softly. “You’re quite talented as well.”

“Nah girl, I'm just being me.”

You two went into his warm trailer talking of filming the scenes, and how tired you both were. You both tried to avoid the topic of the scenes you had to film tomorrow and for the rest of the week; though you were supposedly ready, it was a strangely sore topic.

Soon showers were taken, clothes were changed, and all that was left to do was cuddle.

Angus flipped off the lights and then crawled into the bed with you. You moved closer to him, listening to his rapid heartbeat as you traced hearts on his chest. “Night Redhead.” you said softly, placing a kiss against his cheek.

“Goodnight Mamas.”

And as you lay next to him listening to his light snores, you thought about something. You thought about how though today had been so amazing, and finally, you felt as though the awkwardness had melted away… it was all acting.

Angus didn't like you; that's what you told yourself. Any man would get hard if an attractive woman was sitting on his lap, so that was self-explanatory. Any man would call you baby during a heated moment, any man would talk dirty to you in a heated moment. And a good man like Angus would always make you feel comfortable when you practiced for a scene- that's all he was doing, he wanted you to feel comfortable.

You couldn't be hurt about the situation, the whole point of doing any of that was just practicing for the scenes. And after all, Angus called you Jess, not Y/N.

But at the same time, a little part of you wouldn't stop screaming that you really really really wished he had said your name instead. A little part of you-

Your thoughts were interrupted by the soft glow of your phone lighting up along with a light vibration. A smile appeared on your face as you saw who the message was from.

Babygirl Z <3: GIRL

Babygirl Z <3: BABES ARE YOU UP??!

-yeah you okay? what's wrong?

Babygirl Z <3: shit I'm sorry but i have to tell you this

-what's wrong????? are you okay?

Babygirl Z <3: I'm fine but

-?????

Babygirl Z <3: fuck don't hate me ily okay this is for the best just remember that

-Z get to the point...

Babygirl Z <3: okay so...storm and i just did some digging and

-and?

Babygirl Z <3: and we think Angus got a girl back @ home

-

taglist:

@nikkixostan @melaninmarvel @celiajrs @siriuslycollins @patientplum @babygurlbarnes

[cherylblsom]

The Definition of Perfect - Ch.5

(A/N): Hello its been 40000 years but here's an update ok love u bye

Pairing: Cheryl Blossom x Toni Topaz

Word Count: 2,937

Warnings: some swearing & mention of death, that’s all!

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 

**flashback**

“I think we have a longer extension cord in the basement” Cheryl says from her position leaning on the wall. “That way we don’t have to reconfigure the whole design”

Toni nods and stands up from where she was crouched under one of the cribs, the other one is still in pieces on the floor but at least they’re making progress. They still had a couple months but Cheryl being her typical in control self had insisted they get the nursery all set up and ready as soon as possible. The room still smells faintly of fresh paint, Toni had finished the mural on the wall a couple days ago and whenever Cheryl glances at it a smile crosses her face. The background is a swirl of dreamy blues and deep greens with hints of bright colours poking through. There are various animals littered throughout the landscape  interacting with one another. A tiger prowling in the background, a group of zebras drinking from a river and colourful birds soaring above it all are just some of the creatures. Cheryl’s favourite is the elephant with a monkey sitting on its trunk eating a banana. The words “the world is yours” are painted in cursive writing at the top, both a reminder to her and the future of her twins. Cheryl turns her attention to another section of the wall where the cribs are going to be once they’re both built, the walls here carry on with the jungle theme and clouds are painted above where the babies names will be painted in, they’re blank right now since the couple is still in the deciding phase.

“Cher?” Toni says again causing her wife to snap out of her daze. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah babe, just thinking about how our lives are about to change. Taking it all in”

“I get that” she replies, she comes up to Cheryl from behind her and wraps her arms around her before pressing a kiss to her cheek. The couple stand there for a moment, letting the silence settle in and enjoying the calm while they can. Cheryl can feel Toni rubbing her belly in gentle even strokes and she hums happily.

***

“Is this the part where I finally find out why you’ve banished me from the nursery for days?”

“Yes, now shut up and close your eyes”

“Hey now that’s no way to talk to your pregnant wife” Cheryl retorts and she lets her eyes flutter shut and reaches out for Toni’s hand. She’s lead slowly through the hallway and towards the nursery.

“Okay aanaand�� open!” Toni says, she’s trying to keep her excitement at an acceptable level but she can feel herself beaming as Cheryl slowly opens her eyes and takes in her surroundings.

The room has completely transformed since the last time she saw it, for one both the cribs are complete and moved into their spots against the wall. But the walls which had previously just been blank or covered with a simple pattern were now transformed into an underwater theme, with fish and turtles and seahorses swimming among the seaweed and coral reefs. One side of the room remained as a jungle theme, the way Cheryl had last seen it but Toni had worked her magic and transformed the other side into the ocean. Cheryl smiles, tears coming to her eyes as she repeatedly tells Toni how much she loves the room and her.

“I knew you couldn’t decide between the two… so I figured why not make it both?” She leans in and pulls Cheryl against her lips, kissing her deeply.

-

Toni sits beside Veronica, her head resting on her shoulder as she takes deep breaths. She’s doing her absolute best to stay calm while the doctors help Cheryl and their baby girl but she’s starting to get increasingly upset and angry that no one has even so much as been out to update her yet. It’s been almost 30 minutes.

“I remember when I found out Cheryl was pregnant” Veronica says suddenly, she laughs a little to herself as she recalls the memory. “She was so upset it didn’t go according to plan. That I found out before because of her throwing up into a mall garbage can”

“Oh god” Toni says, she reaches up to wipe her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “I swear she had it planned out from the moment she found out she was pregnant. Typical Cheryl always planning down to the last detail”

“What exactly was her plan? She never actually told me.”

“Well I have to hand it to her because it was actually a pretty good idea. I tried to convince her to just do a cute card or something but that didn’t fly of course, it was ‘lacking flame’ as she so elegantly put it.”

“Yeah that sure sounds like Cheryl” Veronica laughs lightly shaking her head at the thought of the pair arguing over the topic.

“It was pretty simple though. She was just going to invite you over for dinner and drop subtle hints all night and see how long it took you to pick up on it.”

“Oh my god!” Veronica replies “please tell me she would have said something about buns in the oven”

“Yes!” Toni says, laughter escaping her lips. “That was the first one she came up with, and then every time she thought of a new one she would go ‘aha that’s brilliant’ and write it down”

“That’s too good oh my god, kinda sad I didn’t get to witness Cheryl cracking off pregnancy jokes”

“Oh trust me she was upset, came home crying and everything. I thought something was seriously wrong and when she told me I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes at her. Such a drama queen”

“Excuse me?” The doctor suddenly says from beside them. “I hate to interrupt, but Cheryl is out of surgery. She’s doing really well”

“And the baby?” Toni and Veronica say in almost perfect unison.

“A happy and healthy baby girl. Your son is doing well too” He says smiling. Toni let’s out a loud sigh of relief and can already feel tears of joy forming in her eyes. “Feel free to go see them anytime, same room as before”

-

**flashback**

Toni runs her finger over the thick glass of the picture frame, when she pulls it away there’s a visible streak in the glass and her finger has a thin layer of grime and dust on it. She blows on her finger softly and watches the dust particles float through the air. A smile forms on her lips as she focuses her gaze back on the photo, it’s a picture of Uktena tribe her grandfather was a part of. Her grandfather was just a baby back then, there’s years of history in these photos. She puts it down and picks up another photo from the box that’s just of her grandfather. Thomas. He’s older this time and holding a jacket with the Southside Serpents logo on it. There’s a huge grin painted on his face, he was the founder of the serpents and together they gave Toni a family from a very young age. It’s been years since her grandfather died but she still feels her heart swell at the photo and tears starting to form in her eyes and she rifles through the box of his things.

“Toni?” She hears her wife call faintly, but she’s so lost in her own thoughts and emotions that she forgets to reply. “Where are you?”

Cheryl had just gotten home from clothing shopping with Veronica, because leave it to her to ensure the twins would be elegantly dressed before they’re even born. She walks slowly around the house checking each room before she finds the stairs to the attic open. She calls her wife’s name again but doesn’t get a response so she slowly climbs the stairs one at a time which is challenging with her ever-growing round belly. Toni is sitting on the floor of the attic surrounded by articles, books and photographs, the pale light of the attic is shining down on her and illuminating strands of her brunette hair sticking to her tear soaked cheeks. Her body is shaking slightly and she jumps when Cheryl reaches to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, I just... I was distracted. I just came up here to get the box for the nursery.” she says quickly, reaching up to wipe her cheeks of tears.

“Thomas, right? Your grandfather.” Cheryl asks, her eyes roaming the ground and taking in the contents Toni has spread all over the attic floor. Toni nods in response, reaching to dust off yet another photograph. Cheryl lowers herself ever so slowly to the ground and leans heavily against the wall, she opens her arms and Toni immediately moves and curls into her side making sure to wrap her arm firmly around Cheryl’s stomach. “Tell me about him.”

“He was the best Cher. Thomas Theodore Topaz. Triple T as the Serpents liked to call him. He was a founding member of the serpents and he loved me like no one else. He was the first of my family members to really accept me for who I am, mainly the fact that I like girls. My uncle… well, you know. I really looked up to my grandpa, he was strong and stood up for what he believed in.” Toni pauses to take a deep breath, she’s started to cry again without meaning to. “I miss him…”

“I didn’t know him, but I know he would be so proud of how far you’ve come.” Cheryl soothes, she kisses Toni’s head gently and pulls her tighter against her body. Toni collapses further into new wife and feels a wave of emotions come over her even stronger than before, she sobs into Cheryl’s body.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much baby girl” Cheryl soothes, she runs her fingers through Toni’s hair and presses multiple kisses to her head to help her calm down. “I know how much it hurts, just let it out.”

Cheryl rocks Toni gently in her arms despite the fact it’s making her back ache, she closes her eyes and holds her wife as close as she possibly can and let’s her cry out all the tears she has stored for what seems like years. The attic creaks softly around them and the dust and papers flutter slightly when a breeze comes in through the open window but in a way it’s soothing. Cheryl’s eyes open and land on the photo of the tribe that Toni had found earlier, the edges are yellow and the photo is fraying at the edges so she can tell it’s been well loved. There’s at-least a dozen of them in the photo, including a man holding a tiny little infant. Some of the members are smiling and some looks serious and Cheryl wonders what the circumstance of the photo being taken was. She’s pulled from her trance when Toni speaks up softly against her.

“Grandpa is the little baby in that photo. I just.. wish there was a way for me to honour him”

“You are, by remembering him and the legacy he left behind”

“I know but I mean more so than that, he had and continues to have such an impact on my life even though he’s gone”

“Well…” Cheryl trails off, her eyes flickering to Toni’s hand resting on her rounded belly. She reaches up and wipes the tears off Toni’s face before continuing. “What about naming our son after him?”

“Really? I thought we talked about naming him after Jason, which I am 100% on board for by the way”

“Well then it’s a good thing we get to choose two names each for the babies, hey? Jason can be his middle name” Cheryl smiles down at her wife, Toni has a serious look on her face as she takes in the info. She tries to argue but Cheryl is insistent, she knows how important and meaningful this is to Toni. “These are our children, our family. And I’d be honoured to have our son named after someone so special in your life”

“I couldn’t ask for a better partner or someone to spend my life with” Toni says, her voice is shaking but Cheryl can still hear the meaning behind it.

“You make me the happiest girl in the world” Cheryl replies, leaning down to kiss Toni gently on the lips. “Now please help me up and to the kitchen, I’m starving.”

Toni snorts loudly in response as she pulls away from the kiss. “Well c’mon my lady, I wouldn’t want to keep you or your belly waiting any longer” she stands and offers her hand to Cheryl as elegantly as possible and together the pair make their way downstairs.

-

Toni walks into the room slowly despite her strong need to see and hold her wife, she feels nervous all of the sudden for reasons she can’t exactly pinpoint but she’s determined to keep herself together for Cheryl’s sake. She turns the handle and a smile easily comes to her face when she see’s her wife laying in the bed sleeping lightly, the babies are no where to be seen right now but Toni assumes the doctors will bring them in soon. When she reaches Cheryl’s side she leans in to press a soft kiss to her temple which causes her to shift and blink her eyes open to the world, she mouths a silent hello and pats the open space beside her. Toni climbs in carefully and the pair entwine themselves as close as possible.

“You did it princess, you did so good” Toni whispers against her, pressing a kiss against her temple.

“I want.. to.. hold… our babies..” Cheryl says, her voice still laced with sleep, she’s on pretty heavy pain meds which are making her even more drowsy than she would usually be.

“Me too love, I can go find the doctor” she’s about to pull away to track down where her children are when the doctor walks in with a couple nurses trailing behind  holding two warm bundles in their arms. Cheryl perks up immediately when she clues in to what is happening, next thing they know the twins are thrust into their arms and the couple is overcome with emotion. Toni looks over at Cheryl with tears streaming down her face only to find out her wife is crying just as hard. With the twins being newborn its hard to tell who they’ll resemble more as they grow but Toni swears she can see the same slope of Cheryl’s nose in their daughter and their son has slightly darker skin resembling her own. Their son is wide eyed and taking in the world, a small smile forms on his face when his gaze lands on Toni’s face and a small, happy, little coo comes from his mouth.

“Welcome to the family my little loves” Cheryl says gently, she’s holding their daughter close to her chest and stroking her cheek gently with one finger as she sleeps soundly.

“We did this Cher, they are so tiny and precious. Our little family”

There’s a soft knock at the door and the unmistakable click of Veronica’s heels. “Can I come say hi?” She questions gently, peaking her head into the doorway, she walks in further when Cheryl and Toni nod in unison.

“Ronnie, meet Theodore Jason and Kaya Rose.”

“Theodore after my grandpa” Toni chimes in.

“What about Kaya? It sounds Native American”

“It is!” Cheryl says, confirming Veronica’s guess. “We struggled picking a name for our baby girl, but the Indigenous peoples are an important part of our history - especially Toni’s. So we decided to derive a name from that and we loved the fact that Kaya means little but wise”

“It’s a gorgeous name. And of course Jason, a perfect homage to him”

Cheryl nods slowly, biting her lip gently. “I wish he was here to meet them, he would have been a great uncle”

“He’s not here, but I know that somehow he knows and he’s so proud of you babe” Toni soothes, she finds Cheryls free hand with hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “One day we can tell our children about the powerful and important people they’re named after”

“Do you want to hold her?” Cheryl asks Veronica, steering the conversation away from talk of her brother. They pass the baby carefully and Veronica bounces her gently in her arms as she paces around the room. Cheryl turns onto her side carefully and rests her head on Toni’s shoulder before turning her attention to her son, she reaches out aiming to stroke his cheek but he grabs her finger and wraps his tiny little fingers around it in a tight grasp. “Hello Theo, welcome to the big wide world”

Toni smiles down at the pair and takes in the moment, part of her still can’t believe this is her life. The road here has been anything but smooth, but she wouldn’t change a single thing because it all ended her here surrounded by so much happiness and love. Her heart feels like its bursting, who knew two little people could make her heart so full. And as she feels Cheryl start to drift off against her body she thanks the universe for everything that lead her to this moment. It’s more than she ever could have imagined for herself.

[artificialqueens]

A Hot Tangle: Bianca's Story (Biadore, side of Trixya) - doctor bitchcraftt

A/N: For those who loved A Hot Tangle, here is the companion piece with Bianca’s side of the conversation with Katya right after she discovers Courtney was awake and overheard her and Trixie.  Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

Read A Hot Tangle here, or scroll down to the bottom to just read the scene from Katya’s POV.

********

It’s a rare evening, both of them in the same zip code.  Hurricane Bianca touches down at 5:00 pm and Adore is flying out at 8:30 the next morning, but they’re determined to make it work.

Adore and a skinny latte are waiting for her at Delta’s baggage claim, artfully cut up hoodie hiding her face from passing fans.  The wait for her luggage is mercifully brief for once, and the Uber ride to the hotel spent in comfortable silence.

Bianca checks in to the room booked months in advance, thanking the front desk staff while pocketing her key.  Instead of pressing the button for the eighth floor though, she leans against Adore’s shoulder until the elevator stops with a chime on the fifth.  She follows Adore straight off the elevator and down the hall, their footsteps muffled on the carpet.

Predictably, Adore’s room looks like a tornado swept through while leaving all of the furniture and fixtures miraculously intact.  Makeup is strewn over the table in front of the mirror, lipsticks with their lids off mingling with open palettes of eyeshadow.  A set of lashes is stuck to the bra hanging off the back of the chair, and drag is draped over every available surface.  

The complete disarray is oddly comforting as Bianca locates an empty patch of carpet for her luggage.  She turns around to find Adore sweeping makeup into her bag, seemingly not bothered by the jumble of supplies.  

“You know, it would be easier to find things in there if you actually organized it.”  It’s a routine quasi-read, delivered with the same half smile over the years.

