#i started this back in february before abandoning her oops

[sharknark]

red lotus grave

[purrincess-chat]

A Telling Proposal

The event is over, so I can officially post this here now. Just some good old LadyNoir/Adrinette fluff which if you were paying attention to this blog in February, I did talk about LadyNoir a lot so when I abandoned my original idea, this was the one that hit me next, and with everything going on with my grandma (who died 2 days before I published this originally) I just wanted something light, easy, and fun. 

Read on AO3

“I have a proposal for you.”

Ladybug’s eyes narrowed on her partner as he leaned against his staff to be level with her face. There was a smugness in his expression that told her she wasn’t going to like what came next, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him when she sighed and said, “No, I will not marry you.”

“Ha-ha, that’s…not what I was going to ask,” he said, averting his gaze briefly before flashing her one of those boyish grins. “This time.” She rolled her eyes and waved an arm for him to continue. “Well, you and I can’t know anything about each other…”

“Correct,” she said with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So, I’ve been thinking…We can’t even do stuff like celebrate each other’s birthdays, so what if we picked a day and designated it as our birthday-day?” He said, beaming when she didn’t immediately shoot him down.

“You want to pick a random day to celebrate both of our birthdays?” She asked for clarification, mask raising to one side.

“Yes.” He nodded.

She drummed her fingers, considering it a moment before shrugging. “Alright. What day?”

“How about this Saturday? We can get each other gifts, have cake, watch the lights, talk.” He shrugged. “Anything we want. It’s our birthday.”

“Okay, sounds fun,” she said, lips curling into a smile.

“Wait, really?” His ears stood up straight in surprise.

“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. I’ve thought about asking when your birthday is before, but I didn’t want to learn anything that could give away your identity,” she said, turning to face him fully. “I’ve wanted to get you a gift for a while, but we’ve never had the time.” A smile tugged on his lips, and she averted her gaze, cheeks burning. “It’s not a big deal. You’re my friend, so of course I’d want to get you a birthday gift.”

“Right,” Chat said, though his expression was far too smug for her liking. “So, Saturday then?”

She pursed her lips, contemplating it a moment, and nodded. “Saturday.”

***

Adrien stared out the window of his town car with a pensive frown. When he’d suggested their joint birthday, he hadn’t actually expected her to be so receptive to it, and he had to admit, he was caught a little off guard. Sure, he was excited that she’d approved the idea, but that left him with a bigger problem: he didn’t know what to get her as a gift.

Normally, he could think of a thousand romantic ideas, but this time he was coming up empty. Should he buy her a gift? Or make her a gift like he did for Marinette? Should he write her a poem? Or maybe get her a gag gift? No, that would be lame. What did Ladybug even like?

His chest clenched.

What did Ladybug like? He didn’t really know. Video games? What type of perfume did she wear normally? Did she like makeup? This was worse than he thought. All this time he thought he knew Ladybug, but the truth remained that she really kept a lot of things about herself hidden. The curse of secret identities.

Maybe he should just keep his gift general and pick something that any girl would like. After all, Ladybug made it clear that this was strictly a platonic endeavor. But what did girls like from boys that are just friends? Especially boys that you care about deeply who would risk their life for you but in a totally platonic way? He needed advice.

But from who? Chloe? No. She’d probably grill him about why he was getting a gift for someone other than her. Alya might just grill him in general. He needed someone he could trust. Someone like…

Marinette!

Black pigtails bounced up the stairs as the car rolled to a stop, and Adrien hopped out, racing to catch up to her. Marinette was the perfect person to ask. She was like a master gift-giver.

“Hey, Marinette!” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oops, my bad. Guess I should have warned you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I need a favor.”

“A favor? For why? I mean- why? What’s up?” She asked, blinking several times.

“Well, I have a…friend, and I want to get her a gift for her birthday, but I don’t really know what to get her. You’re really good at giving gifts, so what do you think I should get her?” He asked, and she relaxed, a smile curling on her lips that helped ease some of Adrien’s own nerves. Marinette had a way of doing that.

“Oh. Well, what does she like?” His shoulders tensed at that.

