#i have a actual drawing like halfway made but i got busy with graduation stuff last month BUT im all free now !!

[eclipnet]

HIII!!!!!!! I'M NEW TO UR BLOG OMG /POS UR ART IS SO CUTE!!! ur requests r open? possibly tdl plspls? :3

this has been in my askbox for almost a month I AM SO SORRY ANON i will make an actual drawing of tdl but for compensation since i dont have my drawing tablet rn i hope this silly doodle is okay !! :D

happy pride month btw

[jack-is-lost]

PATCHES & PINS (CH 1)

A/N: This story revolves around a transgender, female to male, original character. LGBTQ+ topics are a given within this story. Gender and body dysphoria will come up as well since he is not out to his family — only close friends. If you dislike such a story premise please understand you do not have to interact with it at all. Leaving hate comments will be removed. Of course, constructive feedback is always welcomed.  

Pairing: Eventually Marko x OTMC

Story is still in progress and updates will be slow

Eventually it will be posted on A03 once I’m a few chapters in

Currently on Chapter one | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 coming soon

Chapter one

My life, for the most part, has always been unusual — a little different. Despite having parents that looked like any successful mom and dad ought to, and an older brother willing to stick up for me, things just didn't go according to plan. 

You see, my mother was excited to have a daughter finally. Someone to doll up and buy dresses for, maybe even enroll in a dance class. A stark difference to her firstborn, Tyler, who was all about karate lessons and throwing the ball with dad. Which eventually evolved to working on cars as he grew older. Our mother wanted somebody to share girly interests with, understandably. And, for a while, she was able to have it. The baby pictures are proof of that. Yet, as I grew older and became more aware of what I liked, the fewer things seemed cookie-cutter-perfect for my family.

"Are you not taking your bag to school, Jacklynn?" The mentioned item was nowhere in sight as the youngest of her children poured coffee — the action resembling someone needing every drop left in the pot as if to survive.

"It's the last day," came the grumbling response after a long, soothing sip. "I doubt most kids will even be showing up."

"Yeah, about that," Tyler, the oldest, spoke around a bite of toast. "Can't I be a minority and just stay home?"

"No, you only have one day left, guys." She smiled at her two kids. A graduate who had already filled out college applications, and is ready to further his engineering career. The other, soon-to-be senior, that seemed to have no real drive in anything but drawing and reading — and staying up too late apparently.

"Seriously," she spoke up again as they sighed in unison, deflating with their last hope crushed. "You two will survive."

Tyler nudged his sister, who leaned across the counter, jostling the coffee dangerously enough to receive a seething glare. "Want me to take you?"

It wasn't like Tyler to offer that too often, "Sure."

They both pulled away from the kitchen and made their way to the door, hollering goodbyes as Tyler grabbed the keys — the other sibling still nursing the coffee.

"Don't stay out too late!" Their mom called back, knowing full well she wouldn't see her kids after school. It seemed the closer summer drew in — the fewer tests to study for and homework to do, the more they came home later.

Tyler stepped into the car, unlocking the passenger door as he slid inside his cherry baby — A beaming red, 1983 Audi Sport Quattro, followed by his sister plopping down less elegantly. He glanced at her while starting the car.

"Talk to me, Jay." It was the last day, after all. Weren't kids supposed to be excited about that? "What's bouncing 'round that head of yours." He barely received any notion his sister was listening till she drew out a long sigh, head hitting the back of the seat.

"I don't know, man." It was drawn out, tired. "Didn't get much sleep, I guess."

Tyler nodded while giving the steering wheel a turn, making his way down the road. The school building wasn't very far when on wheels, and he pulled into a parking lot marginally less filled than it ought to be.

As his sister made to get out, he placed a hand on her shoulder, their eyes meeting as she paused halfway out the door. "Ever need to get a chip off your shoulder come talk to me, okay?" Her eyes rolled to the side, and Tyler gave her a little reassuring squeeze, "I'm serious. What are big —"

"— bro's for? I know, I know."

Tyler chuckled as he released her shoulder, "Good. Now," he slammed the door shut and leaned over the roof, "Go sleep in class or something." That at least drew a chuckle out of his sister as she turned away from the car.

The last day of school went how one could expect it to go. Some teachers put on movies and had extra treats for their students. Others went over lessons in the last semester, hoping it would stick to impressionable minds before three months of freedom — minds that were only thinking about freedom and not math.

It was by mid-day when a note made its way into Jay's locker. In gruff, almost unreadable handwriting, it merely said, 'Meet us by the big tree'. Jay instantly knew who it was from and folded the paper up.

A long night was probably ahead.

When the final bell rang, Jay had to wipe the drool off an impromptu pillow-desk before heading out and down the hall. Many of the kids loudly boasted about their summer plans while cleaning out lockers, jostling each other, and hurrying outside. Jay maneuvered around the hoard and quickly escaped out a side entrance, locker already empty since lunch.

It didn't take long to walk a block to the park, down a jogging trail, before splitting off into a cluster of trees. There, in the center of it, laid a large trunk of a dead tree. Upon it splayed out a makeshift map, bags, and — unsurprisingly, two brothers.

"Finally," Grumbled Edgar while raising his head, a red marker still poised over the map. "Where's Sam?"

Jay stared, unaware that Sam was supposed to tag along for the stroll after school let out. "Was I meant to wait for him or?"

"Forget it," came the short grunt, and Edgar was back to the more important matter at hand as Alan turned around to face Jay.

"I'm sure he'll show up. He's got the same note as you," he started to unravel what appeared to be a chaotic ball of cord in his hands. "Oh, hey—" he stopped as a thought struck him, "—Still a no go on the knife?"

Oh, not this again.

Jay leaned against the bare trunk, arms crossed and brow lifted. "Alan, we've been through this. Keep me on the books, but hand me a knife, and someone will lose a finger."

Of course, no one knew if Jay meant their fingers or not, and that was on purpose.

"Maybe some training will help," Edgar spoke up again, pausing on circling locations. "You need to prepare yourself for—"

"— the unexpected. I get it, Ed." Jay cut him off while peering closer to get a look at the map.

"Edgar," he corrected with a tired mutter despite it being useless. They've known each other for an entire year now. One would think it wouldn't matter at this point.

Jay tapped a finger on the closest circled spot, the cemetery. "Thought you marked this off?"

"One can never be certain," He nodded to his own words of wisdom. "It is a common ground for the dead."

"I'd say," Jay suppressed a snort, "It is where the deceased go to be laid into the ground."

Rustling noises announced Sam’s arrival as he pushed through, almost smacking himself in the face with a thin branch. His strained voice drew attention to him. “Guys,” he dusted a leaf off his overly styled coat, “We really need to find a better spot to meet.”

Jay lazily offered a salute wave, “Hey to you too, Sammy.”

“I’m serious,” Sam huffed while taking up a spot near Alan, hands shoved into his pockets. “What about the shop? Y’know, with school now over and stuff?”

Edgar grunted in thought. “Yeah, that ought to be doable.”

“Your grandpa still against us being at the house?” Alan spoke up.

Sam gave a partial shrug. “Sort of,” he eyed the map, then glanced at Jay, who returned the unspoken question with a tired look. Sam returned to explaining when Edgar motioned for him to continue. “You guys can visit, as you have, but you can’t — you know —” he shuffled his hands for the right phrasing, “— bring hunting business there.”

Jay had never actually been to Sam’s place, but the stories shared made it sound like a lot of stuff went down there — destroying property kind of stuff. So Jay could understand what the man was trying to avoid. The Frog Brothers being walking time bombs of destruction, after all.

“The cemetery again?” Sam squawked at noticing it. “I am not doing that again.” The sound of Jay snickering redirected Sam’s defiant stare. “Make Jay do it this time.”

“Wait, wha—”

“—He doesn’t have the qualification for it, Sam.” Edgar cut in before an argument could occur. This only made Sam huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“So? I didn’t either last year.”

Alan stopped weaving the cord at this point, placing it down on the dead trunk. “Jay needs the experience. It could be good for him.” He simply spoke, agreeing with Sam.

“Hey, Jay’s right here,” he had pointedly avoided parading around Santa Carla for a whole damn year. Sure, his knowledge of supernatural things is what drew the Frog Brothers to him in the first place — and the free charge of ordering books at their shop kept Jay in the circle, but he was a good year older than them and didn’t feel like playing make-believe.  

Sam smirked in the way that screamed challenging, “C’mon, Jay, or are you scared of the dark?”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “I know what you are doing.”

“Then prove me wrong,” Sam continued.

“No.”

Despite that, Jay found himself amongst the dead at one in the damn morning. It was eerie, the cemetery, sitting in absolute silence and blanketed by a coat of darkness. The only noise now filtering through was shoes scrapping against the ground and low grumbles around him, voices hushed as not to alert anybody — or anything. Even their flashlights were ordered to stay off unless it called for it, as directed by Edgar.

“Exactly what should we be expecting to find here?” Jay spoke up quietly while trailing behind the two brothers, hands stuffed into his jacket. It was chilly tonight.

“Any signs of the undead.” Edgar simply said without much explanation, to which Alan filled in.

“Disturbed graves, tombs broke, drag marks.” he ticked off like a list.

“Ah,” Jay deadpanned. “So zombies?” the brothers turned to him, the moonlight hitting their frames but leaving their faces shadowed. “What?”

“Could be vampires too.” Edgar simply grunted. “Fresh ones crawling out of their dirt bed.” Alan nodded along with his brother, and Jay sighed.

“Sure, yeah. That too,” It wasn’t like anything of the sort actually existed, but Jay would humor the guys. They put up with his oddities, after all, so he could continue to do the same for them.

“Didn’t any of your books mention that?” Edgar continued while turning around, walking along a worn-out path again, and avoiding stepping on actual graves.

“A little,” Jay admitted as they continued on their trek.

A majority of Jay’s supernatural books were all about how one became something, the signs, and lore behind creatures — not exactly if they crawl out of graves or not. It made sense, though, if considering how people feared vampires in the past. How they would stake and behead someone during burial just in case their loved one decided to raise again.

Same could be said about leaving a bell.

Alan suddenly crouched down near the edge of a grave. “Look,” his flashlight clicked on to bask the empty hole in light. Edgar followed promptly as Jay stared at the two figures eyeing an obvious dug hole for a burial happening soon.

“It might be a sign.” Edgar rubbed a finger over the crumbling edges, dirt smearing and falling back inside the pit.  

“Or,” Jay leaned over them to get an exact look at the perfect outline, “It is the groundskeeper getting ready for a funeral. There’s not even a casket down there.” Jay simply summarized before leaning back.

Alan clicked off the light and stood, “He’s right, Edgar. It is too perfect.”  

“Hey!” the voice resonated out, cutting the muffled talking off as a beam of light frantically flailed in their directions. “What are you kids doing?!”

Without a shared word between the three, just mere glances at one another, they quickly split. Or at least Jay tried to do just that, but the brush of Edgar flying past him in a rush entirely threw him off balance. It wasn’t until tailbone smashed into dirt that Jay even figured out what happened.

“Fuck…” he muttered, then covered his mouth as the light grew brighter over the grave from above, rushing footfalls growing closer before fading away in the direction the brothers ran. Once it was clear, the curse slipped again with more fever.  

Jay eased to his feet and stared above his head, the wall towering almost a foot over him. “They truly mean six-feet-under,” he muttered while raising a hand to the ledge, just able to cup fingers over the lip, only to stumble back as it gave away.

The recent rainfall was not making it easy.

Again Jay tried to grab, shoes scraping along the wall in an attempt to gain some height — thinking if he just rushed up the wall it would give him enough momentum, only to fall back against the adjacent wall.

“Shit — fuck,” Jay didn’t even care if his voice traveled that time. He was stuck in a damn grave, after all! Screw it!

“Need a lift?” came a voice from above, and Jay shot his gaze upward to see a hand reaching down toward him. The moonlight didn’t offer much else to see but light curls and the frame of a coat.

Even if it were the security guard, Jay knew this would be his best bet. It wasn’t like waiting till daylight to be discovered was an option. It would not help much in regards to needing to be home before Jay’s parents could find out he even snuck out.  

He reached for the hand, feeling leather against palm and uncovered fingers wrap around his wrist. It took only one good heave, shoes against the wall and other hand clinging to the edge, to be entirely pulled out. Despite mud caking Jay from front to back, he could even feel it in his shoes; it felt good to be back on the surface. It wasn’t like he had a fear of enclosed places, but it still sucked regardless.

“Thanks,” he looked over at the stranger, still only catching the slightest glimpse of a smirk within the darkness. It was hard to make out any features, and the way the guy stood didn’t help anything.

“Were you takin’ a dirt bath?” he joked inquisitively, and Jay chuckled under his breath.

“No, not exactly.” Who would want to do that in a cemetery anyway?  

The beam of a flashlight washed over them again as rustling sounds drew near, and Jay stepped away from the pre-dug grave. Definitely not wanting to repeat that incident all over.

“Looks like we should start running,” spoke up the other guy, head turned away from Jay to peer toward the security guard.

What was once hidden was now lit up like a spotlight. A smooth curved jawline, willowed eyes bright with brown, and curly dirty blond hair glowed on display for a split moment. Until the flashlight jostled by the running security guard fanned over the area. And Jay would be lying if he said he didn’t stare.

“Avoid any more holes, yeah?” he easily teased before seemingly stepping in a direction with no real speed.

Jay floundered for a moment before taking off after him. “Wait.” Jay didn’t know the grounds that well, and the two idiots that did had left him.

The guy laughed while reaching behind him, grabbing Jay’s wrist again with no problem, then started to run as the worn-out guard hollered something. He seemed to avoid any lifted tombstones, flower arrangements, and small fences like it were daytime. All while Jay tried his best not to stumble, gaze more on the ground than anywhere else.

When they neared the exit gate, chained to prevent people at such odd hours to visit, he let Jay’s arm go and placed both palms out while crouching down. Jay didn’t have to ask and quickly stepped into the waiting hands. He felt the guided push upward as his own hands grabbed for purchase, trying to avoid being nicked by the gothic-style fence. Yet, as Jay’s leg swung over, his pants snagged and ripped — the gravity of his body spilling over the other side holding little resistance.

Surprisingly Jay landed on his feet, if not a little wobbly, and quickly looked through the fence to see the guy still standing there undeterred. “You coming?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he simply said. Jay wanted to comment, but the sight of the guard pushing past the nearest tombstones shut him up. “Go.” he laughed again — actually laughed as if nonplussed by the whole thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him distracted.” Then he turned around and fanned his arms out as if directing air traffic before darting down the side of the fence.

And that was the last Jay saw of the guy before quickly hiding behind the bushes lining outside of the cemetery, not wanting to be seen as the flashlight shown in his direction.

The walk home was slow as he picked flakes of mud off his jeans. Jay could feel the dry mess on his face and in his hair. A shower was needed as well as a talk with the Frog Brothers tomorrow. No way were they getting off free from abandoning him in the damn graveyard! Even as he climbed back through the bedroom window, Jay was envisioning how he’d throttle them. It wasn’t until he was in the shower, scrubbing extra hard to clean the grime off, that his thought wavered to the stranger.

“Why was he even there?”

[robinskey]

Don’t Touch My Family

Request: Would you be willing to make an imagine of dad!billy were after graduation u nd billy leave town bc u get pregnant w/out telling anybody but after a few years u have a son & daughter Neil finds out n come by the house hella pissed while billy isnt home, tries to hurt u nd the kids but billy comes home n just beats the hell out him for trying to hurt his family? just the thought of billy goin after the only person hes terrified of for HIS family makes him THE father he never had makes me melt ❤

A/N: This is a little bit darker than my typical fluffy sunshine fanfic, but I really liked the request, so I decided to do it anyway. :) Sorry if you wanted something shorter, anon-this turned into more of a drabble/one-shot than an imagine. Thanks for requesting!

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, descriptions of violence, implied abuse, language

You find out you’re pregnant halfway through the last semester of senior year. 

When you tell Billy, you expect him to freak out. He doesn’t, though-at least, not on the outside. On the inside, he’s absolutely panicking. But he can see how upset you are, so he just pulls you close. He whispers into your hair that he’ll support you in whatever you want to do.

After a few days of contemplation, decide you want to have the baby. You and Billy agree that it’s best to keep your pregnancy a secret-for now, at least. If your parents found out, your father would probably actually fire that shotgun he’s always threatening to use on “that deadbeat boyfriend of yours.”

And Billy...well, he has no idea how his father would react. But he has no intentions of finding out.

Thus, Billy offers to run away with you right there on the spot. However, you ultimately decide that it would be better to finish high school. Maybe you'll even be able to save up a little bit of money before the two of you start a new life together.

So, for the next few months, you wear baggy clothes to hide your growing midsection. Billy picks you up for “dates” that are actually doctor’s appointments. Thanks to your valiant efforts, no one suspects a thing.

Eventually, graduation rolls around. Your family hosts a small get-together after the ceremony. Distant relatives congratulate you on your achievements and ask if you’re excited to start this “new chapter in your life.” You smile and nod.

You have no idea.

Later that night, you stuff everything you can fit into a small tote bag. You leave an apology note to your parents on the kitchen counter and sneak out of your house.

Billy’s waiting for you outside in the Camaro. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead and holds the door open as you climb into the passenger seat. As he drives away, you watch your childhood home shrink into the distance, saying a silent goodbye to the only home you’ve ever known.

***

Five years later, you and Billy share a two-bedroom house on the West Coast. You have two kids-a son and a daughter. Billy works as a mechanic at an auto repair shop, while you write for the local newspaper. Neither of you make much money, but it doesn’t matter. You’re both happy-genuinely happy-for the first time in your lives.

Billy gets home around 5:30 every day, so, when the doorbell rings at 5:15, you figure he just got off early.

“I’m coming, honey!” you yell, bouncing your infant daughter on your hip.

But when you peek into the peephole, you discover not your husband standing on your doorstep but a scruffy older man in tattered clothing. His face is scrunched up, and he squints in the sun. You freeze, clutching your baby to your chest.

Neil Hargrove is standing on your porch.

“I know someone’s home. I heard you,” he barks. “Come on. Open up. I just want to talk.”

He raises a dirty fist and raps on the wood. The noise scares your daughter, who starts to whimper. You’re too busy shushing her to notice your son appear at your side.

“Mama, who’s that?”

You clamp a hand over his mouth and suck in your breath. Maybe, if you’re quiet enough, you can cancel out the noise made by your clueless four-year-old.

“Is that my grandson?”

For a split second, his volume dips below its typical scream-level. It’s the most gentle you’ve ever heard him speak.

But then he has to ruin it by pounding once more on the door.