Adore wipes her hands on her hoodie, leaving glittering streaks of burnt orange and aqua blue across the front.  The grin she offers in return is one of Bianca’s favorites, tongue poking out over her lower lip and eyes full of mischief.  Even though she’s just gotten off a plane and wants nothing more than to collapse on the bed, Bianca silently joins in the packing process.  Together they manage to fit everything back into the suitcases, Bianca’s neatly folded bundles a contrast to tights stuffed in every corner and mismatched shoes squashed over the top.

When all that’s left out are the boy clothes she’s wearing on the plane tomorrow and a single cosmetic bag, Adore shoves her towards the bathroom.  Bianca knows it’s more for her own comfort than criticism of her cleanliness; missing a few showers would hardly bother Adore.  It’s a small gesture, but one of many that she appreciates more and more as time goes on.

Bianca takes her time cleaning up, washing off the weariness of airports and travel.  It’s just before 7:30 when she emerges to find Adore sprawled across the bed on her phone.  

There’s a few missed texts from Courtney in the group chat, something about staying the night with Trixie and Katya.  Bianca reads them over, sends a few Russian flags and pink flowers mixed with clown emojis, then shoulders Adore out of the way so she can have her share of the pillows.  

She’s content to close her eyes for a little while, listening to Adore typing on her phone and willing the tension in her lower back to unwind.  Bianca must have dozed off, because Adore is nudging her awake and shoves her phone in front of her face.

”B, look!”

Bianca blinks a few times, pushing the hand six inches further back so she can focus on the screen.  “ ‘Trixya kai kai in progress’ ,” she reads out loud, “ ‘you cunts owe me $100’ ”

She grabs her own phone, channeling more crankiness into the texts than strictly necessary.

Bianca/Roy: …

Adore/Danny: WTF, why couldn’t they have waited until next month?

Bianca/Roy: Bitch, you woke me up for THIS??????????  

Glancing over Adore’s shoulder, she can see the beginnings of a crack about her age.  She grabs for the phone and a minor scuffle ensues, during which Adore’s phone flies out of her hands and squarely into Bianca’s.

Adore/Danny: Old people go to bed early :P  htjjjjjjjjjjnn llmnnjbnnbbh

Bianca triumphantly stuffs the phone under one thigh before replying.

Bianca/Roy: Pizza party just lost her phone privileges.

Adore is pouting but it’s clearly for show as she leans in to read Bianca’s screen instead.  

Bianca/Roy: Hello?  HELLO???

They wait expectantly for Courtney’s reply, but not even the dotted indicator that she’s typing pops up.

”This is ridiculous, we’re not a bunch of teenagers spreading high school rumors,” Bianca mutters, scrolling through her contacts and tapping the one marked Courtney/Shane J (ABCD).

The phone rings longer than usual, and when the call connects it’s not Courtney’s hybrid Australian-American accent on the other end.

”Bonnie Del Rico,” comes the greeting, and Bianca’s eyebrows fly up in surprise.  

“Katya.”  Adore makes a confused noise beside her.  “Since you’re answering, this is either some elaborate joke you’re all in on-“

”Are they all fucking?” Adore’s stage whisper is far too excited by the prospect, and Bianca smacks her shoulder in exasperation.

”-or,” she picks up as if the interruption hadn’t happened, “you really are Russian and we’ll never find the body.  Then I don’t have to worry about her putting more fingerprints on my crown.”

”But you put it in a box, she can’t touch it now.”  Adore doesn’t seem fazed by Bianca’s glare.

Katya is silent for longer than expected, long enough that Bianca considers ending the call and dialing her directly.

“Bonnie Del Rico,” Katya’s voice returns, “is there something going on on your end with a certain Ms. Delano?”

Well, that was unexpected.  She laughs, buying time to come up with a reply.  Bianca was always under the impression that the other queens in their Drag Race family knew about and understood their unconventional, label-defying dynamic.  

“None of your business, and no.”  Adore is still staring at her impatiently, and Bianca reaches out before dropping her hand to the bed.

Katya’s response sounds far too close to defeated.  “Nothing here either.”

She’s heard countless “will they/won’t they” whispers in dressing rooms.  Bianca doesn’t generally make it her business to know other queens’ business unless it affects her (or Adore, in all honesty) or seems public enough to work into her stage material.  Trixie and Katya though, everyone notices and wonders.

Bianca has a few theories of her own, but now isn’t the time to air them.  Behind Katya’s wild Russian hooker persona, she’s astute and far too honest.  She and Trixie have to come to some sort of understanding though, before the tension brings their friendship down in flames.

”Queen,” she pitches her voice as softly as possible, “let me give you some advice?”

”Sure.”

”You decide if it’s worth it,” Bianca isn’t completely sure that the words are only for Katya, “and if you two can live with whatever the answer is.”

Adore has been oddly silent, mouth snapping shut at Bianca’s last reply.  She squeezes her hand then with a sort of urgency that Bianca isn’t sure she’s ready to understand.  “B-“

Bianca shakes her head gently.  Not now.

”We didn’t hear anything,” she tells Katya firmly, “and I’ll make sure Courtney doesn’t make trouble.  Now give her the phone back,” her voice takes on a stronger edge, “and figure this shit out.”

“Goodnight, Bianca.  You always were my favorite clown.”

That earns a chuckle.  “Fuck off, whore.  Let me talk to Courtney?”

When she ends the call a half hour later, Adore is dozing and clinging to her arm like a lifeline.  Bianca sets both phones on the nightstand with a yawn and stretches her aching neck, debating whether to forego getting ready for bed and just turning off the light.  The motion shakes Adore awake though, and she relinquishes her arm long enough for Bianca to brush her teeth.

Once she climbs back under the covers however, Adore is back in her personal space, foreheads resting together on the pillow.

”B?”

“Yeah?”

”We’re ok, right?”

Bianca frowns, hating the insecurity making Adore’s voice quiver.  There are at least a dozen ways she could reply, varying from levity to scoffing at the notion that they could ever be not okay.

”You’re my favorite person,” she answers.  It’s a non-answer and hardly everything she wants to say, isn’t sure they could ever explain the ‘we’ of Adore-and-Bianca, but it seems to satisfy her.

She smiles then, not a full out Adore grin for the cameras, but something smaller and gentler, and Bianca kisses her forehead before rolling onto her back.  

“Love you.”  Adore’s words are a drowsy whisper against her shoulder.

”Love you too, chola.”  

**** A Hot Tangle: Katya’s POV ****

Katya swipes her thumb across Bianca’s grinning face and brings the phone to her ear.

“Bonnie Del Rico.”  There’s a pause on the other end, but Bianca recovers swiftly.

“Katya.  Since you’re answering, this is either some elaborate joke you’re all in on,” a slapping noise echoes down the line followed by a muffled but distinctly Adore-sounding complaint.  “-or,” Bianca continues, “you really are Russian and we’ll never find the body.  Then I don’t have to worry about her putting more fingerprints on my crown.”

Bianca’s sharp voice eases a knot of tension between her shoulder blades.  She knows the other queen is a consummate professional behind the thorny exterior, and hopes she’ll understand.  

Courtney is sitting on the couch now, chewing her lip.  Katya thinks she deserves to be nervous.

“Bonnie Del Rico, is there something going on on your end with a certain Ms. Delano?”  Katya has to pull the phone away from her ear as Bianca’s scratchy laugh breaks up into static.

“None of your business, and no.”  The last part is said in a quieter tone, and she can hear the rustling of sheets as if Bianca is settling back into bed.

She needs to go after Trixie, because it’s been suspiciously quiet in the bathroom.  “Nothing here either,” she sighs.

“Queen, let me give you some advice?”  Bianca’s voice is the gentlest she’s ever heard.

“Sure.”

“You decide if it’s worth it, and if you two can live with whatever the answer is.”

[marshmallow-phd]

The Wanderers

Part Two of The Experiments Universe

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, experiment au

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Jongin

Summary: After escaping the hell that was EXO Applied Sciences, Jongin was lost. While some of his brothers were able to settle down, he was restless. And his powers were still growing. Never staying in place too long, Jongin and a few others have been watching their backs, knowing that there were people still out there, wanting to take them back. Someone is closing in and you, an innocent, are sucked into the world you never asked to be apart of….

Warning: none

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I Final

**

Jongin didn’t relax until the bus actually started moving and had left the city limits. Tao sat next to him on the luxury liner, fiddling with something in his hands. A sigh of relief escaped from Jongin’s lungs. They’d made it out, unharmed and avoiding capture. And this just proved that he was right, that EXO hadn’t given up on them.

Buses were the safest way to travel for them; minimal information needed and at any given stop they could get off, hop on another bus, and go in a completely different direction. They had waited all night at the station to get on this ride to freedom. Jongin’s muscles were stiffening up, but he didn’t care, they’d made it out.

Not everyone was as happy with the swiftness of the escape, however.

“You could have let us say goodbye to (y/n), at least,” Jongdae grumbled, finally voicing his opinion on the matter from across the aisle.

Baekhyun echoed his sentiments. “We still had her baking dish. And yet you,” he poked Jongin in the shoulder from behind through the space in the seats, “wouldn’t let us drop it off at the bar.”

By an impressive show of self-control, Jongin slumped down in his seat, pressing his forehead against the window. The vibrations from the moving bus caused his head to jostle, but he labored through it. 

“Why did you even go to her rescue?” Tao murmured, not looking at the person beside him.

Jongin shrugged, keeping his eyes out on the fields passing by. “I don’t know. Involuntary reflex?”

Poking his head through the upside down triangle space, his cheek leaning against the side of the seat, Baekhyun pouted his bottom lip. “I’m going to miss her. I mean, I know we didn’t know her that well, but she was warm. It was nice to be around that again.”

Jongin scoffed. Sitting up, he turned to look at the man like he was insane. “Warm? We didn’t even know her! She could have been apart of EXO for all we know. She could have known exactly who we were and been the reason they found us in the first place! You’d think after years of torture you’d learn not to trust people so easily.”

Scowling, Baekhyun huffed back into his seat. Under his breath, he grumbled, “Just because she chose Junmyeon, now you think every girl is a traitor or going to turn against you.”

Tao's eye widened in surprise. “Who chose Junmyeon? What girl?”

Controlling his temper was becoming nearly impossible. Jongin jumped up, shuffled past Tao and hurried to the bathroom in the back. Once the door was closed, he banged his fist against the counter, calming down as the tingling feeling from the impact run up his arm. With his back against the door, he slid down to the ground, the tiny, claustrophobic space forcing his knees to be mere centimeters from his face.

Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Why did they have to keep bringing her up? Didn’t they know that all he wanted was to forget?

If he could have one wish, it would be to completely erase those years in the cage, the years of being poked and shocked and treated like an animal. To have grown up in a world where he simply went to school and was an average person with average abilities. Maybe if he’d been that normal, every day person, he would have been more open to someone like you. He wouldn’t have this hostile nature towards anyone who showed him any bit of kindness. But pasts leave their marks. The last time he’d let someone in, it’d blown up in his face.

He kicked out his foot, hitting the base of the toilet and rattling room. A gentle knock echoed off the door.

“Jongin, are you okay?”

Kyungsoo.

Sighing, Jongin pushed himself up to his feet and opened the door. His shorter friend looked up at him with concerned eyes.

“I’m fine,” Jongin lied.

The tension in Kyungsoo’s gaze told Jongin that he didn’t believe it at all. Then again, he never did believe Jongin when he said he was fine, even in those rare moments he actually was.

“Baekhyun told Tao everything,” Kyungsoo warned him as he stepped out into the aisle. They stayed in the back of the bus, still giving Jongin time to cool off. “About how we escaped and the house in the woods and… you know.”

Before Jongin could reply, the bus screeched to a sudden halt. They ran to the others, in search for answers.

“What’s going on?” Jongin huffed.

Tao shrugged while the others looked around. None of the passengers seemed to understand the situation as they all stood up from their seats, They crowded around the windows, trying to find what made the bus stop moving.

With a hiss, the main door opened and multiple men in black armor boarded the bus.  

“So much for escaping on time,” Chanyeol whispered.

The seven hybrids grouped together, ready for the fight to come.

**

Your head hurt when you came to. Bright lights above stung at your eyes as they struggled to adjust to your new surroundings. Slowly, you sat up, the muscles in your back tight and knotted. The mattress below you was lumpy and thin. The walls were a fresh white, intensifying the artificial light. To your left, there was a giant mirror, reflecting your rough image back to you. Slipping off the bed, you walked up to the glass, knocking your fist against it.

“Hello?” you called out.

The last thing you remembered was being chased down by Detective Kim, who was obviously not a part of your town’s police department. He said he was looking for Kai and the others. What was going on? What had you been dragged into?

“Hello!”

A panel in the wall with the dimensions of a door next to the mirror slide away, revealing another room behind the glass. A women with black hair streaked with gray pulled up into a tight, perfect bun, wearing a pristine lab coat over her regular clothes stepped into your current quarters. Behind her, Detective Kim, who now wore black, military-like gear and a smirk on his thin lips. Another person in similar clothing completed the trio, but their face was covered by a blacked out helmet.

“Hello, (y/n),” the woman greeted in a soothing voice.

“Where am I?” you questioned. She already knew your name, probably thanks to Detective Kim. You didn’t really care who she was; you just wanted to go home.

She answered your question easily. “You’re in one of the man research facilities for EXO Applied Sciences.”

EXO? You’d heard of the company, if only through snippets here and there. They were supposed to be a research company, mostly for diseases and cures from what you’d read. Their main headquarters had blown up thanks to a gas leak a little over six months ago. The news all over the country had had a field day, talking about unsafe practices and negligent employees.

Shaking your head, you tried to remain calm. What did a research facility want with you?

“Why am I here?” you asked out loud.

The small smile that had been on her face slipped away. Her eyes briefly flickered to Detective Kim.

“We received word that you were in contact with the subjects that we’re seeking.”

“Subjects?” you echoed, confused about who she was referring to.

She ignored you. “Sergeant Kim here was supposed to keep an eye on you to see if you could help us track down the subjects since they disappeared. However, he jumped the gun and brought you in too early. We’ve already found their escape route and will be sending a team to fetch them immediately. Thankfully, they’re close by without even knowing it.”

Wait. Was she talking about Kai and the others? What did she want with them? Why was she calling them “subjects”? The gears in your head were turning, trying to get some sort of answer, but you weren’t sure you wanted to find out.

“Since you are here,” she continued, “we’ll hold onto you for now. Perhaps you’ll be helpful in keeping them in line this time around. They can be very stubborn, but from what Sergeant Kim here was able to find out, they’ve become attached to you in a very short time.” She shook her head. “Those boys and a female. I’ll never understand.”

She turned to leave, but before disappearing from the room, she threw over her shoulder, “My name is Dr. Wang, by the way. You should probably know that as we will be seeing a lot of each other now.”

Sergeant Kim smiled at you sickly before following the doctor out. The one in the helmet remained for a few seconds longer. Their gaze seemed to be trained on you, causing you shrink back in uneasiness. Without a sound, they marched out of the room, the panel sliding shut until it was invisible again.

Kai was in danger - probably had been ever since you met him - and now you were too. What did she mean that they would use you to keep the boys in line?

Your head was spinning from all you’d just learned and what you still didn’t know. And now they were going after Kai and the others, to bring them back here.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you tried to keep your breathing even. What had you gotten yourself into?

[velkynkarma]

Oooh for the ask meme how about all for Routine Maintenance??

All? Right, then. *cracks knuckles* Routine Maintenance it is! There’s a lot of questions, so most answers will be under the cut. Got a question about a fic? Ask!

1. What inspired this fic?I had just gotten into the Voltron fandom the month before and spent most of that time greedily digging through the archive for anything gen (there wasn’t a lot of it). I found some good gems, but the one thing I really wanted to see and hadn’t was a story about Shiro dealing with his prosthetic arm. There were plenty that covered the “mind control” style story-line, or dug into the angsty flashbacks of how he got it in the first place, but none of them went into ongoing day-to-day life of just...having an alien prosthetic forcibly attached to you. You know what they say--if it doesn’t exist, make it yourself! So that’s what I did.

2. Where did the title come from?It came specifically from Hunk’s part of the story (which was first), all about literally maintaining Shiro’s arm and teaching him routines for it. It’s also a phrase. And it seemed to fit!3. What part was most difficult?Probably any emotional moment in the fic (most notably in chapter 6). I can do medical research, I can write action, but bringing in feelings is just hard.4. What are you most proud of?A lot of little things, really. I like the painterly descriptions of Lance’s chapter. I like how I managed to convey phantom pains in Pidge’s chapter. That entire last chapter was just a behemoth to organize but I think it came out really well. 5. What do you like best about this fic?I like the overall concept. Even as far back as S1 we knew Shiro was a character with a disability, who lives with it but doesn’t let it stop him, but nobody ever really explored it. I’ve had people thank me since writing it because they had something to relate to, and I’m glad I was able to do the theme justice.