“Uh, well, I don’t really know,” he said with a wince. “I was hoping you could give me some advice on some stuff girls like in general?”

“Hmm, who is she?” Marinette asked, but at his hesitance she added, “Or who is she to you?”

“She’s just…a friend. A good friend. Someone that I kind of hope to be more than friends with some day,” he said, cheeks warming, and he cleared his throat. “I want to get her something that she’ll love, but I don’t really know what that is.”

“Is it Kagami?” Marinette asked, and Adrien blinked, wondering how she could have come to that conclusion. Then again, he remembered not too long ago asking for Marinette’s help taking Kagami on a date, so he conceded that it was a fair assumption for her to make.

“No. It’s not Kagami,” he said which seemed to perplex her more, and he knew he had to be careful with his words. “It’s for someone I work with. You don’t know her.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, pursing her lips. “Well, whenever I give someone a gift, I make sure that it’s personal to that individual. Like for Alya I made her a new case for her phone and for Rose I knit some pink mittens.”

Well, there went his general idea.

“Do you think I should make her something?” His eyes widened, and Marinette held up reassuring hands when he blanched.

“It doesn’t have to be hand-made, but it should be something from your heart that you know she will like,” she said, but it didn’t help. “Tell you what. Why don’t we go shopping after school? I’ll help you pick something out.”

“Thanks, Marinette. You’re a life saver,” he said, pressing his palms together in an expression of gratitude.

He had to admit that having Marinette’s assistance did calm a lot of his nerves about the situation. With her helping, he was bound to find the perfect gift for Ladybug. Plus it meant he got to spend more time with Marinette which was always a win in his book.

“So, where do you think we should start?” He asked as Gorilla strolled slowly up the street. “Should I buy her clothes?”

“Do you know her size?” Marinette asked, and he pursed his lips, conceding her point. She paused outside the jewelry store and pointed inside. “You want this gift to tell your feelings for her, right? So, come pick out something that makes you think of her.”

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess, I mean, she only sees me as a friend, so do you really think I should buy her something like that?”

“You want to be more than friends someday, right?” Marinette asked, and his cheeks warmed. “Follow your heart.”

It was solid advice considering his head was a frantic mess, but what did his heart want? To get her something she’d love. Something that conveyed how much he cared about her. Something that would make her think about him whenever she saw it.

Marinette was browsing bracelets when he approached her, and she straightened, giving him an encouraging smile as he held up a golden heart-shaped locket. The front was encrusted with a ruby that reminded him of her suit, and Marinette’s eyes lit up when she saw it.

“Adrien, it’s beautiful. She’ll love it,” she said, clasping her hands over her chest.

“Are you sure? It’s not too much?” He asked, but she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It’s perfect, and if it’s what your heart picked out then there’s no way she won’t like it,” she said with a confidence he tried to grasp for himself.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at the locket once more and nodding. “Okay. You’re right. It’ll be perfect.” He smiled back up at her. “Thanks again for your help. I was feeling really lost about all of this.”

“Any time. We’re friends, aren’t we?” She said, lowering her gaze to her shoes and clasping her hands behind her back. “Well, good luck with your gift. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“I will,” he said as she moved for the door. “Marinette?”

“Yeah?” She paused in the threshold, turning back to face him and tilting her head to the side.

“I’m really glad to have an amazing friend like you,” he said, and something flashed on her face that he couldn’t quite read. She seemed sad almost, but just as quickly as it came, she covered it up with a smile.

“Yeah, me too.”

***

Ladybug stared out across the rooftops, twirling the ribbon of her gift around one finger. She hadn’t been able to focus ever since she helped Adrien pick out a gift for his mystery girl. Alya was joking about having her admitted for being such a space cadet, but she couldn’t help it. Adrien was going to give that locket to some beautiful model then they were going to get married, have beautiful model babies and move to private island then Marinette would never see him again. She’d die all alone with her fifty cats and a hamster named-

“Ladybug?” Chat waved his hand in front of her face, and she blinked.

“How long have you been calling my name?” She asked with a wince.

