#i feel so bad i write 15 page essays every time i sit down to talk about something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Corpse’s Girl

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing, Derogatory Terms

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N’s life as a regular college student is forever stripped away from her when her relationship with the famous YouTuber Corpse Husband is accidentally revealed during an online class of hers. How will she cope with the sudden spotlight and the unwanted attention, some of which crosses into bullying?

Requested by my amazing Tumblr friend @itsminniekat 🥰 She’s been reading and liking my works since day one and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. If you’re reading this, all I can say is thank you, darling. Thank you so much for sticking by my blog even when I posted some crappy fics. I’ll make sure this ain’t one of them. Love you with all my heart. ❤❤❤

P.S. - I named the mean character with my name so I hope no one who reads this has the same name. Wouldn’t want any of you feeling like the villain 😘

Who knew online class would be even more boring than being physically present for a lecture? Seriously, I find myself doing the weirdest of crap to entertain myself - like trying to balance a pen on the tip of my nose for example. I jot down some notes every now and then but that’s basically it. My mind can not fathom the concept on concentrating on whatever my professors are going on and on about. Well, full disclosure, I couldn’t concentrate even if I wanted to, especially with my boyfriend streaming in the other room.

He’s currently playing Among Us with his usual gaming squad. Listening to his input during the discussions, I can always tell when he’s lying. I honestly find it hilarious that his friends can’t pick up when he’s bullshitting them. I sometimes wonder if he has brainwashed them. And that’s one of the main reasons we don’t play Among Us together - he can’t lie to me. Not only do I pick up on his con with ease, but he always says he feels bad when he lies to me which is just the sweetest thing. Also, I refuse to play cause I’m shy. His friends are all well-known content creators and I’m a literal nobody. Every now and then I find myself wondering why Corpse is even with me. He’s always quick to push those thoughts out of my head and make sure they don’t return on a long notice, but they do interrupt my peace from time to time.

“Y/N, do you know?“ The sound of my professor saying my name takes me out of my eavesdropping of Corpse’s stream.

I panic, but quickly improvise, “Sorry, my internet is slow, you cut out for a second. What was the question?” I feel my face heating up, making me glad we are allowed to keep our cameras off.

“Question number 15 on page 82 in your textbook. Do you know the answer to it?“ My professor repeats himself, his tone annoyed.

I look down at the page that’s already opened in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the question is rather easy.

“Yeah, um, it’s...“ Suddenly, Corpse’s laugh reaches my room loud and clear. There’s no doubt my mic picked up the noise, especially since the door to my room is open.

The color drains from my face as I hurry to say the answer and remute myself. My eyes are wide as I stare at my screen, hoping no one will acknowledge that very recognizable laugh.

“OMG Y/N, are you watching a Corpse Husband stream in class?” One of the bitches in my class, Vy, speaks up, “Not a very goody-two-shoe move on your part, dear.”

I purposely unmute my mic to mumble a quick ‘Shut up, bitch’ that somehow manages to fly under my professor’s radar and the class continues. It’s the first time something like this has happened and I’m not sure if I handled it properly or not.

The class ends shortly after, allowing me a sigh of relief as I disconnect from the meeting.

“Fucking finally.“ I mumble to myself, leaning back in my desk chair. Tilting my head backwards, I see Corpse standing in the doorframe. I grin, not only because his presence itself makes me ten times happier, but also because he’s upside down from my viewpoint. “Well, hello there! How long have you been spying on me?“

He struts over to me, leaning his face over mine, “Long enough.” His lips linger above mine without any actual contact before he pulls away, allowing me to sit up straight and proper in the chair. “You still have classes?”

I nod my head while disappointedly rolling my eyes, “Yeah. One more. Shouldn’t be too bad since it’s English Lit. You’re done streaming?”

“Yeah, I just have some other things to do. I haven’t done a narration video in a while, I miss making that type of content.“ He plops down on my bed, running a hand through his messy black curls.

“Weren’t you recording some lines a few days ago?“ I frown as I try to recall if what I’m referring to actually happened or my brain is too fried to decipher reality from my bootleg perception of it. Online class, man - messes with your head like sleeping pills - makes you disoriented and exhausted with barely doing anything other than trying to wrap your brain around a lecture or two.

He hums affirmatively, “It’s not a finished project and I don’t even know if I’ll use those or rerecord them. I’ll have to listen to them again before I make a final decision.“

I tilt his chin upwards with my pointer finger, a gesture he has told me he finds very endearing, “I’m sure they’re great and you just refuse to be satisfied. Everything you do is great.“

He smiles a small, shy smile, his fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand in place, “You’re biased. You like me too much to tell me when I do some bullshit.”

I scoff, “You know that isn’t true. If someone’s gonna kick your butt in formation, it’s gonna be me.“ I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away from him, “Go on, now. I have a class to attend. You distract me enough while you’re in the other room, I can only imagine how hard it’d be for me to focus if you were right by my side.“

He smirks, bowing a little as he makes his way out of the room, “You flatter me.”

I playfully roll my eyes, getting my headset back on as I tap the last class for the day. We have an assignment due to the start of the class which we’ll have to present if the professor approved of it. We basically had to write a psychoanalysis of a character from any book of our choice. I chose Heathcliff from ‘Wuthering Heights’ which is one of my favorite books of all time. I’m proud of what I wrote and the way I wrote it, but I’ve always barely scraped by with a B in this class, a B+ if I’m lucky, so I’ve never gotten any major credit, even when I put my 110% in the assignments and projects.

Well, color me surprised when the professor calls on me first to read my work, complimenting it on its detailed and specific nature. I get my printed assignment out in front of me and unmute myself.

“I wrote a psychoanalysis on for Heathcliff, a character from Emily Bronte’s novel ‘Wuthering Heights’.“ Just after I say this line, Corpse’s voice booms throughout the whole apartment, no doubt being picked up by my mic. It doesn’t sound like he’s actually talking, he can’t be that loud. I put two and two together when I recognize the lines he’s saying - the ones he recorded a few days ago. They’re coming from his computer speakers. He probably didn’t check the volume before playing back the recording.

I mute myself as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The voice dies down as Corpse probably turned down the speakers.

My professor, who is already done with this lecture, just annoyedly remarks, her words overdosed with sarcasm: “Read your assignment and you can go back to whatever it is you are watching.”

“Wow, Y/N! Again?! Are you one of those crazy obsessed fans or something? Is Corpse Husband all you watch?“ This bitch is really poking a stick at me, huh? The only crazy obsessed fan here is her, and my friends but they are allowed. Little do all of them know, I am obsessed but not simply over a YouTuber. I’m obsessed with my boyfriend who just happens to be a YouTuber.

“No commentary, please.“ The professor scolds her, “Go on, Y/N.“

I finish reading without any other disturbances. The professor compliments my essay again when I’m done, the small incident at the beginning forgotten already. Well, not by everyone. One of my friends shot me a quick text to joke about it which only earned an eye roll from me.

My friends don’t know that I’m dating Corpse either. As I said, they are simping HARD over him while I act the most indifferent on the subject. Whenever they ask my opinion on him I either say ‘he’s OK’ or just avoid answering completely. I know saying anything more enthusiastic than that would turn into a snowball rolling down a snowy hill - I’d just keep babbling about how nice, amazing, wonderful and a gift to this world Corpse is, inevitably revealing our relationship in the process.

I’m afraid of revealing my relationship with Corpse in front of these people. They are all run on jealousy and selfishness and I can only imagine how mean they’d be about it. I’m already not too fond of them, it would only be worse if any of my personal life was exposed.

When the class finally ends I remove my headset, putting my forehead down on the desk, barely missing the keyboard. I groan in frustration and anger at myself for not fighting back. I could’ve and should’ve said something - ANYTHING. But what? That’s a question I can’t find the answer to.

“Hey...“ Corpse’s hesitant voice comes from behind me, “You ok?“

I straighten my posture, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, but these people suck.”

I get up from my chair as he approaches me, basically falling in his arms. The comfort I feel radiating off of him makes me relax, forget the past hour or so. He has always had this effect on me. Like my own personal kryptonite to my anger and anxiety.

“Did I get you in any trouble because of that?“ His voice shows clear concern and guilt.

I wrap my arms around him tighter, burying my head in his chest. “No, don’t worry about it.“

And I really wasn’t in trouble. Not until now that the video is officially posted....

I can call these people dumb all I want but they sure put two and two together awfully fast. They recognized the lines they heard during class as the same ones from his new video that came out almost a week after the incident, aka two days ago. It’s safe to say I haven’t touched my phone or computer since.

“This is all my fault.“

Of all the horrible things I suspected would happen this has to be the worst - Corpse is blaming himself for it. I am prepared to take all the shit these people have to throw at me but seeing Corpse beating himself up over this is killing me. No amount of convincing can change his mind. Nothing I say helps.

“Please, stop doing this to yourself. Non of this is your fault, Corpse.“ I’ve repeated this sentence more than a thousand time these past forty eight hours, each time saying it more and more desperately.

“All of it is my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I hate myself so much.“ Has been his reply single time.

I can’t watch him be so mean to himself. It’s the most conflicting thing when the person you love most is torturing themselves. It’s easy if it’s someone else doing it, you just kick their ass. But what are you supposed to do when the person you want to protect is the same one you need to protect them from.

Corpse has shut himself away in his recording room these past few hours and though he clearly needs to be alone, he still left the door open just a crack cause he knows I’ll be worried sick otherwise.

While I’m alone in the living room, I’ve finally managed to brace myself and build enough courage to power up my laptop. Last time it was on it was going mad with notifications.

“It’s digital. Only digital. It can’t hurt you too badly if it can’t touch you, right?“ I mumble to myself, already frustrated despite not having yet seen all the horrors that await me.

And horrors there were. Everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook.

My grades. Some pictures of me no one has ever seen. My school files. People from my class tweeting Corpse to ‘expose’ me for the ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ I really am. Corpse hasn’t touched social media either and I plan on making sure it stays that way. God only knows how much worse he’ll get if he sees these claims.

And then, like a notification sent straight from hell, an email from my professor.

Practical lectures on Friday. Be here at 9 AM. Don’t forget your mask and gloves.

Good thing I opened my laptop when I did. Friday is tomorrow and I need to prepare for this day. Not only do I need to hit the books but I need to toughen up a bit. I can’t go there looking like I feel - like a mess.

Alright, time to put the brave face on. No more wallowing in it, at least not until tomorrow afternoon.

I make a study plan and hop in the shower. I feel the need to apologize to my hair for washing it so roughly, basically yanking at my strands from frustration that has been suppressed for too long.

I get our of the boiling hot shower, red as a lobster, and change into some clean comfortable clothes and put my ass in study mode. I remove all the scary expectations of the morning to come from my mind and let the information the textbooks has to offer seep into my brain.

* * *

I’m about to head out and, despite my put-together composure, I am a wreck inside. I actually put effort into my appearance, I mean - I even styled my hair. A pretty façade to hide a ruin.

I saw my friends’ texts last night, all three of them ending their friendship with me because they felt betrayed. I haven’t yet decided how to feel about that. Doesn’t matter at the moment, there are more important matters at hand, aka surviving the next three hours.

My college is within ten minutes walking distance from our apartment. That ten minute walk has never been so stressful, not even during exam season. The air feels a little harder to breathe, the path a little shorter to walk. And my moment of reckoning a little too close.

I feel eyes on me the second I start walking through the park of our campus. Sure, I could just be paranoid, but the feeling is too real to be just my imagination in overdrive. I’m glad I have my hair down and a mask on so the redness of my cheeks and neck isn’t on display. That’s a sign of weakness right now.

We have two an hour and a half long classes between which we have a snack break that’s half an hour. I usually enjoy that period but I’m dreading it now. These assholes can only be so mean in the presence of a professor, but during lunch break they can increase that tenfold.

“Well if it isn’t Corpse’s girl.“ I hear that a lot. The whispers are not so much whispers as intentionally loud enough for me to hear remarks. I’m not bothered by them, it’s the least they can do. If I let such a simple thing get to me, I’d be crumbling by the end of first period.

I hear some shuffling behind me and out of the corner of my eye I see, yeah you guessed it, THAT bitch. She’s standing as close to me as she can without violating Covid regulations. A mask is covering her face but the menacing look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about the interaction that’s about to go down.

“I’d ask how much he pays you for the hour.....“ her long nails tap the wooden desk, “but that’d be rude. I bet it’s tough being a maid. Do you just clean or are you a multipurpose lap dog? No offense, I’m genuinely curious.“

“Vy, would you be so kind as to give Y/N some room to breathe?“ The professor asks as he nonchalantly walks in.

Vy rolls her eyes, batting her eyelashes at me, “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” With a fake friendly wave she’s out of my hair, at least for now.

Remember what I said about these people not being as dumb as I pegged them to be? Yeah, scratch that. These fuckers actually tried getting away with taking pictures of me with flash in broad daylight. Like, HELLO! I have two functioning eyes and a brain, I’m onto you. Sadly, me having figured out their childish but hurtful methods of humiliating me doesn’t change much. They still posted the pics they took, using the most derogatory terms they could find in the English language, always making sure to tag Corpse and me both.

Needless to say, these were the longest three hours of my life.

* * *

Shutting the door to our apartment behind me causes relief of the highest levels. I feel like I’ve locked out all the bad shit I have had to deal with these past twenty four hours.

I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I feel like a discarded piece of paper.

And it all starts crumbling. A wall is bound to start slowly falling apart after being hit over and over again, each time feeling the blows with a stronger intensity.

I slide down the door sitting down on the floor and slowly taking my shoes off. I put my bag beside me and wrap my arms around my knees, hiding my head in the space between them and my chest.

One tear slides down my cheek.

Another follows.

And another, this time accompanied by a choked sob.

A pair of arms wraps around the ball that my body has been shaped into. One of his hands comes up to stroke my hair gently, feeding me the comfort I have been longing for since I left the apartment this morning.

“I saw it. All of it. All the shit they talk about you. All the names they call you. And I’ve never wanted to beat so many people up simultaneously.“ His words make me raise my head from its low position, giving him a knowing look. “I wish I could. I would, but that would land me in jail. Which doesn’t even sound so bad cause I don’t like going out. Only problem is you wouldn’t be with me. I wouldn’t want you to be there with me, don’t get me wrong, I’d never want you to end up in jail. I-...” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. A quick kiss that says so much but mainly shows the immeasurable gratitude for his support.

Seeing those awful tweets and comments had the complete opposite effect on him. He no longer blames himself but the people who actually deserve the blame - all those jerks from my college.

I pull away, giving him a small smile. “I would never let you go to jail.”

He smiles back at me, overjoyed that my mood is slowly being lifted, “Come on, I have a nice crowd that would like to meet you.”

I know exactly what he means. Felix, Sean, Rae, Dave, Sykkuno and the rest of his friends. The people I’ve been so shy and afraid to meet since day one. Being shy doesn’t really make sense now, seeing as how they know I exist and that I’m a part of Corpse’s life.

What do I have to lose?

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.“ Corpse’s black avatar runs around my cyan one in the Among Us lobby.

I can’t help but giggle when I unmute my mic, “Hi everyone! It’s so nice to finally meet you.“ They each introduce themselves, expressing how happy they are to be meeting me too.

It’s the first time in what feels like a while that I’m truly having fun. These people are wonderful, each so unique and lovely. They never brought up the scandal nor acted as though they knew about it. I know they did and I am beyond grateful that they never mentioned it or treated me any differently because of it. Also, Corpse was streaming the whole time. I had my phone on his stream, my eyes nervously scanning the chat every now and then. I couldn’t believe it. Corpse’s real fans were just as wonderful as his friends - they were nothing but supportive and happy to have met me.

Now, I can either choose to believe these people were being so nice to me out of sympathy or I can believe they really like me and appreciate me for who I am and not for what happened to me.

I choose to believe the latter.

And while I’m still getting accustomed to this whole new spotlight, I know I’ll be able to handle it as long as I’m holding Corpse’s hand in the process. All I need is to have him beside me and I’m prepared to tackle anything.

“They love you.“ Corpse tells me once the stream is done and we’ve hopped out of the Discord call, “But I love you more.“

His arms wrap around my waist while mine instinctively find their way around his neck, “I love them, too. But they’re at the number 2 spot.”

He smirks at me, “I wonder who’s at number 1.”

I push up on my toes, putting my lips an inch away from his, “Hmm, I wonder...”

He doesn’t let me finish, silencing my teasing with a sweet, loving kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat

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flufflepuffle296 · 4 years ago

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Heathers au: Beautiful Songfic

This is more centred around Veronica/Marinette so not really any mentions of Heather/Heather/Heather. Sorry if someone’s done this before I apologise I just got into Heathers like two days ago. Also I changed some lyrics and took others out to make it more “realistic”. Sorry I suck at endings, it’s 5:30am rn and this is my first fic so be nice please! (I’m on mobile so I can’t add the keep reading tag so sorry if you don’t like this) xxx

I brushed down my dress: I couldn’t give them anything to criticise me over. Everything had to be perfect. I had to be perfect. Chloé sat next to me, my beautiful fiancée, slipping on her kitten heels. She may be 3 months pregnant but no Bourgeois woman would be seen wearing flats. I was in a red floor length a line dress — I grew out of my childish pink years ago, before it even went out of fashion! My hair was twisted into two plaits that were knotted together into a stylish bun at the back. Chloé meanwhile had stuck to her white and gold aesthetic, currently in a slim fitting white dress, showing off her small baby bump, decorated with gold jewellery. I rummaged through my drawers, trying to find a lipstick, when a thin book toppled out. I picked it up, and laughed fondly when I saw what it was.