6. What do you like least about this fic?That it’s still the one I’m known for the most. Routine Maintenance was my first foray into the fandom and was written almost 2 years ago now. I’ve learned a lot since about both the characters and about writing, and on a reread there are parts of it that feel weak. I have much stronger fics that have much better defined themes since, but Routine Maintenance is still usually they one I’m known for.7. What’s a reference you’ve made that no one has picked up on yet?Honestly, I don’t think there are any, if we’re talking non-Voltron media references. I tend to avoid things like calling out movies, books, comics, etc when writing fanfiction, since it can sometimes alienate viewers who haven’t engaged with that other material. 8. What’s a bit that sums up your take on a character?From the last chapter of Routine Maintenance:

He’s never been more proud of any of them. And he’s not going to let them down, not now. As frayed and on edge and exhausted and in pain as he is for all the same reasons, they’re looking to him now more than ever for stability and support. Their entire world has just been violently smashed into the ground and thrown upside down like the shipwreck that had taken them there, and Shiro is just about the only thing they have left to cling to so they can try and stay standing. He’ll hold on for their sakes until they’ve regained their own footing. He owes them that much. So he stands guard over them, in a very literal sense. What’s left of his right arm his throbbing, his ribs protest, his head hurts, and his whole body aches with soreness and fatigue, but he refuses to sit, not even when Hunk begs him to take a break. He stands guard over his fallen crew members, ever vigilant, keeping an eye on the odd colored trees and the Galra wreckage. If an enemy comes he is their only real line of defense, and he does not intend to let anything hurt his crew further than they’ve already been hurt. Most important of all, no matter how scared he is for all of them, he maintains his outwardly calm and controlled appearance. He talks as normally as possible to Hunk and Lance, repeatedly reassuring them every time they start to look more nervous or afraid. He checks on Keith and Pidge regularly, and despite his growing concerns when neither wakes, and when Keith grows steadily paler, he keeps his expression neutral. And inwardly, the entire time, he begs, please let them live. Please let them all make it out of here okay. Please don’t let me lose one of them again.

Honestly, I feel this sums up Shiro in a nutshell, even now several seasons later. Shiro’s exactly the type to hold himself together and project outward confidence and control no matter how badly he’s falling apart inside. Most of the actual fic is about him getting caught in this and the others helping him, but when they need that support, he’s going to give it. 9. Favorite line(s) of dialogue? Two years later I’m still stupidly pleased with the pun I slipped into the middle of a dramatic situation in the last chapter:

Lance shudders at the words, and his hand tightens on Shiro’s. “But if…if it isn’t—I can’t—I can’t be a paladin without—I can’t even go home like this—““Shhh. Lance, calm down. Listen, even if it does come to that, and I’m not saying it has, it’s going to be okay. There’s no way in hell any of us would leave the leg of Voltron without a leg to stand on, okay?”Lance’s lips actually twitch slightly at the wordplay that he might have enjoyed more in any other circumstance. Shiro suspects it’s a shock-fueled, scared smile more than anything else. “R…right.”

Honestly it’s always the first line I think of, even if I know there’s more serious conversations and good dialogue elsewhere in the fic. I still just think of Shiro making a dumb joke to calm Lance down about the horrible thought that he may have just lost a leg.10. Favorite line(s) of prose?Lance wins out on this one too. My favorite descriptions happen in chapter 2:

But the bitter end’s getting closer. It’s already dark and difficult to see, and his eyes are still stinging in the mineral-crusted water, but he can tell his vision is starting to get blurrier and grayer around the edges. His body tries to force him to breathe again, and he chokes slightly with the effort of not. His right arm is starting to throb at the port from the tugging strain the prosthetic puts on the connection point of his flesh. Spots start to dance in front of his vision, bright streaks that seem to bob through the gloom as they get steadily bigger before his eyes…No, he realizes after a moment. It’s getting harder to think, harder to focus, due to the lack of air, but he comes to the baffling realization that those spots aren’t actually spots at all. It’s not his vision failing due to a lack of oxygen; there’s really something moving through the water, coming towards him from above, trailing teal streaks through the gloom. At first his thoughts conjure hazy visions of phosphorescent fish he’s seen in documentaries and aquariums, and it takes his weakening mind a precious long time to remember he’s not on Earth anymore, and he doesn’t remember seeing any wildlife like that so far. It takes him even longer to make out the white patches through the murky darkness of the ocean, dulled to a more grayish color in the near lightless water, but after a moment he’s able to make the connection—teal light strips and white patches. Paladin armor. It takes him longer to make out the color, because the blue melds so well into the ocean. Lance is only a few feet away before Shiro recognizes him, largely in part due to the way the helmet’s mask lights up his face just slightly in the darkness. 

I honestly just loved the entire description of Lance just appearing out of the gloom of the dark water and Shiro taking a while to realize what he’s seeing because he’s so close to passing out. This entire scene had a very painterly feel in my head and I loved trying to transition that to prose. 11. Where there any points where you were trying to do something specific with sound, vocabulary, or rhythm? I’m basically always doing this--that’s my writing style. I did have fun with vocab/rhythm in Pidge’s chapter, though, specifically with the phantom pains. Shiro describes trying to clench and unclench his hand a lot, but I deliberately kept from making it clear it’s due to phantom pains at first. I wanted to make it confusing on purpose, since by all accounts it’s confusing in real life, so I didn’t want to draw a distinct line between Shiro recognizing his metal hand was different than the phantom hand that’s all in his head. The reader should end up understanding what’s really happening at the same time that Pidge does as a result, even though the story is from Shiro’s PoV. The same thing later too, when trying to describe the sensation of fixing the problem.12. Imagery that is important to the fic, either while composing or in the fic itself? Again, imagery is always big for my writing style, and there’s too much in the fic to go into the details. How about we talk imagery themes instead? Several readers have noticed that Shiro rescues everyone in chapter 6 in the same order they help him in chapters 1-5. What less people notice is how each of the ways they help Shiro are also reflected in counter-point in the way he saves them:

Hunk helps him with a non-functional arm that was full of sand and grit while Shiro can barely move it. Shiro later frees Hunk with an arm that is still able to function despite having been impaled, while Hunk himself can’t move.

Lance reaches out to Shiro in an unreachable location and the first way Shiro recognizes him is by the lights on his armor. Shiro later finds Lance by the same lights, and reaches him in an unreachable location in turn. The arm that dragged him down is now the only thing that can lift up the weights now dragging Lance down.

Pidge helps Shiro with his phantom pains, by providing a solution that’s so simple and so close, and yet so far away. Later on, Shiro has the same problem rescuing her: she’s just out of reach, and just beyond his range of senses to be able to tell if she’s alive or not. He even tries to use a different arm (in this case, directing Lance’s) to solve the problem, to no avail.

Pidge actually has a second subtler one too: during her chapter Shiro recognizes he can’t actually feel or register his Galra arm as ‘his’ and tends to think of it as an object. At the time, it’s disappointing. During the very start of chapter 6, Shiro’s Galra arm is impaled, but he finds it doesn’t really bother him (or hurt him), since it’s just an object, it’s not really his.

Shiro tries to warm both himself and Keith with his Galra arm and warns Keith not to touch it as it will burn him badly, although this doesn’t work. Keith has to help keep him from freezing to death. Shiro later rescues him by using that exact thing he warned Keith about to save him, and it’s an exact parallel from freezing to burning.

13. How many drafts did the work go through?It’s hard to say. I don’t really have separate drafts in the traditional sense. I reworked the outline at least 1-2 times because that’s standard for me, and I probably spent a week editing the final results. But for the most part nothing too much changed. 14. Where you listening to anything while writing the fic? If so, what?Hah, I was listening to the Voltron soundtrack, actually. On repeat. 15. What were you most worried about during the composition? If I was handling disabilities right, and if chapter 6 in particular was a little too bloody for the fandom. With the former, I did plenty of research of course. But since I’m not an amputee nor do I have PTSD, there was always that little voice in the back of my head muttering, “You better hope you’re doing this right.” With the latter....it’s always hard to tell when going into new fandoms how well they’ll handle extreme injuries or wounds. Some fandoms eat it up, and in others it will get your fic basically ignored. I wasn’t really sure where Voltron fell, and chapter 6 does get pretty brutal, between Lance and Pidge being crushed, Lance’s compound fractures, and Keith needing to be cauterized. Keith’s scene in particular I wrote and re-wrote half a dozen times and I was extremely picky about the vocabulary used, because it was a very tricky line to write it in such a way that I was conveying Keith was suffering, but that Shiro wasn’t torturing him and wasn’t happy with the situation either. That meant adding some more emotional comfort aspects, which I am bad at. The whole thing was just a difficult mess and I basically wasn’t sure about it right up until the point I actually got comments talking about those scenes specifically. 16. If you used a beta, what did you agree or disagree on?I don’t use a beta, so nothing!17. Did anything surprise you during the writing?It got a lot longer than I initially planned on. Especially that last chapter. This really shouldn’t have come as a surprise though.18. Were there any alternate versions of this fic?Not really alternate, but Parasite Knight was a scrapped concept for the +1 part of the 5+1 idea (originally, with the whole team helping Shiro). But it didn’t seem to fit the theme of the 5+1, since the +1 tends to turn the theme on its head, so I went with the current version and recycled the idea of a soul-eating arm for another fic. Turns out that was a good idea since Parasite Knight turned into a beast of a fic in its own right lol. I did also shuffle a few characters around from their original plans. Before I’d decided a chapter about sinking due to Shiro’s heavy arm was going to be a thing, Lance was actually slated to be the one helping Shiro with frostbite (since his Lion has the whole water/ice connection). But Lance fit better for a drowning theme, and Keith ended up taking over the frostbite theme instead. That never actually started to get written, though.19. Were any parts written under the influence?I don’t drink or do any kind of drugs, so nope. 20. What did you learn from writing this fic?No real writing technicalities. I was able to verify I was handling disabilities well, based on readers’ feedback (something I’m always cautious about if I don’t have any background in the disability in question--I like to treat these situations as respectfully as possible, but sometimes it’s just hard to know if you really are without any scope of understanding). Honestly what I learned the most was that there was a niche in this fandom that I was actually welcome in. Many times I’ll write 1-2 fics in a fandom and that scratches the personal itch. But there’s never really any response from the fandom itself, so I move on to the next interesting thing. But Routine Maintenance had such overwhelming feedback, in a couple cases from some big names in the gen corner of the fandom, that it was encouraging enough to actually make me stick around. And in sticking around, THAT’S where I really learned more technical writing skills. So I guess RM didn’t teach me anything specifically, but it made sure I stuck around enough to learn things anyway. PHEW! That’s a lot of questions! Got a question about a fic? Ask!

[hairringtonsteve]

you have me.

(steve harrington x reader)

summary: steve’s not so great at admitting things in the best way possible. but it works out for him, so he sticks with it. 

request: Can you write an imagine for whoever based on the song Passenger Seat by The Summer Set 😂😂😂

word count: 5, 275

a/n: so yesterday i posted a poll, and the votes amounted to steve getting posted next! so here it is!! also, @dacrethehalls this is for you 

You fell in love in the passenger seat of Steve's car.

Steve fell in love on the first day of ninth grade. Seventh period. Ms. Ranson’s Geography class.

You were the new kid. It had been the same routine in every single class that day. Whatever teacher was in charge of said class would give the same hey class this is y/n and she's new. please, tell us about yourself and you’d be stuck coming up with some new fact.

I'm from the Northeast. I like pizza. I like reading.

On and on and on, coming up with some new inane fact per class. It was exhausting. Ms. Ranson's class was no different. She introduced you to the class in that nasally voice of hers and you muttered something about drawing. You'd barely gotten the words out before she was shuffling you to the nearest empty seat.

“Hey, I'm Steve.” The whispered words came from your left. You glanced over and gave him a sharp nod.

“Cool.”

It was quiet for about twenty seconds when you heard him again.

“You like to draw?”

“Yeah.”

“What can you draw?”

Ms. Ranson cleared her throat. She eyeballed Steve, the very beginning of a glare easing onto her face.

“Mr. Harrington, what do you think you're doing?”

“I'm following your instructions, ma'am. You said to make her feel at home, so I am.” The older woman allowed her features to fall into a full glare.

“That smart remark just earned you a detention, Mr. Harrington.” He let out a scoff of protest, but quieted down when you spoke up.

“But he was just following your instructions, ma'am. That's not fair, for you to punish him when he's just being polite.”

You glanced over to Steve, who was staring at you, lips parted in awe. He shook his head when he realized that you were looking. A red flush colored his cheeks. You turned back to the teacher, who was shaking her head at the both of you.

“Well, if you're so keen on defending him, then you can defend him right to detention. The both of you have just earned yourselves a detention on the first day of school. An admirable feat.” There was sarcasm lacing her words. You and Steve exchanged an eye roll, and from that moment on, were attached at the hip.

“Do you ever think of your life as - as pictures? Like, snapshots?” You blinked, bleary eyed as you looked over to Steve. The beer can in your hand was starting to get warm. It wasn't that bad, though. A warm, fuzzy feeling had started to spread through your limbs. It felt nice.

“What do you mean?” He had a brow cocked at you, that small smile of his playing on his lips. You leaned into his side a little, your feet moving back and forth, gentle in the warm pool water.

It was the night before your senior year started. Notebooks had been bought, clothes had been picked out for the next day. It had become tradition for you and Steve to sneak some of his dad's alcohol and drink out by the pool. By some miracle, the tradition had continued on to its final year, despite Steve getting an offer to hang out with Nancy that night.

“I don't know. It's just, well, like summer. Summer isn't big things for me. It's… driving in your car late at night. Or sitting on the edge of your pool, like now. Or screaming the lyrics to Africa at three in the morning when you got us lost in Chicago.”

“I didn't get us lost. You were shit at directions.”

“You're not getting it!” You exclaimed, waving a hand out in front of you. You made a vague motion with it, but Steve nodded as though he understood what you meant.

He always understood what you meant.

“Then help me.”

“I just - it's - everyone keeps telling me about the big things. Graduating high school. Going to college and having a career and marriage and babies and just all these big things.” You paused. “But no one talks about how good the little things are. How important they are. No one talks about how you look when you make me sneak out of my room so we can just drive around at night.” You were rambling. Maybe you'd drank more than you'd thought.

“How do I look when I make you sneak out of your room?” His voice was soft in the darkness. The only light was from the pool, hazy and soft and blue. It reflected on his face, catching the way his gaze was fixed upon you. You couldn't tell if he was the one holding his breath, or if it was you.

“Like magic, Steve.”

He ducked his head, the blush on his cheeks visible even in the low bluish light. You watched him for longer than necessary. The beer in your hand - your third, maybe - was making it hard to focus on the right things. Instead, you were focusing on the way your chest twisted at the sight of him; the way it felt as though your heart was being wrenched this way and that at the idea of not seeing him every single day.

“What’s going to happen to us after we graduate?” Your words slipped out unbidden. They fell at his feet, bloody and vulnerable and ready to be trampled upon.

“What do you mean?”

“We're not gonna be in the same town, regardless of where you go. And, uh, most people think it's weird when a girl calls a guy that's dating someone else.”

It was quiet for a long time after that. Steve stared at the gently moving water, his knuckles white as he gripped the beer can. You'd said the wrong thing, then. It was the truth, though. Guys didn't call girls that they weren't dating. Guys didn't write to girls or keep in touch with girls that they weren't into. You and Steve were platonic, therefore this year was it.

It was all you'd get.

“Demogorgons.”

“Yeah.”

“A shit ton of demogorgons.”

“Yep.”

“You're telling me that you battled interdimensional monsters a month ago and you're just now telling me because Dustin Henderson is allowing you to?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Benny's Diner wasn't the most popular spot in town, but it was open and close enough to the middle school that the two of you wouldn't have to rush back to pick Dustin up. But most of all, it was the place that Steve had deemed to just lay everything on the table. Or on the dashboard, really.

No one had left the car since he'd parked. He hadn't been able to keep quiet, instead spewing up word after word. Every syllable was crazier than the last, but it made sense. A year of insanity, wrapped up in Steve's car.

“So… Is that why the late night car rides started becoming a bit weekly thing? Nightmares?” Steve stared at you, reminiscent of the way that he'd looked at you that day in ninth grade.

“I literally just told you that monsters exist and that a girl with psychic abilities is in Hawkins, and you're concerned about my nightmares?”

“Uh, yeah, dumbass. Have you been sleeping? You're going to make yourself sick if you don't,” you said, frowning at him. He had to understand that this was important, right? The boy needed sleep. Now that you were looking, the bags under his eyes were obvious. They were dark and puffy, screaming for someone to notice them.

“How are you more concerned with my nightmares than with El?”

“She has Hopper. You have me.” You stared him down, daring him to disagree. His mouth hung open a little. The cold must've filtered into the car by then because there were little puffs of white coming out with each of his exhales.

“I have you,” he parroted. There was something off in his voice, like he was too caught up in his head. His eyes refocused on you, suddenly bright and a little intense. “I have you,” he said once more, his voice firmer this time around. Like he was stating a fact.

“That's what I said.” You watched him, brow furrowing. He was indecipherable. For the first time since you'd met him, you couldn't read him. “Look, how about we stop at the dance, tell Jonathan to bring him home, and we head back to my house?”

“Why your house?”

“ You sleep better there.” You'd looked out of the window, smiling faintly as flurries started to fall.

You totally missed the way that Steve was looking at you.

Sleeping at your house became a thing.