“I dunno. 15-20 seconds?” He shrugged, and her stomach did a little flip. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I had a…long week,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Lots of homework. Hawkmoth making akumas every day. Juggling a double life. You know how it is.” She gestured around to the streamers she’d hung up between chimneys. “Plus, I set all this up for us.”

“You really liked this birthday idea,” he said, sounding a bit too smug as he leaned down into her face, so she flicked his bell.

“Everyone likes birthdays. Anyone who doesn’t like birthdays is a monster,” she said pointedly. “But I will admit, it was kind of fun decorating our cake.”

“Oh? M’lady baked me a birthday cake? I’m honored.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she shoved his shoulder with a laugh.

“Just a small one,” she said.

“And it’s not burnt?” He asked, mask lifting to one side, and her jaw dropped.

“I’m a very good baker, thank you very much!” She crossed her arms over her chest as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Fine. Don’t eat any of it then.”

“Wait, no! I want it. I’m really happy,” he said, holding up apologetic hands.

Ladybug rolled her eyes and paced over to retrieve the cake from the white unmarked box sitting on an orange crate. She had to go to two different stores to find a box that wouldn’t give her away, and explaining to her dad why he couldn’t see the cake she was baking was a whole other situation in and of itself. She just hoped that Chat Noir wouldn’t be too suspicious of her. Maybe she should have added too much vanilla to the frosting. Curse her years of bakery experience!

“Whoa,” Chat gasped when she pulled the cake from the box. She’d drawn their faces in the frosting, and the lettering was perfect if she did say so herself. A little too perfect, actually. “You made this yourself?”

“Everyone has hobbies, chaton,” she said as nonchalantly as possible, and fortunately, he seemed to accept it.

“Oh, can I light the candles?” He asked, bouncing like a kid who really should not be trusted with matches.

“Just don’t burn the building down. I don’t think the business below will appreciate it,” she said, offering him the box and doing her best not to laugh when he stuck his tongue out as he passed the flame over each wick.

“Ready?” He grinned, the flickering light casting shadows across his face as they started to sing.

When the song finished, they blew out the candles in unison, and Chat flashed her his signature boyish grin.

“Joyeux anniversaire, m’lady,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips.

“Joyeux anniversaire, Chat Noir,” Ladybug replied. “Cake first or presents?”

“I’m dying to try your cooking,” he said, bouncing on his heels. “But I think I want to give you my gift first.”

“Okay,” Ladybug said with a smile, retrieving her gift and holding it out to him.

“Oh, I wonder what m’lady got me,” Chat said, shaking the neatly wrapped box before carefully ripping the bow. He removed a hand-knit black beanie with cat ears and turned it over in his hands with a grin. “Wow, did you make this too?”

“I- watched a tutorial. I’m not great at knitting, but I think it’s best if a gift comes from the heart,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“This looks so well made. I think you’ve uncovered a hidden talent, m’lady,” he said, pulling the hat over his ears. “Maybe next time you can knit me a blanket, and we can snuggle.”

Ladybug let out a breathy laugh as he leaned into her face and waggled his brows, pushing his nose away. “Dare I ask what you got me?”

Chat retrieved a small square box wrapped in red paper from his belt and held it out to her with a cheeky grin. She turned it over in her hands, the contents inside rattling, and shrugged, tearing away the paper. When she lifted the lid, her jaw dropped but snapped shut again as her stomach jumped up to her throat. Inside was a small golden locket embezzled with a ruby. The same locket she’d helped Adrien pick out two days ago. Which meant that either this locket was popular, or-

“Do you like it?” He asked, looking up at her through his lashes.

She knew that look all too well. It was the same shy, wanting-to-be-accepted look she’d seen Adrien give so many times. She had that look on posters on her wall. She’d always known Chat’s smile was a little too perfect to be normal. Now she knew why.

“It’s-” Your identity.

Granted, it wasn’t his fault. After all, what were the odds? It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose. He just wanted to make sure she liked whatever he got her, so he asked a friend for advice. He didn’t know that she was that very same friend he was buying said gift for! Oh, and Adrien had been so worried about getting the perfect gift…

“It’s beautiful, chaton. Thank you,” she said finally, trailing her fingers over the jewel.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but Ladybug tensed more with each passing second. Adrien was Chat Noir. Adrien the-love-of-her-life Agreste was Chat Noir. Which meant she was in love with Chat Noir.

