#i hope he and michael went back to med school. i hope he got better and never saw his idiot brothers or any other angels ever again

[winterstarfall]

if i think about adam milligan for too long i will honestly start crying.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 2

So the first part did decently well, so I figure I could add a second part. 

---------

For the next few hours I waited, making sure he was truly asleep. The Michael I knew was a heavy sleeper, but I would never be able to tell if that was a lie too. During that time, I tried to make a plan on how to escape. If this was Michael’s apartment building, it meant it was on the outskirts of town and nowhere near the police station, so my only option was running. But it had been a while since I had any food or water, so my ability to do any running was limited to one short sprint. As far as getting out of the chair went, there was the knife that Michael threatened me with at my feet. But I was conflicted about using it. Had he left it there on purpose to taunt me? It was my only way of escape, so caution had to be thrown to the wind. 

Using the rubber on the soles of my shoes, I carefully got the knife handle between them. The next challenge was to get it up to my hands. All those crunches Coach did were paying off. I took the knife from my shoes and relaxed, gripping the handle tightly. Awkwardly, I began slowly cutting at the duct binding my hands together and then around my chest until I was free. Every cut took what felt like hours, but I didn’t want to be loud to make sure he didn’t catch me. By the time I got finished it was the end of the afternoon, the sky slowly fading from blue to the sunset.  Once free, I stood up slowly, hoping the floor wouldn’t creak underneath my feet. I took my steps slowly, feeling my heart pound. The door to the outside world felt so close yet so far away. Out of the corner of my eye, Michael’s door was in my vision. But the problem was that the door was closed earlier, but now it was opened with just a crack. 

He was awake, but he hadn’t heard me. It was now or never, I walked quickly to the front door and made my way into the hallway, the heavy door slamming behind me. 

“(Y/N)!” I heard Michael shout. I started to run, Michael’s apartment was on the third floor so running down the stairs was the only option since taking the elevator would mean he would be at the bottom. By the time I had made it to the second floor, I could hear his booming steps behind me. 

“GET BACK HERE!” I picked up my pace, almost tripping down the steps multiple times. Until I saw the front door of the building, slamming into it and making my way outside. The parking lot was empty except for a black Camaro, a man was leaning against it, looking towards the woods. It was a risk, this guy could be working with Michael. But Michael never really worked well with others in school. 

“HELP!” I screamed, feeling my legs start to ache from running all those stairs. The adrenaline running through my veins halting, “HELP ME!” The man turned and my heart almost stopped. It was Derek Hale. One of the survivors from the Hale fire six years ago. 

By now he had turned to face me, looking at me and then Michael who was hot on my heels. 

“Help!” I shouted, crashing into him. He didn’t move, it felt like running into a wall, “Please help me.” I held on tightly to his leather jacket. 

“Please.” I pleaded, hoping that he was just there at the right place at the right time. By that point, Michael had caught up. 

“Hey, man.” Michael panted, “Thanks for catching her. My girlfriend gets a little crazy when she’s off her meds.” 

Derek looked down at my face, his expression became hard and frightened me a bit. He took my hands from his jacket. It’s over, he’s going to hand me over. But then, he pulled me so I stood behind him, keeping him between me and Michael. 

“I think you should leave.” Derek said. I had never heard him speak before. From what I could remember from high school, after the fire Derek had become reclusive and kept to himself. 

“Listen, pal, if you don’t hand her over, I’ll need to get physical and we both know you don’t want that to happen.” Michael warned, gripping a knife in his hands. But the way he spoke made it seem like they knew each other, but Michael had never mentioned Derek before. 

“(Y/N), come on. Let’s go home.” Michael said. 

“No.” 

“Fine.” He glared, “Then leave.” He spat his words like they were laced with venom. Derek glanced towards the passenger door, like an invitation to freedom as he made his way to the other side of the car. Michael, however, went back on his words. He stalked towards Derek, knife in his hands. 

“No!” I scrambled to stop his path and the knife meant to Derek’s back found its way into mine. The pain itself made my body seize up, making me fall into Derek once again, his green eyes looked full of panic. 

“Shit.” Michael hissed, pulling the knife from my back and sprinting away. My knees buckled, the last of the adrenaline gone. 

“Hey, hey.” Derek held me up, pulling me with ease towards the back of his car, “You’re gonna be okay.” He laid me down in the back seat, slamming the door and getting into the front, starting the car. The Camaro’s wheels screeched on the pavement as they sped off onto the road. His eyes kept looking back at me in the rear view mirror. 

“Hey, stay awake, (Y/N).” I tried to speak but my vision was going black, as it was I could hear Derek’s voice farther and farther away. 

- 

“(Y/N)?”  A sweet voice called, “(Y/N), can you hear me?” My eyes slowly fluttered open, then squeezed shut at the bright lights. 

“Where am I?” I whispered, my throat was sore.

“You’re in the hospital. We took you into surgery, everything went well and you’re healing just fine.” She said sweetly. I was finally able to open my eyes and found the nurse who had been talking to me. She wore burgundy scrubs and had her blonde hair pulled back into a bun. 

“The Sheriff is here to see you, but I told him that you still needed rest.” She said, standing up and writing her vitals. 

“No, it's okay to let him in.” She took a deep breath, “He’s my godfather.” The nurse nodded and she walked out the door. But instead of Uncle Noah, Stiles rushed into the room, the nurse right behind him. I slowly began to sit up to greet him. 

“Hey, hey, hey, you sit right back down. Are you okay?” His words rushed from his mouth. 

“Slow down.” I smiled weakly, “I’m okay.” 

“You got stabbed.” 

“I’ve been better. How’s that?” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the Sheriff make his way in the room. 

“Hi Uncle Noah.” I said softly. He looked like he usually did, stressed and tired. 

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” His voice was somber and brought back the memories that my parents and my home were gone forever. My eyes brimmed with tears, my lips tight to hold back my sobs. Uncle Noah came to my side, and sat on the edge of the bed. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side, rubbing her shoulder softly. I turned into his side, wet spots growing on his uniform from my tears. Stiles held my hand, moving his thumb across my knuckles.

- 

Later after feeling a little more lucid, Uncle Noah wanted to take my statement. 

“Can you tell me about what happened last night?” 

I took a deep breath, “I went out to go to a party. Around eleven o’clock. On my way there I ran into Michael. He….” I looked up, trying to avoid tears again, “He knocked me out and took me to his apartment. And he tied me up. He showed me the news telling me mom and dad were dead.” I hiccupped back a little sob, “He threatened me with a knife then he went to bed. He dropped the knife at my feet, I cut myself out, and ran. He was running behind me and I ran into a guy in the parking lot, Derek Hale.” 

“Derek Hale?” He asked, stopping his note taking. 

I nodded, “Yeah, he was just there in the parking lot. I ran up to him, he was going to drive me away from there. Michael came after him with the knife and I got in the way. I don’t remember much after that.” 

He nodded, taking his notes on a small flippad. 

“Isn’t that the guy who survived in that fire five years ago?” Stiles piped in from a chair in the corner. 

“Yeah, that’s him. I’ll have to track him down to find him. Get his statement.” Uncle Noah put his notepad in his pocket. “Get some more rest, kiddo, you’re getting discharged tonight into my care.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Read part 3 here!

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[binniedeactivated]

saint. || soobin🌪 (10)*Finale*

congratulations for making it to the part 1 finale guys! thank you all so much for supporting this au! I am grateful beyond words! ♡

🖤┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 2195

you never really noticed how much breakfast solved your morning grumpiness but it did. you were much more relaxed and motivated when you were not worried and being taken over by hunger. you were able to actually pay attention and do your work with such ease. you thought maybe it was worth adding that into your daily routine once in a while. throughout you were surrounded by a bunch of females who were talking about how they were ranked on the list as it if mattered anymore. you wished they stop talking about it because to you at least, it didn’t matter anymore. you hated soobin for making something like that and you were happy you said what you said to him. 

anyway sister abigail was choosing random people to do math equations on the board today and you knew this would go completely go wrong for you. you knew math formulas and expression, but you couldn’t solve an equation. it was always for you which is why as soon as you felt as if you were about to go next you quickly asked her if you could go to the bathroom. she obliged and you were happy to have gone. 

you were kind of surprised soobin wasn’t in the hallway like he normally was. creating trouble and walking around as if he didn’t have classes to go to. you push open the door to the bathroom. there was someone sitting on the floor which you found very odd, and...disgusting. she looked insane. you don’t even think she went to the school, maybe she snuck in and needed a place to stay. you couldn’t go into another stall without addressing her. her clothes were ragged and her hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. you approach her hesitantly while she sits with her knees to her chest. she kind of scared you with that look of crazy in her eyes. 

“hey, are you alright? do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”.

maybe you could call your mom and they could’ve arranged something until she got back on her feet. you couldn’t just leave her here.

“what do you want? why are you even talking to me?”. she grumbled. you looked closer into her eyes.

“mia?”. 

“what?”. 

you were baffled at her appearance. you couldn’t believe she came to school in this condition she looked so strung out. it was terrible.

“what happened to you?”. 

“it’s not like you’d understand. shit like this happens to you when you refuse to be a saint”. she assures with a tear fleeing her eye. 

“mia it doesn’t matter if you’re a saint or not. if you need help you need help”. 

she blinked a couple of times before she began crying in her hands. you sit down with her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. you felt horrible for her and you hadn’t even known what happened. As she was crying you could see her now dirty school skirt lifting up a bit. words couldn’t describe how sorry you felt at the fresh wounds that slit across her thighs.

“mia? have you been...?”. she quickly clutched the bottom of her skirt and pulled it down. she was ashamed of what she had done. you pursed your lips. no human being should ever have to experience that kind of pain. absolutely no one. 

“I want to help you. can I help you?”. you says and mia looks up with you with her teary blue eyes. 

“why the hell would you want to help me? soobin must’ve broken up with you huh?”. 

you stand up, giving her a hand to help lift herself off the floor. 

“me and soobin aren’t dating”. you say truthfully. “we should head to the nurses office to get you some painkillers”. you hold out your hand for mia to hold. she reluctantly clutched it figuring she had no choice. you guided her down the hallway and your mind was blown on how she willingly let people see her look like this. it wasn’t like mia to ever look ungroomed. 

“what do we have here?”. 

“hey i was wondering she can get some pain meds? she’s having a bit of a headache right now”. the nurse nods putting a hand through mia’s tangled hair.

“are you okay honey?”. she asks. and mia just nods knowing she was broken beyond repair. she was given the tablets and glass of water and she took them gratefully. you tell the nurse thank you and wish her a happy rest of her day before you let mia follow you back into the bathroom.

you place your bag on the sink and position her in the mirror where she could see herself clearly. she knew she looked like a wreck, she hadn’t had the strength to do something about it. you reach into your bag and take out a brush, slipping it through mia’s hair carefully. she flinches. 

“what are you doing?”. she snaps.

“I’m brushing your hair. I refuse to let you walk out of the bathroom like this”. 

she turns around and continue going down each strand, brushing out the knots at the ends before brushing from the top. you did this until her hair was as silky and flowy as you remembered it. mia touches it, forgetting how much better she looked with it done.  

“you like it?”. you asks and mia nods. she looks into the mirror like it was her first time seeing herself. you grab a napkin and wet it, wiping the tear stains off her cheeks. “whoever they were must’ve really hurt you mia”. she holds her head kind of low while you dip into your bag and grab some mascara and lipstick. you never wore much makeup but you carried it because...well that’s just what girls did in high school . 

“i’ll never be the same person again”. she swallows. you twist open the mascara and grip the cap tight. you gently drag the mascara brush up her eyes lashes with care. “who’d ever hurt you like this? this is insane”. 

“you’d be surprised at the things people do when they’re desperate”.

“what did they want from you?”. you question finishing up her other eyelash. mia gulps and stares into your eyes with the most serious look you’ve ever seen. you gulp. 

“mia you have to tell someone you can’t just harm and neglect yourself like this”.

she shakes her head slowly, remembering what the boys told her. 

“I can’t”. 

“why can’t you? anything is better than this. look at your thighs. you can’t go on like--”. 

“I have no choice you don’t understand”. you sighed. you take out the lipstick and swab her lips with the pretty maroon color. you use your fingernails to get the excess around her lips before you were finished. you turned her around to the mirror where she could see herself. she stared and you could tell she didn’t know how to feel.

“you look beautiful mia. and if you let me help you we can get you through this”. 

she presses her lips together. 

“why are you being nice after I’ve done what i’ve done to you? it doesn’t fucking make sense”. 

“well--”.

“I clowned you in front of the whole school i fucked up your history exam I tripped you in gym class and not only embarrassed you but you were also injured. I tried to take soobin away from you and talked down on you as much as I possibly could to get him to hate your guts. why are you being like this?”. 

“The bible says to love your neighbor like you love yourself. yes those things happened but i forgive you. the only thing that is important right now is making sure that whoever it is pay for what they’ve done to you. you don’t deserve this”. 

mia toys with fingers before grasping you in her arms hugging you with the small pocket of joy she had left. 

“do me a favor just put that one on this wall”. Michael says to kevin. he nodded, taking the polaroid picture and stapling it to one part of the bulletin board. 

“we should spread them out more”. kevin says in a matter of factly tone. “true”. and together the both of them took their time taking numerous polaroids and stapling and taping them shamelessly to every wall they could find. 

“this bitch is so pathetic”. kevin utters laughing to himself. he was proud of the work they were doing. it was more fun than any arts and crafts project he’d ever done.

“she is. I hope she sees this shit”. michael replies. the both of them take a step back and look at it all together. in their eyes, it looked great. but when the bell rung and everyone made their way out into the hallway they stopped at every wall in complete horror. thousands of polaroids of the pictures mia took of herself, cutting herself and bleeding. under each one wrote, 

‘mia is an attention seeking cunt’ 

some laughed. some were shocked, and some just plainly walked by them as if they were normal everyday posters. but after mia hugged you, you slipped her your number and made your way upstairs to your class. to your misfortune you didn’t see them. 

but as soon as mia worked up enough courage to step out of the bathroom and become herself again she was reminded of who hurt her. she was reminded of the boys who could give less fucks about how she feels. she was reminded that she was an absolute psychopath for slitting her thighs the way she did. she was stared at. and normally mia wouldn’t mind being stared at when she was among her friends but it was different when she were alone and much more vulnerable. 

where were her friends?

she walks through the crowd holding her head low to avoid eye contact. she’d do anything to not be able to look into people eyes and see what they thought of her. she knew she was a lunatic. she knew she was disgusting. because in the religious community, self harm was bizzare. 

michael throws his hood on and ties it tightly so that his face went unseen. he catches up to mia who was still trying to innocently make her way past the hallway. he grabs them hem of her skirt and pulls it down before he makes a clean getaway. mia shrieks, gaining back the attention she was starting to lose.here she was, in the middle of the hallway with her scars out in the open for everyone to see. she quickly pulls her skirt back up with tears gushing out of her eyes. she runs outside of the school building and everyone stares in utter shock.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════ 

the housekeeper clutches the blankets and snatches them off the bed. she jumped back a little when she saw the blood stains that danced along the bed sheets. she quickly reported it to her manager as she was mandated. he took a glimpse for himself. it was unusual that guests ever left a mess and when they did it would be food, shoes, maybe clothes that they forgot. 

but it was never blood so this was a serious problem. and it called for investigation.

[cleverlittlejay]

Raphael anon back once again with a hilarious thought: Family therapy with Crowley, Lucifer, Gabriel, & Micheal and it’s just so wild & the poor therapist is so confused. They assume it’s just rich people scandals & shenanigans but all of these drama queens in a room together trying to work through over 6,000 years of family issues while some poor human tries to keep everything from becoming a chaotic nightmare without the full story of what’s going on is infinitely funny to me.

hello, anon! this was such a delight to write! also, fun fact, i’m a psych major and took one (1) intro to counseling psych class, but that actually helped in writing this, so that was fun! This is also super long (1k words!) so it also goes under a read more. (another fun fact: i stole the name Dr. Martin from Lucifer on Netflix because why not.) 

(one more fun fact, i genuinely hate the Neflix!Lucifer stereotype that a psychiatrist who went to med school would be a therapist. it’s two different fields. ok sorry, it’s fic time)

Dr. Martin was good at her job. She worked hard to become a therapist, and she genuinely believed that she could help her clients. It’s why she started her private practice. 

Her next appointment was a family therapy session. She briefly wondered how her secretary forgot to mention that she had an appointment or that she had new clients at all, but these mistakes happen. Sometimes computers just don’t want to work, deleting emails and not saving the clients’ last names in the file. 

The family consisted of four siblings. Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel, and Anthony J Crowley. Anthony, she learned, preferred to be called Crowley, and the other three siblings did not share that last name. 

The four siblings did not get along. At all. And they wanted to, Crowley explained, but they just couldn’t see eye to eye. 

“It all started when Mother kicked me out,” Lucifer said. “More specifically, she had Michael kick me out because she’s��”

“Because,” Michael interrupted, “you were an awful son who refused to listen to her. Causing trouble, thinking you’re better than her. Asking questions.” That last part was clearly directed at Crowley, who offered a light shrug. 

“Interrupting isn’t kind, Michael,” Dr. Martin said. “Please let Lucifer talk, and then you can say your part.”

If looks could kill, Dr. Martin would’ve died a hundred times over in her career. Michael’s glare was terrifying, but she’d seen it all before. 

The final picture was that their mother kicked out Lucifer and Crowley due to rebelliousness. The two questioned her authority and so they had to be removed before they corrupted any others. Now, after the disappearance of their mother, the siblings decided to get together again and reconnect.

A cult, Dr. Martin realized. She was working with the aftereffects of a cult. The religious names, the absolute authority, the punishment that included some kind of fire, the isolation from others, it all painted a very clear but dark picture.

She thanked them for their openness and had her secretary book their next appointment. 

Then, she realized how much she didn’t know about cults–she owned a private practice, she didn’t work with law enforcement or social services–and began her research. She read articles on cult-related family dynamics and trauma. She even called her old colleague for some direction. 

The next session, the two eldest siblings focussed on each other. As Lucifer and Michael went on, Crowley and Gabriel seemed content to watch them argue as Dr. Martin futilely attempted to control the session. 

“Even now, you’re a pest,” Michael sneered, ignoring the no-interruptions rule. “Your demons cause nothing but trouble and you barely control them.”

Inner demons were difficult to control, sometimes spiralling and causing issues in real life. It took strength to admit that you need support in fighting your battles.

Lucifer spoke before Dr. Martin could voice that. 

“Maybe you should control your angels, Michael. Always wandering into trouble, making friends with demons and then getting hurt. It’s almost as if they don’t respect your command.”

“Tell your demons to stop fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Hey,” Crowley interrupted. “I thought that sides don’t matter anymore. I can fraternize with an angel if I wanted to.”

“Now, yes, but not before,” Michael said patronizingly, as if she was leading the session rather than Dr. Martin. “But you endangered yourself and Aziraphale by being with him.”

“Not like Aziraphale was in danger,” Gabriel grumbled. “He got away with it.”

The session ended without any of the siblings making any progress. It was fine, Dr. Martin rationed. Progress is not always linear, and she needed to first create a safe space where they were comfortable speaking up. 

She also realized that her original theory was wrong. It wasn’t a cult. It was the mob. 

Different sides, angels and demons, both told that the other is the enemy. Perhaps Lucifer and Crowley disagreed with their “mother’s” rule and were punished for noncompliance. Michael was clearly the enforcer, punishing those who stepped out of line. It blurred the definition of “sibling,” but it explained the disdain that Lucifer and Michael had for each other. 

This realization led to a new line of research. The mob was harder to research from a psychological or counseling therapy perspective, and Dr. Martin ended up making even more calls to colleagues and old professors. 

“First a cult and now the mob,” her old classmate laughed. “You have some interesting clients.”

Dr. Martin refused to admit that she was wrong about the cult. No one had to know. 

She changed her strategy during their next session. The past was important to understanding a person, but perhaps it was better to focus on the present. 

“Despite everything that happened, Lucifer and Crowley being kicked out and you being forced to lead, how do you feel about Lucifer right now?” 

Michael didn’t answer immediately, which was a good sign. When she answered, she didn’t look at Lucifer or speak to him directly, but she knew that he was there and listening to her.  

“I don’t hate him,” Michael said slowly. “He’s still my brother. I didn’t have a choice, you know. I had to do it.” 

Dr. Martin could imagine the lack of choice. It was likely that if Michael didn’t do as told, she would’ve also been punished. It was coercion, and Michael couldn’t be held fully accountable. 

“I don’t hate you, either,” Lucifer said. There was a forced air of casualness around him, protecting Michael from rejection. “You’re still my baby sister. No fall can change that, Micah.”

Progress. It took three sessions and a lot of pain and bitterness, but they were making progress. Michael and Lucifer finally broke through their hard shells to admit that there is a possibility to move forward in their relationship with genuine love and affection. That kind of hope was why Dr. Martin was a therapist in the first place. 

Dr. Martin scheduled their next appointment. She was hopeful for their next session, creating an outline that would include more dialogue and encourage the younger two siblings to speak more often. The four of them had hope yet. 

Dr. Martin was good at her job. She would help bridge a 6000 year old gap of pain and misery to create a new era of peace. Not that she knew that, of course. She was just a therapist to a weird group of siblings. 

Humans, She thought in amusement, were clearly Her best creations yet.

[detroitbydark]

Luck Be A Lady (H.O.)

Title: Luck Be A Lady

Summary: A complex history comes to a head for a mob doctor and the bosses number one enforcer.

Pairing: Mob!Haz/OC

Warnings: Aftermath of gun violence, mentions of injury/blood, simple medical procedures, cursing, Smut (very soft)

Word Count: 10,500

A/N: So this started as a plot bunny and it kind of got out of control. I thought about separating it into a few parts but I just couldn't find good points to do it. I hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want to thank @aossi​  for her constant support and help when I got stuck and @tomsrebeleyebrow​ for creating a great mood board as well as being an excellent cheerleader.

“I need Doc, Tom…. Fuck” Harrison grits out the words as Harry presses down hard on the wound in his side, blood is already soaking through his shirt, staining the blue oxford crimson. The coppery tang of blood permeates the towncar. Tom looks back in the mirror and sees the pallor his top enforcers face has taken on, the way the tendons in his neck stick out starkly as he bites back the pain. He makes the call.

Doc never meant to get involved with the Holland family but she had student loans to pay off and a daughter to take care of. And no one said ‘no’ to Dom Holland.  She tried to keep work and her personal life separate but when she fell in love with Michael, one of Dom’s top men, she knew it would be impossible. The world wind romance and marriage that ensued cemented the fact the little Rosie was going to run in the same circles as the Holland Boys and the lone Osterfield son. 

It was with apprehension that Doc found herself bringing her only child to The Holland compound to be introduced to the rest of the family. The boys ranged from 5 to 10 and were a rambunctious bunch, Doc had stitched each of them up on more than one occasion. She’d just recently set little Harry’s broken arm. They were good boys though and looked after one another. It was her hope they’d look after her daughter as if she were one of their own too. 

“Rosie” she watches as her little girl, barely eight, stares at the boys rough housing in the garden. Trepidation is clear on her cherubic features. Her little round face was beginning to lean out and she was rapidly looking less like a little girl and more like a little lady. It all felt like it was moving to fast for her mother but children didn’t keep and she had to start preparing her for the path she’d set them on sooner as opposed to later.  Doe eyed Rosie watches with caution as the other kids wrestled and rolled around in the grass. 

“Why don’t you go play with the other children.”

“Those aren’t children. Those are boys.” 

Michael lays a hand on Doc’s arm as he  chuckles at his new daughter. She already had him wrapped around her little finger. His adoration for the precocious little girl was evident to anyone who saw them.

“Come on short stack.” He encourages, ruffling her dark braids, “Go play while the grown-ups talk.” 

Doc frowns as she watches her new husband slip their daughter a candy bar. Rosie smiles brightly and takes off out the door.

“Did you just bribe her with chocolate”

“Just greasing the wheels a bit. Never hurt anyone, Doc”

“Who are you?” A boy a head shorter than her asks as she skips up. His curly hair is an unruly mop on top of his head and his face is speckled with a thin dappling of freckles.

“That’s Doc’s Kid” another asserts as Rosie turns from one boy to the other. She stands straight and proud, like Michael taught her. The one talking vaguely resembles the first.

“My name is Rosie.” She says, popping a hand on her hip and glaring at the boy in front of her. “My Mum says it isn’t nice to interrupt a conversation.” The boy doesn’t acknowledge she’s said anything.

“I’m Tom.” He says after a minute of assessment, “those are my brothers” he says pointing to the curly boy and another who looks loads like him. “Harry and Sam, the little ones Paddy”

Looking around she spots a taller boy, blonde smiling behind Tom, “what about that one.” 

“I’m Harrison.” He introduces stepping forward. Tom grunts crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, we were getting ready to play some ball and we’ve already got teams made up so…”

Rosie feels her shoulders droop but she keeps her chin up. She knew what he was getting at. Turning back toward the house she sighs when she sees her Mum and Michael watching her from where they stood with the other adults. A hand on her shoulder startles her. 

“You can be on my team if ya want.” Harrison has his head dipped down to look in her eyes, gives her a reassuring smile. Rosie tries not to look too eager as she nods.

“I’ve got some chocolate. I could share with you if you want.” He cocks his head, his smile gets wider.

“My lucky day, I guess”

----

“Lil Doc.” 

Rosie’s eyes are barely open but the sound of Tom Holland’s commanding voice has her already moving from bed. She yelps as she stubs her toe on the nightstand. It throbs angrily.

“Fuck...Holland? It’s 2am”

“Yeah, and you’ve got work to do. One of our boys got popped. I’m sending Sam over to get you. He’ll be at your place in five. Be ready.”

Fuck. The line goes dead. She wanted to curse again. It’d been a while since she’d messed with gunshot wounds, at the very least since the first rotation through the emergency room. When Dom and Tom had come to her with the same offer they’d given her mother when she’d first fallen in with the Holland family she hadn’t hesitated to jump at the opportunity. Tuition covered in return for intermittent providing of services?  Yeah, there were worse things in the world.

Growing up under the umbrella of a well connected mob family left one accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Rosie wasn’t above admitting she liked some of the finer things life had to offer. She hadn’t wanted to be a starving med student, certainly hadn’t wanted to be a doctor with $200,000 of student loans hanging over her head. Working for the Hollands gave her a certain amount of freedom. She provided care at a local women's clinic four days a week. It was rewarding and she could focus on her patients and not the paltry salary they’d offered.

Of course, freedom only went so far. Like tonight. She was at the beck and call of the Holland’s. Twenty four hours a day. Seven days a week. Holidays. Weekends. She was just a phone call away.

She waits for Sam just outside her front door, ripped blue jeans, the first she’d found on her floor, and grey hoodie pulled over her head. The moon is bright in the sky and, though it was summer, a cool breeze blows down the lane. Fireflies flicker in the garden across the street.

-----

“I guess Rosie can be on my team.” Harrison shrugs and grunts as the girl in question punches him in the shoulder, “Not fair.” He admonished “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“That’ll teach you. I’m just as good as any of those other boys.” Rosie stares him down, her arms crossed over her chest. Harrison laughs at her sour expression. Her nose wrinkles in distaste. The other two teams of boys laugh from their positions on the patio. Sam and Paddy stand ready with their jar and Tom and Harry are ready with their own. 

“Enough.” Tom snaps, “You know the rules. Two points for each bee you catch-”

“Five points for the red arsed ones!” Harry adds.

Rosie rolls her eyes “This is the stupidest game I’ve ever heard of”

“No one said you had to play Lil Doc. You can go sit with your Mummy for all I care.” Tom throws out challenging.

Harrison glances from one to the other and sees the stubborn set of both of their jaws. Rosie fights him when he throws his arm over her shoulders. He thought she’d been stubborn when he’d met her, but the years had only made her more hard headed. At 11, she was formidable, not backing down from 13 year old Tom for any reason. Bosses son or not, if Rosie thought Tom was trying to get one over on her she was going to call him out. Guaranteed. It was Harrison’s job to keep them from coming to blows.

“Ah, get off it Holland. You're just afraid of my lucky charm here.”

“She isn’t lucky. She’s just a girl.” Harrison holds Rosie back before she can lunge at the oldest Holland heir.

“She’s my girl Holland and you better watch out.”