“Come on, you coward, open the damn door!” He rattles the doorknob so violently that you think it might fall off.

This time, you can’t prevent your daughter from letting out a wail. Beside you, your son sniffles.

You muster every last fiber of courage in your being. “Get the hell out of here, Neil,” you growl, trying to sound as menacing as possible.

“Y/N? Is that you?” he asks. There’s a soft thud, almost like he’s just leaned his forehead against the wood.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought it was Billy in there,” Neil says.

“Billy-Billy is here,” you stutter.

“No, he’s not. I don’t see the Camaro anywhere, and I know my son takes that damn car everywhere,” Neil says.

Your son wraps his arms around your calf and clings to it. You hope he isn’t able to absorb the panic pulsing through every part of your body

“I’m warning you, Neil, to walk out of here while you still can. I…” 

You scan the messy living room, littered with toys. Your gaze falls on a plastic pistol laying on the sofa.

“I have a gun. And I’m not afraid to use it,” you threaten.

The wall between you slightly muffles his ominous chuckle, but it still reaches your ears.

“I’m sure you do, sweetie. But there’s no need to get violent on an old man who just wants to see his grandkids. Why don’t you just open the door, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you just go to hell, Neil?” 

The silence drags on long enough for you to almost convince yourself that he’s walked away.

Almost.

And then, just loud enough for it to be audible: “If that’s how you want to play it.”

You jump out of the way as the door falls inward with a thud.

Neil Hargrove slowly lowers the foot he used to kick it down, glaring at you with bloodshot eyes.

You push your son behind you, wrap your arms tighter around your daughter, and take cautious steps backwards.

“Did you really think you could hide from me forever?” he asks. He advances deeper into your home-your sanctuary-with every word.

“What do you want from me?” you demand. Your backside collides with a wall; Neil’s backed you into a corner.

“I just want what you and my son stole from me by skipping town five years ago,” Neil says. “A chance to connect with my family.”

He draws close enough that you can count every crater left by untreated acne on his creased face and smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “I knew you had one child,” he says, peeking around you at the little boy cowering in the corner, “but two? What a pleasant surprise. This little one-let me see her face.”

Neil extends a wrinkled hand to peel back the blanket covering the baby. You’re too stunned to react until his filthy finger is only inches from her face. That’s when you raise a knee and jam it into his groin. He doubles over with a grunt.

“Go!” You practically shove your son into his room and set the baby next to him. Then, a hand wraps around your ponytail, yanking you backwards. Tears stream down your face as you scream at your kids to shut the door and lock it. There’s a slam and a click, then the word “bitch” yelled into your ear. Neil spits into your ear canal as he calls you every name in the book. You claw and kick and punch, but Neil’s got a death grip on your hair. He drags you across the living room floor, promising that he’s “going to make you pay.” He finally tosses you onto the couch. Your back aches as the barrel of the fake gun juts into your spinal cord.

Between your shrieks and Neil’s name-calling, you don’t hear the roar of the engine as the Camaro pulls onto your street, nor the squeal of the brakes as Billy pulls up next to the beat-up pick-up truck he’d recognize anywhere. You don’t hear your husband’s thundering footsteps as he sprints up the sidewalk. No, you don’t notice any of that; you’re too preoccupied flailing around as Neil tries to pin you to the sofa. 

But even though you don’t see him, Billy appears in the doorway, still wearing his navy mechanic jumpsuit. He’s covered in grease stains and flushed skin. And, for the first time in his life, he raises his voice at his father without an inkling of fear of the consequences.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

He charges at his father, who’s caught completely off-guard. The two of them crash onto the coffee table, snapping it in two. They only wrestle for a minute before Billy comes out on top. He raises his fist and brings it down on his father’s face until it’s nothing more than a bloody pulp. Billy continues landing blows long after Neil passes out. And, while Neil Hargrove certainly deserves it, you’d rather not have Billy kill someone in your house with your kids in the literal next room. So, eventually, you walk up to your scratched-up, bruised husband and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Baby,” you say softly. 

He gazes up at you, the pain and torment of eighteen years of abuse bubbling to the surface once again. Once his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He raises himself to his feet and pulls you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you so tightly that you wince, sore from Neil throwing you around like a ragdoll. Billy apologizes profusely and holds you out at arm’s length. His eyes flicker over your features.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” you say honestly. Your hands are shaking profusely, your heart rate is still elevated well above normal levels, and you’re pretty sure you’ll have nightmares about this encounter for the rest of your life. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“A little. But it could have been so much worse, if you hadn’t…” 

A single tear trails down your cheek. Billy wipes it away with his thumb.

“You don’t have to go there, Y/N. Don’t go there,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Your eyelids flutter shut. “You’re right. We’re safe now-me, the kids-”

“The kids!” you both exclaim at the same time. You run to their bedroom and knock on the door. It swings open, and two small children stare up at you. They both burst into tears, and you and Billy gather them into your arms.

The police arrive a few minutes later, just as Neil starts to regain consciousness. (Having nosy neighbors pays off when you need someone to call 9-1-1 without being asked.) As the officers escort Neil out of the house in handcuffs, Billy warns him to never come near his family again.

And for the first time in his life, his father actually listens.

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny  @sweetboibilly @scarrasco1325  @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[seyaryminamoto]

A decade in review

So... I figured I’d join the corny crowd of people who are talking about their growth and achievements this decade. Looking back can actually help a lot when you lose sight of where you’re standing or where you’re going, soooo...

I started this decade halfway through writing an original story that I didn’t take all that seriously at the time. I was in ninth grade, so sure, I was young... and yet, as some people might know, I was clawing my way out of the worst depression I’ve ever faced. If you guys thought you’d seen my low points... yeah, no, I’ve never again hit a low point as badly as I did back then. Yet even though difficult things happened through the rest of the decade, I learned enough lessons from that early, terrible and distressing time (which happened at the end of the previous decade, to be precise, which is why it’s honestly not worth going into right now) that I managed to stay afloat, even if not easily, upon each new opportunity where depressions knocked on my door up to date.

Now, beyond my mental health, I was still in music school at the start of 2010, and I was certainly no longer as enthusiastic about it as I had been when I first enrolled. I didn’t realize at the time that my calling was something else entirely... and the more I wrote that story I mentioned above, the more I leaned away from one branch of art and towards another.

I think I got my first graphic tablet either in 2009 or 2010, at one of my birthdays. My sister dropped the pen on the first day, the tip broke and I flew into the worst of rages :’D she was so apologetic about it, I don’t think I’d ever seen her quite so remorseful, which was why I toned down eventually and cut her slack, did my best not to bring it up again... anyways, I learned to draw with that thing despite the malfunctioning pen, and the first artworks I did weren’t exactly brilliant... here’s one of them, one of the few I actually finished :’D

... Safe to say, I’ve learned a lot since those days, right? :’D

(also, if anyone wonders, that artwork features the main characters of that original story I mentioned, the original file is dated for April 2010, so indeed, a file from early on in the decade :’D)

Slowly, but surely, my life started to revolve more and more around writing and reading/watching stories of all sorts. I’d spend hours and hours every day watching anime (yep, my weaboo phase in full swing!), I’d devour most books that fell into my hands, and I even ended up volunteering at a library (does it really count as volunteering if the government forces you to volunteer or else you can’t graduate from high school...? Hmmmmmm...). I actually chose that library because most other options were basically to play babysitter for either kids or senior citizens, and I sure didn’t think I was equipped to deal with either thing. A library, though, meant I’d work with books most of all, and I was pretty sure I’d be more useful at that job.

Cue the irony that, because I was apparently so helpful, they decided to give me more important duties, such as DESK DUTY, because the other volunteers weren’t as trustworthy as me, and bye-bye to working directly with books. Haha. Sad.

But that temporary, sort-of job at that library definitely changed my outlook on my future, even if it felt like such a fortuitous thing, something I was forced to do rather than choosing to do it of my own volition.

For all my life I’d felt a ton of pressure because my family is always more science-oriented than any other I’ve ever met. So I had to excel at school because that was expected of me (all my siblings had, so I couldn’t lag behind them, I’d been disgustingly competitive with my siblings for too long to reason with it yet), and I actually was decent at science subjects. I blindly thought that science was the only possible path for me in life. I was seriously planning on going into engineering because I more or less enjoyed chemistry... but every time I thought about what it meant to finish a major in engineering of any sort, I always ended up asking myself one question: would I have time to write in that sort of career?

The mere thought of office work, lab work, which were guaranteeed to be the best thing I could aspire to once I finished college for engineering, sounded like a morbid funeral march to me. I honestly found myself thinking that’d be a waste of my life. And that’s not to say anyone who actually spends their life that way is wasting theirs, but I KNEW it wasn’t my calling.

One day, while at that library, I realized what my actual calling was: I wanted that life. I wanted to work with books, whether making them or writing them or selling them or just about anything to do with the business. A mix of my crazy storytelling passion with that particular job experience brought me to the conclusion that I needed to forsake my family’s big ole’ scientific legacy and to make my own choices. My three siblings could easily enough carry forward that “legacy”, I could do my thing instead.

I think that decision, which took more courage than I thought I had, was probably one of the best I’ve made in my entire life. Telling my mother I’d go into literature was NOT easy and I literally had to make the equivalent of a sales pitch for her to agree to it, investigating all I could about the career, researching as much as possible to show her there WERE career possibilities I could pursue if I chose this major, until she finally relented. And that success meant I was off to a whole new world of crazy once I graduated from high school.

Which I did indeed, in 2012. I wouldn’t start college until 2013 because my major’s first semester wouldn’t start until March, so I had a nice long break because the school year, in my country, ends in July. I had been exhausted of studying at the time, so the break was absolutely welcome. 

In the early stages of that time period, I actually finished that big ole’ original story of mine, and I couldn’t have been prouder of myself for it, even if I was sure I’d never show it to anyone. I was embarrassed of it, to a fault, because there was a lot of ridiculousness in it, the plot was all over the place despite following the storytelling beats I’d learned through the many anime I’d watched, and eventually it evolved into something completely different from what it started out as. I sometimes allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to write a big story that I could share with people and hopefully get more than a handful of readers for... Still, I tucked my original story away safely, because even if it was embarrassing, I was proud of what I’d learned with it. So I went on with a new original story, one I was DEAD SURE I’d be a better writer for, and that I would be much more successful with.

My sister visited us during that summer, and she showed me, my other sister and my mom, a certain TV series that she had very much enjoyed despite we had never thought much of it back when it was airing. 

I’d seen a couple of episodes back in the day, but none had quite impressed me. The first episode I saw had made the show appear like some sort of lame “villain of the week” show, and the second one (I probably only caught the second half of this one) had such mixed values and morals that I was completely appalled by it and decided it wasn’t my thing. Then I, uh, also watched the final minutes of the final episode and it seemed so very melodramatic for the SCARRED GUY to ask SOME IMPRISONED GUY where his mother was, only for the show not to address the answer at all and cut to a pair of kids kissing on a balcony.

Sooooo... my very unimpressed self had decided ATLA wasn’t my thing because of The Great Divide, the Southern Raiders and the last three minutes of Sozin’s Comet: Avatar Aang :’) I’m funny that way.

This time around, watching it from scratch, I was slightly more interested in it because the first few episodes DID look like there was a coherent plot that was going somewhere. So even though my mom and other sister didn’t keep watching (at the time), I decided to watch it by myself because well, why not?

... Cut to seven years later and here I am, still neck-deep in this particular, dark corner of that specific show’s fandom. September of 2012 was when the Seyary you all know came into existence (?)

I won’t lie and say my experience in this fandom hasn’t been a damn rollercoaster in its own right. I certainly started off with WAY more enthusiasm than I have now, just look at my Author’s Notes from my first stories or Gladiator’s first chapters and read my hyped notes for yourselves :’D I definitely was caught by the magic of the Avatarverse, the characters, so much about ATLA seemed to exude potential and, after being disappointed by the popular anime of the time (*cough* SAO *cough*), ATLA (and later LOK Book 1) were a breath of fresh air for my weaboo brain that was sick and tired of some really annoying tropes anime seemed to be throwing at me left right and center (I’M SO DONE WITH THE IMOUTO FETISH TO THIS DAY, I CATEGORICALLY REFUSE TO WATCH OR READ ANY DAMN STORY WITH ANYTHING FEATURING THAT GROSS AND FUCKED-UP CONCEPT).

So I enjoyed ATLA a lot, and then LOK Book 1 (I virtually watched all of that in one day and had REALLY HIGH HOPES for the next seasons. Heh. I’ll leave that as that). And like everyone who gets hyped about fandoms, I decided I needed to look up more stuff about it! Art, fics, you name it! And while I really enjoyed LOK back then, I had thought Korra’s story would unfold in a cool way in future seasons, since all four of them (I think) had been confirmed by the time I joined the fandom... whereas I was dissatisfied and in dire need of fix-it situations for my favorite ATLA character.

I started off looking for general Azula fics. Then, as usual, I started testing ships for her. There were some ships I never saw the point to, and I shall not name them, there were some ships I saw partial potential to but I wasn’t exactly thrilled about them, so again I shall not name them...

And then one day I was scouring DeviantArt and came across the gem you all know about, which I’ve gushed over for all these seven years as the entire reason I converted to this particular ship.

Secret Kiss by Saniika can be credited, 100%, for planting the seed of Sokkla in my head. I didn’t understand it right away, why lie, but I was definitely intrigued. All other Azula ships I’d found were shipped for obvious reasons, easy enough to pinpoint even if none was all that satisfactory for me... so I was confused by this one, absolutely. Why would someone ship this ship? Why would they ship it so hard as to commission such quality artwork about them? The same commissioner’s name popped up in pretty much every single epic artwork about these two at the time, and I was completely blown away by that. To be so dedicated to a ship, to make all those artworks about a huge story about them that I couldn’t seem to find in FF.net at the time...

Cue the surprise when I actually ended up befriending said commissioner barely a few months later, and she’s hands down one of the best friends I’ve ever had :’)

Still, no need to head into that particular territory right now xD I was curious about the pairing, but I was also wary. I looked for fics, none really seemed to tell canon-compliant stories about how they could have gotten together post-ATLA... at least, not while they were still young. I looked at a few stories but nothing really hit home yet.

Back in these days, I used to go to... gosh, the cringe of just saying so, to FACEBOOK for fandom purposes of all kinds. Yeah, I know Facebook communities aren’t necessarily terrible, but I sure as fuck ended up in all the wrong ones :’) so... heh. I befriended someone who had an Avatar page, and while in conversation with him, the subject of LOK’s Pro-Bending came up. We talked about how much fun it would be for ATLA’s benders to play it. And so, a few weeks later, on a bus ride back home after meeting some high school friends, I allowed the idea to blossom further. And suddenly I was 100% caught up in it, deciding I’d have to feature Azula somehow, and I decided to try my luck at doing that by making her Sokka’s girlfriend :’D his inexplicable girlfriend, at the moment. All of it, just for shits and giggles. Because why not!

So I wrote that story, both because of that momentary bout of inspiration and because my second big original story was falling apart on me due to world-building reasons. Do NOT ever talk to me about Celtic calendars. If you do, I will block you into infinity (?). So yeah! A writer’s block caused by Celtic calendars resulted in my decision to calm down by writing something else for a change.

I had little hopes to finish Origins of Pro-Bending, simply because I didn’t write fics. Whenever I had tried to write any around those years, it had NOT gone well. I had always fallen apart after a couple of chapters, failed to keep up the momentum, fumbled the story as a whole in the end. So I decided to take this easy, and I posted it to FF.net despite not being sure I was ready for that: I hadn’t written a story in English in AGES, and you do NOT want to know what was the story in English I’d written before this. You do not. If you even ask, I WILL BLOCK YOU EVEN MORE THAN I DID WITH THE CALENDAR! *heavy breathing*

Okay, so... back to the topic, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t really expect much, because I figured not a lot of people would really care for anything I posted. But then... that view counter started to shift. The numbers kept going up, and the more chapters I posted, the more it did. The reviews also poured in, slowly at this point, and then in a certain chapter there were NO REVIEWS AT ALL. Which I considered a fail. I honestly thought it meant my story was a flop, a failure, and I should just STOP because NO ONE CARED.

... Have I ever been accused of being overly dramatic? If not, it’s only because I hide it relatively well... sometimes :’)

But I said “it’s okay, I’ll finish it. My friend wants to read it after all, and I’ll just write it so he can see it to the end. I’ll finish uploading on FF.net even if no one cares anymore, because maybe someone someday will want to read it, even if no one does now”.

... Overly dramatic Seyary then finished her story and halfway there came up with the idea for a NEW ONE! The PREQUEL! The story of how Sokka and Azula fell in love! All by listening to The Reason. And as much as I had thought I wouldn’t keep writing fics after OoPB, that idea was too powerful to ignore. So when OoPB picked up reviews and views all over again and ended with what I considered was a BANG, I said “THIS SHOW’S NOT GONNA STOP HERE!” and I went and wrote the Reason next, obsessively, literally pushing through the entire, near 100K story, in A MONTH. I honestly wrote every day. I’d NEVER done something like that :’) Granted, I was pretty constant with OoPB, but it was shorter and I wasn’t quite as psyched about it as I was with The Reason.

Honestly, The Reason is where I REALLY fell for Sokkla, for everything that it was, for everything that it could be. I had felt its potential since OoPB, and I had concluded Sokka could make Azula smile like next to no one else could... that is, if anyone else could at all. But the whole spectrum of it, the storytelling potential, the development of both characters... I hadn’t understood it yet. And by the time I did, with The Reason... wow, there really was no turning back.

So I ended up writing that, and then I wrote Break In and How They All Reacted. And in between I made a few AMVs that Viacom NICELY tore down and are no longer available for you guys. Sorry ‘bout that. I did what I could.

The thing that was getting to me most, though, (and, why lie, feeding my ego a bit too much) was looking at FF.net’s data spreadsheets, available only for each user: it wasn’t so much the number of readers, which did overwhelm me on its own right anyhow... it was the places they came from. The fact that I could see, according to this data, that people in South Africa were opening my story, in Romania, in New Zealand, in Singapore... I had allowed myself, very briefly, to imagine I would one day publish books and that they might not be complete fails, but I NEVER expected anything I wrote to be read by people who lived halfway across the world, who had entireliy different cultures from my own, who had no idea who I was but wanted to find something to read and had decided to click on my story, amongst all the many possibilities. That particular function of FF.net is probably my favorite on that site, like I said not because of the numbers but because of the places. Even if your readers aren’t outspoken or they don’t even bother favoriting, following or reviewing... they still count in ways they don’t imagine. They may just look like one more number on FF.net’s spreadsheets, but when that number is connected to a location it feels much more real, I think. As an author, that means that’s one more person, somewhere in the world, who decided to give my story a chance.