This wasn’t happening. Should she tell him? No. Well…maybe? What if he wasn’t really Adrien, and it was all a coincidence? It could be a coincidence, right? Then if she told him how she knew, he’d know her identity. Her head was spinning.

“Do you want me to help you put it on?” He asked, his voice more subdued and timid than she was used to, and when she flicked her gaze back to him, he looked every bit Adrien with one hand cupping the back of his neck.

“I- yes. Sorry, I just…I’ve never gotten something like this before,” she admitted, turning around as Chat draped the necklace over her head. “It’s really beautiful.”

“I gotta confess. I was really nervous about buying you a gift. It made me realize how little I know about you,” he said, fastening the clasp. “I asked a good friend of mine for help because I wanted everything to be perfect.” She turned to face him, his eyes warm and soft. “You mean the world to me, Ladybug, and I wanted you to know that.”

“Chat, I-”

“I know. You love someone else,” he said, lowering his gaze to his shoes. “I envy him every day, and I hope he realizes how lucky he is.”

Ladybug searched his expression as he smiled down at her, her heart hammering in her chest. Adrien was in love with her. She’d been rejecting him for months. Oh, how she just wanted to fall of that roof, but true to form, she panicked and hugged him to hide her face before it could betray her.

“You mean the world to me too, you know,” she said, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know,” he sighed, leaning into her embrace. “And you have no idea how happy that makes me.” He pulled away, his signature playful smirk returning.  “But if you loved me back, I’d buy you pretty necklaces all the time. As many as you wanted.”

She flicked his bell with a laugh. If only he knew. And he could know. She could tell him. Should she? She didn’t know. Adrien was Chat Noir.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight. I’ll cherish your gift forever,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips, and she hated how hot her cheeks got when he pressed a soft kiss to her fingers.

“This is fun. We’ll have to do it again next year,” she said, biting her lip.

“Happy Birthday, Ladybug.”

“Yeah. Happy Birthday, chaton.”

***

“What am I gonna do, Tikki?” Marinette flopped onto her bed and buried her face into her pillow. “I’m not supposed to know Adrien is Chat Noir.”

“Well, there isn’t much you can do to take it back now,” Tikki said pointedly, and Marinette let out a groan.

“Do you think I should take his Miraculous?” She lifted her head, eyebrows knit together in a worried frown.

“Do you think you should?”

“Well…” She sat up and moved the pillow to her lap, picking at loose threads. “It’s the rule, but…I can’t imagine being Ladybug without Chat Noir. Putting aside the fact that he’s the boy I love, Chat Noir is my friend, my partner. I trust him.”

“You are the guardian now, Marinette, so knowing his identity isn’t a bad thing,” Tikki said, floating over to sit on the pillow. “And you two work so well together.”

“Yeah, but what if I get flustered around him now that I know he’s really Adrien? What if I get distracted, or try to kiss him, or-” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want him to stop being Chat Noir, but now I can’t stop thinking about his identity and how he’s the boy that I…you know. I mean, should I tell him I know? I should tell him, right?”

“If you think it’s a good ide-”

“But what if I tell him and then he wants to know my identity? I mean, it would only be fair since I know his. And if I tell him my identity, what if he gets distracted. Well, more distracted than usual,” she said, clutching fistfuls of her hair. “What if he comes to visit my balcony as Chat Noir because he’s in love with me and then Hawkmoth sees him then Hawkmoth will know I’m the guardian, and he’ll get the Miracle Box, Paris will be doomed, and I’ll be the worst Ladybug in the history of Ladybug!”

“Marinette,” Tikki chided as her chosen fell back onto the mattress. “You always think too much. I’m sure everything will be fine no matter what you decide to do. You said it yourself that Chat Noir is your friend and you trust him, and you know that Adrien is a good guy too. Trust yourself to make the right decision.”

“Yeah, but what if I mess up? What if…I get it wrong again?” She flicked her gaze over to her hidden compartment that housed the Miracle Box.