But the bigger thing was the late night car rides. They'd been a staple of your friendship, but they'd become more frequent. Before he'd told you, they happened about twice a week. After he told you, it was almost every single night.

Steve would toss rocks at your window. You'd climb onto the roof and then make the small jump to your favorite tree in the backyard. After shimmying down, it would be straight to his car. His BMW had become a safe haven of sorts.

“It's like the wardrobe,” you'd said one night, watching as the orange streetlights streaked by.

“The what?” Steve's fingers were tapping along to the music. Occasionally, he even started humming.

“The wardrobe, from the Chronicles of Narnia. You know, the thing that Lucy went through to get to Narnia?”

“Yeah, didn't read that one.”

“Okay, so Lucy Pevensie goes through this wardrobe and ends up in this magical land of Narnia. And your car feels like that wardrobe. Like we're going to somehow leave and go to this incredible place, on this adventure.”

“How's everything turn out for Lucy?” You looked over at his question, lips forming a small smile. The warm glow was resting on his face and it made everything seem like a dream.

“Pretty good, actually. It all worked out in the end.” Steve nodded his head a couple of times, slow and loose, like he was thinking about something.

“And my car is the wardrobe?” There was something lying underneath the surface of that question. It was just out of reach, brushing against your mind but refusing to stick. Steve was looking for an answer but you didn't know what it was. So you went with your gut.

“Yeah, it's the wardrobe.” The answer satisfied him, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

You'd ended up in your room not long after that. The rest of the ride had been spent in silence aside from the radio. You'd fiddle with the dial, going from station to station until Steve would swat your hand away with a roll of his eyes.

That easy camaraderie had shifted by the time you got back. You had your back to him and vice versa, slipping on your pajamas as you tried to pin down what felt different that night. You'd been doing this for at least two months. Nothing had changed, yet it had. There was a tension in the air, rippling and shifting with every look that Steve gave you.

By the time you laid down in bed, you felt like you were going to crawl out of your skin. You slid under the covers, briefly relishing in the warmth that your pajama pants provided. But then Steve was climbing in and the feeling was back in full force. He hesitated for a moment before you scooted towards him. His arm went around your waist, tucking you into his chest.

Around week three, you'd both given up pretending that you didn't end up cuddling at night.

“Y/N?” Steve whispered, his warm breath curling around your ear.

“Yeah?”

“I - I can tell you anything, right?” His voice was wobbly and unsure. You struggled not to tense up. The last time he'd sounded like that, you'd sat in his car as he exploded on about bullshit.

“Of course, Steve.”

It was quiet. If you listened close enough, you would have been able to hear your dog padding down the hallway. The wind blew, causing the occasional tree branch to crack or scratch against the side of the house.

“I'm in love with you.”

Your heart stopped. You'd never gotten it whenever people said that their heart had stopped. Of course a heart wasn't going to just stop beating because of what something had said. However, those five words had caused your heart to slam against your rib cage and pause for a painful second.

“Like… like a friend.”

“No.”

The single word was so sure of itself that you wanted to punch him. His arm was still wrapped around your waist, and it was too much. You shoved it up and out of the way, almost launching your body away from him. You started to pace, back and forth, stepping on the clothes strewn across the floor.

“You don't love me.”

“Yes, I do.” He was sitting up in your bed, running his fingers through his hair as he watched you. He was almost frustratingly calm. You would've thought he wasn't worried at all, but his teeth nipped at his lower lip. His fingers thrummed against his leg. He kept messing up his hair. You knew him too well.

“You're full of it.”

“Do you know when I knew that I loved you?”

“Steve, stop it.” You were shaking by then.

“First day of ninth grade,” he started, ignoring the way you were staring at him, begging him to stop. ‘Seventh period. Ms. Ranson's Geography class. You defended me. No one - no one ever did that before. And you - you're still the only one that's ever defended me. That's ever given a shit about me beyond my fucking popularity status. So don't tell me to stop it, okay? Because I can't.” His voice cracked at the end and it hurt you to your core. But this was you, and you dealt with pain the same way that your dog did - by lashing out.

“You can't? Really? You can't? You dated Nancy for a year, Steve.”

Steve shot up, finger jabbing at you as his eyes darkened. There it was, that anger. You needed him to be angry. Anger was easier to deal with than… than the other thing.

“And I felt like shit all the time because deep down I knew it was bullshit on both sides. I… It wasn't right for me to date her, but it fucking killed me to know you don't feel the same,” he spat out, scowling. He loomed over you, making something in your chest twitch.

“You can't just spring this on me, Steve. Not now, now here. It isn't fair.”

“Not fair?” He asked, a hysterical note to his voice. “We've been sleeping in the same bed for two months! We spend every free second together. You told me that I look like magic. We act like a couple. We talk like a couple. You care more about my wellbeing than I do! You hold my hand and are there for me and -” He cut himself off, glancing for a second to your door. You'd almost forgotten that your parents were home.

“That's what friends do, Steve!” You took care that your voice was a whisper, but it was still louder than you'd meant for it to be. “Because we're friends.”

“Friends.” The word came out bitter, his lips twisting into something unpleasant. “Right. We're friends.”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because that's what we are. It's what we've been for years. It's what we'll always be.” He was spitting the words out then, scowling as he stepped away from you.

“Why are you saying it like that? And why - are you leaving?” You watched as he gathered up his clothes, shoving his legs through his jeans and tugging on his sweater. “What are you doing?”

“I'm going home.”

He was leaving.

“But why?”

He was leaving you.

“I need some space, alright? I just do.”

“Steve, don't-”

“Why don't you call Matt, hm? Christ knows you two were never just friends.” The mention of your ex stung. It was a low blow, and he knew that.

“What the fuck is your problem, Steve?” He just waved his hands in the air as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.

“I'm not doing this right now. I’ll see you later.”

And just like that, he was gone. You stared at the open window, watching the curtains shuffle with the breeze. It was the middle of February, and the air had a cold bite to it. You left it open. You didn’t even bother going to your bed, instead just sitting on the ground, staring at the spot of where his sweater had been.

He was in love with you. Apparently had been for years. You slammed your hand on the ground and scowled. How dare he throw that on you then! It was only a couple of months until graduation, and then what? Seeing each other on holidays and maybe the occasional call? Losing Steve was going to be hard enough, but throwing those kind of emotions into the mix just wasn’t fair.  

Your heartbeat sped up at the idea of those emotions. He was full of shit, ruining a perfectly good friendship over this. The boy couldn’t even handle himself, let alone another relationship. He was still rebounding from Nancy. He was deluded and exhausted and emotional. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Steve had just been spewing nonsense when he’d said those things, about the two of you acting like a couple. You didn’t act like a couple. You didn’t.

Without meaning to, your thoughts shifted. Sure, the two of you hung out more than most friends did. And yeah, you were more affectionate towards him than friends would normally be. But his parents were rarely ever around and he needed someone to be there for him, to hug him and make sure that he was okay. And you had said that he looked like magic, but that was referring to whenever he was driving late at night.

And it was true.

Steve looked like a dream that you’d have late in the winter when you were longing for summer. The orange glow would light up his face and make everything soft. His eyes would narrow anytime that you’d turn the radio dial, and you’d end up shrieking when he’d lightly slap your hand away. He always let you have the last say, though.

From ninth grade until twelfth grade, Steve had been a constant in your life. And when he’d gotten his car, that was a constant too. Your summers were judged by how many days you’d rode in his passenger seat, windows down as you screamed to the music. Your winters, by how many mornings you two had sat in his car before school, talking enough that the windows fogged. Spring and Fall were spent riding around in the evenings, watching the leaves sprout and change color.

It was as though everything had been spinning in fast, chaotic circles, but suddenly, it screeched to a grinding halt.

You were in love with Steve. You had been in love with Steve for a long time.

Oh.

“Nancy,” you said, skidding to a stop as you reached her locker. She cocked a brow at you, tilting her head as her eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong with you? You look terrible, Y/N.”

“I…” You trailed off, glancing around to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear. “I think I’m in love with Steve.” You were waiting for some big reaction. You’d betrayed a friend of yours by being into her ex. You were waiting for her eyes to wide and her mouth to fall open and for her to stare at you in shock. But instead, she just cocked a brow at you.

“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

“What do you mean, what’s the big deal?”

“Wait, is this news to you?” You stared at her.

“It’s not news to you?”

“No? You and Steve got really close after everything happened in November. I thought you two…” She waved a hand in the air to motion towards something.

“We’re just friends, Nance.”

“He’s been sleeping at your house for two and a half months.” She said the words slow, enunciating every word, looking dubious.

“Because he can’t sleep at night.” Nancy tilted her head back against her locker, rolling her eyes so far back you could see the whites of them for a moment.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and you know it.”

“Oh, my god.” You leaned back against the wall, the sick feeling that had been in your stomach all morning multiplying. Jonathan paused by Nancy, giving her a quick peck on the head as he looked over to you.

“What’s up with you?”

“She’s just now realizing that she’s in love with Steve.” Jonathan frowned, looking almost exactly like Nancy had just seconds before.

“Oh God, I’ve been leading him on.”

“No, you haven’t. If you tell him that you-”

“He told me that he loves me last night and I panicked and said that he didn’t love me and that we were just friends,” you blurted out, cutting Nancy off in the middle of her sentence. She and Jonathan both stared at you, sharing the same look of utter shock.

“You’re shitting me,” Jonathan said. “Is that why he almost punched me in the face when I say hey to him in Mr. Reese’s class?” A bell rang out, and the three of you blanched. “Shit, just - Talk to him, please? If not for you, for me? Because I cannot deal with him regressing back to his King Steve shtick, okay?” With that, the boy was dragging Nancy down the hall as the rest of the students cleared out.

You headed in the opposite direction, your heart pounding more and more with every step. Eventually, you stopped outside of Mr. Clarke’s room, praying that Steve had actually showed up to class. You opened the door and popped your head inside, ignoring the way that everyone turned to stare at you.

“Uh, Mr. Clarke?”

“Yeah, Y/N, what can I do for you?”

“Steve’s wanted in the office for something. Principal Norris asked me to get him.” You allowed yourself a little weak moment and looked over to Steve, who was staring at you with a blank expression.

“Head out, Harrington. Get the notes from somebody later, alright?” You watched as Steve got up from his seat, throwing the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and practically shoving past you to get out the door.

“What’s Norris want with me?” His tone was neutral as the two of you started down the hallway.

“Uh, she doesn’t. I just - we need to talk, Steve.” He stopped in his tracks, looking down at you with a scowl. You’d seen that look before. It had been aimed at Jonathan in years past, more recently Billy and Tommy. But not you. Never you.

“Cool. I’m heading back to class,” he said, shaking his head at you. His shoulder bumped against yours as he passed. You reached out, fingers wrapping around his hand as you tugged him to a stop. His skin was warm against yours, somehow comforting you and hurting you at the same time.

“Steve, please.” Please came out cracking and broken. You weren’t sure if you’d ever sounded so desperate, so scared and aching and wishing that things could just be right.

“Then talk.” The last place that you wanted to talk was in the hallway, but his feet were planted and he wasn’t moving. Your fingers were still wrapped around his hand, but he was making no move on his part.

“You can’t - it’s not fair that you just threw all of that on me last night.” He whirled around, opening his mouth to argue, but you held up your free hand to silence him. “You just… You don’t know how fucking scared I am, Steve. Once August comes, everything is different. I’m heading off to college and you’re joining up with Hopper and we won’t be together. This is it and it’s fucking cruel to throw in that when it’s just going to hurt even worse when the times comes.” You were shaking a little as you stood there. You’d acknowledged that you were scared of leaving Hawkins and him, but with everything else, it was a hundred times worse.

“Wait, what do you think is going to happen?” You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “You think that we’re not going to be friends after August? That we’ll flush years of friendship down the toilet because we’re too lazy to call each other? Y/N/N, c’mon. You can’t be serious here.” His entire body had softened as he’d started to speak. His shoulders lost the tension in them, the fire in his eyes was muted. He just looked young and sad and tired.

“We’re not good at that kind of thing, Steve. We’re shit at keeping in touch with other people. Why would this be any different?”

“Because you have me.” The words took you back to that night in his car outside of Benny’s Diner, him asking you why you cared more about his sleep schedule than a girl with psychic powers. You glanced down at your hands, realizing that you hadn’t let go. His fingers finally threaded through yours, slotting together like they were made that way.

“What if we fuck this up, Steve? What if we try this whole thing out and we really fuck it up?” Steve furrowed his brow at you, leaning forward a little as confusion settled onto his features.

“What do you mean, try this whole thing? What whole thing? Staying in touch?”

“No. The other thing. The… together thing.” Your cheeks were a bright red by that point. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, but this was a whole other level of embarrassment.  

“What together thing? If I remember, last night you told me that we’re friends.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me of how you made that a bad thing.” Steve used his free hand to run his fingers through his hair, shaking his head a little as he looked down at his feet.

“I was just upset. You were telling me that I was full of it for telling you how I felt. You know that I know that being friends with you is the most important thing in my life.” His voice had gotten as soft as it had been last night, when his arm had been curled around your waist and his breath on your ear.

“You came on so strong, Steve. You just kept plowing through and I was already freaking out in general about leaving and then you… you say that and I panicked.” His thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a small comfort.

“Yeah, well you were telling me that I didn’t mean it, and I started panicking.” You let out a soft snort at that, more of a huff of laughter than anything else. “I’m sorry, though. I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. That wasn’t okay.” He paused once more, looking from the floor to you. “What together thing are you talking about, Y/N?”

“Can we not talk about it here? I just - the lights - and someone’s going to see us and I don’t want to… be here.” You let you babbling die off, fading into the quiet as Steve watched you. It took him a second or two to realize what you’d said, and then he was practically dragging you towards the parking lot. His fingers remained intertwined with yours, firm and secure as he lead the two of you into the bright, cold afternoon air. It was quiet between the two of you as you walked, heading towards the safe haven that was his car.

It remained quiet as you got into the passenger seat, staring ahead at the dusty dash while Steve rounded the car. It was still quiet as he got in, and as he turned on the engine and pulled out. Trees sped by the window as he drove through the quiet of Hawkins.

“Do you remember when I said that this was my seat, when you first got her?” You started, tapping the very seat that you were sitting on. Steve let out a soft hum, acknowledging that he heard you. “I didn’t realize it ‘til last night, but um, I… I think I feel the same about you. I can’t breathe at the thought of not talking to you. My best memories are in this car with you.” You were staring down at your lap, hands folded neatly there. It was better than looking at him, to see the emotions that would be flickering across his face. “I’m pretty sure that I fell in love with you in my passenger seat a long time ago and I’m kind of panicking right now. So, uh, yeah.”

The words had tumbled out of your mouth and hung in the air. There was no sound except for the soft rumble of the engine, and the occasional whizz  of a car speeding by. Steve didn’t talk, didn’t say a single word as you waited. After around a minute or so, he flicked on his turn signal and pulled over to the side of the road. You still didn’t say anything as he turned on his four-ways. He was the one that held the power to shift the balance. You weren’t going to let yourself sway him one way or another.

Still, he didn’t say anything, so eventually, you glanced over to him. He was staring at you, so intent that you tried to turn away. But he reached out and laid a hand on yours. It was quiet for a beat before he was leaning forward and pressing his lips against your lips. It wasn’t the soft, quiet, or gentle kiss that you would have thought he’d give. No, this was hard and insistent, reassuring you that there was no fucking chance that he was going anywhere at all. You scooted forward, pressing into the kiss with everything you had left. You rested a hand against his neck, the other tangling in his shirt as you tugged him closer.

The kiss screamed closer.

“I thought I was going crazy,” he breathed out, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. He was panting, chest heaving as he stared at you. His lips were swollen and red. “I could’ve sworn that I was going crazy and you didn’t -” You stopped him with another kiss. This one was sweet and soft, but still reassuring. Still letting him know that it was alright.

“I’m sorry I was a dick about it last night.” He let out a laugh, grinning wide before he pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Don’t be. We were both dicks.”

The two of you laughed, foreheads pressed against each other as the cold air slowly seeped back into the car. But neither of you minded.

Because the two of you didn’t know what was going to happen after school. You didn’t know what would happen over the summer, or where the fall would take you. But what you did know, was that it’d be okay.

Because you had each other.

taglist: @harringtonhuddle @nicospaten @selenedarkbloom @samuel-maurice455 @lilo-1398 @thevortexclubposse @laurennicole1313 @allfandomxreader @alwaysmebeforeyou @istanuriss @smittyjaws @myblackwings5 @morgandakotaq @rivedale @buckybass @laterg8r

[yallreddieforthis]

I’ll Stop By Your Room

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 7.1k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

The Greater Fool Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 (NSFW) | Part 5

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

As he steps onto the bus to head back to Derry High, Eddie is prepared for the first time in his entire school career, to declare this field trip A Success.

