#and matched the nail polish that is chipped cause i started taking it off during class

[butteryheart]

Extremy mild post but I should dress up a bit more often lol it makes me feel :DD

Also. Random selfie

[spectralsleuth]

You mentioned that the Hamato household in LSoW and LSoE looks like a wizard's house and that it is filled with furniture that Yoshi inherited from his family... Can you imagine how much historians and antique collectors would be just going gaga about all the priceless stuff in the Hamato home. Like every room has original hand-crafted tables, desks, etc. that can be dated back hundreds of years, the walls have scrolls and weapons crafted by famous masters from 300 years ago. I can just imagine that Yoshi agreed to an interview in his home and, never mind his turtle kids, someone points out the furniture and wall art and people go nuts! This aging action star is just casually mentioning how his sons used to teeth on the chair legs and antique collectors around the world die a little, all while he is sitting on an old chair that was made from a rare tree in Japan worth as much as a down payment on the house and just sipping tea like it's nothing.

Yoshi tapped his foot irritably.

"I really don't understand what the problem is- you sound like my Grandfather." Not a flattering comparison.

"You're not even using a coaster." The camera man looked as if he was in pain, and Yoshi could honestly say that he had not had this much chit-chat from any crew member he'd ever had in his home.

The house was still in a slight state of disarray from the move- there were boxes in the master bedroom stacked to the ceiling, and Blue and Purple had not been separated long enough to be convinced of the benefits of their own bedroom. As a result, both of their bedrooms were half unpacked and mixed together.

Yoshi wasn't particularly passionate about separating the two, but considering every single day it seemed they broke into screaming matches and biting, you would think they would enjoy having their own space as much as Orange and Red did.

It was not so. He could barely get them to sleep in their own bed at this point, but since they were only eight he thought it was prudent to take the separation slow. (At least that was what Dr. Harper had said, when he had floated the idea of encouragement via booby traps and spray bottles by her.)

"It is a piece of furniture- it is meant to be used." It wasn't often that Yoshi thought he was mistranslating English- but he thought this might be one of those situations. The confused looks the Vanity Fair reporter was giving him was selling that impression, and he did not much care for it. "I set things on it? I put- items, in the drawers?" What was the other word for items- funny words, like, oh what was it. "Knick knacks." Sounded like a word for underwear if you asked him.

"This is from the Meiji era." The camera man explained, reverently removing Yoshi's coffee mug from the polished wooden surface. A lost cause, since there was already many overlapping rings of differing shades of brown covering the surface.

There were chips and scuffs covering the top, small marks where Red had rolled over the top during chases with his brothers and left shell-shaped divots, and where Blue and Purple had scratched with idle claws while watching the Mr. Nye TV show. There were crayon marks on the sides, where Orange had run off of his paper with his crayons. He was a good boy and did not draw on furniture on purpose, but accidents happened, and Xander often could not keep up.

"Yes, my great great grandfather commissioned it. I believe from the Emperor's carpenters, to celebrate the new constitution and property they bought in- well, I honestly do not recall. Is this relevant?" Yoshi asked wearily, feeling a twinge of displeasure at even starting to sound like his Ojii lecturing on history.

"There's only about fifty pieces made total in this style- there's no nails in the construction, look it's all joinery on the shelves-" The camera-man was saying, and to Yoshi's displeasure the reporter was still recording using the small device in her hand.

"I thought we were discussing my new movie." Yoshi pointed out, not plaintively, because he was a grown man with four children. "I mean, I have older furniture than that in the bathroom."

The camera man paused, and stared at him. "... Sorry?"

"The bathroom." Yoshi pointed out, and (sensing another translation issue possibly), said "It is where you piss."

"Piss!" Orange yelled from the hallway, where he went sprinting by with the tap-tap-tap of feet.

"DO NOT REPEAT THAT!" Yoshi called out. He was drowned out by Blue and Red fast on Oranges tail, screaming with laughter. It was nice to hear Red's laughter for a change, but since his eldest was also chasing his brothers with a stock pot and a spoon, Yoshi thought he should intervene. "Excuse me, one moment."

Red was only willing to trade the stockpot for a yardstick, which he began beating on Blue and Orange's shells respectively. Since his two youngest were giggling wildly, Yoshi left them to it and turned on cartoons in one of the bedrooms for them to watch when they grew tired of hitting each other.

By the time he got back to the Vanity Fair crew, they had gathered in the hallway, and were being shown the bathroom by a very pleased looking Purple.

"Ah Purple, excellent work my son- ah. I was kidding about the furniture-"

"No you weren't." The cameraman accused, looking frantic and pale. "This is a silver backed oriental mirror from under- oh I don't know. Kōmei? Ninkō?

"Kōka." Yoshi corrected, hating himself. "So, both probably."

Purple tugged on the cameraman's sleeve, and (looking hesitant) the camera man bent down to listen as Purple cupped hands around his snout in order to whisper in his ear.

"YOU WRITE ON IT?" The man gasped, looking appalled.

"I have raised a tattle-taler." Yoshi said mournfully, as Purple looked smugly at him from behind the reporter's legs. "Why don't you go help smack your brothers you snitch?"

Purple's tail started thumping against the cabinet at the idea, and he dropped to all fours to put on speed as he darted out between Yosh's legs and down the hall.

"Why are you so obsessed with furniture anyway?" Yoshi asked the cameraman after Purple had disappeared down the stairs, and he heard Blue and Orange start squealing in delight.

"My parents own a museum exhibit." The camera man said idly, pulling the mirror back from the wall enough to peer behind, and make a wounded noise. "It has the manufacturer seal on it still."

"Oh course it does. All Hamato furniture is authentic."

"It has crayon on it." The camera man looked close to tears.

"Yes?" Yoshi didn't understand the question. He looked at the reporter, who was still recording and writing furiously. "You are going to want to put this into the article, aren't you?" Yoshi sighed.

The reporter gave him a winning smile. "I think our readers would enjoy this very much Mr. Hamato."

[ri-ahhh]

for the win

After dealing with a lifetime of insecurities, Winnie Walker finally gets the courage to pursue her dreams, with a few bumps along the way. But that confidence may not carry over when it comes to a certain hazel-eyed football player who’s had her attention for much too long.

A/N: this was a random inspo that hit me out of nowhere a while ago and I was gonna make it an epic oneshot, but I think I’ll just break it into parts instead. So, hence, this is part one. Hopefully you like it enough for it to be even worth posting more.

warnings: none yet, other than this is def gonna be as cheesy as you think it is

***

Winnie Walker has always considered herself an enigma. Not in that annoying, ‘I’m so cute and quirky’ type of way, but rather in the way that made her someone who never quite fit into one defined space. The kind perfected by years of self doubt, an emotionally distant mother, and the random ebb and flow of confidences and insecurities that always helps her remember that she is, in fact, perfectly un-extraordinary: her face is too round, but she’s always been called pretty; her personality is dry enough that she finds it challenging making female friends, but she fits in well with the boys; and she has a penchant for being the last one to talk about anything she might be feeling until she puts a pen to paper and speaks through the mouths of others.

Sports and writing were her main passions, but it still took until her senior year of high school to decide that she wanted to be a sports journalist. Not just a journalist, though -- more than anything, she dreamed of stepping out into the light as a broadcaster. Shy by nature but an athlete at heart, it once again put her in that enigmatic grey space where she wasn’t sure what the hell she was thinking.

But it’s what her heart was calling for her to do. For the first time in her life, Winnie Walker felt sure about something despite everyone’s doubts -- including her own. She grew up an athlete, and some of her fondest memories as a child were caught between either being in her dad’s man cave with all of his friends, cheering on their team of choice for whatever sport was on, discussing heatedly what plays should or shouldn’t have taken place. Or, on the volleyball court. 

The full ride offer from USC that was presented but never came to fruition because of a devastating knee injury in one of her last club tournaments haunted Winnie in the months leading up to her high school graduation. 

Her mother, Dahlia, was not-so-secretly thrilled. A stage mother through and through, she had always supported her daughter as she made headway in her sport as a star player, but it was an open point of contention that Winnie planned to follow her passion for it all the way to college. She wanted her middle daughter to attend the local university, get a nice marketing degree, and settle into a high rise in downtown Dallas, where she could point at during brunch with her friends and brag about the pretty penny her kid made with her perfectly nice degree she attained in her perfectly nice hometown. 

That’s not Winnie, though, and everyone except Dahlia knew it. No one was all too surprised that she still wanted to escape to California (again, except her mother), even if they were slightly shocked about her decision for a major. The reactions from her friends and sisters and dad had her even more excited as she scanned the email of her academic acceptance into USC. It finally gave her the courage to spill the beans to her mother as well.

Dahlia Walker very much scoffed in the face of her quiet, introverted, hopeful daughter sitting across the kitchen island while she scrubbed at the dishes from dinner.

“Winona, sweetie, you refused to even speak at your sister’s wedding as the maid of honor, and you want to be on TV? With all those... men?”

Winnie cringed a little bit and rolled her eyes at the slightly far-off look on her mother’s face as she no doubt started imagining the sweaty athletes the reporters would stand next to post-game.

“You don’t think I could do it?” she asked flatly, flicking a chip of her nail polish off her finger so it flew across the otherwise spotless granite — her mom hated when she did that. 

Dahlia’s hands picked up their pace again in the suds, slowed down by whatever middle-aged fantasy was going on in her mind. She shook her head, the highlights in her perfectly styled blonde bob shifting under the recessed lights.

“The girls who do that are just so bouncy. Friendly. They curl their hair.”

Winnie bit her lip. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Her body felt deflated. “I knew I could count on you to be supportive.”

“Oh honey, I’m just trying to be realistic with you,” her mother said dismissively. Like she didn’t realize the pang her words caused to spread in Winnie’s chest; it should have been be all-too familiar by then, but the sting was never weakened with age or predictability. “And California? Are you really ready to be so far from home? You hardly ever even leave your room.”

It had taken everything in Winnie to hold back the open scoff she longed to throw at her mother; instead, she just stood up and left the kitchen, along with any childish hope that Dahlia might ever make an effort to really know her middle daughter.

Because anyone that knew Winona Elle Walker could predict just how much she would thrive in California. In the persistent sunshine that never quite reached the peak of being too hot for very long, unlike the nearly six months of 90 and 100-plus degree days of summer she knew so well in Texas. Within close proximity to a beach that didn’t have swamp-colored water washing ashore.

In a place well over a thousand miles away from Dahlia.

And that’s exactly how Winnie found herself in LA: thriving. She made friends easily, enjoyed life on the USC campus while she studied the exact major she had set out for the first day she sat down in her first class -- Navigating News in the Digital Age class -- and it was a relatively cheap flight home if she ever missed it too much. Winnie started feeling less like an enigma, and more like someone whose quirks were becoming more of a benefit to her success than she could have ever imagined.

Now, as a woman in her senior year, nearly 22 and set to graduate in only a few months time, she’s finally up for the most coveted position in her major: being the prime time student reporter at the biggest sporting events of the school’s entire athletic program — the Trojan football games. Reporting at football games was a job always reserved for seniors, and she had been driving her roommate — and best friend in California — Naomi crazy all summer prepping for the spot’s audition.