“Then you’ll definitely want Chat Noir to have your back, right?” Tikki said, and Marinette gave her a small smile.

“Yeah. Definitely,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Tikki. I’ll sleep on it and make a decision in the morning.”

“That’s a great idea,” Tikki said, flitting over to her spot as Marinette turned out the light and laid down. “Good night, Marinette. I know you’ll make the right choice.”

“Yeah…” Marinette hummed, picking at the golden locket around her neck.

It’s what she was hoping.

***

The following Monday, Marinette climbed the stairs of the school slower than usual. She’d made up her mind, but she couldn’t help questioning whether or not it was the right choice. Adrien deserved to know that his identity was compromised, and telling him her own identity felt fair. But was she telling him because of her feelings for him or because she actually felt like it was the right decision? That fact was yet to be determined. She just hoped she could find the words.

A mop of blond hair was hunched over a locker, shuffling through a silver shoulder bag, and Marinette took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just Chat Noir. She talked to him all the time. He was her best friend. He was going to be ecstatic to finally learn her identity. This was for the good of their partnership. She hoped.

“Adrien?” She called, her voice timid and unsure, and she flinched as he turned over his shoulder.

“Marinette!” A smile broke over his lips. “Thanks so much for your help the other day. My friend liked the gift.”

“Oh, that’s awesome!” She said, feigning enthusiasm. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?” He asked, those green eyes calm and unassuming. He didn’t have a care in the world unlike the quiet storm brewing inside Marinette.

“Um, it’s kind of private. Can we talk somewhere else?” She said, glancing around the other students filing in and out of the locker room. Adrien seemed confused but didn’t question it as he followed Marinette to a secluded corner of the courtyard.

“What’s up?” He asked, and she took a deep breath.

“Okay, I know this is going to be a big shock, so please don’t freak out, but…I know you’re Chat Noir,” she said, and Adrien’s eyebrows raised.

“What? You think I’m Chat Noir?” He scoffed, shifting his weight. “I mean, I’m flattered, but-”

His voice trailed off when Marinette pulled the locket from inside her shirt, and she curled her shoulders with a sigh.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea who you were buying it for. If I had known it was going to give away your identity, I never would have agreed to help,” she said. “But what were the odds?”

“Wait,” Adrien said, blinking a couple times and tilting his head to the side. “Ladybug?”

“Hi, kitty.” She gave a small wave, biting her lip, and she expected him to break down. To panic. To do anything but lift her off her feet and spin her around. “Adrien!”

He twirled in circles, laughing and smiling before abruptly dipping her and touching his forehead to hers. “It’s you!”

“Adrien,” she hissed, giving a nervous glance at the other students in the courtyard, and he pulled her upright again, though his hands never strayed from her waist.

“It’s really been you all along,” he said, a dopey grin, crinkling his eyes. “You’ve been so close to me all this time.”

“Adrien.”

“You’re my bugaboo.”

“Don’t call me that out in the open!” She clamped a hand over his mouth, feeling her cheeks flush under that affectionate green gaze.

“But this makes perfect sense. You’re so smart, and you always look out for others. Of course, you’re Ladybug,” he said, smacking his forehead as if he should have realized sooner. One of his signature impish grins curled on his lips, and Marinette quickly learned just how much Chat Noir there really was in Adrien as he said, “So, what are you doing tomorrow night? Wanna see a movie?”

“Seriously? Just like that you’re in love with Marinette?” She gave him a look.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, and she felt her annoyance flaring. 72 hours ago, she would have killed to hear Adrien say he loved her, but now she felt a little offended.

“Why? Just because I’m you-know-who now?” She crossed her arms over her chest, and Adrien seemed to realize her point.

“It’s not like that,” he assured her, green eyes softening and working a sort of voodoo magic over her that she couldn’t quite resist no matter how hard she tried. “The way I see it…Ladybug is you. All of the crazy schemes, the brains, the heroism, the compassion, the kindness, everything about Ladybug that I fell in love with comes from you, Marinette. Because that’s who you are. So, yeah, just like that.”

She had to admit, it was hard to stay mad at someone so cute. Especially when he was looking at her with such fondness and adoration. She’d been trying to ignore her feelings this whole time. To listen to her head instead of her heart, but in a lot of ways, it had been just like that for her too.