He’s made it almost halfway through tenth grade without ever having gone on a field trip where no disastrous shit went down—either for the class in general, or just specifically Eddie-related shit. There was one in sixth grade where the bus driver got lost and they didn’t get home until after five, and Eddie’s mom had already gotten the police involved by the time the bus pulled into the parking lot of Derry Elementary. Or the eighth grade one to the botanical gardens where Eddie got stung by a bee. Or when they went to the zoo in second grade and some asshole monkey managed to fling his shit far enough out of his enclosure that it splattered Bill right in the chest and like, okay, maybe that was more of a tragedy for Bill than it was for Eddie but Eddie was standing right next to him when it happened. It was scarring for everyone, okay?

Well, maybe not for Richie, who laughed so hard he almost peed his pants and still brings it up anytime anyone mentions monkeys, even in passing. Like someone will say this is so easy, a monkey could do it, and Richie will invariably butt in with haha, hey Bill, remember the time…

In fact, Eddie thinks that a large part of what has made this art museum field trip such an unmitigated success is that he has managed to stay as far away from Richie as possible. Not the actual art part; that was boring as fuck. Bill and Ben were the only ones who got anything at all out of that shit—Ben was all, did you know that this painting was commissioned for Colonel Assface during the War of Whateverthefuck in the year Long Enough Ago That No One Cares Anymore, and Bill was quiet the whole time but his eyes were all lit up and Eddie could practically hear him thinking about color and brushstrokes and shit. Which is fair, because Bill’s art is starting to get really good. He drew Richie during chem last week and Eddie liked the sketch so much he managed to muster up the courage to ask Bill if he could keep it. He’s positive that if he’d bothered to pay any attention at all in the gallery of Frou Frou di Fifi or whoever, he’d be able to see influences from the trip in Bill’s sketchbook.

But he didn’t. He spent the whole time glued to Stan, because Stan is terrified of paintings (which is understandable, Eddie thinks), and Eddie felt bad that he was forced to come on this field trip. Usually, Bill would be the one to partner up with Stan and like, be supportive or whatever, but Eddie and Stan both knew that the lure of a real art museum was going to be too tempting for him, and Stan’s best bet for company would wind up being Eddie. Stan was miserable the whole time anyway, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. It’d be like if Eddie had to go spend the day in a lab staring at Petri dishes full of diseases and then write a two-page essay about how much he loved it. Like, fuck that shit. He suppresses a shudder at the thought.

So he stuck with Stan, inching along the far wall away from the artwork, and avoided Richie, who mostly told jokes over Ben’s A History Of Everything In the Art Museum lecture and spoke at Bill, who uh-huhed him in the middle of sentences so many times that Eddie thinks even Richie might’ve eventually caught on that he wasn’t listening. Avoiding Richie, especially for Eddie, is usually very difficult for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being that Eddie is in what essentially amounts to a relationship with Richie. Today, it was surprisingly and suspiciously easy.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to be around Richie—he does, actually always, to an alarming and almost disgusting degree—it’s just that Richie is super inappropriate and keeps Eddie in a constant state of worry about what he’s going to do next. Sometimes, for example, he acts like he’s going to start macking on Eddie in public which...they haven’t really discussed it out loud before, but Eddie thinks they have a mutual understanding about not doing shit like that because Richie has never followed through on it. He’s not exactly embarrassed about the...relationship or whatever, at least not very—Eddie figures he has no more reason to be embarrassed of Richie than Richie does to be embarrassed of him—but he knows and he prays to God that Richie understands that obvious PDA would be just as bad as painting a target on his forehead. A big rainbow target.

Eddie files into a window seat on the bus so that he won’t get carsick and hopes Stan will fill in next to him so he doesn’t end up having to sit with someone mean.

Eddie gets picked on enough already, for plenty of reasons. People had been calling him gay for years before he realized he actually is, in fact, gay. Like, the gay was totally always there, tapping him on the shoulder occasionally like hey, uh, It’s Raining Men is a pretty great song, you should listen to it on a loop for six months... and Eddie was just ignoring it until the whole Richie situation sort of forced him to turn around and look it in the eye. And once he did it was like my guy, listen. Dudes. Dicks. Richie. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Eddie sometimes wonders if other people were actually able see it before he could. Were they just calling him gay because people do that, or because they knew? Like maybe he’s been walking around leaving a trail of glitter behind him without realizing it?

There’s no way of knowing for sure without asking someone, and since Eddie hasn’t technically ever said the word gay out loud yet… Presumably, Richie is aware that he is—even if that understanding is based on nothing but the fact that their lips are touching more often than not when they’re alone together—but Eddie hasn’t managed to work up the balls to even talk to him about the implications of being gay. Let alone the implications of being gay in Derry. Jesus, Eddie doesn’t even want to have that discussion mentally with himself, much less verbally with another person.

As soon as he spots Eddie, Richie weasels his way past Stan to cram in next to him. Stan rolls his eyes and gets pulled along into another row. Well, fuck.

Luckily, the museum is about a half hour drive from school, so Richie only has thirty minutes left to work his magic on upholding the streak of shitty field trips. The bus driver turns on the engine and Eddie realizes that he’s picked one of the wheel seats, which will ensure that his legs are numb from the wheel vibrations by the time they reach school. Awesome. Richie drops his backpack in between himself and Eddie, which is only notable because he uses its cover to grab Eddie’s hand where no one can see it. At the very, very least, Richie still remembers that subtlety is the name of the game here.

Not that Eddie really thinks the other Losers will care. That time in the sewers...everything they’ve been through together...Eddie doubts there’s anything he could be or do that would make them hate him. He could kill someone and they’d all just be like yeah I bet he deserved it and you need any help burying the body? He’s aware that he has the best friends on the face of the earth and that once he gets around to telling everyone about him and about them he’s probably going to feel a lot better. Hell, they might even already have guessed. He doesn’t know why he’s putting it off. He keeps telling himself next sleepover, next weekend, tomorrow at lunch and then backing out. It just feels so...daunting. Like—

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks Eddie, in a completely normal tone of voice. Which is to say loud. Richie’s normal tone of voice is very loud.

Jesus Christ.

“You wanna say that a little louder?” Eddie hisses at him.

“SO, WHAT DO YOU THI—”

Eddie clamps his hand over Richie’s mouth and gives him his most murderous glare. Richie just shakes his head and stares at Eddie with his best puppy eyes. Yeah, those eyes that Eddie used to be able to match with a dead-eyed stare and now they just make him feel all melty and gooey and shit because Richie really does have the longest, darkest, most beautiful eyelashes and his eyes are soft and—

Richie uses the momentary hesitation to lick Eddie’s palm. Eddie automatically draws his hand back in disgust.

“BLOWJOBS,” Richie shouts the second his voice is no longer muffled in Eddie’s hand. Eddie elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs and almost remembers to stop holding hands with him under the backpack. Almost.

No one even turns around. From the front of the bus, Mrs. Eisner calls back a vague “that’s enough, Richard,” but that’s the only response he gets.

“See?” Richie says, turning back to Eddie. Eddie wipes his wet hand viciously on the front of Richie’s shirt. “No one’s listening. Say whatever the fuck you want. I like you like you. You’re hot. I wanna suck your dick. See?”

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

He spares a single thought for Richie saying you’re hot. Did...did he mean that? Was he just saying that shit because he was trying to demonstrate that no one was listening? Like, does Richie really think Eddie is hot?

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks again, in exactly the same tone of voice he used the first time, which makes Eddie feel like if he’d just given a real answer way back five minutes ago, in a simpler time before he knew Richie thought school buses were an appropriate setting for sex conversations, then it would’ve been easier.

Also, Richie doesn’t seem likely to drop this topic anytime soon, and when he gets like this Eddie has found that the best course of action is to just grit his teeth and plow through the conversation until Richie is satisfied with his answer, after which they are typically able to move on with their lives. The last time this happened was a Power Rangers versus Ninja Turtles debate that lasted for forty five minutes. Hopefully they can breeze through this one before they get back to school, because Eddie doesn’t relish the idea of Richie passing him terribly drawn notes with diagrams of dicks and tongues during math.

So that’s what makes him decide to take a second and actually consider the question. Blowjobs and sucking dick are things Richie talks about regularly—not with any real seriousness, of course—but Eddie’s never given the idea too much thought because honestly? Gross.

He’s gotten almost all the way past the ickiness of kissing on the mouth and like, in the face-area—mostly by just refusing to think about germ transfer rates and mononucleosis—because Richie has made that worth his while. It took a couple months for him to really get the hang of it, but now they’ve got that shit down; Richie knows how to kiss Eddie’s neck to make him go jelly-legged, and Eddie can get Richie all red-faced and panting just by sucking on his ears the right way, and once they get going, kissing on the mouth is the furthest thing from icky. Eddie sometimes feels like there are moments where he will internally combust if he can’t kiss Richie.

So it’s not that Eddie doesn’t think a blowjob would feel good. The opposite, actually. Just...it feels like asking for some kind of nasty disease.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head and staring out the window as they pull onto the main road leading to the highway, “I don’t think I can like...do that. Dick in the mouth. Nuh-uh. Nope.”

“No I mean me give you one,” Richie presses. “I’m not afraid of your germs.”

Eddie bristles a little at that because it implies that Eddie is afraid of Richie’s germs which...okay, maybe he kind of is, but Richie didn’t have to say it. He knows that’s not really what Richie meant though—it’s not a jab at Eddie—he’s actually trying to be reassuring. Trust Richie to accidentally backhanded compliment his way into sex. What a fucking catch. And now he’s looking at Eddie with this earnest smugness, like he knows he’s going to convince him to let him do it and he’s stoked. But why does he even want to? Like, what’s in it for him?

Does he really think Eddie is that hot?

“Did you mean it?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself.

“Totally,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze under the backpack. “I’d take a faceful of your jizz over splashing around in graywater any day.”

Ew, what the fuck?!

“No,” says Eddie. “What is wrong with you? I don’t mean—I meant when you said I was…” Eddie drops his voice to a whisper, “... hot. Do you really think I’m hot?”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Richie says. “Don’t you think I am?”

Eddie’s first instinct is to say no, dipshit, because “hot” is a word reserved for like...like Ethan Hawke or River Phoenix. Not people like Richie, who has been at peak teenage awkwardness for what feels like a decade at this point and looks to be in real danger of staying that way forever. He has terrible taste in clothes and the glasses and the crazy hair and as a package he’s just...so overwhelming, and that’s not hot. Not even a little. It’s—

“I’m just messing with you,” Richie says cheerfully, knocking his knifepoint-sharp elbow into Eddie’s arm. “Everyone knows you’re the beauty and I’m the brains.”

“God, I hope not. We’re really fucked if you’re the brains,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Richie snorts and squeezes Eddie’s hand in such a way that it makes a fart noise and Eddie yanks it out from under the backpack. He folds his arms across his chest and Richie spends the rest of the journey home trying to coax him back into holding hands. By the time they get back to school, Eddie is red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter, and he thinks about how this kind of thing happens so often that he’ll probably never blush again without thinking of Richie.

As is customary on school nights, Eddie goes straight home after his last class. He’s not allowed to have friends over or go to the arcade unless it’s a weekend, which he used to think was because his mom wanted him to have plenty of time for his homework but now feels more like one of her arbitrary, controlling restrictions because she doesn’t seem to actually care all that much about his grades. It feels like it’s more about just...having him home while she watches The Young and The Restless by herself in the living room. Why exactly Eddie’s presence in the house improves this activity, he doesn’t entirely understand.

Richie took to sneaking in during the night years ago, which always makes being alone for the afternoon slightly more bearable. He’ll get on his bike after last period and turn to Eddie and say I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom, which is actually a polite offer for company in disguise. Eddie will either say if you really have to or I’ll make sure to put the lock on the door then and Richie has never not respected the answer.

Today he said it and Eddie told him to get lost because they’ve got an essay due tomorrow on the impact of our trip to the art museum and Eddie had had a feeling that writing it was going to require some premium-grade bullshitting. He’d been right, too; he didn’t get done with it until ten. But it’s not like that’s really what ate up his entire evening, because then he’d debated internally with himself for half an hour before caving and rewatching Footloose. By the time he’d brushed his teeth, put on pajamas (his warmest ones—reindeer-printed and made of fleece—because it’s chilly and it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway), and gotten into bed, it was after midnight. So now he’s still wide awake and feeling kind of like he wishes he’d invited Richie over after all, despite the fact that he really should already be asleep.

It used to be that whenever Eddie said yes, Richie would come straight over after the sun went down. Eddie could always tell if they’d all gone swimming without him because Richie’s hair would be damp and he’d smell like quarry water and the grass at the top of the cliff, and he’d flop onto Eddie’s bed and get those smells all over his sheets. Those nights, Eddie would always go to sleep wondering if Richie was just wearing wet briefs under his shorts or going commando. He was never sure which idea he liked less.

Since this summer though, I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom has taken on a connotation that sets off a shivery, churning feeling in Eddie’s gut. Sometimes Richie will lean over and whisper it in his ear—sometimes he leaves off the last part too. I’ll stop by your room, he breathes out, warm air hitting Eddie’s neck, and Eddie bites his lips and goes all hot because it means that that night, sometime around eleven or midnight or so, he’ll hear a dun dun dun dadadundun tapping at his window. Eddie is still not sure if that’s a reference to Under Pressure or Ice Ice Baby and he honestly thinks he doesn’t want to know.

He’ll wedge a towel under his bedroom door to soundproof it as much as he can. Then he’ll lift the latch on the window and open it as far as it will go. Richie just barely fits now. A couple of years ago it was nothing for him to hop through, now he has to fold his long legs every which way and his skinny arms flail around and his big feet get caught on the other side of the sill and sometimes he whacks his giant head on the wall as he tumbles through. It’s never a quiet process, unfortunately; there’s always some swearing involved, and Eddie lives in fear of the day Richie looks at him from the other side of the wall, moonlight shining off his glasses, and says “well, fuckity fuck, I’m stuck.”

That’s a problem for Future Eddie to deal with though, because once Richie’s in, well. Once he’s in the room, those skinny arms are immediately wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the long legs bump into Eddie’s as Richie backs them toward the bed. And then they get there and...god.

Eddie turns over onto his side and fiddles with the sleeve of his pajama top, thinking about how if Richie were here, the shirt would be gone before the backs of his knees even hit the mattress. Richie is always the first to start taking clothes off—he does it like he’s starving for him—like touching Eddie is what he lives for and he can’t hold off another second. It’s...feeling like that, like someone wants him so bad...it’s kind of wonderful and powerful and scary.

Every time they do it ends basically the same—they take everything off and then they touch each other until they can’t anymore and their fingers are gooey and sticky and then Eddie has to shove Richie out of bed or he’ll fall asleep right there—naked and on top of Eddie for Eddie’s mom to find them the next morning. It hasn’t happened yet, thank God, but it’s a closer call every time because it’s getting harder and harder to kick Richie out after.

In fact, Eddie has taken to spending a worrying amount of time just sort of lying there and stroking Richie’s naked back or smoothing his hair over his head. After is always kind of awkward for Eddie, because he can’t think of anything to say that isn’t incredibly embarrassing, and silence feels weird too. So far he’s managed a that was good twice, which he was super proud of both times even though he also wanted to roll over and hide as soon as the words left his mouth.

Richie does not appear to suffer from the same affliction, because he always starts talking again pretty much as soon as he catches his breath, and Eddie is usually too tired to complain about whatever stupid shit he says. Richie’s pillow talk typically includes such topics as: an enthusiastic play-by-play of what they just did (during which Eddie always just mumbles please stop every few seconds), complete with commentary, which is as complimentary as it is mortifying; a detailed tactical gamplan of what they should do in the event of a zombie outbreak; who Richie would cast if they made a movie about the X-Men and for some reason wanted his opinion; and a ranking of his favorite types of candy based on the logistics of building an edible house. As long as he keeps blabbering, Eddie can privately enjoy that sick-happy feeling in his chest and put off kicking him out. If he’s being honest, Eddie just wants to hold him super tight and close and stay there until he can watch the sunrise illuminate the faded freckles on Richie’s nose.

Eddie snuggles deep down in the covers and thinks about his favorite parts—between when Richie squeezes into and out of his window—and lets himself relish in the fluttery, fidgety excitement that comes with the memory of Richie, shirtless and pale and glowing faintly red in the light from the numbers on Eddie’s alarm clock. The way his mouth looks after they’ve been kissing, soft and full and open, how his wild hair splays across Eddie’s neck when he bends down to breathe warm air onto Eddie’s nipples. His hands unzipping Eddie’s pants, rubbing him over the front of his underwear like he can’t even wait the two seconds it’ll take to pull them off. The way his back looks as he arches into Eddie’s fingers, the way his head falls forward when he gasps and the way he moans like Eddie’s mom isn’t literally two rooms over oh my god, Richie, shhh. The way he exhales sometimes, like he’s so turned on he doesn’t know how else to express it but with those shuddery breaths that almost sound like the ghost of laughter. Eddie’s whole body goes warm at the memory because it’s the hottest thing he—

And then it’s like Eddie’s brain douses him in ice water because it is. It’s hot. It’s hot as fuck and Eddie remembers that Richie asked him on the bus a few hours ago if he thought Richie was hot and he did not give him an unequivocal yes. And that’s obviously bullshit because Eddie was totally getting ready to start jerking off just now thinking about how fucking hot Richie is when he’s naked and they’re in bed together. Eddie had somehow been under the impression that hot is this kind of ethereal concept that only applies to celebrities or strangers, when hot has literally been sucking face with him for months. He is officially the biggest dumbass ever. Eddie wonders if there’s any other obvious shit staring him down that he hasn’t picked up on yet.