“Winnie, babe, you know the plays backwards and forwards. You’ve understood more about the rules of football since you were a kid than I’ll ever know as a grown woman. You have all the key players’ and coaches’ names and numbers memorized. You couldn’t be any more prepared,” she smiles, good-natured irritation clear in her eyes and behind the blinding smile that shone from her mocha-colored skin.

It softens some when Winnie stood from the couch, and Naomi reaches over and slaps her retreating ass just hard enough to make Winnie yelp and giggle. “Not to mention those squats are paying off big time, bitch. You’re gonna kill it.”

Winnie rolls her eyes and continues to make her way to the kitchen to refill her wine glass. “The camera won’t see my ass, but thanks.”

Naomi winks. “No. But Grayson Dolan might.”

Grayson Dolan — the walk-on that had stunned everyone when he was thrown into a game his freshman year after two of the starting tight ends had become injured on two consecutive plays. Now a senior himself, he’s led the team ever since in receiving yards, receptions, and TD’s, and is a clear prospect for the NFL in the coming months.

He also happens to be the player Winnie had drunkenly admitted she had a crush on during a girls night last year, and her friends have yet to let her live it down. She had felt ridiculous saying she had a crush as a 21 year-old, but that’s really all it was; he was hot, an extremely talented player, and she barely knew him beyond that one time he had spilled a drink on her at a frat party, and the rather interesting reputation that followed him around campus. There was nothing more to it.

Even if her attraction to him hasn’t died down in the passing time.

Winnie only blushes and pours herself a little extra, blaming the Maison No. 9 when Naomi throws her head back with a cackle and calls out the matching pink in her cheeks.

The morning of her audition, a mere two weeks into her fall semester, Winnie has butterflies fluttering madly in the pit of her belly. Her truer nature of being somewhat shy and timid in these situations has never left, always flaring up in moments of self-doubt and unpredictability. Undoubtedly, however, this audition deserves all the nerves; it’s a clear stepping stone into network broadcasting, and would almost guarantee her a spot as an intern at FOX Sports next semester.

She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment, silently urging herself to get her shit together, and takes a deep breath before eyeing Naomi’s curling iron plugged in by the sink adjacent to her own.

Winnie hasn’t curled her hair once in the nearly four years she’d been in LA. Not for nights out, or auditions, or even a date. A brief moment of madness overtakes her as she stands there staring at the metal device, her hand starting to reach out as words that should be long forgotten ring loud and clear in her head. For a second, the pale beige paint of her apartment bathroom turns the light blue and grey color scheme of her childhood one. Her mom had ‘surprised’ her with the the renovation one year when she decided to redecorate the house while Winnie was at volleyball camp, insisting she had chosen Winnie’s favorite colors, when in reality it simply matched the rest of the monotone suburban house that Winnie secretly couldn’t stand. It was boring, and typical, and...stuck, despite its relative newness.

With that, the fog clears as quickly as it had come, and she sets her jaw determinedly. She hasn’t let Dahlia psych her out for this long; she isn’t about to let now be the first time since she’s been out here on her own.

And maybe Naomi was right. Maybe she’d catch a certain tight end’s eye with a tight end of her own, after all.

The nausea suddenly returns as she shakes her head and reaches for her straightener instead, flicking it on before sectioning off her hair.

“No wonder you’re so fucking single, Win.”

[devil-in-the-d3tails]

It’s the End of the World as We Know It - Chapter 3

summary: During the international quarantine in your first-ever pandemic, the people around you slowly begin to disappear. As the world grows quieter and quieter, you find yourself all alone-- no power, no friends, and only one goal: to find whoever of your friends might be left and reunite with them.You're naive to think anything can be that simple. As you're faced with ever-increasing loneliness, you run into some boys who apparently went to the same high school as you. Will you join forces with them to figure out your strange circumstances together, or will you brave loneliness in a world that is slowly crumbling apart?

Link on AO3!

words: 3,653

rating: M - Mature

genre: angst/humor, romance, adventure, apocalypse AU, reader-insert

warnings: sort of depressing content, a smidge of violence, cursing

a/n: thank you for reading!

- Decisions, Decisions... - 

You’ve been picking at your nails for quite some time. They’re a powdery blue-- or they used to be, at least. They were supposed to match your prom dress, though you never did get to go to prom this year. The blue gown is still in your closet, covered by the plastic from the dry cleaners. You frown at the patches of missing polish, having been slowly chipped away for some time since you painted them-- was it two weeks ago? A month? You weren’t sure what time was anymore.

“...But yeah, other than what we brought back, there wasn’t much stuff left over.” Kuroo shrugs as he picks at some granola straight from the bag. You and the group of guys have gathered in a little circle on each other’s mattresses, and have since introduced each other. Aside from Kuroo, Akaashi, and Bokuto, the new boys you’ve met are Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Kenma. The entire group seems to be weighed down with contented hopelessness-- they all appear to be very aware of their dire situation, but they’re quite alright with it at the moment.

The boy named Iwaizumi sighs-- he’s straightforward and somewhat level-headed, as far as you can tell.

“We’re gonna have to drive further to the next grocery store, then.” Iwaizumi decides, and rubs his neck.

“What’s the matter? Sleep on the wrong side of the bed?” Oikawa, the absurdly pretty one, teases.

“No, I just feel weird since it seems like none of us are gonna talk about our newest addition.” Iwaizumi says pointedly, and finally looks at you. You bite your lip and look away, not quite sure how to explain yourself, either. Why should you expect all of them to just be chill with some stranger suddenly showing up in the middle of the night, sobbing and with a potentially dangerous dog at her side?

“She just introduced herself-- did you forget her name already?” Bokuto says with a laugh. You seriously admire his optimism-- or his cluelessness, you’re not sure which.

“I think Iwaizumi is just suspicious of her.” Akaashi says with a level tone, and he and Iwaizumi exchange a glance.

“Makes sense.” Oikawa shrugs.

“Wha-- How?!” Bokuto exclaims.

“She’s a stranger. She’s got a dog with her-- a dog that could easily hurt us.” Oikawa answers, and Indie perks up when he glances at her with a smile. “But she’s so cute! I don’t think we have to worry about her.”

Akaashi glances at you, and you remember how you told him that Indie did, in fact, attack a boy last night. To be fair, he was an intruder!

“I’m not gonna be here long, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You finally pipe up, and all eyes once again fall on you.

“Huh? Why?!” Both Kuroo and Bokuto say, and you could almost swear they were whining. You laugh a little-- how could they possibly be so attached to you so quickly?

“Well, I’m trying to go to L.A. and find my friend Sami. Then, I’m gonna go to Ohio to live with my friend Callie.” You say evenly, and the entire group looks at you like you’re insane.

“L.A. is… far.” Kenma says quietly, and you’re surprised he’s spoken at all.

“How do you even know your friend is still out there?” Kuroo asks.

“I don’t,” You say, “but I have to at least look. It’s what she’d do for me-- or, it’s what I’d hope she’d do for me. I can’t just… accept that everyone I know and love is gone without looking first.” You become quieter at the last part, and the group seems to understand a bit better.

“Okay,” Bokuto says, “so we just make a trip of it. We pack supplies or whatever, wake up early, and go to L.A. and look around for a couple days. We can camp out in fancy hotels!”

“I’m sorry, we?” You say.

“We’re not gonna let you go alone! Look what happened the last time we left you alone.” Bokuto says as if it’s the most obvious thing. You frown, but he is right. You’re a little scared of being left alone, too, if you’re being honest. Sleeping next to Akaashi made you feel safe, even if you were a bit flustered. Plus, these guys seem to be pretty decent-- none of them have made you uncomfortable so far.

You eat your poptart thoughtfully.

“Why Ohio?” Akaashi asks.

“Well… Callie said, last time we spoke, that her parents were still around.” You respond. “Plus, she lives on a farm. That’ll be way more sustainable than scavenging around grocery stores for the rest of my life.”

“Damn. We should do that.” Bokuto says with a sigh.

“I don’t know how to farm,” Oikawa sighs, then turns to you with a grin. “Maybe we should just come with you to Ohio!”

“That’s… not happening.” You say decisively.

“Aw, why not?” Kuroo croons. “Aren’t we pretty great so far? I feel like Callie would love us. Plus, I’m famous for getting people’s parents to like me.”

“It’s true.” Bokuto says solemnly. You wonder for a moment what kind of story lies behind that exchange, but decide to leave it alone for now.

“It’s gonna take weeks to get to Ohio-- plus, I’m probably gonna have to hop from car to car, since there aren’t any working gas stations anymore, or I’ll just have to suck it up and walk. I’m not about to go on a roadtrip with some dudes I just met-- especially not during the apocalypse.” You say, crossing your arms. Damn, it seems like everything you say makes you seem like a huge bitch-- why were you so against them coming with you, anyway? Maybe you just didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else-- or, maybe you didn’t want to invest your care into one more person, only for them to disappear without a trace, leaving you, once again, alone.

You push that thought away-- that’s too deep for 8 a.m.

“I wouldn’t go on a roadtrip with these guys, either.” Iwaizumi says, and you’re weirdly charmed with how pessimistic he is. His little quip dissolves some of the tension, too, and you’re glad for that.

“I think you’re scared.” Kuroo calls your bluff. You just scoff.

“I’m not scared.”

“You were pretty scared last night, though.” Bokuto adds, unhelpfully. “But, I mean, it’s understandable-- some guys literally broke into your house!”

“Travelling in a group is safer, anyways.” Akaashi says, and you hate that a part of you agrees with him.

You huff out a sigh, and finish off your poptart. “None of you are responsible for me.” You counter.

“True-- but we’re not doing anything else.” Oikawa chimes in, and you’re a bit surprised. “I think it’ll be fun. We can at least go to L.A. together, and that can determine whether you wanna ‘roadtrip’ with us, or not.”

“I like the sound of that.” Kuroo grins. “An experiment.”

“You guys have fun with that-- I’ll stay here.” Kenma mumbles, and Kuroo barks out a laugh.

“No way-- we’re all going.”

“I don’t wanna go, either.” Iwaizumi says, crossing his arms. “Kenma and I should stay behind and protect the gym. Clearly, it’s a little dangerous out there.”

“Good idea!” Bokuto praises, already excited at the prospect of a roadtrip. “This is gonna be fun-- and going to L.A. will be so fast ‘cause there’s no traffic!”

“That’s assuming we find a car with a full tank-- our poor van is barely on half a tank.” Kuroo says.

“Right, that much gas would get us there in the van, but we’d just barely be able to make it back. Plus, we aren’t accounting for how much we’ll have to drive around the city to find Sami…” Akaashi says, his train of thought travelling to the logistics of the operation.

You’re… a little stunned, to say the least. You suppose you can chalk their enthusiasm to go to L.A. with you up to the fact that there really is nothing better for them to do, but… you never expected anyone to be this willing to stick by your side. You’d never had a large circle of friends, especially not in your relatively small town. After your closest friends had moved away, you mostly kept to yourself, perfectly content to have your only friends be the ones you’d known since forever, rather than go through the arduous task of making new ones so close to graduation.