All of a sudden, the giant question mark that was Adrien had become so clear to her. He became familiar. Safe. Comfortable. Her partner. Her friend. Her kitty. The boy who had once seemed so out of reach had become so close in the blink of an eye, and now he stood before her less than a meter away, heart open and willing if she would only reach out and grab it.

“I guess I’m free,” she said, pursing her lips, and Adrien’s face lit up.

“Really?” He asked, and she nodded. “Wait, really, really?”

“Yes,” she laughed, and his eyes did that thing again. “Am I going to have to put up with you hitting on me twice as much now?”

“Of course.” He grinned, and she let out a sigh, looking him up and down.

“And what are you going to do if I flirt back one of these days?” She quirked a brow.

“Die of happiness,” he said. “Wait, is that a possibility?”

“Well,” she hummed, biting back a smile. “The boy I was in love with all this time…It was you.”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, and Marinette shushed him into lowering his voice. “This just proves it. You and I are meant to be together. We’re going to be unstoppable. We’ll defeat Hawkmoth, get married, live together in a beautiful cottage with kids and a hamster named-”

Marinette silenced him with a kiss, taking his hands and swinging them back and forth when she pulled away. Adrien let out a dreamy sigh, lips glued into a smile, and at her laugh, he straightened his shoulders.

“Can I ask you something?”

“If it’s to marry you, I think we should at least wait until we’re out of school,” she said, flicking his nose playfully.

“No, that question will come in time.” He waved it away then rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just thinking…This birthday thing made me realize how little I know about Ladybug, and I do know a bit more about Marinette, but not as much as I’d like, so…I want to get to know you, Marinette. I’ve always wanted to.”

“Okay,” she said. “On one condition: I want to get to know Adrien Agreste better too.”

“Deal.” He gave her hands a squeeze, and she bit her lip.

“So, what do you want to know?” She asked, and a smile stretching across his cheeks.

“Everything.”

[mccarricks]

( brittany o’grady / demi woman ) WESLEY McCARRICK is 23 years old and is a SENIOR at thales university. SHE is majoring in FILM and is known for being THE MAVERICK as THEY can be HUMOROUS and OPEN-MINDED as well as DITZY and IMPULSIVE. every time i see HER/THEM, THEY remind me of PURPLE SKY IN THE DESERT, SKATING AS FAST AS YOU CAN TO FEEL THE WIND ON YOU, A JOKE TOLD WITH A TOOTHY GRIN.

hero’s back w character no. 2 and yet......

full name: wesley ‘wes’ elaine mccarrick

birthdate: february 2, 1997

age: 23

gender: demi woman

pronouns: she/her/they/them

zodiac: aquarius

nationality: american

ethnicity: black (louisiana creole) and white (irish)

hometown: santa fe, nm

languages: english, intermediate spanish

family:

theodore mccarrick, father

elaine barlow, mother

ruby mccarrick, older brother

delphine mccarrick, older sister

sherri barlow, maternal grandmother

many cousins

orientation: bisexual biromantic, pref. towards women/nb people but will date men

religion: agnostic

height: 5 ft 4 in

distinguishing features: eyebrows, hair, lips

character inspo: ilana wexler (broad city), harley quinn (dc comics), phoebe buffay (friends), prob more

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

TRIGGERS: divorce, mentions of crime, drug and alcohol use

the youngest child of ted and elaine mccarrick, wes was a kid who is full of life. she’s the kind of kid who did things to make you smile, and it usually worked. she was warm and inviting, a little naive, but she had a strong support system.

her parents divorce when she’s six, she doesn’t quite understand it but her dad moves out, and her grandma and multiple cousins move in. it’s a lively household, between her mom, who works as a nurse, and her siblings, and her cousins, it was never really quiet and there was never a lot of room.

despite the split, her parents maintain that their children have a relationship with both of them, and truthfully, wes is a daddy’s girl. she and her dad were cut from the same cloth, happy go lucky, fun loving, a bit silly, he’s the one who introduces her to movies. it’s their thing, watching and critiquing them together, and it’s not whatever is in theatres either. they went for all times of filmmaking, new wave, surrealist, and more.