And suddenly Eddie cannot stand the idea that Richie might be sitting at home thinking Eddie doesn’t find him hot. It’s Thursday...well, technically it’s Friday but it still counts as Thursday night and there’s no way Richie isn’t planning on coming over for some sweet handjob action tomorrow night, but this can’t wait until tomorrow. And he can’t call, his mom will want to know why he’s using the phone at this hour and it’s possible that someone other than Richie might answer and then Eddie will have to come up with some reason besides I’m sorry to bother you at this hour Mrs. Tozier, but it’s an absolute emergency because I have to tell Richie right now that he’s hot and thinking about him naked gives me a boner.

Yeah, not likely. This situation calls for desperate measures, like an entirely unprecedented course of action. Eddie puts on his sneakers, throws on a sweater, and walks to his window.

If Richie can still get in, it’ll be nothing for Eddie to get out. He’ll just close the window most of the way from the outside, but not so much that he won’t be able to get back in. His mom might come in (unlikely, Eddie can hear her snoring) and find him gone and completely blow a gasket, but that’s a big might and the fact that he needs to see Richie right the fuck now is a definitely, so. Down he hops, quiet as can be.

It’s early December and fucking cold. Cold as fuck. Eddie hops back and forth from one foot to the other while he untangles his bike from where the garden hose fell on it and tries not to think too hard about how the frigid wind in his face is going to feel when he gets going.

The less that can be said about the seven minute bike ride to Richie’s house, the better. The word frostbite comes to mind more than once, as well as death by exposure. Eddie thinks it’ll be unfortunate but understandable if his dick decides never to make an appearance again; he’s pretty sure it has retreated up into his body for good. He can’t feel his hands but manages to peel his fingers off the handlebars nonetheless, leaning his bike up against the side of Richie’s house without bothering to hide it because, according to Richie, Richie’s parents are heavy sleepers. Eddie wouldn’t normally just take Richie at his word on something like that, but he figures they would’ve had to have caught their own son sneaking out at least once out of the hundreds of times he’s done it if it wasn’t true. Eddie walks around the back and looks through the curtains of Richie’s room.

Richie, wearing the same pajama bottoms and old tee shirt he usually shows up at Eddie’s in, is so deeply involved in Sonic that Eddie wonders if he won’t hear him rapping on the window, but he does it anyway. Dun dun dun dadadundun.

It’s Under Pressure, Eddie whispers to no one in particular. Richie doesn’t hear that or the knocking.

Dun dun dun dadadundun. Eddie knocks again, a little louder.

This time, Richie turns around. He does one better, actually: he does a double take and his jaw drops wide open, hair flopping into his face. He looks utterly stupid by any account and yet the first thought that pops into Eddie’s head is beautiful.

Richie drops the controller onto the floor to live amongst the general covering of junk that populates his bedroom before loping over to the window and opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring out at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s here, which is kind of annoying because like...Eddie has a bike too. Just because it’s always Richie who appears at Eddie’s house in the middle of the night doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t capable of reciprocating every once in awhile. It’s just that it’s obviously nicer to get it on in Eddie’s room than in the garbage heap Richie inhabits.

Richie reaches out a hand to help Eddie clamber inside. He must have the heat cranked up full blast because Eddie starts regaining feeling in his extremities right away when Richie shuts the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just needed to—” Eddie starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

In that moment he realizes that he’s just shown up at Richie’s house at one in the morning on a school night without warning, wearing fleece reindeer pajamas, sneakers without socks and a sweater, and he has literally no idea what he wants to say other than I just needed to tell you you were hot. Right now, apparently.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Richie demands, in what might sound like a normal tone of voice to an outsider, but Eddie instinctively recognizes it as being seconds away from abject panic.

Eddie looks up into his eyes and god damn, how has he never managed to see how insecure Richie really is? Of all the millions of things Eddie could be here for… He could’ve had a fight with his mom. Winston from the Sweet Valley High books that Eddie definitely doesn’t read could’ve been killed off. Eddie could just be horny. He could have a homework question—well, probably not that one because going to Richie for homework help would be worse than just not turning in the assignment and taking a zero—but a breakup? Like, that’s what he jumps to? A breakup? Really?

“God, no,” Eddie says, and then the next words come out of his mouth with absolutely no leave to do so from his brain. “Why the fuck would I do that? I love you.”

Richie sits down hard on his bed and just...stares. And Eddie a little bit wants to freak out because I love you sounds like a really big deal but like...is it? Is saying it that big of a deal? Feeling it is, maybe, but if Eddie’s being honest with himself, he’s been feeling it for like forever. He might not have always been willing to admit that, but if you take a dump in a toilet and call it a flower, it’s still shit. Saying it doesn’t change that.

“Actually I just wanted to tell you you’re hot,” he continues, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweater and still standing awkwardly by the window. That part comes out easier, probably because he just dropped a live one with I love you and nothing else he has to say could possibly be as enormous as that. “Cause on the bus, like I didn’t. But you totally are. Hot. You’re...hot. Like super hot, like…” Eddie gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, “all of you. Your hair and your back and shit—I mean, your...yeah. So I just wanted to tell you. Bye.”

And because every single word after you’re hot has increased his discomfort exponentially, Eddie feels like this is as good a time as any to make his exit. Actually, about fifteen seconds ago might’ve been better, but it’s certainly only going to get worse if he just stands there doing nothing, so he turns toward the window and prepares to bail. This apparently snaps Richie out of it because he gets up, still staring.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Richie asks.

“‘Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck am I going,’” Eddie repeats, one leg already out the window. It is so fucking cold outside and like, this whole thing was such a bad idea, Eddie wishes he could go back in time fifteen minutes just to smack himself in the face and tell himself to stay in bed. “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home. It’s a school night.”

“Uh, no way,” Richie says, striding toward him. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist. “You don’t get to say something like that and then just like fuck off. Nah, come back in here and let me blow you.”

Let him what now?! It takes a second for Eddie to make the connection—like why Richie is bringing that up—but then his mind presses rewind on the part from the bus when Richie said Eddie was hot and...right. The conversation was originally about blowjobs. Why do they always seem to have these important discussions about feelings in conjunction with sex stuff? At this rate, Eddie’s never going to have a cute story about their relationship that’s fit for mixed company. Like he’s gonna tell the others at a sleepover, so then I said “I love you, Richie,” and he was like, “that’s sick dude, lemme suck your dick.”

He’s about to say no because ew, but...it’s Richie. And Richie is looking at him with his big brown eyes and Eddie knows that Richie would be a hundred percent cool with it if Eddie truly didn’t want to, and if Eddie says not gonna happen, Richie will probably never bring it up again. But he can also hear the excitement in Richie’s voice, and it seems...crazy, like it’s crazy that Richie really wants to blow him that much.

“I didn’t say that shit because I wanted a blowjob,” Eddie tells him.

“I know,” Richie says.

“I don’t think I can really stay,” Eddie says, although he also pulls his leg back in the room and allows Richie to shut the window again. “It’s a school night.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a school night,” says Richie, in what he clearly thinks is a California Surfer Dude voice, but it’s new to his repertoire and still sounds more like he’s having a mild stroke than anything else. He grins and gets straight to work pushing Eddie’s sweater off his shoulders. “Think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow. I’m gonna get hard just looking at those bags under your eyes.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispers back to him. He shrugs his cardigan back on. “You say the weirdest shit Richie, I swear to God. Is think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow supposed to be like, dirty talk? Because uh, that’s not sexy. I—”

“But you love me,” Richie interrupts, “so everything I do is sexy.” He yanks his own shirt over his head and smiles down at Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Eddie says, placing both hands on Richie’s bony chest and trying not to focus too much on how good his skin feels because he is not going to get distracted by the lure of impending nakedness.

“Yeah it is,” says Richie immediately, sliding a hand up under Eddie’s pajama top. “We’re in love, so everything is like automatically a million times more sexy.”

“Oh really? What so...so, my...like when I had to shove Tylenol down your throat when you had a 102 fever last month? You find that sexy?”

“Hell yes,” Richie replies immediately, “you can play doctor with me anytime, baby.”

“Don’t you dare start calling me ‘baby,’” Eddie warns him.

“Try and stop me,” Richie laughs, and he pulls Eddie in closer with his hand on the small of his back. Fuuuck, no way is Richie going to let that go. Eddie hates the nicknames, but he knows it’s a losing battle because Eddie Spaghetti eventually got replaced with Eds and he can already imagine baby gaining ground on Eds. In fact, Eddie would bet his whole allowance that baby is going to eventually turn into babe. He can see babe sticking long-term. He’s just gonna have to get used to the idea.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie sighs, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder.

“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie says, grinning his shit-eatingest.

Eddie starts to giggle and has to put the brakes on it because he’s not getting sucked in. He’s not. He came here with a mission and he accomplished it. Just because it’s kind of making him die a little inside to leave right now doesn’t mean he can’t suck it up and do it anyway.

“I have to go,” Eddie says again. He stands on his toes and kisses Richie a little harder than usual, and hopes that Richie understands he’d much rather stay here. Someday, Eddie wants to tell him...someday they’ll finish high school. It feels like a million years from now, but then he knows he’s going to blink and he’ll be holding a graduation cap and a college acceptance letter. And Richie will be there too, holding...well, Eddie’s hand, at the very least. He really would get good grades if he applied himself, like all his teachers say, but Eddie doesn’t love him any less for his 2.7 GPA.

“Tomorrow,” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it’s a promise or a question. But either way, the answer is yes. If Richie wants to do what they usually do or… whatever else. Eddie’s down for it. One great thing about Richie—one of many, Eddie thinks—is how he doesn’t really try to force Eddie to stay. It’s kind of like when he goes to high five Stan and Stan gives him that please die now look, and Richie just immediately cuts his losses and moves on. He’s like that a lot. Eddie sometimes wishes he could just let shit go the way Richie does.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. “Definitely.” He can’t quite bring himself to say how much he’s looking forward to it—so much, so so much—but he thinks Richie can tell anyway. They lock eyes and there it goes, that melty feeling, like the first sip of hot chocolate after playing out in the snow. That’s what should’ve tipped Eddie off that he’s—that they’re—in love. It’s love or fever delirium. Either way, he’s such a goner.

Eddie steps away from Richie and turns toward the window. Once they finish school they’ll leave Derry and only be forced to come back for like, Christmas or whatever. They’ll get a dorm or maybe an apartment together—some cheap place in a horrible neighborhood, probably—and Eddie will eventually have to break it to his mom that Richie’s a lot more to him than a roommate, but it’ll all be so worth it because—

Eddie steps on the uneaten crust of a forgotten PB&J on his way to the window. This is it, the future he has chosen for himself. No one goes from being the kind of person who tosses sandwiches on the floor to a liveable human being in the span of a few years. Someday, it’ll be their room and Eddie will be getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stepping in peanut butter, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. He picked this idiot—this somehow super hot idiot—he went and fell in love with all that hair and those dark eyes. He fell in love with Richie’s knobby knuckles and his bitten cuticles too. And his strange, infuriating, perplexing mind. Richie never lets anything be boring. Eddie can look forward to an entire lifetime of being, at the very least, kept on his toes. If not literally, to avoid stepping in discarded food.

“You know,” Eddie says, swinging his leg out of the window and back into the icy wind, “I hope you plan on getting a good job, because I’m going to be stuck cleaning up after you as a career.”

Eddie only realizes when he’s halfway home that he just essentially admitted out loud to Richie that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, which in hindsight makes Richie sound like a really smooth motherfucker for saying, “Nah, I was already planning on hiring us a housekeeper,” without missing a beat.

Eddie slams on his brakes and there, in the middle of the street in the freezing pitch-black night, he comes to his third Big Realization of today. This, Richie and him, it’s the real deal. The things he’s been thinking about—an apartment, a shared bed, a shared life—are not daydreams. They’re plans. Shared plans.

Eddie’s so rarely sure of anything—like how he used to think there was no such thing as supernatural, shape-shifting killer clowns—but he's always sure of Richie. He’s sure of how he feels about Richie, and of how Richie feels about him. Even the fact that he’s out alone so late and not panicking can be attributed to Richie. Eddie used to be afraid of being by himself and the dark, but Richie gives him courage just by existing within a ten-minute biking radius.

Someday isn’t soon enough, but living with Richie is going to have to wait. He can’t believe he’s excited about the idea of Spaghetti-O’s every night and yelling at Richie for leaving the heater on and brushing crumbs off his sheets before bed but, God help him, those things can’t come soon enough. Just a couple more years, Eddie tells himself.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, either. His teeth are chattering, mostly because he’s actively freezing to death but also from the almost tangible ache in his chest that started when he walked around to collect his bike from the side of Richie’s house and left Richie watching him from the window. It’s what Eddie usually does when Richie leaves his house and God, Eddie’s not sure how Richie manages to do it twice a week. It almost made Eddie want to cry. He still feels like he might cry. If he goes home and gets into his bed alone right now, he will undoubtedly cry.

It’s a fucking school night, but Eddie is rapidly losing his ability to care. He sits there on his bike in the middle of the road for a second before…

“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, smiles out into the darkness, and swings his handlebars back in the direction of Richie’s house.

[marauder--harder]

do u think u could describe how u envision the marauders to look?? i think it would be fun to see your interpretation of them

Okay ever since I got my new fancy laptop I have been trying to work up my skills to the point where I could actually draw the marauders as I have envisioned them but I am nowhere near that skill range yet so this is the next best thing. 

It really depends on the age of the marauders on how I view them and my moon so if you see my work (hopefully) someday and it doesn’t look anything like this description, fight me 

James Potter:

he’s the most varied marauder I think of, his appearance constantly changing slightly

okay so I see him as someone who is maybe poc, maybe not it really depends on my mood as to how I view him 

for sure he is tanned though

no pale ass motherfucker here, you know?

like even if he was white the hours of practice on the field has him a perfect golden glow about 75% of the year

he’s the definition of ‘sunkissed’ every year when he comes back to hogwarts (whatever your ethnicity you picture for him, fight me on this, you can’t deny that he isn’t just radiating from how much sun he has gotten. he’s just beaming, regardless if he’s white, or black, or indian, or whatever)

has messy, curly, black hair that has looked the same from years 1-6

looser curls, nothing too springy (in my usual headcanon for him) 

year 7 he cuts his hair, and really it is just a trim, and finally learns how to make his messy hair work for him (totally has just a bit of 70′s greaser look to it, with no product of course because we already know that nothing tames his hair)

the darkest hazel colored eyes that are always full of expression (it is what makes him a shit liar tbh)

is moderately tall (something he boasted about in his youth until Remus hit his growth spurt and then so did Sirius)

I put him to be about 5′11 by the end of his 7th year (which is above average of the English man, although if he was Indian from the UK then this makes sense as there have been studies that show that Indians from the UK are significantly taller)

has the build of the mix between a swimmer and a baseball player

lean boy, who is very toned essentially

has the biggest smile

lips on the thinner side

hard jaw, soft eyes, prominent nose

high cheekbones and slender face

ears that stick out just slightly

long ass eyelashes that he hates because of his glasses

size 10 shoe (US sizing)

Sirius Black: 

my pale, pale bean (only in the winter) 

has a naturally fair complexion but does get tan in the warmer seasons as he is often outside (with James especially after he moved in with him)

had his hair cut short as a kid and hated it, thus when he got to Hogwarts he was so happy that he didn’t have to cut his hair

that’s what made him grow it out

he’d take good care of his hair, as it was a very big source of pride for him, taking it as a symbol of independence from the house of Black

by the time 6th year hit it was almost resting on the tips of his shoulders

has shiny, wavy black hair (looks damn good in a bun, which he would only do when playing sports)

broader and more stocky than James naturally, just a wider build

more of a wrestler’s physique I suppose (not giant but like mediocre wrestling, probably in the 160ish weight class??)

thicc thighs

sometimes I think he is slightly bow-legged???

shorter than James by half an inch until the end of 6th year

by the time he is a grown adult he is 6′0 but once he comes back from Azkaban he is 5′11 if not 5′10 because he can’t hold himself the way he used to

chiseled features, yet still soft somehow

eyebrow game is strong with him

always a mischievous streak in his grey eyes 

has crows feet and smile lines when he laughs

flashing, pearly white grin

not thin lips but not necessarily plush either; pretty average (albeit talented)

small ears but he hides them well with his hair

also has a piercing in them

size 11.5 shoe (US sizing)