“You guys... don’t have to do this.” You say quietly, having reluctantly accepted that it seems like they’re going to stick by your side, regardless of what you say.

There’s a pause that settles over the group, and Iwaizumi scoffs.

“Like Oikawa said, we’re not doing anything else.” He says, and you smile a little at him.

Another pause settles around the group, but it’s comfortable-- you’re starting to warm up to them, as they’ve clearly warmed up to you. You suppose you’ve given them a change of pace, at least.

“Well, all that aside, we still need to find more food.” Kenma says. “And a mattress for you-- or at least a sleeping bag.” He looks to you, then down at Indie. He offers her his hand, which she licks and nuzzles into happily.

“Don’t you have a mattress back at your house? We can just go get that.” Bokuto says, sitting back against his bed, propping himself up with his elbows.

“I don’t really wanna go back there.” You say quickly. What if those guys were still there? What if more of them flocked to your house because they discovered all of your groceries--?

Oh, shit.

“Oh, shit.” You groan, burying your face into your palms. “My groceries.”

“Your groceries?” Bokuto echos.

“They’re all at my house. All that stuff I got from the grocery store where we met-- Indie’s food, everything.” You say as dread settles over your whole body. “What if those guys are still there?”

Everyone pauses as they consider the situation. They would all benefit from your added supplies-- plus, the trip would allow you to retrieve your bed rather than wander the floors of some abandoned Ikea or Macy’s looking for a replacement. Still, the risk was high. Those guys seemed dangerous, at least to you, and there might be more. Clearly, it wasn’t that outlandish to assume that whoever remained had grouped themselves into survival packs, and that they were willing to do anything to stay alive and fed.

“Okay.” Kuroo stands. “So, we’ll go to your house.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” You ask.

“Me and Bokuto. Just tell us where you live, we’ll go there and get your stuff. Easy peasy.” Kuroo nods, and Bokuto is, of course, up for the challenge.

“...I don’t want you guys to go alone.” You say.

“Relax, it’ll be a quick in and out, you won’t even notice we’re gone.” Kuroo holds his hand out, expecting you to hand him your keys.

You stand and pull your keys out of your pocket, but hold them close to your chest as you build up the courage for what you’re about to say.

“I’m coming with you. I’ll drive, and I’ll get my stuff.” You assert. “You guys have done way too much for me already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Bokuto asks, worry plastered all over his face.

You nod, even though your gut is screaming at you not to go back. But, you really don’t have any choice.

“If you’re sure, I think you guys will make it okay.” Akaashi says, ever the voice of reason. It warms your heart to know that Akaashi believes in you. “You guys take her car, and Iwaizumi and I will take the van and look for another grocery store.”

“Aw, you’re gonna leave me and Kenma all alone?” Oikawa whines.

“I’m not excited about it, either.” Kenma mumbles, and you’re starting to love his unexpected sassiness.

“My house is only like fifteen minutes away from here. We’ll be back in an hour, tops.” You assure Oikawa, who only looks at you skeptically. Finally, he shrugs.

“Sure, do what you want.” Oikawa says, then gets up and stretches. “I’ll just practice by myself…” He mutters, and you’re not sure what he’s referring to-- maybe volleyball, like Kuroo had mentioned when you first met.

At the moment, you don’t really care. You turn to Kuroo and Bokuto with a feigned grin of confidence.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

[-]

“No shit.” Kuroo smiles in recognition as you turn the final corner onto your street. “Bokuto, Asahi’s place is right over there.”

“Oh, no way!” Bokuto grins as he follows the pointed finger of Kuroo, in the direction of a house that looks very similar to yours, except with a brown roof instead of a red one.

“One of your friends?” You ask, trying to ignore how much you’re fidgeting. You’re so nervous, and you hate it. This is your home, after all-- you shouldn’t be so terrified of returning. You glance out the window and take note of how overcast the sky has become. In the early morning, the sun was peaking through the clouds, but it has since been covered up in a thick layer of gray. Everything seems to be lacking in color.

“Yeah, he was a kickass player.” Kuroo says as you drive by the house in question. “Can we stop by there on our way back?”

“Sure.” You say tightly. Will you even make it back? What if you die??

“Hey, relax.” Kuroo says, and you glance over to him, sitting like a damn king in your passenger seat. He had to push the chair back quite a ways to account for his leg space, much to the complaint of Bokuto in the back seat.

“I am relaxed.” You lie, and resume biting the inside of your cheek. You’re sure that your mouth is raw by now, and you’re not surprised when you taste the beginnings of the metallic tang of blood from your worrying. You puff out your cheeks to try and stop yourself from biting any further.

Kuroo laughs at the display, and you smile back, a bit embarrassed.

In no time at all, you park by the curb in front of your house. You don’t turn the engine off just yet, opting to observe the now threatening building for a moment in case someone suddenly jumps from your door with a gun or something. A flash of red hair recalls itself from your memories, and you grip the steering wheel tighter with a big sigh. Nothing’s there-- you’re freaking out for no reason, you remind yourself.

You turn off the car and pick up your hammer that’s been resting in the cup holder.

“You ready?” Kuroo asks, and you’ve been aware of his gaze on you this whole time. You’re glad he’s at least receptive to your hesitance, and you’re also glad that he and Bokuto are with you. They’re both pretty strong and athletic, and with your hammer combined, you three make a pretty strong team.

That’s what you have to tell yourself, anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” You give a curt nod, and the three of you exit the car quickly, walk across your lawn, and soon you’re met with your front door. It looks like it was kicked in, with splinters of painted wood littering your porch and the hardwood floors just inside. Kuroo kicks a piece of wood aside absently, and enters first.

“Hello?” He calls with a booming voice.

“What are you doing?” You hiss, grabbing onto his jacket sleeve with ferocity.

“Just seeing if we have the place to ourselves.” He replies coolly, and looks around, surveying the rest of your home. It’s definitely been ransacked-- your mother’s favorite vase is shattered, papers litter the floor, and every single drawer and cabinet has either been ripped from its hinges, or lays hanging open.

“Seems we are.” Kuroo muses quietly after several moments of silence as the three of you take in your sad surroundings.

You can’t believe the home you grew up in has been violated like this-- you can’t believe that a person can be so heartless as to destroy something to this degree. You can’t believe the world is actually like this now. Gripping Kuroo’s sleeve tighter, you suppose that’s just what the world has come to.

“Um… so, where did you leave your groceries?” Bokuto asks, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him being so gentle. You blink up at him only to realize how watery your eyes are, and you quickly blink away any tears that might threaten to fall. You release Kuroo’s sleeve, quickly wipe at your nose, and nod to your kitchen, just beyond the living room you stand in.

The stairs are to your right, and you want to go upstairs to try and salvage anything else you might need, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to brave whatever situation lies above yet.

Bokuto walks towards the kitchen. You and Kuroo follow, and your heart sinks as the three of you are met with an empty table.

The dog food is still there, though.

“Damn it. They took everything.” Your shoulders slump, and you feel really disappointed. You’ve effectively wasted their time and valuable gas in your car just to get supplies that weren’t there. “Sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t apologize.” Kuroo says, and picks up the dog food with a grunt. “We can still get your bed and check around to see if there’s anything else. I’m gonna put this in the car.”

You three spend about an hour there in total, the sky darkening in a bizarre way-- you’d never seen the weather change this much before. In no time at all, and right when you three were ready to move your mattress to the van, it begins pouring rain. Bokuto groans, and runs his fingers through his spiked hair in frustration.

“Maybe if we run fast enough--” You try, but Kuroo shakes his head.

“Your bed’ll get soaked. I don’t really wanna risk it, anyways.” He leans your bed on the wall beside the stairs, and flops down on your couch. “We can just wait it out.”

The rain thunders above you, and you’re almost worried your roof won’t be able to weather the storm, judging by how severely the trees are bent in the wind. You cross your arms, the chill really starting to get to you on account of your busted front door.

“Man, do you have any blankets around here?” Bokuto whines, and you laugh. Your once cosy home offers no insulation at all, so you get up and go to the linen closet. Worried you might find empty shelves, you’re relieved to find it’s been untouched. You suppose blankets were last on those guys’ list-- but it makes you satisfied thinking they might be freezing their asses off somewhere in this unexpected weather.

You return to the couch, and the three of you huddle under the fuzzy blankets. Kuroo invites you to scoot closer to him, but you hesitate. A gust of wind thunders through your front door, and that’s all it takes to convince you to huddle closer. His arm drapes over your shoulders, reminding you once again how small you are compared to them. Bokuto joins you on your opposite side, extremely comfortable with such close contact. Your heart’s racing, because you’ve never been sandwiched between two incredibly hot guys before. You take a deep breath, and you’re glad you left Indie back at the gym, because at least she can stay somewhere that’s dry.

It’s a few hours before the storm lets up, but as soon as the rain just barely begins to lessen, Kuroo shakes you and Bokuto from your naps. Your head was resting on his shoulder, and his head was resting on top of yours-- and as you bashfully scoot away from him, you realize just how warm he is from the sudden absence of heat.

The three of you haul your bed into the van, and decide to pile into the car and officially give up on what little else your home could offer you. After snagging a good deal of your clothes, all the soap you could find, some hair brushes and toothbrushes, you’ve got to accept that your ransacked house isn’t useful anymore.

You park in Asahi’s driveway, and ask Kuroo why exactly he wanted to stop here, to which Kuroo laughs, a little embarrassed.

“Well… before this all went down, I left my whole stash with Asahi because my parents were getting suspicious, and I didn’t think I could get away with hiding it in my house for a bit.”

“Stash?” You furrow your brow, and Kuroo and Bokuto exchange a mischievous glance. It takes you a second, but since you’ve gone to public school your whole life, you understand pretty quickly. “Ohhh,” You laugh, bashful that you didn’t get it at first.

The two boys tell you to wait in the car, so you keep the engine running while they go inside as if they owned the place. You guess they must’ve been pretty close to Asahi, considering how familiar they are with his home.

Maybe ten or fifteen minutes pass before you’re startled by Kuroo and Bokuto booking it out of the house to tumble into your car. Kuroo whisper-yells at you to “Gogogogogo!” and you’re zooming down the flooded road once again.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you demand what the hell just happened. Kuroo and Bokuto laugh in that way a person does after they can’t believe they just escaped certain death, and the dark-haired boy holds up a sizeable baggie stuffed with weed with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t freak out, but… I think we ran into your boys back there.”

[thekriseffect]

Blissful Silence (Liam x MC)

[Note: I had the day off from work today, so what did I do with my free time? Wrote another TRH fic! It’s a little (a lot) all over the place and it ended up being longer than I originally anticipated (apparently my mind had a lot to say), but overall I’m happy with its outcome... I think. That could change within a few hours.]

[Summary: After the announcement of the heirs gender and with Freya’s due date only days away, everyone is anxious for their arrival. You can read my previous similar fic here if you’d like!]

[Tag List: @romanticaheart-posts, @cora-nova .]

“What about Oliver? It’s cultivated, like Liam, yet also simple, like you.”