On a day of February, 2013, one such person left a review I really enjoyed and that I thanked him for profusely. In his response, he brought up that he had been watching documentaries about the Roman Empire and he had thought about an AU for ATLA where maybe Sokka was captured by the Fire Nation and turned into a gladiator, only to become Azula’s sponsored fighter later on, a fighter she’d want to sponsor merely to stave off boredom. He was bringing it up to me because he didn’t want to write it himself, and he thought maybe I would be interested in trying my hand at it since I seemed so passionate about Sokka and Azula.

At first I only thanked him for the idea, said I wanted to focus on my canon-based stories instead and I was sooooo not interested in AUs at the time...

Ahahahaha.

AHAHAHAHA.

Joke was on me the whole time.

As I’ve mentioned, I went to bed one day, about a month later, and my brain exploded with the possibilities of this story. I told this guy, he was thrilled. I told my closest fandom friends at the time, they were STOKED. One of them told me to get off my ass and start writing that ASAP. Which... I followed through with. Immediately.

It feels a bit strange to think I’ve been writing the same story for nearly 7 years now, with next to no breaks, with such persistence I barely can recognize my early 2010′s self from that. Nope, no worldbuilding nonsense stopped me here: I FIGURED THINGS OUT. I worked through it all. And then I figured it out some more.

Back when I was first scouting the fandom’s fanfiction archives (in FF.net in particular, seeing as I didn’t even have an AO3 account at the time), I remember looking at the biggest, top reviewed stories and wondering how it would feel to be the author of one of those. Most those stories had gotten started either early in the show’s run, or just earlier that same decade... nothing I did was bound to pick up that much steam, I thought, especially when I was writing about what was, by all means, a rarepair that I posted about on Tumblr to like... 8 notes per post. At best.

The first time someone sent me an ask to let me know Gladiator had made it into the first page of top reviewed fics I nearly fell over myself in shock. Admittedly, I’ve gotten used to the feeling by now... but at the time I could barely believe I’d come THAT far without really expecting or meaning to.

I’ve really dealt with a lot of nonsense alongside with the story, ups and downs, highs and lows, nasty situations just as blissful ones... people making art for my story was certainly an incredible highlight. That, as well, is something I did NOT think would ever happen to me. Unlike the top-reviewed page thing, it’s actually impossible to get used to art about your fic xD it’s always amazing.

And I’ve met people from all around the world, made friends far and wide, reached heights I didn’t think I would. I’ve said I’m much more jaded these days, it’s true enough, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of what this story means in the long run. Gladiator truly is the best story I’ve ever written, in just about every regard. Is it perfect? Have I made nothing but right decisions with it? Nah. But that doesn’t mean I’m not absolutely proud of it for what it is, for all the work I’ve poured into it, for every moment spent building that story into what it is and for how far I’ve come thanks to it.

Everything else in the decade really feels like a blur because of Gladiator, but I’ll say that I’ve as good as finished college by now (while writing Gladiator :’D), I have written all my thesis and am stuck waiting endlessly for my supervisor to goddamn answer me already to say whether I’m ready to go forward with the presentation yet and GRADUATE! But until then I’m stuck waiting on that, even if my college career is pretty much over.

As for my work experience... heh. I had two of those this decade. One... writing clickbait articles. Wow, was that shitty. I hated every second of it. I was pretty sure I was killing people by doing that, because some people are indeed gullible enough to believe the shit I was forced to write. And the pay? It was SHIT. So, as soon as I had a good excuse, I kicked that particular door shut and got out of that mess immediately. And then I got my TV station job too... which started great, and ended up being another shitty disaster. While it had some really wonderful highlights, I made friends with this senior, wonderful video editor who was endearing beyond belief, I learned a ton of things I wouldn’t have learned otherwise (like having the patience to put up with an iMac from 2009 in 2018, to name one thing!), but I also had to endure REALLY dreadful management that led me to even wonder how the damn network was even on-air half the time. The experience in that network taught me a lot about what to expect in work environments, and to NEVER trust the tried, boring and true “this place feels like a family!” claim. Half the time it’s like they don’t realize families are usually complicated, full of unpleasant power-based relationships, secrets, resentment and problems of all sorts. So sure, the workplace might be like a family. Definitely not like a GOOD family, though.

And speaking of families... I’ve developed new appreciation for mine over these years, just as I’ve grown enough to see the cracks everywhere, the problems, even all the way to realizing even an allegedly dream-like family like my own can absolutely be torn apart by miscommunication, pride, stubbornness and refusal of members to acknowledge their wrongdoings. I’ve done my best by my family despite that’s not saying much, I’m indeed a lazy butt who spends way too much time on a computer writing crazy stories rather than working around the house... but I think I’ve never felt more loved and appreciated by my parents as I have in recent times, especially this year. We’ve talked more, opened up more, they’ve even told me the story of how they fell in love (the growth of their relationship all documented through PHOTO ALBUMS!!), they’ve leaned on me in hard times and I think we’re tighter than ever.

On the downside... my grandfather died during this decade too. To this day the loss stings, even though by all means we weren’t the type of super-close grandfather and granddaughter who spend every waking moment together. But the thing is... we were so different, with so little in common, and yet that man loved me so genuinely, so unconditionally I could barely understand it. What had I ever done to be so important to him, beyond being his youngest granddaughter? I always had thought he would feel closer to other of his grandchildren, those who had more things in common with him, and yet when my grandmother died he wanted me to sit with him on the car on our way to the funeral, and just holding my hand seemed to help him gain strength to face what was coming. 

In his final moments he hardly recognized anyone, not even my dad, his son. He kept talking about his childhood home, as though he had returned to his youth and forgotten where and when he was, losing all connection with time and space. But when my dad told him I was there, visiting him... he smiled. And he called me the nickname he always used for me. To the last moment, he knew who I was. I mattered, even if I didn’t know why. When they told me he had passed away I cried, and I cried some more, and to this day I feel like crying for it still, sometimes. I will never, EVER doubt my grandfather truly loved me, and I’ll always carry that with me, no matter where the world goes. I’ve lucked out with this family, but I’d never known unconditional love like the one he always showed me. He was a special man, and losing him certainly was one of the saddest moments in this decade.

Aaalright, so, on a less emotional note... I’ve certainly improved a fuckload with my art, which you all must imagine after the glimpse at one of my earliest artworks up there. That I’ve gone from that to this...

speaks for itself, I hope :’) It’s supposed to be same characters, this one was finished earlier this month. I didn’t post it until now because I frankly didn’t expect anyone would understand what it was or care for it much x’D but it seemed the right opportunity to post it now, especially when talking about art growth.

In any case, I may still have a ton of anxiety to this day, and I definitely am not as confident in many areas as I was when the decade began, I realized I honestly don’t have all the answers and I always have to be ready to learn new things from people, no matter who it is. There’s some regards in which I haven’t progressed enough in, why lie... but I’m hoping the next decade will bring meaningful changes in that department, such as my plans to leave the country, which should come to fruition by next year around March, if all things go according to keikaku (I’ll surely have to return after 6 months, but it’s better than nothing at least). And of course, I do hope I’ll continue to grow as a writer, that all this experience with Gladiator will mean I’ll be 100% ready to write any future original stories I want to (and that I’ll be able to rewrite that specific story and move beyond the slump I fell into because of the DAMN CELTIC CALENDAR!!).

Also, just in case I didn’t get it across in other posts where I mentioned it, I revisited that old original story last year, and despite the messes and mistakes and ridiculousness of it... I love it more now than I ever did before. I’m really proud of it. I know most people cringe at everything they wrote when they were younger... I honestly can’t do anything but look back in pride. My starting point was the best one it could possibly have been.

Now, what’s my resolution for the next decade?

Finishing Gladiator

Yeah, there’s probably going to be other stuff I’ll want to do too. But for now, that shall be the priority. It won’t take just a year, it probably won’t take two... but I will absolutely see this big, chaotic baby to the last moment, and I will savor and suffer and cry and rejoice every step of the way. There is much left I want to achieve, many new objectives to conquer, and I’m going towards them with as open a mind as I can muster. May this 2020, and the years that follow, mark a new starting point that I’ll look back on with pride, just as I can do the same with where I started off in 2010.

Happy New Year to all of you who read this really long post, and I really hope you have a great year and decade, and starting point of your own, in 2020.

[mikeywheelerr]

The Light

Part 15 of ‘The Tales of Shortstack and Stringbean’ — read on Ao3

-

one:

‘my love is like a…’ -

The heat wave of 1989 hits the residents of Hawkins like a freight train, leaving them with soaked shirts and glistening brows, and very little way to get cool.

The public pool is constantly crowded, despite the fact that everyone still has another month of school. Responsibilities and obligations drift to the backs of minds, fore-fronted with the constant complaint of god, it’s hot.

And is it. El is seated in the passenger side of Hop’s truck, back stuck to the leather seat despite her constant adjustment. Her feet are up on the dash. There’s an air of complete nonchalance about her, which happens to be utterly authentic.

Hopper sighs and hands the slip back over. “I still can’t believe you got detention.”

“My record was too clean,” she tells him. “Besides, it was a stupid reason. If anything you should be in there yelling at them.”

Hopper grunts. “Whatever happened to lying low, kid?”

“Ended when I mastered levitation,” she quips, and of course it draws a grin out of him. Conversations like this one—fast and quick, proof of progress—always make him smile.

“Alright,” he pulls his shades down to cover his eyes, “I’ll be back at three to pick you up. Don’t be stupid.”

“Right back at you.” El grabs her bag (full of books and paper and whatever else she might need to entertain herself), before she slips out of the truck and slams the door behind her.

Immediately, El is practically enveloped in the hot, stale air. Sure, Hop’s conditioning unit isn’t that great, but it had still been something. She’s almost certain these temperatures are going to kill her.

They’ve already broken her a little bit, anyway; she’s gone from uptight and worrying about her grades, about life, to not giving two shits about anything at all. It could, of course, be written off given they’re all graduating in a couple of months—but she has a feeling she wouldn’t be walking to detention if the scorching waves of hell hadn’t descended upon the town.

The hallways are vacant. Polished tile floor seems to sprawl for miles. Her sneakers squeak against the surface every now and then; startlingly sharp against the silence.

Room E17, a small classroom near the back of the first floor, is where she’s headed. The door is wide open.

But of course, he’s not there yet. No one but the teacher is.

Fuck.

El sets her pink slip on Mr. Murran’s desk, sinking into a chair near the back of the class. Her expression is probably a perfect mask of teenage angst, complete with a brooding frown as she glares out the window.

Mr. Murran doesn’t even look up from his crossword book as two other students file in. El doesn’t recognise them, but the look pretty young, so she figures they can’t be in her grade.

Then something squeaks, a hand slams against the doorway, and there he is.

Strands of messy hair stuck to his forehead, sweat bleeding into the collar of his shirt, eyes wide, lips red, panting. Hot.

He meets her eyes and grins, and she rolls her own in return. It’s your fault we’re here, Wheeler. And to think, we could be doing dirty awful things by the lake right now.

Mike doesn’t reply. He adds his slip to the stack and then ducks right into the chair behind her.

“Alright, you’re all here,” Mr. Murran rises from his chair. “I gotta take a whiz—uh, relieve myself. Stay here, think about what you’ve done, and all that.”

He points at them like dogs, with the stance of someone who never mastered the subtle art of intimidation, but still tries.

He leaves, and it’s not five minutes before the desk behind El’s grids as Mike pushes it closer, and then she’s melting (actually sinking down lower into her chair, eyes fluttering closed) as his lips brush the back of her neck. “Hey.”

El’s breath is short. She swallows, licking the salty perspiration from her cupid’s bow. “What are you doing?”

Mike trails down to her shoulder, and then back up, before pressing a kiss in the curve between her neck and ear.

“Thinking about what I’ve done,” he replies, a hand sweeping her loose curls from one side to the other.

El bites her lip. “You’re not thinking,” she argues. “You’re reenacting.”

He sucks on her neck in a way that’s absolutely going to leave a mark, but her hair will probably cover it. El finds her eyes fluttering closed, completely forgetting about the handful of freshman sitting in the front half of the classroom. Mike’s arm snakes around her waist and lifts the thin cotton of her tank top, fingers brushing her bare stomach—

“Really?”

They don’t jump apart like they used to. It’s more like a lazy, exasperated drift. El pins Mr. Murran with a sharp stare.

“Hey, weren’t you all over Mrs. Litz on Wednesday?” Mike asks, tone a little challenging and a little amused.

Mr. Murran’s cheeks tinge with red. He straightens his back. “That’s none of your business, Wheeler. Please keep your hands off of Ms. Hopper for the remainder of detention, unless you want another.”

Mike raises his hands in mock innocence, leaning back in his seat. El wants nothing more than to groan aloud, or cause a diversion and bolt with Mike, but all she can manage is to throw her head against the desk.

She closes her eyes as her forehead makes contact with the cool wooden top. She circles her arms around her head so that she’s bathed in darkness.

Hands on her thighs. Lips on her lips. Fingers in her hair—raking through it, scraping her scalp; she can still feel it. Hot and burning and dizzying. The way his torso had pressed against her own, the way his tongue had felt with hers. She can’t breathe as the memory surfaces, so clear and raw.

It had looked pretty bad, sure, but they hadn’t really been doing anything this time. Still, Mr. Murran had seen her legs around Mike’s waist with her perched on an unused teacher’s desk and made all of his assumptions.

They’d never do it at school. Especially not on a gross desk. Who would?

Mrs. Litz, comes Mike’s wry voice, interrupting her open stream of thoughts that she hadn’t exactly realised were open.

Her cheeks flame. What do you think you’re doing?

Eavesdropping, he replies. It’s cute that you can’t get me out of your head, really.

El bites her lip. You weren’t supposed to know.

How often does that happen?

Don’t flatter yourself.

Mike scoffs audibly, which looks ridiculous coming from nowhere. He covers it, coughing.

She manages to block him out, even though she really doesn’t want to. It’s just so exhausting, thinking about this stuff and hearing his voice but not being able to act on what she wants, even when he’s less than two feet away.

The hours pass by. After a bit, El pulls out a book. When she glances behind her, she sees that Mike is deep in planning a campaign, or maybe outlining his book. He somehow feels her stare, though, because his eyes meet hers and he pouts like a dog that just got kicked.

El resists, though. She resists, and manages to distract herself with the stupid plot line of the stupidest book of all time. It’s some romance novel she’d found in-between the cushions at Mike’s house.

Of course, she can’t help but imagine her and Mike doing all these things, and it just makes it all so frustrating, because they could be, but they’re in detention, since apparently someone can’t keep his hands to himself.

She slams the book closed, making most of the occupants in the room jump.

Her psychology textbook will have to do.

Mrs. Johnson had assigned them to read the second to last chapter, which El is halfway through. She flips to her dog-eared page.

Chapter 15, Section 3: What Drives Us; Hunger, Sex, Friendship, and Achievement

“I’m gonna rip my hair out.”

“Don’t do that, I like your hair.” Mike leans over her shoulder, reads the title, and grins. “Problem, shortstack?”

El turns to glare at him, but then she’s looking at him, and she sees how dark and absorbed his eyes are.

“Yeah,” she gets unbearably close. “I was hoping you could read this one out loud to me.”

Mike snorts. His gaze drifts to her lips, though. It’s all without heart except that. “Well—”

“Wheeler!”

“I swear to god,” he hisses, before sitting back.

Mr. Murran sends them a last warning glance. Then he’s back to filling in his crossword.

El flips through the pages slowly and lazily, skimming but not really reading.

One in the afternoon becomes two and she still doesn’t have any notes. Does it even matter, though? A part of her wonders. She could probably stop turning in her homework right now and still manage to have all A’s and B’s in her classes.

Mr. Murran scans them. “Seven letter word for a hard touch, present tense?”

“Groping,” Mike pipes up.

“Figures the virgin wouldn’t get that one,” mutters one of the freshmen.

Mike balls up a paper and throws it in their general direction (it of course misses the likely intended target of the girl’s head, because he’s a complete dweeb and can’t aim for shit). “Uncalled for an untrue,” he says. “Mr. Murran has done plenty of things with Mrs. Litz.”

“Thank you, Michael—wait—I have not—”

El bites down on her fist to keep from laughing.

Minutes pass. Her eyes stay locked on the clock, watching the little red arm slowly circle and circle and circle. She might scream.

It’s so hot, so stuffy. She feels like she can’t breathe. There’s only one fan, and it’s on Mr. Murran’s desk, and fuck, if things don’t move faster she might just break it so they can all suffer.

It would only take a twitch, anyway.

All she can think about is Mike. All she can concentrate on is the sound of his pencil on paper, writing blissfully away as she agonises in her seat. She might start writhing soon.

God, humidity makes her dramatic.

El manages to jot down a few things, but it’s all mostly interrupted by El Wheeler and El Wheeler-Hopper and Jane “El” Wheeler.

“Alright, inmates, your sentences are complete.”

She goes about packing away her things as casually as possible, even though Mike is already hovering nearby and waiting for her.

El stands. She shoulders her bag, pushes her sweaty hair from her forehead, and jerks her head toward the door.

The other students are racing down the hallway, yelling loudly and acting like they really did just get out of prison. Mr. Murran passes by them, winks, and ducks into an office.

They walk slowly, though. Hand in hand. Her heart is racing in her chest.

They’re about ten feet from the double doors when the thought of fuck it occurs and she yanks him by the arm, straight into the nearest supply closet.

With the smallest nod the door is locked behind them. It’s dark, but her hands find his torso. Her fingers curl around his shirt before lifting it up and over his head.

Mike pushes her against the wall. “Who needs it, right?”

Then his lips are on hers—forceful and hungry; devouring. Her mouth slants against his own and then it’s all just his tongue and her tongue and teeth scraping against lips. She can’t even think anymore. He tastes like sweat and plain beeswax chapstick, salty and a little sweet.

El runs her hands up and down his back. He shivers against her, and it makes her grin. She loves how responsive he is to her touches, to her kisses. She loves the way he moans against her mouth when her fingers clash with his soft, curly hair.

God, she’d needed this.

Necking Mike Wheeler, with all of the sharp gasps and groping; with the mutterings of her name as she gives him hickey after hickey—it’s pretty much the greatest thing of all time. She’d decided that at fifteen and she hasn’t found an activity that tops it in her book since.

He just falls apart against her, all loose. His hands slip under her shirt to hold onto her ribcage as she presses kisses against his collarbone and his neck and then lower, on his chest. It’s perfect place to kiss, since she doesn’t have to lean up. She can feel his heart beating erratically, sped up, skipping.