-----

Sam leans across the seat with a grim smile. He pushes the door open and Rosie quickly climbs in, slinging her pack on the floor. She was sure she’d have everything she needed when she got to the house but she believed in back up and contingencies.

“Do you know what I’m walking into?”

Sam is quiet, his eyes plastered on the road in front of him. “Sam?”

They take a corner faster than normal and Rosie braces herself against the door.

“Tom and the boys went out to have… a talk with some under bosses. Apparently there was less talking than previously anticipated.” His smile is grim, his tone dry.

“What am I looking at?”

“A couple grazes, probably some stitches” he pauses for a second. Sam had a shit poker face. He’d always been better at the behind the scenes workings of the family, never had the stomach for the some of the more...unpleasant business, but he had a brain for numbers and found ways to work magic with some creative accounting. “Someone took one to the gut.” 

Sam falls quiet again. 

Rosie pulls in a deep breath of air before attempting to relax back into the plush leather. She can feel her palms begin to sweat, can her her heartbeat thrumming  in her ears. Closing her eyes and pulling her legs up onto the seat, she tries to center herself. 

The ER rotations had been enjoyable. It was always something new, something different. It had forced her to stay sharp. Kept her on her toes. Rosie would be lying to say she hadn’t enjoyed a certain amount of adrenaline that went along with it, the ability to forget about everything that wasn’t the immediate task at hand. All of that was a lot easier to cop to when it wasn’t people you cared about at stake. While she’d only been back a few months after drowning herself in years of schooling, the boys would always be hers and she took her responsibility seriously. 

In school she’d never gone in by herself. There had always been a cadre of other doctors, residents, experienced nurses there to back you up if you needed it. She wasn’t going to have that and that thought scared her.

-----

“Come on Ro” Harrison hisses lowly, “move it or lose it.” 

Rosie’s converse slap the ground as she jogs to keep up with Harrison’s much longer strides. Water splashes as she missteps and her feet land in a puddle, soaking her shoes and socks in an instant.

“A little discretion, Princess” her companion jibes. The dirty look she sends him shuts him up.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing out here with you.” She growls as she catches up, pressing in close behind his back as the blend into the shadows. She can feel the vibrations of his quiet laugh.

“I needed a spotter and you’re looking for a rush. Getting bored in your ivory tower, Darling?”

“Fuck off, Haz. You could have called Tom.”

Harrison glances over his shoulder, boyish smile in a black hoodie. He winks at her.

“Toms not good luck.”

She’d known it was a bad idea when Harrison had called and said he needed her help with a project. There were loads of questions she should have asked. Why me? 

What’s the project? 

Am I going to be arrested?

If Doc knew how many times the “sweet Holland boys” had nearly gotten her tied up with the law or jumped by whomever they’d managed to piss off that week she was sure she’d never be allowed to leave the house ever again. 

She was partly to blame. She knew that. She needed what the boys offered, danger and excitement. It’s why she could never say no, even if she did make them work for it. She was happy to accept Tom’s bribes. She was easily swayed by Harrison’s bright blue eyes and smile that always promised trouble.

She skids to a stop behind him when he suddenly slows. Her eyes flash to his and she can see the way he’s staring at the BMW they’ve stopped in front of. He licks his lips and she squirms.

“Alright, ready for this?”

She can feel her eyes go wide with shock as he starts rummaging in his pocket, “Ready for what?”

“To steal the car?” He rolls his shoulders, shakes his hands out before flashing her a cocky smirk.

“Harrison, if you get me arrested Michael is going to kill you.”

“So you’re going to help me?” There’s underlying nerves in his voice. He tried so hard to be the big bad in training but she could still see that nervous fifteen year old boy peeking through. 

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

The boost went fine. It was what happened when her step father had found them later that wasn’t so fine.

Rosie watches in stunned silence, tears stinging at her cheeks as Michael lands another blow across Harrison’s face. Their joyride has been cut short but the arrival of her step father. Harrison tries to remember the way her hand felt in his as he drove. The confused smile she’d given him when he reached across the console and twined his fingers with hers. Best thirty minutes of his life.

“You think you’re a big man? You think your ready for this life” Michael snarls in the teens face. “Here are the fucking consequences for dragging my daughter into your fucking games.”

“Michael! Daddy, stop!” 

Harrison can hear Rosie’s shrill pleas. He’s pretty sure his nose is broken, knows his lip is split. there’s blood in his mouth too and he’s not sure anymore what came first. This hadn’t been part of the plan.

Michael spins on his daughter, “you’re not innocent in this. You’re gonna break your mother’s heart when she finds out.”

“She didn’t know…” Harrison manages to get out, spitting blood on the ground at his feet. Michael Doherty was a big man and Harrison has to fight the urge to cringe back when he turns back to him. He takes the punch to his gut the best he can, fighting back tears of his own as he tries desperately to suck in a breath of air.

“And why is that son?” He asks darkly before answering his own question. “Because she fucking trusts you. That’s why. She doesn’t ask you the right questions and your gonna get her killed dragging her into this shite. Does she even know whose car that was?”

Harrison’s eyes fall to his feet as he gasps for breath. He hadn’t thought about that. There were loads of things he hadn’t thought of. He’d just wanted to show off a little. Impress the girl he-

“Exactly, and when the Russians rolled up and caught you? Do you know what they would have done to her...fuck! Rosie get in the car.” He growls quietly, not turning back to his daughter. Harrison can make out her face over her father's shoulder. She shakes her head from side to side.

“But…”

“No ‘buts’, get your arse in the car.”

Harrison watches her red-rimmed eyes fall as she climbs in the passenger seat of the Doc’s Mercedes. She doesn’t look away from him. Michael comes close, fists his hands in the youths jacket. Harrison can feel his hot breath by his ear. Rosie’s hand presses on the glass as he sets his jaw, takes the punishment he’s earned.

“You know what the Russians would have done to her right in front of you?”

Harrison chokes back a wrecked sound “yes, sir.”

“They’d have made you watch. I can’t… fuck...You think of that, son. She’s not for you. Not now. Maybe never.”

-----

It seems that every light in the Manor is on as Sam comes to the stop outside the front door. Dom Holland is standing, waiting, with light spilling out around him. It’s strange to see him in night clothes, flannel pajamas and house slippers, instead of a three piece suit. Rosie offers a tired smile as he holds out his hand for her. He’d always be “Uncle Dom” to her but every now and then she’d see the boss underneath the jovial facade.while he was less present these days, passing off day to day handling of the families holdings to Tom, he was nowhere near a toothless tiger.  

His brow is set in a hard line as she gives him a firm shake.

“Doc, thanks for coming out” 

Neither of them acknowledge that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. “seems the boys got in a dust up tonight.”

“So it seems” 

Rosie follows the family Patriarch through the expansive foyer and deeper into the house. He wastes no time. There’s a briskness to his movements, not panicked but certainly hurried.

“Harry and Tom are gonna need some bandaging, maybe a stitch or two but you need to attend to Harrison first. Got him in the infirmary already.”

Rosie’s steps falter. 

“He got shot.” She states feeling a fresh wave of anxiety wash over her. 

“A few times, yeah.”

Dom had the forethought years ago, before Rosie’s Mother’s time, to have one room in the family home converted to a makeshift treatment room. It was impressive and, though it was small, it had everything a person could need to doctor a mobster or two. Or in this case just one.

Harry is the first to look up and greet her from his perch on the small rolling stool. His mouth is a grim line, his thin lips pressed so tightly together they nearly disappear. Rosie’s eyes don’t linger as she notes Tom on the other side of the exam table, his eye is swelling, already turning black. A laceration over his eye looks freshly cleansed with steri strips holding it together. Neither Holland is her concern now. It’s Harrison, skin so washed out and pale that he nearly disappears into the sterile white of the room, that has her nerves tingling. His eyes are shut and he makes no acknowledgement that anyone has come in.

“Out Tom. Not enough room for all of us.” She says softly already moving toward the small sink to scrub her hands “get some ice on your eye.”

Tom nods only hesitating to rest a hand on her shoulder for a split second. “You sure?” 

“I’ve got him” she says but she’s not sure if it’s to him or to prop up herself.

“Harry? How are you doing?” She glances over her shoulder at the younger Holland.

“I’ve… been better.” Harry’s retort is clipped, his voice strained. 

“Mind telling me what happened?”

“I’m right here, Princess. I can report all the gorey details” Harrison’s eyes flutter weakly for the first time since she’s entered the room. His voice sounds like shit, like he’d just gotten done gargling glass shards but his eyes find hers. Despite their glassy edge they hold all the warmth she grown to know over the years. 

Rosie dries her hands quickly before digging in a nearby cabinet. When she turns back her arms laden with supplies, IV kit, tubing, and bags of fluids. 

“I expect you can” she says with a huff, “Right now, I need you to shut up while I’m pulling bullets out of you” Her eyes don’t leave Harrison, watching his shallow breathing, silently counting each draw of air he takes. His eyes fall away from hers.  “Now, Harry, what happened.” She asks shooing him to the side and drawing a rolling  tray within reach.

Harry steps back, giving her room to work. Rosie’s eyes fall to the slowly spreading stain on his left forearm. It’s hardly noticeable through the black shirt he’s wearing but she knows she’s going to spend some quality time with him and a suture kit later.

“We went down to the club. Tom arranged a meet with Piotr. He brought some of his boys.”

Moving as he speaks Rosie uses shears to cut Harrison’s shirt open before getting a line of fluids going in his arm. He barely flinches as the catheter slips into his skin. It makes her frown, tough guy could take a punch but he hated needles on the best of days.

Leaning over Harrison to adjust the fluids Rosie notes a pile of blood-soaked gauze pads already staining the tiles. The worry she’s feeling matches what she see in Harry’s eyes when they meet. 

Harry goes on.

“A new sharking operation popped up the last quarter. We were supposed to be coming to some terms, figuring out how to get the little cunt running it to fuck off.  One second it was expensive vodka, toasting to new opportunities the next… all hell broke loose.”

“it was a fucking set up, is what it was.” Harrison’s voice is a mumble but the disgust in it is evident.

Rosie looks down at him. He looks up sullenly, a twinge of pain shooting across his face when she readjusts the pressure on his wound. A black mask is forming at the corners of his eyes, a knot in the bridge of his nose is prominent. 

“Your nose is broken” Not a question, but a statement.

“Thanks for noticing.” He moves gingerly, adjusting his body on the propped table. 

Rosie presses harder on his side and Harrison hisses “Hold still you div” she mutters darkly. Harrison swats weakly at her hands. She brushes it off easily.

Harry moves to the sink, begins to unbutton his sleeve and peel back the fabric. Rosie shakes her head.

“Careful” she warns “rinse it good, use the antiseptic wash. Wrap in some clean gauze.” she can feel Harrison’s eyes on her but she ignores the pull to look at him. “I’ll have a go at you after I'm done with this mess.”

“I’m right here” Harrison grunts. Rosie blows out a frustrated puff of air.

“Yes, a fact I’m very well aware of. Your bloods on my new trainers.”

“I’ll get you a new pair.” Rosie cocks a brow, “You’ll shut your mouth is what you’ll do.”

 Harry chuckles and Rosie's glare snaps to him “Got something to say? No?” her fatigue and irritation bleed together “Good, maybe you can tell me how the div got himself shot?”

“With a gun, Princess.” Harrison’s weak attempt at a smile looks pained. It softens something in her, takes the edge of her ire unexplainably.

“Shut up Harrison” she says tiredly. 

“I heard three shots” Harry explains, shoving his arm under a steady stream of water as he speaks. Rosie watches the stream run red as it falls to the drain. “It was close quarters. I didn’t even know what was going on until I saw him stepping in front of Tom. Maybe two took? One in the shoulder and that one.” Rosie’s  moves a hand to push back the remnants of Harrison’s shirt. She curses under her breath. She hadn’t even noticed the one to his right shoulder. 

“It went in and out.” Harry notes. “Two holes”

Two holes were better than one. It meant the bullet had gone in than out and she wouldn't need to go fishing for it. Unlike his side.

“Fuck it all Haz” she murmurs, rubbing a spot on her forehead.

“Don’t go getting emotional on me now Doc.” His words slur together gently, eyelids getting heavy again. Her heartbeats hard in her chest. 

“Nuh uh… keep those eyes open.” She empties a long pair of tweezers onto her table “I need you to tell me when it hurts.” Harrison groans. “News flash, everything fucking hurts.” 

Rosie gives him a hard look, peeling off her gloves she cups his cheek gently. New tactic. She can feel Harry’s eyes on them. Harrison’s head rolls into her hand. 

“Come on tough guy” she pitches her voice low as her thumb strokes his cheek, “Need you to do this for me. I’ll get you the good drugs. Just cooperate, yeah?” Harrison’s eyes rolls to her. He moves as if he’s drunk, the blood loss was not treating him well and Rosie really wanted to get him closed up before he lost much more. She drags her hand away, pulling on a new pair of gloves. Harrison winces when he hears the latex snap against her skin. “One condition” Rosie watches his eyes focus in on her movements, how he waits until she’s fully focused on him and not the task at hand. “Kiss me”

“Harrison…” she warns

“Kiss me or I’ll die.”

Harry chokes out a laugh and Rosie glares up at him from her seat.

“Don’t start with me. You’re not going to die.” she huffs

“....not if you kiss me, I won’t. Promise”

-----

Tom gives Harrison’s shoulders a squeeze, “You’ve got this, lad. No worries, yeah?”

The blonde shrugs him off, rolls his shoulders experimentally, loosening the tension building between them. He’d been training for this match for ages. He bounces on the balls of his feet, trying to calm the nerves surging through him. He had this, like Tom said. 

So why was his stomach in such knots? He vaguely hears a knock on the locker room door but instead chooses to work through some combinations, warming his muscles and ignoring the tension building within him.

He hisses his breath out through a combo. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. 

“Looking good tough guy.”

The grin that cuts across his face as he turns to find Rosie standing in his locker room door is radiant. He didn’t know if she’d come when he’d told her about it. Doc and Michael had sent the sixteen year old off to some fancy all girls school earlier in the year after one too many dust-ups that he and Tom may or may not have dragged her into. She hadn’t been around like any of the boys were used to. He’d missed her fiercely.

“You made it!”

 The other boys laugh as he takes two quick steps to the door and scoops her up, spins her in a big circle. He can feel her giggling and he doesn’t remember a time he’s ever been so chuffed to see someone. Her arms go around his neck as he sets her back down, they both stumble a little and laugh some more. Her soft hazel eyes look up at him, always an open book for him to read.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” The admission is soft, just for him.

“She skipped school” Sam interjects loudly and Rosie turns, flashing him an impressive scowl.

“Hush you…”

“Your parents are going to kill you” Harry laughs.

“More worried about what they’re going to do to us when they find out the reason, the Princess here dipped out” Tom flashes a shark like smile to Harrison. Yeah, Michael wasn’t going to be pleased but he’d taken his licks from the old man once before for. He’d do it again if he had to.

Rosie rolls her eyes, arching a brow in Tom’s direction. Her shoulder presses into Harrison’s chest, his arm resting gently at her waist. It feels...really nice.

“You leave my parents to me.” 

Tom laughs, as his eyes move from Rosie to Harrison and back. Harrison gives him a questioning look.

“Something funny, Thomas?” Rosie's hand goes to her hip as she pulls away from Harrison. It pops out to the side and he can’t help but remember the first time he’d met her as a little girl in the Holland’s garden.

Harrison watches the quirk of her lips as she shoots Tom a look. His heart does an unfamiliar flop.

Laughing through a small cough,  Tom says nothing, shakes his head. 

“You just here to distract our fighter or what?” Harry teases. Rosie puffs out a laugh.

“M’not a distraction. Just wanted to wish the tough-guy good luck.” 

He may be mistaken but Harrison swears he sees her cheeks going pink. It’s cute. She’s cute. He’s thought it before of course, he appreciated nice things but something about now… maybe it was the distance, not seeing her for months on end with only the occasional call, but it’s like his eyes have finally been opened to the fact that she wasn’t just a pesky little girl anymore, not just one of his best friends.

“So I suppose you wouldn’t be opposed to giving a lad a good luck kiss?”

The words have slipped from his mouth before he even has time to really think them over. Rosie’s eyes snap to him as the other boys laugh.

“Aww..Haz…” Harry chortles, “what about I lay one on you.”

Harrison’s eyes don’t leave Rosie, “wouldn't work mate, you’re not my good luck charm.”

He can hear the “oof” as Tom cuffs his brother, hears him whisper something about ‘love birds’ and ‘privacy’ as he drags Harry out, Sam following obediently behind him. The door closes softly and he’s still staring at her, watching her chewing her lower lip and looking up at him.

“So, Princess, what do you say? Good luck kiss for your favorite boxer?”

Rosie laughs, “I’m not good luck.”

“Kiss me and let's find out.” His voice dips low. He can hear the dull roar of the gathered crowd. “I bet you are.”

“Haz…”

“Ro…” his gloved hand bumps gently against her chin, tilting it up for him. “Scared?”

“Of you?” She breathes quietly, “never.”

She rises on her toes, hands falling flat against his chest, Harrison tilts his head down to meet her lips. It’s a soft kiss, just a quick gentle press but it is everything. Her eyes are closed when she pulls back and he takes a second to admire her, to commit her to memory. 

“Did that feel lucky?” She asks, eyes opening to meet his.

“Yeah” he mumbles “pretty sure it did.”

She frowns. Before he can ask her what’s wrong she leans up again, her lips pressing against his more firmly, more needy as he stumbles back. His arms wrap around her, holding her close while her mouth moves against his. She nips at his lower lip as she pulls away again. Harrison groans as his gloves slip over her unable to grip onto anything. All the nerves from earlier have disappeared as he looks down at the girl in his arms. 

“Do you feel more than ‘sure’ now?” She asks him sweetly. He huffs out a laugh.

“At least a third round KO.” Her lips quirk.

“Maybe another would make it a first round?”

“Ro-

“Harrison, you’re up mate” Tom’s head peeks around the door, studies the pair of them with a smirk.

“...we’re going to discuss this later, yeah?”

Her soft smile and nod is all the encouragement he needs.

Harrison knocks out his opponent at the end of the second. His father, Dom, and Michael meet him back at the locker room to congratulate him. Rosie doesn’t show.

-----

“Harry! Grab me the morphine! Hold his arm!”

Harry knocks over a bottle of saline in his rush to meet her demands 

“One thing at a fucking time!” he snaps.

Harrison was fighting her attempts to fish the bullet from his side. He wasn’t trying to be a shit about it (she was pretty sure) but he wasn’t thinking clearly either. Each time he jerked away the bullet wiggled from her grasp and more blood gushed from the wound. She was a mess. It was like a damn horror movie.

“Fuck it all, Harrison. Stop!” She growls. Harry fumbles to remove the cap from the needle. “Stab him in the fucking arm. Six centimeters below the shoulder” Harry hovers the needle over his mates deltoid as Rosie leans across Harrison’s lap, trying to keep his wrists pinned to the table. “Yes! There!”

The needle finds it mark and Harry pushes every last bit in. Rosie can feel a drop of sweat beading at her temple, a wisp of hair settles in it. She flips her head in an effort to get the stray strands away from her face. It doesn’t work.

 She waits. Counts in her head. 

Five minutes go by before Harrison begins to go slack and she can let loose. 

When she glances up he gives her a drugged grin.

“Pretty…” he mumbles. Rosie huffs.

“Fucking div…” she grumbles, pulling her hair back into a bun before putting on fresh gloves “think you can hold still now?”

“Anything for you…” he trails off sleepily. Rosie sits back down, prods at the oozing hole. Harrison barely twitches.

Harry has deep lines of exhaustion etched across his face. When she looks up she catches him slumped against the counter his head bobbing.

“Har? Can you get me a cup of tea, one for yourself too?”

Harry nods, he doesn’t ask for confirmation that she doesn’t need him like his brother had. His face shows relief to be away from the blood and the tension of the situation.

When he’s gone Rosie slumps back on the stool, sighs quietly. Harrison’s breathing has relaxed, his eyes shut.

“Hazza?”

“Yeah beautiful?” He cracks an eye as she lifts the tweezers again.

“M’gonna get this bullet out of you. I just need you to hold still” she explains softly “can you do that for me?” He nods lazily, glassy eyes watching her movements.

The tweezers slip into the rough edges of the wound. One gloved hand rests along his side, the muscles tense under her hand. Her movements are slow, steady.

“I gotcha tough-guy.” She murmurs as she continues to explore the wound. Her teeth press into her bottom lip as she concentrated on the task. She can feel the tweezers brush up against something. Harrison groans lowly, his face twisted in a grimace, a new stream of crimson runs down his abdomen, adding to the growing stains on his khaki trousers.

“I’ve almost got it…” she mumbles “I’ve almost got it...hold still.” He squirms under her hands. 

“Harrison I’ll give you a kiss if you hold still.” She promises, desperation edging her voice. She feels him freeze and the tweezers close around the bullet. 

His face goes slack as she pulls the ammo from him. They’re both breathing heavily as the bullet clanks in a pool of blood at his side. 

The patch job goes quickly after that. Rosie’s focus goes to flushing the wounds, suturing layers of flesh back together, taping down pressure dressings to both his side and his shoulder.

“You’re gonna have some new, pretty scars” she murmurs, smiling softly as she lays a final piece of tape. Harrison’s grin is lazy and drugged, he reaches weakly for her but his injured shoulder won’t allow it to raise like he wants. His brows knit and a frown crosses his face.

“Do I get my kiss now?”

She’s weary, bone deep, as the adrenaline from earlier dissipates. She slips her hand into his searching one.

“I suppose you deserve it” 

Leaning in she lets her lips brush against his cheek. His frown doesn’t fall away.

“Doesn’t count.” His left hand moves up, index finger graze across her lips and then moves to his own. “You can do better.”

“Yeah?” Her hand cups his cheek softly as she brings her face close to his. Her lips brush against his. Harrison makes a soft sound in his throat as he leans forward. “Relax Harrison…” she breathes the words against his mouth, pressing his chest until he’s relaxed back against the table. 

“It’s as good as good as I remember.” He mumbles.

-----

The party is In full swing. Rosie’s on her third pint...or maybe it was her fourth. Tom has lost count. He hasn’t let her glass empty, citing being a good host and definitely not the fact that he wanted to see her thoroughly hammered before the night was out. If she was blitzed enough maybe she could forget the melancholy she’s been toting around all night.

She's curled up by herself on the love seat by the billiards table. Harry and Sam are focused on the game at hand. Rosie would usually be taking the piss out of one of them or fussing at them for puffing on the Cuban cigars his father kept in the humidor. Not tonight. She’s quiet, an unusual occurrence for her. In the years Tom’s known her she’s always had something to say but tonight, not so much. 

Tom’s eyes follow her gaze to Harrison across the room. He’s set up shop with Rosie’s luscious blonde roommate, Julia, in one of the chunky armchairs near the french doors, her long legs are draped over the arm of the chair as she sits perched on Harrison's lap. 

The two had been seeing each other for a few months now. Rosie introduced them. She’d just finished her freshman year at school and the boys had thought a celebration was in order. Rosie had brought Julia along after she’d been stood up by a date. It had been a nice gesture on Rosie’s part. It had completely blown up in her face.

 Tom had watched that night, as the rounds progressed, how Harrison and Julia had gotten closer and closer. His hand moving from soft touches on her arm to cupping her ass as they danced. Rosie’s eyes had followed it all with a disconnected gaze. She joked it off as if it didn’t slice her to the core. 

“Boys will be boys” she’d groused to Harry with a flippant shrug and a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

At the end of the night when the pair had gotten a cab together, Harrison had  praised Rosie for being his lucky charm, winking at her while one arm was wrapped around Julia’s waist. 

Tom sniffed in distaste at the memory of the whole ordeal. He’d put off his own piece of tail that night, stuck her in a cab alone, to take care of his friend. He’d had to listen to Rosie cry softly in bed next to him while he stroked her hair and whispered soft words to her until she fell asleep.

 He had to pretend to believe her the next morning when she told him everything “was great”.

Julia laughs and Tom can see Rosie’s spine stiffen, her knuckles going white around her pint glass. 

It was ridiculous. All of it. Rosie and Harrison had been circling around one another since they were kids. It was plain as day to everyone around them. Maybe that’s why it had been such a shit show. 

Ro’s old man had felt that no guy was good enough for his princess and had made it very clear to Harrison about how he felt when he’d begun sniffing around in earnest. It had given the lad a bit of a complex. 

Tom watched as Harrison pushed himself. To get better grades, to be stronger, faster, smarter than the next guy in hopes that one day he would be the man Rosie deserved. It had gone on for too long. It had become almost pathological for Harrison. Nothing he ever did was good enough in his own eyes. So he settled for perfectly acceptable girls who weren’t who he really needed. Like Julia.

And Rosie… well Rosie’s problem had been that she hadn’t recognized Harrison until it was already too late. She’d been what his mum had called a ‘late bloomer’. Closer in age to Harry and Sam than Tom and Harrison, Rosie had always been one of the boys. When Harrison was realizing she was certainly different than his other mates she was still completely oblivious to his awkward attempts at flirting. If Tom was honest, the whole thing was a fucking train wreck to watch.

“Tommy?” Rosie’s sweet voice drags him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah, Ro?” He has no time to react as she flops down in his lap and he fumbles forward to keep his drink in hand, cursing lowly as drops of beer roll down his arm, soaking into the rolled cuffs of his shirt. “Fucking Christ...Jesus Rosie I-“ his voice cuts off when she looks at him her eyes brimming with tears.

“Can I leave now?” He glances at her empty glass, the lost look in her eyes that don’t fully focus on him. Maybe he’d been a little overzealous with the drinks. Rosie Doherty didn’t ask permission. It had always been something he admired about her. She didn’t cow down to him, the bosses son, like others did. The fact that she was now wasn’t good. He wraps his free arm around her. She was the closest thing he was ever going to have to a sister and he hated seeing her upset.

“You’ve only been here a few hours. Don’t you wanna play some pool with Sammy and me later?” 

She shakes her head, glancing over her shoulder. Tom’s eyes follow hers to where Harrison has his head buried in Julia’s neck. 

“Look up here princess.” He demands her attention quietly. She’s relaxes minutely as she lays her head on his shoulder and looks up at him. “I don’t wanna see you look over there one more time tonight. You’re better than that. I’m not putting you in a cab either. Your Father would skin me alive if let you out of this house by yourself, drunk as a skunk.”

Tom can’t help but chuckle at the pout she gives him, ruby red bottom lip jutting out. God, she could be such a mess after too many. Always cute though.

 “How about we have a sleepover? Like old times? I tuck you in my bed and I’ll make us pancakes in the morning?”

Rosie seems to think about it, her head begins to turn back toward Harrison when he barks out a laugh but Tom grips her jaw, turns it back. “Pancakes, Ro.”

“Pancakes.” She repeats, with a yawn, “pancakes are good.”

Tom grins down, patting her arm gently. “Atta girl, now let's get you up to bed.”

He happens to glance back at Harrison as he gets to the library door. He’s no longer focused on Julia, only on the way Tom’s hand rests low on Rosie’s back, guiding her along. If the set of Harrison’s jaw meant anything, he was sure to hear about this later.

-----

“How is he, Doc?” 

The question startles Rosie and she lets out a quiet gasp. The kitchen had been dark. She’d thought she’d been alone. Harry had never returned with her tea and she was dying for a drink. 

Tom sits in the breakfast nook surrounded by shadows. A tumbler in front of him undoubtedly holds the expensive scotch he always favored.

“Shit Tom...I’m gonna put a bell around your neck.” The young mob boss laughs.

“Sorry about that” He holds up a second tumbler and wiggles it, “You look like you could use a drink.”

Rosie chews at her lip for a moment. Tea was probably the smart bet but yeah, alcohol wasn’t always a bad idea either. “The good stuff?”

“Glenfiddich 21. Always.”

Rosie slips into a chair across from him as he pours a few fingers into the spare glass. “I’ve still got to get Harry taken care of.” she mumbles taking a mouthful the rich amber liquid. It’s smooth like she’s come to expect. It lingers long after she’s swallowed it down, the taste of oak and fruit lingering on her palate. 

“I sent him up to bed an hour ago” Tom holds a hand up before Rosie’s able to argue, “His arm will keep until the morning. He’s gone longer with worse. How’s Harrison?”