My old Collège and Lycée diary.

I flipped through it, landing on the page that stuck most clearly in my mind. It was the day my class reminded me of my current reality at that time, shocking me out of a bubble that had surrounded me during the summer holidays that year.

September 1st, 1989.

Dear Diary: I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year!

And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known all my life and I ask myself—what happened?

I bit my lip. What happened? I knew darn well what happened. Lila Rossi. She came in, flaunting her friendships and connections, a new disability every other week to cry about, another rumour about me coming out every 3 days.

Alya ended our friendship, Adrien continued to cry about Lila’s feelings. Lila just kept doing what she did best. The class gave up on changing my mind and instead decided that calling me names would be better. Because logic?!

“Freak!” “Slut!” “Burnout!” “Bug-eyes!” “Poser!” “Lard-ass!” Were the insults they liked to yell daily. Yeah, they weren’t the most creative...

We were so tiny, happy and shiny. Playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping. Baking cookies, eating paste.

Nino and Kim used to come over to the bakery when we were kids, where we’d gorge ourselves on sweets, before celebrating our sugar rushes by chasing each other in the park and then crashing on my sofa, cuddled in blankets and laying on top of each other.

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger. Like the Huns invading Rome. Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school: This is the Thunderdome. Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon. College will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful. I pray, I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again. We can be beautiful...Just not today.

I scoffed at my optimism back then. Them changing? They never did, I don’t know why I bothered trying at that point. I should’ve moved on but hey! We all make mistakes. It’s just that sometimes you make 11 friendships worth of mistakes.

“Freak!” “Slut!” “Cripple!” “Homo!” “Homo!” “Homo!”

I cringed as I read their old “insults”. They would write homophobic messages across my locker, getting Alix to spray paint a few slurs across my work after I came out as bisexual.

Things will get better soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown. Wake from this coma, take my diploma. Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls, no smoky French cafés. Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!

I had purposefully sent out applications to universities far away from these people, from Paris. All three schools accepted me, something I can’t say about my classmates, most of whom were rejected for essays on false information (sourced by Lila) and a quick scan over the Ladyblog meant not a single newspaper would even consider my ex-best friend. Gabriel Agreste, as I later found out through my internship in America, had to bribe several schools with double tuition to get even one to accept Adrien, after he got exposed as sexual harasser and disgraced hero “Chat Noir”. I turned back to my diary, having to peel off rock hard gum from the page that someone had smeared in “revenge”.

Le Chiên Kim. Third year as linebacker and eighth year of smacking lunch trays and being a huge dick.

“What did you say to me, skank?” He would yell, his fist raised in the hallway.

“Aah, nothing!” I then cowered. I may be Ladybug, but he was 150lbs of pure rage. No one can compete with that!

But I know, I know... Life can be beautiful. I pray, I pray, For a better way. We can be beautiful...

“Marinette! Wide load! Honnnnnk!”

He was the smartest guy on the football team. Which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.

“Hey! Pick that up! Right now!”

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” He used to snarl, his hands covered in sauce from knocking my tray.

I stood my ground, I had been practising for this moment. “Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on me. You're a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant.”

Kim then smirked, crouching down to eye level and pressing a finger to my forehead. “You have a zit right there...” he pointed out, causing the cafeteria to laugh at my expense.

I used to ask myself “Why... Why do they hate me?”

And hear Adrien whisper “Why don't I fight back?”

Watch as Max Googled “Why do I act like such a creep?”

Listen in on Lila stamping her feet in the bathroom asking “Why won't he date me?” Clearly frustrated.

Kim panicking as he wondered “Why did I hit him?”

And Chloé sob down the phone “Why do I cry myself to sleep?”

I would stay up late, screaming, begging. At my lowest points I would cry out “Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me! Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!”

I remember when I first met my real friends. The famed trio had gone into the bathroom and I followed after them, clearly my throat.

“Who are you?”

“Uh... Marinette Dupain Cheng. I crave a boon”

“What boon?” Chloé asked, filing her nails.

“Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. If our class think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone...”

Chloé threw her nail file out and began circling around me, running her hands through my hair, commenting that “For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure!” Before coming to a conclusion.

“And ya know, ya know, ya know? This could be beautiful. Mascara, maybe some lip gloss, and we're on our way. Get this girl some blush; and Kagami, I need your brush. Let's make her beautiful.” Sabrina and Kagami, chimed in, echoing her words.

“Let's make her beautiful...”

“Let’s make her beautiful...”

“Make her beautiful...Okay?” Chloé ordered, dragging me out with Kagami and Sabrina, driving me to her hotel. They sat me down, taking my hair out of its bunches and brushing it out. Kagami painted my nails a deep navy with surprising precision, manning my cuticles. Sabrina twirled my hair into a high bun, leaving a few pieces at the front to frame my face. Chloé came back from her wardrobe, throwing a blue blazer and grey skirt at me. I changed into my outfit for them, to which they clapped their hands in glee. They dragged me back to school, taking in everyone’s reactions to the new and improved me. This became my new daily outfit for the rest of the year — the class couldn’t find anything bad about it, and even if they did Chloé would threaten them with her father’s power.

I was happy with my squad. Kagami taught us Japanese and Chloé taught us American English that she’d picked up from her mother. I taught them self defence, under the guise of learning it from my mum, unknowingly training them for the day I would rip Chat Noir’s miraculous from him, before slamming it into Kagami’s palm. I needed help that day, so thrust them bee and the fox miraculous at Chloé and Sabrina respectively. They became permanent heroes, Kagami under the name “Noirette”, Chloé under the new guise of “Buttercup” and Sabrina “Renard Rouge”. Akuma attacks have never lasted more than 15 minutes since we got rid of that alley cat, and we’ve been closing in on Hawkmoth recently.

I shook my head, snapping the crude book shut, throwing the diary in the bin. Today was going to be the day I made peace with all that happened, our 10 year school reunion. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna make up with anyone, just that I will finally leave everything behind. I found my lipstick and smeared on the crimson lip, smacking my lips together. I grabbed my clutch and helped Chloé stand up, though she wobbled a little in her heels. I slid her miraculous into her updo, blowing a kiss at her as to not ruin her makeup.

We met up with Kagami and Sabrina in the hallway, Kagami in a wine red suit with gold jewellery, and Sabrina was in emerald green to compliment her red hair. We stepped into the limo awaiting us outside and set off, arriving at the school 10 minutes later. We walked up the steps, hitching up our dresses and arrived in the courtyard. It had been lit up with fairy lights, with stands of food and drinks scattered around the court. Our old classmates were huddled in small groups, whilst Mlle. Mendeleiev’s was in a large group, enjoying each other’s company after 10 years apart.

No one noticed us, until Rose pointed at me and whispered “Who’s that with Chloé?” The group turned to stare at us, trying to place my face. Adrien looked up from talking to Lila, who seemed to be flaunting a rather tacky Gabriel engagement ring, and whispered,

“Marinette?!”

The class began gossiping amongst themselves, “Marinette? Marinette? Marinette?!”

I ignored them, their childish ways were behind me, and walked up to Aurore and Mireille, fawning over their relationship. They turned Kagami, asking her about her life and squealing over her Olympic medal for fencing. I grinned as I watched my old class, happy that they had moved on from each other — well apart from Alya and Adrien, who were still hooked on Lila. I was finally, content! I thought back on my diary, one particular paragraph standing out to me at this time.

And you know, you know, you know, life can be beautiful. You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! Ask me how it feels, lookin' like hell on wheels...My God, it's beautiful! I feel so beautiful... And when you're beautiful...It's a beautiful frickin' day!

Chloé boasted my achievements, my business, my awards, and the entire of Mendeleiev’s class started chanting “Marinette! Marinette! Marinette!”, much to my embarrassment. I boasted her’s in return, Sabrina revealed how far she’d come as a lawyer, Kagami swung her prized sword from side to side as she listened to us all catching up, laughing at the memories.

It really was a beautiful day.

#lila salt #adrien salt #class salt #marinette deserves better #alya salt #mlb #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #chloe sugar #kagami tsurugi #sabrina raincomprix #heathers au #beautiful heathers #songfic

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its-bianca · 4 years ago

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Why to keep a journal in 2020 🖋✨

Whether it’s an art journal, audio, text based, I think we all need to take some time to get our thoughts out of the jumbled pink blob that is our brain.

get your thoughts out - It’s hard to keep all your thoughts in your head. I used to think that I could just think everything out in my head, but eventually I learned that putting them down, having a physical manifestation of my thoughts actually helped to rationalize my thought process more clearly.

learn things about yourself - Like therapy, writing down your thoughts often helps you wonder why you think that way and go deeper into your reflections, especially when you aren’t cycling the same thoughts over and over again in your head. By getting your thoughts out, you’re making space for new thoughts in. In a weird way, journaling has actually made me realize why I’ve been so upset with my family, why I hate certain places, and why I’m so stressed out all the time.

understand your thought process - Also like therapy, you realize your thought process with how and why you got there. Are you falling into logical fallacies? Are your thoughts biased towards a certain perspective? Do you fall for common tropes or stereotypes about other people? Getting these thoughts out might help you realize these missteps in judgement and logic. Being introspective and self-aware goes a long way.

motivation & inspiration - I sometimes get inspired or motivated to do work, because I (a) Write down reasons why I’m proud of myself and the little things I’ve accomplished that day which motivates me to do more work, or (b) Write down why I’m so stressed and pile of work I have to do which makes me realize that it actually isn’t that bad and motivates me to actually complete it. Things get less overwhelming when it’s not constantly jumping around in your head like a broken blender.

me time - We’re so invested in trying to understand and get to know the personal lives of other people, yet sometimes we need to take a moment for ourselves, especially after a long day. It really doesn’t take that long - just 10 minutes of thinking about yourself and your thoughts can go a long way.

be a better writer (or artist!) - This depends on the type of journal you’re going for and how you’re getting your thoughts out, but writing a journal could help you hone in on those skills. Writing or speaking aloud our thoughts can improve how your articulate your thoughts, especially if you’re like me and aren’t good with translating the jumbled mess in your head into understandable words. Drawing or writing poetry to express your thoughts could improve your skills in representing what you mean through imagery and more abstract symbolism. Journaling actually helped me a lot, because when I was younger, I got nervous to speak up in class because I didn’t know how to articulate my thoughts well; it might make essay writing go faster!

be in a coming of age movie - romanticize your process (healthily!). Sitting down with a journal, a cup of tea, and your favorite writing or drawing utensil sounds so romantic and cozy. Fit in with the tumblr studyblr aesthetic and post pictures if that encourages you.

So how do I start?

First, find out how you want to journal! I prefer physical notebooks, because I spend so much time on my laptop already, and I just like the feeling of being able to unplug and actually write something (also makes for more aesthetic pics...). I write in long-form, hardly any paragraph breaks, hardly any doodles, and not really planned or anything. I use a pen so I can’t go back and erase anything that I feel sounds bad or clunky or fix my grammar, because I don’t want to fixate on trivial details when I really want to just jot everything in my head. I find words work best for me, because that’s just how I best express myself.

Next...it’s up to you now! I started getting into the habit by just committing myself to write something everyday, even if it was just half a page. It took many tries over some months to really nail it down, but once I started, it really took off from there. After about 1-2 months of almost daily journaling, I started cutting back a little. Yet, I hardly ever go for more than a month of not checking in and writing something down. Nowadays, it’s more like once a week or every couple days. I find that I journal when I’m feeling the most down, because it motivates me to pick myself up and do something.

Some extra tips:

(a) If it helps, schedule a time with yourself to journal. Even just having a 15 minute chunk in your Google Calendar could help you to stay committed to it.

(b) Don’t feel pressure to write about any certain topic. It’s not an essay draft book, it doesn’t have to be a diary, it doesn’t have to be anything. I might draw or create a bullet journal-like spread in my writing journal, or I might not. It all depends on how I feel that day. Don’t feel like it has to be a diary where you have to write about everything that happened that day, or don’t think every thought has to be well articulated.

(c) Just have fun with it! Toy with a project idea, pour your soul out, get your thoughts on all every item on your to do list and how much you hate/love it. Just do whatever! There are no rules.

idk how to end this post so OK NOW GO!

Another post on the different types of journals & notebooks

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remus-moonyylupin · 4 years ago

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breaking point

James walked down the hall at a brisk speed, not paying attention to where he was going. As he walked, he ticked things off in his head; a checklist for the day's agenda. Quick practice on the quidditch pitch, breakfast, Transfiguration, 15 minute break to revise in the library, Charms, meet Lily for a quick chat in the hall, plant dung bombs, Arithmancy, lunch to be spent revising, afternoon classes all back to back, quick dinner, quidditch practice, revising again, completing all homework, and somehow finding the time for his friends all in between. He took a deep breath and kept walking.

He reached the pitch a few minutes early to see someone already soaring high above, emerald green quidditch robes streaming behind them. He picked up his bags just as soon as he set them down and turned back the way he came.

Arriving at the empty Gryffindor table, he set all his things down and began scooping generous amounts of scrambled eggs onto his plate. The hall filled around him and his friends arrived to see a grinning James sitting in their normal spot.

"Morning, Prongs, bit early are we?" Sirius asked with a jovial tone, snatching a few slices of toast off of a serving plate.

"Oh you know me, gotta get that extra practice in before classes," James replied with an easy smile.

Before they knew it, breakfast was over and they were off to start their busy day. James stayed with his friends during classes but slipped off to revise just as he planned. "Sorry lads, I've gotta pass my exams!" he called over his shoulder as he slipped away from their small group and made a beeline for the back tables of the library.

Almost as soon as he sat down, it felt like his 15 minute break was up. James shoved his belongings back in his impossibly heavy bag and slung it across his back, running out the door in order to make it to Charms on time. I'll have to do the dung bombs prank another time, he thought, doing his best not to slam into too many other students as he scurried down the corridor. With a sinking feeling he realized he'd also missed his allotted time to chat with Lily but pushed it down and kept walking. Classes were more important.

He made it to Arithmancy just in time, sliding into a seat next to Remus, the only other from their group who'd signed up for this class, just as their Professor came out of their office to start class. It passed in a blur of numbers and scribbled writing. Rather than walking to lunch with Remus and the others, he once again found his way to the back tables of the library and pulled out his notes. His stomach rumbled slightly in protest but he ignored it. There was work to be done; exams to ace.

He worked methodically through his notes and essays, scanning textbooks laid out in front of him as he went. Though it grew increasingly more difficult for him to focus, he kept on pushing. Obsessed with the need to succeed. After a while, he noticed someone sitting across from him. He'd hardly looked up from his books since he arrived.

"Sorry kinda busy at the moment," He said without looking up.

"Too busy to see me?" came the voice of the girl he'd pined after since 2nd year.

James looked up suddenly, effectively spilling ink all over the parchment in front of him. "Shit. These are Remus' notes I'm borrowing!" He scrambled to clean up the mess but whatever had been written there before was unrecognizable. "Shit. Shit. Shit..." His movements became manic almost as he attempted to salvage the parchment.

Lily gently grabbed his hands to stop him. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the parchment. The ink appeared to recede back into the paper and left it looking brand new, Remus' handwriting scrawling across the page just like normal. James took a deep breath and slumped in his seat mumbling a quiet "Thank you."

Lily looked at him with a soft kindness in her eyes. "Are you sure you're okay, love?"

James shook his head and smoothed the papers before him on the desk "Yeah. Fine, thanks."

She scanned his face for a moment but said nothing more than, "Lunch hour's almost up. Let's get to Potions early, yeah?" He nodded and gathered his things.

Afternoon classes passed in agonizing hours of quills scratching and Professors lecturing. By the time dinner time rolled around, James was ready for a nap. He took extra long putting away his things and put on a bright smile before exiting the classroom to meet his friends and walk to the Great Hall.

Once they're seated he says, "So, everyone have a good day?"

Peter nodded with his mouthful and Sirius burst into an animated retelling of what James missed at lunch. James nodded along, hardly listening. He loved his friends, but everything felt so exhausting just then.

After dinner, he and Sirius trudged down to the quidditch pitch together, Sirius talking at great length about strategies for their next game. They reached the locker room and James said quickly, "I've got to change" cutting Sirius off. Sirius frowned but let him go.

Practice went as usual, though every little mistake seemed to set James off. After about 15 minutes of enduring James' harsh comments echoing around the pitch, Sirius swooped over to the taller boy to tell him off. "Oi mate, what're you doing? The team looks great, no need to be such a jerk about it."

James screwed up his face and lifted his hands to rub his face. In the absence of them on the broom handle, he wobbled dangerously and quickly held tight to the wood again. Without saying a word, James made for the ground.

Sirius looked to his teammates who were hovering in midair, watching. He shrugged and zipped towards to ground where James was now pacing back and forth ruffling his hair.

Sirius touched down and looked at his friend. He took in his nervous behavior; the constant ruffling of the hair, the pacing back and forth, the bouncing of his free hand at his side.

"Homework, and then revising and then bed... need to see friends... quidditch though... revising... ugh no that won't work..." James was mumbling to himself.