“El,” he breathes. She knows if she could see him, he’d look like he’d just been zapped with a taser, or something. Fucked up hair and wide eyes, flushed cheeks, a parted mouth. He squeezes her torso, pulling her as close as humanly possible, before he starts to return the favour.

It’s about time, is what she thinks, and then there are no more thoughts. Just the sensation of him and her, her and him. El nips at his ear. Mike’s breath hitches. Her hands slide up his chest, chasing that little noise and making it better, louder.

“Y’know, I said I wouldn’t screw you in the school,” she manages, “but I’m seriously reconsidering right now.”

Mike forces her back against the wall again. It’s rough, in a way he rarely is, but it drives her so damn crazy. It makes her want more. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she kisses him again, an unrestrained whine escaping her as his hands travel just a touch higher, yes, god, yes.

Is she really about to have sex in a dark supply closet?

Possibly.

Well, she definitely would have.

But then a fist slams against the door.

“It’s Mr. Murran,” a voice calls (absolutely killing the mood, crumbling it, strangling it). “Hopper, your dad is waiting for you outside.”

El slips her top back on while Mike does the same. She could kill this man. She could punch him right in his god-damned face—

Mike opens the door. Mr. Murran is standing there, looking exasperated beyond belief. “Do you know I should give you detention for this?”

They exchange glances. El feels hope bury the dread in her stomach. “Yeah?”

“Well, I’m not gonna,” he holds up a hand to stem their talking. “This once, I won’t, because you’re seniors, and we’ve all been there, and it’s a hundred-and-six fucking degrees outside. So please. Fix your hair, button your buttons, and get the hell out of this building so I can go home.”

Mr. Murran will always be El’s favourite teacher. She can’t believe she ever looked down on him.

They oblige, even after he’s stalked off to get his things. Mike walks her outside into the unbearable heat with a promise of see you tomorrow, shortstack.

God, she’s gonna marry him.

- two: how it begins -

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

El shifts in the uncomfortable upholstered chair. “What do you mean?”

“Career wise,” the counsellor—a brown haired woman in her mid-thirties, El figures—elaborates. “Or school wise, maybe.”

“I…” El swallows. “I don’t know.”

She really doesn’t. It’s so uncertain, so dark. She can’t visualise what she’d possibly be doing at twenty-eight, or what she’d look like, or anything.

“Alright,” Ms. Douglas clicks her pen. “Maybe five, then.”

“What am I doing here?”

A blink. Ms. Douglas hesitates. “You received detention recently,” she says after a minute, probably deliberating over her words. “First time it’s ever happened to you. I’m just… a little curious, is all.”

“Would it be so bad if I became a complete screw up right now?” El wonders aloud. “I mean, we only have six weeks left.”

“A lot can happen in six weeks,” Douglas throws out, half-jokingly. She sighs through her nose when El doesn’t even crack a smile. “I just wanna make sure you’re doing okay. Is everything fine?”

“I got caught making out with my boyfriend,” El says. “Everything is great.”

She actually can’t believe she just said it out loud. But then, she’s sort of been doing a lot of things a little carelessly, lately. Talking, thinking… her judgement has been totally thrown off by the heat.

Or maybe, her mind whispers, you’re just growing up.

Douglas hums, leaning forward with intrigue. “Your boyfriend? What’s his name?”

“Mike.”

“Mike,” Douglas repeats. “And how long have you two been going out? A year?”

“Five.”

“Five months?”

“Five years,” El corrects, rolling her eyes.

Ms. Douglas is silent for a moment. She cocks her head, almost marvelling. “That’s a long time,” she remarks. “I’ve never even had a relationship that lasted longer than three.”

“I love him,” El shrugs.

“Do you see yourself dating for ten?”

“Not dating,” is what tumbles out of her mouth, automatically.

It almost makes her stop short. Five years, she thinks.

- three: hypothetically -

She can’t stop thinking about it.

Five years plays constantly in her head, amidst so many various scenarios, but though it all there’s just one constant, present no matter what the circumstances are.

El looks up from the paper she’s writing. It’s on The Catcher in the Rye, which she hadn’t minded much, but she can’t concentrate for two reasons—both of which are manifested by the scene in front of her.

Mike lays sprawled out on the couch in the basement, moaning his discontent at the heat. Like, really; all he’s doing is moaning. His face is pressed into the cushions, making his voice all muffled.

“Mike,” El taps her eraser, “I’m trying to write.”

“But it’s so hot,” he whines. “When is it gonna stop?”

He’s not wrong. The heat is so thick she can actually feel it around her. She hates the way it feels when she breathes; almost like she’s ingesting a liquid. It sticks to the walls of her insides the same way it does to her skin.

But she really, really needs to write this. Even if school is gonna be out soon, it’s still worth ten percent of her grade. A last big project, her teacher had said.

So El stretches her hand out, pulling the electric fan from its place by the fort over to the couch, instead. With a twitch of her head, it starts whirring to life. Why he couldn’t just do that himself…

All is silent for another half hour or so. El manages to finish counterarguing her rebuttals and closing it all off with a flourish, Holden Caulfield was not mentally ill, he was merely affected so deeply by the death of Allie that he lost all sense of faith, and was stripped of his childhood innocence.

“Done,” El announces.

Mike shifts so that his face is visible. “Can I read it?”

“No,” El goes over, grabbing her backpack to slip it in.

Mike pouts. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll just argue with my point of view,” she says.

He huffs. “I don’t do that. Do I do that?”

“How about this,” El drops down so that she’s sitting on him, legs draped over his thighs, “you can read it if you promise to keep your mouth shut.”

“I can’t even say it’s good?”

“Well, you can say that.”

Mike takes it after promising. El watches, stupidly anxious as his eyes scan the paper, taking longer than she expected him to. When he’s done, he frowns. “Why would I argue with this?”

“I don’t know,” El rolls her eyes. “But now you’re arguing that you’d ever argue in the first place, and that’s stupid.”

Mike grins. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

His hand is on her knee and she has no idea when it got there. She can’t think.

“You’re really good at being convincing,” he comments, handing it back over. El drops it into her bag.

“So what would it take to convince you to… oh, I don’t know, take your shirt off?”

Mike laughs. Then he’s pulling the thin white cotton shirt up over his head, and oh wow.

The muscles in his stomach are even more pronounced given how much he’s been swimming, lately. His entire chest is also covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Suddenly, she can’t remember who she is or where she’s from.

He tugs at her blouse gently—some old pink thing she got from Nancy way back when. “Your turn?”

El grins. Only she doesn’t take off her shirt. But she she does kiss him; long and deep, memorising the feel of his lips against her own, tasting almost metallic with sweat. She straddles his waist, moaning easily when he squeezes her upper thigh beneath her skirt.

Mike leans back, looking dazed, like he’s been punched. His eyes are wide, breath short, cheeks even more pink than they were before. He’s so pretty when he’s like this—when he’s vulnerable and wanting.

Suddenly his lips turn up. El finds herself face to face with a devil-may-care grin.

Mike flips her onto her back. El squeals in surprise, but then she’s giggling uncontrollably as he blows air against her stomach.

“Mike, stop!”

“Ticklish?”

“Yes—” he untucks her shirt and pulls it up, exposing her stomach, and does it again. This time it’s so much worse. “Mike!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Did you say more?”

“I hate you,” she protests, around uncontrollable giggles.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he says. “Because I happen to love you a whole lot.”

He’s said it maybe a thousand times. Before her classes or after a bad dream, when they’re on the phone, sometimes just out of the blue—and each time, it surprises her. It takes her breath away, leaves her stunned. He loves her. He feels how she feels; he gets that churning warmth in the pit of his stomach, and the skipping in his heart, and that fogginess in his brain. He loves her.

El doesn’t even know what she’s doing. She just knows her shirt is now unbuttoned and open. Mike trails his lips—wet and light, leaving goosebumps—all down her chest. He presses soft, sweet kisses against her stomach. There’s something so adoring about it.

Five years, she thinks.

And in five years, clear as day, she sees something she wants. She sees something that clicks. She sees this; him, eyes dark and full of so much emotion, kissing her over and over right here, only her belly is bigger, swollen.

He’s gonna put a baby in there, she realises, so suddenly her breath catches. Obviously not today, or anytime soon. But five years… it’s a long time.

I want him to, comes next. Really, really bad.

“Mike,” El reaches out to play with his curls, pushing some away from his face. “Do you want a big wedding or a small wedding?”

One step at a time, she thinks.

Mike stops. He looks up at her, frowning. “What?”

“Hypothetically. Big or small?”

He’s silent, considering, studying her face. “I want what you want,” he says. “I don’t mind either way.”

“I don’t want a big wedding,” she says. She’s hated the idea forever; being in front of all those people, doing something so intimate, making promises no one else should be allowed to hear.

“Okay,” Mike’s frown slowly fades. “What brought this on?”

“How many kids do you want? Hypothetically?”

“El,” Mike laughs, now hovering over her, their noses so close they almost touch. “I don’t know. Somewhere between one and however many is too much.”

“So you don’t not want kids?”

“Shortstack,” Mike says, “are you pregnant?”

“Oh my god, no!”

Mike laughs when she whacks him, before grabbing her hand to stop it in motion. “I don’t wanna talk about hypothetical kids right now.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well what do you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing,” he replies. Then his lips are all over hers, kissing her so deeply it makes her moan. His fingers are warm against her back. In no time at all, it’s completely bare, and five years is the farthest thing from her mind. All that matters is now.

- four: something soon -

The week of their graduation, Max comes barrelling into El’s bedroom, demanding that she get her ass out of bed and put on something nice, because they were going to a grad party.

El hates parties. Particularly ones involving lots of people and alcohol, which she’d assumed she’d made pretty clear over the years, given that every time she was invited to one she turned it down—not to mention every time they did go, Max usually ended up getting wasted, which left El as her primary caretaker.

They’re just so… obnoxious, and gross.

Even so, El puts on an outfit she hopes passes as nice; a knee-length sundress with little orange roses and her trusty pair of converse. She doesn’t put on makeup, considering it’ll just melt off. Even without the heat wave, the weather’s still been so high.

Instead she smacks on some lipgloss and calls it quits.

Max goes for a more party-friendly look; torn up, acid washed jeans and some old band shirt, cropped just below her waistline, exposing a small strip of her midriff that’s definitely meant to drive Lucas crazy.

Turns out, it works, because within ten minutes the two are nowhere to be found.

And neither, unfortunately, is Mike.

Will stays with her for a while. They talk about how excited they are for Jon to come home. But then El looks up once and he’s just gone.

El hovers by the wall for a while, nursing a cup of beer she’d gotten as soon as she’d arrived. It’s so loud, and there are so many people. She can’t stand it, but there’s no way she’s just abandoning Max, even with Lucas here.

El sips a little more of her drink. And then some more. Before she knows it, she’s downed it in an attempt to cope with the way her breath keeps quickening and her pulse won’t go down.

It helps. She feels so much lighter, so much better. More, she thinks. This time she goes for the punch, which is sweeter on her lips with less of a kick.

She doesn’t know how much she drinks, just that it’s a lot. It’s too much. The world is spinning and she really, really needs to find Mike.

El works her way through the house, pushing through the masses of sweaty bodies.

She reaches the living room, but he’s not there. None of her friends are. It’s just a bunch of popular jocks and cheerleaders—having a last hurrah, El supposes.

She makes to walk off, but someone grabs her hand. El looks down at a meaty fist and finds herself face to face with one of those damn mouth breathers.

He smiles. It’s really unpleasant. “Wanna dance?”

El tries to jerk her arm out of his grip. “No.”

But he only holds her tighter. His name is Tony, she thinks. Tony from the football team. A lot of girls gossip about him in the locker room. El doesn’t know why.

“C’mon, Hopper, it’ll be fun,” he says. “Besides, your boyfriend’s too busy getting wasted outside to even notice. Just one dance?”

His finger comes up to touch her cheek, which she will not allow. “Let me go,” she says. “Now.”

One last chance.

Tony yanks her toward him, puts a hand on her ass, and smiles like it’s no big deal. “I don’t think I will.”

Alright, chance is up.

She really isn’t supposed to do this, but who cares? Who’s gonna believe a drunk Tony over respectable, straight A student El Hopper?

So she jerks her chin, just the slightest bit, feeling the energy pulse through her entire body before it focuses elsewhere, like a magnet drawn to a pair.

Retracting her arm is really no trouble. Tony wails on the ground, clearly in pain. “What the fuck? What the fuck did you do? You broke my wrist!”

“It’s a sprain,” El snaps, rubbing her own. “Next time when a girl says no, she means it.”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she returns, sure to keep her voice low, unlike him. El turns to see that most of his stupid jock friends have cleared out. God, did they think he’d screw her right here on the living room couch?

El rolls her eyes. Outside, Tony had said. Mike.

But there’s hardly anyone out front—just a couple of younger looking students spreading toilet paper across the lawn.

Out back, the air is much clearer than the smoke-filled haze inside. El breathes it in, relishing in the clarity.

There’s plenty of people around the pool—not to mention in it. She really can’t blame them, given how warm it is still, even after dark. She remembers older summers, suddenly, when the air had turned cool after sunset. They’d spent them in the woods, near Castle Byers—telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows; or in Mike’s basement, playing long games of D&D, staying up too late watching dorky movies, and laughing so much their sides hurt.

That’s all over now, isn’t it? She realises, very suddenly. Sure, it doesn’t mean it’s over between all of them… but the innocence, the wonder, the childhood. It’s over.

El wipes the blurriness from her eyes. She scans the crowd and makes sees no sign of him, or anyone else she knows. Where did Will go? Where are Max and Lucas?

El walks around the side of the house, hoping to find some peace and quiet. She discovers, instead, what must be makeout central. There are like three different couples sucking face, all mindless of one another.

The garage door is empty. Music plays from some stereo, not as loud as the house. In the centre, there’s a keg. A couple of guys are playing ping-pong, a few more are clustered around—

Around a boy with dark hair, who’s chugging a shotgunned beer.

Her boy.

It stops El in her tracks, less so because he’s drinking and more because it’s maybe the hottest thing she’s ever seen; watching his adam’s apple bob up and down, shirt stretched up to reveal just enough of his stomach, all without spilling one single drop.

Mike finishes, crushes the can, and gives a little bow. Dustin, who’s beside him, cheers.

El’s eyelids feel heavy, but god, he looks so handsome; with that hand-me-down black jacket Jon gave him and the freckles on his cheeks. He’s just reaching for another beer when she walks up.

Mike grins. “Hey, Shortstack.”

“He’s so wasted,” Dustin chuckles. “He had, like, five.”

El folds her arms over her chest and pretends really hard to be pissed. “This is what you’ve been doing all night?”

“Dustin’s fault,” Mike waves it off. “I wanted to come find you.”

“Uh-huh,” El nods. “Give me one.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “You sure? It comes out super fast. All comes down to the ideal gas law—PV=nRT. When you poke the hole, you don’t change shit with the volume itself, but you increase the gas moles at the top of the can, and your suction at the hole forces it out quicker—”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” El says. “Just give me a beer, Stringy.”

Mike throws up his hands, takes the can Dustin offers, pulls out the army knife Hopper gave him for his sixteenth, and pierces the aluminium with exact precision.

“Pop the lid,” Mike instructs.

El does. The warm liquid practically falls into her mouth, running past her lips and down her chin. She chugs, as quick as possible, and then crushes the fully empty can.

“Yeah, El!” Dustin cheers. “That’s my badass lady friend, gentlemen!”

Mike is looking at her. Like, looking at her; all heavy and meaningful, biting his lip.

“You wanna get out of here?”

He jumps at the chance. “Oh my god, yeah.”

“You two are so gross!” Dustin calls after them.

The moonlight spills over his bare chest, highlighting the shadows his lean muscles and collarbones create. He’s all sharp, staring up at her with parted lips. Then he smiles, cocking his head.

“See something you like?”

El loves his eyes. They’re dark, and intense; absorbing. She loves that stupid, teasing tone he uses when he’s like this.

God, he’s so cute.

“I see stars,” she replies, leaning down to kiss the bridge of his nose, brushing over a cluster of freckles. They’re better than any constellations. He’s her universe, and his gravitational pull shifted her axis the minute he found her in the rain. She’s totally, completely done for.

Mike’s cheeks tinge with pink. “You’re so pretty.”

El giggles. “You’re like, in love with me, huh?”

“How ever did you guess?”

“We’ve been dating for five years,” El says. Five years. From there to here. What comes next?

“It’s been half a decade,” he marvels. “Hey, why aren’t we married, yet?”

El hums. She runs her lips down his neck, feeling him shiver beneath her. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

“So we’re getting there?”

“Mike,” El rolls her eyes. “You won’t get anywhere if you don’t take off your pants.”

But then his lips are on hers, mouth spending against her own in some sloppy, hot frenzy. He kisses her so hard he makes her moan, pulling her against him.

And that, what with her straddling his waist and all, drives them both crazy.

El breaks away, breathless. Mike whines in dissent, but then gasps (god, yes, she loves that sound) as she moves over to his ear, tugging and sucking on it, feeling him squirm.

His eyes open. He looks almost hungry. Determinedly, Mike undoes the top button of her dress. Then the second, and the third.

She wriggles out of it as best she can, only it gets stuck in her hair halfway off her head.

Drunkenly and stupidly they work at untangling her curls from the button.

“Clutz,” Mike chuckles, tossing it aside.

“Nerd.”

Mike is already working down her neck, though, leaving hickey after hickey. She falls against him, breath caught in her throat until he does it hard enough to release a sound—something between a gasp and a hiccup. Every bruising kiss leaves her skin tingling. It sets her on fire. “Mike...”

She’s never wanted him so much, never needed him this badly.

It’s all it takes to get him to grab her by the waist and flip them, so that he’s on top of her. He holds onto her ribcage, making her feel almost delicate in his grasp.

But he kisses her roughly, making her moan against his mouth. El pulls him a little closer, letting her fingers get lost in his hair, and falls apart at his touch.

The windows are foggy. She’s a little winded, but feels slightly more sober. El finds her clothes, pulling her dress on, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Mike’s hands close over her own. He fastens the last few for her, biting his lip. “Cold?”

“Yeah.”

He offers her his jacket. El puts it on. It smells like smoke, warm and rich. She smiles gratefully, before pulling on his arm so that they’re lying down again.

She fits against him like she was made to. El wraps her arms around him, letting her eyes flutter closed as his fingers interweave with her hair—now loose from its braid and falling down her back.

El traces his jawline. It makes him grin sleepily. “Did you have a good time?”