The enforcer was good. Sam had come to relieve her a while ago and help the drugged man to his own bed. “He’ll live this time, I suppose” She says taking another swallow. Tom reaches over and tops her off again. 

“What about you?” Even in the low light she can see the sharp line of his jaw, his concerned expression. Rosie huffs. Takes a breath. Her hand trembles as she sets the glass down.

“I’m good.” Tom’s jaw ticks. “Well, yeah, it was a bit much but it’s what I’ve been trained for” she goes on after a minute “I’m sure it’ll happen again. It’s the first but it’s not going to be the last i-”

“Ro, we’ve known each other for what? Coming on 20 years pretty quick if I remember correctly” he smirks “and I do remember correctly. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Her jaw clenches as she stubbornly refuses to respond. Tom takes it as a sign to continue.

“You know, at one time I thought ‘Hey, maybe Rosie girl and I could make a go of it. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s brilliant. We’d make a smart partnership’ but I never did anything about you know why?” Rosie shakes her head quietly, lets her finger run around the rim of the tumbler but doesn’t move to take another drink. “You’re my family Rosie. I will love you till the end of time but I don’t love… never have loved you like he does.”

“Tom..”

“No, shut up, let me say my piece. I’ve spent too much time watching you two hurt one another and I’m done with it. Do you hear me?” he takes a long drink, emptying the glass before setting it down, running a hand through his short hair. “Everything he is. Everything he’s ever aspired to be is because of you. To be good enough for you. Do you realise that?”

Rosie sniffs, “I never needed him to be anything other than who he is. He’s never had to prove himself to me.”

“No? Did you tell him-”

“Did he tell me?” She throws the questions back, leaning forward. “And the string of women he paraded through. Julia? Claire? Tania? Did he really ‘love them’ too?

Tom laughs low, “Yeah the Julia thing, that was...something but then you stopped coming around. You were already off at your fancy school and then poof your were gone completely. Only time you showed your face was holidays. You didn’t see him trying to fill that gaping hole you left with those other girls. He never could figure out why they didn’t work” Tom reaches for the bottle and pours another drink. “I knew though…” He takes another sip, tipping his glass toward her “they weren’t you.”

-----

“You’re a motherfucker Holland. You know that right?”

Tom rolls his eyes to the ceiling. He was lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for it. Per the clock on the wall it was quarter twelve. He was surprised it took this long. Hands shove him from behind. He stumbles half a step before catching himself on the counter top. He spins to meet Harrison head on. Out of habit his hand lands on the holster at his shoulder. Harrison’s eyes flicker. “Watch yourself, Haz” Tom warns lowly, straightening and smoothing his jacket, covering the gun back up, “if there's something we need to discuss you come at me like a man and not some chicken shit cunt.” Harrison rolls his head, Tom can hear his neck crack as he does. 

“That’s rich coming from you. Going behind my back-”

Tom thumbs at his nose “Choose your next words wisely mate…”

“You and Rosie.” Harrison steps forward, in his space, but Tom doesn't back away. He turns his chin up, stares him dead in the eyes. Hands come up and shove the blonde back a step. He doesn’t give him time to right himself. “And if I wanted to bed her? Fuck her within an inch of her life, what claim do you have?” Uncertainty flashes through Harrison’s blue eyes. 

“None!” Tom barks, “You have fucking none, Haz! She’s not your girl and she’s not mine so get off my fucking case.” The confusion continues to shadow Harrison’s features.

“I saw you-” Tom is quick to interrupt him again, fuck him for questioning his intentions with their friend. 

“You saw me helping my very drunk, very sad friend to bed. It’s not the first time and as long as the two of you keep doing this dance...and mind you it’s getting fucking old, mate...around each other it probably won’t be the last.”

Harrison rubs roughly at the back of his neck. He pulls in a deep breath. His eyes focus on a point on the ceiling.

“I’m allowed to bring my girlfriend around.” his voice is dull, the fury draining, as he speaks. Tom knows why.

“Not if your trying to use her to get to Rosie, you’re not. That’s not fair to either of them.”

“Rosie doesn’t give a shit about what I do.” Tom laughs out loud, bitter and tired of the whole situation. 

“I’ve got a tear stained pillow that says otherwise.” 

-----

It takes a moment to realize where he is, waking from a black, dreamless sleep into an equally dark room. His shoulder throbs and his side aches and complains at each attempt he makes to adjust in bed. All in all, Harrison thinks it could be worse. He could have woken up dead.

He doesn’t remember getting to bed. He doesn’t remember much of anything accept Rosie’s soft voice and warm lips brushing against his own. It’s probably the remnants of a fever dream, to much narcotic and not enough blood, but it makes him feel slightly less awful about staining the back seat of Tom’s Audi.

Gingerly, he reaches for the lamp across the night stand, it’s slow going as his body protests the movement. He hisses in pain as he makes one final push and flips the switch. It’s not particularly bright, the warm glow only lighting a small block of the room and casting grotesque shadows over the rest. It is enough though to make out the form curled up asleep in the armchair across the room.

Her chin is tucked to her chest and the thin Afghan, usually relegated to decoration on the back of the chair, is wrapped around her shoulders. Her legs are invisible, pulled up so under the blanket. She looks soft, asleep like this.

It’s been too long since he’s seen her in anything more than an “official” setting, strolling through the house in business suits or a white lab coat left over from a shift at the clinic. He misses it. He misses her.  He misses the girl with the French braids rolling down her back, the girl who would help him plot mischief, the one who would fall asleep watching scary movies with the volume turned down low so their parents wouldn’t catch them. Mostly though, he misses seeing the woman she’s become. There were so many things he’d wanted to tell her for so long but never had the chance and now, she’s asleep a meter away and he can’t bear it. 

She adjusts in the chair, eyes fluttering open. Her stretching is cat like and elegant before relaxing back into the chair, resting her arms on her knees, her chin on her arms.

“You’re alive.” She mumbles, offering him a gentle smile. “Seems I’m still lucky.”

He laughs. “So it seems”. His smile fades as he watches her, watching him.

“You didn’t need to watch over me.”

“Tom insisted I stay.” She says cautiously. Harrison sees the way her eyes travel to the door.

“Did he say you had to stay in the uncomfortable straight back?”

“Harrison…”

He sighs, running his hand over his face. He feels gross where the thin sheen of sweat from the night has dried across his skin. “Rosie, why are you here?”

“Take your pills.” She encourages, ignoring his question as she motions to his night stand. He picks up the medicine cup.

“We need to talk about something… what are these?”

“The green ones are the Antibiotics. Pain pills are the others.”

Harrison pops the antibiotics into his mouth and drops the pain pills on the bedside table. He takes a long pull from the glass of tepid water sitting on the table. His mouth feels gummy and gross.

“I don’t want drugs.” He grumbles when she gives him a hard look. “I want to talk. Why are you here?” he repeats the earlier question. Rosie pauses, lays her cheek against her hands and looks away.

“I wanted to make sure you were ok, that you didn’t need anything…” she worries her lip between her teeth “I…. you scared me last night.”

“Well call me shocked. I didn’t think you still cared.” Maybe it was the injuries, the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the years of missing something he never got a chance to experience. Regardless, the words spill from his mouth with far more venom than he intended. Rosie flinches. When she looks back, he can see the weariness in her eyes. Not something born of fatigue from a poor night's sleep but something old and bone deep.

“I guess I deserved that.”

Harrison shakes his head. What was he doing? He stares down at his hands, there’s bruising along the knuckles of his right. Small cuts litter both. Scars from the life he’d chosen are immeasurable. “No, forget I said it. You don’t deserve that. You were focusing-“

“I was running Haz. Let’s be real.”

Harrison’s head snaps up. She’s giving him an unreadable look.

“For a long time I didn’t know what I wanted.” She laughs sadly, “and than I did and it was too late. So I pretended like it didn’t exist”

He can’t help the pained groan that escapes his gritted teeth and he tries to push himself to the edge of the bed. Rosie is already out of the chair and striding to him. “Damn it, stop moving” she snarls lowly “Christ, Haz. if you pop those stitches I’ll kill you myself.” He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so bad.

Rosie settles him back into bed, tutting and mumbling about stupid men and Harrison lets her. Her hands are warm against his bare chest and he basks in her attention. She pulls back for one moment and the next she’s pushing the cup of painkillers in his hand. He looks her dead in the eye as he throws it across the room. 

When Rosie tries to move away his hand grabs hers, pulls her down onto the bed. His grip tightens when she tries to get up.

“Look at me. Stop it.” He demands lowly. She turns her head, rolls her eyes. “This has gone on for too long and I’m done.” He watches her eyes widen. “I’m done wasting time and living like everything is ok.” He pulls in a shuddering breath. “This is how it’s gonna work, Princess; I’m going to talk and your going to listen and were going to clear the air of some shite that we should have taken care of ages ago. Understand?” She nods and Harrison is more than happy to accept that for the time being. Rosie turns toward him, one knee on the bed the other dangling casually off of it. Her hands rest in her lap but he can see the nervous way she wrings her fingers.

“Rosie Doherty, I have spent the better part of my life trying to be a man worthy of you-” She opens her mouth to say something and he presses the palm of his hand over it. He can feel her hot breath when she huffs. It brings a grin to his face. “I’m talking“ he chides as he draws back. 

“I’ve worked harder than any man in this organization. I’ve lost blood, sweat, and tears for the Holland’s but you know what? It was never really about them, it was about you. About being a man who could take care of you, protect you. And it’s never enough. I’m never going to be everything you deserve.” he runs his hand over his cheek, pulling at the soft skin. “But I can’t do it anymore, I-”

“Harrison, shut up.” her words are soft, almost a whisper. The bed dips at his hip as she moves closer. “I never asked you to be more. I didn’t need that. I don’t care about that. I just needed you.” Gently he brings his hand to her cheek, feels the warm life burning underneath his touch. She covers his with her own. “I didn’t understand what was happening. I was just a dumb kid. One day my best friend and I are talking about the upcoming match and binging horror movies and the next he’s opening doors, telling me how pretty I look. I wasn’t ready and then…”

She trails off. This was as much as he’d gotten out of her in years and he wasn’t about to see her stop now. He needed this. Even if only for closure on this chapter in his life. 

“And then…” he prompts. Rosie’s eyes shine, wet with unshed tears.

“And then I realized that I was in love with my best friend and by that time it was too late. You’d moved on to Julia and than after that everytime I saw you it was another girl and the time was never right to say anything because you were finally happy and who the fuck was I to ruin that?”

Harrison catches the tear that rolls down her cheek. 

“No tears. No for me. Not now.”  His hand slips around to the back of her head and pulls her forward. Chapped lips press against her forehead and Rosie moves closer, her body pressing against the side of his. 

“I wasn’t happy with Julia or...any of them. I was lying to myself. Pretending that eventually I’d find that one girl that was ‘it’ but I never did. I wanted to be loved, to be wanted but they were never enough.”

Rosie lays her head on his shoulder, he can feel warm wet tears against his cooled skin.  “Why not?”

“Because I already found her. I met her when I was ten years old. I’ve loved her since I was fifteen. She’s been the only woman I could ever see myself with and, yeah, there have been other girls” he looks down at Rosie. “But I’ve only ever loved you.”

The soft hazel eyes, the ones he’d seen in his dreams for longer than he could remember look up at him. 

“You mean that?”

The laugh comes out of him before he can hold it back. His thumb strokes along her jaw. “Come here”. He draws her in slowly, enjoying the way her eyes flutter shut the moment before his mouth presses to hers, the soft sigh over his lips as she opens for him and his tongue tastes her. And then something changes and the kiss melds from something soft to something more...more of everything.

Years of pent up frustration, of longing spill over and Rosie is pulling his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently, and his hands are pulling her across his lap. Her knees land on either side of his hips as he wraps his arms around her waist. He gasps out a breath as her knee bumps against his bandaged side and lightning shoots through him.

He has to hold her tight to stop her escape. 

“It’s ok...don’t move… just” he pants. “Give me a second.” Rosie watches quietly, concern obvious across her face as his pinched expression slowly eases. Her hands cup his jaw, thumbs gently coaxing the muscles to relax. 

“Harrison,” her voice is soft but sure “I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it sometimes. I’ve spent years throwing myself into anything I could to forget you but I don’t want to anymore. I can’t.” 

She’s like an angel perched over him, a fucking dream. 

“You saying your mine, Princess?” She presses her lips together, fighting a smile as she nods. Harrison buries his head in her neck, inhales the scent of her skin, lets his lips play over her pulse as she squirms. Everything suddenly feels light, like the weight of a thousand suns has been lifted off his shoulders. “Say it.” He demands. “Need to hear it.” 

“Harrison Osterfield, I’m yours.” She manages through a sea of giggles as he nips at a ticklish spot. Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him back. The weariness is gone from her eyes as she kisses him. This Is what it felt like, he thinks, to have everything you’ve ever wanted.

Their kisses turn languid, exploring each other’s mouths, hands roving over each other’s bodies. Clothes get peeled away, tossed into a pile on the floor. His body hurts but he can’t stop himself from reaching between her legs and finding the slick of arousal glistening on her sex. Rosie’s hand slips between them and strokes him with slow even movements. The morning light begins to spill through the eastern window, casting her body in a soft, early morning glow.

She braces her hands against his chest when he positions himself between her legs. There’s no words, only the encouragement of her full lips against his as she sinks down onto him for the first time. He swallows down the soft moans she makes, his hands on her hips as she rocks slowly against him. Her eyes are clouded with lust and he knows, now that he’s had her, there is no going back. There’s no other woman that can make him feel the way Rosie does. There’s no other woman he can love like he loves her. He tries to show her, tries to meet each rock of her hips with a thrust of his own bit Rosie smiles softly.

“You’re on light duty.” She says softly, “let me take care of you, tough-guy” 

And so he does. 

His hands roam over her body, feel the swell of her hips and the nip of her waist. Her breasts fill the palms of his hands and she makes the most delicate, needy sounds when he rolls her dusky nipples between his fingers. Her body clutches him, grips him in velvet heat that has him whining sounds of his own long before he’s ready too.

“Rosie...I’m close” slips from his mouth and she nods her head and continues to grind her body down on his. She leans into him, her chest presses against his as her mouth sucks tiny marks into his good shoulder. Her words are mumbled against his skin.

“Me too”

His hands fall to her hips and pull her tight against him. It’s only another minute before her body stills and he feels her come apart around him, her body trembling against him. He follows close behind, her name on his lips.

The sun is bright now, filling the room with light. Rosie dozes across his chest as their heart rates slow. Soon it will be time for them to get up, to take their first steps into a new world. Together. Harrison smiles.

It must be his lucky day.

----------------

Tag: @aossi​ @the-southernbelle​ @tomsrebeleyebrow​ @hazmyheart​ @procrastinatingismybiggestflaw​ @zselenophile​ @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree​ @gl0rynglam​

[eileen-crys]

Wipe my nightmares away

So here’s my lil Johnica oneshot- Mind that English is not my first language so there may be errors. I hope not too many-

John Deacon x Veronica Tetzlaff

You can also read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049028

Warnings: it’s fluffy, so be careful for your teeth with all this sugar. Also Veronica has bad nightmares, brief mentioning of death.

Words: 2.6k

Summary: 1985, while Queen are working on their new album A Kind of Magic in London, John can spend some time at home with his family. One night Veronica wakes up after a nightmare with a high fever and John decides to take care of her instead of going to the studio. NOTES: The wedding ring episode is completely invented by me, I don't know why Deaky stopped wearing it at some point but I like to think for the best, and I'm sure he still loves Ronnie anyways, with or without ring. Enjoy!

Veronica was at the side of the stage, in the front rows right underneath John, surrounded by the rest of the audience and with her kids carefully clinging together at her legs while she held little Joshua on her hip. Usually she'd stay in the backstage, safe and sound with the security and the roadies, but today was a strange exception. She didn't mind enjoying the concert as part of the audience, though.

She heard Robert's voice calling her.

"Mom, I'm going to the bathroom!" But before she could reply and go with him, Robert flee in the middle of the audience, disappearing through all the dancing and singing bodies.

"Robert! Robert, wait!" She yelled and held Josh steadier in her arm, while grabbing Michael with the other hand, trying to follow her eldest son.

"Mike, hold Laura's hand and don't let go!" Mike turned his head and his sister wasn't there anymore. "Laura? Laura's gone!"

"What?" Veronica saw the pattern of her daughter's dress moving and then disappearing in a forest of legs.

She began to panic.

"I'm gonna find her, don't worry mom!" Mike escaped from her grasp and followed his younger sister.

"No! No, Mike!" Veronica cried out, but the music was too loud and nobody in the audience was letting her pass to find her children.

"Michael! Laura! Robert!!!" She called again, despair growing in her chest as tears filled her eyes.

"Please help me! I can't find my kids!"

No one, not even the closer people, seemed to hear or see her, everyone was too focused on the stage.

"Someone please help me!"

Her screams went into the void. Josh began to cry desperately in her arms, she held him even closer and began to cry as well, her eyes darting in the audience, almost blinded by the tears.

Suddenly, she felt the weight of her youngest son being lifted from her chest. She turned, horrified, to see a security guard holding Joshua and carrying him away from her.

"I'm sorry, lady, this kid is too little to stay here."

"NO!" She reached out to take him back, but the guard walked away and she couldn't move, blocked by other people.

"I'm the bassist's wife! That's his son, he can stay! Please!" Her voice cracked, a sudden pain hitting her throat as the man disappeared.

"Help me! God, please!"

What was happening, how could it be possible? Where were her kids?

They were  gone .

  All four.

Sobbing uncontrollably she ran under the stage and called John, even if he was playing and probably already a bit drunk.

"John! John I can't find the kids!"

He heard her desperate cry, but all he did was smiling and waving at her with the most shining smile ever. He didn't notice the absolute horror in her eyes.

Hopeless, she felt like throwing up and turned to face the rest of the audience. Everyone too busy ignoring her. Veronica buried her face in her hands and let out a scream, tears falling through her fingers.

When she lifted her face, she was now on the stage. She froze.

" How… ?"

"John? Is everything alright?" Freddie was on her left staring at her, Brian right behind him. Veronica looked around, but John wasn't there. She felt a weight on her shoulder: she was holding his bass.

"Our Deaky seems a bit lost tonight, huh? Give him an applause, come on!" Freddie cheered up the audience, who roared loudly.

  What the hell was happening?

Ronnie ran her fingers through her hair and finally realized: now she was John. On the stage, about to start playing Under Pressure. She was completely petrified, cold sweat soaking her back.

Freddie reached next to her and whispered, full of worry. "Darling you're supposed to play, what the fuck is going on?"

She just let it out without thinking. "My children, Freddie! I've lost them in the audience, I can't… I don't know…" she muttered, John's voice coming out from her mouth.

Freddie gave her a questioning look. "Dear, you don't have kids. Ronnie died from childbirth ten years ago, but I thought you went through this."

She did what?  

Freddie waved a hand in front of her face. "John?"

"John!"

She cried out at the top of her lungs and sat on the bed, panting and covered in sweat.

"Ronnie I'm here! I'm here, it's ok… It's over…" John wrapped her in his arms, swinging her gently as her body was shaken by sobs.

"The kids… they were gone… I couldn't- Oh my God..."

"Shh, it was a nightmare, but it's over." He placed a kiss on her temple to calm her down a bit and noticed she was burning. "The kids are sleeping in their rooms, we're home, safe and sound." He put a hand on her sweaty forehead. "I think you have a fever, love…"

Veronica was still shaking, feeling her head wrapped in a bubble. John helped her laying down and held her hands. It wasn't the first time she had nightmares about their family, but this time seemed to be worse than ever.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She nodded, and told him about her dream with broken voice, needing to stop a couple of times to catch her breath. He held her closer and she buried her face in his neck, feeling his hands running on the back of her head. When she finished, John softly wiped the tears from her face. "You're burning like crazy, Ronnie. Try to sleep, I'm here now and you're safe. Ok?" He whispered, his heart broken at the thought of her nightmare. It was one of the most terrible things he could ever imagine and he thanked God it didn't happen for real.

"Mmh…" Ronnie groaned and tried to relax, even if it took a while.

John left another kiss on her forehead and waited for his wife to get asleep again in his embrace.

---

The scent of eggs and toast hit her nostrils and she blinked a couple of times before opening her eyes. She was feeling like being underwater, her head was incredibly heavy and her whole body aching, making it almost impossible to get up. Memories of the previous night came back slowly, she had another nightmare about her kids, but at least John was there to comfort her. The last time she had a nightmare like that he was on tour on the other side of the planet and she almost lost her mind the next day, worried for her children while they were at school. She heard his voice echoing in her mind: "I think you have a fever, love…" and he was right. But Veronica was too stubborn to stay in bed the whole day, so she tried to get up, wrapped herself in a cozy night robe and walked unsteadily to the kitchen.

"Mommy!" Laura ran towards her and and hugged her tight, looking up with big green eyes. "How are you?"

"Dad told us you have a fever!" Robert added, his mouth full of scrambled eggs. Ronnie patted Laura's head, who freed her from the hug, and sat at the table.

"Apparently I do…" she was feeling awful, though the sight of the children reassured her.

"'Morning, honey." John placed a kiss on her temple like he did during the night, not just to show affection, but also to check her temperature. "We're staying home today, I'll take the kids to school."

"No, no, you're recording today, I  can  take them to school." Ronnie fought back, part of her believing she was in condition to drive.

"Already called the studio." He smirked. She lowered her head, defeated. There was no way to change his mind and he already organized everything, she knew it too well.

"Fine, remember to give them the umbrellas, It's supposed to rain today..." Ronnie groaned, pinching her nose.

"Don't worry." John replied and set a cup of tea in front of her.  

While she was drinking her cup, John helped the kids preparing for school and all of them said goodbye to the feverish mom. Feeling sleepy, she took an aspirin and got back to her bedroom, falling fast asleep.

---

"Mommy! Mommy!" A 5 years old Robert was running towards her, coming out from the groves.

"What's up, honey?" Her attention shifted from Mike, still a toddler sitting beside her on the picnic towel, to Robert and she caught him in her arms. He's been scared by something and kept looking at the trees where he came from.

"It follows me, wants to eat me!" The boy sniffled and sobbed loudly on his mother's shoulder, while Mike whined and clung to her dress with his tiny hands, his lower lip trembling in fear.

A dark figure appeared from the woods, growling deeply and showing his fangs. The biggest wolf she'd ever seen slowly approached them, his burning eyes fixed on Veronica.

"Where's papa? I want papa!" Robert cried and the beast walked nearer.

Suddenly, a deep slow melody filled the air and echoed in her chest, and for some reason she couldn't explain it made the wolf run away.

She woke up and the sound of John's bass was reverberating in the house from the room below hers. Ronnie sighed in relief. Checking the clock, she noticed she's been sleeping for a couple of hours. It also started to rain outside. She closed her eyes and let the music pound in her chest and in her head, losing herself in bliss. When she heard John stopping and huffing in frustration she got up and went downstairs where she found him sitting with the bass on his lap.

He saw her leaning on the door's frame and gave her a soft smile. "Feeling better?"

"A bit, I took some meds and a nap right after the tea."

"Good." He rummaged the papers filled with notes and scribbles in front of him, lost again in his thoughts.

"Thank you."

John looked back at her, a bit confused.

"For what?"

"For staying home today. And… I was having another nightmare and somehow your music saved Robert, Mike and me from a beast that wanted to eat us. I heard you playing and… I don't know, that wolf disappeared." She waved her hand. "Don't mind me, it was just a dream."

He gave her a loving gaze. "No, that's great… it's lovely, I'm glad my music saved you all." He chuckled, looking at his papers. "I always do my best, you know…"

"Sure I know." She got next to him and peeked at the papers, stroking his curly hair. He lifted a hand around her waist. She was feeling cold and the warmth of his body was like a balm.

"New song?"

"Yes, I'm writing it with Fred. I'm trying to find a proper bassline now, he gave me a couple of hints, but… Uhm, maybe I'll try something else."

"The words are beautiful." She smiled fondly reading the title:  'Friends'  and some of the lines, almost all of them handwritten by John with some addings in Freddie's calligraphy.

"Just writing down some feelings and thoughts as usual…"

She gave a light smack behind his head and giggled. "Stop being always so humble!"

"Okay, okay, sorry!" He laughed back. "We actually want to make it a song anyone can sing along with their friends, you know, maybe like  'Champions'  , all together... Do you recognise these lines?" He pointed at the sheet and she read it.

'It's not easy love, but you've got friends you can trust / Friends will be friends / When you're in need of love they give you care and attention.'  

"You told me that."

"Yes, I remember... You really needed a break then." She gave him a rub on his head. The band had a rough time some years before while recording  Hot Space and she remember John being very nervous, almost hating his bandmates. All she could do was distracting him and giving some hints to relieve the stress.

"I went skiing with Rog and spent some time with the guys without thinking about music. Just as friends." He raised his chin to look up at her. "Thank you for the advice. I almost forgot they were friends before colleagues. And I'm glad we're doing good now."

"You know I'm always here for you, love."

"I also know you're my best friend." He turned to place a kiss on her belly, over the dress. Veronica rolled her eyes, blushing at his pun on the song. He couldn't help but teasing her with it and she knew. It was still her favourite, after all.

Suddenly a feverish shiver ran down her spine, making her freeze.

"I think you should rest again, Ronnie."

"Mmh, want to stay here with you…" she shrug, but her temperature was rising again.

"Ok then, if I have to carry you upstairs-" he stood up, carefully putting the bass on its stand, and tried to grab her, but she fought back giggling. He tickled her sides and she bursted out a laugh, her knees giving up and finally she fell into his arms.

"Look at what you make me do at my age, damn!"

"I surrender, sir." She giggled again and let him lead her to the bed. When Veronica slid under the covers, John tried to go back to work, but felt a hand grabbing his shirt. His wife was looking at him with liquid eyes, a sad smile on her lips.

"Can you stay for a bit?" She begged.

Usually she was capable of letting him go and focus on his work, but the illness always made her quite clingy. The new song could wait, John thought, she deserves it.

"Sure, love." He sat on the bed and held her hand.

"I don't want to have another nightmare…" she confessed, looking away.

He nodded and stroked her hand with his thumbs in silence. Just letting her know he was there. Fidgeting with her wedding ring, John felt guilty for not wearing his. He lost it during the last tour: he used to wear it constantly but one day, during a sound check, he had to remove it because a scratch on his bass's neck was making friction against his ring and he decided to try playing without it. He played well, but somehow the ring wasn't in his pocket anymore after the show.

"Still thinking about the ring?" Ronnie's voice guided him back on earth. "You know I'm not mad about it."

"Yes, but I still wonder how it could've been possible…" he closed his eyes, pouting.  

Veronica took his left hand and placed a kiss on his ring finger, making him smile.

---

The whole day passed quietly under a pouring rain, Veronica managed to rest without nightmares, the medicines began to work and her fever got better, while John had some time to go on with the song, adjusting some lyrics and finding a good bassline. After taking the kids home, he watched a movie with them, trying to not disturb their mom, then prepared a hot soup for everyone and Ronnie finally joined her family for dinner.

"Mommy, how do you feel?" Laura asked.

"A bit better, sweetie. Dad took good care of me today."

"I even saved your mom from a wolf that tried to eat her in a dream!" John was absolutely proud of his heroic action and caught all the kids' attention.

"Really? How?!" Robert was eager for details.

"I played the bass while mom was sleeping and  'woosh!'  the wolf disappeared!" He made little Joshua giggle in ecstasy.

"Is it true?" Laura turned to her mom.

"Yes, absolutely!" She nodded fiercely.

Suddenly, Mike  sneezed .

And sneezed again.

Everyone stared at him, the table became silent as he sneezed the third time in a row and sniffled loudly.

John and Veronica exchanged a worried look.

"Mom, dad… I think I'm sick."

[haloud]

running through your veins

ao3 ----------------------

On days like this where Kyle spends five hours saving a single life, he celebrates by getting outrageously drunk and, more often than not, getting off with a random stranger in the backseat of his car. If anyone asks where he’s been, he says he’s “reminding himself he’s alive,” which—since it’s usually his mom doing the asking—earns him rolled eyes and a smack to the back of the head. But guess what, mom. He’s a grown man now, and he’s not scared of the safe sex lecture she would always gleefully use as a punishment if he got caught sneaking around with girls. Grinning against the rim of his glass, Kyle knocks back another shot of tequila.