"Prongs? You okay?" Sirius asked quietly, snapping James out of his trance.

"Hm? Oh yeah, fine." He resumed his mumbling.

"You don't seem fine..."

"I said I'm fine alright! I'm fine everything's fine."

Sirius nodded uneasily. "Alright mate if you say so... Would it be better if we ended practice early?"

James nodded and left for the locker rooms. Sirius stared after him worriedly.

James made his way back to the castle alone. He'd ignored the rest of the team asking him questions as he shoved through them to go back to the common room. When he arrived, someone was sitting at his favorite table; the one with the best warmth from the fire place. They were a first year by the looks of it. Normally he wouldn't say anything, but he was having a particularly bad day.

"Excuse me, would you mind switching tables?" He knew he sounded like an ass but he seriously couldn't care less.

"I was here first," the smaller student replied.

He nodded and turned away choosing a different table. He pulled out his textbooks and notes and spread them all out before him. "Hiya Prongs!" He heard Remus call from an armchair in front of the fireplace. He didn't respond. He pulled out some plain pages of parchment and began scribbling notes down. As he reached to turn the page of his book, he knocked his inkwell over for the second time that day. "Fucks sake," he mumbled as he watched the dark ink spread over the paper.

He just sat there and stared at it. The blot grew larger as it soaked in, effectively burying any trace of his scrawled writing. A voice drew James out of his trance.

"You alright, mate?"

It was Remus. James looked up through his mess of untidy hair as tears slide silently down his cheeks. Without a word, Remus slipped into the chair next to him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"It's going to be okay," came softly in James' ear.

"But how do you know? What if I fail all my exams... what if Lily only likes me when I'm smart and good at quidditch... what if-"

"James. You're putting so much pressure on yourself to be perfect. But I've got news for you. You're already perfect as the messy, clever, athletic James you are right now."

A small smile crossed James' face through the sadness. "Thanks, mate," He managed to croak.

Remus smiled. "I can help you revise if you'd like. But no skipping meals, and it's not a priority, okay? You could ace those exams with your eyes closed I just know it."

"Thanks, Rem."

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moonnightyoongi · 4 years ago

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crashing | doyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

genre: angst (wat else ofc), maybe a bit of fluff?

word count: 1.7k

description: you couldn’t stop the negative thoughts from consuming you, until you saw a vending machine.

Always and forever was what they told you. When you meet someone you truly love it will be always and forever, you even convince yourself and tell them it all the time in the hopes of hearing them say it back.

But what happens when it comes crashing down? They don’t tell you the part where you wake up one day and everything feels different. You don’t look at them the same, their smile doesn’t bring you joy, the meaningless conversations you used to love becomes a mumble you can’t understand and don��t want to hear.

Why is it never spoken about? Why does everyone hide the fact that you may one day wake up and the love is gone? Does it happen overnight? Does it happen over time? If it happens over time then why can’t you recognise it till its gone?

How do you explain it to them? How do you tell them that the love you had somehow vanished over night and you’re now left with this sort of empty, vacant space in your heart where they used to be?

Does it come back? If you give yourself time can you learn to love them again? Is it unfair to do so? What if the love doesn’t come back and you have wasted the time they could have spent healing and meeting other people? Does it make you a bad person, or does it make you a good person because at least you…. tried?

“You know your essay is due in like 2 hours right?” Doyoung asks.

You snap out of your thought and stare at him, “I’m thinking.”

“I don’t think you should be doing that, you’ll drain yourself,” he jokes. You roll your eyes letting out a small laugh as you stared at the empty screen in front of you.

Take creative writing they told you, you can write 8 stories in one sitting. Now you were three years into the course and you could barely write a sentence without wanting to snap your laptop in two. Writing used to be so easy for you, you loved watching people read it and hearing their thoughts on how you portrayed their emotions and made them laugh or cry. Nowadays you would hide your work in shame, every story had the same story line - boy meets girl and their love is great. You could count on your fingers and toes how many times you had compared love to the colour yellow - bright and sometimes oddly annoying.You were almost certain your teacher was one more colour yellow away from circling it and telling you to look at a rainbow.

“Can I read what you’ve written?” Doyoung asks.

“I haven’t written anything.”

“What? We’ve been here three hours.”

“Yep,” you say nodding your head, staring at the library full of students nearly pulling their hair out.

“Just compare love to the colour yellow and call it a day,” Taeyong says typing away at his computer.

“Shut up.”

“Yellow?” Doyoung frowns, “How is love yellow?”

“Bright and oddly annoying,” Taeyong replies.

You sigh and slam your laptop lid down, “I’m going to go for a walk and clear my head.”

“Impossible, you never switch off,” Taeyong says, “Can you get me breakfast bars? I’m hungry.’

“Fine,” you sigh turning on your heel.

“I’d say love was more of a mint green,” Taeil says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jaehyun tuts, “Mint green is a horrible colour.”

You laugh slightly as you walk out the library, how had your ramblings to get your essay over the word count become a debate on the table about what colour love really was. According to the world it was red, maybe pink, but to you - well, it was black. Black because its endless, its the colour of nothingness and never ending. Black holes? They go on forever, right? Pitch black room? Not endless, you’ll walk into a wall at some point. When you mentioned it to your friends they told you that you were stupid, black was a negative and dark colour. But, like everything, it depends on the context it’s used. Black may symbolise darkness to some but they never remember that at the end of darkness there is light.

“That makes no sense,” you grumble hitting back space and looking at the empty quad in front of you.

When you first started dating Doyoung all you could write was soppy love stories about how when two people meet who are soulmates the stars align and they no longer feel the heavy burden of trying to find someone to walk the earth with. Then it turned into stories about people who stayed together because it was easier than the pain of leaving them behind. Now your words had turn into nothingness. Not even the music you loved to write to could help you, the pages remained blank and the extensions were getting rejected by your teacher. She pulled you in and gave you some recommendations for how to beat writers block, but this didn’t feel like writers block. You had found out over this time that your ability to write was based on your emotions, and if you felt nothing then nothing would come out.

“Still nothing?” Taeil asks coming to sit beside you as you rested against the tree.

“Nope,” you sigh.

“What’s going on? Everyone’s noticed that you’ve been daydreaming and not really here the past few months.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you think about?

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“How can you not know?”

“It’s just noise,” you tell him. He looks at the grass in front of him and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“If you need help, there’s no shame in getting it.”

“I don’t think I can get help with writing this essay, it’s illegal.”

“I mean you, not your essay.”

“Why would I need help?”

“Can you tell me honestly that you feel yourself right now?”

“No.”

“Then speak to someone, even if it’s me.”

“Have you ever been in love?” You ask him.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever fell out of love while still with them?”

He pauses, “No.”

You nod your head, “I hope you never know the feeling.”

You stand up and dust off your jeans, “I need to get Taeyong cereal bars.”

“Y/N,” Taeil begins, “Usually when people fall out of love with someone it’s because they’ve convinced themselves the other deserves better.”

You look at him and blink vacantly, “Right.”

You hear Taeil sigh as you walk away from him to find a vending machine somewhere in the university buildings. Was he right? Had you somehow managed to convince yourself that Doyoung deserved someone better? Someone with a proper degree and not a creative writing degree that will probably lead them into some low paid job they hated.

Walking into the empty hallway you saw the vending machine shining brightly amongst the darkness of the halls, suddenly it clicked. You knew what you wanted to write about. Slamming yourself on the floor of the empty hallway you clicked away at your keyboard the fasted you had since you were maybe 15 years old. Excited to write, a feeling that had become so unfamiliar to you.

It wasn’t some cringe love story, it wasn’t about the fucking colour yellow, it wasn’t about star crossed lovers or a breakup and how the person recovers over time with a little help from their friends.

It was about finding light in the darkness. The stupid vending machine had shown you the error of your ways. You had become so negative towards everything, everything was black to you - but what you were failing to realise was that if you turned ever so slightly you would see the light in the darkness, the vending machine if you will.

“Y/N,” Doyoung says shaking you awake.

“I KNOW SELF DEFENSE!” You scream, issuing a few laughters from the boys behind you, “Oh it’s you.”

“Your boyfriend? Yes, hi,” he laughs, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“You fell asleep in the middle of the university hallway.”

“What?!” You shout, “What time is it!”

They all fumble around looking for a watch or their phones, “Oh you’re useless!” You shout shaking the mouse pad to show you the time.

“Shit! My deadline! I missed it,” you groan.

“Send it to me now,” you hear a voice say from the end of the hallway. Looking up you see your teacher with a small smile on her face.

“Miss came to find us when she find out you flat out on the floor,” Taeyong says “I assume you came to get my cereal bars and got an idea.”

“Yeah,” you groan rubbing your eyes.

“What did you write about?” Taeil asks as you rushed to send it.

“Finding light in the darkness,” you reply.

“Fucking hell she went from yellow to black and white,” Jaehyun jokes.

“Shut up!” Doyoung scolds hitting his leg, “You wanna go sleep on something other than floor?”

You nod your head, “Yeah. Did you guys finish your essays?”

“Yeah, on time too,” Taeyong says, “Without snacks that were promised.”

“Oh my god I’ll get you the stupid cereal bars tomorrow!”

“We’re already into tomorrow, I asked for them yesterday!” He shouts.

“You’ve got a real attitude for someone who’s expecting snacks from me.”

“Come on,” Doyoung says wrapping his arm around you.

You smile at him as you walk behind everyone who were pretending to kick the air and screaming - most likely from the relief of finishing their final papers of the year. After speaking to Taeil you felt better, everything made sense and you felt aligned. Sure, they was most probably going to be a lot more work to do - especially if you were good at convincing yourself everyone deserves better.

“I love you,” Doyoung says snapping you out of your thoughts.

You look at him and smile, “I love you too.”

“I want you to know one thing,” he says.

“Go for it.”

“I’ll always have time for you. Always and forever.”

“Always and forever.”

And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t sound so bad.

masterlist | ask

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buildarocketboys · 4 years ago

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Books read 2020: Reviews (1-20)

Decided to write a little review/overview for all the books I’ve read this year. Mostly just for personal record but please feel free to message me about any of these books!

1. Amberlough by Lara Elena Donnelly (Jan 6th – Jan 13th) 8 days 400 pages

I loved this whole trilogy, but this might have been my favourite of all three. I loved the setting (the main reason, apart from the queer characters, why I wanted to read this book) which is a fantasy setting based on the dying days of Berlin during the Weimar Republic. Loved this setting (especially the cabaret/music hall part) and it’s the only book that really features it. I also enjoy (or…find compelling, enjoy might not quite be right since there’s some very ‘yowch’ descriptions regarding torture/being beaten up) the story/plot most in this one, I was on the edge of my seat wanting to know what happened next…

2. Maurice by E.M. Forster (Nov 17th – Jan 21st) 256 pages

This is the only kind of cheat I have in here, because yes I did start reading it in November 2019, but I read the vast majority of it in 2020. I’d wanted to read it for ages because it’s such a gay classic and there were many sections (sentences, paragraphs) that I related to heavily, not even always as a queer person, but in that way that the best books get at the heart of something about the human experience in a way that’s intensely relatable to the reader. I think I found the romance elements kind of anticlimactic overall but maybe that’s kind of the point? It’s a happy ending, but in a very quiet way. (I think, it has been nearly a year since I read it!)

3. East, West by Salman Rushdie (Jan 17th – Jan 24th) 8 days 224 pages

I started reading this to compare it with its Spanish translation for my Postcolonialism in Translation essay lol. Some pretty interesting stories in here, also pretty sure this is the only collection of short stories I read this year, so it has that distinction. Not super my thing but acted as an enjoyable reading break in the local park while I was slogging my way through essays (and God do I miss that life now).

4. Affinity by Sarah Waters (Jan 24th – Jan 31st) 8 days 352 pages

This was the first of three Sarah Waters books I read this year. I have now read all of her work, and I enjoyed this one a lot – very much a ghost story. It wasn’t my favourite, but definitely sits nicely in the middle.

5. The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger (Jan 31st – Feb 5th) REREAD 6 days 500 pages

Reread this while on a trip to York, when stuff like that was still possible. As good as ever. I love Time Traveler’s Wife not for the romance (which is…interesting, but personally I don’t find it exactly enjoyable and the characters aren’t particularly likable or relatable for me) but for the prose and the structure. The back-and-forth structure of the book (travelling through time, Henry – and Clare – at different points in their life) makes for a breathtakingly constructed plot and I love it more every time. Some of the prose and stuff the characters talk about are kind of pretentious but I’m kind of pretentious myself (I discovered Rilke through TTW) and a lot of it has stuck in my brain, to the point that 10 months later I keep thinking about it and kind of want to read it yet again.

6. Armistice by Lara Elena Donnelly (Feb 5th – Feb 9th) 5 days 400 pages

I really enjoyed this sequel, I loved exploring the rest of the world, I loved the interaction between characters who either hadn’t met before, hadn’t seen each other in years (there’s a time jump between Amberlough and Armistice) and brand new characters (who were mostly equally as compelling/lovable). A worthy sequel.

7. Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat by Bee Wilson (Feb 13th – Feb 24th) 12 days 327 pages

My thing (at least non-fiction-wise) this year has been books about food and food history, and this is the first of those on this list. It was pretty good, very interesting. I have trouble retaining information from non-fiction books so I only remember it in the broadest strokes (and remember reading it in the Hygge café in Sheffield which was really cool and I hope it’s survived the pandemic) but it was a really eye-opening look into different appliances/tools/processes/spaces used throughout history and in different parts of the world when it comes to food and cooking.

8. Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution by Shiri Eisner (Feb 25th – Mar 11th) 16 days 352 pages

I read this in the period just before everything started shutting down and the day I finished it (incidentally my girlfriend’s birthday) was more or less the start of the lockdown for us, so that’s my prevailing memory of this book. It was a very good, enlightening look into bi politics and what we (I, as a white gentile especially) could do better. But again, I don’t remember it in great detail because I was more preoccupied with what was happening around it.

9. Solitaire by Alice Oseman (Mar 14th – Mar 16th) 3 days 392 pages

This was pretty good but I definitely read most YA (well, reality-based YA) as an easy, quick read that doesn’t challenge me too much, so I don’t have too much to say about it. It was nice to read about the Heartstopper characters

10. What If It’s Us by Becky Albertalli and Adam Silvera (Mar 17th – Mar 20th) 4 days 437 pages

Again, early lockdown YA so basically brain popcorn for me. That’s not a bad thing though.

11. The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters (Mar 20th – Mar 30th) 11 days 512 pages

This was my least favourite of the Sarah Waters books I read this year, and probably not coincidentally, the only book of hers without explicit queer characters. But still a pretty good scary story.

12. Amnesty by Lara Elena Donnelly (Apr 1st – April 6th) 6 days 384 pages

The last in the trilogy. I still liked it very much, but not as much as the first two books. I think endings to a trilogy are hard to get right. I feel like there was too much focus on one character and his predicament (and while I enjoyed his ending and happily ever after with probably m favourite character of the series), I wasn’t as compelled by this one as I was by the other two.

13. Lisey’s Story by Stephen King (Apr 6th – Apr 15th) 10 days 513 pages

My first Stephen King! I actually really enjoyed this, especially the scary fantasy dream world thing. It wasn’t too scary for me (I am a big scaredy cat who’s just dipping my toe into horror novels since I figure reading horror is moderately less scary than watching it) and just overall pretty good.

14. This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone (Apr 16th – Apr 20th) 5 days 209 pages

Loved this! The meandering almost poetry of it, the epic enemies to lovers, the weird admixture of sci fi and larger than life fantasy concepts (and beings!). Will definitely return to this one again.

15. Five Hundred Mile Walkies by Mark Wallington (Apr 21st – Apr 25th) REREAD 5 days 224 pages

I read this as a young teenager and found it hilarious. It was one of my dad’s books (he might even have recommended it to me, although I did have a habit of reading anything and everything that was in the bookcase – Memoirs of a Geisha at about 13, anyone?) and I laughed out loud practically every page. The gist of it is that Mark takes his sister’s (or sister’s ex??) dog, Boogie and goes to walk the entire 500 miles of the South West coast path. I loved this anyway because I loved the South West (especially Cornwall) and love seeing it through someone else’s eyes. So I reread it and I still enjoyed it, but didn’t find it as rip roaringly hilarious as I used to. Guess your sense of humour changes as you grow up, who knew?

16. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café by Fannie Flagg (Apr 27th – May 10th) 14 days 416 pages

I’ll be honest, I struggled with this one. I’m not sure if it was the setting (historically, geographically, linguistically) that put me off or the way it was written or what. I enjoyed the story but it just wasn’t really my thing.

17. The Night Watch by Sarah Waters (May 11th – May 17th) 7 days 528 pages

My final Sarah Waters book (until she writes more! *fingers crossed*) and definitely my favourite of the ones I read this year. Set during the Blitz in London, it’s pretty much straight up historical fiction, and I enjoyed it very much. I think part of it was I related heavily to the characters going through this dramatic time in history, because, you know, pandemic! There were certain passages that really connected with me/felt like an echo of today in a way that was sort of comforting, I guess.

18. Doctor Who: The Maze of Doom by David Solomons (May 18th – May 19th) 2 days 272 pages

A fun, quick and easy Doctor Who romp. Not much to say about this one.