Anything is good with him. Fuck, just lying here, with her torso pressed against his, is fantastic.

El nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Mmhm,” he presses a kiss to her nose.

Tonight was good. Tomorrow will be too. So will the next few weeks. Then he’ll be gone, and you’ll be alone, because all good things must come to an end.

El feels her insides wither. She holds him tighter, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and tries her hardest not to cry.

She won’t lose him, right? He won’t find someone else? He won’t discover there’s a whole world outside of Hawkins, Indiana, and there’s so many... better, normal girls?

El had worked off insecurities like these long ago. Something about him being him, and knowing how he felt—just being around him, she knew there was nothing to worry about. But now it’s all coming back, and it’s so much worse because she won’t be with him.

El swallows it all down, though; she’s being completely ridiculous, and she knows she’ll only make him feel bad for doing something he wants to do. She won’t hold him back, she won’t be that dramatic girlfriend that stops him from following his dreams.

But she will stay here, in his arms, and breathe him in. She will memorise how his heart beats; two, one, two, against her own. She will memorise the shape of him, the smell of him, the feel of his skin against her own. She will hold onto this, imprint it in her mind, remember it when things get hard. Remember that even if he’s gone, he’s always with her. He’s with her now, in the back of his lightly used Pontiac, half asleep and lazily pressing his lips to her shoulder.

“I love you.”

Mike meets her eyes, concern on the edges of his features just threatening to impose.

She won’t cry. She won’t.

But she will kiss him.

Sweet and soft, yet it’s enough to make her brain melt. She pulls back after a minute, putting her hand on his cheek.

Mike looks at her like she’s his whole world. It makes her feel like she is. “I love you, too.”

“Always?”

Her voice sounds small. She needs this, though.

“Always,” he says, voice confident and firm. He understands even if he doesn’t know why. “I mean,” Mike grabs the chain around her neck, holding the ring up. “Why do you think I gave you this?”

El grabs it. The metal is cool in her palm. She fiddles with it, before slipping it onto her finger, though Mike keeps his eyes on her face.

El bites her tongue. She can’t wear it yet. She can’t. Even if all she wants to do is promise forever, it just... isn’t soon yet.

And so she slips it off her finger, watching the light go out of his eyes. But she keeps it in hand, toying with it. “I want to tell you a secret.”

“Yeah?”

“Every night, when I go to bed, I wish you were with me. And I always think about why I haven’t said yes, and why it’s taking me so long, and how much that must hurt you—”

“It doesn’t—”

“I know it does,” El shakes her head. “But the thing is, I can see it. It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s just that... I want now. I want now without having to think about forever.”

She draws in a breath. “I want forever. I do. I want... I want kids—god, you have no idea how much I think about that—and I want to make you happy, and that’s what this means, you know? I wear this, and that starts. Maybe not right away, but... I just don’t want it to end, yet.”

Mike grabs her hand. The ring presses between their palms, digging into their skin. “Okay.”

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until the tears have spilled over, running hot and ticklish down her cheeks. “Yeah?”

Mike blows one away. It makes her smile. “Yeah,” he says, grinning back. “Soon.”

 - five: carpe diem -

It’s the first day of summer break; a day of overwhelming freedom for all of them—but especially El, because she won’t even be going to college in the fall. She can’t shake the constant nagging realisation that this is it, it’s the start of everything.

The end of everything, too.

It’s with these thoughts that she sits by the edge of the lake, arms drawn around her shins, watching the still blue water ripple in the afternoon sun.

(she’ll come here a lot, during the next year; remembering this day, remembering the sound of the Ramones blasting from the radio and Max’s squeals as Lucas throws her into the water. she’ll remember this feeling, heavy in her stomach, like some rock she’ll never be able to rid herself of: nostalgia)

“Hey, Shortstack.”

El lifts her head, squinting slightly in the light until she doesn’t have to. Mike blocks the sun out, his shadow looming over her. There’s some crooked half smile on his face. His cheeks and nose are a little pink, and she knows he’ll have even more freckles in the coming weeks.

“If you’re thinking about throwing me in the lake, you can forget it.”

Mike grins, falling down next to her. “No,” he says, resting his arms on his knees. “You just looked a little sad, I guess.”

El hums. She barely registers when his fingers reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, until they’re gracing her neck, instead.

Mike’s hand trails down, stopping at her wrist. She holds out her own. Their fingers intertwine, so naturally and perfectly. Her hand, small within his—skin smooth, a little darker. His own with the bones all visible whenever his fingers flex, long digits, palm just a little rough from working with computer parts for years.

Will it always be like this? Will it always be so easy? Or will time create some chasm between them, so deep it can’t be filled?

El looks at him, soaking up the sight of Mike Wheeler, her boyfriend.

He looks ethereal, with the sunlight glistening against his jawline and his dark, thick hair falling into his eyes. It’s curled from having gotten wet, brown strands standing out with the golden glow of the day.

She never wants to look at anything, or anyone else.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Just you,” El looks down at his knuckles instead. “I just...”

Mike leans a little closer. “‘Just’ what?”

With a suddenness that almost strikes her, it’s not about that, it’s about this; about the heat—between and around them. About the sweat on his back and the outline of the muscles on his stomach, clear whenever he draws in breath. It’s about his lips, the lower one caught between his teeth; the softness, and the upward quirk to them.

“Wanna go make out?”

El laughs. “God, yes.”

Live in the moment, she reminds herself. Carpe fucking diem.

Fuck, yes.

Her mouth moves against his own like it wasn’t made for anything else, tongue pressing against his, teasing and wonderfully raw.

Mike draws back, hovering over her. He’s very aware of her legs wrapped around his waist, and how her chest rises and falls with every heavy breath, how her hair falls across the seat; her eyes are wide and her pupils are blown, cheeks red, lips parted. El.

Then she captures him again. This time it feels more fervent. Mike grips her upper thigh, squeezing, and she moans. Oh, fuck, yes.

This is the best thing, the best part; when all of the tension bleeds out of her and she melts against him, open and wanting. It drives him crazy like nothing else can, and it only gets worse with every gasp and sigh.

That feeling rises to a pinnacle when she whispers his name, so full of need. “Mike...”

He’s already pulling the strings on her top. Then, like magic, wow, it’s just gone.

The hand on her rib cage rises just a bit higher, and the way she arches her back—fuck, he’s just done for.

It’s really, really hard to take. It’s hard to move slow, like this, but he does it anyway; he presses heated kisses to her jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone. Sucking and nipping, revelling in her desperate whimpers. El’s nails dig into his back. He’s just about to reach the swell of her right breast when—

“Dudes! For real?!”

A fist collides with the side of his car, so hard it jostles them both.

Mike rips his lips from her skin. Max is leaning with her back against the window, head still shaking. “What do you want?”

“Go away,” El pipes in, completely unbothered that she isn’t even wearing a top.

“We’re leaving,” Max tells them. “We wanna go back to your place, though. Play D&D. Can you guys, like, get dressed and pick up food or something?”

Mike’s head falls against her shoulder. He wants to say no, they cannot, they’re busy—but she taps him. “I’m starving.”

Mike drives, which El doesn’t mind at all. It’s so much better being next to him, with the freedom to put her hand on his thigh, to lean over and pepper his neck with kisses.

He’s grinning. She loves that look; totally shot and trying not to show it. “Do you want me to crash this thing and kill us both?”

El hums, sucking hard enough to bruise. “I want you to pull off,” she says, fingers trailing farther up his leg.

Mike shivers, yes, before swallowing roughly. “Sounds like a plan.”

He does, stopping in some secluded brush, gravel crackling under the tires. El is straddling his lap before the car is even off, and once it is, she knows she has his full and undivided attention.

Mike kisses her. His hands are on her waist, solid and heavy through the thin fabric of her shirt. It’s some ratty old band tee, and she really doesn’t miss it after he tugs it over her head.

“Eager, much?”

Mike chuckles. “Shut up.”

She smiles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he leans in, kissing her sternum—hard and rough, teeth raking against her skin. Yeah, definitely eager.

It brings a sigh out of her, which swiftly turns into a moan as his lips travel even lower. Yes, please, god.

Mike lets loose some heavy groan, pulling her as close as possible. Here, now, she thinks.

Then and there is what she gets.

Much later, after a campaign that drags on for seven hours, they pull up in front of her house. Mike looks over at her, frowning all helplessly. “Don’t go.”

El unbuckles, scooting over and borrowing against him. “I don’t want to.”

She wants to stay right here, forever, with his fingers playing with her own and her ear against his heart beat. But she can’t, because it’s five minutes until curfew.

When she looks up, Mike is still pouting. His nose brushes her own. El’s eyes flutter closed. She lets herself get drawn in to the feel of his pulse against her hand, resting on his neck; to the feel of his fingers in her hair, of his lips hovering so close.

“I gotta go,” she whispers.

Mike shakes his head. It brings him far enough to close the distance and kiss her. Sweet, soft, amazing.

They go back and forth, caught in a daze. She loves the way his lips feel on hers. She loves the faint taste of his chapstick. She loves him, and she absolutely can’t live without him.

And that’s all it takes to make her stomach drop. That’s all it takes to ruin everything; because she will have to, and she might as well get fucking used to it.

So she draws away, forcing a smile when Mike whines in protest.

“Goodnight, Mike.”

He can tell something is up. He always can. “Hey,” Mike pushes her hair behind her ear, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” El sucks in some air, trying to even out her breathing. “I’m just tired.”

He also knows, thank god, when not to push.

Mike sighs. “Okay,” he says. Then he plants a last kiss on her forehead. “I love you.”

El smiles for real, easily, then. “I love you, too.”

She slips out of the car, hurrying up the walk to her house. El enters with a good two minutes to spare. Hop and Joyce are on the couch, cuddled into each other. God, I want that, she thinks, suddenly.

(five years)

“Hey, kiddo,” Hopper says. “How was it?”

“Okay,” El shrugs. “I’m just gonna shower and go to bed.”

Joyce smiles. “G’night, sweetie.”

“Night,” El says, to them both. Then she hurries up the stairs to her bathroom. El runs the water and leans over the sink, watching as steam slowly starts to curl upward.

Now, forever, always.

And that’s when she makes her decision.

- six: when we were young -

The night before his eighteenth birthday, they watch Star Wars for like, the millionth time. It’s only the guys, because Max and El are having a sleepover, which basically means by the time the night is over, his basement smells and there’s a shitload of trash all over the place.

“It was a pleasure having you,” he says dryly, as they clear out.

Lucas claps Mike on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, man.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Mike waves him off. “I’ll clean this all up on my own.”

Dustin grins. “Have fun, Cinderella.”

“That was the lamest insult of all time,” Lucas says.

“Uh, bullshit. My insults are well constructed and comedic, because I’m funny.”

“You’re annoying is what you are,” Lucas argues. “I still can’t believe you think that stupid purr is funny.”

“It is! And it’s a great Chewbacca impression!”

Mike and Will exchange glances as their friends climb the stairs, bickering over one another. “I’ll help,” Will says.

It doesn’t take very long with two of them. Mike carries all the trash upstairs to Will’s departing, “Happy early birthday!”

“Hey, Will?”

Will stops, halfway out the back door. “Yeah, Mike?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s just grateful. He’s so, so grateful to have had Will this long, for twelve whole years of his life, since that first day on the swing set. So when he says, “Thanks for helping me,” he means it less about pizza boxes and more about… everything else.

Will shrugs. “Always.”

Mike smiles. “See you tomorrow.”

In the kitchen, his mom is cleaning up the counter. It’s covered in flour and batter and all the other residue that comes from baking a cake. Mike goes over and starts washing the dishes without a word.

“You don’t have to do that, sweetie.”

“I don’t mind,” he says.

They work around each other in silence for a bit. Then she comes over and starts drying them.

“Need anything else?” He asks, when they’re done.

His mom studies him for a moment, eyes gleaming. “God,” she huffs a laugh, drying her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m being silly, it’s just,” she sniffs, “you’re just so grown up.”

“Mom…”

“No, I know,” she nods. “I can’t help it, I’m sorry—”

Maybe he surprises her when he hugs her, but she relaxes into it eventually. She smells like Chanel No. 5; familiar and safe and comfortable. He can remember being five years old, nestled up against her side while she read to him. He wishes, very suddenly, that he could go back to being that small.

“My baby boy,” she sobs. Maybe she’s thinking about the same things.

“I love you, mom.”

“Oh, Mike,” she squeezes him just a little tighter before drawing back, having to crane her neck a little to look at him. “I love you, too.”

He kisses her cheek. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Okay,” she looks like someone just handed her the moon. “Happy early birthday, honey.”

“Thanks,” Mike can’t help but glance at the clock. Two more hours. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Night, Michael.”

On the way to his room, he passes Holly’s, and sees the door is open just a crack.

Mike pokes his head in, absorbing the magazine cut outs that are starting to cover her walls, and the yellow, daisy patterned bedspread. He wonders if it’ll look the same by Thanksgiving, or if she’ll have grown up a lot by then.

“Mikey,” she practically shoots out of bed, grabbing him by the arm. She drags him inside. “Read me a story?”

“Sure, Holly.”

Holly hands him a novel. He’s pleased to see the front cover is adorned with dragons—seems like she’s taking after him, thank god. The Star Scroll. “What chapter are you on?”

“Three.” They settle on her bed, with her against his side. Maybe things like this don’t have to end so soon, Mike thinks.

Mike flips to the page. “Pol had dreadful memories of his first trip across the straits between Radzyn and Dorval...”

It takes a chapter or so, but then she’s asleep. Mike closes the book and sets it aside, before gently extracting himself from her grip. He leans down and kisses her forehead, thinking suddenly how much he’ll miss this. It’s not like he’ll be across the country, or anything, but still.

When he stands, he finds Nancy in the doorway. She’s leaning against the frame, smiling softly. Mike rolls his eyes. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Shut up.”

She fixes him with some intense stare, eyes starting to glisten just a touch. “You know, you’re really sweet.”

“Nancy, don’t...”

He doesn’t know if he can handle this all over again. Why can’t everyone be like Holly; just totally oblivious? But Nancy shakes her head. “No, I’m serious. You are. Now come with me, I have something to give you.”

Mike takes her offered hand with some reluctance and lets her lead him down the hall. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” he says as she closes her door.

“I know, but this is special.” She kneels down and digs around under her bed. “I wanted to give it to you alone.”

Nancy procures a wrapped up... something. She pulls him down onto the bed with her and hands it over. “Open it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she nudges him. “I swear, it’s not a bomb, or anything.”

Mike grins. He gingerly unfolds the paper at the top and pulls out her present.

It’s a photo album.

The cover is made of brown leather, not unlike the notebook El gave him for his sixteenth birthday. Just inside, there’s a small inscription.

To my brother. I don’t say I love you enough, but if you ever doubt it, here’s the proof. -Nancy

That’s enough to make him start crying, god help him, but then of course it only gets worse; the first few pages are filled with pictures of them together as little kids.

Her in a princess dress for Halloween with him in the stupidest cowboy costume ever. Them at the beach, in the basement, asleep together on the living room couch.

“Nance...”

She squeezes his hand. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He wastes no time pulling her into his arms. Nancy hugs him back just as fiercely. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies, voice wavering. “God, I can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

“I’m not grown up, I’m crying like a baby.”

Nancy laughs. “I just wanted to give you something special, you know? Something that was just about us.”

“It’s perfect,” he says. “Thank you.”

She shrugs. “I expect something just as cool for my birthday, though.”

“Keep dreaming,” he snorts. They spend a bit flipping through the photos, laughing at the stupid ones and reminiscing. It all seems like lifetimes ago.

His watch beeps, and right on time, he hears her voice in his head. I’m waiting, Stringy. “Shit, I gotta go.”

“Go where?”

“A place,” he replies vaguely.

Nancy’s smile turns devilish. “You little player.”

“God, stop,” he stands. “Can I, um... use your window?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“And you’ll cover for me?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now go, before you make El mad.”

He’s late, but she doesn’t really mind. It just gives her extra time to make sure she doesn’t look like a complete mess. Even so, she’s starting to regret persuading him to meet her at eleven at night, in the middle of the sweltering July heat.

El sits criss cross on the cabin porch, waiting, waiting, waiting…

“Hey, Shortstack.”

He looks good. Like, sure, he’s just wearing jeans and some old shirt, but in the orange light the ends of his curls glow like embers, and he’s smiling. Mike Wheeler is absolutely perfect, even when he’s fifteen minutes late.

“About time,” she says, standing.

“How about we pretend you said midnight, and I’m early,” he proposes.

El rolls her eyes. She takes his hand and drags him up the porch steps. “Are you ready?”

“For my super secret surprise?”

That makes El a little nervous, because what if he’s expecting something better, something else? God, why had she tried to be romantic? He’s gonna be disappointed, she just knows it.

Mike seems to sense her hesitation. He shakes his head. “El, you didn’t have to get me anything at all, you know,” he says. “You’re all I ever want.”

El’s heart clenches. “Stop doing that.”

He gives her a bemused frown. “Doing what?”

“Being… effortlessly romantic.”

“I wasn’t trying to be romantic, Shortstack, I was just stating a fact.”

“You’re doing it again!” El can’t help but smile. “Okay, here’s how this works: once we step over this threshold, only I’m allowed to say stuff like that.”

“After,” he nods. “So I guess that means I have to give you your present now, huh?”

“Mike!”

“Relax, oh my god.”

He pulls out a box—a jewellery box, specifically, which means she can’t relax because he spent money and it’s not even her fucking birthday.

Inside there’s a simple golden chain. “It’s for your ring,” he tells her.

God, it’s perfect. Miles better than the silver one she’d been using. It’ll match, and it’s probably real gold, and why does he have to be so perfect all the damn time?

El gingerly takes it, admiring the way it glints in the light. Mike silently works off her other necklace, slipping the ring onto the gold chain. She turns so he can clasp it, and shivers when she feels his lips press against the back of her neck.

“Mike…”

“No, I know,” he grins. “Your turn.”

    Inside, it’s pitch black until she turns on the light.

There it is, the blanket fort she’d spent hours making, trying her best to perfectly recreate the one in his own basement. It’s bigger, and not exactly the same, but it still. She’d even added strands of twinkle lights, just because.

El waits anxiously, watching his face.

“I never thanked you,” she says. “For taking me home that night, and giving me hope. It meant so much to me. I just wanted to let you know that, but I didn’t know how, so I figured... my first home in my first house, you know? But this one can be for both of us, not just me.”

That’s when she sees that he’s crying, but he’s smiling, too. There’s so much happy there it’s practically pouring out of him; it’s beautiful.

“It’s perfect,” he tells her. Relief floods her; she feels like a ten ton weight was just lifted off her back. Then he pulls her closer, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her—all emotion and love, all Mike. “You’re perfect.”