He doesn’t usually drink at the Wild Pony, if only because DeLuca doesn’t like him; he knows she overcharges him and sticks the extra cash in a donation jar. And hey, he can’t really blame her, but the atmosphere generally isn’t so good for his party of one. Tonight, though, he can’t stop rubbing his fingers together to remind himself the gloves are off, can’t stop smelling blood. Drinking alone isn’t really so appealing, no matter how loud he turns up the music, so the Wild Pony it is

His wild night, turns out, even comes with a show. He watches for about an hour, getting increasingly wasted, as Michael Guerin successfully bilks Racist Hank out of two hundred dollars.

Part of him wants to blame the tequila for the way he blushes every time Guerin lays himself languid and slow over the pool table, giving Kyle a perfect view of his ass under soft old denim jeans, shirt riding up to show the smooth skin of his waist. DeLuca does keep some damn good tequila on the shelf, but Kyle prides himself on being man enough to—eventually—own up to the handies he traded with his roommate sophomore year at Michigan, so he’s not going to wuss out now. He props his elbows on the bar and rolls a shot glass between his hands. His type basically stops at smart, like maybe med school broke something in his brain after it rendered him incapable of even jacking off without thinking about studying. And Guerin’s definitely that, Kyle thinks, thumbing his bottom lip. Last time he broke down and drank at the Pony, he had front row seats to another occasion when Guerin took Hank for all he was worth after Hank dared him to get viciously drunk, go outside, and take his engine apart, which Guerin did, then put it back together so fast it was damn near superhuman.

So Guerin’s got one point in the brains column and a question mark under the “anatomy class” column, but is it enough to balance out the inherent negatives of hooking up with a local? When your mom is the sheriff, that can get ugly quick, and Kyle is, like, way too drunk to work out the math right now, so he just waves his hand at the non-DeLuca bartender because more tequila will definitely help him make a decision.

(Maybe Maria would like him better if he learned the names of her employees.)

(…Nahhhhhh.)

“I’m cutting you off,” DeLuca interrupts, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to shoo her bartender away.

“DeLucaaaaaaa,” Kyle whines, and he squishes his cheek against the bar which smells—Kyle sniffs—reassuringly of Pine-sol and spilled beer, and nothing at all like copper or bleach.

“Nope, nn-mm, no way, McDreamy. Your money’s not good enough to make me deal with your mama when she has to scrape you off the floor.”

At the mention of his mother, Kyle tries to snap himself up into better posture, but his biggest success is not falling backwards off the barstool. Combing his fingers through his hair, he looks around frantically and tries to just look regular drunk. DeLuca snorts out a laugh, not a real one but not a mean one either.

“She’s not here yet. But it’s only a matter of time before Guerin starts throwing punches, so. Sheriff’s son’s gotta go, or else I’m borrowing trouble.”

Kyle spins around to look out at the bar, and sure enough, he peers across the room to the pool tables, where Guerin is grinning kinda sleepy and dangerous with his hands in the air, nearly chest to chest with a red-faced Hank.

Nnnh. He doesn’t want to see any violence, bruises, bloody lips. Not tonight. He slides off the stool, grabs the bar to right himself, and wobbles as he straightens up. Hehe. Straightens. Just ‘cause his Guerin-boner went away doesn’t mean it’s not still funny.

“Valenti, what the hell are you doing.” DeLuca hisses as Kyle staggers away. He flaps his hand behind himself in a way he hopes is reassuring, because he’s totally got this.

“You guys done with the table?” He says loudly, pointedly not tripping on anything as he crosses the floor. Hank sneers at him and says something foul, but what’s he gonna do? Kyle’s got dirt on that guy, uh-huh, and he’s got a bunch of codes, but the football team bro-code shit is way past its expiration date. Hank tries to, like, loom over him as Kyle leans on a pool cue to hide his swaying back and forth, and that’s definitely annoying, but Kyle’s more concerned with the way Guerin bares his teeth and the way it’s both scary and really hot.

“Why, you lookin’ for a game? At least I know you can afford the buy in, Doc.” Guerin drawls.

“I don’t have any cash. And I don’t know how to play pool, because beer pong is the real man’s game. But here.” He fumbles his wallet out of his pocket and slaps it down on the wooden edge of the table. “I’ll open a tab if you wanna give lessons ‘stead of sleeping in a cell tonight. And making me talk to my mom when I’m wasted,” he adds mournfully, rubbing his hand over the chalky end of the cue. Even drunk, he doesn’t miss the way Guerin’s eyes flick briefly to the motion. Nice.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? God damn, I come to this bar to avoid people like you; aren’t you late to get your chest waxed or some shit?” Guerin snaps, and hey, it’s none of Guerin’s business (yet) what parts of him are or aren’t waxed professionally. But guess what, Kyle’s already winning, because Guerin doesn’t even blink when Hank fucks off to do Racist Hank things somewhere else, even though that’s the fight he was spoiling for walking away.

“I mean…I can just leave if you’re not looking for easy money…and not looking to show off”

“I’d have to be as drunk as you are right now to take you up on this, and I don’t think that’s even possible for me. Buzz off, Valenti.”

“I gave you an open opportunity to try,” Kyle points to his wallet still perched between them. “C’mon, Guerin. One game. You can kick my ass like you never actually got to in high school! Call it cth—caht—catharsis.”

Nailed it.

“Fine.” Guerin ticks his jaw, runs his tongue over his teeth, and it makes Kyle all warm and tingly even as Guerin snatches the cue out of his hand. “One game. And if you can’t beat me after that, you’re gonna be losing a lot of fucking money, Valenti.”

One game turns into two, actually, and is Kyle learning anything with Guerin hot like a fever—and maybe it’s just the flush of the alcohol, but being all over him feels like burning up—moving his arms and pressed up against his back? No, not really. But it turns out Guerin’s not so bad when he shakes out his curls and laughs around the mouth of a bottle of beer like he can’t believe himself for spending time with Kyle of all people, especially a version of Kyle so uncoordinated he can barely wrap his brain around the concept of breaking, like, in general, let alone any of the trick shots Guerin is easily enticed into demonstrating with the fluid grace of a truly practiced drunk.

They aren’t buddies; even if they did see each other outside of the Pony, they wouldn’t acknowledge each other at all. Kyle doesn’t start going to the bar more frequently, either, not to seek Guerin out or for any other reason. But if every now and then he feels like some drunk company and the night ends up with Kyle’s wallet feeling light and him on his back in the bed of Guerin’s truck?

Well.

Ain’t life worth living after all?

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Parabitri!

This idea turned out to be far more angsty than anything I usually write but it insisted on being written. I love the way Magnus and Alec always find their way back to each other, no matter what universe you put them into.

This is their Hallmark-style Christmas Story - I hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3

******

This Christmas

Chapter 1

I remember,

I wish I could forget

What you did last December

You left my heart a mess.

- Ariana Grande (& George Michael), Last Christmas

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

“Are you sure Alec won’t mind?” Magnus asked for what had to be the fourth time that morning as he followed Izzy inside the apartment she and Alec shared.

“When has Alec ever said no to you?” Izzy threw over her shoulder with a wink as she opened Alec’s bedroom door and sauntered in.

“Well, there was that whole morning after the Yule Ball fiasco,” Magnus muttered to himself, dragging his feet as he followed Izzy.

“Besides,” Izzy said as she flopped down on Alec’s bed apparently oblivious to Magnus’ dark comments, “You and I both know, Alec’s the only person who has an early enough edition of Gray’s Anatomy to feature the illustrations you need.”

“They’re too valuable for any libraries to stock before about the 18th edition,” Magnus agreed with a sigh as he approached Alec’s bookshelves brushing his fingers lightly over the soft leather spine, tracing the gilded letters which identified it as a hallowed second edition.

“You said you’ve tried every other option, Magnus, and your essay is due in tonight. It’s not like you can just call and ask him. Even if by some miracle he isn’t still in the remote mountain villages in Timor-Leste then he’ll be in transit. You know as well as I do that any time he gets funded flights it means he’s on a stopping all stations round the world tour of obscure airports. Even if you managed to get a message to him, there’s no guarantee he’d be able to get an answer back in time.”

“I know,” Magnus sighed easing the book gently out from between its neighbours and cradling it close to his chest. He wanted Alec home but he also half-dreaded the idea that the tension that had grown like a wedge between them might still be there. “Thank you, Isabelle. I guess I’d better go finish my essay. You’ll let me know if you hear from him?”

“Of course! Hopefully this time he’ll remember to let us know before he boards the last plane so we can meet him at the airport, I know Max is dying to use the latest sign he’s made.”

Magnus laughed, thinking of Max’s ever-expanding stack of ‘Welcome Home Alec’ signs. At this point, they’d need to bring everyone they knew in order to hold up even half of them.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[Throughout human history there have been many iterations of the symbol which represents the human heart. The first non-medical European illustration of the heart is thought to be a drawing accompanying the medieval French poem Le Roman De La Poire circa 1255 however it was not until the early 1500s that the familiar shape made its appearance...

...but why does this symbol bear so little resemblance to the human anatomy it represents? There are plenty of theories, the most prominent one being that most of our ‘knowledge’ of human anatomy in the 13th and 14th centuries was based on animal biology, in particular reptiles, which much more closely resemble the familiar scalloped shape of the heart icon. The ability of early physicians to view or study the human body was fiercely regulated and controlled - with many unable to view a single dissection let alone partake in the kind of labs that are a standard part of modern medical tuition. As such, Henry Gray’s seminal work Gray’s Anatomy, first published in 1858, was a turning point in the depiction of the human heart…]

Magnus' fingers stilled on his keyboard as he glanced again at the book he’d brought back to his apartment almost four hours earlier. It was ridiculous but he still hadn’t opened it. The thing was, he hadn’t told Izzy the whole truth. Yes, this essay was for his History of Medicine subject and accounted for almost a third of his grade but it was also final piece of his application to join Médecins Sans Frontières’ new project, working in the new hospital Alec had spent the past year helping local engineers design and build. Alec would be going back for another whole year to support the development of sustainable water supply for the school and the rest of the village. Following your best friend halfway around the world was madness, especially when things had never been quite the same between them since last year’s Yule Ball.

~ Morning After the Yule Balle: 19th December 2017 ~

Magnus came to slowly, groaning as he peeled gritty eyes open just long enough to take in the couch and apartment around him before squeezing them shut again. It wasn’t the first time since becoming friends with the Lightwoods three years earlier that he’d woken up on their sofa but the blinding headache was new. So was the fact that he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he’d gotten back here. He barely remembered any of the Yule Ball. Burying his head further in the soft pillows Magnus vowed never to mix first-generation antihistamines and alcohol again.  

“Breakfast?”

Magnus’ eyes snapped open his lips curling at the corners as he took in the sight of Alec setting a breakfast tray on the coffee table beside him. The man really was an angel sometimes.

“I figured you’d need something to help wash down the aspirin,” Alec said, smiling back as he reached over and placed two pills on Magnus’ palm, following it with a glass of water.

“My hero,” Magnus said, downing the tablets and finally tearing his eyes from Alec and focusing on the food in front of him. “You made me blueberry pancakes, Alexander? That’s not exactly standard hangover fare. If you were anyone else I’d think you were trying to seduce me with your culinary skills.”

Magnus grinned at the way Alec’s cheeks heated at the suggestion and he became suddenly fascinated with his boots. Whatever the cause, Magnus wasn’t complaining - in fact, he almost moaned as he took that first blissful bite of pancake. Alec really would make an excellent husband to someone one of these days. Too bad there wasn’t any handy mistletoe or he might...Magnus’ thoughts ground to a sudden halt as he suddenly remembered kissing someone under the mistletoe last night at the ball. It hadn’t been a typical crappy holiday season hook-up either, it had been incredible. He found himself describing it to Alec as he ate: the way her lips had felt against his, passionate and wild yet somehow also tender as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to devour Magnus or worship him. The way her fingers had tightened in his hair, tugging roughly to adjust the angle of his head, deepening the kiss, only for those same clever fingers to send shivers of pure pleasure as they massaged away any last traces of pain. The worst part was, despite remembering every tiny detail of the kiss, he had no memory of the person who’d done the kissing.

“Please Alec, you were there last night you have to help me find her!” Magnus said, looking up beseechingly at his best friend only to realise something was wrong.

At some point during his monologue, the blushing, solicitous angel who’d made him breakfast had been replaced by a stone statue.

“You remember the kiss but don’t remember the-the-the person, at all?” Alec asked harshly his fists clenching at his sides.

Magnus flinched, feeling suddenly ashamed even though he didn’t know why it was such a big deal to Alec if Magnus’ memory had decided to defy logic. Before he’d had a chance to ask, Alec had turned away, his shoulders tense as he’d gathered up the remnants of Magnus’ now cold breakfast.

Tray in hand he’d barely looked at Magnus as he’d apologised, “I can’t do this, Magnus. I-I-I thought -” Alec sighed sounding frustrated but resigned. “I’ve got that application for Engineers Without Borders to finish.”

Magnus tried to get up and follow him into the kitchen but the world still spun horribly when he attempted to stand and he was forced to sit again so he didn’t fall down. The last thing he needed was for an already grumpy Alec to have to bandage his head when he split it open on the sharp corner of his coffee table. Impatiently, he waited for Alec to reappear, which took considerably longer than Magnus had expected.

When at least he came out he headed straight for the door his bag already slung over his shoulder giving every appearance of intending to leave without another word.

“Alec?” Magnus called out after him, wishing his head would stop pounding long enough for him to figure out whatever this was.

Alec turned, his hand resting on the door handle still refusing to meet Magnus’ eyes. “I have to go. Feel free to stay as long as you need.” And then he walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.

Magnus had waited, half expecting at any moment that his best friend would come back and tell him what exactly he’d said that upset him so much. After over an hour, Magnus had to accept the unwelcome fact that Alec wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t answering any of Magnus’ messages either. He knew he was being selfish, knew how important that application was to Alec even though the thought of them being on opposite sides of the globe sounded miserable to Magnus all of a sudden. It would be the first time in almost three years since Izzy and Magnus had met on their first day of med school that they’d have to go more than a few weeks without seeing one another. At present, barely a day went past that they didn’t speak, one way or another, whether it was IM, in person or notes passed via Izzy.

Despite Alec’s continued refusal to discuss anything about the Yule Ball, Magnus had kept looking - amazed to discover that despite there having been hundreds of people at the ball, somehow no one had seen Magnus spending time with any women other than Dot, Cat and Izzy and he was absolutely certain it hadn’t been any of them. He’d even tried to convince the photographer to go through their shots from last night only to discover to that the man was crazy enough to still be using film and hadn’t had time to get the negatives developed yet. Rolling his eyes at the pretentiousness of art students in general, Magnus had hunted on in vain.

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

Magnus sighed, running his fingers over the soft leather cover of Gray’s Anatomy. He could still remember the first time Alec had shown it to him. It had been a gift from his grandfather on his mother’s side, the same one that was responsible for Alec’s middle name being ‘Gideon’. He’d apparently been convinced, despite Alec’s complete lack of interest in medicine, that book that had been in their family for generations would inspire Alec to become the next doctor in the family. The meticulous technical drawings the book was famous had inspired him just not to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. He’d taken his love of the book’s illustrations and developed a fascination for cartography, drafting and surveying, finally settling on a career in engineering. Izzy had told Magnus that Alec had offered her the book when she’d first set her heart on doing medicine but she’d knew she’d never love it the way Alec did. She wanted the modern textbooks, the ones filled with gory colour photographs of real bodies, not the elegant etchings done over a hundred and fifty years earlier.

Magnus, by contrast, had happily indulged Alec’s passion and they’d spent hours pouring through the book together over the years every time Magnus had happened to need to reference one or other of the illustrations as he learnt about the body’s various structures and systems. As much as he’d adored it when Alec bought him a modern copy of Gray’s Anatomy for his birthday he always defaulted back to Alec’s copy with its incredible single-colour woodcut illustrations whenever he could. The text might mostly have become redundant has as medical knowledge changed fundamentally and rapidly over the past century but the illustrations were as important now as they’d ever been.  

He missed Alec. Magnus hadn’t realised how much he’d relied on his presence until his absence left a gaping hole in his life. It’s been almost a year and Alec is still the first person he wants to tell whenever anything happens. He might finally have stopped getting his phone out and staring out compose texts he can’t send but it still aches everytime he remembers Alec’s sat-phone is for emergencies only. Going from talking every day to exchanging infrequent emails had felt worse than some of his breakups. Then again, for the last few years, he’s always had Alec there helping him pick up the pieces whenever a relationship inevitably failed. He’d always scoffed at the adage ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ but it’s been 355 days since Alec left and he’s sitting at his desk hours before an important assignment is due incapable of completing it because he doesn’t want to open a book that would remind him too much of the man he wants, more than anything else, this Christmas. Too bad he felt certain Alec didn’t feel the same way about him.

Sighing, Magnus opened the cover and scanned the index of illustrations for the one he was looking for. There, under the heading ‘Heart’, the illustration he’d looked everywhere for: ‘Circulation of Blood in an Adult’ directing him to page six hundred and twenty-nine. Picking up the tome Magnus started at the middle and skimmed gently through the pages, slowing when he finally reached the six-hundreds to turn each individual page so as not to miss it. Magnus nearly dropped the book in surprise when he turned the final page and a colour photograph slides out onto the desk.

A single glance is enough to make him forget Gray’s Anatomy, forget the essay he has only hours left to finish and the application he needs to ace. On the desk in front of him is a photograph from last year’s Yule Ball. A photo of him and Alec wrapped tightly in one another’s arms, kissing under the mistletoe.

Chapter 2

I confess,

I loved you more than I let on but you weren’t ready for it and I wasn’t going to pour myself into hands that couldn’t hold me

- Lauren Eden, Of Yesteryear

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

Having seen the photo, Magnus wonders how he could possibly have forgotten. He’s spent an entire year comparing every kiss he shared to this one, like Prince Charming with his stupid glass slipper, finding them woefully disappointing by contrast. The thing was, with the exception of giants like Alec, he was tall so it hadn’t occurred to him why the angle always felt off - no matter what he tried. God, he was such an idiot! How could he have ignored what was right in front of him all this time? And why hadn’t Alec said something? But as soon as that thought occurred to him, he knew exactly why.

Who in their right mind would confess when the object of their affection not only didn’t remember them but had also somehow misgendered them in the process. Magnus felt physically ill as their conversation the next morning replayed in his head with full 5.1 surround sound, complete with high definition technicolour images of Alec’s transformation from breakfast baring angel to the stony-faced statue he’d been by the time he left the apartment. The fact Alec had hidden the photo here, in his most treasured book under the heading ‘Heart’ made the tears that had welled up unnoticed spill out over his cheeks.

With shaking fingers Magnus picked the photo up off the desk, the knife in his heart twisting as he realised they were both smiling as they kissed. Steeling himself, he flipped the photo drawing in a sharp breath as he saw the inscription in Alec’s familiar all-caps handwriting and in smaller text printed directly onto the photo, the photographer's details.

‘A NIGHT TO REMEMBER’ MAGNUS BANE & ALEC LIGHTWOOD YULE BALL 18TH DEC 2017

PHOTOGRAPHER: J. GHAMSARI  - EDITION: 1/1 - PRINTED: 24TH DEC 2017

He’d thought nothing could make this situation worse, but one glance at the date the photo had been printed made Magnus want the ground to open beneath his feet to transport him straight to hell. Alec had tried to tell him and Magnus had unintentionally broken his heart a second time instead. By the time Magnus had realised his mistake, Alec had already left the country.

~ December 24th, 2017 ~

Magnus groaned when he heard the doorbell, it would probably be carollers but as the only person home the night before Christmas Magnus had promised his housemates he wouldn’t let any last minute parcels go unsigned for. Snatching his shirt up from where it lay discarded beside the sofa and buttoning it haphazardly Magnus made his way down the long passage to the front door, stunned to see it was Alec standing on the sill, a thick manilla envelope clasped in one hand.

“Alec, what are you doing here? I thought you would have gone back home for what’s left of the holidays,” Magnus said noticing the way Alec’s eyes lingered on his exposed chest a beat longer than they usually would before darting away.

“It’s - uh, it’s about last week,” Alec paused, threading his fingers roughly through his hair in that familiar tell of mental agitation. “Look, you’ve got every reason to be mad at me. The next morning, after the Yule Ball - I know I should have-”

“Allowed me to drag you halfway ‘round NYU on a wild goose chase when neither of us had any idea who we were looking for?” Magnus interrupted smoothly, laughing softly. “I should never have asked, Alec, I know how important getting that internship application in was to you. Besides, it doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“It doesn’t?” Alec asked roughly, his gaze piercing as he froze in place.

“Surely you know me better than to think I’d let it rest until I found out, Alexander?”

“You - you’ve remembered?” Alec asked, looking suddenly paler.

“Not exactly. But Camille - you remember her from the presentation night for the Medical Prize, don’t you? She found out I was looking for her and admitted she’d been my mysterious stranger all along. Apparently, my crush wasn’t so unrequited after all. So you see, it’s all worked out. She’s coming around later tonight if you wanted to stay and meet her?”

“No.”

Magnus’ head snapped back, surprised by the vehemence in that single word but before he had a chance to do more than raise an eyebrow, Alec had continued.

“I mean, I’d be interrupting your evening plans. I should let you -” Alec paused again, his teeth sinking into his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “I have to go. Merry Christmas, Magnus.”

“Wait, Alec!” Magnus called out, hating this sudden chill between them as Alec turned away. “Surely you didn’t just come here to apologise. You should stay, have a drink with me. It is Christmas after all.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Well, can you at least tell me when we’re catching up next?” Magnus asked, suddenly feeling the need to make sure he hadn’t somehow irrevocably ruined the friendship without even realising it. “I know you had planned to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve with your family but seeing as you’re still here...”

“Actually, I, um. I got offered the internship with Engineers Without Borders,” Alec muttered, shifting his feet.

“Alexander! That’s fantastic, now you have to come in and have a drink with me, tell me all about it. Where they’re sending you, for how long - I want to know everything!” Instinctive Magnus reached out, tugging on the arm of Alec’s long black coat. It hurt when instead of smiling Alec pulled away.

“I fly out January 1st. I’ll be gone all year. It’s - I’ll be living in one of the mountain villages in Timor-Leste, they’ve got a new project to build a hospital there and if things go well, I can stay to work on securing the town’s water supply the year after. They said they’d try and get me back in time for next Christmas. So I - um - I have to go. You know, packing and everything.”

Every other time Alec’s said anything about the project his passion had been radiant, which meant these clipped sentences and flat tone had to be Magnus’ fault. Magnus cursed the Yule Ball, cursed the fact he couldn’t even abandon his plans with Camille because he hadn’t thought to get her number. Cursed the fact he was meant to be going away with Cat and Ragnor to have New Year's Eve at Cat’s family’s Chalet. So this was it? Alec was leaving the country in a few days for an entire year and Magnus wouldn’t get to see him again till next Christmas?

“At least let me take you out to the airport, Alec,” Magnus said, throwing caution to the wind and jettisoning his New Year's plans.

“But-” Alec began, displaying that adorable furrowed brow of his.

“Nothing is more important than seeing my best friend off on the trip of a lifetime,” Magnus assured him. “I’ll be at that airport whether you let me drive you or not. I’m not below blackmailing Izzy into telling me so you may as well just accept it.”

Alec’s rueful smile was like sunshine, the man he recognised peeking out from behind the rigid facade he was putting up.

“You really want to get up at six in the morning just to see me off at the gate?” Alec asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“I’ll be on your doorstep at five,” Magnus shot back, his lips automatically curling to match Alec’s.

“If you’re late I’m leaving without you,” Alec threatened sliding back into their familiar banter without even seeming to realise he was doing it.

“Okay.”

“Okay. You’re on.” Alec nodded, holding Magnus’ gaze before saying softly, “Merry Christmas, Magnus.”

“Merry Christmas, Alexander.”

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

Magnus needed a drink.

His crush on Camille had been madness and she’d played him for the fool he was. She’d strung him along for almost 3 weeks after ‘confessing’ to being his mysterious mistletoe kiss. She’d made a game out of kissing him everywhere except his lips, correctly assuming that he’d realise the minute their lips met that something was off. He’d been so caught up in wanting it to be her, wanting to believe that she felt the way he did about her. But even she’d tired of that game eventually, laughing at his naivety when she’d finally revealed she hadn’t even noticed him at the Yule Ball, she’d just thought it would be fun to see how long she could string him along because surely the top medical student couldn’t be that stupid? Well, apparently he was. He’d spilled the whole humiliating affair out in one of his emails to Alec. It makes perfect sense now that Alec had barely referenced the whole mess when he’d finally replied over a week later. Then again, it wasn’t like Alec had super reliable internet at the best of times, so it could also be that Magnus was projecting.

Getting up, Magnus paced over to the drinks cart, skipping his usual ice and pouring whiskey liberally into the waiting tumbler. Tossing it back in a single swallow Magnus tried to figure out what to do. It’s been a whole year since that photograph had been taken, it’d hardly be surprising if the intervening time had been enough to thoroughly destroy whatever feelings Alec might once have had for him. Did he really want to risk destroying their friendship a second time?

Yes.

The answer was immediate. He was in love with Alexander Lightwood and he had to know if there was any chance to make this work. Hell, he’d been prepared to follow the man to the other side of the world without the tiniest shred of real evidence to justify his hopes, now at least he knew it was possible. There had been real passion in that kiss and tenderness in the breakfast he’d made for him the next morning. He just hoped Alec was willing to give him a chance to show just how much he wanted that future.

To Be Continued

[laketaj24]

Ragnarssons: Meet the Daddies

A/N: Here they are!!!! I even done Sigurd!!! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Bjorn:  

- You and Bjorn have two children, Rhett (planned down to conception, we’re so ready!) and Lana (unplanned, wtf 8 years later)

- Bjorn works but often takes Rhett to work with him, and he’s actually good at helping with the business. Sweeps and greets customers

- Has totally forgot how to handle a newborn

- Purposely puts baby monitor on your night stand  and wakes you up each time she cries because his hearing is on point.

- Helps Rhett with homework but doesn’t use the instructions. “Common core, no. He needs to go to a school that teaches him straight math!” You touch his shoulder. “I have no clue where to start.” “This is why our teens are dropping out. I’m not even in school and wanna drop out because of this.” Looks down at Rhett. “Don’t drop out.” Rhett figures out answer quickly. “I won’t.”

- Watched YouTube videos with Rhett while dressing Lana. Never has her wearing matching clothes. “Baby, why in the world is she wearing those polka dots with that shirt?” Bjorn looks confused. “What do you mean! She looks fine.”

- Does not want his son to start to fight but... “Rhett if that little kid across the street hits you one more time... you deck him in his lip and tell his dad to come see me.”

- Enrolls him in jujitsu and you

- Never wraps Christmas presents, places them under the tree. Hates birthday parties

- Will never watch his nephews or nieces but sends his kids over to their house at the end of the driveway 😂 “Just push her stroller to the door Rhett. And tell Uncle Ubbe he owes me.”

- Lana usually sleeps in the bed with you two, always dreams his rolls over on her and sleeps on the foot of the bed with his feet hanging off

- Doesn’t let Ragnar keep the children but will leave them with Lagertha and Astrid from time time

Ubbe

- you and Ubbe have three children, Davin (Intelligent-Norse) Finn (Finder-Norse) Tait (Happy-Norse)

- Ubbe wants to keep trying because he wants two girls and you sneak birth control because you’ve been pregnant most of your marriage

- Your house is every child’s favorite because Ubbe plans strategic game nights making his team the little warriors and planning out the games

- Always dresses them and gets them ready for school, trains them to be gentleman and to have proper manners. “Davin, hold the door open for your mom.” The door falls on you and your mouth is open in shock. “Dav, that’s rude.” Davin shrugs. “Uncle Ivar says women should be inde-.” Ubbe cuts him off. “I told you them staying the night was a bad idea.”

- Active PTA member

- Watches tutorials on how do fun projects with kids completely messes them up

- Doesn’t trust any of his brothers with his kids

- Enrolls children in private school so they can get the proper education has parent teacher conferences every month and is all about education

- Takes pictures for every occasion

- Doesn’t like recreational sports because of competition and he’s definitely a “everyone’s a winner father.”