19. Room by Emma Donoghue (May 19th – May 20th) 2 days 321 pages

Possibly the opposite of the previous. If you know anything about Room (the book or the film, which I actually watched years ago) then you know the subject matter is pretty dark and harrowing. Because it’s told through the eyes of a child however, I found it pretty easy (in terms of speed rather than subject matter) to get through and read it in about 24 hours. It’s super compelling too.

20. The Psychology of Time Travel by Kate Mascarenhas (June 6th – June 11th) 6 days 372 pages

This, as far as I remember, was just a random one that I managed to pick up (metaphorically since I read this as an ebook) but it was pretty good. Possibly my favourite random discovery of the year, an interesting look on time travel and its consequences, based around the discovery/invention of time travel by four women scientists in the 1960s (I think) and how it affects the rest of their lives.

#bookblr #books #read 2020 #book review

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wiseabsol · 4 years ago

Note

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? 6. Favorite character you’ve written? 14. What does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?) 15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing? 19. How do you cope with writer’s block? 24. Do you remember the moment you decided to become a writer/author? 33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like? 34. Unpopular writing thoughts/opinions?

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing?

My favorite part is when you make discoveries about your world and your characters as you write the story down, and when you write something and go, “Oh, there we go, there’s the solution to this problem that was going to come up later.” For example, I recently had an evil mentor toying with a magical item while giving a lecture to his pupils. The magical item was mundane--essentially, just putty that you could mold into whatever shape you wanted, then solidify, then switch back to putty to reshape. And as I was writing that down, I went, “Oh, THAT’S what my protagonist is going to knock him out with down the line. That’s way better than her using a lamp. Excellent.”

My least favorite part about writing is getting started. Once I’ve cleared the hurtle of the blank page, writing becomes much easier and more exciting. But getting myself to start has become much harder since I developed my editor/critic’s brain.

6. Favorite character you’ve written?

In one of the text-based rps I’m writing with my best friend, I’m playing a shapeshifter named Sparrow, who is charming, funny, flirty, politically-savvy, and super vain about his appearance (think a courtesan-type character). He also has one of the most gut-wrenching backstories of any character I’ve ever written, and is struggling with triggers from that backstory. His romance with my best friend’s character is also my favorite romance that I’ve written with her, and it came as a surprise to both of us, since we were just testing out the characters at the time.

14. What does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?)

I do a lot of brainstorming and outlining, though my outlines aren’t plot-related ones so much as very detailed character summaries. I’ve honestly been struggling with plot lately, but I’ve been doing better character work, so I’m winging it more now. While I usually have a general idea of how the story goes, the actual writing of it clarifies the details and makes changes to my plans. On the bright side, the results are less stilted than my old work, since they’re not chained to plot outlines, but stem from the characters more organically.

15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing?

I’ve started telling myself, “Fuck it, let it be messy, I’ll fix it later.” Letting go of perfectionism is hard for me, but doing so has been helping.

19. How do you cope with writer’s block?

Honestly, the best way to cope with writer’s block is to just try something and see if it sticks, or leave yourself a note and skip ahead in the story to something you want to write. However, as I mentioned in an earlier ask, I haven’t been able to do much writing lately. And that’s hard, because I feel guilty for not writing, and I know if I just do it, I’ll feel better. Which is a bad mindframe to be in, especially because this year has been awful. I’ve been telling other writers to be gentle on themselves, because it’s hard to be creative when you’re stressed, but I struggle to take my own advice. So right now, I’m trying to give myself permission not to write, and to instead focus on other things. Editing. Reading. Playing videogames. Baking. Doing house/yardwork. Something to still ticks things off of my to do list, but also things that I can look at and see, “Yes, you did get something done.” It’s not a perfect system, and it does fall into the productivity trap, but it’s what I’m trying. When the stress passes, maybe then I can dive back into writing.

24. Do you remember the moment you decided to become a writer/author?

I think it was when I was applying for undergraduate college. I wrote in my application essay that I wanted to write stories that would show my readers that things can get better for them. I was writing as a hobby before then, but I think that’s when I decided that yeah, I wanted making stories to be a part of my future, and I wanted to write stories that I could publish someday.

33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like?

Mostly I end up rewriting the chapter or story in question. Draft one is for realizing and getting down the idea of the thing. Draft two is refining it to that thing and losing all of the flab that the story doesn’t need. Often I have another file on the side where I paste in what I’ve cut out, in case I change my mind and want to add it back in later, or in case I can use it in another project. I also save the original messy draft and do the cutting in a copied file. That way, I can reassure myself that the original still exists for me, and I can reread it when I’m feeling self-indulgent, but I’m also only giving the best version to my readers.

34. Unpopular writing thoughts/opinions?

-- Writing every day is a good idea, and does work well for the writing process, but it’s an unrealistic standard to hold yourself to, especially if you have a day job, kids, and other adult responsibilities. Don’t feel guilty if you can’t write every day. The guilt is just going to make you freeze up instead of returning to the work. Be gentle with your expectations for yourself.

-- If you’re including triggering or sensitive subjects in your work, and are planning to share that work with others (and ESPECIALLY if you’re planning to profit from that work), you should be doing your research about those subjects, portraying them as accurately as possible, and asking yourself if your story really needs that content to work. It is also a good idea to employ sensitivity screeners for that content, especially if you’re writing from a place of privilege and/or don’t have personal experience with the issues that you’re depicting.

-- Once the work is out there, no one has the right to ban it. They can be critical of it, yes. But not ban it.

-- Writers of privilege must include diversity within their work, even if they’re scared of getting their depictions of people from other genders, races, classes, religions, and so on wrong. And they will get it wrong. When that happens, just apologize and try to do better in the future. But staying in your lane is a bad idea, for three reasons: 1.) You should be striving to have empathy for others, and you can’t do that if you’re only writing about people who are similar to you. 2.) Writers of privilege have an easier time getting their work published, and so should be trying to push the market/publishing industry into a more diverse direction. And 3.) You should be showing readers of privilege that the world is a diverse one, rather than catering to their narrow worldview.

-- Getting defensive when someone is critical of your work is perfectly natural, but it’s also dumb. It’s so, so dumb. You have made a product, and no product made by human hands is perfect, and every writer has blind spots. So when someone is critical of your work, try to keep this in mind: this is not an attack on you. Let yourself feel the hurt in private, and eat lots of ice cream, and when you’re feeling better, look at the criticism and ask yourself: What led the reader to this conclusion? How can I fix it? What can I learn from this? This is assuming that the critic is working with you in good faith, by the way; sometimes they’re completely off of the mark, or are upset because you didn’t give them the story that they wanted. But if someone is going, “Hey, this is a little racist/sexist/homophobic/ableist/etc.,” sit up and listen. And for the love of god, don’t fight them over it. You’ll make yourself look like an ass.

-- Don’t workshop your story too early. Try to get a full draft down before you submit something for consideration. For one thing, you’re still figuring out what your story actually is. For another, writing workshops, while useful, have a tendency to pull your work to the middle / make it more acceptable to a general audience. Sometimes this will soften and even kill your bravest writing. Instead, use writing workshops as an opportunity to find writers who understand the themes you’re aiming for and the subjects that you’re discussing. Their input will be what you need.

-- With the current laws about copyright infringement, getting paid for your fanfic is a bad idea. If you want that to change, then fight to make the laws more lenient. As if it, you’re risking screwing over other fanfic writers by doing that. Does that suck? Yeah. But that’s also the reality we live in right now, and you’re not going to have a good time if a corporation like Disney slams you with lawsuits.

-- Genres like fantasy, science fiction, horror, romance/erotica, and murder mysteries are real literature. Saying they’re not has its roots in classism.

-- There is no such thing as apolitical writing.

-- Poets are underrated. Support them. Most of the time, they’re doing braver and more socially-important work than you are, and they’re doing it concisely, too.

-- Your first draft is going to suck. This is a good thing. You learn a lot more from bad prose than from good prose, more often than not.

-- Having your work rejected by publishers really is nothing personal. Sometimes it just wasn’t a good fit for them at that moment in time. If they’re interested in seeing more from you in the future, though, keep them on your list and send them something else during their next screening period. They don’t say that unless they mean it.

#technopanzer #Writing #I'm not sure all of these are unpopular opinions but some of them definitely are

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poisxnyouth · 6 years ago

Text

teacher!dave chapter 2. (d.d)

A/N: oops. enjoy. let me know what you think. -hailey

w.c.: 2.5k (sorry)

The next few weeks are slow and difficult: Mr. Dobrik loves to challenge you. He gives you the most demanding assignments you’ve ever had to complete, including weekly five thousand word dialectical essays analyzing the prose of whoever he assigns you, along with his regular AP work.

Every day during lunch, he pulls out your work and grades it right in front of your eyes.

Today, Mr. Dobrik scoots his office chair closer to the seat you always pull up, shuffling through papers on his desk and locating your weekly essay. You’d become quite adept at comprehending his messy handwriting, and since you’ve told him you can read it, he no longer attempts to make it neat and legible. He immediately leans over, paper on the edge of his desk as he reads it.

Both of you had also come to a consensus concerning rules, since you seemed to like defending yourself before he gave final comments on your grade. It was his way of essentially telling you he needed you to shut the hell up while he’s grading.

He had made a comment one day, something along the lines of, “Stop getting so defensive! I haven't even given you your grade yet. Just because I’m critiquing it doesn’t mean it’s bad, hun. You know I think it’s great.” The pet name wasn’t unheard of; many teachers call their students it and it’s not new, but hearing the word come out of his mouth as he flipped a page and met your eyes somehow changed the definition of it. He had started using it frequently when speaking with you.

Mr. Dobrik’s intently reading your essay dissecting Keats’ Endymion, scribbling his comments and circling areas. That was another rule: you weren’t allowed to look at his comments until he was finished. It was always a perfect time and gave you the perfect excuse to stare at him while he reads, scanning his features for reactions.

“‘Kay, hun, so I graded this at an 85. There’s nothing in here that’s wrong, but-.”

“Sir, it took me 6 hours to research and write this paper. I haven’t slept in two days and we have a football game tonight. It’s Friday.”

“That’s your own fault. You had all week. Manage your time better. And hun, I’m not asking you to analyze the whole damn book. It’s the first two stanzas! Anyway,” he says, “You analyzed it fine. You made sure to say all of the main points I would have. I know this is the poem you put on my desk a few weeks ago when we first started and I asked for your favorite, and I’m glad you analyzed its importance to you even deeper for me. I’ll be honest, I was expecting some Rupi Kaur bullshit. But yeah, I’m not kidding, you did great. Every essay gets better and better. I mean it. Really, the only things that’s getting you is your conjunctive adverbs and the flow of your sentences. Your conjunctive adverbs are terrible. That’s an easy fix, though.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Dobrik is leaning over, elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you, returning the essay.

“You’re very welcome. Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart next week, please. Anything else?” You shake your head no, eyes scanning through his comments.

“Then you’re free to leave, if you want.” He scoots back from you, returning to his laptop.

“Actually, can I stay in here? There’s not that much longer until the bell, anyway, like 15 minutes, and my next class is right across the hallway.” He looks surprised for a second, still not facing you as he nods his head.

“Yeah, always,” he says half heartedly, searching through his graded papers and entering them into the gradebook. “You’re going to the game, then? Since you talked about it, I mean.”

“Um, yeah. We go every week, since it’s our last year and all. Are you?” You fiddle with the edges of your essay, watching him as he works. Mr. Dobrik has one hand in his hair, tugging at the ends as his other hand continues going through his stack and entering numbers.

“I did the same thing senior year. It sucks realizing everything you’ve ever known is coming to an end. Enjoy it while you have it. I miss the hell out of high school. Why do you think I came back so quick? And yeah, I’m going.” He makes conversation, laughing lightly as you shrug.

“I dunno, to be friends with your students?” Mr. Dobrik looks at you at that, smile coming to his lips.

“That may have been part of it. I was close with my teachers. Makes sense for me to want to return it.” He keeps his eye contact, turning his seat towards you as he leans back, resting his chin against his hand.

He’d been playing a game with you since the first day, aware of how attractive you thought he was and wanting to push you in that aspect as well as academically. Even if you had been misreading his actions, wasn’t it only fair if you served it for once?

“How close?” You lean forward in response to his leaning back, elbows on your knees.

He bites his lips, still smiling as he breaks eye contact, rolling the pen through his fingertips. “Close. That’s all I’m going to say.”

You keep up the confidence, eyes flickering between his lips and eyes. “Sounds like bullshit to me,” you shrug, sitting up straight and crossing your legs. You watch as Mr. Dobrik’s eyes follow up the length of your bare legs slowly, faltering slightly before he meets your eyes.

“Language, miss. We were close. That’s all. I still talk to them.” He’s still twisting the pen in his hold, watching as you stare at his fingers.

“Sorry, sir. Close,” you repeat. “Like, platonically or…” His face twists, fingers quickly wiping at his mouth as he still flashes his smile, seemingly catching on to your game.

“Are you asking me if I’ve ever dated one of my teachers? Not that it’s any of your business, but no. That’s not what I meant. They’re my friends now, and I ask them for advice.” You throw your hands up in defense, shrugging slightly.

“It was just a question. You never know. Advice on?”

“Students,” he answers quickly, changing the subject, “What are you playing at here? What’s your angle?” You stand at that, his eyes following you up, lips parted.

“You ran out of questions. I’ll see you Monday morning.” Mr. Dobrik scrunches his eyebrows together at your words, grabbing your arm.

“No. Sit back down. We were having a conversation. Don’t be rude. If you walk away, I’m writing you a referral.” You obey, feeling giddy at his stern response and placing yourself back in the seat across from him, his hand releasing its hold.

“Let me rephrase: what do you want to get from this conversation? Because this isn’t academic, so there’s an ulterior motive to your questions. Tell me what it is.” He’s serious now, no fleeting smile spread across his face.

“Um,” you say, eyes moving to the ceiling.

“Look at me when you say it. Because I know what it is, I would just never say it,” he shrugs once more as your eyes return to him.

“It?” He nods.

“Well, you know-,”

“Wait. How old are you? Just asking. I can look it up, but you’re here, so…might as well just ask you.” His eyes are glued to yours, rolling the pen in his hands.

“18, but I’ll be 19 when I graduate.”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Okay, um, I mean, you’ve kind of like, been teasing me, I guess? And maybe - in hindsight - maybe I misread it, but like, you know, you’re cute and a really good teacher, and obviously I’m not the only thirsty one out of your students but I’m also a pretty hopeful person and-.”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough. You said what I was waiting for. By the way, it’s impossible to misread when I check you out, sweetheart.” You’re confused now, releasing your grip on your belongings and playing with your hands in your lap. You don’t know how to respond to his pet name. Mr. Dobrik’s maintaining eye contact, lacing his fingers together in his lap after placing the pen on his desk.

“So?” He asks, biting at his lips. “Let me ask you a few things. Okay?” You nod.

“You're 18. You're legal, but oh my God, I feel like such a creep for what I’m about to ask,” he plays with his hands in his lap, not looking at you. “Are you a virgin? I’m, like, legit just asking-.”

“No. I’m not.” You feel stupidly hopeful at the idea of Mr. Dobrik bending you over his desk and fucking the shit out of you, his fingers leaving dark blue marks along your hips. You shift visibly in your seat at the thought, and Mr. Dobrik notices.

You've piqued his interest now, looking at you again, “Who did? When?” His nervousness is dissolving and his normal cockiness is making its appearance again.

“Nathaniel Rogers. Spring break, sophomore year.”

“Ew,” his face twists, “he’s not even - what? How? He got lucky. Ew, oh my God, I don't want that picture in my head. You can do better than that.” You laugh, trying to ignore his compliments, as he puts his face in his hands.

“Really, um, I’ll be honest, that's the only question I had.” He puts his hands back in his lap and makes eye contact again before his eyes drop, scanning over your thighs and skirt. He meets your eyes again before speaking, “I just wanted to know.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, Mr. Dobrik taking his bottom lip in between his teeth and looking around the room.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” You mull it over, quickly.

“Can we start over? From like, when we were going over my essay?”

He shrugs once more, assuming you want to forget about the conversation altogether. He scoots closer to you and takes the essay from your lap, leaning in closer than normal. You smell his cologne, and you can imagine him standing at the Macy’s perfume counter and smelling every option before dropping two hundred on a bottle.

“So, um,” his voice is low and quiet, “I like seeing this analytical side of you where you’re not just analyzing the author’s intent and how their life influenced their work. Like, we know Keats died of tuberculosis at 25, right? It’s really smart of you to connect it to the line where he says, ‘A bower quiet for us, and a sleep / Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.’ You point out how the times between his death and the publishing date don’t match up, but how it’s still morbid in its unintentional foreshadowing. Um, what I meant by not just analyzing the author’s intent is, you, a person who is around the same age as Keats was when he wrote this, considered the depth these two stanzas have and how they’ve influenced your life. Especially because it’s your favorite poem ever, and at least now I understand why. I feel like I know you better now. You explained it beautifully. This essay captures exactly what my goal is for the rest of my students, and I’m really proud of you, Y/N. I mean it. If I compared your first essay on this poem to this one, there’s a huge difference. You’ve grown exponentially even in this past month and a half. I won’t expect anything less from you, now, though.” As he spoke, you had leaned closer and looked over his shoulder, watching as his fingers point to what he was speaking about. He’s not looking at you but he feels your presence and how close in proximity you are to him; one wrong move and his lips would be on yours. Your fingers genuinely brush against his arm by accident, but the gentle touch seems to catch him off guard. He looks up at you, faces too close.