El wraps her arms around his waist. “Happy birthday, Stringy.”

Sunlight streams over his face, making him look practically unearthly; skin so white it practically glows, dark curls falling into his eyes. She takes in the pink of his parted lips, the darkness of his long eyelashes as they flutter over his cheeks.

He’s the most beautiful thing El’s ever seen in her whole life.

“You’re staring at me.”

She scoots closer, encapsulated by the heat that radiates off his skin. “Was not.”

“Were too.” His eyes open. They’re gorgeous, brown, and full of warmth. “Happy birthday to me.”

“You’re stupid,” she pecks his cheek. “I should go shower.”

“No,” Mike pulls her close, nuzzling her neck. “It’s my birthday, and I demand that we don’t ever move from this spot, ever.”

“But I have more surprises.”

“Like what?”

“Not telling. That would ruin it.”

He kisses her, soft and sweet, lips chapped but warm as they move slowly against her own. “Please?”

“We’re supposed to meet everyone else at Benny’s for breakfast,” she caves, breath hitching as his mouth presses to the underside of her jaw, bestowing feather-light kisses all down her neck. “You’re evil.”

“Mhmm.”

El runs her hands down his bare back, relishing in the way he shivers at her touch. Mike melts against her. His hand comes up to cradle her head, making her stomach explode with butterflies at how soft he is, how gently he pushes her curls away from her ear, leaving kisses against it that are really just grazing, yet they still set her skin aflame.

There’s something so intimate about this; being with him, alone, in the early hours of the morning. With the way he touches her, how it sends her into a mindless frenzy of needing more, wanting him, being close.

But it’s only right that she return the favour, it being his birthday, and all.

El sinks a little lower, nestling against his torso. She runs her lips over his collarbone, loving the sound he makes—a hiccuping, undefined gasp. It’s much more distinctive when she kisses him a little rougher, over and over, teeth biting hard enough to bruise.

“El...”

She draws back to just look at him; the tilt of his head and his flushed cheeks, eyes darkened and wide, pale skin now peppered with fresh red marks.

He swallows. “Why’d you stop?”

“No reason,” she leans down, kissing his forehead. “But we should really shower.”

“El, no—wait, did you say ‘we’?”

She smiles, slipping his shirt over her head. “Who else?”

- seven: a taste of forever -

On a Friday night, her phone rings.

El’s just gotten back from her shift at the library. She’s about to peel off her clothes, with half a mind to sink into a bath, when she hears it.

“Hello?”

“Come over,” Mike’s voice whines. “I’m bored.”

“But I was gonna take a bath,” she says, flopping down onto her bed.

“You can take one here,” he suggests. “Holly’s driving me crazy.”

El moans, glancing longingly at the door to her bathroom. Mike moans back.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“You’re the best,” Mike gushes. “I love you. Have I told you that, recently?”

El grins. “Yeah, but you better not stop.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you—”

When she gets there, he and Holly are sprawled out in front of the TV, leaning against each other. They both light up when she comes in.

“Hi,” El kicks the door closed behind her. “What’re you watching?”

“Danger Mouse,” Holly says. “It’s dumb.”

“Oh, thank god,” Mike says, quickly changing the channel. “I thought you were actually enjoying that shit.”

“I thought you were,” Holly says.

“Why would I wanna watch Danger Mouse?”

Holly sticks out her tongue. “Cuz you’re stupid.”

“Well then you’re stupid too.”

“No.”

“Yeah,” Mike pokes her stomach. “It’s genetic.”

El works hard to suppress a smile. “Can you help me with the groceries, Mike?”

“Of course, dear,” he replies, jumping up from the couch. He takes one of the bags in her arms. “What’d you get?”

“Stuff for pasta,” she replies. “It’s Holly’s favourite.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Mike, your parents have been out of town for two whole days. She needs an actual meal.”

He grins, kissing her cheek. “I did feed her, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“I made chicken last night,” he says. It’s so casual, but like, he cooked, she shopped, they’re all grown up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll make it for you, sometime. I’ll wear an apron.”

“And nothing else?” She teases.

Mike laughs. “Anything for you, Shortstack.”

They sort everything out, but somehow end up back in the living room. They watch reruns of old seventies sitcoms, and by nine, El is way too tired to cook.

All of her beautiful domestic plans down the drain.

“Can we order pizza?”

He nods against her chest, where his head rests. Between his legs is Holly, who perks up. “With extra cheese?”

“Get me the phone,” he mumbles tiredly.

Much later, Mike wakes up from some hazy sleep. The television is on, as is the kitchen light (though it’s vacant). El is nowhere to be seen, but Holly is half asleep on the couch, absently chewing on the ear of her oldest and grossest stuffed bunny. It’s a habit she’s mostly outgrown, only slipping back into it when she’s about to conk out, but trying desperately to stay awake.

“Whatcha watchin’?”

“More stupid Danger Mouse,” she says, voice barely a whisper. Her eyes are glued to the screen.

That’s when he notices the tear tracks.

“Hey,” Mike is by her side in an instant, removing the ragged stuffed animal from the equation and pulling her close. “What’s up?”

All of the sudden she’s curling into herself, broken down by a fresh wave of tears. “I had too much pizza, and Nancy l-left again, and you’re l-leaving too and you’re never gonna call m-me because I’m stupid and l-lame and I’ll never see you again—”

“Holly,” he rests his head on her chin and rocks her back and forth; she’s still that small (or maybe he’s that tall). “That’s not gonna happen.”

“You’re not gonna leave?!”

She’s so hopeful it actually crushes his heart into a million pieces. Mike loses all of his strength, head falling against the couch cushions, but he keeps holding her. “I have to go,” he says.

Her chin wobbles. “Oh.”

“But I’m gonna miss you like crazy, okay? And I’ll come home every weekend, I promise. You can even visit me, with mom. And you’re not lame, or stupid. You’re the coolest kid I know.”

Holly rolls her eyes, a habit she no doubt picked up from him, but she’s smiling a little bit too. He takes that as a success. “You have to be pretty cool to watch Danger Mouse reruns on a Saturday night,” she remarks.

Mike grins. “I swear it’ll be okay.”

“Sap,” she comments. It’s something she definitely picked up from El.

“Maybe,” he admits, not really minding. “But I mean it. And I love you, a lot. Got it?”

Holly nods. Her blue eyes, the ones she shares with Nance, are still watery and glassy, but she still looks assured. “Got it, Mikey.”

Then she yawns, and Mike doesn’t really need another word. He picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, which makes her squeal like always, and then carries her upstairs.

El is in his room. Specifically, on his bed, with her legs folded and her left arm stretched out above her. The ring glints on her finger, and she cocks her head.

“Hey.”

El starts. Her cheeks flush, which makes him grin, and she hastily works the band off her finger. “I was just looking,” she says firmly.

Mike grins. “Sure,” he closes the door and readjusts his hold on Holly. “I believe you.”

She gives him a look; all vexed and provoked as she puts her necklace back on. The locket and the ring jingle as she tucks them both under her shirt, where they’re always hidden. “Shut up.”

She starts smiling at his expression (which is probably all starry eyed, but fuck it, she was wearing the ring again, god, he keeps catching her doing that), until her gaze rips away from him and slips to Holly. “Is she okay?”

Mike shrugs. “I figured she could sleep with us.”

El nods, and so Mike carries his little sister over to the bed and lays her down in the middle. She promptly rolls over onto her stomach. El slides in next to her, running a hand up and down Holly’s back.

“You tired?”

“No,” El’s voice sounds distant. “You?”

“No.” Mike lies down. He puts his head against Holly’s left shoulder, her arm having already snaked beneath a pillow, and closes his eyes. El’s fingers are in his hair a few seconds later, somehow just what he needs. She touches the nape of his neck, and his ear, and then his cheekbones. He loves her so much it actually hurts him just then, like someone’s squeezing his heart.

Then his bedroom door flies open.

Max Mayfield is a rush of red hair and dark eyes. She kicks it closed behind her, probably leaving a shoe-print mark. Holly’s eyes fly open.

“Max!”

Their eyes are wide, and Mike’s heart is pounding. All he can think is fucking Niel, fucking Billy, fucking monsters—

“Your back door was unlocked,” she explains, edging closer. “I... Lucas...”

Mike falls back against his pillows. Here we go again.

El pats the mattress next to her. “He’s okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Max scoffs. “Really great.”

She doesn’t need a second invitation, though. Max kicks off her shoes and curls up between Holly and El. His little sister doesn’t seem pleased with the new addition, though (and Mike can’t say he disagrees). Holly climbs onto his stomach and falls asleep within minutes.

“So what happened?”

He can’t believe he’s asking, but he also can’t help but feel concerned. This is Lucas. It’s Max. They’re stressed and arguing all the time, lately, about the stupidest shit. It’s like Junior year all over again.

Max sniffs. “We just fought,” she whispers. “It was stupid. It didn’t even make sense.”

El takes her hand. “You sure?”

“He asked me to come with him again, and I said no, that I had plans with you, and he can’t just do that to Mike, y’know? And then he started yelling about how I was being selfish and putting our relationship in jeopardy because ‘long distance doesn’t last’.”

“Bullshit,” they reply in unison.

“Look at Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve,” Mike elaborates. “They make it work, and they’re all in different places.”

Max throws her hands up. “Exactly! I literally brought that up! But does he listen to reason? No! He just went on about how every relationship is different and oh my god I think he wants to break up with me.”

“No,” they tell her. El rolls onto her side. “He’s just scared, okay? He doesn’t want to lose you. It’s a really, really hard thing to go from seeing someone all the time to barely ever.”

Max huffs. “That doesn’t mean he has to be an ass about it.”

Mike can’t take his eyes off El. He can’t do anything about the ridiculous explosion in his stomach, but he can’t stop staring, either. Perfect. Wow. Look at her.

“He just doesn’t want to admit it,” Mike tells Max, without looking at her. El bites her lip. “Or be too dramatic about the whole thing, because then he’ll make you feel like your relationship isn’t strong enough, when it is, you’re super strong—”

“We’re no longer talking about me, are we?” Max inquires dryly.

Mike blinks. “It’s all relevant. You are pretty strong, Mayfield. But the point is, he just needs to know you’re scared, too.”

El’s attention seems drawn to the sheets, but then her voice breaks through the barriers of his mind. I am scared, Stringy.

Yeah?

So scared.

He already sort of knew that. But he also knows that he doesn’t even compare to her when it comes to handling bullshit. He’s probably going to be a complete mess, with weekend exceptions.

Max clears her throat. “Can you guys, like, not? I’m in this bed, too.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

It makes them both burst into laughter. The tension bleeds away, like a light switch being flipped. Mike lets his head fall back against his pillow as their giggling dies away.

“Hey, idiots?”

“Yeah, Max?”

“I love you both.”

If it were any other day, any other time, Mike would make some teasing comment. But he only has the energy to reach up and tap her shoulder with a fist, which has sort of become their custom, by now.

El throws an arm over Max’s stomach, though. “We love you, too.”

He thinks they might all have fallen asleep grinning like idiots, which is how they’re found by his parents the next morning. A mess of limbs and blankets, with the sun breaking through the curtains and yet another day of planning their lives ahead. They have each other, though, always. And weekend exceptions.

- eight: how i love thee -

August 10th sucks.

August 10th should go down as the absolute worst day in history.

Packing.

They’re packing his things. His clothes, and his books, and all of his other things—all those things people take with them when they leave home.

Mike is in the process of taping another box, while she’s trying very hard not to throw up.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Out of tape. I’ll be right back.”

El is left alone in his bedroom, surrounded by all his sweaters. They’re splayed out on the floor, one in her lap���her very favourite one, with the little green diamonds and the zig-zag patterns. And even though it’s like, eighty degrees, she pulls it over her head.

It smells like him. Like cinnamon and a woodsy cologne, almost like he’s with her just then. El hugs herself, blinking hard.

She spots it, then.

A shoebox, sitting almost innocently under his bed. It would be innocent enough, if it weren’t labelled ‘stuff i’m too chickenshit to give my girlfriend’.

It flies into El’s hand. She bites her lip, glancing at the door. It’s too tempting not to look. Succumbing, El gently pries the lid off.

It’s full of papers. Some are folded up, some are just scraps. There are other things, too; pictures with words on the back and sealed letters—not unlike the ones she was given a few months ago.

El frowns, unfolding one.

It’s a poem. Like, an actual poem. She scans it, eyes caught on certain words and phrases. The end, though, is simple: i’m not supposed to, but i do. i love you.

It’s dated way back before even their freshman year. Thirteen, he was thirteen when he wrote it.

“Oh, Mike…”

There are so many more. Ones about her, about them. They say things she knows he’d probably never speak aloud, yet somehow, written out like this, they’re not cheesy or over the top. They’re just… him.

There’s one on top that’s dated in last month. It’s just a ripped piece of lined paper, that makes her heart stop.

marry me means more than you know. marry me means more than i love you can say. marry me means forever. i think soon does too.

Footsteps. El scrambles to put the lid back on the box, hastily wiping her cheeks.

She slides it back under the bed just as the door opens. “Got it,” Mike says, slipping in. He stops short as soon as he sees her, sitting on his floor in his sweater, with her face probably all blotchy. “El…”

“I found your poems,” she blurts. It’s all she can think to say.

Mike blushes. “Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have looked,” she stares down at her hands, unable to hold his gaze. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” He comes over, sitting in front of her and ducking his head so she can see him. “I was gonna give them to you in like two days, anyway.”

El bites her lip. A tear falls onto her lap, but it’s only one of many—the many that have been building up inside of her for so long; from the fear and the uncertainty and the love.

Mike takes her hand, gently pulling her toward him. He wraps his arms around her middle and hugs her close, pressing his lips against her neck.

Then she feels it. One tear, two. He’s crying, breathing her in and shaking. All she can think is, has he been falling apart, too?

“Mike,” El turns so that she’s facing him. She promptly kisses his cheeks and his nose. He looks small and morose. “It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t wanna leave you,” he whispers. “I can’t lose you.”

It takes everything she has to sob. “You won’t lose me,” she promises.

And somehow, knowing he’s terrified just like her, knowing he’s desperate for things not to change even though they will inevitably, it becomes a truth. He won’t lose her, she won’t lose him. It’s one of their truths, like their love transcends heaven, and his hand in hers is comfort, his arms are home. Their truths, like you found me in the rain, but you’re the sun. Like you belong to me, it’ll be okay, we can make it through this.

He won’t lose her. “You’re losing the sweater, though.”

Mike laughs, holding her just a little tighter. “I figured.”

- nine: they don’t end -

The next day, they make the drive to Terre Haute. The six of them, packed into the Wheeler station wagon. It’s a complete nightmare; they bicker over the radio, who gets to sit where, and what they should do when they get there.

“We’re going straight to the apartment,” Lucas says, for the thousandth time. “And then we’ll get food.”

“Logically, we should eat before we unpack,” Dustin says. “We’ll need the stamina.”

“You’ll need a new ass when I’m done with you,” Lucas grumbles.

El and Max exchange so many exasperated glances their necks hurt by the time they pull into the parking lot. The complex isn’t exactly dingy, but it’s smaller than El expected. 

Her heart is pounding in her chest as they make their way up. Mike leads them, since he came here last week to sort some things out and knows where to go. He fumbles with the keys for a giid few seconds.

“Mike, I will kill you,” Dustin warns from behind his box. “Just open the damn door.”

He easily unlocks it, grinning. “After you, dearest,” he says. “Or did you want me to carry you over the threshold?”

“I think that’d piss off your side girl,” Dustin jerks his head toward El, who flips him off with her free hand.

They drop their boxes in the living room. It’s carpeted, unfurnished other than a small couch. The setting is so foreign it makes her skin crawl. This is where he’ll be, when he’s not with you. 

(yet in the coming months, it will become her home, too. she’ll have a drawer in his bedroom, she’ll sit with him and Lucas while they study, she’ll eat ice cream and watch soaps with Dustin whenever their visits align)

“Only fifty more trips,” Will says.

They take the elevator each time, because there’s no damn way she’s hauling load after load up the stairwell. With the six of them, they finish getting it all up there fast enough.

It’s when they start to unpack that things get strained.

“Dustin, for the last time, you cannot touch my tapes,” Lucas says. “I have them organised alphabetically.”

“That’s too bad, man, because I already put them on the shelf.”

“You asshole!”

“Dude, I’m just trying to help!”

“Well you’re not helping!”

“Hey!” Will yells, which he never does. “Can we not fight today? Please?”

It reminds them all of where they stand. The reality is, next week, Will’s flying out to California to meet Jonathan at the airport. Dustin is moving into his new dorm at Purdue. Max and El are staying behind in Hawkins while their boyfriends stay here, an hour away. Tonight.

El’s stomach drops. She busies herself by sorting through the tupperware Mrs. Wheeler bought them, putting everything in its rightful place.

“Screw this,” Mike says, after a minute of tense silence. “Let’s go get burgers.”

They walk to the diner, which is just across the street. As soon as they settle into the booth, El feels safe. She feels like this moment, with all of them together, promises something. They don’t end. Ever.

And they won’t. They’ll be okay. They sort of already are; they’re interlinked and connected by tethers that won’t ever fray. They’re the party. They’ll be more than fine, and she knows that in her heart.

Max groans quietly beside El, rolling her eyes while the boys plunge further into their latest nerd debate. 

“Yeah? What about Spaceballs?”

Will shakes his head. “That was possibly the shittiest movie I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

“I didn’t even think it was funny,” Dustin agrees. “I mean, how can you parody Star Wars? It’s like, the greatest franchise ever created. It’s flawless.”

“Oh my god, bullshit,” says Lucas. “It’s riddled with flaws.”

“Yeah? Name one.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. He leans back against his seat, challenged. “Okay, fine. How come Vader never senses that Leia’s his daughter? If all the Skywalkers are Force sensitive, and Vader can sense Luke, why doesn’t he know he’s related to Leia?! He literally uses the Force on her.”

“Maybe he does, and he’s just bluffing,” Dustin suggests, even though it’s so weak it makes the rest of them snort.

“And how about when they’re in Cloud City, and Vader has them disable the hyperdrive? Why don’t they just dismantle the whole engine?! All that does is prevent them from jumping into hyperspeed—he totally enabled their escape—”

“Alright, stop, stop—”

“And don’t even get me started on the holiday special—”

“Stop it!” Dustin throws up his hands. “I’ve had enough! This is against party rules!”

Mike pauses mid-burger bite. “What?”

“The rules state that one must never insult, over-analyse, or construct a negative argument against the greatest film franchise of all time—”

“That’s not a rule,” they all deny, as one.