I was gritting my teeth so tightly I was sure they would fall out as I stomped to the great hall, Madeleine hot on my heels with pen and paper gripped determinedly between her stupidly perfect manicured nails. I didn’t think it was possible for me to dislike her more than I already did, yet these past eight months had proved me wrong. She’d evolved from an irritating itch to a festering disease, one with seemingly no cure that was driving me more toward insanity with each passing day.

It was late morning and the palace was fairly quiet with most of the staff out doing their duties for the day, so it gave me the illusion that I was alone, which was far from the truth. I was never alone, not anymore. I knew Mara wasn’t far behind, my ever watchful shadow, though she was careful to camouflage her presence like she had been for the past several weeks, which caused the sour bitter-taste of guilt to stick to the back of my throat. I hadn’t meant to snap at her. I was just tired of everyone treating me like I was a piece of fractured glass, ready to shatter into millions of irreparable shards at a moment's notice. I was pregnant, not dying.

“Lionel would also be an acceptable choice.” I grimaced. “Or Alfred, after Alfred Dumar, the fabled Cordonian dueler. The public would love that, not to mention it would portray stability to name the heir after someone so admired within society.”

“For the last time, Madeleine, I’m not discussing baby names with you.” Liam and I had recently announced the gender of our child, a boy, under the guidance of our press secretary. We had originally planned to keep it a surprise but Cordonia’s citizens were growing restless as were the neighboring royals. They wanted answers and I was failing to provide them. Curse me for taking too long to grow a human being inside my belly.

A press interview was scheduled to take place in the great hall this afternoon to discuss the kingdoms future king, so I was shoved into a satin pearl gown that hugged my torso a little too snugly with dozens on beaded clips secured in my hair to try to tame the strands flat. It wasn’t working. I blew a rogue flyaway away from my scrunched forehead. Definitely not working.

“It would be good to disclose this sort of information during the interview, Freya. With your due date being mere weeks away the media is going to be as demanding as ever,” she told me matter-of-factly as she scrawled something inside her notebook as we walked from corridor to corridor.

“Then they can wait those last few weeks to get that information,” I shot back.

The one thing they fail to tell a pregnant queen was how different her circumstances would be from a regular pregnant woman. I knew that things would be more complex for me than a typical mother, I’d always known, but it was one thing knowing and another thing actually experiencing it firsthand.

Every one of them wanted a piece of my son for themselves. They circled around me like vultures, blackening the sky as they anticipated the big moment so they could dive in for the kill. Dive in for that tiny chip of power that they would be offered. I’d do anything, anything, to keep him from their clutches. He was mine… at least for now.

I’d stopped listening to Madeleine minutes ago. Her even tone melded into the background with the rest of the pointless factors as my mind raced with obsessive thoughts until a deep throb started to pound like a heartbeat against my skull. My soles hurt, my back cramped, hips too tiny to accommodate my now massive stomach, and this dress was trying to suffocate me with it’s never-ending ruffles.

I slipped a clip free from atop my head.

I was warm. Too warm. Like I was sitting too close to the sun. Why did this castle have to be so goddamn warm?

Another clip was ripped away impatiently and dropped, forgotten on the marble below.

I glanced down at my dress. I hated the color ivory. It was reserved for people who were considered pure and innocent and I was neither. I felt like I was posing as something I wasn’t wearing it. It wasn’t meant to be worn by people like me.

I reached up again, my fingers trembling slightly now. Down went another clasp, echoing soundlessly against the ground as Madeleine’s voice droned on and on.

We came to the end of the corridor then only to be met by a set of polished, gleaming stairs. My legs ached. Stairs. So many stairs.

Madeleine moved forward down the steps while I was rooted to the spot like my feet were super-glued to the floor. I stumbled back, hands reaching behind me for the glass of the long decorative table that posed with two velvet cushioned chairs in the hallway in front of one of the windows overlooking the castle gardens. My fingertips met a cool surface and I shifted to the right to ease myself down into one of the chairs.

I sunk into it with a soft sigh and let my eyes fall closed as I tipped my head back against the headrest. Immediately some of the tension eased, evaporated into nothing, giving my lungs more room to breathe. I placed a hand against my uncomfortably swollen belly and began moving it soothingly in small circles back and forth, back and forth. I wish I could stay here like this, without a care in the world. I wish—

“What do you think you’re doing?” Madeleine’s voice came directly above me though I didn’t open my eyes to look at her.

“Sitting.”

Even without meeting her gaze I could hear the irritation laced within her words. “You don’t have time to sit. You need to meet with Liam and the media downstairs in ten minutes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care if you want to, you have to.”

“I’m the Queen of Cordonia,” I said. “I don’t have to do anything.”

She huffed as she towered over me with what I could only guess was a disapproving expression. “You know that’s not how this works.”

I hummed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Unlike the rest of your companions, I don’t find this amusing—.” I’d stopped listening after that. It was always the same with Madeleine. She’d tell me to do something, I’d refuse mostly just because I could, and then she would lecture me about my “incivility” and remind me of the importance of my “regal demeanor.” I was a queen and, in her mindset, that meant I was expected to smile and wave and look pretty while keeping my mouth firmly shut.

I slumped further down into the armchair, the light playing against the inside of my eyelids as I let my thoughts wander away from me. The window behind me was propped open slightly, letting the strong scent of freshly mowed grass drift up into the room. I took a deep breath and allowed that seemingly unimportant observation wash over me. It’s funny how something familiar like that can calm you down. It was one of the things I’d learned to cherish more and more over the past year, the little details. The ones that appeared insignificant but in truth were what held everything together at the seams. I sighed. When did things become so complicated?

“Freya?” A new voice cut through my thoughts. Worried, richly masculine, and perfect. Liam. “What happened?”

Madeleine answered before I could, her sharp tone clashing so harshly against his that it almost made me laugh. “Your wife is being effortlessly impossible, per usual.”

Footsteps grew closer. I could feel him kneel down in front of me, his large fingers gripping the armrests at my sides as he searched my face. “Frey?” I opened my eyes to meet his. Concern pinched his eyebrows together. He had the appearance of the refined king, blond hair neatly combed back and white dress shirt stretched across his broad chest invitingly, but the expression of my doting husband and instantly my heart rate settled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sitting,” I told him.

Liam gave me an amused look. “I can see that.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I placed my hand over his on the chair and he brought my fingers to his mouth, his lips brushing softly against my knuckles. I let my fingertips play across his newly shaved cheek as I matched his gentle look with one of my own. “They’re waiting for us,” he murmured.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to go.”

“Neither do I,” Liam said. “But I don’t think we get much say in the matter.”

“Unfortunately,” I grumbled.

“How about this,” he pressed, Madeleine silently scolding me from behind his shoulder. “We go and finish this one interview, maybe pose for a few photos.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “And afterwards we spend the rest of the evening together, just you and me. No interruptions.”

I leaned forward with bright eyes. “Really?”

“Really.” He smoothed away the wild hairs against my brow to kiss my forehead. “What do you say, My Love?”

A small smirk curved my lips. “I say… you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

The gentle pressure of Liam’s fingers intertwined with my own was comforting as he led us hand in hand through the palace maze later that day. The press gathering had taken up most of our afternoon so the sun was just beginning to disappear beyond the trimmed hedges, leaving everything in a blinding golden glow. An easy silence enveloped us while we walked; I think we were both grateful for the quiet. It was something we really didn’t get to experience much of anymore.

We wandered for a few more minutes before the path narrowed, opening up to a small clearing ahead and I let out a startled laugh as the sight of a distressed swing hung low on a crooked branch came into view. It had been over a year since I had last been here yet everything looked exactly the same. The overgrown vines, the metal canopy overhead, the grass peeking through the stones of the trail. Warmth spread low in my belly as all the shared memories rushed back.

“You really are a helpless romantic,” I teased as Liam helped me onto the swing. The wood was pale, peeling from old age and use and the ropes burned against my palms as I gripped them tightly.

“I try,” he said with a small smile.

I gave myself an experimental push. “This is where you proposed to me for the first time.”

“It was supposed to be the only time.”

“If your family had gotten their way I wouldn’t even be sitting here today,” I said, causing a distant look to cloud his eyes, and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t Liam’s fault that his parents had disapproved of our relationship. He wasn’t responsible for the actions of other men, even those carried out by his own father.

I nudged him with the tip of my flat to try to lighten the mood. “You seemed nervous that night. I must be extremely intimidating.”

He laughed. “I was terrified.”

“King Liam? Terrified? I find that hard to believe.” I gave myself another push.

“It’s true,” Liam told me. “I knew I was going to propose to you almost immediately after meeting you, Freya. For me it was something set in stone, something as normal as breathing. But for you?” He shook his head slightly and broke eye contact to rub the back of his neck. “I grew up in this environment. Being engaged to a woman I had known for less than a year wasn’t an unusual thought for me, but that wasn’t the case for you.” He stepped closer, fingers gripping the rope of the swing as he hovered above me. “I was sure you were going to say no.”

I stood then and tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. Blue eyes clashed against brown. He was so close that I could feel his warm breath against my cheeks, taste the heat radiating off of his chest in waves.

“And yet here I am,” I whispered while taking one of his hands and laying it over the bump of my stomach.

His irises flared, expression shifting from composed into something soft and vulnerable with every emotion open and out on display. Joy, fear, adoration, nervousness, love. So much love.

“Freya, I—,” he started before I molded my lips against his, cutting him off. I kissed him like I had that night so many months ago, in the same exact spot. Intensely and greedily like I couldn’t get enough of him. Pouring all my thoughts and feelings into a single gesture, taking everything that he was willing to give and giving back just as much. His fingers tangled in my short hair as he pressed his mouth so hard against mine that I was sure it would bruise. My head began to spin. He peppered tiny kisses over my eyelids and brow as I pulled back and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I love you too,” I told him.

[wannawritefast]

So Very Much

A/N: Hello, lovelies! I decided to try my hand at a Roger fic so let me know what y’all think! I know that this is well past the holidays but I do what I want so... Once again, a HUUUUGE thank you to my editor :) @andtheswordwentsnickersnack. And since I know @hollandroos is a huge slut for Ben Hardy as Roger (like I am)... you’re welcome.

Request by anon: hey! can you do a roger taylor fluff fic where it’s new year’s day, and they want to do nothing but cuddle and make out? thank you!

Pairing: BoRhap!Roger x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, mild language, implied smut (kinda...?), kissing?, just a whole bunch of domestic fluff idk man

“What do you mean you’re ‘not going to make it’?” Mary asked seriously. The cat in your lap jumped away as you sat up abruptly. “‘Not going to make it’? But it’s Christmas!”

You and Mary were huddled by the phone in her apartment for your routine post-show phone call. The boys had been touring for the past two months. And they had said, no, promised, that they would be back in time for Christmas.

Mary let out a heavy sigh and you got up to pour yourself more tea. You couldn’t trust yourself to do much else when you were this frustrated. One of the other cats trotted after you.

“Yeah, I understand,” She muttered. Mary’s fingers scratched at her forehead and she ran a hand down her face. “You’ll at least make it for New Year’s, right?”