Remus Lupin

lanky boy

literally all gangly pile of arms and legs until 6th year

was the scrawniest boy, always slightly taller but never considered tall in his youth

his scars used to be a lot darker as a kid, more of a pink color but they fade to a whiter color as he ages

has a scar across the bridge of his nose, down the side of his temple and jaw to his throat

two more longer ones across his right collarbone

floppiest mop of sandy brown curls on his head 

wears glasses for reading (they are square)

after his 5th year summer he comes back taller than all the other boys

is at least 6′2 but I lean more towards 6′3, fight me

broad shoulders

over time his scrawniness turns into toned leanness (if that makes any sense)

like he still looks scrawny until you take a closer look and notice the subtle tone in his arms

b r o a d   s h o u l d e r s 

literally if you want a better description, read TTY ;)

green eyes that shift from lighter to darker depending on the lighting and seasons (darker in warmer months, lighter in the winter)

literally the palest thing ever 

perpetual darker circles under his eyes from lack of sleep (giving the appearance of dopey exhaustion, not being ill)

lush, pink lips that contrast greatly against his fair skin

chapped lips from September through April that he makes worse by constantly licking his lips

perfectly straight teeth on top (a few crooked ones on the bottom but nothing too major)

freckles. freckles. freckles. 

all over his cheeks and nose and down his arms and across his back. it is lovely.

prominent adam’s apple

slender, long face with defined jaw (only after 6th year)

legs for days (all of his pants are just a tad too short and it is so endearing because of his patterned socks)

defined cupid’s bow!!

size 13 shoe (US sizing)

Peter Pettigrew: 

slightly chubby

like a little bit thicker thighs and a tummy, someone who looks like they haven’t lost their baby fat yet

shortest of the gang, about 5′7 or 5′8

blonde hair, dark blue eyes that everyone say is the prettiest thing about him

a slightly olive complexion

burns like mad in the sun, can never get a tan

freckles all over his face

the most adorably pinch-able cheeks,

high cheekbones and round face, very soft features

long eyelashes, rivals any girl and everyone is mad jealous

cute button nose

thin lips

big ears that grows into fairly quickly (by the end of 2nd year) but is always self conscious about them

had an outie belly button until the age of like 4 and then it reduced to an innie

crooked teeth and never had braces, hated smiling too wide because of it

always had an innocent look about him, even when he was being a little creep 

has a sweet smile, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t like to do it

soft shoulders (like not broad or very square, if that makes any sense)

size 9.5 shoe (US sizing)

[roguetatertot]

Rules: Answer these 85 questions and tag 20 people

IDK who to tag. oAo

Tagged by: @kimievii​

What was your last…

1. Drink: Coffee!!!!

2. Phone call:  My mommy about some cute curtains she got for my Grandpa.

3. Text message:  To my brother about my new modem.

4. Song you listened to: Something on Diamond City Radio in Fallout 4...but can’t remember which one it was.

5. Time you cried: Like two weeks ago when I saw something sad on Facebook about a dog’s final day, and then I cried into my dog (who wanted nothing to do with me at the moment....the jerk)

Have you ever…

6. Dated someone twice: Yep. My first boyfriend. He broke up with me on my birthday and then exactly one month later he came crawling back to me.

7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Nope.

8. Been cheated on: I’m like 95% certain my first boyfriend cheated on me.

9. Lost someone special: Do pets count?

10. Been depressed: What? Me? Depressed? HAH! (That’s sarcasm btw) 

11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Nope. I don’t like alcohol. 

Fave colours

12. I was so obsessed with turquoise that I got entirely sick of it.

13. My old favorite color used to be red.

14. I really don’t have one right now I guess.

In the last year have you…

15. Made new friends: Sadly no. 

16. Fallen out of love: Nope.

17. Laughed until you cried: While watching The Disaster Artist, I think.

18. Found out someone was talking about you: No, but I don’t care if people are anyway.

19. Met someone who changed you: Not in the last year, no.

20. Found out who your friends are: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

21. Kissed someone on your Facebook friends list: Nope.

General

22. How many your Facebook friends do you know irl: Most! I have a few internet friends on there that I’ve never met in real life.

23. Do you have any pets: Three cats, a dog, a turtle, fish, and I dunno if my 2000+ worms count in my compost worm tower?

24. Do you want to change your name: No way. I love my name. Although I would change my surname to be one of the traditional Irish spellings. It got hacked up and changed when my great grandpa came here from Ireland.

25. What did you do for your last birthday: My brother and I are two years and two weeks apart so we celebrated our birthdays together on my birthday. The family gathered here at my house and we ate our favorite childhood meal that my mom used to cook! And we had a huge black forest cake which was sooooo gooooood!

26. What time did you wake up today: 10:30ish

27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Beating Fallout 4 (sided with the Railroad). I feel like I should’ve sided with the Institute after all was said and done, but oh well.

28. What is something you can’t wait for: Getting the FUCK out of San Jose, CA. I absolutely ABHOR living here and want to move to Oregon or Washington. This city has gone down hill and is just one giant cesspool of trash and trashy people.

29. What is your favorite animal: It used to be pigs, but I got burnt out from all the piggy things people would give me. I really don’t have a favorite. I love all animals....except sloths. Ugh.

30. What are you listening to right now: I’m listening to my dog panting. We just got done playing fetch in the yard.

31. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yep! My grandpa’s name was Tom! Tom Tucker. He was a remarkable man and had some fantastic tales of his youth. He once was flying an airplane and thought he spotted a friend fishing down on some docks, so he dropped his cargo of tomatoes on him. Turns out it wasn’t his friend, but the mayor of the town. Oops.

32. Something that’s getting on your nerves: The city I live in. It’s so fucking noisy. Car horns, motorcycles, speeding vehicles, sirens....it’s all giving me bad anxiety as of late. I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand any loud noises, or really any noise at all now. Maybe I’m just getting old and grumpy. lol

33. Most visited website: I guess just google to google things. Or maybe Amazon.

34. Hair color: Right now it’s a mix of my natural medium brown with very faded blue and purple streaks. My hairdresser was sick when she bleached my hair and did my color, and so she didn’t do a good job bleaching it at all. It’s uneven and just.....icky right now.

35. Long or short hair: Having had all lengths, I think long hair looks the best on me. I love the ease of short hair, but my hair is so pretty that it’s kind of a waste to have it short.

36. Do you have a crush on someone: Actor Sam Heughan at the moment. But as far as someone I actually have contact with? No, no one. I’ve no interest in having interest, if that makes sense.

37. What do you like about yourself: I guess it’s my McGuyver-like brain. I can come up with some wacky solutions/fixes to issues or problems. 

38. Want any piercings: Nah, I already have enough. In fact, I have three in each ear and I don’t even bother wearing earrings. They’re pointless.

39. Blood type: O+

40. Nicknames: Ziggy, Adriee, Adri, Sissy-Boo, my dad calls me Squirt, and my mom calls me Momma or Mommas. LOL go figure

41. Relationship status: Single and loving it

42. Sign: Pisces

43. Pronouns: she/her, although recently my dad called me Sir for some reason and I was like “Meh cool whatever.”

44. Fave tv show: Bob’s Burgers!

45. Tattoos: I really want one of my kitty’s paw, but I can’t afford it. Nor do I have a design in mind.

46. Right or left handed: Ambidextrous!

47. Ever had surgery: Yup. Microdisectomy on my lumbar spine back in 2009. I actually need orthognathic surgery, but that’s gonna be difficult to have done.

48. Piercings: Three in each ear, and my nose.

49. Sport: Hockey! Baseball is okay too. 

50. Vacation: I really want to go to Scotland, Ireland, and basically all of Scandinavia.

51. Trainers: As in Pokémon or....?

More General

52. Eating: Nothing at the moment. Thinking about raiding my fridge soon.

53. Drinking: Watered down cranberry juice.

54. I’m about watch: IDK not in the mood to watch anything. I’m thinking about firing up Fallout again tho.

55. Waiting for: My workers comp case and Social Security Disability case to come to an end. It’s been going on for seven years and I’m just so over it all.

56. Want: To have my children’s books published. ; u ;

57. Get married: Ew gross no. I honestly can’t picture myself married anymore. That was something younger me used to daydream about, but now that I’m older and much more comfortable with myself, I don’t even entertain the idea. I don’t think I would ever trust anyone to fully love me anyway. 

58. Career: Author. Hopefully a beloved and successful author of a children’s book series.

Which is better

59. Hugs or kisses: Neither, thanks. I don’t even really like when my family hugs me.

60. Lips or eyes: Eyes

61. Taller or shorter: I would hope taller, seeing as I’m short enough already as it is.

62. Older or younger: Older

63. Nice arms or stomach: I have a thing for arms.

64. Hookups or relationships: Neither.

65. Troublemaker or hesitant: Troublemaker. I love deviousness.

Have you ever

66. Kissed a stranger: Gross no.

67. Drank hard liquor: Yes but ew.

68. Turned someone down: Yep, especially when I worked graveyard at Walgreens. :T Got a lot of creepy men asking me out all the time. Shudder.

69. Sex on first date: Hahaha yeah right. I don’t even really like hugging on the first date. LOL About a year ago I went out on a date with some dude off OKCupid and as we were saying goodbye, he leaned towards me while closing his eyes and I just went “NOPE.” and got out of his car.

70. Broken someone’s heart: Probably.

71. Had your heart broken: Yep. Twice. 

72. Been arrested: Not yet, but hey things could happen.

73. Cried when someone died: I cry when fictional characters die, so yes I have cried when actual people have died. 

74. Fallen for a friend: Nope.

Do you believe in

75. Yourself: As in that I exist? Sometimes.

76. Miracles: I’ve been witness to a few strange things happening, so I guess so. 

77. Love at first sight: Hell no, what am I, ten? Love at first sight is not real. It’s infatuation at first sight.

78. Santa Claus: I mean, why not? What’s the harm in entertaining the idea?

79. Angels: In a strictly mainstream religious concept? No.

Misc

80. Eye color: Hazel, gold in certain light.

81. Best friend’s name: Django, my doggie. <3

82. Favorite movie: Pan’s Labyrinth.

83. Favorite actor: Sam Heughan! Nnghgjkhsjdkghsd

84. Favorite cartoon: Toss up between Bob’s Burgers and BoJack Horseman.

85. Favorite teacher’s name: I guess it’d have to be my first grade teacher, Mrs. Little. When I was in the second grade, I would get horrible anxiety when there would be a project (like art or something). I’d cry for some reason, and the teacher got so frustrated with me that one time she kicked me out of the class. Mrs. Little was on a break at the time and so she took me out of school and drove me to her house while she did a quick errand (I’m pretty sure she called my parents and got permission first). She was nice to me and calmed me down. ; u ; Years later I saw her in a clothing store and she recognized me, and was so excited to see me. She told my mom that I was her favorite back then. <3

[idonthavewritersblockyoudo]

The Rules of Holding Yourself Together

Rule #1: Exercise at least 5 days a week. Always run at the same time every day, whether this be before or after school.

Rule #2: Track your food intake as accurately as possible.

Rule #3: Do not weigh yourself more than three times a week

Rule #4: If the scale tells you something you do not approve of, do not indulge yourself. Even a pound over is cause for a moment’s consideration into what you put into your body.

Rule #5: Wake up at the same time every day, and do not press the snooze button.

Rule #6: Get to school prior to 6:15 and do your homework in the hour-and-a-half before school

Rule #7: Do not express yourself within school. Express the self you have learned to be safe

Rule #8: Go to bed at the same time every night and have the same routine

Rule #9: Do not tell people the truth about yourself or your life

Rule #10: Do not let people in

Rule #11: Never put yourself into the position of having to shut someone out by never letting them in in the first place

Rule #12: When speaking to your parents, turn into a blank mirror of them when possible

Rule #13: Never question your parents, hold in your opinions

Rule #14: Don’t trust anyone

Rule #15: Contain yourself and do not let others see your emotions

These used to be my cardinal set of rules. Every one of these dictated and ran my life, whether or not I wanted them to. But they were all broken, within a couple months. But not in the order they appear in.

Some of these rules. It’s good I’ve broken them. But some of them, it’s not so good. But either way, I’ve broken them all, and there’s no turning back.

Rule #13: Never question your parents, hold in your opinions

It had been my sixteenth birthday. Usually, a momentous occasion in most girl’s lives. Mine was not. The day itself had been good, I had had multiple excellent interactions at school and I had left feeling happy and overjoyed. The day did not end that way. I remember sitting in front of my house in my father’s car, crying as my father berated me for defending my English teacher’s opinions on teaching. He had dismissed her idea that not having straight-As was okay. He wanted to talk to me about having a B in her class. He belittled me, for defending her after he dismissed her as a person. I loved my sophomore English teacher, and he had torn her and me down in an instant, and me along with her. I didn’t stop crying for the rest of the night. After that day, I never took another ride home from my parents unless it was absolutely necessary. Something inside me broke that day, and I was never quite able to hold my tongue in the same way, remembering the way my father had treated me.

-Rule #4: If the scale tells you something you do not approve of, do not indulge yourself. Even a pound over is cause for a moment’s consideration into what you put into your body.

I stopped eating, at some point. I don’t remember so wholly losing my appetite but I lost fifteen pounds in the months between December and March. I lost my appetite, somewhere along the way. I would find it again in the months to come, but only for need of comfort I could not find anywhere else. For those few months, I lost the will to eat. And with it, I lost the will to justify. I no longer needed to weigh myself to justify eating a bowl of ice cream - I didn’t even want the ice cream. That part of me was lost, and I never wish to regain her. I remember on many occasions standing on that scale and just sobbing because I hated myself so much. Those days are gone.

-Rule #15: Contain yourself and do not let others see your emotions

It had been an inconsequential moment, in the grand scheme of life, but that moment was momentous for me. After my birthday, I had started staying at school every day. I would stay in one of my teacher’s rooms, but once March began so did spring sports and my teacher was a coach. So I moved rooms, to sit in another teacher’s (who I had freshman year) room. I think anyone would be curious as to why someone would rather spend 12 hours at school a day instead of going home. So my old teacher asked me, one day early into March. I told him a little, as much as I was willing to and I kept things vague. “Well, it could be worse, right?” he had asked me. In that moment, that question, cut through my protections. And my face dropped and I played with a origami bird on his desk. “It could be worse, right?” he asked, as if looking for confirmation. I just shrugged, and in that moment I was back in control of myself. But the moment had come and gone and my emotions had shown through. And he had noticed.

-Rule #2: Track your food intake as accurately as possible.

At some point, laziness overtook me. I didn’t feel the need to, I didn’t have the energy to. There was so much going on in my life I couldn’t remember or recall every thing that I had put into my body, every single thing that had graced my lips. As hard as I tried, tracking things like water intake and food amounts. They had always helped me in the past when I binge ate everything in sight, but in losing one aspect of control - food tracking - I found another - a control over eating. I found out how to stop myself and control myself, mainly by just eating nothing at all. I would often forget to eat for hours, or maybe even a full day, drinking just liquids. It was not on purpose in any way, but it broke the habit.

I can’t say it was healthy in any form, to not eat, but it made me less obsessive. Less careful. It was what I needed in that moment, having picked up my sister’s eating disorders and weight-consciousness from her.

Tracking everything I did, and do, helped me hold myself together because everything fell into a rigid pattern. I still track my grades, finances, and mental health by a handwritten chart. I’ve found, one of the best ways to control yourself is to track every single thing you do, by hand and app. The combination of the two is amazing for feeling in control, especially when there are no other aspects of your life you can control.

-Rule #9: Do not tell people the truth about yourself or your life

Breaking these rules, was not an effort simply on my part. In my opinion, I still think he was just curious in the beginning. He didn’t really know me back then, as a person. He just saw me as a former student, a possible future student, some girl who had a lot of emotions and a lot of walls. But you can’t really know someone in that sense. I could have sat in one of his classes every day for three years and joked and talked with him but that doesn’t mean I would ever let him in or that he would ever care for me. I guess I had always trusted him, at least a little bit.

I think in some ways, our closeness just fell together. It wasn’t intentional or thought out, on my part or his. I just needed someone and he happened to be there. I think, if I’d tried to impress him, or tried to get close to him, I never would’ve gotten there in the first place. Things just shook out into the right conditions. He was careful with his words, his questions, cautious of setting me off into a spiral. Gentle, would be the right word.

I think, what made me tell him the truth, was that he reacted well. I never felt uncomfortable telling him something about my life. I always have felt that way around other people. I knew at that time, none of the people I interacted with on a daily basis truly wanted to know about my life. I knew I was a hindrance, an annoyance. It was in the way they teased me, it was in the passive-aggressive comments and the way they ignored my tear-streaked face. It was in the way they would make jokes about my problems, about how my home life was always fucked up, so why should they care about it? I don’t blame them, fully. Fifteen year-olds don’t really know how to deal with their own problems, let alone others. I still blame them for being terrible people, and I hate to admit that I don’t think I ever will forgive them fully. I don’t think that gap will ever be bridged and I will always hold myself back around them.

But my friends actions did cause one thing within me; I was desperate for someone to listen to me. Between my family, who I could barely if at all stand to be around, and my friends who I never felt wanted by, I was desperate for at least one person to just be willing to talk to me openly about my issues. And I found that in him. He would talk to me, give me advice, and he just listened and I never felt like he didn’t care. Even when he wasn’t listening, I never felt ostracized in the same way and I never felt alone. My desperateness mixed with his nosiness caused me to break one of my cardinal rules. And I stopped lying so much. I remember clearly the day I told him about my birthday, that day in April. I remember where I was, the feeling of the cool desk and the sticky spring air. I remember his water bottle and the drawings on the whiteboard behind him and the harsh fluorescent glow. It was a breakthrough, because it was the truth, whole and unfiltered.