“Shut! Enough! All of you!”

“Okay, I’m so done with this conversation,” Max announces. “Can we talk about something else?”

Dustin slaps his hand down on the table. “Alright, greatest movies ever made, one to ten—go.” 

They buy milkshakes to go, run back across the way, and hole back up in the apartment. 

“Wanna play D&D?” Dustin suggests.

They set up on the floor, with the map in the middle and all their figurines spread across it. Mike bunches behind his three-board-folder. 

“Alright, so we left off in Elmar’s Wood. The party is scattered. Your ranger scouts ahead, torch lit by the everlasting flames of Galandria. Your zoomer is at your flank...”

 “I, for one, am totally dead,” Max announces. “My health is down by half and I lost my fucking bag of holding, and you incapable nimrods didn’t help me fight off those warlocks at all.”

“I was busy with the cave markings!” Lucas defends. “Besides, we’re literally so close to the Black Palace.”

“If I die on the way, I’ll kill you.”

Lucas scowls. “Not if I kill you, first.”

El glances at Mike. I’m so glad we don’t flirt like that.

He has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. And that’s when it hits her.

She knows what she wants in five years. She knows what she wants forever. She knows what she wants now.

El takes his hand, mindless of everyone else, seeing the mirth in his eyes, the way they crinkle at the corners. 

While everyone else bickers and freaks out about the possibility of more goblins ahead—or worse, a demogorgon—she knows what’s coming next. 

Marry me had become less of a question and more of a proclamation; it means, instead, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It means, you’re absolutely perfect. It means, you make every day better and I can’t live without you. It’s his not so stupid way of saying something more than I love you.

But underneath all of that, it still really is just a question. And it needs an answer.

“Hey stringbean?”

He turns to her. Maybe she’ll get one.

“Marry me?”

[tommoholland2013]

The New Kid: Tom Holland

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning(s): I mean, I don’t think there is anything to warn you of so

Request: Can you write an image(or series)of Tom Holland? Cuz before they shot anything for the movie, Tom went to a high school in New York undercover. Everyone believed he was a new student and stuff. So the idea is that the reader is a socially awkward ball of anxiety(like myself) that's crushing on the 'new kid', admiring him from afar, and trying to talk to him. requested by @nerkybowtie

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

A/N: I loved writing this and there will absolutely be a part two, maybe even a part three. I read so many articles about how this whole ordeal went down and everything that happened just so I could get the detail right lol. Enjoy!

Note: While Tom was undercover at the school, he went by Ben, so his name in this part will be Ben he was also 19 when he went to the school for three days so, he’s 19 here too.

Edit: Part II ♛

Y/N was never a very social butterfly. She really liked to stick more to herself and that made it hard for her to make friends, or to trust people. At her school, Bronx School of Science, she didn’t have any close friends, and it had always been like that, even now as she was only a few months away from graduating and moving on to begin her life independently.

It was a particularly cold February day in New York as Y/N walked to school. With every inhale, the cold air refreshed her lungs and with every exhale, the air lingered visibly in the air before disappearing. Y/N’s days were fairly routine, flowing the same way every day, until he came and changed everything.

Y/N walked into the warmed school building and made her way to the classroom in which her class was to be held. She took her seat and waited for the bell to ring. She didn’t pay attention to her surroundings, nor did she hear what was going on around her as her earbuds were placed comfortably in her ears, the ear pieces playing songs from her playlist.

When the bell rang, she pulled her earbuds out and put her phone away. She finally looked up, and her world stopped. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze in her seat. At the front of the classroom stood the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. His curls flopped perfectly over his forehead, and his brown eyes were beautiful.

“Class, I would like to introduce you to Ben. He will be joining us for the next few months. Now, Ben was supposed to shadow with Arun today, but it seems Arun was too ill to come to school today. So, who would like to show Ben around the school for the next couple days until he gets his classes assigned?” The teacher asked. Every hand that belonged to a girl shot up in the air. Y/N didn’t even think about raising her hand, she was far too shy to talk to family members, let alone lead someone around the school for the next few days, and she was okay with that. Y/N was okay with admiring the new comer from afar without actually having to talk to him. Wait, did he say classes assigned? First, he was joining the school four months before graduation, and then he wasn’t assigned classes yet? The whole ordeal seemed... off to Y/N.

Y/N had been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t heard the teacher call her name.

“W-what?” She stuttered.

“How about Ben shadows you for the next few days?”

“Oh no I—“ Y/N didn’t even get halfway through her objecting statement when the teacher began to speak.

“Fantastic. Ben, why don’t you take a seat in the empty desk beside Y/N’s?” The new boy—Ben—nodded his head and walked down the aisle and took a seat at the empty desk beside Y/N’s.

“Hey.” Ben whispered to Y/N with a wide smile. God, even his smile was perfect. Y/N was panicking a little on the inside. She started to feel like the room was suddenly too warm and her hands began to sweat. This is what happened whenever a stranger talked to her, let alone a handsome stranger. Y/N gulped heavily before shakily whispering back a response.

“H-hi.” She refused to meet his eyes, and he definitely noticed. “I’m just gonna...” Y/N pointed at the board and turned back towards the board. She felt like she had just seen a ghost. Her hands shook and she was sweating profusely. She wasn’t able to focus on the lesson at all and her leg bounced as the anxiety coursed through her body. When the bell rang and the class was over, Y/N hastily collected her things, but in her haste she dropped a book.

“Here, I’ll get it.” Ben said as he bent down to collect the fallen book. He stood to his full height and handed Y/N her book.

“Uh, thanks.” She muttered.

“No problem. So, where to next?” Ben asked as he watched her stuff her things into her bag. Y/N had completely forgotten that Ben would be following her around until he had his classes assigned to him.

“AP Microeconomics.” Y/N stated as they walked out of the classroom and into the hallway.

“What is that?” Ben laughed. He didn’t know what AP Microeconomics were? How did he get into the school? Ben noticed the quizzical look on Y/N’s face and backtracked.

“Oh no—I mean—I know what that is. I don’t know why I said that.” It was Ben’s turn to stutter over his words. Y/N didn’t say much and they walked down the hall with silence between them. Attention was something Y/N had never been much of a fan of. So when she took note of all the eyes that followed her and Ben, she got nervous.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Ben asked as he looked at her. Y/N glanced at him and then moved to look at the ground as they continued to walk. Why did her next class have to be on the other side of the school building?

“N-no. Never really been a fan of... conversation... or attention for that matter.”

“Huh. This must be torture for you, then.”

“What?”

“You know, having the new kid follow you around for the next couple days kinda draws attention, doesn’t it?” Ben said with a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah I guess it does.” Y/N said with a small smile of her own. Although Y/N found it hard to have conversations with people, Ben was easy to talk to, and he seemed really sweet, too. Ben made sure to keep small conversation flowing between them until they reached the classroom of Y/N’s next class.

It was lunch, a time Y/N usually spent reading or writing. But not this lunch. Instead of doing what she usually did, she was busy staring at Ben who had managed to gain some serious attention within the school. He was busy talking to a group of people. One of them said something, and they all laughed including Ben. As much as Y/N liked making small conversation with Ben while he followed her around, she knew there was no way she could ever get as comfortable with him as everyone at that table was. Conversation just... wasn’t her forte.

When lunch was over, Ben found Y/N and followed her to her next class.

“So, you seemed to be quite popular at the table. W-was it like that at your old school?” Y/N asked teasingly. She knew she couldn’t hold a super long conversation with him, but she could try to make small talk, and maybe even try to be a little more comfortable around him since she was going to be with him for the net few days. Ben let out a chuckle and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“No, it actually wasn’t. I was bullied there, but I’m over it now.”

“I was bullied for a while too, so I know how that feels.” Y/N said as they walked into the next class.

When the school day was over, Ben followed Y/N out. “Well, Ben. This has been fun. I hope I-I didn’t bore you or anything. I really suck at talking to people.” Y/N muttered as she shifted her weight onto her other foot.

“No, you don’t. And this has been fun. Can’t wait to follow you around again tomorrow.” He joked with a breathy laugh. Y/N nodded in response before she turned to walk away.

“Wait, uh I wanted to ask you something.” Y/N turned back around to face him.

“Y-yeah, what’s up?” She stuttered over her words.

“So, I’m kinda struggling with you know, grasping the stuff we’re doing in AP Microeconomics, and I was wondering if you could tutor me, and maybe help me understand a bit? If not, I totally get it.”

“No-no it’s okay. Yeah, I-I’ll help, it’s not exactly the easiest class. We can study at my house, if that’s okay with you.” Y/N offered nervously.

“Yeah, that’s okay. I guess it’s a date then.”

“U-uh yeah. Sure. I’m just gonna, you know.” Y/N stuttered as she quickly turned on her heel to walk back to her home. Her heart thumped loudly against her chest as she walked briskly. Ben watched Y/N as she walked.

There was something about her that he was drawn to. He knew he couldn’t get attached to her, since he wasn’t going to be at the school, but there was noting wrong with befriending her, right?

A/N: I don’t even know what AP Microeconomics are. Guess that’s why I don’t attend a STEM school, right? Anyway, that’s that. This was a lot of fun to write lol, and I already have some ideas for part two. I hope this is kinda what you had

[littlecajunlady]

What could have been . . .

Hey, anyone remember my Teen Wolf fic This Love? You know, the one where Stiles and Malia’s Eichen House sex results in a surprise baby and they have to decide whether to become teen parents or not? Yeah, that one. So I wrote it from April 2014 to August 2016, and over those 2 and a half years (jeez) I came up with A LOT of extra stuff that I suddenly decided to share right now.

Yeah, you see, I just don’t see myself writing for Teen Wolf anymore, but I spent so much time thinking about everyone’s futures that I still want to share some of what I had planned. It kinda makes me sad that I won’t ever get to write these stories, but at least they can live on in some way. And you can get an ending. Sort of.

So if you liked This Love and wanted it to continue (sorry!), here is a VERY long list of just a few of the things I had planned. It’s going under a cut because seriously, this is YEARS worth of notes for how everyone’s lives turned out.

And a special tag for @breakthestrutura ! Let’s go . . .

- I was going to do a collection of one-shots in chronological order, starting just a few days after This Love and going all the way until Hanna is nearly nine. I don’t think I realized the size of the project I’d created and I quickly overwhelmed myself. Yeah, I only got about 6 pages into the first one-shot. Maybe I’ll share that in a separate post.

- Stiles and Malia were really going to struggle those first six months. Babies are hard, guys. I had no interest in writing a story where there were no consequences of them being teen parents. Hanna was a very good baby and it was STILL going to be hard, one reason being . . . 

- I think I made it fairly obvious, but Malia had postpartum depression those first six months until she finally asks for help, and it’s a full year before she really feels good again. She would also have more obvious PTSD over the accident and killing her family. I wanted to write Malia with some very serious obstacles to overcome that I don’t think the show had enough time to give to her. And I REALLY wanted Malia to struggle with not being a coyote anymore. I hate how easily she got over that in the show. She spent just as much time as a coyote as she did a human, and I don’t think it would be so easy to move on . . . even with Stiles and a baby. I didn’t want her decisions to be easy.

- Within a couple of weeks, Malia would see her dad again (that is, Mr. Tate), and a couple weeks after that, she’d tell him about Hanna and introduce them. I wanted her dad to have a fairly big role and actually act like a dad who would make real decisions for his daughter. Malia would technically live with him, but still sneak in often to Stiles’s at night to be with Hanna. As for Peter, ugh, full confession - I hate Peter. Stiles would’ve told her the truth very early in the oneshots, but she wouldn’t meet him for many years. But more on this later.

- Some clarification: the whole idea of This Love, at least in the beginning, was to see Stiles as a single dad. That’s it. Then the show went on and we got to know Malia more, and I came up with so much more for her character because I came to genuinely love her. But I didn’t want to totally change my original idea, so Stiles is still technically Hanna’s primary parent, but Malia was always meant be Hanna’s mother, no one else. I got comments with people accusing me of sending Malia off so Lydia would become Hanna’s “real mom” or saying Malia was a bitch for leaving her baby. Just letting you know that Malia was always going to be Hanna’s REAL MOM, and I only ever wrote Malia from a place of compassion, not judgment.

- I don’t have a lot of notes for Stiles really in that first year, nothing I can easily summarize anyway, so I’ll just go with him dealing with the regular trials and tribulations of being a teen dad. He was going to get a job at the video store (once that window got fixed, foreshadowing!) and work there until the eventual closing - because come on, it’s a video store. That was my first job so I wanted it to be Stiles’s. He’d do the typical senior year things - college applications, SATs, and kind of giving up his dream for the FBI (!) and decide to stay close to home, for Hanna.

- I put Malia a year behind everyone in school. No way could she start off as a senior. Stiles and Malia would kinda dance around their feeling for months before finally getting together, in just enough time to literally dance together at prom. Hanna takes her first steps as they’re all posing for graduation pictures. Stiles and Malia last until about October, but even though Stiles is still living at home, his being in college and her still being in high school is tough for them, and they decide to take a break. They are still very good friends and co-parents.

- Yeah, you’re gonna hate me for this, but I was gonna be a total asshole and take a LONG time for them to get together, at least officially in an endgame sort of way. Over the years they’d make up and break up a lot, while basically hooking up with each other the whole time, but they wouldn’t be able to figure things out for good until Hanna is FIVE. Again, sorry. They were endgame though, that’s something right? No? Okay . . .

- Let’s talk about college and future jobs. Stiles and Scott were going to go to a college together nearby so Stiles could commute. After a year they decide to get an apartment together, with Hanna. They live there together until they graduate from college. Stiles would’ve gone for criminal justice, then police academy and ended up working with the Sheriff like he’d planned – deputy first and in about three years he’d make detective. Malia wasn’t going to go to college at first, but then I’d decided on a career path that sort of required it so. First she’d get a job as a park ranger and start at a community college before transferring to Stiles’s school so she could become a game warden. Eventually she’d become a Special Agent, making her a federal game warden.

- And I may as well tell you about the other characters and their futures. I picked out veterinarian for Scott. He and Kira broke up amicably when she decided to go to NYU. Not sure what she’d study, but I decided Kira was Malia’s favorite early on so they all stay close to Kira. Allison moves to France for college for a couple of years and Isaac goes with her. They would eventually break up, Isaac moving back first and Allison 6 months later. She starts school with everyone else and majors in psychology (with some business thrown in) and she and Scott pretty quickly get back together. Look, I wasn’t gonna keep Allison alive and not put her with Scott! Lydia finished her undergrad in like 2 years at Stanford, majoring in mathematics, then moved east for graduate school. Eventually she’d marry Parrish and they’d have one daughter.

- AND HERE IS ONE OF THE IDEAS THAT I WAS WEIRDLY MOST EXCITED ABOUT. I always wanted more of Stiles and Allison’s friendship in the show, so I decided that Allison becomes a detective and she and Stiles are partners. Guys, I wanted to write this so bad. And this whole idea was born from that one scene in the show with Allison and the Sheriff in the elevator and she’s crying and the Sheriff tells her she’s thinking like a cop, that’s it. So yeah, Stiles and Allison become the besties I always wanted them to be.

- Look guys, I’m a multi-shipper, especially where Teen Wolf is concerned. I saw how big this universe was getting and quickly realized that this would probably be the ONLY big TW fic I’d ever write, so I wanted the opportunity to play around with some couples. I almost feel like I don’t want to share this because people will probably hate it but . . . Malia and Isaac were going to date for like a year and a half, pretty much right after he came home from France. I still think those two could be interesting together and I wanted to see that for a little while. Stiles and Lydia were going to date for like a summer, before his senior year of college, and then they’d pretty quickly realize they were better as friends. Lydia was still always gonna be one of Stiles’s closest friends throughout, and I know some people may not have liked that, but Lydia is pretty much my favorite character and I love their friendship so. I say all this to let you know that none of Stiles and Malia’s relationships with other people worked out in the long run because they love each other and can’t truly let each other go.

- Also, the Sheriff and Melissa were gonna end up together too. I’m righting a wrong today.

- Scott and Allison get married right out of college and start having babies fairly soon, 4 in total to be exact. Stiles and Malia get back together for good at their wedding (where naturally Hanna is the flower girl). Unfortunately the wedding is just a few weeks before Malia has to move to San Francisco for her training. They do the “long” distance thing for about six weeks before they realize they really want to make things work this time, and they move in together at the halfway point and endure the commutes. It’s for less than a year and they move back to Beacon Hills and eventually buy a house together.

- I think Hanna deserves her own section. I love her. I still think about her sometimes. I’ve tried to draw her with some mild success (check my ‘This Love’ and ‘Hanna’ tags for it). It bums me out that I never really got to write for her. All I can do is try to sum her up now. She looks mostly like I describe her as a baby – with wild, light brown hair, Malia’s darker complexion and full lips, and Stiles’s eye color and nose. I always imagined her to ultimately be a very sweet kid. I didn’t really want her to be a mini-Stiles or a mini-Malia, but her own person. She would also be very energetic, funny, talkative, and a little mischievous, but ultimately I wanted kindness to be her main attribute. Maybe that’s boring idk, but I liked the idea of Stiles and Malia looking at each other and wondering how they got such a good kid. And yes, of course she has her temper tantrums and bad days like any normal kid, she’s certainly not perfect, but Stiles is ultimately very thankful she is much better behaved than he ever was as a kid. She loves all of her aunt and uncles, but Scott the most. She also loves her Pop (that would be the Sheriff). I came up with other random things, like she’s a terrible artist and dancer, but she loves to swim. That she’s not so much clumsy as she is just graceless (the name Hanna means ‘grace’ btw, which Stiles finds ironic). She’s TOUGH. She’s very good at sensing people’s emotions, which makes her very empathetic. Malia took her into the woods often and they love camping together. While she does come to appreciate her werecoyote side, especially with Malia’s help, she’s wary for a while because she doesn’t want to hurt anyone. I could probably go on, but I guess I’ll stop there.

- In the end, as much as appreciate the relationships between all of the characters, ultimately this story was always meant to be about one thing: a sweet father/daughter relationship. One, because of the sweetest father/daughter relationship I’d literally ever seen on tv, on the soap opera General Hospital back when I was watching, between the characters Patrick and Emma Drake.  The actress, Brooklyn Silzer, is also how I kind of picture Hanna as well. I just wanted to see Stiles be a cute dad basically, and I wanted to write a relationship like Patrick and Emma. And two, my dad and I don’t have the greatest relationship. I’m kinda fascinated by people who do have good relationships with their dads, and I gravitate towards stories that have that dynamic. So, Hanna is a daddy’s girl. ‘This Love,’ the title and story, was always about Stiles and Hanna.