- Wouldn’t give Aslaug his children to keep because he’s not sure she’s responsible enough. “Mom all their meds are in here. Davin has to have his inhaler once every four hours and Tait is gassy. Finn is fine, keep an eye on the temp.” Watches his mom wonder through the kitchen not paying attention to him. “Actually that event got cancelled.” Scoops up his kids and diaper bag.

 Hvitserk

- You have all girls. Ella, Mya and Kimmie.

- Hvitserk is shocked with each one thinks your just gaining weight because he cooks so often

- Your youngest kimmie is his partner and crime and she doesn’t know it. He draws on her, and eats food off of her back while she sleeps

- Is the yes parent, can’t say no to anything they ask “Can we play outswide on the swing pulease?” Ella asks after her mom said no. “Of course.”

- Always catching his kids mid fall like a ninja

- Doesn’t help with homework, doesn’t know how to do it and stops after reading directions. Even if he knows how he pushes the kids off on you. “Match all the pairs...” he stares down at the jumbled mess of pictures. “Your mom is actually really good at matching anything! Go find her.”

- Plays hide and go seek with kids and falls asleep while seeking the kids

- Will let the children go with anyone at any time

- Never has everything he needs in the diaper bag.

- But packs the best lunches

- Attempts to comb their hair-fails. “Their ponytails just won’t stay in the right place.” You glance down at Ella’s ponytail on top of her head nearly at her forehead. “You tried.”

- Attends all the sporting events and is a very proactive parent, “Hey... is there a reason Mya isn’t playing because she’s better than like half of the kids out there with playing time.”

- Sleeps in their forts, is more intrigued with their cartoons than they are, “So hold up... Dora didn’t even call on the map this time?”

 Sigurd

- you and Sigurd have two kids. Whitney and Michael, not a coincidence they are named after music icons

- He teaches them music at a young age. Whitney the cello and Michael the guitar

- Rarely lets them around his family ever

- Spoils them with toys they don’t need but never complains. They have more fake drum sets and pianos than he does real

- Enrolls them in every play the neighborhood has and is usually part of parenting committees

- Teaches Whitney the minor scales and he and her harmonize notes hiding in the closet trying to convince you the house is haunted.

- Goes to the school most mornings but doesn’t converse with parents or teachers unless necessary

- Has them on a set schedule and gets mad when you don’t follow it. “Hey did Michael take his nap at three?” You shuffle through the kitchen looking for something to cook. “No we went your moms.” Sigurd pauses. “I mean they are on a schedule for a reason, damn it. My mom doesn’t even know their names half the time.

- Tucks them in a sings them to sleep, doesn’t let them sleep with you unless it’s necessary

 Ivar

- You have three children Omala (Earth), Izna (light) and Ira

- He instills independence in them immediately and makes them continue trying. Omala falls from her bike scraping her knee. She cries and you stand to go scoop her up and he stops you. “Omala, get up silly girl. Falling makes us tougher.” You squint your eyes but watch as she tussles with the bike and stands wiping her face.

- Makes sure they can fight, and they fight for one another. “If that girl says something else to you, you have my permission to hit her.” He shrugs. “She’ll learn not to call you names then.” You push him. “No Izna we don’t fight. Just ignore them.” He scoffs. “You sound like Ubbe, hit that little brat in her eye.”

- The baby boy is always in his arms, falling asleep on his chest or next to him on the couch

- Refuses to let them go to bed without reading first and makes them learn a new poem every month

- Teaches them Arabic and old Norse with you

- Plays sword fight with them every weekend and takes them to Ubbe’s house to defeat his troop 😂

- Will discipline anyone’s kid and dare his brothers to say something

- Has no time for nonsense with other children and will confront a parent in a heartbeat. “Hey you keep your little tyrant away from my kid. Because if he hits her again I’m gonna kick your ass.”

- Tells them old Norse folk tales after they read. Watches them sleep a while

[provincianx-blog]

what i learned from unlearning everything that i know

lessons from middle school, aurora, and beyond. 

at the age of fifteen, my mom forced my brother and me to leave our home in hayward, ca upon discovering that my dad had been using meth again and wasting all of his money on catfishes on the internet. 

my mom and dad had been separated for longer than my brother and I were aware of, but my mom finally had the courage to really leave him in july of 2011. she loved him her entire life, but she was done taking care of someone that wasn’t taking care of her. she was done taking care of someone who didn’t love her enough to take care of himself. she was done. 

while this seems incredibly simple, leaving hayward prompted what would turn into a 7 year identity crisis. 

as an outcast at every school i transferred to, i found a community on this website with my best friends from middle school and random strangers who loved harry potter and other fandoms as ridiculously as we did. true commitment to friendship would transcend from anonymous messages on tumblr to mutual follows on twitter. and here we are: in the age of twitter.

upon switching up different meds, after over a decade of looking for mental and emotional stability, i found out that i have bipolar-1, which still doesn’t make that much sense to me, but i’m beginning to understand it more than i did before.

i’m grateful to have been obsessed with star wars when i first saw revenge of the sith on opening night because of my tita and her husband’s work perks. i loved padme and she was my first crush but also my first example of a strong girl in mainstream film in addition to mulan (bruh i used my mulan costume for like 3 years and never gave a single HECK). i would then beg my dad to take me to blockbuster to watch the original trilogy, where i met carrie fisher/princess leia, who would radically transform how i saw the world and myself.

i grew up with my tita and tito. they took care of me when they were in college, and they’re still taking care of me now. i want to be able to take care of their kids and love them as much as they loved me growing up. i love them with all that i am and all that i can give. 

i studied politics because i wanted to make sure that my younger cousins and my baby brother would have a better world to grow up in than i did. it seems that my undiagnosed mental illness of nearly 14 years has been exacerbated by the political climate we live in today in 2018. 

i learned so much about life by learning about my own history, and i hope that everyone has this opportunity in their lifetime. it feels great, and the only one who seems to really get it is ariana grande. 

so here are 14 things i learned from being mentally ill and emo while being passionate about wanting to make the world a better and more habitable place. 

1. don’t trust the feds: a lot of 2nd amendment boys actually don’t trust the government as much as people think, and the 2A comes from settlers’ distrust in colonial Britain. the problems we see today are because the GOP has lured these same people and their kids (and their kids) into their corner by advocating for organizations like the NRA; gun control has reached the Supreme Court, but the 2nd amendment took precedent (i believe). gun control must come from the state and local governments, but political participation in these arenas are very low, especially for younger voters. i, as someone who has been involuntarily hospitalized despite voluntarily seeking medical help, am not allowed to buy a gun in the state of california for 5 years. and honestly, i really don’t care because i don’t want to need a gun anyway, but the poor and the middle class in the south feels that they need guns. 

2. stay woke: deray said this nearly everyday after michael brown was shot by darren wilson in ferguson, missouri. michael brown was my wake up call to reassess my complacency in the status quo and my participation in reinforcing anti-blackness. in the bay area, the n word was used so casually in places like union city/hayward that we became so desensitized to it. it’s still used casually, but non-black people like myself have no agency in saying it because we’re not black. it’s as simple as that. i began noticing how my family reacted to what would turn into the Black Lives Matter movement, and for the first time, i felt that i could no longer trust my relatives if they were complicit in the murders of black youth simply because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. i couldn’t even talk to them without crying because of how upset i got from the anti-blackness i would hear. i began to isolate myself and found community on twitter. 

3. our youth is a reflection of how good things were and how good things can become if we learn to build community: in addition to the community i found on tumblr through avatar, harry potter, and the beatles, i found community with all the losers who had xbox’s instead of ps3′s. we would hang out and play search and destroy (which i still cannot succeed in after all this time smh agjhgarhdfhre) or 1v1 each other on rust. my nerd friends would let my brother and I play with them regardless of how much we sucked, and they hyped me up even when my KDR was trash. these friendships would then transcend from mw2, halo 3, and into runescape. my brother is now really good at overwatch, and the friends i made in middle school are also really good at overwatch. the difference now is that they’re making money off of it, and i’m just like, “let’s get this bread, nerds!” thank you for being there for me even though i sucked at everything i tried doing. i was reminded of this when i watched “mid90s” by Jonah Hill. our youth was such a pure period of time, but it was also the time we lost ourselves through imposing harmful social norms onto each other, such as the idea that a girl cannot be “just friends” with a boy. but - here’s the kicker - i’m queer, and i don’t really like cis-het men hahahahahahahahaha but whatever. 

4. becoming american made me forget who i am: our immigrant parents teach us that the only way is to assimilate into white America, which is essentially what happened to black and brown people following the civil rights movement. the notion of egalitarianism/equality has been nothing but harmful for all of us nonetheless, fueling debates on affirmative action and pitting black people against asian people. one of my best friends from elementary school is in prison for trying to make a living with the resources and skills made available to him. he was apprehended in thousand oaks. he is a black man, and we grew up in the same environment, but his life has been so different since we were in elementary school. the concept of equality/egalitarianism stemming from civil war gains (13th-15th amendments) has manifested into the racial inequality we see today; in other words, the idea that white americans and POC are equal has been harmful because this has never been true and continues to be untrue. my filipino friends and i would get bullied by white latinos for not speaking english in america, which is why i learned to hate myself and my culture. i love myself and my culture, and i am fighting so that i can return home to the philippines someday. 

5. our bodies are different, and that’s okay: can y’all believe that i got bullied for not having boobs in the 3rd grade? this is what happens when young girls are sexualized so early. boys participate in this, and they turn out to be shitty boyfriends later on. girls will be girls. girls just wanna be treated like human beings instead of sexual objects. i don’t think this needs to be explained further. 

6. america is a settler-colonial state turned global power, and that is problematic: this country began with the murders and deaths of indigenous people because of imperalistic pursuits. it was built on the backs of slave labor from africa. it was reinforced by colonialism through the conquering of countries such as the philippines. we’re socialized to believe that there’s no place like america and that america is such a good place to be in, but that is only true for white Americans and POC who have integrated into white American suburbs. 

7. know history, know self: - jose rizal 

8. if my life wasn’t funny, it would just be true, and that is unacceptable - carrie f. fisher

9. at times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of - carrie f. fisher

10. rebellions are built on hope - princess/general leia organa + jyn erso

11. we have nothing to lose but our chains - assata shakur

12. keep ya head up - tupac shakur

13. everything i’m not made me everything i am - kanye west

14. i remember you was conflicted

misusing your influence

sometimes i did the same

abusing my power full of resentment

resentment that turned into a deep depression

found myself screaming in the hotel room

i didn’t wanna self destruct

the evils of lucy was all around me

so i went running for answers

until i came home

but that didn’t stop survivor’s guilt

going back and forth trying to convince myself the stripes i earned

or maybe how a-1 my foundation was

but while my loved ones was fighting the continuous war back in the city

i was entering a new one

a war that was based on apartheid and discrimination

made me wanna go back to the city and tell the homies what i learned

the word was respect

just because you wore a different gang color than mine’s

doesn’t mean i can’t respect you as a black man

forgetting all the pain and hurt we caused each other in these streets

if i respect you, we unify and stop the enemy from killing us

but i don’t know, i’m no mortal man

- kendrick lamar

[wouldadepressedpersonmakethis]

phone wars

STORE 1: “Mobicity”

IDRIS ELBA (45, reserved by kate aa) - store manager: super intense!!!!! runs his store like he’s running an army!!!! treats every sale like a life or death situation!!! has some raymond holt vibes too??? like this, this, this, and this are all him! expects peRFECTION from his employees!!!! the interview process is inSANE!!!!!! definitely treats the other stores and their employees like mortal enemies!!!!! his office is conveniently located so that he can spy on the store two stores. also has some john mulaney’s dad vibes. “you have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair” “god can’t hear you” “how are you better than a nazi?” “let’s change the subject” “1 black coffee”

MICHEAL B. JORDAN (31 , reserved by kate aa) - didn’t believe that IDRIS ELBA was a real person but heard stories from his sister. forged an impressive resume and got a job as his assistant manager. got the job just so he could mess w/ idris for fun???? super talented at pretending like he’s got his shit together when in reality he’s super lazy (except when it comes to playing elaborate pranks). secretly dating melissa benoist

RICHARD AYOADE (41) - salesperson, always nervous!!! brilliant but no social skills, terrified of idris, talks fast, throws up when he gets nervous, “i’m okay as long as i don’t think about it!” you could spill soup on him and he’d probably apologize to you

KATIE MCGRATH (35) - idris’s assistant; once dated chris pine; may or may not have gotten this job just to desTROY him; super ambitious/intelligent; could be doing any number of things w/ her life but she’s also kind of petty; has a lot of meryl streep in the devil wears prada vibes, does have a lot of respect for idris but also has plans to over-throw him; can be intense?????? only cares about 1 person (her sister/cousin/bff???) still attracted to chris pine but u won’t hear her say that

ZOEY DEUTCH (23) - katie’s assistant; STRESS LEVEL IS CONSTANTLY A 11/10; def has anne hathaway’s job in tdwp; got this job by mistake; is the furthest thing from organized; applied for a janitor position b/c that’s all she’s qualified to do here but somehow her resume got mixed up??? *** she thinks it was a mistake but it was actually just a prank that MBJ played*** faking it until she makes it??? or rather until she gets fired heh. pretending to be an uptight harvard grad but instead hardly graduated hs and doesn’t know how to adult; may or may not have spent her entire first pay check on fuzzy socks and mozzarella sticks.

??? another lady 

STORE 2: “What’s App”

CHARLIE DAY (42) -- an idiot, super chill and laid back, somehow always accidentally thwarts the others’ plans to destroy him! a human disaster but somehow everything just works out for him. his store is a mess tbh??? very unorganized but somehow the most successful of the three??

DYLAN O’BRIEN (26) -- wanted to work for store #1 with a deep passion and intensity!! looks @ idris elba as his idol??? potentially calls him dad accidentally a lot??? idk its weird and IDRIS ELBA got super annoyed with him constantly applying to work for him so instead he sent him to work at store 2 as a “spy”. he takes this role suPER seriously and basically thinks he’s james bond. never gets anything at all helpful for idris elba. has a weird and elaborate fake back story for going undercover. most people can tell he is a “spy”?

ZENDAYA (21) (reserved by lizzy) - younger sister to MBJ and GMR. college student. this is 100% the best summer job she’s ever had. super unmotivated to do well most of the time and just tricks #2 to do all of her work for her. loves just to sit back and watch the chaos unfold.

KRYSTEN RITTER (36 , reserved by kate aa) - IT, monotone voice, always wears black, likes to pretend that she’s a satanist to fuck with people, surrounded by idiots, hates everyone, do not engage her in psychological warfare b/cs she will deSTROY you

BLAKE LIVELY (30 , reserved by kate aa) - heavy beatrice/eugenie vibes~ under skills she listed: i know how to do makeup and have an iphone, only got and has kept this job b/c her manager is as clueless as she is???? does try to be helpful but honestly makes things worse, doesn’t understand you have to put in a full eight hours a day??? often leaves for several hours at at time for lunch??? sometimes just doesn’t come back??? grew up super wealthy and was recently disinherited by her parents after she got into a huge fight w/ them over something stupid?? too proud to go crawling back but tbh she is def drowning in the real world.

MAX GREENFIELD (37) LOUD, yells a LOT, hired as the new brand manager. is grossed out 24/7 by the state of the store; sUPER dramatic; always saying how he’s going to have a heart attack working here (probably will tbh), also says he’s going to die of a rare disease working w/ charlie day (also probably true), has goals to rebrand this as a luxury phone store (closer in style to Oasis vs. a garbage). has his work cut out for him 

STORE 3: “Oasis”

CHRIS PINE (37, reserved by lizzy) -- super wealthy!!!, spoiled!!!! a huge ass!!!!! his father is the CEO but he wanted his son to work his way up the ranks on his own vs. just handing the business over to him. has become manager here but that’s as far as he’s gotten. will do whatever it takes to make his branch the most successful!!!! soooo dramatic!!!!! the level of bitchiness in him is absurd!!! definitely considers IDRIS ELBA to his his (1) true enemy!!!!!! def considers manager #2 to be worthless and beneath his notice (don’t mention that he’s actually his biggest competition)!!! has probably won the shithead of the year award. hits on his assistant 24/7 has anger management issues

GUGU MBATHA-RAW (35) - michael b. jordan’s older sister. chris pine’s secretary. the sweetest person in the world!!!!!!! does NOT deserve to work for someone like chris pine. doesn’t realize how much of an awful person he is just because she can’t believe anyone could be that awful???? would come home and tell her siblings about work and the rivalry and neither of them could believe it but then they all got jobs at the other two stores just to see if it was what gugu had said ... turns out its even better.

TIMOTHY OLYPHANT (50, reserved by lizzy) - hired by chris pine’s dad to keep him in line and make sure that he doesn’t do anything to harm the family’s or the company’s reputation. it is a fulltime job!!!! constantly stressed!!!! constantly like: idk what i expected!?!?!? keeps trying to talk sense to chris pine but that’s like talking to a brick wall??? sometimes tries to tell him not to do something in the hopes that he will actually do it ... but that never works either ... will probably die from a heart attack soon. spends his days apologizing to everyone  

MELISSA BENOIST (29, reserved by lizzy) - secretly dating michael b. jordan, her job is basically to keep everyone she knows alive???? helP, loves MBJ a lot but he does stress her out sometimes, kind of OCD, works too hard, super driven, just needs to relax, honestly hates this job but just holding it while she finishes up med school, bffs w/ zoey, somehow emily thinks they are bffs??? but melissa doesn’t have the heart to tell her that they aren’t

EMILY BLUNT (35, taken by kate aa) mary eileen vibes~ An Author™ (but not really) trolls her amazon reviews and obsesses over every bad one, hardly does any work? is “in love” with TIMOTHY and is convinced that he is in love with her too even though he’s blatantly told her that he is not, thinks they can’t be together b/c they are co-workers and that they are involved in some kind of forbidden romance???? is the office manager and has def put a lot of personal expenses on it w/ shaky, at best, justifications for why they needed to be charged to the company

JERMAINE CLEMENT (?) method actor. currently is trying to get a role as a vampire. never breaks character. it gets weird. 

STORE 4: a fro-yo shop that’s stuck in the middle of the war zone “Sprinkles on Top”

DREAMA WALKER (32) - believes all you need is a hug and some frozen yogurt to have a good day!!!! but the arrival of the three competing phone stores is testing everything she thinks she knows!!!!! her shop has now become hostile territory b/c all of her customers are mostly just the workers on break and they all just stare each other down!!!!!!! has become super aggressive in her attempts to try to get everyone to just get along and be happy!!!

CHRIS O’DOWD? JAKE JOHNSON (38-40 reserved by lizzy) - watched too many nature documentaries on netflix, feels like he morally needs to be a vegetarian now but can’t stop eating meat, so instead he justifies himself by making up elaborate stories about how the chicken he’s eating has unforgivable character flaws, talks at length about this to the customers? doesn’t have great social skills,has conversations with his cat more than w/ actual people; calls himself the alchemist b/c he once managed to burn his laundry, “i didn’t even know you could do that!”

NICK ROBINSON (23 , reserved by kate aa) - has a mild peanut allergy but took this job anyway. “i live life on the edge” ~ nick “you don’t” ~everyone else, has had a crush on ZENDAYA, got this job to be close to her after they went to different colleges? loves bad jokes, a Nerd, writes fanfiction, has won employee of the month every month since he was hired but tbh his competition isn’t that hard to beat, both proud and embarrassed to see his picture up on (the wall) so many times,

JON BERNTHAL? BEN BARNES?  (reserved by kate aa)- actually a hitman and this job is just a cover, honestly a terrible liar and everyone can tell what he actually does but pretend they don’t??? inSANELY good at his hitman job ... not so good at serving frozen yogurt? doesn’t have any customer service skills tbh, honestly comes off as pretty terrifying? looks @  everyone like he might just kill you, tbh dreama is a little afraid to fire him?? doesn’t look like he works here???

ANNA KENDRICK (33, reserved by lizzy) - always come to work hungover, the queen of TMI, hits on everything and anything that moves, tbh a sexual harassment situation just waiting to happen, dreama’s younger sister/cousin and was only given this job as a favor, tbh is not working out as well as dreama had hoped.

AWKWAFINA (29) has killed every plant she has ever owned (doesn’t stop her from getting more!), dumps all the toppings on her fro yo. constantly is eating ~free~ frozen yogurt and doesn’t realize that after her 1 cup a day limit, the rest comes out of her paycheck. still lives with her parents. lOUD. ZERO FILTER. will say whatever is on her mind at any time. is TERRIBLE with secrets and is pretty sure she’s gonna drop to someone that melissa and michael are dating and get them both fired! yay! bffs w/ melissa benoist, 

[neth-dugan]

Nine Worlds - Friday

Thursday found [here]

After having had only a couple hours sleep, we got up and got ready for the day. Some of us took longer than others, and no that wasn’t me. @laalratty @knittedace and I went to get breakfast outside of costume and then went back to our rooms to get properly dressed. I also had a nap on the bed as the first session doesn’t start until 10am, which helped I think. But I did spend the rest of the day very tired.

EDUCATION AT HOGWARTS

The first panel I went to at the convention proper, and @unwoundbobbin was on it which was a bonus. 

It was a fun talk in which everyone agreed that education at Hogwarts is severely lacking, completely skips some very important subjects and really needs to look at quality of teaching.

As much as we are meant to root for Hogwarts and its independence, it’s an industry checking itself and what happens when people we don’t like are in charge? Someone said that it’s a great thing to show teachers who are fed up with having a curriculum and ofsted inspections. I agree. There was also a lot of talk that as much as muggle studies needs to be better and mandatory, there needs to be an introductory course for muggle raised students so they know what they’re getting into, the world they’re dumped in and so on. And, as a panelist pointed out, to better know all the shibboleths. She also mused that this may be exactly the reason they don’t do that and honestly, probably true.

ACE REPRESENTATION

So, I did a panel on a similar theme several years back and I was curious how this one would go. It took a different tone but times have moved. A lot of the panelists are relatively new to the community but then there was Nat Titman who is one of the founding persons of the asexual community. 

I didn’t learn a lot, but it was nice to be in a room with a ton of aces talking about ace things. Aros talking about aro things. People still hating on Moffat for the crap he has spewed. Being inclusive aof aros and demis. Which I know for a fact meant a lot to some, as I was talking to a demi person at that meeting later that day who brought it up. I got to espouse my theory on how Yuuri Katsuki is so so very demi even if language, culture and censorship means it’ll never be explicitly canon. 

BSL FOR GEEKS

This was amazing! I know how to say thank you and ‘g’ and that is it. So this was pretty great. Aside from being able to tell you my name at the end, I was delighted to learn the sign for Star Trek is literally the Vulcan salute. I also learnt how to say ‘Space, the final frontier’ though I probably do it with a massive accent. I learnt that this is the new sign coming up for trans:

...and tumblr provides a demonstration of this. Not video from the con.

Which is related to the sign for soul.  Also I learned the sign that’s becoming popular for queer which is a ‘q’ in the motion of a rainbow and it’s awesome.

There were lots of character names and phrases and there’s no way I’m going to remain most of it. And I had a weird hand thing going on that this made worse. So by the end of it, my hand hurt a fair bit. But it was fantastic. It was presented by a a group of interpreters and deaf people who bounced off of each other really well. One person even forgot how to spell their own name. But given a person who shall remain nameless forgot what their name even was at a different session? This isn’t the worst I heard of. 

I really loved it, and this was one of my favourite sessions at the entire convention. I wanted to go to the after dark one for adults only, in which there’d be swearing, but alas I had to take care of my hand and so decided it was a no go.

EVERYBODY HATES MORAL PHILOSOPHERS: THE ETHICS OF THE GOOD PLACE

I’m a big fan of this show. I came across it on Netflix and then got my Mom into it and it is brilliant. It’s smart and funny and thinky all at once. This session was more of a lecture than a panel or workshop which fit, because the person giving it is a philosophy professor. Not a moral philosopher, but a philosopher.

It turns out that it isn’t so much that everyone hates moral philosophers, it’s just really hard to be one. But whilst we were waiting for the session to start I spotted a person in front of me dressed up as Janet. I asked to confirm and was told, perfectly in character that interesting fact, they were Janet. And proceeded to give me a cactus sticky note with a Janet phrase on it. I sent a photo and a test to my Mom who loved it.

 ...I do have a picture, but didn’t ask permission to post on the internet so here is a close approximation minus cactus. 

The lecture itself was pretty interesting. Turns out the writers are using real philosophy and real books and theories and the like when making the show. I can see how Chidi would get so anxious if he follows Kant. Even the text books given to Eleanor are ones the speaker has themselves and sees as foundational texts. So yay! She went through a few schools of philosophy that pop up in the show and it was fun.

Someone pointed out that it seemed that each of the human four seemed to be missing one of the classical virtues. The speaker agreed. There was lots of debate about fair or just the system in this show is, and also how much about it we can objectively know given Michael’s aim in the first season. I pointed out that the entire thing seemed to be unfair to those with disadvantages or some mental health conditions. The last episode of the latest season, without getting into spoilers too much, entirely takes advantage of things about two characters that they’ve no way of doing away with and/or find near impossible to control. It sucks. There seemed to be agreement on this. Privilege, it seems, exists in the systems of The Good Place as we currently know them.

ASSIMILATION AND IDENTITY IN STAR TREK

This was a session hosted by Jaime who some may know and is pretty awesome. I don’t always agree with them on everything but I do appreciate them. And I didn’t agree with a good amount of what was said here. Not that I think it’s wrong, just that some of it is a matter of perspective and assigning aims and motivations to characters that aren’t, to me, clear in canon. I tend to think Worf handed his son off to his parents because he never asked for a kid, didn’t know he had one, works a dangerous job, has no experience parenting and lives on a ship that goes through a major crisis on a fairly regular basis. But people can disagree.

There are some things about Trek that.... aren’t the best. The whole area around the Ferengi is a tricky area and a bit of a mess. I love them, I love the actors, I love some of their episodes, but there are anti-semitic tropes in there made all the more there by the fact that most of the Ferengi actors are of Jewish decent. It’s problematic. It’s meant to be a critic of capitalism and modern culture. Of US. I’ve heard various Trek folk basically state that of all the species in Star Trek, the Ferengi represent modern day humans. But. They fell back on some problematic crap and there’s no way of escaping that.

There was one point when I was a bit worried it was going to get a bit anti-atheist but it didn’t thank goodness. And that’s a whole other thing.

There’s a clip that’s pretty famous amongst DS9 fans, that you fan find here, that exemplifies some of what this panel was about. Not all of it, but some. It was running through my head for sure. After the session ended a group of us had a chat after. It brought up a lot of things to talk about, new ways of looking at things and agree or not that’s usually a good thing.

...Moogie!

‘OH, BRILLIANT.’ ANTICIPATING THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR

This one had @knittedace on the panel! She’d been talking about doing it last year and here we were . She in her hand knitted Dalek dress, me in the audience feeling a bit woozy and tired. 

Mostly, it did exactly what the tin said. People being excited for Thirteen, recalling days when they’d written fic on the idea but never thought it possible, what people wanted to see or not see and the like. Mostly, it was a feel good panel with happy people glad for a new start that would bring in new and old fans alike.

Someone on the panel pointed out that for some kids, they’ll have never known a time when The Doctor couldn’t be a woman. For whom their Doctor is a woman. And that is amazing. And she gets to keep her accent too, and there is hope we will see some of the North this season. Not just more London, or Cardiff as London.

For myself, I’ve always figured some Time Lords could change genders and sexes. Some couldn’t. And doing so was some kind of Time Lord intersex thing. But I was never really rooting for a woman Doctor.... yet when they announced it was going to happen? I was excited and relieved in a way I hadn’t imagined I would be.

Bring it on.

INTERVAL

At this point I found myself in the bar with some ginger ale talking to some people I’ve never med before. One was a demi person who had been at the Ace Rep talk and was very relieved to see demis included. I explained about the history of the flag and how they’re explicitly on it. Outside of some gatekeepers, the ace community I know has always embraced those other identities under the ace umbrella. 

Me, them and a friend of theirs made our way downstairs after a good chin wag to get good seats for the next panel. We figured we’d probably need them and coincidentally we were all going to the same one. 