You put some of the cookies the two of you had baked earlier on a plate and carried your mug of hot tea back to your spot on the couch. You held out the plate of cookies to her and she plucked up a chocolate chip cookie with a nod of ‘thanks.’ The two of you simultaneously bit into the pastries and slumped against the couch cushions. Another cat sat attentively watching you eat the cookie.

“Freddie,” Mary groaned. “It’s the holidays. You deserve a break as much as they do.”

You broke off a crumb of the cookie without chocolate and gave it to the cat sitting next to you. The two others immediately hopped up after it, now begging you for some as well when they had previously been indifferent to your existence.

“I know it’s important to you, love,” Mary switched the phone from one ear to the other. “I could care less about the money. But you know what I do care about?... Yes, you!”

Mary listened in silence for about a minute, mumbled out a ‘love you, too,’ and handed over the phone to you. You scooted yourself over, cats moving in tow as Mary moved on the other end. She gnawed at her thumb nail.

You weren’t entirely sure what Roger was going to tell you that you didn’t already know. He had missed your last birthday. He was going to miss Christmas. And he was going to miss New Year's too.

“Hello,” you began. You picked at the polish on your finger, just wanting to hear his voice.

“Hello, beautiful,” Roger’s voice answered. “I miss you.”

Normally you would have smiled or joked around in response. That was how your relationship worked. But you were too upset to do that right now.

“I miss you too.” You answered. “How was your show?”

“Good.” He chirped. “Wanna know the bra count?”

“Sure,” you laughed but it felt empty. Roger and you made a habit of keeping track of how many bras get thrown onstage during the show.

“6! It's a new record!” Roger joked cheerfully.

You hummed in response trying to sound equally as excited. But Roger knew better. He always did.

“I can hear the frown on your face. What’s the matter?”

“Just that we’re not going to spend the holidays together like you said we would.” You curled your arms and legs into your torso. The 1 of the 3 cats had since given up on the cookie. One of the remaining stood on its hind legs and pressed its front paws on your bicep.

Your boyfriend let out a sigh over the other side of the line. “You heard?”

“Well, I’m with Mary. Yeah, I heard.” You explained.

You heard rustling. “I would have liked to tell you myself.”

“A little late for that, huh?” You chuckled humorlessly. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes.

You were proud of Roger, honestly. You really were. This was his dream and he was succeeding and you were so happy for him. You hated when he was gone this long though. And it’s not that you didn’t trust him because, by God, you did. You just missed him so much.

“I really don’t know what to say or what to tell you, Y/n,” Roger confessed. You looked over to Mary who had let a few silent tears fall as she stared at the currently off telly. You made eye contact with her as one of your own tears rolled down your cheek.

“That you’ll come home somehow.” Your voice broke and you coughed to cover it. “Please.”

“Y/n...”

“Yeah,” you said, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. “I know, Roger.”

“I’m really sorry.”

No, you aren’t, you thought. But you held your tongue and swallowed back the words, not wanting to cause a fight. You knew he was sorry but you were bitter.

“Yeah, I know.” You answered dejectedly.

“I’ll-”

“Make it up to me, yeah,” you looked over to Mary again as you rubbed at your eye with you jumper sleeve. She crawled over to you and you let her lean against you. You were grateful for the contact.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” he breathed. He always had to go. You nodded in response well aware that he couldn’t see it.

You sniffled. “I love you, Rog. So very much.”

“I love you too, Y/n. So very much.” He matched the cadence of your voice. A chuckle bubbled it’s way through your lungs. “Bye, beautiful.”

“Bye,” you whispered. The line went dead and you set the phone back on the stand.

You and Mary sat together, emotionally drained, slouched on the couch. The both of you suddenly were without the loves of your lives for the holidays.

“So,” you breathed shakily. You let a few more tears fall. “You got any plans for Christmas?” Mary laughed dryly. “Or New Year’s?” She shot back. “Seriously I’ve got no plans! Not anymore anyways…” You trailed off.

“We can do Christmas at yours and New Year’s here,” she suggested with a shrug.

You nodded absentmindedly. That would be fun, you supposed. “Sounds good by me.”

“Want to sleep over tonight?” Mary asked as she sat up and faced you.

“Sure,” you replied. “As long as I buy breakfast tomorrow morning, my treat.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

The holidays went as planned with Mary. You spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her at your flat, watching Christmas movies and exchanging presents. Mary even brought over her presents from Freddie and her family and opened them at your flat. Having someone else there was so much better than the solitude you had become used to.

It was all well and good until you realized that Roger’s presents were going to remain under the tree for quite a bit. He called you in the afternoon to wish you a Happy Christmas and to apologize again. After Mary left, you spent the rest of the day drinking wine and crying. You couldn’t even bring yourself to take down any of the decorations.

Nearly a week passed and Mary got sick with the flu, leaving you to celebrate New Year’s eve alone. You had tried to help her, but she insisted that she could manage and didn’t want to risk getting you sick. (She deadbolted her front door and wouldn’t let you in when you dropped by with soup.)

Because you had nothing else to do, nowhere to go, and zero desire to be out on a night like this, you did chores and cooked for a good majority of the day. After cleaning the bedroom, guest bedroom, and bathroom, you moved onto slow-roasting vegetables for your dinner. You were not looking forward to ringing in the New Year on your own.

You laid on your bed, bored out of your mind. What did people do when they had this much time to kill? Staring at the ceiling you let your legs hang off of the edge and your thoughts wander.

You hated sleeping in this damn bed. It was too big and too soft and too cold except when Roger was there in it too. But now you were starting to get used to sleeping in it alone, and that was the problem. You didn’t want to get used to it.

When Roger was here, the bed was small and you could touch him. When Roger was here, the bed didn’t need to be soft because you slept right up against him, almost on top of him. When Roger was here, the bed was too hot and you would kick the covers onto the floor and still be wrapped in his arms because him making you overheat while you tried to sleep was better than having no one there at all.

You cried yourself into a dreamless nap and stirred awake to the sound of your front door opening. You rubbed your puffy eyes.

Someone else was in your flat.

Sitting bolt upright, you came to your senses and instinctively reached to grab the flashlight, kept on your nightstand at Roger’s insistence.

“Y/n?” A voice called.

You knew that voice. But that couldn’t be right. You let the flashlight fall back to the nightstand with a clatter.

“Y/n! I’m home.” You clambered and scrambled off of the bed in your half-awake daze. Roger.

You sprinted down the hallway, not caring about how many walls you stumbled into. You had to be imagining this.

You rounded the corner and beheld your boyfriend shutting the front door behind him and setting down his bags next to the coat rack. You were so overwhelmed with the situation that you couldn’t help the expression of love that left your mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Roger blinked at you in confusion. “‘Welcome home’ would suffice,” he teased warmly.

The reality of him being home finally hit you and you ran full force at your boyfriend. You wrapped him your arms and legs around him and he held you tightly, like he didn’t intend on letting go for a while. For real.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered. You loosened your arms but didn’t let go of him nor did he let go of you. You remained suspended in his embrace. Roger’s pretty blue eyes looked back into yours and you weren’t dreaming. “But really… what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering you, Roger attacked your lips with his and walked the two of you to the couch where you sat straddling his lap. For a blissful minute, that was all you did. You kissed him, attempting to make up for all the time you had lost when he was away. And you had a LOT of catching up to do.

Eventually you pulled away much to the dismay of Roger. Your fingertips brushed his fluffy blonde hair out of his face, still seated in his lap. You pecked a kiss to Roger’s nose.

“So…” you prompted for the third time. Roger leaned forward to kiss you again but you put your pointer finger up to halt his lips. “I’m not complaining. And we can bloody well finish this later but no more until I get an explanation.”

“I can’t surprise my loving girlfriend?” He asked with that cheeky grin that he wore oh-so well. You raised your eyebrows at him and he ran his fingers idly up and down the outsides of your legs. “Freddie worked his magic and got us free time. Except for a few weekend gigs, I’m all yours until the end of January.”

You gasped in excitement. “Are you serious?!”

Roger laughed in response. “Of course, darling.”

You squealed and kissed him again, over the moon that Roger was going to be home for a while. Especially since he wouldn’t be missing New Year’s Eve like he said he would. You looked at the gifts under the tree and then back at Roger.

“You’re opening your Christmas presents next year,” you teased through his affections.

He rolled his eyes and continued kissing you. “You can just say tomorrow. That’s when you’re opening yours.”

“‘Next year’ is so much more fun though!” You exclaimed. Roger pulled back to take a breather.

“You are so beautiful.” He mused quietly. You smiled at him. “I love you so much.”

“As much as you love that car?” You couldn't help yourself. You were in too good of a mood.

Roger tickled your sides in retaliation. “Even more. Want me to prove it?” Roger challenged leaning you forward over the edge of the couch. You tightened your grip around his shoulders.

“You don’t have it in you,” you squinted your eyes back at him in faux-competition.

“We’ll see about that.”

In one swift movement, he maneuvered you off his lap and over his shoulder. Roger laughed at your noise of surprise and carried you to your bedroom.

Oh, you couldn't wait to catch up.

After quite a bit of… um, quality time together, the two of you finished prepping the dinner you had started before Roger came home. Thank goodness you had planned to make enough to have leftovers so there was a serving for him too.

You spent your evening with a certain blonde drummer never more than 4 feet away from you. When you began to plate the dinner, Roger wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his head on your shoulder, and swayed gently to an idle tune. And when you waited for the countdown, your boyfriend and you sat leaning forward on the couch excitedly waiting for midnight.

His arm was wrapped around your waist and his hand rested on your hip. 5, 4, 3, 2…

“Happy New Year!” You and Roger cheered at the same time. You turned to face him with your arms thrown up to the ceiling as you danced in place.

Roger grabbed you by the waist and pulled you toward him gently. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and smiled through it.

“Happy New Year, Roger,” you muttered through the kiss. Roger was not relenting. Even as you leaned back to pull away, he dipped you low to the ground. You fell to the ground with a thud and laughed when Roger cursed and fell on top of you.

“Got a little overzealous there, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Roger breathed and twirled a piece of your hair around his finger. “And I’m going to do it again.”

Your giggles echoed through the living room.

You woke up when the sunlight tickled your lashes, peeking through the thin blinds you had haphazardly closed the night before. Your hand instinctively reached to rub your face and your nails scraped at the dry inner corners of your eyes.

It took you a moment to register that Roger had laid his head on the middle of your chest. His light hair was spread around his head and onto your arm chaotically like a wreath. You watched his side slowly rise and fall as he continued to slumber peacefully. His long lashes almost brushed his cheeks and Roger’s lips were slightly pursed and parted from sleeping on his side.

He looked beautiful. If you moved, you would wake him. One of his arms was tucked against his chest under his chin and the other was reached across your torso with his hand snugly settled in the underside of your waist, securely locking you in place. Ever so slowly you craned your neck forward, brushed a featherlight kiss onto the top of his head and leaned back to where you had been laying. Your fingertips rubbed the soft ends of his blonde hair between your fingers as if you weren’t quite sure he was really here.