He had asked me why I had started staying later at school. With a moment’s hesitation, considering it, I told him the truth. About my birthday, about what my father said to me on the car ride home, the way I had felt like nothing to him or anyone else. And my decision to stop that from happening again, by just walking.

“Why do you ask?” I had asked him, “do you want me to stop sitting in your room?”. I’d said it like a joke but my heart both dropped and leaped into my throat at the same time. I was so used to rejection, why would this be any different? I’d given him the perfect opportunity, if he wanted me out I’d be out of here and never step foot in this room again.

“No,” he said, looking a little surprised. “I just wish you had some place to go home to that you actually liked and felt comfortable in.”

I almost cried when he said that, but instead I just shrugged, taken aback that I hadn’t been pushed away. That had been the first time he really expressed he cared about what happened to me, and I could remember, in that moment, making the decision to stop lying so much. To let down my defenses more about my family.

-Rule #1: Exercise at least 5 days a week. Always run at the same time every day, whether this be before or after school.

I walked home, every day after school after January 23rd. After my birthday. I ended up usually walking home and then immediately running, but eventually that became a drag and a hassle and I just wanted to sleep after that ordeal. So I just stopped running daily. I started going on runs once or twice a week, five or six miles in a day though. I felt fine. I was still walking every day. Everything was okay. I was okay. But I wasn’t okay. Exercise is the best habit to have, even if it sucks for a while being in shape and working out is the best and greatest gift you can give to yourself.

Exercise had been the cardinal rule. The original rule that started it all. Exercise had brought me out of the depths of my first real bout with depression. It was the thing that got me through being truly alone for every moment of my life. I had nothing. I was nothing. I spoke to no one but my parents, every day in and out and I felt like an empty vessel, a dead weight that simply dragged itself down. And exercise helped me out of that. It helped me feel better about myself and better about who I was.

I still walk. Every single evening I walk home from school, like clockwork. I’ve been doing it for almost a year now, although admittedly it wasn’t nearly this cold last year so it’s more of an ordeal now, walking home in 12 (-11C) degree weather. The walking is good for me, it clears my head. I still try and run, now. But it’s a rule I’m sad to have broken. Standalone, it was a good rule.

-Rule #3: Do not weigh yourself more than three times a week

The scale in my house is on the third floor. The whole third floor of my house is my parent’s floor, their library, their bedroom, their walk-in-closets and their bathroom. The scale stands in front of a mirror. That room is always bright, because of the windows and the light heather walls. The light bounces, the room is quiet. Two to three times a week I used to go up there, strip off my clothes, and weigh myself. It was a habit I picked up from my sister, who weighed herself daily the last time I lived with her. She was obsessed with her weight, the number controlled her. And because of how much I looked up to her, that number controlled me.

I didn’t break this rule going over. I just stopped. I stopped weighing myself, I stopped caring. I remember sitting in the Doctor’s office when she told me I’d lost fifteen pounds since December. She asked me if I’d been dieting and I shook my head, genuinely surprised because I didn’t feel any different despite the drop. I couldn’t tell you now what my weight is.

I don’t believe in scales anymore. They can never do anything but make you feel worse about yourself in the long run. Maybe you step on and you love that number now, but you know what? Once that number raises or drops you’ll just hate yourself. And in truth, that number doesn’t fucking matter.

-Rule #14: Don’t trust anyone

Trusting him came naturally. I learned to read him, over time. His worry turned to concern and that concern turned into care and suddenly I knew someone in my real life was actually looking out for me. That the job my parents had thrown into the dirt had been picked up and dusted off by one old teacher. He became my mentor, then more than ever. He made me feel more like a person and less like something to be used by other people. Less like a doll for someone to rant and rave at and more like a person, someone to interact with.

The more time I spent in his room, the happier I felt. The more time I spent away from my friends, the happier I felt. I hadn’t realized it at the time but my friends, the people I had placed trust in, were toxic and terrible. Everything they said and did was like poison to me. I spoke about that, to him, and he had only laughed and rolled his eyes and called them my ‘followers’ because that’s what they were. He still calls them that, when they’re not around sometimes. He’s gotten very good at picking up when I want to be left alone, and he’s also gotten very good on picking up my frustration when I am not left alone. He wrote it in my yearbook, that he forgave me for my ‘noisy followers’ and I couldn’t help but laugh.

I felt so at peace, knowing someone was there that cared about me. And so, I let him in. I remember the day I told him a half-truth. A truth about a specific and terrible event in my life, but not the truth of its causes. Even when I trusted him, I also knew that there are certain lines for teachers, certain things that cannot be said. I’ve always been hyper-aware, hyper-afraid of breaking that line and forcing him to report something. We both knew my family was utter garbage but I just couldn’t tell him how much they were utter garbage, for his sake.

I told him something I’d only told to four people beforehand. I had told one of my best-friends, and she had thrown her arms around me and held my hand and let me cry into her shoulder and it had been exactly what I needed at that moment. And when I told my other best-friend she stared at me and aggressively tore me apart and then shut me out of my friend group because of her inability to deal with me even telling her I had a serious family problem. I’d shut down after that, my faith and trust in other people lost. Months later when I had at least semi-recovered from a wound that still pains me to this day, I worked up the courage to tell one other friend, and my cousin. When I told him, he took it well. He told me to go see a counselor and he told me that everything would be okay and he said he hoped I’d have a good weekend with such sincerity I started to cry a little bit.

It had taken a lot for me to trust him with that but when I did he accepted it, and he accepted the trust and emotions he knew went with it.

-Rule #12: When speaking to your parents, turn into a blank mirror of them when possible

It started with little comments. Things that weren’t necessarily combative, but they quickly turned that way. My relationship with my parents has never been ‘good’ by any means, but it turned worse and worse as time went on. I started to question them, and my anger and frustration for their views started to grow more clear in their words and actions. My father is a truly terrible person, and his words and actions reflected this. His opinions on other people, other races, other genders, other skin colors, other sexual orientations, reflected this.

His views bounced and exemplified my mother, who had been raised as a democrat but somehow had adapted to his views after years of marriage. It frustrates me, to have to listen to the things that come out of their mouths. It upsets me greatly, and genuinely disettles me. That they believe rights should not be equal. That people, unbeknownst to them including their own daughter, shouldn’t get the right to marriage or anything else.

And I stopped being able to hide those feelings. I stopped being able to hide myself and just reflect anything they said back at them, without agreeing or disagreeing. Being blank had always been my mechanism, a safety net for me to fall  under, but as their views got more and more radical it became harder for me to try and survive.

It always angered me, when people told me I should yell at my parents, scream at them. Those people don’t understand what it’s like to be truly terrified of the reactions of your parents. I was always afraid of what would happen to me if I spoke out against them - I still am. But now, I have just stopped being able to contain myself. As soon as that rule, of being a mirror, was broken it was broken for good. Just like a mirror, those shattered pieces could not be put back together.

-Rule #7: Do not express yourself within school. Express the self you have learned to be safe

It was one of the early days sitting in his room, when I told him I was queer. He had asked me, gently, if I was okay. And I had told him the truth. I wasn’t. I was upset. I’d watched ‘One day at a time’ the night before on Netflix. I’d watched Elena come out to her mother, and I’d watched her mother accept her with open arms.

“I don’t know what I am right now. And I’m not in any rush to label myself. But I know I like girls. I don’t know if I like guys and I don’t know if I like anyone else but I know I’m not straight. And I also know, that I can never tell that to my parents, because if I told them, my father would never speak to me again,” I had told him. For once, I met someone’s eyes -one of my biggest flaws in human interaction is avoiding eye contact, a trait I picked up from my autistic mother and sister - I met his eyes and in that moment I knew the truth had come out. I was queer. And my parents were homophobic. And he accepted me.

He was the first person I ever actually came out to. I still refuse to label myself any further. I think labels are in large for people who cannot find their own identity, or base a part of themself on that identity. I also see how they change over time. That most of the teens I know who are LGBT have shifted their labels at least three times, if not more. And I don’t see the point. In trying to fit myself to an identity that I will change within six months. I’m still waiting, to find myself, before I decide to stick that label haphazardly across myself. (That is just my opinion. That is not to say it’s right, or holds true for everyone. Just for myself, as a teenager).

With that one step, I forged forward. And I started to let bits and pieces of my personality flow out. I started to let the undercurrent of the real me come out. I talked with my geometry teacher about rap, I asked him for recommendations. I was nice to people I had previously just not spoken to whatsoever, or brushed off. They were nice people, I made a lot of friends. I found welcomeness and acceptance in other people, a girl from my English class first semester, a girl in my Euro and French class. On and on I found people, mostly other LGBT girls, who loved and accepted me for who I was and I felt comfortable expressing myself.

I always had a ‘safe’ version. A personality that wasn’t really me. A try-hard girl who always had to be the best and brightest. Not to prove anything to anybody else. But to prove it to herself. The only way she survived was by working herself to death. She was always worried about the future and always worried about what was to come. She forced herself to work, saying it was the only way she would ever become something.

I let go of that girl, and I let myself shine through. Now, I’m more interested in color-coding my planner than always being right in math class, and I spend more time playing games on my phone than anything else. But that’s okay. I no longer feel the need to be the best at everything, because now I’m more comfortable just being myself in class. Instead of sucking up to my teacher I show him memes and gossip with him about T.V. shows. Instead of doing that extra-credit worksheet in math I sit by the teacher’s desk and trade food with him - me giving him cookies and him giving me goldfish. I’ve found a certain solace, in just letting myself be.

-Rule #10: Do not let people in

I’d let him in. My now-mentor was someone I looked up to and trusted and thought the world of and I felt so much better just knowing someone cared for me because a lot of the time it felt like no one did. I had my best friend, who lives in California, I had my sister, who was at college, and I had my cousin, who I rarely spoke to but loved dearly. But they all were so far away and life is hard and things are busy and it’s so hard even when you love someone with all your heart when they’re fifty or one-hundred or one-thousand miles away. It’s so hard to remember anyone cares about you at all when your whole life is just a toxic negativity.

And then one person came into my life and lifted me up and told me everything was okay and that things would be better and suddenly I had a place to go and a place to feel like I had a home and I knew every inch of his room and I could read his moods as quickly and easily as I could read a book. I knew his own emotions better than I knew mine. He was the father I never got and the person that I knew genuinely cared for me and I loved him. I still love him, the same way all children are supposed to love their fathers. While my own father treated me like dirt and threw me away and never gave me any treatment at all, he cared about me.

And so I let him in. One day, late in June, I looked back and reflected over the past three months and the way my life had changed and all the rules I’d broken and how much happier I was. How happy I felt with just one person looking out for me.

-Rule #5: Wake up at the same time every day, and do not press the snooze button.

Depression solved rules five and eight for me. I had no control, really. I relapsed hard into my depression in August, and everything around me faded away. Reporting my sexual assault, which had happened just before school ended, the perpetrator being another student, I felt empty and lost. I had died. That girl who had come to life the school year before, breaking all her rules and forging ahead, had died. The girl who writes this now is what is left in the rubble, and I can’t say she’s particularly anyone good.

It’s hard, when you’ve broken every other part of your routine, when you feel like never getting up at all. To force yourself to get up at the same time every single day when you don’t really want to go to school. All you want to do is sleep and never wake up, just sleep your life away.  This school year I’ve picked up the nasty habit of hitting the snooze button. As I stay up later I push back my alarm, and I can say it’s done nothing but harm to me. But I have very little control, over it anymore. I have very little control over anything it seems.

-Rule #8: Go to bed at the same time every night and have the same routine

It started with little things. A couple minutes here, a couple minutes there. And then, I was staying up until 1 AM, or not sleeping at all. My insomnia, which I had carefully spent years rearing under a strict wake-up and sleep schedule, with specific routines and rituals tried and true to force me to fall asleep within an hour or two, broke and shattered. Once it might take me fifteen minutes to fall asleep, forty five minutes top. Now it takes me usually over an hour and a half, if I get any sleep at all. My routine shattered and so had I.

-Rule #6: Get to school prior to 6:15 and do your homework in the hour-and-a-half before school

This was in part, due to my homeroom teacher. Last year he lived five minutes from school, and would get to school by 6:30 every morning. This year he got married, and he moved to another state, about forty minutes away if traffic is light. He gets in around 7:15 now every morning. There’s another teacher whose room I could sit in, but I don’t really like sitting in her room.

It’s his old room. This school year, he got kicked out of his room. The room I knew so well last year, the room that became my home, became my current history teacher’s room. And it’s not the same anymore. They painted the school, so the yellow walls are gone. The posters and the semi-neat mess that littered his room is gone. The board which had once been covered in drawings was now covered in neat, font-like agenda’s and there was no place in the room for self-expression. The room suffocated me and I hate being in there for the 45 minutes I have to every day. I show up to school at around 7:20 now, twenty-five minutes before school starts.

There’s nothing left for me at school. I used to find peace and solace in the mornings but it’s no longer like that. I can’t focus on my work and with my fluctuating sleep schedules, I saw no point in continuing it so I dropped the idea as a whole.

His room had been my home, and now it’s gone. I still sit with him, in the main office for his department where there are just desks in a cramped room, and I just do my work in silence, but it’s not the same. I felt safe in his room even when he wasn’t in there, when it was just me in there for three hours because he had a meeting. I would sit in there all alone and be at complete peace, he was gone most days anyway because he’s very busy. I loved his room, and when that room was torn away from me a piece of me went with it. Now I sit in that office, but I never feel as safe and as at-ease as I had in that room.

-Rule #11: Never put yourself into the position of having to shut someone out by never letting them in in the first place

God. Why had I ever let him in? I still adored him and I still looked up to him but now things were harsh and cold. Not made better by the fact my friend attached to him like a leech and the toxicity I had spent months escaping from and working myself free of nine months earlier attacked every single part of my life. Any time I spent near him she was there, drawing his attention and parading around and in everything I did and every word I spoke I felt her presence, her invasion and intrusion into my life. I knew she was trying to take it away from me. The one good relationship I had in my life she had splayed herself across, trying to lap up all the attention. I didn’t even hate her for it. I was just miserable due to it. I let it happen too, I watched it. I don’t even know why I didn’t stop it, didn’t scream or yell at her. I just let it happen, let her walk over me like so many times before.

But I was there. And I didn’t feel like I could trust him, not anymore. It all boiled down to one moment. He had been my soccer coach, too. I was the only goalie on the team, and in a game two days prior one girl on the other team had bashed in my finger badly. I knew something was wrong with it I’ve broken multiple fingers - including that one - in the past and I know a serious pain from a minor one. I told him what had happened and asked to see the trainer and he looked at me and said ‘if it hurts when you bend it don’t bend it that way’. And in that moment I shut down. Every part of me shut down. I could barely speak, barely form a response, and when I went back to my warmups I started to cry, silently. It was something my father would’ve said, and the words coming out of his mouth shut me down.

I couldn’t look at him for a week.

And so I watched, as once the only person who actually cared about me in my everyday life was torn away from me. As someone who could never replace me tried to. I knew she wouldn’t succeed, that she never really will get as close with him. She doesn’t know him, and what she expects out of him isn’t something she’ll get. But either way she tried her best to tear him away from me and I could barely breathe as I watched her try to become me. I could barely breathe as I felt my life spiral out of control. I tried to regain control, but it didn’t work. In a moment of sudden realization, I came to the conclusion the fifteen rules I had always silently and religiously followed had been broken in the span of a few short months.

I couldn’t handle it. My depression and never being able to talk to him and never feeling safe at school and not having his room or my safety net of all my little habits and religiously followed rules and with one quick tap I fell apart and shattered. Shattered into my depression, I fell into it like nothing I ever had before and now I just stare and I just feel empty most of the time and I am no one and nothing. For months I barely spoke with him.

Now we’re closer again. It took me a while, to realize he was angry. To realize his actions were not those of someone who didn’t care about me, but something completely different. The reason he acted the way he did was because he was angry, about my sexual assault and all the bullshit in my life and everything that was constantly being thrown at me. He was angry where the shattered pieces of myself couldn’t be. I could tell as much, by the way his eyes lit up and the way he spoke about the boy who assaulted me, when he swore in front of me because he was so pissed after I opened up to him about my depression, and he talked about ‘all the shit you have to go through’.

It took me a very long time to trust him, and I was so quick to shut him out in the after-effects. I understood why I had never let people in, because it always ended badly. And I had cried when I thought things had ended the same way with him, that everything just falls apart in the end even with the people I loved most. And after months, I realized that he still cared about me and he pulled through in the end and things may have fallen apart but they fell back together in the end and I still cry about that.

I think in the end, these rules were what held me together. Carefully constructed to hold me together, the image of me painted on a canvas. And I slashed them to bits. It freed me, but when things fell apart again I had nothing to fall back on, and it caged me. I think, most people don’t need rules like these. But I think, I do. Because I have so little control over my life and everything around me - rules are rules for a reason. Some are meant to be broken for the better, but others for the worse. Too many rules and you’re choking, but not enough and you’re falling apart.