FROM A/B/O TO DUBIOUS CONSENTACLES

I’m still not sure what dubious consentacles are to be honest. My mind goes to dubcon hentai but I’m probably wrong. This panel was after 10pm, the last of the day and very much adult only. I was in my TNG uniform and there was a Trek fan vid screening in the room across the hall so a volunteer checked I was where I wanted to be whilst we were waiting for it to start. Which was sweet, people do get lost down there.  Also, @unwoundbobbin was there which was a hoot.

The entire thing was a hoot to be honest. Not that formal, and mostly people sharing things they’d seen online, talk about the value of tagging, and wonder at the way fandom just comes together and decides on what dubious biology looks like. I shared the story of the early early days of Star Trek fandom how writers would come up with new weird and wonderful ways of depicting Spock’s genitals. I just think it’s something everyone should know. Fandom has been like this for a long time. 

I wont go into detail of the things discussed. But it’s amazing how trends change over time, how even over multiple fandoms some of these tropes become so accepted nobody has to explain anything. We just know how it works and dive right into a kind of shared ‘verse thing.

There were some things mentioned that I hadn’t heard of and are very much not talking about on this post. But interesting.

Honestly, this was another of my favourite panels this convention. It was so much fun. So much. Some people were a bit tipsy I think.

I did warn the two mods that I was pretty tired so if my eyes looked funny or closed, I wasn’t asleep, I was just squinting. I got so enthused by the cracky fun of it all though that I needn't have worried. I also found it amusing just how many ace spectrum folk there were there. 

After this I went back to my room. I got changed, went to bed hoping for a better night sleep than the one before. So very very tired. I’d had a great day but I was tired and I needed sleep urgently. Especially as the tired thing was not helping the dizzy thing. Thankfully I did get some sleep, not as good as home but I god some. 

[SATURDAY IS HERE]

[smellycinnamonthundahfudge]

tumblr fweinds

a year ago, i was tagged by @suplosers on two questionnaires and it is only now, a year later that i was able to answer em. i’m so sorry it took me this long but yah i’m just glad to get thru dis milestone, answering the first tumblr get to know ya post i was @ at... yaayyy ^^

rules: answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people.

I tag: tbd haha i still have to dig thru meh notifs to see which ones apparently took an interest in me so i’d like to take an interest in as well haha but oh @you-guys--are-losers, ur doing this whahaha hope it’s not too much of a bother, no presh watsoever ;3

the last

1. drink: ughh it's dis shitty stuff called hydrite w/c is basically salt water cus im sick rn and it's supposed to rehydrate ur shts or something hahaha

but dat was like a week ago... as of da moment i posted dis, it’s coffee from mini stop dat i drank at like 530 in da morn while i waited until i could enter the school cus i had to commute 3 hours w/ lil to none sleep

2. phone call: my father or one of my best friends

3. text message: the last one i texted was my sister and the last one i got a text from was dis org in school about the location for recruitment/auditions/interview

4. song you listened to: billy jean by michael jackson and i listened to it for meh tomdaya fic hahaha. But i also listened to halo by beyonce, untouchable and dress by taylor swift, and some other songs magmt mentions in her tomdaya fic hehe a week ago

rn, a metal cover of toxic by our last night

5. time you cried: haha i don't actually remember the context of it (i could find out tho haha cus i sent da pic to my best friend) but i took a pic of it while i did it which was on... july 16 hahaha. Oh but w8 oh sht i think i cried after that fudge w8 i don't remember the date (i think i can find this out too hahaha) but i wrote a sortof goodbye confessions letter to one of my dear friends and i wrote there that i externally cried (b4 i just said internally haha) so i'm not entirely sure i cried but i think im pretty sure i teared up hehe

6. dated someone twice: hahaha i haven't even had a legit love interest yet 😆😂 buuutt my best friend and i have "dated" as in spent entire days together w/ just the two of us, we even went to mcdonalds for valentine's day and got each other gifts hihihi aahhh gosh i miss her :'(

7. kissed someone and regretted it: haha im not even sure if dis happened and i have no plans on asking her about it but i remember when i was a kiddo, when my sis came home for some reason i kissed her on the lips hahaha dont remember if accidental or i just brain farted heck i aint even sure if it happened but das all i can answer cus well like i said, see #6 😆😂😆😂

8. been cheated on: hhmmm probs not, i have no idea if ive been cheated on in an unromantic way hahaha but in da romantic way, like i said, no love interest hahaha

Oh w8 does being someone's crush (i aint sure but it seemed like it) and crushing on dat dude but dat dude crushing on someone else too count as cheating? 😆😂😆😂

9. lost someone special: yes, all of my grandparents are dead. I've also lost pets, and i fear i may lose some of my friends due to the distance among us in this time of our lives

10. been depressed: i always wanna be careful over how to define depression. Like wat constitutes it... but yes, i think i have. Not sure, mind you, but yes, at the beginning of gr 7 i was really alone, i think i was bullied and i think i was depressed and going thru a really dark phase of my life back then. But then again, i have to say, i'm not sure.

11. gotten drunk and thrown up: hahaha nope. I'm looking forward to getting drunk tho. Im currently underage so im not allowed to drink dat much yet but yeah i wanna know my limits hehehe i hope im da kinda gurl who can handle her liquor but i have drank and i have to say it made me all loopy and weird and just like woke or high or something hahaha so yeah man im excited to get trashed on my 18th bday hahaha (hopefully i get to do this tho huhuhu)

3 favourite colours

12. Pink

13. Blue

14. Gray

in the last year have you

15. made new friends: yyeeesssss and i'm so glad i have hihi. I have made friends w/ a select group of my blockmates and they're awesome and weird, i hope to strengthen our bond in da future hehe. Ooohhh and i sure hope that you guys are losers is my friend cus she's been rlly great :')

16. fallen out of love: i guess the closest i've come to falling out of love in a romantic way is moving on from da heavy crushin on meh crush. But i dunno, i still think he's a unicorn n pretty special to me so i dunno hahaha.

But bro, i do think i have fallen out of love. With tv shows, with characters. Like i used to be so passionate about a few shows and characters but now all i have towards them is regret heck i cant even remember wat dey are but i know dat der was love lost. I know it.

17. laughed until you cried: hahaha yaasss i think so. It's either when i was with my best dearest friends or during the class of dis really cool and funny as heck joker teacher who makes us laugh in EVERY SINGLE CLASS hahaha ahhh das guy's so cool

18. found out someone was talking about you: oohh yah yah i think so. Either from my best friends or from a few of my old classmates i care about and had gotten close with. Da best friend ones was about something in my past/history (g7) and the classmates one i think was just dem talking about me and they told me about it ooohhh i think it was my crush hahahaha. They told me dat my crush actually admired me a lot hehe. There was one time my friend (the one who told me about dis) was putting make up on me for a school film, and my crush was da cam guy and he told my friend i looked pretty. Sooo im pretty lucky dat- oh sht w8 i dunno if it's dis year but oh w8 no, it was on my bday last year (dec 20) and da same friend said she was sorry cus apparently da bois make fun of me or something and she was sorry cus she laughed along too hahaha but i didnt mind cus i know im weird and i dont even know what dey say about me in da first place hahahaha. Ok das it im done, i think ive overshared now hahaha 😆😂😆😂

19. met someone who changed you: my best friends. Ive thought about it based on wat sup losers said about change for da better and i dont rlly think of change as something dat happens quick, i think it happens over time and u dont even notice it. So ok oh sht i think im wrong cus i met my best friends 4/6 years ago hahaha but for reals tho, i was in a dark place and if it werent for dem i think id still be lost lonely and sad. Uuhhmmm in regards to answering the question correctly, i guess my blockmates count since they inspire/challenge me to be better. OH SHT W8 i def think you guys are losers and dead end street and tomdaya receipts and tout de suite have changed me hehehe. Da first 2 in dat dey inspired me to write more hehe. Da 1st one inspired me to do this so i think this counts as change hehe. And da last 2 changed me in dat bcus i met dem, i became OBSESSED w/ tomdaya hahaha.

20. found out who your friends are: yes, i have actually. And it's all because i am now currently a college freshman as well as my friends.

21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: hahaha my fam i guess hahaha. But no one in a romantic context.

general

22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: hhmmm i guess id say about 200 since i know 4 sections of around 40 ppl and da rest is like fam and ppl ive met once/twice or have passed by haha

23. do you have any pets: yaaaassss 3 doggos: albie, juju, and biggie girl. Juju has a pupper named tchalla called dat cus he black hehehe and biggie has 2 biglets named mermer (meredith) and crissy (cristina) cus they're sisters 😍😊😊

My fam have also had a buncha dogs n puppers before but they were either given away or passed away. My bro also has dis cat named bob and i think he counts as a semi pet since my bro's home is a fam home.

24. do you want to change your name: uuhhh i wish i had an alliterative name like superheroes. Buutt im pretty happy w/ my name :')

25. what did you do for your last birthday: oohhhh i think i was at my section's christmas party it was pretty nice n emotional and i spent da rest of da day w/ 2 of meh best friends who bought me cake n food when my own fam didn't 😆😂😆😂

26. what time did you wake up: 4 am to shit cus im sick, but fell asleep again and officially got up around 730 or 8ish

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: haha tryna stay awake cus i had to drink meh meds and failed oh so much and i think i was asleep by midnight hahaha

28. name something you can’t wait for: tomdaya content, chatting/being w/ my best friends, watching da stuff i wanna watch, tumblring, reading sht i wanna read, vacation, writing fanfics, learning how to do a buncha stuff (write screenplays, make films n gifs, draw better), my bday when i hopefully get to do wat i want haha, avengers 4 and smffh, and captain marvel and antman and the wasp too i guess haha oh and the incredibles 2 and httyd 3 😍😍😍 oohhh and crazy rich asians

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: on monday which was when i was at home and not at my dad's n sis' n i's apartment in manila for school/work

31. what are you listening to right now: commercials on da tv as i answer this long ass questionnaire hahaha

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: hahaha i had to think about dis one but yah i have actually haha he was my gr 8 class mate n i like to think semi friend back den at least haha. Oh w8 but he doesn't go by tom tho, it's just thomas haha

33. something that is getting on your nerves: myself hahaha my shitty lazy ass procrastinating self hahaha 😅🙍

34. most visited website: fb specifically messenger, youtube, and tumblr

35. hair colour: hmmm black w/ a bit of brown i guess (ASIAN, YO! 😆😂😆😂)

36. long or short hair: neither, medium i guess haha. I like how long hair looks but it's such a bother n hassle haha. So i def would prefer short hair on a practical standpoint hahaha (im actually thinking of shaving the hair above my nape, yknow on da back of my head hehe)

37. do you have a crush on someone: well i dont have dat much of a crush on da crush i mentioned before, like i said haha. I have a crush on tomdaya, does dat count? 😆😂

38. what do you like about yourself: hahahaha nothing 😆😂😆😂🙍

Naahh uhhh i guess i like how much i love tv shows, i love meh fangirl self, and i like how diff n unique n weird i am, how i stand out, n dat i think my dreams are noble n worth tryin out. N i like how supportive n nice i am n im just chill on da outside haha. N sometimes i like meh face hehe. And i think dat im hilarious n weird n ppl should appreciate me more hahaha das y i crave for more validation dan consulting researchers hahaha (no one laughs at dat jokes and it's like im da only one who finds it funny and come on, man, i managed to make a research joke. Cant ya give a girl a break?)

n i guess sometimes it's good how much i care but sometimes i wish my feels could just chill for just like a minute pls

Thanks, man. I usually just focus on meh bad qualities so thanks for dis question, man :')

oh and i like dat i can swim hehe

39. piercings: i have holes on my ears for earrings but i don't really wear dem

40. blood type: a, i think?

41. nickname: sam, sab, and i rlly want to be called smells cus it's like a more me version of mels from melody hahaha

42. relationship status: single, yo. Oh w8 but i am married to my bed and fandoms so dey always come first. Plus i love my friends 😍😊

43. zodiac: sagittarius i think but i dont rlly know/care about zodiac sht. Tho it's nice if it does match up hehe

44. pronouns: uhhh i dont know wat to put here but i assume dis refers to wat i wish to be referred by ssoooo she, her, and a genderless pronoun in my language siya

45. favourite tv show: ughh i cant choose. Friends, grey's anatomy, phineas and ferb, avatar: the last airbender, black mirror, doctor who, and all of michael schur's stuff, and modern family, grimm, person of interest, pushing daisies, scrubs, happy endings, forever, how i met your mother, gravity falls, sherlock, and yknow wat? Yah, supernatural too and the httyd shows and suits :') oooohhh w8 and how to get away w/ murder and i guess big bang theory as well 😃 the end of the fucking world, legends of tomorrow, crazy ex-girlfriend, the good place, timeless but it’s kinda depressing so speaking of w/c game of thrones and west world and a series of unfortunate events and stranger things and scorpion and lost in space and for anime, let’s go with yakitate japan and boku no hero academia

46. tattoos: none, but i rlly want one and even have a list of tattoos i want (pretty minimalist), i just have to think of da perf place tho (both where to put it and where to get it) and find out if i can still donate meh bod if i have tattoos, but one of da ones i rlly want is smileys on meh fingers hehe

47. right or left handed: right, but my ma says im kinda ambidextrous n i kinda wish i could develop it hehe

48. surgery: haha nope, never. But in terms of an interest, i love grey's anatomy 😆😂

50. sport: ooohh my main sport is swimming cus my siblings are all swimmers so i am too. But i have played other sports for school like badminton, table tennis, volleyball, some water game i dont remember haha, and a combat sport in my country called arnis

51. vacation: christmas vacay and i cant wait huhu

52. pair of trainers: uhhh are trainers rubber shoes? I have a couple, i guess.

GENERAL

53. eating: my dad (who cooked our meal), sis, and i ate afritada (chicken dat's tomatoey basically) for dinner

54. drinking: just water, but ugh i have to drink da hydrite sht again 😑😒

55. I’m about to: finish dis questionnaire n fall asleep haha

56. waiting for: sleep n happiness

57. want: to sleep n write n tumblr n watch n read n for all my problems to disappear

58. get married: yeahhh... but i think it's highly unlikely, man. So i aint counting on it but i do want it to happen, it seems nice having someone to spend da rest of your life with :')

59. career: hahaha i'm still just a college student, just a newly minted freshman actually. But i like to consider myself a fulltime fangirl hahaha

WHICH IS BETTER

60. hugs or kisses: well, i havent rlly made out with anyone yet so im gonna have to say hugs i guess w/c ofc i love haha but i wish someone bigger than me could cuddle me for once in my life 😢

61. lips or eyes: lips cus they just seem so soft and sensual hehe. Plus i dunno man, eyes are kinda gross with muta (da sht in da corner of ur eyes when you wake up, it's a filipino word) and sht. And ya have to wear glasses/contacts if dey weak so it's just such a hassle. Tho i do recognize their importance n stuff 😊

62. shorter or taller: ugh TALLER. im a pretty tall gal so for once id like to be da lil spoon for once, for someone to be able to carry me and ya know all dat jazz. But i wouldnt give up my height for anything, makes me feel confident and better than everyone else mwuehehehehehehe

63. older or younger: uuuhhh for now i think it's a bit weird to date someone younger dan me, but for me personally, wat age i'd like to be, YOUNGER ALL DA WAY. it was just way less stressful and innocent back den, id give anything to go back 🙍

64. nice arms or nice stomach: haha nice arms if it means i can swing around them and they can carry me whahaha. But i do like em abs, i wanna feel wat abs feel like just once in my life hahaha

65. hookup or relationship: ooohhh i guess i fancy myself having a relationship for now hehe. Havent even had one yet haha.

66. troublemaker or hesitant: i am a hesitant troublemaker whahahahaha. Like i have all these ideas of thangs to do n sometimes i do dem but sometimes da situation n context scares me into not doing it like a wuss hahaha

HAVE YOU EVER:

67. kissed a stranger: haha nope.

68. drank hard liquor: haha nope but am looking forward to it hehe

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: thankfully i havent needed any yet whew

70. turned someone down: uhhh i guess the closest i came to "turning someone down" was being awkward around my crush haha but to be fair i think he was awkward too hahaha. And in an unromantic sense, i turned down a blockmate who offered to be my partner in an assignment becus i already had a partner hahahaha 😅

71. sex on the first date: haha havent experienced it if das wat ur askin. Maybe imma be dat kinda person after ive had a couple of relationships but for now i'll settle for someone actually being interested in me hahaha

73. had your heart broken: yes, by tv shows, and by da crappiness of life in general 🙇

74. been arrested: hahahaha nope but dat would be CRAZY hahaha

75. cried when someone died: yes, whether in real life or in tv shows, i have cried bcus of death 😢

76. fallen for a friend: look, man, my best friend's probably the most important person in my life who i couldnt bear to lose. I love her more dan anything in da world so i dunno if our friendship is something more dan da "typical" best friends i just know dat i love her n dat i dont wanna lose her n dat our bond's nothing like any other relationship ive ever had

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

77. yourself: hahahaha not rlly 😅 im pretty unreliable tbh and i make tons of mistakes and ill never be enough ever and just in general hate myself and have 0 self esteem hahaha 😅😅😅😓

But there's a chance i could improve tho, a very very VERY small tiny chance... but i guess i'll take wat i can get :/

78. miracles: hhmmm not in da way most ppl think about miracles in dat, it's da impossible event. I like to think it's a miracle that i have the family dat i have, da friends dat i have, and da life dat i have cus honestly i think i'd be dead w/o em. It's a fucking miracle i have things im passionate about and things that i love and im surrounded by ppl who i love and who love me as well. So yeah, i guess i believe in those kinds of miracles :')

79. love at first sight: hahaha not rlly. Look, man, im a fat girl who doesnt rlly care dat much about looks so unless a person manages to fall for someone while dat someone was doing something dat was a huge indicator of their personality and thus it's not only da appearance dat da person "fell in love w/", den i rlly dont believe in love at first sight. It's just infatuation, bruh. Love at first sight is cheap and u dont rlly know any thing about dat person other than the fact that they're pretty (why they caught ur eye in da 1st place imo) and nothin, zilch. Unless, like i said, they were doing something important to dem n indicative of deir personality. But even then, it wouldnt be love. Like i said, it'd be infatuation cus imo love is deep and takes time and cant just HAPPEN just cus u looked at someone and thought he/she was pretty 😒. True love would mean knowing dat person to deir bone but wanting to know more about dem. So to conclude a ted talk from a bitter person w/ a non existent love life 😆😂😂😂, love at first sight doesnt exist, is cheap, and is discriminatory to "ugly" ppl.

80. santa claus: hahaha i know he probs doesnt exist and is u know basically just capitalism n marketing hahaha. But i dunno, man, i kinda wanna believe he exists just cus it's more fun n childlike n innocent 😍

81. kiss on the first date: hahaha yeah i guess so but i think i probs would have had to known dat person for a while before we decided to date. I havent had a first kiss yet sooo i aint just willin to give dat out to someone i just met/knew for like a day or something hahaha (i have no idea how dating works) 😆😂😆😂😆😂

82. angels: huh... i like to think guardian angels exist cus dat means there are like angels of pure light sent down from heaven to protect us from any harm w/c is just nice to think about, yknow? Hehe. But angels in da catholic sense... i dont think i do, bruh. Sorry :/ *shrugs*

OTHER:

84. eye colour: uuhhhh brown, i guess? Like i said, i dont rlly care much for eyes hahaha 😅 ooohh but da purple eyes thang ive seen on da internet sounds cool hahaha

85. favourite movie: aaaahhhhh there's just so many good movies thoo

But agghh fine. Ive come to notice dat my genre's pretty lighthearted w/c is nice actually hehe

Spider-Man: Homecoming, Rogue One, 10 Things I Hate About You, Moana, Coco, Mulan, Avengers: Infinity War, White Chicks cus it's just so goddamn funny and iconic 😆😂😆😂😍, i'm not- ok you know wat, da Pixar movies in general ok? I mean, how can ya not? Oh which reminds me, Tangled, and The Princess and The Frog, oohh The Avengers is also a pretty solid movie, ooohhh Love, Simon, godhs dat was just such a wholesome sweet n nice movie :'), oh and den i freaking love the Scream franchise, man. It's so good :'), oooohhh w8 maybe The Dark Knight cus heath ledger was just da fuking bomb in dat movie, oohh and About Time's da sweetest time travel movie :') w/c reminds me dat the Back to the Future franchise was just such a classic, man :') oh and yknow wat? Unbreakable's actually pretty fucking cool, man. I get shyamalan know haha. Oh and yknow wat? 100 Tula Para Kay Stella is da 1st filipino film i actually liked so it has a special place in meh heart :')

ooohhh and Black Panther, man, gods how can one not bring up Da King™? WAKANDA FOREVER :') 😄

Oh and hey yknow wat? I have a sweet spot for the Sorcerer's Apprentice. It's kinda a guilty pleasure of mine hehe 😅

Whiicchh reminds me... the HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON FRANCHISE HAS GOT MY HART WHIPPED 😭😭😭

Oh and i also rlly like when harry met sally hihi :') and i guess the OG Star Wars trilogy's got a special place in my heart even if it is da way dat it is now 😢 :')

oh and i can't forget meh guardians :') Guardians of The Galaxy is such a solid film, bro. I loved it :') ooohhh and yknow wat? I actually rlly like Ready Player One, Baby Driver, and The Mummy (the brendan frasier one, who ya kiddin 😑)

oh and yknow wat? The Wedding Singer, 50 First Dates, and Music & Lyrics has got a special place in my heart, man. Gotta admit it :')

aawww and amelie, and begin again, and flipped and hercules, and room, and spotlight, and shape of water, and ladybird, and the princess bride, and the iron giant, and the lobster, and we're the millers, and what if and man up and shrek and kimi no na wa and a quiet place and inception and the lion king and to all the boys I’ve loved before and oooh tim burton movies are pretty cool, the animated ones, and I did spend a good amount of time obsessed w/ dis one so I guess cap civil war, and then big hero 6 and wreck it ralph, and the martian and inside out, and gone girl, and the lion king and forrest gump and spider-man 1 and 2, and les miserables and the devil wears prada and the book of life and the intern and the princess diaries and miss congeniality and aladdin and confessions of a shopaholic

And ok, ok, i think im done. Hahaha das it das my list of meh all time fav movies and i feel like rewatching all of em now hahaha 😍

[daveandtrev]

The 2020 Andre Johnson Sweepstakes League write-up

Friends of the Andre Johnson Sweepstakes League, welcome. I am pleased (no really, I am excited) to bring you a breakdown of the AJSL as it blessed our lives in the one-of-a-kind year of 2020. Below you will find a mix of analysis and lighthearted fun aimed at taking a first pass at what the heckfire happened this year from start to finish. We’ve got analysis on the draft, injuries and schedule plus some fun awards to give out. I won’t buffalo you any longer, lets get to it.

Draft Day Analysis

Draft day analysis interpretation: I tried to objectively pick the best teams based on my personal draft rankings (subjective draft rankings, objective draft analysis…sort of follows?). Here’s the methodology: I assigned a value to every player for above average play (in 0.25 increments). It’s essentially five tiers (+0.0 = starter, but could be replaced; +0.25 = contributing starter; +0.5 = solid starter; +0.75 = strong starter that will create a positional advantage; +1.0 = elite starter providing a distinct positional advantage). This all makes sense in my head, and it should make more sense when you look at the table. I then added up points for each team’s best possible starting lineup according to my points system and voila; Dave Stark’s handicapping of the AJSL.

A couple of notes:

·       Players are listed in the positions as there were drafted, with highest spend creating the starting lineup. For my points system, I subbed in bench players if they had a higher value than the starter.

·       I cheated on Christian McCaffrey’s value: he was a +1.25 in my book. Clearly the best player in the game with even higher upside than the traditional studs.

A few things that turned out like I thought

·       The running QBs outside of Lamar (Dak, Kyler, Russ, and DeShaun all avg 22.0+ fantasy pts/gm and sit top 7 at QB)

·       The QBs at +0.0 (Baker, Carr, Danny Dimes, Kirk Cousins, and Jimmy G basically ride the merry-go-round from one bye week fill-in to the next. Tannehill and Cousins maybe qualify as +0.25 players now, but neither averages over 20+ pts/gm)

·       Jonathan Taylor +0.0 (His value has been everywhere this year. Marlon Mack was the only reason I had him ranked this low. When Mack went down I pegged him for +0.75 with the possibility to go +1.0…and then nothing materialized until late into the year)

·       Devin Singletary +0.0 (Started hearing whispers of Zack Moss splitting carries + Josh Allen hogs goal line rushes)

A few places where I was dead wrong

·       Stefon Diggs +0.0 (Turns out, Josh Allen actually got better - +10% Completion % in 2020)

·       Josh Allen +0.5 (Averaging 24.7 pts/gm which would have been the QB2 overall last year by almost 3 pts/gm. Currently QB4)

·       Kyler Murray +0.75 (Not nearly high enough on him. Averaging 26.5 pts/gm as the QB1 overall. Playing at a +1.0 level)

·       DK Metcalf +0.25 (Seattle hired their lead chef to work full time)

·       Lamar Jackson +1.0, Mark Andrews +0.75 (Uhhh, why is this team broken?)

·       Kenyan Drake +0.75 (Beware the extravagant 8 game sample size that says someone is a world-beater)

·       Zach Ertz +0.75 (Is this the cliff year at 30 years old? How did Tony G catch 83 balls at age 37?)

·       Aaron Rod Gers +0.25 (Yeah he’s a +0.75 guy now…should have known that drafting the backup QB would light a fire under Aaron: we’ve only seen this from Alex Smith and Joe Flacco in 2 of the last 3 years…Wait, why hasn’t this applied to Wentz yet?)

·       Davante Adams +0.75 (Good golly, A-Aron’s resurgence means Davante is almost on +1.25 level when he is healthy)

·       Keenan Allen +0.25 (This was all about Tyrod…then we found out that Justin Herbert was interning specifically for Keenan Allen and the Chargers med staff decided to euthanize Tyrod)

·       TJ Hockenson +0.0 (2nd year leap puts him at TE3 overall. $20 player next year?)

·       Chris Herndon +0.0 (When you read too many draft articles, you begin to believe that an Adam Gase coached player might actually become an average contributor at his position…ha!)

Injury-ruined seasons

·       Saquon, Michael Thomas +1 (Biggest team-killers to date by far)

·       CMC at +1.25 (Still overall #1 when he plays)

·       Dak at +0.75 (Was playing like a true +1 on par with Mahomes before going down)

·       Zeke at +1 (Dak died and then Dallas decided to start “Gucci DiNucci”…yeah that didn’t go well)

·       OBJ +0.5 (Traded to Cristian’s team where he put up a combined 3.5 fantasy pts in 2 games started)

·       Courtland Sutton +0.25 (After space-cadeting Sutton’s auction bid, we got our “Ball don’t lie” moment a few weeks later. Trevor is shrugging as he reads this.)

 Great, let’s move on. Luck, imagined as either dice rolls or Luck Dragons depending on who you talk to, plays a pretty big part in fantasy success every year. Too many injuries? See you next year. Tough schedule? Hope for a good tiebreaker and maybe you can sneak into the playoffs with the #4 spot. These are probably the most talked about facets of the game since they are beyond our control and create the classic “if only I didn’t have that injury back in high school, i’d have crushed you guys” cop-out that we’ve all heard for years. Let’s see who really has a case to be upset, shall we?

Let’s start with one of my favorites – every team’s record if we played in a league where the top 6 scores secured a win each week (in lieu of head to head matchups). This is a much more “fair” look at how your team performed on a weekly basis when you throw out the schedule which is always a subject of scrutiny, consternation, and conspiracy theories each season.

There you have it. Good news is, the top 5 in our league standings would be the exact same top 5 if we played the other way. The schedule hasn’t defrauded anyone of a 2020 playoff spot. Bad news is, the bottom of this list is mildly shocking. Cristian has struggled all year for wins and this shows that his team hasn’t been half bad – but he has essentially lost out on 4 wins due to schedule. Yikes. Phil on the other hand was in playoff contention up until week 12, whereas his team has the fewest expected wins in the league….Of course for those with conspiratorial thoughts, you’ll notice the Stark brothers combine for +7 “lucky” wins due to schedule. Of course the Stark wife had to bite the bullet to make it look fair (-2 “lucky” wins). I’ll let everyone digest that and make their own judgments. (Where is that clause in the constitution involving starting a new league without the commish? This is evidence!)