Within a few seconds, Roger took in a deep breath and stirred awake. He stretched out the arm that was wrapped around your waist.

“Good morning,” you greeted groggily. Roger’s mouth immediately turned to a smile and he turned his head to look at you.

“Good morning to you too,” he responded, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. He unrolled himself from his position and laid on his side to face you. You mirrored him.

“Are you ready to open your presents?” You asked gently.

“There’s only one I want to open right now,” he smoothly hummed. Roger moved to kiss you and you turned your head away to dodge it. He dropped his jaw, offended at your movement.

“We both have morning breath, Rog,” you explained, resting your hand on his cheek. “Let’s get a little cleaned up and then we can continue this, yeah?”

Eventually the two of you made it to the living room and you divvied up the Christmas presents between you and him between long swigs of freshly brewed coffee. Roger’s pile was fairly heft  due to the fact that he hadn’t been able to open them on the day he was supposed to. Having Roger home was gift enough for you though. When the space underneath the tree was empty, save for the tree skirt, he began to open them.

Roger tore open his presents. Among a jumper from his mother, a handful of socks from his sister, and a new set of drumsticks from his dad, Roger proceeded then to open the gifts from you.

The first one he opened was a box of matchbox cars with heart eyes individually hand-drawn on the windshields courtesy of you. The second one he opened was a nice pair of boots that he had been eyeing the last time the two of you went out before he left for his latest round of performances. The third and final gift you got him was a picture book with heartfelt captions that you made of the last few years you had been together. That one may have made him tear up a little bit.

Roger stood from his spot on the floor and encased you in a tight hug from your spot on the couch. “Y/n,” he whispered, “I love you so very much. Thank you for everything.” He landed a sweet kiss on your forehead then your nose, your cheek and finally your lips.

“You’re so very welcome.” You answered. Roger had been more than affectionate lately not that you were complaining.

“I have something for you too. Don’t think I forgot,” he explained. You knew he wouldn’t ever forget you; he made sure that you knew that. Roger picked the red envelope that he had placed the previous evening up off of the coffee table and handed you it. Your name was scrawled messily on the front in his handwriting. “I’m sorry I could only get you one thing.”

You worked on gently ripping open the flap of the envelope. “Roger, it doesn’t matter what you get me. I just need you.” You put your hand on his cheek and your boyfriend kissed the inside of your wrist.

“That was ridiculously corny,” he muttered, “but you’re cute so I’ll let it pass.”

You rolled your eyes as you finally unstuck the envelope flap and opened the card. It read:

‘Y/n Dearest,

I’m trying to get better at this sappy stuff. The band is convinced that the most romantic thing I’ve ever written up to this point is, well… it rhymes with “I’m in Love with my Star.” But I’m going to try anyways to top it.’

You chuckled and bumped his shoulder with yours. “I’m seriously concerned with your infatuation with automobiles.”

“Oh, just keep reading,” Roger pushed.

‘I love you. So very much. And I hate being away from you for so long when I was made to be at your side. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for missing your birthday and Christmas. For all the times you’ve been there for me, I should have been and should still be there for you. And for that I am sorry.’

“Aw, you don’t need to be sorry,” you corrected softly. “I’m proud of you. And I’m happy that you’re seeing the benefits of your hard work.”

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. “But keep on reading.”

‘As for your gift, consider this a voucher for a puppy or kitten of your choosing. If you’re going to need something to keep you company, it might as well be a friend with fluffy hair other than yours truly.

Yours truly ; )

Roger xx’

You looked up from the card in shock. You were getting a pet. Oh my God… You were getting a pet!

“I’m getting a puppy?!” You yelled excitedly. Roger laughed amusedly at your mirth.

“Or a kitten… your choice,” he answered. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you.

“Roger, this is the best gift ever,” you pulled him close to you and began to kiss him. That’s all the two of you seemed to do since he had gotten back. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Roger responded.

You cocked your head. “For what?”

“For being the one that I love so very much.”

[isabellaklein97]

Cat Urine Killing Trees Surprising Unique Ideas

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Cat Spraying Cleaner

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Cat Spray Kill Plants

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[swaggerscenarios]

Cripple

Here to support your scenarios blog!! Can I have a mark lee fluff where he tries to cheer you up cause you're upset (u can make up the reason if u want!!) I hope your blog does well ♡♡♡

-

“Maaaaaaaarkk~ Please, can you come over?” you whined over the phone.

“_____~” Mark replied in your tone. You furrow your brows and let out half laugh.

“It’s so cold and I’m bored.”

“I’ll be over in a bit with food. Wait for me,” he chuckled and hung up. You puffed a sigh and slumped against the couch. You were in your PJs and one of Mark’s hoodies, wrapped up in three blankets sitting in front of the TV watching a rom-com but that wasn’t enough to keep you entertained. It was cold and cloudy outside, it looked like it was about to bucket down with rain. Not the best weather for doing anything. Not like you could do anything anyway. Your ankle was fractured from you being your careless self and missing a step while walking to class. Your parents were working so they couldn’t take you anywhere fun so you were left to fend for yourself in this cruel world.

 After about half an hour you the sound of the doorbell could be heard. You threw off the many layers of blankets and not being bothered with taking your crutches, you hopped your way to the front door. You opened the door to be greeted by a tall, blonde haired boy whose smile made you all fuzzy inside. Mark stood there wearing grey sweatpants and a dark blue hoody – just a simple look but a look that made you giddy inside. In his left hand he held a plastic bag, which seemed to contain packets of potato chips and hot cocoa mix. You open your arms and lean in towards him to give him a bear hug, which he returns. He cheeks are dusted with a pinkish colour – not from the cold weather though. He loved how you looked with his hoodie on and how you weren’t wearing any makeup and how your hair was put in a messy bun.

“Aren’t you cute today,” he said all smiley. You let out a giggle and pulled him inside before he froze to death.

 “Go sit down, I’ll get the snacks ready” he says smiling.  You gave him a look.

“No way, man. I don’t even trust you pouring chips into a bowl you are not stepping into that kitchen,” you declared.

“You don’t trust me making you hot chocolate?” he covered his mouth pretending to be shocked.

“No, because the last time you made me hot chocolate it basically tasted like warm milk. There was not chocolate!” you recalled.

“There was too chocolate. Your tastebuds are just screwed up,” he exclaimed. “Let me make it,” you said as you hopped towards him. He looked at you in astonishment. “Excuse me, miss but I’m sure that last time I checked my birth certificate it said my name was ‘Absolutely Fully Capable’. Also,” he motioned his arm to your leg “you are injured!”

“Dude, I feel like I’m more capable than you in the kitchen just let me do it,” you chuckled.  You guys liked call each other ‘dude’ and ‘man’ more than you call each other ‘babe’. It was just how you two were.

 After a while of fighting over who was going to make hot chocolate, he finally let you have your way and flopped himself onto the couch waiting for you to finish so he could help you bring everything to your living room.

 When everything was prepared, you guys sat on the couch together, with your legs over his. You guys shared a blanket while each of you hugged a mug of hot chocolate between your hands. It felt so much warmer with Mark next you, the room had more life.

“How does it feel being a cripple?” Mark asked in an amusing tone. You puffed your cheeks.

“To be honest, I hate it so much. It’s so annoying having to carry those stupid sticks around everywhere. Even harder getting up and down stairs especially during break when everyone is running towards the cafeteria. Why me?” you sulked.  “I still have three weeks left till I get this stupid thing off my leg,” you pointed to your cast.

“Maybe I should carry you around school for the next three weeks” he suggested in a cheery voice. You nudged your elbow into his ribs gently “no.” He chuckled and gave you a peck on your cheek to cheer you up. You looked so cute when you’re angry to him.

 You two huddled in closer to keep warm. You had your head on his shoulder and he rested his head on yours. It had started raining at that moment. The sound of the rain made you sleepy, but you didn’t want to sleep. This moment felt too good to be sleeping. Mark felt it too; he knew you that you fell asleep easily to the sound of rain and he also didn’t want you to sleep. His eyes scanned the room looking for something to do. His eyes landed on your basket of nail polishes.

“Can I paint your nails?” he asked like a child. This was both a good and bad idea. You didn’t know if Mark was either going to be silly or serious with this but, who cares? It would keep you awake.

“Okay!”

 Bottles of polish were sprawled everywhere on the coffee table. Mark had your hand in his and his other hand was occupied with a brush. His face was full of determination. His brows knitted together and his tongue poked out a little from his pink lips – the look he usually has when he’s writing lyrics or taking a math exam. Mark was doing pretty well though. He wasn’t as good in creative arts as he was in performing arts but these results surprised you. Sure there was some polish here and there on your cuticles but he looked so focused you just let it go.

“Done!” he burst out, putting down the bottle. He excitedly grabbed your hands to examine his sparkly pink artwork. He looked so proud, his face brighter than ever.

“Do you like it?” he asked. You pulled him by his shoulders and pecked his lips in appreciation.

“I love them, thank you~” you cooed with delight. While you stared at your nails, the most amazing idea popped in your head.

“Lets get matching nails,” you jumped in your seat. He looked scared, his eyes widened and his mouth parted.

“No. You are not doing it to me. No. No. Just no,” he raised his voice. You gave him the puppy eyes and started to swing your shoulders.

“Please? ~”

“No~” he said mockingly. You crossed your arms and pouted. You could tell he was starting to give in.

“The guys will tease me to death,” he mumbled.

“But you love me, don’t you?”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said jokingly while passing you the bottle of pink nail polish. He leaned in closer and gave you a kiss on your lips then smiled as he held out his hands, ready for you to paint.

-

omgg about time i posted hey? idk if this was any good but feel free to give feedback! idek if this really even matches up with the request omgggg I'm sorry

[kbox-in-the-box]

Austin Kingsley: Star Prodigy in “The Silicon Supertrain!”

“Okay,” Mitzi Klingfeld smiled indulgently, propping her chin up on her palms, for what she knew would be an extended lecture, “make me understand what the big deal is about the Supertrain.”

“The Silicon Supertrain,” Austin Kingsley corrected her, even as he strained to maintain a non-critical tone in his voice, “named after the original Silicon Valley, in the Santa Clara Valley of California.”

“So, San Jose,” Mitzi recognized, before positioning her straw to take a discreet sip of her vanilla-flavored Prof. Pym Pop soda. “And you said it was, what, 1979?”

“When the train line was started in earnest, yes,” Austin nodded, as he used his small plastic spork to slice off a bite-sized piece of his Dutch apple pocket pie, before holding it up to Mitzi’s mouth. Mitzi beamed briefly at the awkward yet gentlemanly gesture, before chomping at the proffered pie, even as Austin continued on, without even appearing to notice her blushes. “It eventually grew to include stops at 33 cities in 26 states, but it all started with San Jose, California, and Charlton, Delaware.”

“Charlton … isn’t that where Bianca has her super-science school, or whatever?” Mitzi checked, brushing strands of her voluminous hair out of her face, as they were caught by the gentle desert breeze, while she and Austin sat on the flat warehouse roof of the Bookhouse, to share their fast food dinners (courtesy of one of King Tut’s Food Pyramids) under the summer-warmed night sky.