- I guess I could stop there, but then you wouldn’t know that I’d planned a SEQUEL. Weirdly, I still don’t want to give too much away about it, but I will say that Hanna is just a couple weeks from her ninth birthday and it’s about the first time she shifts. Malia has secretly been meeting with Peter who’s still in Eichen (I wanted him to rot in there okay I hate him) and he gives her a cryptic warning. Malia’s mother, Corinne, was going to be the main villain, but I never liked that she just wanted to kill Malia in the show, so instead I had her cause the accident to bring on Malia’s first shift. She viewed this as giving Malia a gift to live her real life as a coyote, with Malia’s family merely being collateral damage. Now that Corinne sees how Malia’s turned out she’s disappointed, and sets out to do the same thing to Hanna. Naturally, the pack would put a stop to this, and it would end happily. I didn’t know if I’d put this at the end of the story as an epilogue or give it its own one-shot, but Stiles and Malia would get married a year later. FINALLY.

- Oh wait, was it actually a TRILOGY?! Yes, because I’m ridiculous. I didn’t have much planned for this and, I think like most third parts, it maybe wouldn’t have been as interesting, heh. But the plot was sort of like 6b funnily enough, with hunters as the main villains. Hanna would be 15, and Stiles and Malia would be happy, and Malia would be pregnant through most of it. Yeah I wanted them to have another daughter. I couldn’t come up with a name and eventually settled on Evelyn Claudia after their mothers because I think Evie’s cute. She’d look the opposite of Hanna, with dark hair and Malia’s dark eyes, with Stiles’s smile and pale skin. Also, Hanna would’ve saved her beloved Pop, who finally decides to retire, and Stiles is easily elected as the new Sheriff. THE END.

Yeah, I made this about 3 or 4 years ago and just been hanging on to it. That would be Hanna at top right and Evie bottom left, and I morphed pictures of Dylan and Shelley together to make it, and lots of photoshop. I needed a family portrait.

- I even wrote an AU of an AU for ‘This Love’! It’s only about 4 pages and unfinished, but in it Stiles decided to give Hanna up as a baby after all, and he meets up with her again at the police station because she’s an angry little delinquent. Maybe I could post this one too, with more ideas I came with for that one on there.

Okay, I guess that’s really it this time. I don’t know if anyone will even care about this but I wanted to finally let go of all this information. I wish I could’ve gotten myself to write it all for real, but hopefully this is better than nothing. For months I’ve been meaning to post This Love to ao3, and if I ever do I’ll let people there know this post exists. And you can always ask something if there’s more you want to know, seriously, I have a pretty detailed timeline.

If anyone actually read all of this, I hope you liked it for what it could’ve been.

[junker-town]

Undefeated NC State, explained

Dave Doeren and the Wolfpack lost a metric ton of NFL talent after a season of missed opportunities ... and got better? The Wolfpack are your CHAOS TEAM OF THE WEEK.

On October 24, 2002, Philip Rivers completed 15 of 24 passes, T.A. McLendon rushed for 178 yards, and Terrence Holt both picked off a pass and returned a blocked punt for a score as No. 12 NC State destroyed Clemson. The Wolfpack moved to 10th in the AP poll. They then lost three in a row, all to unranked teams.

In 1991, State moved to 11th after a win over defending national champion Georgia Tech. Next, the Pack barely got by I-AA’s Marshall, then lost to Clemson and Virginia.

In 1974, coached by Lou Holtz, the Pack were 6-0 and 10th in the polls when they lost at unranked UNC by 19, then to Maryland for good measure.

In 1967, they rose to third following an 8-0 start and a win over No. 2 Houston. They then scored 14 combined in road losses to unranked Penn State and Clemson.

The story of NC State is unrequited potential.

The Wolfpack live in a talent-rich area and have provided a stream of All-American talent and NFL draft picks: Rivers, Russell Wilson, and Roman Gabriel at quarterback; Mario Williams and Bradley Chubb at defensive end; Torry Holt and Haywood Jeffires at wide receiver; etc. Seventeen first-round picks in all.

Photo by Craig Jones/Getty Images

Philip Rivers’ 13,484 career college passing yards were second-most in FBS history when he graduated. (It’s 13th-most now.)

But despite all this talent, they have never — NEVER! — finished in the AP top 10. Every fan base in the country claims their program is cursed. Only one might actually be.

That’s why 2017 felt like such a missed opportunity. From my 2018 NC State preview:

[slams fist on keyboard] THAT WAS YOUR WINDOW. THAT WAS YOUR CHANCE.

Florida State had its worst team of the decade. Louisville’s defense was awful. Miami wasn’t fully weaponized. Hell, even Clemson was a step or two off of its 2016 pace.

You had seven draftees (plus whoever maybe gets drafted in 2019). And you lost four times. You let Clemson off the hook again. You lost to Wake Forest. You outgained South Carolina by more than 250 yards and somehow lost. With as much talent as you’ve ever compiled, you’ve lost seven one-possession games in the last two years.

The draft narrative wasn’t “Wow, look at the talent NC State is producing!” It was “How the hell did they only go 9-4 with all that talent? And what are they going to do now that it’s gone?”

State had seven players drafted from last year’s nine-win squad, including four defensive linemen. Chubb is in the running for Rookie of the Year. Nyheim Hines has 36 rushes and 31 receptions for the Colts.

Photo by Justin Edmonds/Getty Images

Bradley Chubb had three sacks against the Rams on Sunday and has 4.5 for the season.

And yet, without all that departed talent, the Pack are 5-0, 16th in the AP poll, and 19th in S&P+ heading into the game of Week 8, a battle with third-ranked Clemson.

The last time they came to Death Valley, they had a shot to beat the eventual national champions but missed a field goal. They have played the Tigers super-tough for three straight years. Do they have a fourth in them?

After a shaky season opener against James Madison, the Wolfpack have handled their business, beating Georgia State by 34, a solid Marshall by 17 in Huntington, and top-50 Boston College and Virginia squads by a combined 19.

They have not necessarily looked the part of a title contender, but they have been better rounded than before, currently ranking in the top 30 in both Off. and Def. S&P+. (They were 21st on offense last year but somehow, despite the talent on the line, only 63rd on defense.)

Since a September battle with West Virginia was canceled because of Hurricane Florence, this is State’s first marquee game. Here’s what you need to know about this year’s Wolfpack:

1. The passing game is really damn good.

In 2017, Ryan Finley threw for 3,518 yards, and State ranked 17th in passing success rate. This year, despite the loss of Hines and do-it-all Jaylen Samuels, two solid safety valves, the Wolfpack are currently fourth in passing success rate.

Last year’s top receivers, Kelvin Harmon and Jakobi Meyers have combined for 63 catches, 853 yards, and three scores, but depth has come in handy. Sophomore Emeka Emezie had 13 catches in 2017 but already has 20 this year, and freshman Thayer Thomas has been an ultra-efficient possession option, catching 16 of 19 passes for 202 yards.

Photo by Lance King/Getty Images

Ryan Finley is one of the country’s most underrated passers.

With the veteran Finley leading the way, State has been brilliant at catching up to the chains. The Pack are fifth in passing-downs marginal efficiency; more impressively, they’re first in the country in blitz-downs success rate (second-and-super-long or third-and-five or more). They’re also first in third-and-long success rate, third in third-and-medium success rate, and third in overall sack rate allowed.

Finley’s quick release and a wealth of options have made the Pack blitz-proof. That’s good because the run game has mostly stunk. It showed some life against Boston College, with Reggie Gallaspy Jr. and Ricky Person Jr. combining for 196 yards and a 49 percent success rate, but State still ranks just 110th in rushing marginal efficiency.

Passing is the way to go against Clemson anyway. The Tigers have maybe the best defensive line in the country and rank second in rushing marginal efficiency allowed. They’re only 70th against the pass, though. If Finley is able to avoid pressure, he could find success.

2. The defense stiffens like crazy in the red zone.

Despite the turnover, NC State’s defense has improved in virtually every category this year. Granted, we’re only halfway through the season — we’ll see how much of that improvement can be sustained — but the Pack are up from 56th to 39th in success rate allowed. More importantly, they’ve improved from 63rd to fifth in points allowed per scoring opportunity (first downs inside the defense’s 40).

In this year’s team stat profiles, I am sharing a more extensive breakout of red zone stats. State aces pretty much all of them:

15th in success rate allowed between the 21 and 30

33rd in success rate allowed between the 11 and 20

14th in success rate allowed inside the 10

eighth in success rate allowed on first-and-goal

first in turnover rate inside the 10

Granted, relying on red zone turnovers over a long period of time is a fool’s errand, but even without the turnovers, the Pack have been tremendous at stopping opponents short of the goal line and at least forcing field goals.

They’re able to do so because of a front seven that is once again talented and disruptive: end James Smith-Williams and tackle Larrell Murchison each has six tackles for loss already (they’ve combined for six sacks and 12 run stuffs), and veteran linebacker Germaine Pratt has chipped in with 4.5 TFLs as well.

Photo by Grant Halverson/Getty Images

Germaine Pratt has been the quarterback of the still-effective State defense.

Red zone stops have been important, however, because they’ve been letting opponents off the hook a bit on passing downs. They rank 27th in marginal efficiency on standard downs but only 62nd on passing downs. They’ve been vulnerable to draw plays due to kamikaze pass rushes (and youth in the secondary), and they rank just 92nd in third-and-long success rate allowed.

But they make tackles, force opponents to run extra plays, and eventually make a stop.

Finishing drives will be a massive key on Saturday.

Clemson’s pretty good at it (17th in points per scoring opportunity on offense) and should create a handful of opportunities.

Meanwhile, the Tigers are even better than State at stopping opponents short of the end zone — they’re second in points per scoring opp allowed. State will struggle to score touchdowns, but if the Wolfpack continue to force mistakes, they’ll yet again give themselves a chance at the upset.

Clemson is an obvious favorite. The Tigers are projected to win by 14.4 points per S&P+ and are 15.5-point favorites per Vegas.

But even if the Wolfpack were a bit disappointing overall, State has played Clemson really well in recent years. And after a week of mayhem and blood that shook up the national title race, State is the key to unlocking even more in Week 8.

[topicprinter]

I'm making this post partially to help you all avoid making the same mistakes I did, but also as a way to catalog the failures while it's fresh in my mind, so I can look back when I start working on the next one.Two years ago, I became utterly fed up with my situation. I had graduated and found a pretty decent job in my field, done all the things you were supposed to do. But the working environment was horrible and I found myself miserable and doing exactly what I didn't want to be doing with my life. So I moved in with my mom and started saving and planning for a trip overseas.I had a blast traveling and exploring life for 3 months, but savings were coming to a close and I would have to go home and figure out a source of income. Until, an acquaintance approached me about starting an import/export business.The deal was that he would fund things while I did most of the work. I couldn't pass up the opportunity, especially since I'd been wanting to start something for a quite some time. So we committed to each other and founded our company.Mistake #1 I went to work right away, drawing up a business plan, creating a budget, and so forth. I shared these with my partner who sort of just brushed them off. That sort of stuff is just way over his head, but I just sort of ignored it and thought I could figure it out. It's turned out that at the time, he actually had a MUCH longer timeline for making this thing happen than I thought. I was ready to go, had a plan to launch in 3 months and everything. But he wasn't, and we didn't communicate this to each other. Therein lies mistake #1: not being communicative about how we saw this business unfolding. Unfortunately, it's hard to communicate these things when you're halfway across the world from each other.Mistake #2It became more and more apparent that things were moving far too slowly. It wasn't until 2 months later that we actually got our LLC established (the bank acct didn't come until like 4 months after this). But I wasn't giving up, I had faith in the idea and he had the funding (or so I thought).After months of dicking around and way too much stress, we finally made it to the same place at the same time. He showed me his bank account, and it was like 10 times less than what I believed it to be. The budget I'd created was equal to the entire cash savings he had. I should have realized at this point that there was no way this was going to work, but I didn't want to give up. Therein lies mistake #2: not being clear about what this business would cost, and depending on a financially irresponsible person.Mistake #3By this point, (5 months after we committed to starting this business) it should have been so apparent that this was not going to work. But I was afraid of failure and believed I could make this thing work even on a limited budget. My partner was there and we were finally working together, making progress. We sourced a bunch of awesome products and had a good team. But, he had to leave after only a month (2-3 month timeline for sourcing, building website, shipping etc.) leaving me on my own. I couldn't get it all done on my own in time and had to return home, leaving the products behind because they were not yet import compliant. 9 months after we had started the business, we had no products on the way, an unfinished website, and no revenue. We'd sunk a good 20k between the two of us and had nothing really to show for it. Therein lies mistake #3: not accepting reality, and stupidly believing I could make a failing business work on my own. Also, sinking my own money into a business that was supposed to be fully funded by my partner.Mistake #4 After returning home and taking care of business (renewing my green card), I made it back to our products and started getting them ready and finishing all of the stuff we needed to do to sell them. The stress of not having money started eating away at me, and I fell into bad habits and was not as productive as I should have been. I set a deadline for myself, and in the stress of figuring it all out myself, took the easy route of shipping everything courier, because I just could not sort out air freight. I thought I did all the calculations, but in the stress and tension of the moment, I forgot an essential detail: dimensional weight.When the products arrived, I was stoked. Even though we were way in the hole, we had solid products on a solid website with solid content: if we could even sell half we were on our way to at least breaking even and having a functioning business.And then the bill came. The dimensional weight was 3x the actual weight, and the bill 3x what I calculated. That was it, nail in the coffin. Both me and my partner were broke and there was no digging out of the hole. Even if we sold everything and paid the bill, we'd be left with essentially nothing to reinvest, and as we were both broke, no way to put more money in.Conclusion It became clear to me last night that the business was over. The stress of trying to figure out how to pay that damn bill while keeping everything running drove me to consider suicide, and that was a very clear signal to stop.Do I regret it? No, I don't regret taking an opportunity and trying to make it work. It's not everyday that someone comes knocking on your door and says they'll fund a business if you run it.Yes, I regret not listening to advice and being a lazy bum half the time when I couldn't get in touch with my business partner because he was off having fun or doing something else. I regret not sticking to my guns when I KNEW what it would take to start this business, and acquiescing when my partner wouldn't listen or didn't hold up his end of the agreement.Have I learned a ton? Oh, yes. I feel infinitely more prepared to start another business. What was the cost of that? $15k extra in CC debt that I now have, arguably worth it considering the cost of school nowadays. But I'm still back to square one. I've got $1000 left that will cover minimum payments for 2 months. My mom said I can stay with her and eat. I'm there now, and going to look for a job tomorrow so I can start making an income again before I default on all my credit. I've hit rock bottom. Time to pull myself up, get a job and an income, and start another business. This time, I'll do it the proper way: starting small on the side and building it up. It was a fun time, but the free ride eventually ends and that's that.Thanks for reading this sloppy mess. Happy to answer any questions.

[mandyyeung]

PIIT Stop for Thanks

To get ready for my wedding present to Daniel, I’m currently training with Cassey Ho’s PIIT (Pilates Intense Interval Training) 28 program. I work out 6 days a week and on the 7th day I have a scheduled “PIIT Stop” to reflect and appreciate life. It’s quite timely because I am SUPER thankful for everything I have. Just some updates on life--

1. Got my summer internship, YAY! I am quite excited about this one. One of the main draws to construction for me was the opportunity to build luxury residential projects. I didn’t know anything about the development side of the business so I started in CM, but now I’ve got an incredibly exciting summer coming up with a vertically integrated real estate developer in NYC. Can. Not. Wait. CBS, particularly my executive-in-residence, Leanne, was instrumental in helping me secure this internship, so I’ll be stopping by to give Leanne a little token of appreciation tomorrow. =)

2. Turks & Caicos Wedding Planning is coming along - I’m sure this one is going to be a nail-biter until the very day of, but one of our biggest stresses were flights and hotels, and now we’re good with the hotels and halfway done with flights. Looks like most of our friends and family have a flight going to TCI. We’ll worry about the returns later. It’s what we get for getting married over Memorial Day weekend.

3. Chinese Wedding - The fact that we get to essentially get married twice, almost a week apart, is very special to me. I love that the Chinese wedding comes first and we’ll have a nice big party, then we get to jet off to Turks & Caicos, spend some time in paradise, and get married with a ceremony and a different type of reception. The Chinese wedding plans are seemingly falling into place themselves, which makes all of this even better. Yesterday, Daniel and I stopped by the restaurant and they showed us some ideas for decorations. When we spoke to Daniel’s mom later that night, we found out his mom knows the girl who does these decorations and she’ll help us reach out to her. I love that Daniel’s mom knows pretty much EVERYONE with a business in Chinatown.

4. RSVPify - Just needed to declare my love for this little online application. I should’ve built something like this for my Flatiron School projects, but good thing someone else did and they did it so well! Makes Chinese wedding planning soooo much easier and I love being able to drag and drop guests to create the seating chart. One of the only internet services I’ve paid for that I actually think is worth it.

5. SPRING BREAK - Thank goodness I made the decision to pass on the Chazen trip to South Africa next week. It’s just too much with two weddings to take care of, and a bachelorette trip to prep for. I’m sure the group will have tons of fun, but boy do I appreciate my down time. Ironically, b-school heavily emphasizes reflection and getting to know myself, but I feel like I’ve not had much time to myself and my thoughts since August. Winter break was a blur in Asia (though no complaints at allll about my trip), so having spring break to myself with only one final exam on Wednesday truly feels like a gift from Heaven.

Of course, as great as life is, I’ve also had some down moments. The only one that I can really think of/actually impacted me was not being a part of the PA (Peer Adviser) team for Fall 2017. Rejection stings for all the basic human psychology reasons, but I also just genuinely wanted to help the next batch of rookies at CBS. I felt so silly to be rejected as a volunteer looking to volunteer my time and energy. However, I know everything happens for a reason and it’s all good. I think it’s good practice to learn how not to take rejection too personally. I know I gave it my best shot and that’s all I can ever ask of myself. If I tried but didn’t try hard enough, it’s my fault. If I tried my hardest and it still doesn’t work out, it’s just not meant to be. [Brushing dirt off my shoulder.] To be honest, I think this experience has taught me that I’m spending too much energy trying to help other people when I might be better off spending time to figure out how to help myself. You know, start my side hustle and stuff. Graduation will be here before I know it, and I don’t want to go back into the real world without having started more streams of income. 

I’ll wrap it up with some of my recent favorite snaps:

@Spot Dessert Bar in Flushing - looking forward to more of this after the wedding...

Random game night bc Ticket to Ride is so much fun and we love Minfrey =D

❤ ❤ ❤