“God, I - shit. Are you sure?” There’s overwhelming hesitation in his voice, lazily blinking at you as you nod, murmuring a yes, please.

“Fuck,” he curses, “I really shouldn’t do this.” His eyes keep flickering between your eyes and mouth, his tongue darting out to lick across his lips.

“You can ask for advice later?” You offer, carefully reading Mr. Dobrik’s worried expressions.

“Yeah. I can. I just thought you didn't want to-,” you roll your eyes, taking initiative and leaning in because if you didn’t, he never would.

It’s a deep, timid kiss, your heads tilting as you pause briefly, your hands finding their home on his chest. For a second, you get an inkling Mr. Dobrik is going to lean out and act like it never happened, but he breathes in slowly (nervously, it seems) and leans in this time, one hand moving to your cheek.

Mr. Dobrik had been completely aware of your attraction to him from the first day, and although he hated the fact, it had been reciprocated. He never wanted his actions to reflect that, though, considering he actually liked his job for once. He had, in turn, resorted to light teasing, too much eye contact, and wandering eyes, feeling as though you always knew of his intent. He feels slightly guilty now, that you believed you were misreading everything he had done, but there's now no point in worrying about it. You know he’s attracted to you now as his tongue slides slowly against yours, one hand remaining on your cheek, the other on your waist. One of your hands have found its hold in his tie, tugging lightly on it to pull him closer. The other is on his cheek, fingers running over his stubble and down his neck, over his Adam’s apple and eventually gripping at the collar of his white dress shirt, undoing the top button before he gently pushes you away, standing.

Both of your cheeks are flushed as you look at each other, Mr. Dobrik clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

“Um. Can you come see me after school, sweetheart? Do you have something going on?”

“Umm, I was gonna take my friends home and get ready with them for the game, but-.”

“You don’t have to cancel your plans for me.”

“I’ll just tell them to hang around campus for a little bit, that I’m talking to another teacher?” Your voice is dripping with a strive for his approval, although you’re uneasy. He nods slowly.

“Okay. Sure. The bell’s about to ring, so, um, here’s your essay.” It’s awkward now, and you want to kiss him goodbye as his fingers move to button his shirt again, undoing your work.

“Thanks.” He nods, cursing himself under his breath before leaning in once more. He kisses you deeply, doing the work for you, before pulling away what feels like too quickly.

“I’ll see you later, hun.” You nod, not meeting his eyes as you grab your belongings and make your way out of his room, making sure he pays attention to the sway of your ass.

Mr. Dobrik’s pissed off at himself.

#teacher dave #sorry theres no read more im on mobile #david dobrik fic #david dobrik fanfic #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik au #david dobrik #david dobrik x you #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik x y/n #vlog squad #vlog squad fanfic #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad fic #vlog squad au #oopsssss #lmk what u think y'all

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

not beyond repair (9/?)

AO3 warning: mention of violence

September bleeds into October, nights grow longer, skies grow darker, and for the students of Westerberg high school, class gets tougher. Homework piles up and every class ends with a reminder that an essay is due on Friday or their test is next week. Stationery shops are restocking as fast as they can, the school aisles of supermarkets and department stores almost bare. Everyone from the freshman wanting to make a good impression on their parents to the seniors worrying about meeting the requirements for college are feeling the stress, along with the heavy fear sitting in their guts that this is only the beginning.

Which is how Veronica ends up lying across her boyfriend’s bed, her study notes abandoned on the floor, JD rubbing circles on her bed, which turns into a full blown massage relatively quickly, his fingers working against the knots in her back and neck. It’s not exactly what she’d like him to be doing to her in his bedroom, but it does feel like heaven, and it’s exactly what she needs right now. She reaches down and turns another page, staring blankly at a diagram of the human heart, jabbing at each section with her finger.

“Left atrium, acts as a holding chamber for blood coming back from the lungs,” she announces, closing her eyes tightly so as not to peek at her notes. “Right atrium does…. Something… which I can remember…” She clenches her fist so tightly it begins to shake, as though she can will the answer right into her hand.

“Receives deox-”

“Deoxygenated blood through the vena cava!” she shouts, her head snapping up, only to be met with a pain her neck from hanging over the side of JD’s bed for more than half an hour. She pouts and rubs at the sore part while he runs his fingers down her spine.

“I think someone’s a little sleep deprived,” he teases while reading over his messy notes.

“I’m a little everything deprived,” she admits, sitting up, her back groaning in protest, and pulling her knees against her chest and resting her cheek on his shoulder. She half-reads over his sprawling handwriting on his book, the black ink occasionally interrupted by green or red. His hand comes up her back and tangles in her hair.

“Why don’t we take a little break?” he asks gently. “Go for a walk, get some food, let you see the sweet light of day again-”

“Believe me when I say I’d love that,” she sighs. “But I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” he insists. “I see how hard you’re studying. We have study hall together remember?”

“Yeah, how hard I work when you aren’t there to distract me,” she says playfully, tapping his nose with her finger. It’s true, more often than not they sneak off to the “bathroom” together, one leaving thirty seconds before the other, and end up sitting against the window together, toes just barely scraping the floor.

“I’m just making sure you take breaks,” he says, kissing her head. “Pace yourself.”

“If only Harvard, Duke and Brown were letting me pace myself,” she sighs, lying back on his bed. He follows her, laying on his side, his hand intertwining with hers and resting on her stomach. “I still need a recommendation letter.”

“I can write one,” JD offers. “Veronica Sawyer, excellent student, perfect friend, wonderful girlfriend. Special skills include doodling and breaking into houses.” Veronica sniggers. “Or Claire can, given how much she adores you. She might end up trying to foster you as well as me. Besides, why are you worrying? Didn’t you say the deadlines are in January?”

“Yeah.”

“Veronica… it’s October.”

“I know,” she sighs. “But I don’t want to leave things to the last minute, you know.” He hums in acknowledgement, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I haven’t even asked, where are you applying?”

“Oh. That,” he says, heaving a sigh and shifting until he lies on his back. “I haven’t really thought about that. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll bother.”

“You won’t?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbow. She wants to ask why not but sees the wall her boyfriend builds around himself and isn’t sure she’s daring enough to climb it. He looks down at their intertwined hands, moving them back and forth playfully.

“Nah,” he says. “I mean, I just don’t think it’s for me, you know? Just stay here, get a job somewhere.” His tone is flippant, casual, as though his future’s too far away to even think about.

“You think you’ll stay here?” she asks him. She hadn’t given it much thought; all she knew since she was 15 was that she was leaving Sherwood, Ohio in the dust, and when JD came along, she had assumed she’d take him with her, in the rare time it ever crossed her mind.

“Probably,” he says, a familiar coy smile on his face. “Maybe, maybe not. Wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”

“It wouldn’t?” she asks. He shakes his head just slightly, pursuing his lips. He looks up at her and quickly moves and plants a swift kiss on her lips. As usual, she smiles against him, butterflies briefly taking off in her stomach as her fingers curl into the fabric of his covers. “What was that for?”

“To tell you not to worry,” he tells her. “I’ll always come up to see you at Harvard. Or Duke. Or Brown. Wherever you end up.”

“If I get into them,” she sighs, scooting closer and tangling her legs in with his. She blinks heavily and under different circumstances, she could fall asleep here.

“Oh, you will,” he assures her. “Of course you will.”

“Not at this rate,” she says, sitting back up and picking up her notebook off the floor. “I can’t get another B in biology.”

“You won’t,” he says softly, hugging her around her waist. “But maybe if you took a day off…”

“You’re sweet,” she says. “I’ll think about it.” She looks over JD’s shoulder, the red numbers on his alarm clock coming into focus, making her jump off his bed. “But not now, because I have to go. I have to be home in ten minutes.” She sets about shoving books into her bag without any real rhyme or reason and picking up her jacket.

“Hey, I can ask Claire if she can give you a ride back,” JD offers, following her down the stairs.

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “If I run, I can make if before my parents get mad.” She turns just as she reaches the front door, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back and JD barely two inches away from her. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“See you Monday,” he agrees, kissing her forehead. “And for God’s sake, take a break!”

“I will.”

“You better.”

“Or what?” she teases, grasping his shirt and pulling him towards her. He left his coat discarded upstairs in his room, now just in a grey t shirt and blue shirt. She wonders if he knows how different he looks without it.

“Or I’ll come into your room and sit on you until you take a nap,” he deadpans.

“You know I weirdly don’t mind that idea.” She grins as he moves closer, her hand still buried in his shirt. He moves in and kisses her, slow and soft. She wraps her arms around his neck, taking a deep breath in as she kisses him again, grinning against his lips. She chases his lips as he moves away, his fingers trailing along her waist. She pouts at him until he nods in the direction of the hall, and she finds Claire standing with a mug of coffee in her hand and a pink hue to her cheeks, matching her sweater.

“Don’t mind me,” she says. “Just going to the living room. Pretend I was never here.”

“The implications in that are kind of gross, to be honest,” he shouts into the living room. Veronica chuckles into his shoulder.

“Okay I should really go now,” she says as he steps aside and lets her get the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Take a damn nap,” he tells her as she leaves.

“Do your damn homework,” she replies, giggling on his porch, the cold October air raising goose bumps on her legs.

“Do you need my jacket?” he asks.

“Gentleman. I’ll be fine,” she assures him. “Good night, JD.”

“Good night, Ronnie.” He closes the front door, his silhouette still in the lit window. She gives him a small wave, unsure if he’ll see it, and turns down his path and down the street to her house. It’s darker than she thought it would be, yellow glow from the street lights guiding her back home. She comes to the realisation that it might be time for her to put the short skirts away, or maybe invest in a few pairs of tights. She won’t admit it to the Heathers, but she’s grown quite fond of the style. It might be the only thing she keeps from them.

Even if she goes miss the comfort of her oversized sweaters and denim jackets.

“I’m back,” she calls as she opens her front door.

“Hi sweetie,” her mother says as she steps into the kitchen. “How was studying?”

“Hard. Long. Boring,” she sighs, slipping her bag off her shoulder and rolling it around, wincing as pain shoots through her.

“Aw, honey. It’ll all be worth it in a few months,” her mom assures her, pushing her dark hair that’s so similar to her own off her shoulder. “You know this time next year you could be eating dinner in your dorm at Harvard.” Her mom’s voice breaks and Veronica fights the urge to roll her eyes. At least it’s better than with the Heathers; back then she kept her face stoic and her arms fidgeting by her sides, sometimes being permitted a cruel smirk or a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Mom,” she says. “You know I’ll come back.” She means it, even if the words feel heavy in her mouth. Sherwood, Ohio is going to follow her around for the rest of her life, dragging herself back for Christmas and Thanksgiving and birthdays. At least twice a year she’ll have to trade the bright city lights she’s dreamt of since she first realised she could go for a small town she knows like the back of her hand. JD would say, and he has said, that she’s lucky to have somewhere she can call a hometown, shrugging as he says he can’t even remember where he was born or where his first school was. Maybe he’s right, but that won’t stop her from building a life far away from here and seeing the rest of the world.

Okay, she thinks as she watches her mom cooking, maybe that’s a little harsh.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

“Yeah.” All she had eaten at JD’s was the candy they’d bought at the little store on the way to his house and an apple.

“Okay, this will be ready in a few minutes. Which friend were you with again?”

“JD,” she says, looking in the fridge for a drink.

“Nothing sugary, not before your dinner,” her mom reminds her. Like she could forget. “So, which college is he planning on going to?”

“Um, he isn’t exactly sure yet,” she says, closing the fridge, the pitcher of juice in her hand, and pouring out a glass for herself. “He might wait a bit, you know.”

“Well, whatever suits him,” her mom says. She pauses putting pasta bake on the plate, frowning slightly. “Ronnie, didn’t you have a friend called JD when you were a kid.”

“Yeah, for a bit.”

“Hm. What are the chances of that? It’s an unusual name.”

“It’s a nickname,” Veronica explains, taking a full plate from her. The mere sight of the pasta, white sauce leaking out of it, is enough to make her mouth water. “His full name’s Jason Dean.” She sits herself at the table, scooping pasta up with a fork. “And anyway, it’s not that weird. They’re the same person.”

“It is?” her mom asks, setting the spoon down. “This JD is the same JD you were friends with as a kid?” Veronica nods, her mouth full of pasta. Her mom wrings the towel in her hands for so long that Veronica frowns.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” she says, smiling even though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “That’s odd, that he ended up coming back here.”

“I guess,” Veronica agrees, pushing her pasta around the plate. “Just one of those big coincidences.” Her mom hums in agreement and turns her back to her and Veronica shoves more pasta in her mouth, wishing that she could go just a week without the feeling that there’s something she’s not getting; a puzzle piece that’s missing in her life and leaving a hole, however small, inside her.

“Evening, Ronnie,” her dad greets as he comes in, carrying his jacket in the crook of his elbow and his briefcase dangling from his hand. “Oh, that looks good, hon.” He kisses her on the cheek and takes a plate to the table, sitting across from her, and her mom follows. “Oh hey honey, I got a little something.�� Veronica watches as her dad pulls a white envelope out of his jacket and hands it over to her mom. “While in the office I got a call from Uncle Rodney. His wife’s finally pregnant!”

“Aw, how lovely!” her mom sighs. Her mom has a thing for babies, as evidenced by the numerous photos of Veronica as a baby hanging around the hall and along the stairway like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, despite her pigtails and PB&J years being long behind her. Veronica realises how glad she is that she hasn’t brought JD home yet and wonders if it’s at all possible for her to keep him out of her house forever. The last thing she would want is for her mother to be showing off how cute her little one year old diaper less booty looks in her photos. “They’ve been trying for so long. They must be so happy.”

“They are,” he agrees. “So much so that they’ve invited us to their baby shower. I wrote down all the details in there.” Her mom opens up the envelope, her face falling as she reads it.

“Their baby shower in Nelsonville,” she says with a resigned sigh, showing her dad the envelope. “That’s three hours away. There and back. We’ll have to leave early…”

“Well, they have offered to put up anyone who would need to stay overnight in a hotel,” he offers. “And it’s a really nice hotel!”

“I don’t doubt that,” she says, frowning slightly. “And you know how I love Rodney. And Lizzie. But staying overnight… Well, Veronica I guess you’ll have to come with us.”

Oh God please no is all Veronica can think. The last thing Veronica needs right now is a family getaway. For one, it would be next to impossible to study in a car, or in the middle of a baby shower full of relatives she hasn’t spoken to since… probably Uncle Rodney and Aunt Lizzie’s wedding when she was eleven. Then there’s the other part which is that she doesn’t feel like spending a Friday night around people who last saw her when she had braces and pimples. She might be a loser again but she’s not that much of a loser. She hopes.

“Come on, honey, Veronica’s seventeen. She’s old enough to hold down the fort by herself for a while, right Ronnie?”

“Yeah,” she agree in a flash. “Yeah, I can stay here by myself.”

“I don’t know,” her mom sighs. “You’re still just a kid.” Veronica bites back the fact that Heather Chandler’s parents and Ram’s parents and Kurt’s parents and Heather Duke’s parents all trust them to stay at home alone. Granted, they’re pretty terrible examples, given that at the one sleepover she had been to at Heather Chandler’s house, Duke got very drunk and vomited in Chandler’s bathroom and then there was the Party That Shall Not Be Named at Ram’s house (as JD had taken to calling it, rather dramatically, but she barely minds).

“Mom,” she says instead, choosing her words carefully. “It’s just one night.”

“And she’s nearly eighteen,” her dad agrees. “And she’s responsible. You won’t do anything we’d disapprove of, right sweetheart?”

“Of course not,” she promises. Her mother keeps frowning, so much so that Veronica wonders if frown lines will permanently etch themselves into her mom’s face. Chandler had told her that happens when she had seen Veronica frowning at… well, at something. Veronica sends her a silent look that hopefully conveys the message she wants it to, mainly please trust that I am a responsible adult who can take care of this house for a whole 48 hours.

“Oh, all right,” she sighs and Veronica breaks out into a grin, her fist punching the air under the table. “But we’re laying out a set of rules, young lady. And we’ll be checking in on you.”

“Done. Yes, whatever you say,” she says almost breathlessly. “Thank you, thank you!”

After dinner and homework and late night TV, Veronica sits against her headboard with her diary sitting out on her lap, biting her lip and wiggling against the pillows, her toes curling into her sheets as she writes that night’s entry.

Dear diary,

I haven’t reached 18 yet but uncork the champagne I’ve reached adulthood!

Wait that’s 21. Never mind.

Point is my parents are letting me have the house to myself for a night while they go off to some baby shower across the state. And I can make my own dinner and turn off the lights before going to bed and lock the front door.

Wow that sounds really boring when I write it down like that. But I guess it’ll be good practice for college. And it’s just good to know that they (eventually) trust me enough to stay at home alone. And it’s also nice to know I don’t have to hang out at a baby shower.

If I was Heather, or even still A Heather I guess, I’d probably end up throwing some huge party here. With alcohol and probably weed and around 20 people ending up passed out in the back yard. Maybe I’ll finally get some of that English studying done. Or maybe I can get JD to come over and maybe end up making sense of it all.