“Arkwright College of the Sciences,” Austin confirmed, “where, even before Bianca Yong successfully defended her doctoral thesis, the collective brain trust on campus was burning brightly enough to draw the notice of like minds on the opposite coastline, and vice versa.”

“So, what, they wanted a more tangible connection than just …” here, Mitzi wiggled her fingers in the air, mimicking the action of typing, “clacking away at their keyboards?”

“Each side of the country was generating a world’s fair worth of technological innovations on a weekly basis,” Austin chuckled as he shook his head. “It was becoming a bit much to sum up in electronic mail correspondence, even with the frequency of their exchanges.”

“And all nerds love trains,” Mitzi teased with an affectionate smirk.

“That is a stereotypical characterization that is only … mostly true,” Austin faltered in the midst of his objection, before waving his hands to refocus his thoughts, “and that’s not the point. Instead of simply transmitting these people’s words, or crude visual depictions of their plans, over phone lines, the Silicon Supertrain would essentially supply them with a rolling expo on rails. Rather than tasking developers with trekking to a succession of annual conventions, far from home, the Silicon Supertrain would bring the next generation of computers and accompanying consumer technology TO them!”

Mitzi couldn’t help but bite her lower lip with giddy glee. Moments like this reminded her why she loved Austin. She might not have otherwise shared his interest in what she initially considered a rather sterile subject, but his escalating enthusiasm as he spoke was infectious, and his passion made up her mind that she was going to ravish him later that night.

“You’re looking at me that way again,” Austin observed curiously, cocking his head to one side like a clockwork bird. His tone and facial expression were placid, not at all offended, and yet already skeptical of the denials he knew were forthcoming from her.

Mitzi blinked and cleared her throat. “What? No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” she sought to dismiss his concerns, before seizing upon an aspect of his explanation that had stood out to her. “Okay, so, we both know I’m no engineer, but I gotta think that a tricked-out, high-tech, high-speed supertrain is gonna cost a lot more than what even an Ivy League college and a bunch of boy wonders soldering circuit boards in their garages can scrape together between them.”

“Especially after the tech centers in those other cities I mentioned heard about the Silicon Supertrain during its brainstorming stage, and decided they wanted stops of their own along the way,” Austin dipped one of his tater tots (branded by King Tut’s as “Tater Tuts”) in ketchup, then used it to smear sticky red streaks in a rough loop across the wrapper of the soy burger he’d already eaten. “Incorporating them all meant creating three connected train routes — Boston to Dallas, Dallas to Seattle, and Seattle to Boston — with 10 more cities as stops in between on each route. Just to accommodate the size of the train, the stop that was planned for Charlton had to be placed in Dover instead.”

“Even still, none of those cities would have rolled the dice on funding a boondoggle like a supertrain for uber-nerds, especially back in the late Seventies,” Mitzi scoffed, before she squinted at the messy ketchup loop, with its extra-heavy dabs of ketchup at three of its corners, and quickly realized it was meant to be a map of the Silicon Supertrain’s three connected routes within the continental United States, with Boston, Dallas and Seattle represented by those extra-heavy dabs.

“Okay, Mister Kingsley,” Mitzi grinned, getting into the spirit of Austin’s playful lesson, “so, if this is Dallas,” she dipped a tater tot of her own into the southernmost dab, “and this is Seattle,” another dip, this time in the northwest dab, “then that makes this curve the Pacific coastline,” she smeared her tater tot along the ketchup streak, “but in between what I’m guessing are San Diego and Phoenix, the line goes all jagged,” she frowned speculatively, before chipping at the edges of her cherry red nail polish with her teeth out of subconscious habit.

“And what does that tell you, Mitzi Klingfeld?” Austin gazed at her adoringly, not only genuinely impressed with what she’d discerned so far, but eagerly anticipating how she would tie it all together.

“Well, I spent enough time growing up in Las Vegas to spot where it sits on a map, so that’s why the line zigs so far to the north, coming from Phoenix,” she picked up the uneaten tater tot she’d used as her pointer, “but if it was just heading west, from there to San Diego, the line would flow a lot smoother, so for it to zag back down south, as sharp as it does? That means somebody was awfully invested in getting Apex City on that route,” she leaned back and finally popped the tater tot into her mouth triumphantly. “And nobody else but your dad would have been both loaded and nerdy enough.”

“Technically, it was an investment by the Athenæum, but yes,” Austin couldn’t help but nit-pick, even as he tossed a tater tot into his own broadly beaming mouth. “My family basically bankrolled the project, and Pournelle Propulsion Systems was brought on board as a partner, to help design and build the train itself.”

“And I take it that the Silicon Supertrain has been bringing together overgrown whiz-kids like a Love Boat for Trekkies ever since,” Mitzi lifted her tall plastic cup of soda in a mock toast.

Austin twitched slightly, in what Mitzi had learned was his equivalent of a wince. “For the most part. But there’s been a problem. Very recently, some high-profile passengers on the Silicon Supertrain have been found dead — on board, in transit, NOT of natural causes. It’s been kept out of the press so far, but given the names involved, I don’t expect that to last.”

“So, the clock is already ticking,” Mitzi nodded, her tone growing muted to match Austin’s subdued, utilitarian exposition, before her lips curled into a rueful smirk. “And this is why our last meal of the weekend was drive-thru.”

“Because we have to wake up early tomorrow, and I didn’t want either of us to have to do cleanup duty after a fancy dinner. Sorry,” Austin ducked his head sheepishly.

Austin felt Mitzi kiss his cheek before he saw that she’d scooted her chair around next to his. “Don’t be,” she patted his cheek. “How many other gals who work in admin can say they get to solve bona fide murder mysteries on the job? It’ll be like we’re riding the Orient Express … only, you know, for dorks,” she snorted, before she narrowed her eyes mischievously. “So, what time do we have to be at the Crossroads Transit Center?”

Austin shrugged. “The Silicon Supertrain pulls out of the station promptly at 8:20 a.m. Why?”

Mitzi suddenly slung her legs around Austin’s hips and sat on his lap, facing him. “Because that gives me at least a few hours to eat you alive, Mister Kingsley,” she breathed, affecting her best attempt at a husky Brenda Vaccaro voice, before she tore open the front of his shirt, causing his buttons to spill onto the rooftop beneath them with an audibly tinny clatter, and began licking his downy, peach fuzz-covered chest.

“D-do you want me to — ah!” Austin gasped, trembling reflexively as Mitzi moved hungrily to devour his exposed neck. “Do you w-want me to haul out the guest bed for you again?”

“Oh, honey,” Mitzi cooed, resting her forehead against his, as she stared into his eyes, “it’s so cute that you think we’ll be using a bed this time.”

[loverapture-blog1]

obviously.