The next “luck metric” that dominates our chat conversation and generally elicits “I got screwed, feel bad for me” self-pity arguments would be games lost to injury. Everyone knows it sucks and everyone experiences it to some degree every year. And if you play long enough, you will get hit by the double ACL tear/broken collarbone/never-healing ankle injury to all of your star players and be left at a severe disadvantage. It’s gonna be okay Sport, put on a brave face and hit the waiver wire. Come back next year and clap secretly at 3pm on Monday when Schefty tweets the next guy’s RB1 season-ender. (After the large exhale that it didn’t happen to your RB1 of course.) Ending rant, just know that if you experienced the injury season from hell, the rest of the league knows that it’s part of the fantasy business and are very relieved that it didn’t happen to them. Empathy runs high, sympathy runs low. (And I just removed my ability to ever complain publicly about my team’s injuries by writing this now.)

After all the talk has subsided, let’s check facts. First table: mid-game injuries. These are games where players play a much reduced role and typically produce dreadful fantasy finishes. There’s a bit of subjectivity here (if a player plays 3 quarters and gets hurt, I don’t count that as a mid game injury. But if he plays ½ or less of his normal playing time, it would count.) I also add mid-game benching to QBs because they fit the description as fantasy wreckers due to an unforeseen cutback in playing time. Here is the Commissioner’s official list:

Congrats on that title Jason, I know you were hoping for it. Just know, you weren’t THAT far ahead of the rest of us. Mon and Trevor on the other hand can only blame poor performance on their season’s disappointments (or better yet, the schedule!)

So I buried the lead a bit on Mr. Montgomery here, because the next table should give him his share of justice on 2020 injuries.

So the above list is missed games + mid-game injuries for drafted starters and traded players updated through week 13 (except for those with season long injuries – I went ahead and added week 14 there). Jason, there’s your proof. Nobody deserves to bellyache more than you, friend. 19 of those games were from QBs (Dak/Jimmy G) which added to a smattering of missed games from the rest of the roster (Godwin 4, Ridley 3, Aaron Jones 2). I haven’t tracked this before, but I imagine that this year was significantly worse than others (more soft tissue injuries and COVID positives were the biggest culprits.) The hope is that 2021 gives us a bit of a reprieve here.

Before we conclude, I recognize that there is a portion of the audience who prefers the entertainment value of this yearly endeavor, so I’m going to do my best to hand out a few fun awards. Without further ado, the 2020 AJSL Dundees (this award style hasn’t possibly been overdone, right?)

Dundee to The Scorned Lover: Mr. Jordan Swavely on behalf of Henry Ruggs.

While I wrote this tribute in his farewell on the group chat, it bears repeating: 7 pts or less scored by Ruggs in 6 straight games, starts him again for a 7th week and only a 50 yard bomb on the last play of the game saves Ruggs from another 3 point performance. Totaling the points for those 7 starts, Ruggs scored 36 points for a 5.1 average. Ruggs averaged 3.4 targets/gm in these contests. You do you, Swave. Go and get your man.

Dundee for the Best Team Name: Mr. Greg Poelman, ShlongBarry Sanders

Any reference including a dong and our beloved college town is going to score high on both the Dude and Nostalgia scales. Plus a Barry Sanders nod, we like that.

Dundee for the Best Team Picture: Mrs. Monica Stark on behalf of Presidential Security

Any time you can get combine Greg Poelman and The Donald in Photoshop and it doesn’t even look that fake, you have my attention and affection. And now you have a Dundee to go along with it. Well done.

Honorable mention: Monica’s Team, Bring Out Your Dead

Golden Tickets to the Winning Waiver Warriors: Mr. Scooter Nelson, James Robinson; Mr. Blake Grundy, Justin Herbert; Mr. Jack Holmer, Justin Jefferson

Since everyone is bidding for the “winning lottery tickets” of the waiver pool, we’re going to give out Golden Tickets to those that struck waiver wire gold this season. Scooter milked 11 starts out of Robinson who averaged 17.6 pts/gm during that span. Robinson has been the RB4 overall since the week 2 pickup. Grundy picked up Herbert for week 3 and never looked back, banking 10 starts at 22.5 pts/gm (He’s the QB7 in that time frame). Holmer nabbed Jefferson before Week 4 and was rewarded with the WR4 from that point on. Impressively he only benched him once, refusing to play him against his beloved Bears. This is the dream of every late Tuesday night and you guys reaped the spoils. Well done, gents.

Dundee to the Wounded Wavier Warriors: Mr. Phil Stark, Devonta Freeman; Mr. Jack Holmer, Darrell Henderson; Mr. Trevor Allison, Nyheim Hines

Big money, No whammy. That’s the goal. Of course more times than not, the reality is…more like this. Phil emptied out the pocketbook early on in the season after the Saquon injury to grab his replacement with a winning bid of $78 on Devonta (next highest bid: $15). Devonta responded with five games played, two of which resulted in 1 point showings. Then he followed Saquon to IR and Soape picked up the true workhorse of the Giants backfield in Wayne Gallman, who hasn’t pickup up less than 10 points in six straight games. Ouch. It took $54 to secure the rights to Darrell Henderson after week 2, seemingly the new Rams lead RB. Unfortunately Jack’s faith manifested at the wrong times: 5 starts of Henderson yielded 6.3 pts/gm, while Henderson’s two strong games (18.5 and 20.3 pts) were enjoyed on Holmer’s bench. Not fun. $46 was the bid that beat out 7 other bidders after week 1 for Nyheim Hines’s services, after which Trevor was rewarded with 5 straight games of 8 points or less. After cutting him loose over the bye week, Hines busted out for four double digit games in six tries, music no doubt to Trevor’s ears. A Dundee for your troubles, boys.

The “Fantasy Football Was A Lot More Fun Last Year” Dundee: Mr. Cristian Driver

For every obvious reason. Where did that championship belt get to?

Dundee for a Fun and Easy Season: Mr. David Stark

Injuries, COVID surprises, bad schedules, underperformance? Didn’t seem that big of a deal to me.

Dundee for Most Attempts to Defeat a Hornet’s Nest: Mr. Jason Montgomery

Similar to our favorite Office handyman Nate, Jason was tasked with eliminating the danger of his crumbling fantasy season created by the aforementioned injury bug. Both hailing from the historically-rich metropolis of “La Philadelphia”, what ensued after Jason’s 4-0 start pairs Nate and Jason together even further. Jason utilized a league-high 20 unique waiver pickups that entered the starting lineup this season. Results were bleak; the fast start was followed by a 2-7 record that signaled victory to the opposition. Maybe try the bow and arrow next time?

Receiver Corps Dundee of Excellence: Mr. Joel Soape

It only took 3 name changes to figure out which WR was needed (Red Solo Kupp -> Mike’d Up -> The Adams Bomb) , but Soape finally landed on the right guy for the job by calling on Davante Adams and his 22.1 pts/gm this year (easily the WR1 in this metric). Somehow Corey Davis (left for dead after last year) has had a career resuscitation on this team as well, dropping a 30 burger in week 12. The Receiver Corps salutes your dedication to their fraternity, Mr. Soape.

That’s all for now guys. Full disclosure, I have another 1k-2k words written that takes a deep dive into each of our performances at 1) waiver pickups, 2) positional scoring, and 3) sit/start decisions. Maybe this would be most helpful for a post-season article as it encompasses your overall strategy and ability to aid your team’s output. Look for that at some point in the future. For now, I hope you enjoyed this meaty entrée. Thanks for another great season and allowing me to bring you another fun recap, everyone!

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teaser: THE LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND LILY!

We’re so excited about this one, people! This is the love story of Abelard, who has autism, and Lily, who has ADHD. They’ve known one another since they were kids, but one fateful day in detention, Lily kisses Abelard. Their relationship deepens and changes in ways difficult to describe in words. Especially because Abelard’s autism makes it difficult for him to communicate verbally...so they write one another text messages, often quoting an old book they both love, and just when they think they’re finally connecting, a decision Lily makes about her own mental health changes everything. 

You can read the first four chapters of this romantic YA below! 

CHAPTER ONE

The day Abelard and I broke the wall, we had a four- hour English test. Seriously.  Every tenth grade  student  in the State of Texas had to take a four-hour English  test, which is too long to sit still even if you are a normal person. And I’m not a normal person.

After the test, I told my feet to take me to geography. If I didn’t tell myself where to go, if I let my mind drift, I’d find myself in the quiet calm of the art wing, where the fluorescent lights flickered an appealingly low cycle of semipermanent gloom. Or I’d stand in the empty girls’ room just to be alone. Sometimes I think I’m not attention deficient but attention abundant. Too much everything.

When I got to geography, Coach Neuwirth handed out a boring article about the importance of corn as a primary crop in the early Americas. Then he left the room. He did this a lot. Ever since basketball season had ended, Coach Neuwirth seemed like someone who was counting the min- utes until the school year was over. To be fair, he wasn’t the only one running out the clock. 

Thirty seconds after Coach Neuwirth left, the low murmur of voices turned into a conversational deluge. I sat in the back of the room because that’s where the two left- handed desks were — in the row reserved for stoner boys who do not like to make eye contact with teachers. Two seats in front sat Rogelio, turned sideways in his chair, talk- ing fast and casting glances in my direction.

“Cosababa, pelicular camisa,” Rogelio said, and the boys around him all laughed.

Okay, this is probably not what Rogelio said. I’m not a great listener. Also, my Spanish is terrible.

“Camisa,” he repeated.

At the word camisa, Emma K. turned to look at me, and whispered something to the blond girl next to her. I instantly wondered if I’d been talking to myself, which is a thing I do. It attracts attention.

Then it sank in. Camisa. Spanish for “shirt.”

Maybe there was something wrong with my shirt. Maybe the snap-button cowboy shirt I got at a thrift store was not charming and ironic as I’d imagined, but seri- ously ugly. Emma K. had whispered about my shirt. Even Rogelio and his friends, who often wore snap-button cow- boy shirts, had laughed at my shirt. Or maybe not, because my Spanish isn’t good, and anyway, Rogelio could have been talking about someone else. Not Emma K., though. She looked straight at me.

What if I’d popped open a button at bra level and I’d been walking around all day with my bra exposed, and was I even wearing a nice bra, a sexy black bra? Or was it just one of those tragic old bras with a ribbon or a rose that might have been cute once but, over repeated washings, had turned slightly gray and balled up like a dirty piece of dryer lint stuck to the center of my chest?

I clutched the front of my shirt, and Emma K. and the blond girl giggled. My shirt was properly buttoned, but I couldn’t sit in my chair for another minute. School was a molasses eternity, a nightmare ravel of bubble sheets and unkind whispers unfurled in slow motion. I had to leave, even though I’d promised my mother that I would under no circumstances skip school again.

I stood. My feet made a decision in favor of the door, but a squeaking metallic noise stopped me.

I turned.

Directly behind me was an accordion-folded, putty- colored vinyl wall, along with a gunmetal gray box with a handle sticking out of one end. The squeaking noise came from the metal box. The handle moved.

When our school  was built in  the sixties, someone decided that walls impede the free flow of educational ideas, because some of the third-floor rooms are all double-long, cut in half by retractable vinyl walls. Apparently, the archi- tect of this plan had never been to a high school cafeteria to experience the noise associated with the unimpeded flow of ideas. The wall doesn’t get opened much. 

 Last time anyone opened the wall was during Geography Fair. One of the custodians came with a strange circular key he inserted into a lock on the side of the box. He’d pushed the handle down and the wall had wheezed open, stuttering and complaining.

Now the handle jiggled up and down as if a bored ghost was trying to menace our class, but no one else was paying attention. I wondered if the custodian was trying to open the wall from the other side. It didn’t make sense.

I left my desk and walked to the box. I leaned over and grabbed it, surprised by the cool feel of solid metal. And suddenly, I felt much better. The world of noise and chaos faded away from me. The touch of real things can do this.

The movement stopped. I shook the bar up and down. It didn’t range very far before hitting the edge of what felt like teeth in a gear.

I pushed down hard on the handle. After a momen- tary lull, it sprang up in my hands, knocking with sur- prising force against my palms. I put both hands on the bar, planted the soles of my Converse sneakers, and pulled against it with all my might.

There was a loud pop, followed by the whipping sound of a wire cable unraveling. The bar went slack in my hands. The opposite end of the vinyl wall slid back three feet.

Everyone stopped talking. Students near the door craned their heads to see into the other classroom. Dakota Marquardt (male) said, “Shiiit!” and half the class giggled.

A rush of talking ensued, some of it in English, some in Spanish.

I dropped the handle and slid back into my chair, too late. Everyone had seen me.

Coach Neuwirth ran back into the room and tried to pull the accordion curtain closed. When he let go of the edge, it slid away, leaving a two-foot gap.

He turned and faced the room. “What the hell hap- pened here?”

It’s never good when a teacher like Coach Neuwirth swears.

I waited for someone to tell on me. Pretty much inevi- table.

Dakota Smith (female) stood and straightened her skirt. She pulled her long brown hair over her shoulder and leaned forward as though reaching across a podium for an invisible microphone.

“After you left, the handle on the wall began to move,” she began. “Lily put her hands on the handle and pushed down and the cable broke and — ”

“Thank you, Dakota.” Coach Neuwirth strode to his desk. “Lily Michaels-Ryan, please accompany me to my desk.”

I followed him to the front of the class, keenly aware that every set of eyes in the room was fixed on me. Coach Neuwirth filled out a form for me to take to the office, not the usual pink half-page referral form, but an ominous shade of yellow with pages of carbons. As I stared at the razor stubble on top of his pale head, I realized I’d messed up pretty badly. So badly, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to see my father in the summer.

“It wasn’t just me,” I said. “There was someone on the other side pushing down. I didn’t mean to break the door, it’s just . . .”

Coach Neuwirth ignored me.

“You’ll note, Miss Michaels-Ryan, that I have filled out a Skrellnetch form for you. Your mother will have to sign the kerblig and return it to the main office before you can be burn to clabs . . .”

This would be a good time to mention that I’d stopped taking my ADHD meds about a month earlier because they made me puke randomly and caused my head to ring like an empty bell at night. Side effects.

“. . . Your parents will have to sign the kerblig before you can be burn to clabs. Do you understand me?”

He waited, holding the Skrellnetch form that I needed to take to the office. Clearly, he had no plans to hand me the all-important Skrellnetch form until I answered him. I contemplated my choices. If I said yes, he would hold me responsible for remembering every clause in his statement, and I would be made to suffer later because I had no idea what he had just said. My heart pounded with a weird mix- ture of fear and exhilaration.

However, if I said no, Coach Neuwirth would consider it a sign of insubordination and general smart-assery. It didn’t look good for me.

“So . . . what copy does my mom sign again?”

Peals of laughter erupted from behind me. Someone muttered, “Ass-hat,” and the laughter increased.

“Get the hell out of my classroom,” Coach Neuwirth said. He threw the Skrellnetch paper across his desk at me.

I began my trek to the office, hoping I wouldn’t run into anyone while I held the stupid Skrellnetch form. After the noise and glare of the classroom, the quiet calm of the hall, with every other row of fluorescent lights off to save on electricity, was a relief. Six steps of cool dark, six steps of bright white burn. Down the stairs. The first floor had a band of colored tiles at shoulder height: white, mustard yel- low, white, blue. I held my right hand out and touched only the blue tiles as I passed through the hall, feeling my jittery state of anxiety mute into a dull, sad place in the center of my chest.

Down at the office, kindly Mrs. Treviño eyed my yel- low Skrellnetch form with visible regret.

“Lily, what happened?” she said, as though I’d twisted an ankle in gym, or had some other not-my-fault kind of accident.

“I broke the sliding wall between Coach Neuwirth’s and Ms. Cardeña’s rooms.”

Mrs. Treviño sighed deeply. I looked away as my lips started to quiver. A gray cloud of shame descended on me with remorseless speed. I’d like to be the good, thoughtful person Mrs. Treviño had mis- taken me for. A person who doesn’t break stuff.

“Well, you’re not the only one,” she said. “Come on back.”

She escorted me to the inner chamber. There, by the vice principal’s office, were two ugly orange chairs. On one chair sat Abelard Mitchell. I took one look at him and knew he’d been on the other side of the wall pulling up on the handle while I pushed down.

Mrs. Treviño gestured to the empty chair and left us alone in the waiting area.

I’d known Abelard since kindergarten. Since my last name was Michaels-Ryan and his was Mitchell, we stood next to each other at every elementary school function. Abelard was tall and slim but broad-shouldered, with a mop of sable brown hair and dark blue eyes. He was gorgeous, but he had some sort of processing delay, mild autism or Asperger’s syndrome or something. He didn’t interact like everyone else.

But sure. Neither did I. When I was seven, I acciden- tally smacked Abelard with my metal lunchbox because I couldn’t stop swinging my arms. I cut his cheek, but he didn’t cry, and no one noticed until later, so now he had this little scar, which was weirdly sexy. Abelard never said anything. He had to have noticed that I was standing there in front of him swinging my Hello Kitty lunchbox with happy, maniacal abandon.

I liked to believe that he could have cashed me in to the teacher and he didn’t.

I dropped into the chair next to him, feeling suddenly nervous to be sitting on a chair that was actually bolted to his chair — as though even the furniture was there to be punished.

“Hey,” I said, a little too loudly. “So you were on the other side of the wall? Who knew it would break like that? You’d think a handle roughly the same age as the Titanic would be sturdier. Although I guess that’s a bad compari- son.”

He said nothing. He was probably thinking about com- puter games, or quantum physics, or the novels of Hermann Hesse. From all available information, which I’ll admit was limited, Abelard was pretty brilliant.

“You were on the other side of the wall.” Abelard glanced at me and looked away.

“Yes.” I felt a strange thrill of complicity. “Usually, I’m here by myself. Why did you . . .”

I stopped before I asked him the stupidest of questions: Why did you break that? My least favorite question in the history of questions.

“The mechanism was squeaking. One of the gears is rusted. They need to oil it.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say, or if there was anything to say. I thought of Abelard, under the same anx- ious impulse to touch everything in the world of the here and now that we could feel with our hands. But unlike me, he was thinking about the hidden gears in the box, years of neglect and humidity, gears rusting away unused. He wanted to fix things, not destroy them. A more evolved monster, Abelard.

He leaned over and peered at me from under his shaggy fringe of hair. I caught a hint of his warm scent. Nice.

“Lily Michaels-Ryan,” he said. “You were in my English class last year. You hit me with a lunchbox in first grade.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “I hope it didn’t hurt too much. On the plus side, I really do like the scar. It makes you look like a pirate, a little disreputable, you know?”

Abelard brought his hand to his cheek and traced the edges of the scar as though checking to see if it was still there. Suddenly, I wanted to run my hand along his cheek- bone to feel for that slightly raised skin, proof of my earlier bad act.

The sight of his hand on his cheek made me conscious of where my hand was on the arm of the chair, touching the sleeve of his shirt. A phone rang in the office around the corner. Mrs. Treviño’s voice came from the outer office, but it felt like she was on the other side of the world. We were alone.

“Abelard, why didn’t you tell anyone that I hit you with my lunchbox?” I said. “I never got in trouble for that.”

Abelard frowned in slow motion. He seemed slightly offended, like I’d accused his seven-year-old self of being a tattletale and a snitch. I’d been right. He had protected me, one freak to another. I felt a swell of something more than gratitude, more than surprise.

Abelard’s lips parted slightly, like he had something to say that he didn’t want anyone else to hear. I wanted to know what he was thinking. Suddenly, what Abelard had to say seemed like the most important thing in the world.

I turned my head and put my arm down on the chair to lean in so he could whisper in my ear. My arm slipped on the ancient vinyl, and I accidentally moved too close to Abelard, which is a thing that I do. I’m not good with per- sonal space.

Abelard didn’t say anything. I felt his warm breath on the side of my face, a thousand little hairs on my cheek moving in the soft breeze, and I thought of his cheek and how I’d wanted to run my finger along the edge of his scar. And still it seemed like Abelard had something to say, but it wasn’t coming, and maybe he was too anxious to speak. I didn’t know what to say either. My brain was not forming thoughts in English.

I lifted my face and he looked away. But his lips were there, centimeters from mine.

I kissed him. The kiss was over before I really knew what I was doing, just a momentary soft press of my lips against his. A stray impulse that didn’t make sense, my wires crossed by the randomness of the day.

What was I thinking?

“Well, it was nice of you not to tell on me, even though you were only seven.” I went on talking as though I hadn’t just kissed him. I do this a lot. When you live at the mercy of your impulses like I do, you pretty much have to.

“Maybe you should have told someone? You probably needed stitches. Not that I don’t like the scar — it’s a great scar.”

Abelard brought his index finger to his lips and frowned. He had one of those serious, symmetrical faces that a slight frown only improves.

“Lily,” he said slowly, “I — ”

I braced myself for a quick, awkward rejection, but before Abelard could finish his sentence, Vice Principal Krenwelge rounded the corner. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

CHAPTER TWO

My mother came to get me at school. She arrived look- ing frazzled, a small coffee stain over the left breast pocket of her shirt, lipstick reapplied but the rest of  her  makeup faded, leaving her skin blotchy, nose reddened by the sun. I expected her to be mad, but this was far worse. She looked defeated. Friday, the end of a long week, and now this.

Mom had a brief conference with Vice Principal Krenwelge, and then we drove home in silence. I was tired, beyond tired, needing the comfort of a darkened room.

“Are you mad at me?” I finally said.

We were stopped on Lamar at the light in front of Waterloo Records, where Dad’s band had a CD release when I was five. I remembered Mom in a tight camisole and brightly colored skirt, holding a sleepy baby Iris on her shoulder. Her hair dyed magenta red. Happy clothes. Sexy, even. Afterward, we walked to Amy’s for ice cream. Life in the before time.

“No, Lily, I’m not mad. You’re just lucky Abelard’s mom volunteered to pay the damages.” 

This made me sit up.

“Why? Abelard and I broke the wall together. It was as much my fault as his.”

“Not according to your vice principal. Mrs. Mitchell seemed to think that it was Abelard’s idea to break the wall, and you were just following along.”

Mom rolled her eyes to let me know what she thought of this explanation. Me in close proximity to a broken thing: cause and effect. Mom knew who was at fault.

Why would Mrs. Mitchell think that Abelard was at fault? There could be only one reason. Abelard must have taken the blame for me. It didn’t feel right. Abelard wasn’t the breaky type. If I hadn’t pushed down on the stupid handle, Abelard might have found a janitor to oil the gears. “Abelard said the wall was already broken. Abelard said the gears hadn’t been oiled in an eternity.”

“Well, the next time Abelard decides to ‘fix’ something, don’t volunteer to help, okay?”

“Volunteer to help,” I mumbled.

I liked the idea that I’d jumped up because I’d intuited that the situation needed my special breaking expertise. But what if breaking and fixing were really the same activ- ity, reversed?

Did Abelard really “fix” things, or did he just break things, like me? I wanted to ask him about his experience fixing things and breaking things. I thought about the time I’d pulled up too hard on the back seat handle of the car door while pushing against the door with my hip, and the handle broke. And then for some reason, I flipped the child lock switch thinking it might fix the door, only it didn’t. It locked the door, permanently. I’d tried to fix it, I really had. “. . . and Mrs. Screngle says tuber work.” Mom glanced over at me. “Lily, are you listening?” “No,” I admitted. No point in lying. “Did you eat today?”

I had to think about it. The day seemed like an eternity, as though the time before I broke the wall and the time after served as a clear demarcation of events, like the birth of Jesus or the arrival of the dinosaur-ending meteor off the coast of the Yucatan. And now my mind was filled with thoughts of Abelard. Why had he covered for me?

“I don’t remember,” I said.

“Is your lunch still in your backpack?” Mom asked.

I dug through the backpack at my feet. Sure enough, my lunch was untouched in the outer pocket.

“I would have eaten, but they told us to eat during the test, and I was still working, and I just sort of forgot about it, and then we had to go straight to sixth period, so I didn’t have time.”

“Are you hungry now?” I nodded.

We drove through P. Terry’s for veggie burgers, and we split a chocolate shake on the way home, like I was being rewarded for screwing up. I was happy enough, but I couldn’t let things go. I kept thinking about my dad in Portland.

At the start of the school year, Mom had promised that I could visit Dad if I kept my grades up and didn’t skip class. I’d been trying, but things hadn’t been going too well. My grades are all over the place, and I try not to skip, but sometimes I can’t help it.

“So, Mom, about the summer . . . I mean, could I still see Dad?”

Secretly, I planned to go visit Dad and just stay on. Dad taught English at a homeschool cooperative connected to the farm where he worked, kids getting life credit for milk- ing goats and picking organic beets. Heaven. I’d miss Mom and Iris, but clearly I belonged in a “less-structured learn- ing environment.”

“I know you want to see your dad.” Mom paused. It wasn’t quite a pregnant pause, just an awkward millisecond or two. “But it’s not that simple. We’d have to talk to him, and he may not be in a position to have houseguests . . . and of course, your grades . . . and no more skipping . . .”

I stopped listening. A qualified yes is almost a full yes. I’d have to improve my grades and attend all my classes, blah, blah, blah. I could do that.

“You know, Lily, seeing your dad again isn’t going to solve all your problems.”

I nodded to let her know I’d heard her and stared out the window. She was wrong. My father had solved my big- gest problem. There was no reason to think he couldn’t solve my smaller ones.

***

My father taught me how to read.

When I was in second grade, the school reading spe- cialist decided I was dyslexic. She told my mom to read to me every single night, but Mom worked nights. So Dad read to me.

In the beginning, he read me books about cat warriors while he drank craft beer. When Dad got tired of reading books about cats, he picked up Nancy Drew and the Three Investigators from a used book store. These books amused him with their gee-whiz ’thirties and ’forties references: chaste country club dances, German housekeepers devot- edly making strudel, and clubhouses with secret tunnels made out of packing crates and junk. Nancy Drew ushered in cheaper beer: Tecate in cans. I laughed at Dad’s earnest voice for Ned Nickerson, Nancy’s straight-arrow boyfriend, and I fell asleep worrying how Nancy was going to get out of that cave by the ocean before high tide.

“Choral reading,” my mother said, echoing the reading specialist’s advice. “Dad reads a passage, Lily reads a passage.”

My father sat by my bed with the book held between us as I painfully sounded out each little word. I learned to read the same way Hercules learned to hold a full-grown bull in his arms, by having to brute-force sound my way through every syllable until the words got longer and heavier. At first, I read individual words, then sentences, and eventually paragraphs.

Together we read all of Harry Potter; The Lightning Thief ; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; Inkheart; and Diane Duane. When the words began to swim on the page, Dad read to me from his own personal library of medieval classics. By this time, I was sharing a bedroom with my sister, Iris, and she listened with rapt attention.

Dad read Le Morte d ’Arthur and Physica by Hildegard von Bingen, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and The Letters of Abelard and Heloise.

At about the time we started on Tolkien, with a nightly supplement of The Prose Edda and the Nibelungenlied, my father had discovered vodka. Cheap, easy to hide, and packed more of a punch than beer.

I never questioned the hours I spent sequestered away in my bedroom with Dad, reading while he drank. It was fun, and it was too good to last.

The end came when I was in fifth grade. My mom caught me alone in my room with her copy of Jane Eyre.

“Are you reading?” she asked, hands on her hips. Her dark green eyes glittered with some internal fire I recog- nized as hopefulness. She had a sort of feral alertness that alarmed me.

“What? . . . No,” I replied, thrown off my guard. I quickly regained my composure. “This book is weird. I can’t understand this language. What’s it about?”

“It’s a love story about a girl with a strong moral compass. It’s an older book, so the language can seem a little stilted, but it’s really good.” She smoothed the hair away from my forehead and attempted a wan smile. She looked sad. “You should have your father read it to you.”

“I will.”

I felt bad about lying to her, but mostly I felt relieved. Crisis averted! My father read me Jane Eyre, or he reread me Jane Eyre, because I’d already finished it by then. I didn’t care. Mom was happy; Dad was pleasantly drunk. Life was golden.

At the end of fifth grade, the school tested me again. I’d never seen my mother so thrilled. She came home wav- ing her copy of my test results over her head.

“Your phonemic scores are still relatively low,” she said. “But your comprehension is off the charts. You’ve made amazing progress, Lily.”