Before the ink has even dried on the page, an idea pushes its way into Veronica’s mind. One that almost makes her drop her pen, her mouth hanging open half in shock and half in excitement, with a little bit of she doesn’t even know what. She can picture the lightbulb going off above her head.

Or maybe if he came over we could… not exactly study?

She knows her parents wouldn’t approve of it. But then again, they don’t necessarily need to know. Hell, they don’t even know he’s her boyfriend. And in her defence, this is tame compared to what she’s done recently behind her parents’ backs. They still don’t know about the weed she smoked at Ram’s party. Or the exact circumstances of how she and JD met. Compared to that, what’s a movie night (possibly, no, definitely, Halloween themed) with her boyfriend?

Dear diary, is this my life now? I’m not exactly complaining, but hot damn.

******

For the first time, Veronica catches JD; it’s too cold to sit outside and wait for him, so she heads into the school as soon as she passes the gate, where she finds him at his locker, lost in some book backed in brown paper. She slows down her pace, her heart fluttering as she creeps along the hall, her hands curling, bending just slightly, ready to pounce, all the while her boyfriend remains lost to the world, stuck in the pages of his book.

So cute, she thinks.

“Boo!” she shouts, jumping behind him and grabbing him by the shoulders. And if that wasn’t enough to make her laugh (read: cackle), his reaction sure is; he jumps out of his skin, his book clattering to the floor as he whirls around, coat flying, to see her. He’s even slightly out of breath; you could think he had just come out of PE rather than had his girlfriend give him a bit of a scare.

“Mean,” he says, jabbing his finger lightly into her chest. “Very, very mean, that’s what you are, Veronica Sawyer.” She giggles and grabs his hand, lacing her fingers through his and swinging them lightly. “And in a very good mood. Anything in particular?”

“Yep,” she says, stepping forwards and closing the space between them. His arm comes around her shoulders and squeezes gently. If other people are watching, she finds she doesn’t care. “So my parents are going out of town next weekend… and I thought you could come over? We could watch movies, eat popcorn, watch more movies…”

“Maybe a little more than watch movies?” he asks cheekily, grinning down at her. She stands up on her tiptoes to look him in the eye, and in anticipation of something she guesses (hopes) is coming her way.

“Depends if you’re a good boy,” she replies, brushing her nose against his, then her lips, then kissing him in the middle of the hallway, her hands trailing along his waist, burying in the fabric of his coat. His lips are impossibly soft against hers, moving seemingly at her command.

“Miss Sawyer!” a shrill voice snaps from behind them. Blushing furiously, Veronica turns around to see Miss Fleming glaring daggers at the pair of them. “Mr Dean. You should be aware by now that there is a school policy against public displays of affection as such.”

“Yes ma’am,” JD mutters, his fingers wrapped around Veronica’s wrist, his thumb running against the side of her hand. “Sorry ma’am.”

“It won’t happen again,” Veronica promises.

“I should hope not,” Miss Fleming warns. “Otherwise it’s a detention.” She casts another disapproving glare at them before hurrying away, her long green skirt billowing above her brown boots.

“Can she really give us a detention for kissing?” JD asks, smirking slightly.

“Probably,” she replies. “I’d rather not risk it.”

“As you wish.” Veronica giggles, remembering her conversation with Martha over the weekend. She pictures him in a Westley costume and it’s a very, very nice thought. JD frowns at her grin, his fingers brushing over her cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Just… One of the movies we watch needs to be The Princess Bride.”

“Isn’t that that movie Martha loves?” he asks.

“It is a very, very good movie,” she tells him.

“If you insist. Although I think in the spirit of Halloween, there should be at least one scary movie on the list.”

“All of them can be scary movies,” she promises. “With the obvious exception of The Princess Bride.” Their hands join as he walks her to her homeroom, their steps deliberately slow. The closer they get to her homeroom, the more Veronica cringes, Fleming’s disapproving look clear as day in her mind. “Hey… Can we go somewhere else?”

“Not up for homeroom right now?” he asks. “Don’t blame you. Come on.” She secretly wants to ask if they can go out to the garden-their garden, she nearly naively calls it, but by the time they get there they’d have hardly any time at all. Instead she lets him take her up the stairs and he sits up on the windowsill, the huge window overlooking the front courtyard. She sits down next to him, their knees touching.

“I also think that in the Spirit of Halloween, we should dress up,” she says. His laughs seems to ring off the walls as his smile lights up his face.

“Wish you’d given me more notice,” he sighs. “I could have put something really scary together if I had had more time. I’d have made you scream your little socks off.”

“You mean what I did to you just two minutes ago?” she teases.

“Okay, fair,” he admits. “But I’m sure I can whip up something equal parts scary and sexy for this weekend.” Veronica laughs, watching his face; he moves his lips with no sound coming out, like there’s a whole story waiting to be told. She brushes her elbow against his, hoping to coax whatever it is he wants to say out of him. “I used to be real good at Halloween. One of the old places I lived in, there was this costume contest in town. I was 15. And I won. Dressed up as Dracula. I spent weeks rereading the book to make it accurate.”

“Oh,” she groans. “That is just so nerdy.”

“Look who’s talking, little miss study cards,” he says, realisation dawning on him. “Wait is this your way of taking a break?”

“A little,” she confesses. “Just you know… maybe you kind of had a point.”

“I did,” he says, smirking. “And I’m glad you took it, baby.” He presses a tiny whisper of a kiss to her temple.

“So they’re leaving on Friday morning… so maybe we could walk home together? Grab a stash of candy from the store.” At the mention of Friday, his face falls slightly before he tries to cover it up with his usual disarming smile. Veronica really loves that smile, the dimple in just one of his cheeks, the way he raises his eyebrows slightly. It makes her giddier than she has any right to be, but she can’t help but be concerned with it as well. Over the weeks, she’s come to realise that it can-and nine times out of ten does-mean he’s hiding something from her.

“I don’t think I can,” he says, threading his fingers through hers. “I have a thing after school on Friday. With Claire. She’d kill me if I missed it. What if I just meet you at your place instead? With candy in hand.”

“Sounds great,” she says, scooting even closer to him and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“So what are your folks leaving for?” he asks.

“My uncle and aunt’s baby shower,” she replies, pulling a face.

“And they trust you to not burn the house down?”

“Are you surprised?” she asks, giggling slightly. “You think I’m going to burn the place down?”

“Of course not,” he says with a smile. “I just think it’s impressive that they trust you so much.”

“Not too much,” she sighs. “There was a bit of grovelling and begging on me and my dad’s parts. And they said they’re going to write out a list of instructions for me. And I’m pretty sure my mom is freezing pasta bake and lasagne as we speak.”

“So she’s a fan of Italian food?” Veronica snorts and nudges him in the chest with her elbow.

“It’s just… I can cook myself.” JD raises an eyebrow at her. “Okay kind of. Sort of.” He raises his eyebrows even higher. “I can make burgers! Case in point, I do not need my mom making me some and freezing it! Or telling all our neighbours that I’m home alone so they can check up on me.”

“She’s just looking out for you,” he tells her softly. “You know? You’re her little girl and all that.”

“Okay, now you sound like her,” she says. “She’s also writing out a list of rules that she’s going to pin to the fridge.”

“Is ‘no boys’ one of those rules?” he asks. “Because if it is, I may have to side with your mom on this one.”

“Oh, Mr Rebel over here is going to give me a rule following lecture,” she says, poking his cheek to show she’s not serious. He pulls a face at her; closing his eyes and scrunching up his nose. “And it would be, if they even knew that you’re… you know…” She waves her hand around in the air as JD looks on amused. “My boyfriend. Although it still might be.” She used to talk about Ram and Kurt and they knew she had gone to their homecoming party. Realisation slowly dawns on her that her parents might actually suspect she might be dating one of them and it’s enough to make her shudder.

“So as far as your parents are concerned, I’m just a really good looking friend in a big coat who sometimes walks you home from school?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip as anxiety begins creeping into her gut and sinking its claws into her. “I promise I’ll tell them, it’s just…”

“Hey, Nica,” he interrupts in an easy voice, cupping her cheek. “Don’t be sorry about it. Take all the time you need.” She puts her hand over his on her cheek, sighing as the storm in her mind calms.

“Thanks,” she says. “I just want to keep them out of this for a little longer. Once they know I have a boyfriend…” She rolls her eyes. “They’ll be all over us. At least Claire’s calm about it.”

“You only think that because you don’t live with her,” he tells her. “And don’t have to drive in the same car with her where she sits with that dumb ‘I know exactly what you’re doing and think you two are super cute together’ face.” Veronica snorts again and even JD manages to smile, fighting against his cool, slightly irritated exterior.

The bell for homeroom rings through the hallway, attacking their ears. Veronica wrinkles her nose and groans as she and JD jump off the wall. She still blushes at the idea of having to face Fleming. At least no one else in her class knows, but she knows and that’s enough to make her stomach drop every time she thinks of looking at her. Still JD kisses her head and bids her goodbye before walking up to his own homeroom, so that softens the blow. Sort of.

She looks out the window and sees the red and brown leaves falling off the trees and scattering across the wall. September’s gone and past now and they’re well into October. And with Halloween looming, November is approaching fast. Almost two months of senior year down, she realise, and eight left to go.

*****

On Thursday afternoon, JD offers to walk Veronica some of the way home from school. He gives her a red liquorice from a white paper bag in his pocket and she takes it, letting it dangle out of her mouth or from her hand as they walk through the chilly streets of Sherwood. Veronica thanks God she had the good sense to dig out a pair of black tights from the back of her wardrobe. Still, the cold is an excuse to cuddle into her boyfriend, who seems to never leave the house without that black trench coat. She wonders if he’ll still be wearing it during the summer. He kicks up a pile of leaves as they walk, making her laugh as they rain down on her. She runs her hand through her hair, hoping she got them all out. He doesn’t make an effort at all, and so there’s a red leaf stuck to his dark curls. She decides she won’t tell him; he looks cute that way.

“Hey, look,” she says, pointing at one of the houses they pass. The front porch is adorned with four pumpkins; one that’s probably meant to be the “Daddy” pumpkin complete with a moustache, a “Mommy” pumpkin and two little baby pumpkins. Aside from that, there’s a scarecrow, with an emphasis on ‘scare’, in the front yard; his head cocked to the left at an unnatural looking angle and a wide grin. Fake cobwebs hang from the awning, as do large fuzzy spiders. To top it all off, there’s four little broomsticks propped up against the wall.

“Wow,” he says, letting out a low whistle. “Someone’s going all out for Halloween.”

“That’s the Addamses,” she explains. “They go all out every holiday, but for some reason they put extra effort into Halloween.” She tugs on his hand and they keep walking so that her neighbours don’t call the cops on them. “When I was a kid, I was so jealous that they got all the cool stuff.”

“You wanted a big creepy scarecrow?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes!” she squeaks. “Okay, maybe not the scarecrow. But all the broomsticks and crap. My parents don’t have any of that. We’ve got a spooky banner and a toy bat sitting in the window. And a pumpkin that needs carving. But they’re leaving before we can get it done.”

“Is Veronica Sawyer a Halloween nerd?” he teases, making her roll her eyes fondly. “If you want, we can carve the pumpkin tomorrow night.”

“Really?” she asks. “You want to spend your Friday night carving pumpkins with me?”

“Why not?” His smile dips slightly, his hand tightening around hers, and Veronica feels her heart clench in her chest. She can read him by now, and she knows that this is a warning sign. “Speaking of tomorrow…” He can’t come, he’s ditching because he doesn’t want to spend his Friday night with me on my couch watching movies. “Can I make a request?”

“Sure.”

“Whatever movies we watch… can we try to make sure there’s not a lot of explosions?”

Oh. That’s different.

“I know it’s a weird request, I know. It’s just… um explosions kind of make me…uh…” He talks quickly, avoiding her eye. “I just don’t like them and um-”

“Hey.” She steps closer to him, cupping his face with her hand. “It’s okay, J. You don’t want explosions; we won’t watch anything with explosions.”

“Really?” he says, his voice thin and breaking, his eyes wide.

“Yeah. Really.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.” He leans in for a moment, his arms moving around her waist, and she opens her mouth just slightly, her toes curling in anticipation until he stops at the last moment, pulling himself back. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” The rest of their walk back to her place is fine, full of easy and light chatter and flirting and a whisper of a kiss on her head as he leaves her just before she reaches her gate, but as she watches him walk away, she gets more and more worried about him.

Dear diary, she writes that night as her parents get ready for their trip.

I know JD has his secrets. But is it wrong that I want him to open up to me anyway? I know it’s none of my business why he doesn’t want to watch anything with explosions but I can tell he’s hiding something from me. And I know he’s allowed to do that-heck we’ve only been together for a month-but… I don’t like him not telling me something, even if I shouldn’t feel that.

Maybe I want to take care of him. Maybe I want to be his shoulder to cry on.

Jesus, she realises with an impending sense of dread weighing down her stomach I sound like Fleming.

After school on Friday, Veronica runs through the candy aisle of the local supermarket with more enthusiasm than should be allowed given her age. She swings a basket in her hand and holds a twenty dollar bill in the other, trying to work out the right amount of candy needed to keep her and JD happy and also keep the little trick-or-treaters of her neighbourhood satisfied. She’s seen what happens to houses who don’t give little 13 year old boys enough candy to see them through to December, and she’s determined not to fall victim to them. Climbing up a tree to remove toilet paper from the branches or wiping egg from her living room window don’t sound like very romantic activities.

She drops a bag of fun size mars bars into her basket, then another bag containing bags of M&M’s, sitting alongside a packet of fun size store brand chocolate bars and a bag of Chupa Chubs. She taps the plastic basket against her leg, cocking her head to the side and mentally weighing up the pros and cons of Snickers versus Skittles and trying to reason with the little voice telling her to get both. JD had told her to just “get whatever” when she had asked him yesterday, playing with her hair and telling her that he trusts her judgement. It makes her smile, really, to hear that. But it also makes her wish he was here so she could smack his head against the wall and make him pick a god damned candy. Rather than be at his mystery appointment he still won’t tell her about.

She shakes her head, banishing that thought from her mind, pushing away the anxiousness that had started slithering into her stomach. For tonight, all she will allow herself to worry about is whether or not she has enough candy and if her video player will eat the videos that she still has to rent.

She frowns at the basket, noticing how there seems to be one gap in her little sugar-filled metropolis. Surely one more little bag wouldn’t do anyone any harm, right? She looks around at her options before her eyes are drawn down the aisle, away from the packaged candies with brands she could recite in her sleep. A large orange plastic sign hangs over a shelf near the end with black, shaky lettering and cobwebs drawn in thick lines advertises a special deal; half price for any of the Halloween themed cookies. Veronica chuckles to herself, picking up two boxes, one containing shortbreads shaped like ghosts, complete with black-icing eyes and open mouths, and gingerbread ones shaped like grinning pumpkins. After some deliberation, she puts the pumpkin shaped ones in her basket, hoping to match the pumpkin in her house, and her mouth watering at the thought of warm gingerbread.

Two hours later, she realises she made the right decision when her and JD are munching on those gingerbread pumpkins while carving a pumpkin of their own. Well, co-carving. Well, if she’s honest, he’s doing a lot of the carving. But she drew the face, so she decides it was a team effort.

What wasn’t a team effort was their costumes. She had just pulled a black dress out of her closet, drawn on some whiskers with eyeliner and put on a pair of black cat ears she picked up while candy shopping and renting videos, not thinking twice. JD, on the other hand, probably thought more than twice. She opened the door to him leaning against her doorframe in a pair of tight leather trousers and a slightly-open white shirt with sleeves, a black waistcoat with gold buttons and gold thread weaving an intricate pattern around them. Even his trusty trench coat that she could use as a way to find him in a crowd was gone, replaced by a black cape (lined with red) he had since draped over Veronica’s own shoulders. To complete the look was a black mask around his eyes, and a red neckerchief sitting under his chin.

“Stand and deliver, your candy or your life!” he had declared when she opened the door, stepping inside as she fall against the wall giggling.

“Wow,” she had said, taking in the entire ensemble. Seeming to read her mind, he gives her a spin to show it all off. “That is quite the get-up. Let me guess; Dread Pirate Roberts?”

“No,” he had replied, looking slightly offended. “Dick Turpin. Famous 18th century highway man? Ended up being hanged for his crimes?”

“Dick Turpin,” she had said, the name sparking something in her mind. “Didn’t he have a horse called Black Bess or something? And was meant to be like, really hot.”

“He probably did have the horse,” he had told her. “But she wasn’t called Black Bess.”

“Well, at least you’re still hot.”

Now she kneels on one of the chairs surrounding her kitchen table, watching the intensity in his face as he carves out the face in the pumpkin. With the coat gone, she can just about see the muscles in his back moving beneath this shirt. His tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth and he makes no effort to push back the hair that falls in front of his face.

“What?” he asks, his eye catching hers and realising she’s been watching him rather than his pumpkin.

“Nothing,” she says. She jumps off the chair and comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. She rests her chin on his shoulder and looks at his half-finished pumpkin. He’s carved one eye and half a mouth so far. “I’m just really glad my parents went away for the weekend.”