I BECAME DEPRESSED WHEN I WAS THIRTEEN YEARS OLD WAITING FOR THIS ONE GIRL TO LOVE ME BACK FOR ABOUT A YEAR AND A HALF AND WHILE MY PARENTS AND TEACHERS AND PEERS PRESSURED ME TO IMPROVE MY GRADES SO I COULD GET INTO A STUPID CATHOLIC SCHOOL THAT I REALLY FUCKING HATE NOW BUT OH WELL. I HARMED MYSELF FOR THE FIRST TIME WHEN I WAS 14 AND I REALLY WANTED TO DIE AND I WOULD'VE KILLED MYSELF IF MY FRIEND HADN'T FOUND OUT AND TALKED ME OUT OF IT. WE'RE NOT REALLY CLOSE ANYMORE. WE DISAGREE ON A LOT OF THINGS. MY MOM TOLD ME LOTS OF HORRIBLE THINGS ABOUT BEING A DISGRACE AND A MISTAKE AND UNLOVABLE AND THAT REALLY HURT MY HEART. MY MOM HASN'T BEEN THE SAME EVER SINCE. SOMETHING REALLY CHANGED INSIDE OF HER AND I MISS HER SO MUCH. FRESHMAN YEAR WAS SO WEIRD CAUSE PEOPLE LIKED ME AND IT WAS PRETTY COOL I HAD A COUPLE GIRLFRIENDS IT WAS ALRIGHT BUT THEN I GOT REALLY REALLY SAD CAUSE THE SECOND GIRLFRIEND TOLD ME SHE JUST WANTED TO USE SOMEONE AND I MEANT NOTHING TO HER AND I WAS JUST AN EASY TARGET BECAUSE I'M YOUNGER THAN HER BUT I MEAN WHATEVER RIGHT? ALSO MY PARENTS SEPARATED. MY DAD WENT TO SOME CLAUSTROPHOBIC APARTMENT THAT FELT LIKE THE THROAT OF AN ANACONDA. I STILL REMEMBER THE SMELL OF IT. THE SIGHT OF NOTHING IN THE PANTRY BUT SOME OLD GATORADE AND TORTILLAS. WORST 9 1/2 MONTHS OF MY LIFE. I HATED IT. I WANTED TO MAKE MY DAD HAPPY AND HANG OUT WITH HIM AND STUFF BUT I WAS SO FUCKING DEPRESSED OH MY GOODNESS I WANTED TO SCREAM ALL THE TIME BUT IT FELT LIKE MY THROAT WAS FILLED WITH COTTON. I DID NOTHING BUT STAY IN MY ROOM ON MY LAPTOP. AND MY DAD NEVER COMPLAINED. HE WAS FINE WITH IT. AS LONG AS I WAS IN HIS HOME. MY HEART HURT SO FUCKING HORRIBLY BAD. IT STILL DOES. THE GUILT. I SAW HIM CRY. MANY TIMES. IT HURTS SO MUCH TO THINK ABOUT. I WAS ALL HE REALLY WANTED THEN AND THERE AND I DECIDED TO DO NOTHING BUT STAY IN MY ROOM. ALL I DID IN THAT ROOM WAS EAT PIZZA, DRINK ARIZONAS, PLAY VIDEOGAMES, JACK OFF, AND CRY, CRY A LOT. THEN AT LIKE ELEVEN AT NIGHT HE WOULD TELL ME "HE'S GONNA HANG OUT WITH HIS OLD DOCTOR FRIEND AT STARBUCKS" YEAH OKAY DAD SURE. I KNEW MY DAD HAD BEEN CHEATING ON MY MOM. I GUESS HE THOUGHT HE COULD JUST LEAVE MY MOM AND THEN GO OFF TO SOME OTHER LADY. BUT IT DIDN'T WORK OUT. THEN MY BEST FRIEND BECAME MY GIRLFRIEND. THEN MY PARENTS GOT BACK TOGETHER. MY GRADES WERE ALRIGHT. I WAS GOING TO THE GYM REGULARLY. EVERYTHING SEEMED OKAY. BUT THEN MY GIRLFRIEND AND I KEPT ARGUING AND SHE KEPT LYING AND I KEPT FALLING FOR IT AND FALLING FOR IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND I JUST KINDA WENT ALONG WITH IT. I CRIED A LOT. SHE MADE EVERYTHING WORSE. I STARTED DOING BAD IN MY CLASSES. EVENTUALLY I BROKE UP WITH HER CAUSE I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. SHE THEN WENT AND TOLD A BUNCH OF PEOPLE THAT I CHEATED ON HER WITH SOME GIRL FROM TEXAS. THE GIRL IS REAL. THE STORY ISN'T. EVENTUALLY I DID FALL IN LOVE WITH THAT GIRL. I BECAME HER MANAGER CAUSE SHE WANTED TO BE A SINGER. THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME I COULD CONFIDENTLY SAY I WAS IN LOVE. SHE WAS A DREAM. PERFECT. SHE SANG ME SONGS AND WROTE ME POEMS. I WAS SO CRAZY ABOUT HER. IT WAS PERFECT. SHE WAS GONNA VISIT ME DURING SUMMER. THEN I FOUND OUT SHE WAS TALKING TO SOMEONE ELSE. THEN SHE KEPT FUCKING WITH MY FEELINGS. I BECAME FRIENDS WITH THE GIRL FROM FRESHMAN YEAR WHO USED ME. I TOLD HER I WANTED TO KILL MYSELF AND SHE IGNORED ME BECAUSE "SHE GOT BORED". THEN I LEFT THE GIRL I WAS IN LOVE WITH BECAUSE I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. SHE CONTINUED TO TRY AND TALK TO ME. THEN SHE STARTED SOME FAKE RUMORS ABOUT ME BEING SEXIST AND RACIST. THEN A BUNCH OF PEOPLE HATED ME. SHE'S A TERRIBLE PERSON. I HOPE SHE IS OK. SHE'S BEEN THROUGH A LOT. THE SONGS OF THAT TIME KEEP REPLAYING IN MY HEAD, EATING AWAY AT THE INSIDE OF MY SKULL LIKE WAVES ERODING A MOUNTAIN. MY CHEST FEELS LIKE IT'S GONNA EXPLODE AND YELLOW PAINT IS GONNA SPLASH EVERYWHERE. THE COLOR YELLOW REMINDS ME OF HER. SKATING REMINDS ME OF HER. PLAYING INSTRUMENTS. WRITING. FLOWERS. MUSIC. EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF HER. I TRIED TO MOVE ON. I STILL HAVEN'T COMPLETELY GOTTEN OVER IT. THEN I MET THIS OTHER GIRL. SHE WAS SO CUTE. SHE WAS WONDERFUL IT FELT SO NICE. SHE LIVED IN SACRAMENTO AND WAS SUPPOSED TO COME DOWN AND VISIT ME SOON. THEN I WENT TO EUROPE FOR THREE WEEKS. DURING THE FIRST WEEK OF BEING IN EUROPE THIS NEW GIRL GOT A BOYFRIEND. MY HEART HURT. I MET A REALLY COOL GIRL IN EUROPE. SHE WAS FROM LOS ANGELES AND WE CLICKED. WE WOULD TRY TO GET ALCOHOL EVERY  NIGHT AND GET SHITFACED. IT WAS SO FUN. ONE TIME IN SWITZERLAND I GOT REALLY DRUNK AND THREW UP AND CHIPPED MY TOOTH TRYING TO OPEN A BEER BOTTLE AND MR. BRUNNER SAW ME DRUNK BUT DIDN'T CARE. I LIKED HER AT FIRST BUT THEN WE JUST BECAME FRIENDS. THEN I TOLD HER ABOUT MY MENTAL ILLNESSES. I OPENED UP ABOUT ALL MY DEMONS. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I EVER TALKED TO HER. SHE LEFT ME AND TOLD ME I'M TOO MUCH OF A RESPONSIBILITY. SHE SAID I'M "TROUBLED". THAT REALLY FUCKING HURT. THAT SAME NIGHT I MET A BEAUTIFUL GIRL FROM A GERMAN SCHOOL BUT SHE WAS THE ONLY AFRICAN GIRL THERE. WE SPENT ALL NIGHT HOLDING HANDS AND RUNNING AROUND. IT WAS SO SWEET AND DREAMLIKE. THEN I MET THIS OTHER GIRL TOWARDS THE END OF THE TRIP. WE HUNG OUT TOGETHER ALL THE TIME. SHE HAD JUST GRADUATED FROM THE SHITTY CATHOLIC SCHOOL THAT I GO TO RIGHT NOW. SHE THOUGHT I WAS SO COOL. I THOUGHT SHE WAS SO CUTE. WE GOT DRUNK ON THE BEACH OF ATHENS AND STEPPED ON SEA URCHINS. SHE ADMITTED SHE LIKED ME. SHE DIDN'T REMEMBER THAT THE NEXT MORNING THOUGH. THEN WE WENT ON A CRUISE IN THE GREEK ISLANDS. WE NAPPED TOGETHER A LOT. WE CUDDLED. WE GOT MANICURES TOGETHER AND GOT MATCHING NAIL POLISH. I WAS SO HAPPY. SHE DREW IN MY JOURNAL. ON THE LAST DAY, WE BOUGHT SOME CHEAP WINE AND WAITED UNTIL NIGHT. WE GOT SUPER DRUNK AND THEN WE GOT ON TOP OF EACH OTHER. "DON'T KISS ME UNTIL WE'RE SOBER" SHE SAID. I OBLIGED. SHE DIDN'T FOLLOW HER OWN RULES THOUGH. SHE KISSED ME. I KISSED HER BACK. I WAS HER FIRST KISS. WE MADE OUT. WE DID SOME OTHER STUFF. I TOOK HER TO HER ROOM. I SLEPT SMELLING HER SHIRT ALL NIGHT. I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW TYPING THIS. THEN WE SPENT THE WHOLE NEXT DAY TRAVELING BACK. SHIP. BUS. PLANE. THE FIRST PLANE RIDE WAS BEAUTIFUL. WE SAT TOGETHER AND KISSED AND CUDDLED. IT WAS TEN HOURS BUT FELT LIKE ONE. THE NEXT  PLANE WAS SHIT. MY STOMACH HURT AND I DIDN'T SIT WITH HER. THEN MY PARENTS PICKED ME UP FROM THE AIRPORT. I SAID GOODBYE TO HER. THEN AT HOME MY PARENTS YELLED AT ME AND TOLD ME IM A DISGRACE FOR PAINTING MY NAILS AND THAT I DON'T DESERVE ANYTHING BUT THE BARE MINIMUM AND THAT THEY ARE ASHAMED OF ME AND THAT IT INFURIATES THEM THAT I CAN'T JUST BE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. I STAYED DATING THAT GIRL. WE HUNG OUT A COUPLE TIMES. SHE EVENTUALLY BECAME VERY MANIPULATIVE AND EMOTIONALLY ABUSIVE. I LEFT HER. THEN I WAS SINGLE FOR A BIT. THEN OF COURSE I STARTED DATING SOMEONE ELSE. MY CURRENT GIRLFRIEND. I LOVE HER! SHE ISN'T ABUSIVE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE! SHE'S GREAT. SHE IS PERFECT SO FAR. BUT SHE HAS HER OWN TROUBLES AND I FEEL BAD CAUSE I CAN'T HELP HER. REWIND TO A FEW WEEKS AFTER I GOT BACK FROM THE EUROPE TRIP. JUNIOR YEAR STARTED. I WAS FAIRLY CONFIDENT. THEN EVERYTHING WENT DOWNHILL. REALLY FAST. I STARTED FAILING. I BECAME MORE AND MORE DEPRESSED. I HATED MYSELF AND EVERYONE AROUND ME. I TOLD MY PARENTS I'M DEPRESSED. THEY DIDN'T CARE. I TOLD THEM AGAIN. THEY DIDN'T CARE. I TOLD THEM ONE MORE TIME. THE DIDN'T CARE AT ENOUGH. I STARTED SMOKING WEED. A LOT OF IT. CONSTANTLY. I LOVED IT. WEED IS GREAT, BUT IT BECAME A DEPENDENCY. THEN ONE DAY I HAD A BREAKDOWN AT SCHOOL AND I WENT TO MY TEACHER BECAUSE I WOULD'VE KILLED MYSELF IF I DIDN'T. SHE TOLD ME SOME KIND WORDS THEN CALLED MY MOM. MY MOM CAME. WE WENT TO AN OFFICE AND DISCUSSED SOME STUFF ABOUT SCHOOL AND DEPRESSION WITH THIS ONE GUY AND THIS ONE REALLY NICE BUT ANNOYING WHITE LADY. MY DAD CAME. I FELT BETTER. I WENT HOME. THEN MY PARENTS YELLED AT ME AND WE GOT IN A HUGE UGLY ARGUMENT. THEY GOT MAD AT ME FOR SEEKING HELP.

"THEY DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU AT SCHOOL! THAT'S WHAT WE'RE HERE FOR."

"BUT DAD, IT'S NOT EASY TELLING YOUR PARENTS THAT YOU WANNA KILL YOURSELF."

"YOU EMBARASSED US, YOU HURT OUR FEELINGS."

"DAD I WANNA DIE PLEASE I NEED HELP."

"FUCK YOU! YOU'RE SELFISH AND YOU DON'T LOVE US!"

THE WHITE LADY TOLD MY PARENTS THAT I NEED A PAPER FROM A PSYCHOLOGIST SAYING THAT I WON'T HURT MYSELF OR OTHERS TO BE ABLE TO ATTEND SCHOOL AGAIN. THEN THE NEXT DAY MY PARENTS DID A RANDOM DRUG TEST ON ME. THEN THAT NIGHT THEY CONFRONTED ME ABOUT IT BECAUSE THEY SAW THAT I HAD BEEN CONSUMING WEED. THEY ARE OLD AND UNEDUCATED ON IT SO THEY THINK IT'S LIKE METH. THAT MADE THE WHOLE THING VERY DIFFICULT. THEN I BROKE DOWN AGAIN. I STARTED TELLING THEM HOW BAD I WANTED TO DIE. THEN MY DAD HELD ME AND TOLD ME HE LOVED ME. A VOICE IN MY HEAD TOLD ME NOT TO BELIEVE HIM. I COMPLIED. THE NEXT DAY MY SISTERS CAME TO THE HOUSE. THEY ALL TALKED TO ME AND TOLD ME THAT I DIDN'T HAVE TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL IF I WASN'T READY. THEY KEPT DEMONIZING MEDICATION TO SCARE ME BECAUSE THEY REFUSE TO GIVE ME THE MEDICATION I SO DESPERATELY HAVE BEEN NEEDING FOR THE PAST FOUR YEARS. THEY KEPT ME PRISONER AT HOME. THEY FORCED ME TO JOIN A BOXING CLUB. THEY TOOK AWAY MY PRIVILEDGES. THEN THE SCHOOL CALLED AND SAID I HAD TO GO BACK. I GOT A NOTE. THEY DECLINED IT. I GOT ANOTHER NOTE. THEY DECLINED THAT ONE TOO. THEN I GOT ANOTHER ONE AND I'M BACK IN SCHOOL. I HATE IT. I'M SWITCHING SCHOOLS NEXT SEMESTER. BUT I NEED TO TRY AND RAISE MY GRADES FOR NOW. I AM NOT CURRENTLY SUICIDAL. BUT I AM SAD. VERY SAD. STILL DEPRESSED (OBVIOUSLY).