I didn’t immediately get the magnitude of what I’d done, but I think my father did. He greeted the news that I was in the 98th+ percentile in reading comprehension with a queasy smile. I’ll never forget the look he gave me. It was as though his usefulness on the planet had suddenly ended. Maybe he knew divorce was not far off.

“I’ve heard about this book Wuthering Heights,” I said, hoping I wasn’t overplaying the wide-eyed thing. “I don’t think I can read it by myself, though. It’s for older people, right? But we could read it together.”

“Sure thing, Lil,” Dad said, his eyes distant.

We all smiled at one another. The happiest part of my life ended there in the fifth grade.

 CHAPTER THREE 

Monday morning my mother woke me while it was still dark. She stood by my bed with a cup of tea and a piece of toast.

“Eat the toast,” Mom said. She hovered over me, already dressed for work in a white linen shirt and a fifties beaded cardigan that may have once been an ironic statement for her but that she now considers an heirloom.

“It’s the middle of the night.” I rolled over to face Iris’s twin bed next to mine. “Look. Iris is still asleep.”

My sister was an inanimate lump of covers. Iris usually springs out of bed like Snow White, ready to polish silver and sing with birds, but it was so early she wasn’t even stir- ring.

“I have to go to work early today,” Mom said. “You need to take your medication.”

“I can’t take it on empty stomach.”

“Hence the toast.” Mom thrust the plate at me. Reluctantly, I bit into the toast. At this hour of the morning, food  seemed like a human rights  violation. I chewed twice and swallowed with difficulty before slump- ing back on the bed.

“Now your medication.”

I took the pill and swallowed without hesitation. She handed me the lukewarm and very weak tea with milk to wash it down.

“You don’t trust me anymore,” I said.

“It just doesn’t seem like you’ve been taking your medi- cation lately, Lily. Maybe you’ve forgotten. I thought I would help you remember.”

Every morning for the past month, Mom had left a cup of tea, a piece of toast, and a pill on a plate for me by my bedside. And every morning I’d taken that pill and stashed it in an old pickle jar under my bed. I didn’t like the drug. It sucked the creamy goodness out of life.

Antidepressants tend to do that. I should know. This wasn’t the first one I’d been on.

Bells and whistles went off in my head. On Saturday, the day after Abelard and I broke the wall, Mom offered to take me and Iris to a movie. She didn’t go with us, and at the time, it seemed kind of weird. She must have gone home and searched the room for missing pills.

I probably should have flushed the medicine in the toilet so downstream fish and migratory waterfowl could expe- rience an unexpected rush of jittery calm and the sudden ability to meet deadlines and organize paperwork. Yes, I could have shared my drug bounty with the ecosystem, but a strange frugality had stopped me. The stuff was expensive.

Once Mom left, I looked under the bed. Sure enough, the pickle jar was gone.

I’m sure Mom was relieved to find my hidden stash, because I’d saved her a couple hundred bucks. One thing was for certain: She would never mention the pickle jar, and neither would I.

*** 

School. I met Rosalind at our usual spot under the live oaks in the courtyard for lunch.

Rosalind is my oldest friend all the way back to kinder- garten. She’s tiny and plays small children in local theatri- cal productions. With her long dark hair in braids and her giant brown eyes, she can pass for twelve. Maybe ten on a really big stage.

Rosalind was eating out of a bento box filled with brown rice, raw carrots, and seaweed salad. Rosalind’s parents are restricted-calorie-intake people who have formulated a plan to live for all of eternity. Like the children of vegan, mac- robiotic, gluten-shunning parents everywhere, Rosalind’s favorite food is pizza — though she likes classy pizza: feta cheese, black olives. Her dream is to move to New York and eat nothing but pizza. Also — acting.

“Lily, how was your trip to the vice principal’s office?” Rosalind  asked.

“Gripping and poignant. I laughed, I cried — ”

 “Was your mom mad?”

“Weirdly, no. I have a week in detention, but that’s it. She even said I can still see my dad this summer.”

“Really?” Rosalind raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Your mom said you could go to Portland?”

“If I keep my grades up and don’t skip class.”

Truth be told, Rosalind didn’t entirely approve of my plan to visit my dad and then refuse to return. She didn’t think I was cut out to be an organic beet farmer. Also, she would miss me.

I glanced across the courtyard. Abelard sat at his usual spot on the low wall under the crepe myrtle. Alone. The sight of him through the milling crowd sent a jolt of electricity up my spine. I realized I’d been scanning the halls all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

I settled on the bench next to Rosalind, carefully avoid- ing a patch of grackle poo, and opened the lunch that Iris had packed for me. A tomato sandwich, apple, Oreos. I nibbled on an Oreo and set the rest aside.

“You’re not eating?” Rosalind said. “Why, if I had a sandwich on actual bread — bread made from real demon wheat, mind you —”

“Here, have it. It’s yours. Taste the evil.”

I handed Rosalind my sandwich, but she just shrugged. I suspect she actually likes brown rice.

“So you aren’t eating. What’s up?”

“I’m back on my drug-based diet. My stomach will

refuse all food until five thirty, at which point I will eat my entire day’s calories in two hours, mostly in potato chips. Straight out of the bag. If we even have potato chips. Might be stale crackers.”

“Healthy,” Rosalind said. “I thought you weren’t going to take the drugs anymore.”

“After my little  trip to the  vice principal’s  office, my mother decided she would watch me take my meds,  like some hospital matron in one of those old movies your parents love.”

“The Snake Pit, Olivia de Havilland,” Rosalind said. “Whatever.”

Rosalind frowned.

“The drugs aren’t good for you, Lily. They change you.” “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Um, you know how my mother is always talking about . . . balance between . . . gluten and sugar can . . . talk to your mother . . . only if you . . . off the medication . . . take you to a dark place.”

I shrugged, uninterested in the topic of my medication and diet. Abelard was eating cookies or crackers, reading something on his phone, dark hair falling over his eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was an attractive nui- sance, a shiny object.

“What do you think of Abelard?” I asked.

Rosalind followed my gaze. “I don’t know. He’s kind of in his own little bubble. Why do you ask?”

“He was on the other side of the wall when I — when we broke it.” Breaking the wall was beginning to feel like a shared secret, a source of pride. Abelard and I destroyed something — together.

“Okay,” Rosalind said slowly. Dubious. I know that look.

“He took the blame. For both of us. He didn’t have to do that.”

“And you think that was about you?” “Maybe it was about me,” I said.

I continued to stare. It was easy to stare at Abelard. He never lifted his head, never glanced in my direction. Plus — kind of beautiful. Rosalind had a point, though. Abelard was self-contained. Maybe he hadn’t thought about me once since I’d kissed him in the office. And here I was thinking obsessively about him, imagining we had some sort of secret kinship just because ten years ago I hit him in the face with my lunchbox.

“I’m just saying, don’t construct an elaborate fantasy about him before you find out what’s really going on in his head,” Rosalind said. “Abelard is not like everyone else.”

“Neither am I.” Rosalind sighed.

“You know what I mean, Lily. Unlike Abelard, you can carry on a conversation —”

“Almost like a normal person,” I interrupted. “You are a normal person,” she said.

I kind of loved that Rosalind thought there was nothing wrong with me that couldn’t be cured by regular helpings of wheatgrass shots and a little extra understanding. This was why she was my best friend — but it bothered me to hear her say Abelard was not like everyone else. Broken.

Whether she admitted it or not, I was also not like everyone else. Why be polite — why not just say “broken”?

I am a proud Broken American. There. I’ve said it. 

CHAPTER FOUR

Normally I leave school each afternoon like I’m running the bulls at Pamplona. Not that afternoon. I went to the bathroom and fought for space at the mirror with the girls who did their makeup.  I  brushed  my hair  in the corner, but then one of the mirror regulars, a raccoon-eyed blonde named Montana Jordan or Jordan Montana, took pity  on me.

“Here.” She waved me to a free spot in the mirror. I touched up my base and put on some lip gloss.

“You should really sclur your blash,” Montana Jordan/ Jordan Montana said. Her voice echoed noisily against the bathroom tile. “Screeb pretty.”

“Sure,” I replied. Screeb pretty. That was me.

“Sclur your blashes,” she said, holding out an eyelash curler.

“Oh.” Curl my eyelashes. My brain took the visual cue and made sense of the words. “No thanks. I’m on my way to detention. Coach Neuwirth.”

I stared at my reflection in the mirror — a slight bump on the bridge of my nose, skeptical green eyes. My wavy brown hair already starting to look like my time with the brush had been an exercise in futility. I couldn’t see how curly eyelashes would be much of an improvement.

“Really?” she said. “Me too.”

And then she went back to curling her eyelashes.

*** 

Abelard was already in detention when I arrived. The only other people in the room were Richard Hernandez from my algebra class and Rogelio. An emo boy I didn’t know wandered in after me.

I dropped my backpack on the floor and sat at the desk in front of Abelard, my heart pounding. Coach Neuwirth could show up at any moment. I turned around and faced Abelard before my heart rate settled.

“Okay,” I said. Extraneous hand movement. I do this when I’m nervous. “Why did you take the blame for break- ing the wall when it wasn’t just your fault? Because my mom said that your mom told the vice principal that you said you were to blame.”

I stopped because I’d run out of breath. Also — tortured sentence.

Abelard looked up. His eyes were a clearer, deeper shade of blue than I had remembered. He looked away.

“And when I hit you with the lunchbox in first grade, you never told anyone, but you probably should have. It wasn’t like we were really friends or anything —”

“You came to my house,” Abelard said in a surprisingly loud voice.

Tectonic shift of the earth’s crust, a realignment of everything. Abelard and I had a prior history, a reason I’d felt a natural connection between us. I wished I remembered.

“You came to my house,” Abelard repeated. “I was five. We watched Pokémon together. You insisted Charizard was a dragon, not a lizard.”

I’ve had an obsession with dragons ever since Dad read me The Poetic Edda. There’s a dragon in Norse mythology who chews on the roots of the tree of life. A bad thing, right? But my father contended that without the dragon, the tree of life would become overgrown and eventually choke itself out of existence. My personal spirit animal — the destructive dragon.

“Because — fire-breathing,” I said. “I mean, hello, dragon?”

Abelard blinked.

“Char — lizard, Charizard,” he said slowly. “Etymology.” Beside us Richard and Rogelio switched their conversa- tion seamlessly from English to Spanish. Should have been a hint, but I was too excited to pay attention. A rustling

noise at the front of the room and throat clearing. “Turn around.”

“Oh, you did not just play the Pokémon etymology card,” I said, experiencing a rush of word-borne feels. More fun words than I’d had in a long time. “Dragons are everything! It’s a dragon who nibbles on the roots of the tree of life, because otherwise —”

“Miss Michaels-Ryan! Turn around!” a voice boomed. “Stop pestering Mr. Mitchell.”

Pestering. I was pestering. A word invented by teach- ers to mean “bothering” but sounding infinitely worse, like something you’d get arrested for doing in a movie theater.

I swiveled, and Coach Neuwirth locked eyes on me. I felt my stomach flop, but at that moment Rogelio muttered something hilarious in Spanish. Rogelio is a natural-born confrontation clown, one of those guys who always have to get the last word in. It didn’t help Coach Neuwirth’s mood that the last word was in Spanish.

“We’re going to break up your little party,” Coach Neuwirth said. “Mr. Mondragon, please move next to Mr. Kreuz, Miss Michaels-Ryan, next to Mr. Hernandez.”

I moved back a row next to Richard Hernandez. Abelard turned sideways in his chair and stared out the window. The room went quiet, unearthly quiet. Montana Jordan/Jordan Montana slid soundlessly into the  room and took a seat across from the emo boy. Coach Neuwirth glared at her from his desk.

“Nidhogg,” Abelard said in a voice that cut through the thick stillness. “Yggdrasil.”

Nidhogg — the dragon.  Yggdrasil — the tree of  life. I didn’t remember the names from Norse mythology, but Abelard did. Abelard, my secret cartoon-watching friend from a childhood I didn’t quite remember. Abelard, who knew Norse mythology and the finer points of gear mainte- nance. Was there anything he didn’t know?

***

Detention was pretty boring. Half an hour later, I’d fin- ished my homework. I hadn’t eaten my lunch, and I was hungry and tired, too burnt to read. There was nothing to do.

Richard Hernandez sat at the desk next to me, draw- ing. I leaned over, expecting to see badly drawn girls with gravity-defying breasts, motorcycles, guns — the standard Grand Theft Auto love letter to chaos and faceless sex. The stuff boys draw.

Instead, Richard was drawing Abelard. Abelard with a three-quarter profile, his right cheekbone illuminated by sunlight streaming in from the window. Richard had drawn the barest line of a mouth and was filling in the details of Abelard’s chin, muscles in his jaw shaded diagonally from top left to bottom right.

The only part of the picture Richard had finished was Abelard’s eyes. He’d perfectly captured the way Abelard’s dark blue eyes held the light, the open, almost mystical quality of his gaze.

I glanced at Abelard and felt a strange thrill in the pit of my stomach. There was something otherworldly about him. It wasn’t my imagination — Richard saw it too.

Richard finished Abelard’s chin and moved to his hair. “Wow,” I murmured.

Richard wrapped his right arm around his picture to shield it from my view and looked up. He had close-set, intelligent eyes and dark hair in a Caesar cut.

“That’s really good,” I whispered. Good was an insuf- ficient word for his drawing, like telling a rock star his music was nice. I felt a little stupid about that, but what could I do? Drugs kill thought — even the happy, helpful drugs.

“Shhh . . .” Coach Neuwirth hissed. “Thanks,” Richard mouthed silently.

Richard returned to drawing, and I continued to watch. Minutes passed while he sketched in rapid, assured move- ments. It was calming, watching Richard, as soothing as a lullaby. I almost forgot that I was hungry and that the skin over my skull was beginning to crawl and itch.

One of the basketball players came by to talk to Coach Neuwirth. They stepped out into the hall, and I leaned over toward Richard.

“You’re left-handed — like me. Also Leonardo da Vinci,” I whispered. “You shade in the same direction — top left to bottom right. Do you know they think da Vinci was dyslexic?”

I held my hands out to visualize this, making the clas- sic L for loser with my left hand. Kindergarten tricks. They never get old. 

“You’re making that up,” Richard said. “How could anybody know?”

“I’m not making it up. I saw it on Nova. Da Vinci wrote letters backwards and misspelled words. Classic dyslexic tendencies. I should know. I’m dyslexic, too.”

“No you’re not.” Richard looked up, his close-set eyes in a savage frown. “You can read.”

Richard said the word read with the naked bitterness I usually reserve for the terms late slip or instruction sheet. Dyslexia. You can pass for normal for a while, but even- tually the anger gives you away. The monster will out. I decided I liked Richard.

“Yes, I’m totally normal,” I replied. “That’s why I’ve been in the same algebra class with you for two years running.”

“But I see you reading all the time. You always have a book —”

“I hear talking,” Coach Neuwirth boomed.

Richard startled at the sound of Coach Neuwirth’s voice. His pencil slipped, and the picture of Abelard floated off the desk, slid across the floor, and landed face-up in front of Rogelio Mondragon.

Richard froze, a stricken look on his face.

Coach Neuwirth was in the hall talking, his back half turned but still in the line of sight. I eased out of my seat in a crouch and moved slowly toward the picture, hoping to snatch it before Rogelio noticed.

I was too slow. Rogelio spotted the picture and grabbed it. He glanced at Abelard and back to the picture as his expression changed from perplexed to positively gleeful. It was as though he’d found a secret love letter, ready-made for a million stupid jokes. Someone was going to be made to suffer in both English and Spanish. Rogelio scanned the room, searching for his victim.

At the exact moment Rogelio’s eyes settled on me, Coach Neuwirth strode down the aisle and ripped the pic- ture out of Rogelio’s hands.

“Whose picture is this?” Coach Neuwirth demanded. Richard looked a little sick.

“It’s mine.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. Lies are like that sometimes.

Coach Neuwirth held the picture and examined it care- fully.

“So, this is your boyfriend?” Coach Neuwirth chuckled. “Pretty good likeness of our friend Abelard here.”

Hard to determine who he was trying to humiliate at this juncture, Abelard for being unlikely boyfriend mate- rial, or me for being, well, me. Sometimes I think Coach Neuwirth lets the cruelty fly randomly just to see who might get hit.

Abelard turned to look at me briefly. I couldn’t tell whether he was horrified, embarrassed, or intrigued that Coach Neuwirth just told the whole world he was my boy- friend. I looked away.

Coach Neuwirth handed the picture to me.

“Put it away, Ms. Michaels-Ryan,” Coach Neuwirth said.

I folded the drawing of Abelard and slipped it into my book.

 ***

In the afternoon when I returned home, the picture fell out of my book. Abelard, beautiful and distant. Richard Hernandez’s own version of the Mona Lisa, a mystery for the ages. Abelard, no doubt named for Peter Abelard from the twelfth-century text The Letters of Abelard and Heloise. Strange.

I drew a thought bubble over his head and wrote the words I am Abelard, medieval French philosopher and time traveler. I have come to the future on a quest for love and beauty, but find only the barren wasteland that is high school. My tra- vails are for not!

I stuck the picture on the bulletin board and collapsed on my bed, empty. I opened my book, a novel about a girl on the run with her brilliant, eccentric father. After three pages, I quit reading, because I didn’t care what happened with the father’s new girlfriend or the daughter’s desire to go to a normal school for more than three months at a time. My head had begun that drug-fueled end-of-the- day descent, circling the empty runway of a town called Apathy.

I put my book away.

My sister came into our bedroom.

Iris is in seventh grade. Tall like me, brown eyes to my green. Same wavy brown hair, same bump on the bridge of her nose. Iris doesn’t seem to have inherited my moth- er’s large breasts like I have. She wishes that she had my breasts, but she is wrong about this.

Iris attends the Liberal Arts, Math, and Engineering Academy — LAMEA, or LAME as everyone calls it. She is the perfect student, equally adept at the long-form essay and robotics, and building musical instruments out of found objects. Found objects are a big part of the curricu- lum at LAME.

For someone with such a full curricular life, Iris has an overdeveloped interest in my activities. Like being me has a 1950s-motorcycle-and-leather-bomber-jacket sort of glam- our for her, because she has never tasted the fruits of failure. I could tell her that living outside the lines is not all that, but she probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

“What are you doing?” Iris said. “Nothing.”

“Who is that?” She leaned over the picture of Abelard, studying it with the dreamy intensity she usually reserves for K-pop stars with ice-blond dyed hair and too much mascara.

“No one,” I replied. “A kid at my school. His name is Abelard.”

“He’s adorable,” she said.

“No.” I stared at the picture. “Well, yes, he is.”

I thought about my impulsive kiss, and my heart flopped in protest. Continued exposure to the sight of Abelard’s faraway eyes was unfair.

“It’s dinnertime,” Iris said. “Mom told me to tell you.” “Not hungry,” I replied.

“Mom made a really good salad. We’ve got Supernatural cued up.”

Supernatural. Salad. These are the things we do together, eat salads and watch Supernatural because all three of us, Mom, me, and Iris, think those guys are hot. Iris likes the taller baby-faced one, but Mom and I prefer the deep- voiced snarky brother. It’s like a miracle, Mom says, to find such transgenerational hotness on TV.

This was our familial idea of a good time. It meant nothing to me at that moment — good TV, hot guys in a seventies ride, salad.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll just lie here and listen to the inside of my skull buzz.”

Iris wandered off. I played Candy Crush on my phone until I saw little orange and blue striped candies exploding on the insides of my eyelids when I closed them, and still it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough pleasure, not enough light or color to fill the emptiness of my brain. It didn’t feel good or fun, but it was motion of a kind. If I stopped playing, I would realize that there were no thoughts left in my head and I was truly alone. This was what happened when my ADHD medicine wore off. This was why I hated drugs.

*** 

I left the picture of Abelard in my room, thinking I would show it to Rosalind over lunch. But when I packed my stuff up for school in the morning, the picture was gone. This didn’t surprise me in the least. Most pieces of paper I come into contact with disappear suddenly and without reason. It’s just the way it is.

******

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[beautifulwhensarcastic]

The College roommates AU

“You all set?”

Maria bit back the urge to ask for help unpacking. The fact that her father had bothered to help her move her stuff into the dorm at all was a minor miracle.

“Yeah, I’m sure the other girls will arrive soon,” She replied instead. Her three-person room shared a common room with another triple. Surely one of the other five girls would be able to help.

“Alright then, I’m gonna hit the road.” He hesitated.

“Love you Maria.”

The words sounded awkward in his mouth, and even more stilted when she repeated them back. He left, and she put on some music before starting to set up her stuff. Hockey posters on the wall, plain black sheets on the bed. Maria had just started to put her clothes into the drawers when someone opened the door to the common room. She stuck her head out of the open door to investigate.

A girl her age with shoulder-length blonde hair came in first, parents in tow with the moving bins.

“Hi! I’m Sharon, Sharon Carter! These are my parents. I’m really excited to be here! Are you in 4a or 4b? I’m in 4b! Are you a hugger? I’m a hugger. Wanna hug?”

Maria blinked.

“Uh, sure.”

And then she was hugged.

“I’m in 4a.” Maria said, once they had separated.

“Okay! Then I guess you’re not Virginia or Helen. Those are the girls in my room.”

“I’m Maria, my roommates are going to be Natasha and Margaret.”

“Cool! Its was great to meet you, I should probably start unpacking while my parents are still here. Dinner later, maybe with the others?”

“Works for me.”

——————————————————————————————-

Sharon ’s parents stayed until she was mostly finished unpacking before heading out, with exclamations of love and good luck. She put her shower cady in the bathroom attached to the common room, and then knocked on Maria’s door frame. The other girl turned from where she was putting her stuff in the closet, and waved her in. Sharon looked around.

“You seem to really love hockey,” she observed.

“I do,” Maria answered, “Let’s just hope Natasha and Margaret don’t mind.”

“Well, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my roommates are okay with a lot of Beach Boys music. You need some help with those?” she asked, as Maria started shelving books.

“Sure, thanks. And for what its worth, I’m always supportive of the Beach Boys.”

“Good to know.”

Sharon was about to ask about Maria’s major when the common room door opened again. The two of them walked out to meet the tall Asian girl coming in.

“Oh thank goodness there are already people here.” The girl laughed a little. “I was so worried I wasn’t going to have anyone to talk to setting up.”

“I heard that young lady,” commented a shorter woman who Sharon guessed was the girl’s mother.

“Sorry ma.” She turned back to Sharon and Maria.

“I’m Helen, and this is my mother. I’m in 4b.”

Sharon and Maria introduced themselves.

“Important question: Do you like the Beach Boys?” Sharon asked.

“She’d better, with the way I raised her!” came her mother’s voice, from where she had gone ahead into the room.

“Mom has strong opinions.” Helen laughed, “But yeah, I do.”

“Excellent. We’re hanging out in Maria’s room, you should come when you’re done!” she invited, Maria nodding in agreement.

“Sounds good!” Helen said, then followed her mother back into 4b.

——————————————————————————————-

“Those girls seem very nice!” Helen’s mother observed as they started to make the bed.

“They do!” Helen agreed. Sharon had strung up fairy lights and a couple of travel posters, making the bland room a little more welcoming already.

“Have lots of fun, but definitely don’t get distracted from your studies.”

“I know, I know. I’ll walk around campus tomorrow and find my classrooms so I know where they are on Monday.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan. Could you hand me those posters?”

“Shouldn’t you worry about your books first?” Her mother teased, but she handed it over, along with a pack of the school-approved wall stickies.

Before she could add her comic book characters to the walls, the common room door swung open for a fourth time. Helen met Maria and Sharron in the main room, while her mother stayed behind to unpack more.

This time, it was a girl with shoulder-length dark brown hair wearing black jeans and a short-sleeved, untucked button up who walked in. She sized them up.

“I’m Natasha. Nat for short.”

Two of the students who were volunteering to help with move in came in behind her with the bins before anyone could respond.

“Um…”

“4a is over there,” Maria said pointing.

“I’m Maria. This is Sharon and Helen, they live in 4b.”

“Alright. Its good to meet everyone.” She seemed a little uncomfortable, and Helen took pity.

“Hey, so my mom has pretty much taken over setting my stuff up. Want us to help with yours?”

Nat visibly relaxed as she accepted the offer.

——————————————————————————————-

“There are a lot of hockey posters in this room,” Natasha declared as she walked into 4a with her new suitemates.

“Well, I like hockey a lot.” Maria replied with a shrug.

“Well, I like Indie bands a lot.”

“Works for me,”

“So.” Helen said, clapping her hands together to get them back to business. “What are we doing first?”

Natasha surprised herself with a grin, and started figuring out which of her boxes was which. They chatted as they unpacked, Maria’s move in playlist still playing in the background.

Maria, it turned out, was at school for sports management and intending to play on the school’s club hockey team, while Sharon was a sociology/criminology major and Helen was pre-med.

“What about you?” asked the blonde.

“History,” Nat replied, trying to figure out where she had put her hangers.

“Oooh, that’s really fascinating.” Sharon started, just as someone started rattling the common room door.

“Bet its Virginia!” she said instead.

“Nah, definitely Margaret. 4a will be complete first!” Maria declared, jokingly competitive as they left the room.

When the person on the other side cane through, it was a pale brunette with large, soft brown eyes and two huge duffle bags.

“I’m Peggy. ROTC Pre-law. First person to call me Marge gets socked in the jaw.”

Her declaration was undermined by the person who came up after her, holding another duffle and some boxes.

“Hey Marge, where do you want these?”

She rolled her eyes.

“This is my brother Michael. Which room is 4a?”

“Ha!” Maria declared, before pointing her to it.

Helen went back to 4b to spend a little more time with her mom while Maria, Nat, and Sharon followed Peggy and Michael.

——————————————————————————————-

“Well, I think action movie posters will fit in just fine. Peggy declared, looking around at what Maria had already done.

“Fit in? Peg, you may just have found the perfect people to room with!”

“Guess that matching algorithm works” she replied.

“Important question though, and Nate, this is for you too.” Sharon started, helping Nat with the bedspread.

Nat and Peggy looked a little nervous, Maria grinned, knowing what was coming.

“How do you feel about the Beach Boys?”

Peggy laughed a little in relief. “I haven’t listened to them much. I’m guessing that’s going to change?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Sharon answered with a grin. “How about you Nat?”

Nat sighed, mock upset.

“I guess I just have to accept it don’t I?”

“Yup!” Sharron replied, undeterred.

“Could be worse I suppose.”

“What could be worse?” Helen asked, coming back in.

“These people’s taste in music.

"I like the Beach Boys!” Helen defended.

Nat rolled her eyes again.

“Anyways, my mom just left, so I’m going to crash this party.”

“Works for us.” Peggy answered.

“And I get to be surrounded by five lovely ladies!” Michael declared.

Maria picked up a hockey puck she had on her desk and mimed throwing it at him, laughing when Peggy gave her a thumbs up.

——————————————————————————————-

Pepper got the suite door open with a minimum of fiddling, her parents and younger sister coming in behind her. She was greeted by music and voices coming from the room on the left, but both doors were open so she wasn’t sure if it was 4a or 4b. Thankfully, a short brunette was walking out of the bathroom at the back of the suite.

“You must be Virginia,” she declared, sticking out her hand to shake, “I’m Nat. Gimme one sec to grab everyone else. 4b is the one we’re not in right now.”

She walked over to the full room before Pepper could introduce herself, and a second later was followed out by four other girls while Pepper’s family put her stuff down.

All four of them introduced themselves, and then Pepper did too, making sure to emphasize the nickname.

“So, what’s your major? Peggy asked.

They had all followed her into 4b, and were sitting on the beds, helping when asked.

"International business,” she answered.

“What about you?”

They went through the rounds, and then Sharon asked her about the Beach Boys. Before she could answer, however, her family, who had mostly just been helping her set up and not saying anything, declared that they were hitting the road.

She said goodbye to them, tearing up a little. Helen passed her a tissue.

“Thanks. They’re okay I guess.”

Sharon hooted in indignation, while Nat punched the air in triumph. she was the last one Pepper had expected to have much in common with, so it made her laugh.

“So,” she started, deciding she was owed a question of her own. “Dinner anyone?”

There was a general noise of agreement, and they headed out the door debating which dining hall to try first.

“Not a bad start,” Pepper thought to herself.