The fully carved pumpkin sits next to the fireplace in Veronica’s living room, a candle glowing inside him (JD insists it’s a him and also insists that his name is Wilbur Dean-Sawyer, first of his name). Veronica and JD place an overflowing bowl of candy in between them and a stack of videos at Veronica’s feet. JD opens a packet of M&Ms and throws one in the air and catches it in his mouth with a wink. If he was trying to impress her, he did succeed. Veronica leans against him as the opening credits of Nightmare On Elm Street come on.

“Have you seen this one before?” she asks as his arm comes around her.

“I saw it when it came out,” he says. “One of the bigger kids snuck me in.”

“So you illegally saw it?”

“Oh are you a cop?” he jokes, planting a quick, candy-flavoured kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry, it’s not too scary.”

“Are you kidding?” she asks. “J, I’ve watched this it’s so scary.”

“Aw don’t worry, Nica,” he says gently, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “I’ll be here to protect you.” Veronica nuzzles ever closer to him, as his knuckles run up and down her spine, his cheek resting on her hair. He tightens his grip on her in the scene with the girl in the boiler room. She figures she must look more scared than she actually is, although there is something in the way that he holds her that sends her the message that it might be the other way around. From where her head is on his chest, she can’t see his face, but she thinks she could guess what it would say if she could. Or she could be overthinking things.

She plants a soft kiss to his hand, just in case.

Around the third movie, which ends up being An American Werewolf In London, Veronica begins feeling the sugar rush slipping off her. She rolls a Snickers between her fingers mindlessly, the paper crackling beneath them as her body weight sinks further and further into the sofa. She has no intention of eating the thing, her stomach full enough and squishing and groaning slightly She blinks heavily and murmurs involuntarily, the soft noise escaping from the back of her throat. The weight of JD’s arm against her chest is better than any blanket, and her side has been pressed against his for so long that she imagines them sewn together. Any attempt to break it would be complicated and messy, so why bother? She rubs her cheek against him as drowsiness begins to settle into her bones, all the while watching the movie unfold before her.

That is, until the kitchen phone rings and sends a shock directly to her heart.

“Fuck!” she yells, jumping away from JD. The break in contact makes her feel cold and clammy on that side, her body wanting nothing more than to melt back into him. Her brain still feels fuzzy and disoriented, like a TV on static, and her heart has jumped from pumping at a soft gentle rhythm to going at probably a hundred miles an hour. She runs a hand through her hair and over face, groaning as the phone continues ringing through the hall. “This better be important. Otherwise I’m going to flip.”

“Was it interrupting something important?” he asks, leaning heavily on the arm on the sofa and smirking. She chuckles and presses a kiss to his hair.

“Very.” The phone keeps ringing, pounding against her brain, and she wants to scream. “Can you pause the movie for me?”

“Sure.”

Veronica half-walks, half-stumbles into the kitchen, the phone continuing to ring and ring and ring like a nagging kid tugging on her arm until she gives it her attention.

“Hello?” she asks into the receiver, leaning against the cold white wall.

“Veronica?” a small voice asks on the other end. Veronica pushes herself off the wall and stands on her own two feet. She recognises the voice, of course; only Heather MacNamara could have a voice so small and so delicate. Except it’s also thick and shaking and she can hear her breathing heavily on the other end and that’s so far from what she’s seen of her so far, the small storm clad in a yellow skirt. The one with a kind smile but a cruel steel underneath. “Veronica?”

“Heather?” she asks. She turns slightly and sees JD leaning against the doorframe, frowning.

“Veronica, I need help,” she says. “Can you come pick me up?”

“Pick you up?” She turns and glances at the kitchen clock. “Heather, it’s almost 11:30.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” She gasps on the other end of her line, dissolving into snuffles and sniffs and tiny wet coughs that make a lump form in Veronica’s throat. “I just need help right now.”

“Okay, okay,” she says gently. “Slow down. Where are you?”

“I’m… I’m near Ram’s house. I’m at the end of Ram’s street. You know where they payphone is? Outside the Chinese take-out place. There.” Veronica visualises it in her mind, vaguely remembering passing a take-out place on the way to the Homecoming Party of Death. She concentrates harder, trying to force herself to recall any detail that might make it clearer.

“The one with the cat in the window?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m there can you just please come and pick me up? I know you’re probably busy and all I just, I need help.”

“It’s okay,” Veronica assures her. “It’s okay. We’re on our way, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Just hang tight. I don’t have car, but can you walk back to my place?”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.”

“Okay, well just hang tight and we’ll be there really soon to get you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She hangs up, her breathing shaky, and turns to JD, who is in turn biting his lip, his face a shade paler.

“That didn’t sound good. What was it? Who was it?”

“Heather,” she says. “Heather Mac. I don’t know she just-she sounds like she’s in trouble and she needs help.” She makes for the front door. “I’m going to pick her up, my parents took the car and even if they didn’t I can’t even drive. I’m just going to walk her back here. It’s not even that far. You can just stay here and-”

“Are you out of your mind?” he asks, draping her coat around her shoulders and holding his own in his hand. “Veronica, I’m not letting you walk around alone at this time. There’s all sorts of creeps and weirdos out there. Plus, Heather might feel safer with two of us there rather than one.”

Despite everything, Veronica smiles and reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” She puts on the coat properly and opens the door, lifting her key from the rack. “Now come on. Sooner we leave, sooner we can come back.”

It’s not difficult for them to spot Heather. In her yellow minidress (emphasis on mini) and matching bunny ears, she stands out amongst the dark sky and silhouettes of houses. Her slight frame is curled in on itself, and when they get closer Veronica can see her hugging her elbows. It’s only when they’re next to her that she sees the violet bruise below her eye, the scarlet scrape on her chin and the mascara-tinged tears over her delicate cheeks that Veronica feels the candy she feasted on earlier turning sour in her belly.

“Heather?” she whispers gently. Her breath forms smoke in the glow of the streetlight. “Heather?” Heather makes a meek noise that Veronica takes as a response. Her hand sits in front of her, halfway between her and Heather, feeling cold and clammy and dead at the end of her arm, unsure of what to do. “Heather, it’s Veronica.” Heather’s head turns to her, the bruise catching the light.

“You came,” she states in a small voice.

“Yeah,” she says softly. She decides to take a delicate approach, like Heather is a small wounded animal. She gives JD a nervous glance and he nods, his eyes still fixed on Heather, his expression still confused and shocked, but somehow it makes her feel less wrong. “Come on. We’ll walk you back to my place.”

“We?”

“Yeah, JD’s here too.” Heather turns slightly and looks at him, probably just seeing him for the first time.

“Oh,” is all she says.

“It’s just us. We’re going to talk you back to my house and then we can work something out okay? You can call your parents to come pick you up or something? Sound good?” Heather nods, her movements so small Veronica is sure she wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t been standing so close to her. “Okay, let’s go.”

Behind Heather, JD takes his cloak off and drapes it around her shoulders. Her face remains a fixed, stony mask, her eyes empty and faraway, but her fingers, decorated with yellow nail polish, grasp the edges tightly, her shoulders burying into it. Veronica gives him a grateful look, to which he responds with a quick half-smile, before they start walking back home, Veronica in front and holding her hand, JD behind her with a slight grip on her shoulders, and sometimes acting as Veronica’s eyes when she’s too nervous to take her own on Heather.

Getting home easier said than done, especially with seemingly shell-shocked Heather in tow. Her steps are small and slow and she wobbles in her kitten heels, which is odd for her. Veronica has witnessed first-hand her trotting around school in similar little shoes, never having to look down to check, gliding around as easily as Veronica would in her slippers. She doesn’t look drunk and there’s no smell of alcohol on her, but she can’t help but wonder. A single tear runs down Heather’s face and she sniffles gently, accompanying the sounds of a party going on not too far from them and a fireworks display going on, the sparks lighting up the sky.

Selfishly, she wishes she was watching fireworks with JD instead of doing this. And then she hates herself for thinking that.

When they get to the house, JD runs ahead and opens the door for them as she helps Heather in. The TV is switched off, an open, empty video case lying on the carpet and their candy abandoned in the bowl. Their pumpkin lantern has gone out now and the cushions are sitting askew from when Veronica pulled her legs up on the sofa and kicked them around as she tried to get comfortable.

Veronica helps Heather sit down. She seems slightly better now; her breathing more regular, her hands no longer shaking, but they still grab onto Veronica for dear life, like she’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. JD taps Veronica’s shoulder lightly before disappearing out the living room door, heading in the direction of the kitchen, where she hears the sound of the tap running.

“Heather,” Veronica asks, focussing on the girl in front of her. “Heather, what happened?”

“I-it’s nothing,” she mumbles, looking down at her hand. She gasps suddenly, her head snapping up to meet Veronica’s eyes with such ferocity Veronica can feel her own neck cracking. “I’m so sorry. I ruined your and JD’s night and you had to walk all the way out there in the cold and it’s over nothing and I should just-”

“Heather. Heather!” Veronica tries to keep her voice as calm and quiet as possible, but it’s hard when Heather is frantically talking over her and her shoulders are squirming beneath her hands as she tries to leave. “Heather, please. Just tell me what happened.” Heather falls still just before they reach the door and Veronica’s glad for it; she really didn’t want to have to man handle Heather onto the couch. Her little pink mouth opens and closes like the goldfish Veronica had when she was a kid.

Behind her, the door creaks open and JD sidesteps around her.

“Here,” he says, handing her a glass. “Got you some water. And these,” He waves a bag of frozen peas. “Found them in the freezer. That’s not too bad but it’ll still need some ice.”

“Not too bad?” Heather asks, hope lining the edge of her voice as she takes the bag.

“I’ve seen worse,” he admits with a shrug. “I’ve had worse.” Heather huffs a laugh, probably thinking he’s joking. Veronica on the other hand turns to look at him, her fingers brushing against his. If they didn’t have more pressing issues, she would definitely be digging into that.

“Heather,” she says instead. “What happened?”

Heather looks down, her lower lip beginning to tremble. All sorts of horror stories fill Veronica’s head as she looks at the bag of peas held against Heather’s eye. Anyone who was anyone at Westerberg was at that party and that leaves a wide range of suspects. Including one mythic bitch with a red scrunchie. Veronica scolds herself, telling herself that while Chandler’s bad, she can’t be that bad. Right?

“Kurt,” she says eventually. “Kurt happened.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” JD mutters.

“It was… we were at the party,” she explains. “We were dancing, having fun. And Kurt and I started kissing a little-sorry you didn’t need to know that.” Her cheeks turn pink at her admission. “Anyway, I got bored fast. I stepped back; said I needed some air. And I wanted to get another drink. Really I just wanted to stop kissing him. And he didn’t really like that.”

Veronica feels as though her chest is collapsing in on itself and her skin is crawling with ants. A shiver runs down her back and JD wraps his arm around her waist. She leans into the embrace, more grateful than she could be able to say right now. She’s not sure she can speak at all.

“So I walked away and he grabbed my hand. Asked for just a few more minutes.” She takes a big gulp of water. “I said no. I pushed him off and went to find Heather. Or Heather. Or just… anyone. Then he started yelling stuff at me.” She frantically wipes tears away from her face. “I didn’t listen. I knew if I just ignored him he’d stop but then- then he pushed me.” Veronica flinched, feeling an invisible punch in her stomach. Heather herself winces, at the pain from the cut or bruise, she doesn’t know. “That’s how I got these. And everyone was looking at me. And then Heather-Heather Duke came over and told me to go clean up. And they were all staring and people were pointing and my heart started beating real fast-” She gasps loudly, her shoulders shaking as she cries. “And I just knew I had to leave!” She takes another long drink of water, trying to calm herself down. “And I didn’t know who else to call but you.”

Veronica doesn’t know if she should feel flattered or scared or outright furious. JD seems to be furious enough for the both of them; his hand curls into a tight fist at his side and his mouth is set in a thin line, his breathing coming out shakily and his shoulders tight and tense.

“Heather… I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “Kurt… he’s a jerk. He’s such a jerk.” Heather nods quickly, trying and failing to compose herself with deep breaths. Veronica tries to think of some logical course of action, the heavy responsibility pushing down on her shoulders. “Um, maybe we should call your parents? Get them to pick you up?”

“Yeah,” Heather says, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Um, can I use your phone?”

“Of course.” Veronica leads her into the hall, flipping the light on so she can see better. It’s the only light they have on in the whole house and it makes her blink a few times and Heather squint and nearly fall into the wall. She makes to walk back into the living room, but her feet stop in the doorway instead and her body leans against the doorframe as she listens to Heather dialling the phone.

“Daddy?” she hears her ask. She winces at how impossibly small she sounds; how much she sounds like a kid and unlike the tempest she is at school. This doesn’t sound like someone who would eat at the Heathers’ table it sounds like someone Chandler would spread nasty rumours about. “Daddy, can you come pick me up? I’m at my friend Veronica’s house. No, I just left the party early. Nothing happened.” The lie sends a shiver running down Veronica’s spine. “The address? It’s um, 6-”

“652 Wilbert Way,” Veronica whispers into the hall.

“652 Wilbert Way,” Heather repeats into the receiver, shooting Veronica a grateful smile. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you, Daddy.” She hangs up quickly and leans her forehead against the plastered wall, letting out a long breath. Veronica wrings her hands, feeling like a dead weight in her own home. Heather approaches Veronica slowly, her brown eyes wide and afraid. “My dad said he’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Those ten minutes may just be the longest of her life. JD puts the frozen peas back in the fridge and asses Heather’s eye under the hallway light, telling her it’ll be gone within a few days. “Just put some make up on it” he says, “Concealer and a little setting powder.” She doesn’t ask how he knows that. Heather stands in front of the window, picking at her nails and jumping at ever car that passes while Veronica sits on the sofa, gripping the edge so tightly she wonders if she’ll leave a permanent dent. JD comes back in and sits beside her, running his hand up and down her arm. She leans into it just slightly and even then she feels bad about it. She’s far from the injured party here, but that doesn’t take away the feeling like there’s a heavy, cold weight sitting in her chest, dragging her whole body down. And the longer she looks at Heather and that bruise on her eye, the further down it takes her.

Heather jumps away from the window as a pair of bright white headlights approach, turning to Veronica, who takes it as her cue to stand. She rushes over towards her with her arms out and Veronica expects a hug only for her to stop that the last minute.

“Thank you,” she sighs. “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to-”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “You’re welcome, I mean. I mean, I did have to.” Heather looks like she might burst right here in the living room, giving a small smile and letting out a short breath.

“Thank you,” she says again. Veronica walks to her to the door and doesn’t stop watching her until she gets into her dad’s car and the car peels out of her driveway and down the road, back to their nicer neighbourhood and their bigger, cleaner house.

And then she lets herself fall apart.

When she stumbles backwards, she isn’t even surprised that JD is there behind her, wrapping her in an embrace and kissing her head. He reaches over and closes the front door before leading her into the living room, his arms wrapping around her shaking shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“They’re such assholes,” she whispers, shocked at the venom laced in her voice and then she realises she isn’t upset or scared-at least not as much as she thought she was. She’s angry. “Kurt. Ram. Heather Chandler. Heather Duke. They’re all fucking assholes.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he agrees, kissing her head once, twice, three times like each kiss can calm her down.

“I just want-” It doesn’t matter what she wants, she realises. She might never see it. JD wraps his arms tighter around her and kisses her neck, sighing against her skin. “I just want high school to be a nice place. I want people to talk to each other and I want everyone to get along and I don’t want stupid cliques and football players who slut shame girls and slap them around for not kissing them!” She realises she’s screaming by the end, so hard her throat is getting raw. She curls in so that all of her fits into JD’s lap and her head is under his chin. Her cheeks flush red and she wants to get up and straighten herself out and stop crying over something so stupid, but with JD’s arms around her and him kissing her head, she’s not sure she can. She feels every bottled up emotion and flicker of pain she’s felt watching this happy kids turning into vindictive monsters over the course of four years finally build up and release all at once. “They weren’t always like this.”

“Oh?”

“They weren’t.” She shakes her head against his chest. “Back in kindergarten, they weren’t like that. Kurt, Ram, the Heathers… none of them. We just got along with each other; you know. We were all friends.”

“Then what happened?”

“High school,” she grumbles into his shirt. “We all got bigger and everything went to hell.” She draws circles on his shirt, her cheek pressed against his heart. “Can you stay over?” She presses a kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to be alone right now. Not after-after that.”

“Fairly certain this goes against all your parents’ set rules,” he teases, kissing her hair. “Let me call Claire.” They keep a tight grip on each other’s hands as they wander into the hall, the light still on from when Heather had called her dad, and JD dials the number with one hand. He swings their hands gently as they wait, coaxing a small smile out of Veronica.

“Hello there, it’s me,” he says into the phone. “Hey Claire-yes I know-just, can I stay over at Veronica’s?” He rolls his eyes as Claire talks on the other end. “No, I know what you said just… look Veronica doesn’t want to be home alone right now?” He takes a small glance at her, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’.

‘It’s fine,’ she mouths in reply.

“Something happened and she doesn’t want to be left alone. No, her parents aren’t home, I told you they’re out of town.” Claire says something and JD bows his head and rubs his forehead looking over at Veronica anxiously.

“J, if you can’t stay, it’s okay,” she whispers. “It was stupid to ask; I’ll be fine on my own.”

‘No,’ he mouths, shaking his head. ‘It’s fine.’

“Claire, I’ll take them first thing when I get home…. Okay fine, home before ten. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and turns to Veronica with a grin. “I’m all yours baby.”

In other circumstances, Veronica would love hearing those words. He’d say that and she would probably grin wickedly and close any distance between their bodies. She’d press a kiss to his lips, tangling her fingers in his dark locks before taking him upstairs and making every part of him hers. That’s what she’d probably do, if she were hearing those words in an ideal situation.

Instead she stumbles forewords into his arms, wrapping herself around him. She blinks heavily, both drying her tears and fighting her own exhaustion, and mumbles something incoherent against his shoulder.

“I think it’s time to call it a night,” he says gently. He doesn’t have to tell her twice. His arm comes up under her legs and he lifts her up, carrying her up the stairs.

“So chivalrous,” she jokes as they climb the stairs together, but her laugh is empty. Despite him carrying her, she doesn’t feel helpless like maybe she should.

He kicks open her bedroom door and she wriggles out of his arms and climbs onto her bed, slipping out of her dress and pulling on her pyjamas. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees JD looking out the window as she changes, apparently fascinated by her mother’s flower beds.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked,” she teases. He looks back to her, with a chuckle.

“No, but like you said, Ronnie, I’m chivalrous.” She grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down on top of her, tickling his nose and mouth with tiny kisses. They come to a comfortable position with her right on top of him, her head in the crook of his neck and her legs in between his and her arm flung across his waist. He keeps his fingers running through her hair at a steady, soothing rhythm which does nothing to help with the fatigue that’s weighing her down and making her sink into her bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just want everything to go back the way it was,” she sighs. “Before high school. Before middle school, even. Before we all decided that being popular and pretty and rich was more important than being a good person.” She groans into his chest, cringing at herself. She made that decision once herself and she can’t forget it. “I know how stupid I sound.”

“You do not sound stupid,” he assures her.

“Things were just better back then,” she goes on. “And I keep thinking maybe we can be like that again. Maybe. And then stuff like this happens and the real world comes in.” A faint blush creeps over her cheeks. “Sorry for unloading this all on you.”

“Don’t be,” he tells her. “What else are boyfriends for?” She smirks against his chest and blinks rapidly. She feels the pressure of a kiss against her head. “Now go to sleep, Ronnie.”

She snuggles into him, one arm coming around his back and holding him tightly as her breath starts to even out and she treads the fine line between awake and asleep. Somewhere in her tired, drained mind, she realises that in a few short days, October will turn to November and she’ll have two months of her senior year, her last year in Sherwood behind her. Slivers of different emotions and trains of thought begin to trickle int other mind and nearly wake her, but she pushes them away, in part due to her overwhelming tiredness and also, she suspects, to the light feeling of her boyfriend’s fingers on her back. She gives into it gladly, falling sleep with his fingers in her hair, letting out a small whimper as she curls up into some sort of ball, with no assholes jocks or mean girls or crying ex-friends able to scare her or freak her out in here.

So much for her night off.

#jdronica #jdronica ff #heathers the musical #jason dean #veronica sawyer #fic: not beyond repair #woo mama this was long #i think this was the longest chapter of this fic so far

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whatifididsomethingnew · 6 years ago

Text

Take Your Medication

I’m a college freshman in my second semester. I’ve been struggling with depression and ADHD for who knows how long, but I was diagnosed(i think? idk if it was official) in my freshman year of high school and given medication for it sometime in my senior year.

I didn’t take the medication very often. I started off strong, taking the ADHD medication especially to get me through classes and make sure the dosage lasted me to sixth period, my worst class at the time. But over the summer I stopped because I decided that the positive effects didn’t make up for the side effects: a lack of appetite and dry mouth.

Below the keep reading is my experience with mental illnesses and medication. It’s long. tl;dr If you have access to medication, take it. It helps. And make sure the dosage is right for you

I’ve never been a bad student. Aside from failing algebra 2 in freshman year (ive never been good at “advanced” math, it was an IB class so even worse, and even better students agreed that the teacher was awful), I’ve gotten at worst 1-2 C’s per year. But since middle school I’ve found myself unable to pay attention, preferring to think about the book I want to read or the game I want to play or even just something else I started learning about. I figured out how to get by with finished homework and average tests. But I took about 6 AP tests in high school and only passed one, because I couldn’t study well enough to retain all the information I learned and forgot over the course, or pay attention to the exam to finish the multiple choice, or have enough foundation in the subject to write an essay that mattered at all.

This point in my life has almost certainly been my worst, depression-wise. I only live about twenty minutes away from my parents’ house, and I go home every weekend so I’m not just alone in my apartment for three days straight, but I’m still isolated during the week. My friends that are still in high school are busy with classes and extracurriculars and meeting with friends they still see everyday and very few of them have their own cars to drive up to visit me, and my friends in college are all busier than ever, all going to school anywhere from 15 minutes to like four hours away. My bad days are worse and happen more often and can span into bad weeks. I tend to write at best 1 page of notes after about 2 1/2 hours of classes a week, and drain my phone battery down to the sixties because I don't pay attention in lectures on subjects I’m not interested in.

In high school I couldn’t wait for college, because I could choose my classes and the times and had the opportunity to make friends! But I realized I’m bad at making friends; I made one friend in kindergarten, when times were simpler, and all my lasting relationships (aside from my online friends, whom I treasure dearly) can be attributed to that one friendship. (I actually made a flowchart during class when another student was presenting, and I had the energy and motivation because I actually took my meds today!)

All this personal information about my Bad Times™ is to make you understand how much I needed to take my medication. But I don’t have classes everyday, so I didn’t think that taking ADHD meds everyday was worth it, and I (incorrectly) recalled that taking the depression meds didn’t help me enough to validate taking it everyday, instead only when it got really bad, but that plan didn’t work because when my depression is bad I don’t even have enough energy to text back or walk like four steps total to get my laptop, let alone walk to the bathroom and get the pills.

So I didn’t take it, besides from when I worked my first 8-hour shifts at my first job. And those side-effects were extreme, because my body wasn’t used to these meds that were incredibly high in dosage because that’s what I need. I felt nauseous and dizzy enough to faint and went to the back room like four times an hour for a drink of water and it was still way less than I wanted. And I still didn’t learn my lesson about how the side-effects would get easier to handle if I took them more, but worse if I only took them on worst-case bases. I was thinking more in the moment about how bad I felt then, rather than about how I could feel better in the future if I pushed through.

I had a series of awful days, just last week. I cried several tears with no clear cause, only my own thoughts and boredom and depression, which means a lot in relation to me because I don’t cry. I watched Dear Evan Hansen and The Prom live, both with the original cast, and only cried a total of five tears at most, despite how these musicals and their subject matters are very dear to me. It was a bad week that came out of nowhere, nothing extraordinarily bad happened. I did the same thing as always, if not more. But still, it was a very bad week, because I was experiencing the heavy depression and it didn’t go away after I fell asleep. I don’t have classes on Wednesdays this semester; I have a lab on Mondays, and three lectures in a row on Tuesdays and Thursdays because I learned last semester that having enough leisure time to chill in my apartment for several hours between classes only makes going to the later class way more tedious. I usually get picked up by one of my parents on Thursdays while whichever of them it is drives home from work that day. That week I was lucky to have my Thursday classes cancelled, so I got picked up a day early.

Being home is good for my health, adding it all up. It makes me a bit insecure about being independent, but fuck that I’m only 18 and I love my parents, I don’t need to be completely independent yet. Being home only improved when @pointlessoressential moved in with me; having someone so similar to me in regards of being content sitting and doing our own thing without the expectation to have something to Do™ all the time. It’s good for me, to have someone around me so I don’t get too isolated, but also not too overwhelmed. I’m usually pretty open with my mom, too, so being with her during the weekend and being able to talk with her or watch some easy TV together is good. I’ve never been very good at opening up to people; my main characterization with friends I’m not as close with is sarcasm and puns and whatever other humor to distract both of us from personal issues. I’ve been trying to get better, with help and reminders from the aforementioned bee and mom, as well as my best friend (who yes my meeting of and bonding with can indirectly be connected to that kindergarten friend, if you were wondering) who is much more skilled at telling me about her feelings than I am. But I’m trying. So I told my mom about how I had been having a bad week, once I got home.

My mom has dealt with depression her whole life, too. Most of her life she thought she also had anxiety, but when I was diagnosed with ADHD, the psychiatrist who had prescribed me the medications I take explained to both of us that ADHD in afab people (I'd say women bc my mom is cis but I'm nonbinary, so afab people) can be misdiagnosed as anxiety bc it’s different from what TV shows it to be, and the reactive anxiety (as opposed to constant, causeless anxiety from an anxiety disorder) is a symptom of ADHD. She’s dealt with the same issues all her life, so I go to her often when I hit the wall.

She told me to take the medication. I said I didn’t like the side-effects. She bought me mouthwash that helps dry mouth and a box of Rice Krispies Treats so I can eat something small but filling when I lose my appetite. She reminded me that the side-effects would improve if I took the medication more often. I am privileged in that I had the opportunity to see a doctor for my issues and be able to afford (even if barely) my medication, and I should take advantage of that instead of taking it for granted.

This is a long post, sharing my personal story about having mental illnesses, and how medication helps. It may not feel like it took effect, but then it’ll wear off and you’ll realize the difference. It’s better to feel stable, to feel “normal” for most of the day, than to get used to feeling awful. I took my medication this morning before class; I’ve taken about five hours to write this whole thing, due to having begun it before one lecture started, then continuing it during another while also listening to my professor review the first five chapters of Return of the King and discuss it with us. And now I’m in my apartment, on my laptop, switching between ending this PSA and checking on due dates and reviewing my calendar and just being 10 times more productive than I ever am.

I don’t know if anyone will need this advice. I don’t know how many will even click the read more. But this is a blog site, and this is something I’m trying to learn and have it remembered. It’s something I needed to put into words, and now it is.

#mental health #medication #depression #adhd #american education #this has been a psa #mental health advice

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biopsychs · 7 years ago

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What I Learned From University (1st Year)

FIRST YEAR

Everyone is super friendly, especially in the first few weeks → Introduce yourself to the people sitting near you for the first few weeks of lectures. Everyone is looking for a friend or at least someone to talk to!!

If you commute, make that time productive → My bus ride was an hour there and back each day. It sucks but I would try to be productive for at least half of the commute. I have a post about being productive on public transport here.

On that note, stay on campus as long as possible each day → As soon as I got back home I would procrastinate every little thing. Stay in an already productive environment for as long as possible.

Maybe don’t buy your textbooks used → I thought I was being smart by buying used textbooks (most schools will have a buy and sell facebook page for textbooks). I ended up having to pay for access codes in order to do my online homework – access codes that cost ~$70 separately and came included with new textbooks anyways. Email your prof or talk to someone who has recently taken the class to find out if you need an access code. If you do, your best bet is to buy a new version of the textbook (unless you can get a seriously cheap used textbook).

Print off your timetable and find all of your classes before the first day → This helped me so much! I found exactly where all my classes were before the first day of class. I wrote down little tricks to help me remember where everything was (i.e. my calc lecture is in the arts and science building which is also where the only subway on campus is).

Don’t knock living at home to save money → If you’re lucky enough to have a college or university close to home at least consider living at home. Getting your own place or living in dorms is expensive. (But if you have to find off campus housing on your own, don’t leave it too late or you might not find a place)

Figure out the best way to take notes for each class → You have to customize the way you study for each class, all depending on the prof and the content. I hand-wrote notes for some classes (chem, calc, and physics), but not others (psych and bio). If you’re writing by hand you can always just annotate your textbook notes or lecture slides (if they’re posted before class). If you fall behind while taking notes, just leave a gap and check out a friend’s notes after class.

Adjust your expectations → Don’t expect to get straight A’s, like you might have in high school. You can strive for straight A’s but be realistic as time goes on. For classes I struggled with, I expected to be near the class average. If I was a lot lower than the class average then I would know to invest more time.

Make time for physical activity → If we’re being honest I hardly exercised during uni. Go for at least a half hour walk each day and try to start a physical activity routine. Get a friend and join a sports team, go to a fitness class, or commit to some form of a daily workout with them! You’ll feel bad bailing on someone else, plus working out is more fun with other people.

Review content throughout the semester → Reviewing little bits of content will save you a massive content review right before finals! Look through old notes while you wait for your daily coffee or take 15 minutes to watch some khan academy videos on stuff you learned in the first month of classes.

Think seriously about how much you can handle → Don’t take on too many responsibilities at once and consider all of your options! I worked weekends and some week nights throughout the school year. Looking back I should have worked less because my stress levels were way too high. Also, quite a few people I talked to took 4 classes instead of 5, for their first semester of university. I don’t think I would have done it, in the end, but it’s always something to consider.

Have fun but be responsible at parties → Always go to parties with people you trust!! If you didn’t do much partying/drinking during high school (like me), remember to pace yourself when drinking! Eat before you go out and have some water between each drink, till you find your limit. Don’t let yourself be peer-pressured into anything but also don’t be afraid to have fun! And check out if your uni has a safe walk program (someone will come and walk you back to your dorm or your car if you feel unsafe or nervous for any reason)

When procrastination hits, aim to be productive in some way → The only reason my biology mark was so high was because I would study biology whenever I got sick of studying for physics and calculus. If you know you need to study but just can’t do it, start by being productive in some other way – study a subject you do like, do your laundry, organize your study area, etc. Get your brain to start thinking productively.

Labs are difficult so be prepared → I had so many labs first year. Some tips: eat and hydrate before labs, never assume you can finish your prelab last minute, be nice to your lab partner, always remember lab safety (don’t be the person trying to wear shorts in the lab, TAs will not hesitate to kick you out), don’t rush through an experiment but be efficient, and ask for help (even if you feel like you’re bothering your TA).

Please go to bed early. Sleep affects everything → I was so dumb and would never go to bed early even though I had to be up at 6 am almost every day to catch the bus. Lack of sleep will catch up to you eventually!! Also, all nighters are not necessary, unless you make them necessary. I prioritized and never had to stay awake too late. And never pull an all nighter the night before an exam (you’re better off getting sleep and resting your brain).

Bring a water bottle everywhere → Buy a decent water bottle and always carry it with you. Even though my uni is small there are still tons of spots around campus where I can refill my water bottle!! Stay hydrated my friends!

A practice problem a day keeps the F away → This saying probably works best for science classes, but I guess a reading a day will get you somewhere too. Do something for every class each day, even if it’s just a practice problem or a quick reading. Develop a routine!

You’ll have lots of midterms → I was under the impression that midterms happened just once a semester (I thought I would have one week where I had a midterm for each class). That was not my reality. I had 2 or 3 midterms for each of my classes scattered throughout the semester. Study really hard for your first set of midterms till you get used to the high expectations!

Don’t worry about what other people are doing or thinking → This is mostly in regards to social media. I was bummed when I looked back on my first year of university, because I felt like I hadn’t done anything fun compared to other people. You only see the image that other people want you to see. You don’t know how hard someone worked or how hard they didn’t work. Just focus on you and how you can affect positive results in your life.

Other people literally don’t care about your appearance → My friend’s little sister visited campus and asked us “Why is everyone wearing sweatpants?” People literally don’t care. Dress nice and put lots of makeup on one day, because you feel like it, and wear sweats the next day.

Start essays and reports as soon as possible → You never know what might come up so be prepared for the worst! Outline your essay or graph your data as soon as you can.

Eat healthy and do meal prep → You can eat healthy during university! Set aside a couple of nights each week to do meal prep. Cook food in bulk to save money and don’t eat out too much. Try to have at least 1 serving of fruits or veggies with each meal or snack you eat!

Find a good study spot on campus → Explore your campus and figure out your favourite places to study. I had a couple of spots where I would always meet my friends to study and quiet spots where no one would bother me. Studying outside or in an area with natural light is always good.

Don’t be afraid to talk to your profs and TAs → This is the number one thing I’m going to try to do more of in my second year. TAs are chill to talk to and they can tell you tons of useful information on what upper year classes are like, which professors are good, why they chose to go to grad school, etc. If you’re struggling in lectures or labs, talk to your prof or TA! Make an appointment and be sure you can tell them exactly which concepts you’re struggling with or at least where you got lost. One of my profs told us he just waits hopefully during office hours for someone to come in. (Also profs love it if you ask them about their research or any topics they seem passionate about during lectures.)

Explore all the resources your university has to offer → My university has a program that is basically people bringing their dogs around for students to pet, in order to relieve stress. It actually works and gave me something to look forward to! Just be aware of your options so that if something in your life changes you know where you can go to ask for help.

Get a planner and utilize it → There’s no excuse not to have a planner of some sort. Use your phone, get a bullet journal, or buy a cheap planner. Have somewhere where you can record important deadlines and make to do lists. I also recommend back planning all of your studying at the beginning of the semester. Write down your midterms and finals dates and write down how much you’re going to study each day leading up to the exam. This way you’ll be able to look ahead at each month and figure out what needs to be done (i.e. getting an essay done early because the due date falls during a busy week of midterms)

This post ended up being a lot longer than I expected whoops. Take the things I said into consideration but remember that everyone’s experience will be different. Good luck to everyone heading to university!

My Other Posts:

AP lit tips

high school biology

organization tips

physics doesn’t have to suck: how to enjoy and do well in your required physics classes