it really stuck with wes, who herself had begun making movies, mostly horror/fantasy/scifi stuff with her friends-- she writes and directs and occasionally, she’ll don a costume and star in them. they’re silly little things, but her family always sat down for her “premieres.”

her formative years are marked with plenty of things, sports, deaths of distant family members, a cousin or two who gets caught in the wrong crowd and ends up in jail, and throughout this, wes remains a rock for her family.

she’s in high school, and she gets into the eclectic crowd, the outcasts, the weirdos, the ones who smoked under the bridge, and partied out in an abandoned trailer near the desert. these freaks were her freaks. they accepted her with open arms, as she them.  

she chooses thales because she always wants to see the east coast, and frankly, as much as she loves her family, she wants to be free of them. and they have a fantastic film program. so!

she meets steven in their first film class together, and they’re fast friends, despite her usual weariness of YET another film bro, steven proves to be a good egg. so she thinks. she finds out through him talking that he might not be the most faithful to his girlfriend, and as much as she doesn’t like meddling, she thinks it’s only right to let clarissa, who she doesn’t really know well, know. however, before there’s a chance, everything happens-- now she’s stuck wondering if she should reveal the truth, or let sleeping dogs lie.

nana is different, nana and her dated her sophomore year, nana’s freshman year. it wasn’t serious. but they were fond of each other. they eventually break up, but they stay friendly, waving to each other in the halls, chatting at parties.

both the disappearance and the murder is weird for wes, who by all accounts, isn’t great at dealing with bad shit. she prefers to laugh about things. laugh about everything. because if she doesn’t laugh, she’ll cry.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

wes is a mess, a free-spirit, a walking contradiction. she’s very independent minded, the kind of person who does things without thinking so much about the consequences, this leads her into trouble sometimes. like nicking something from a convenience store, or stealing a stop sign as a prank. she’s definitely the kind to goof off and not exactly dedicate her full attention to something. and while she’s in genuinely good spirits on most occasions, she has a staunch ‘no asshole’ policy. the type to defend the underdogs, and go after bullies. she’ll punch you with a smile on her face, and yet it ends up being more unnerving than you realize. she’s a bit of a ditz, as well, never the best at school, but can talk your ear off about the going ons of the world. she’s a lovable dumbass, for sure, and loyal to a tee once you get her as a friend.

𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒

horror movie fan! her favorites are some of the oldies, like dracula and  the bride of frankenstein! and some new ones! big fan of jordan peele’s work, as well as ari aster’s! but mostly really advocates for women directors and directors of color!

also does roller derby! she picked this up her first year at thales and fell in love with it, i can’t think of a name for her yet, but she’s a blocker, won’t hesitate to elbow some dick at the bar

kinda a tomboy? she’s always been! she’s rough and tumble and not afraid to get down and dirty with someone, i.e. will join those football games on the quad or crawl through the mud for a scene to shoot

doesn’t know if she wants to be a director/writer or a cinematographer honestly.... she loves the technical aspects of film as much as the making the stories

definition of a bruh girl, says it a whole lot, but also just if you tell her you love her, she’ll just roll her eyes and be like you’re an idiot (which means she loves you too) she’ll be affectionate if she’s close to you

kinda a wh*re oops....... texts multiple girls at a time and doesn’t want to hurt any of their feelings she doesn’t know how she keeps ending up in these situations... also a bisexual disaster

a stoner as well..... always has a massive jar of weed

unclear whether she lives on campus or off campus but if she does live off campus she has a pet turtle named elsa lanchester after the bride of frankenstein actress

a drummer! she’s in a band (name tbd) she started drumming at a young age and found it was a good way to manage her aggression

doesn’t really do well with emotions, so she’ll either be like there, there, or try to make jokes.... she really said kids can you lighten up

walking meme... such a walking meme... doesn’t know so many things she’s like a cute puppy with no thoughts head empty but she’s so fun to be around

life of the party.... nana she came fr ur spot and she took it and she’s not sorry but she does miss u a lot

doesn’t rly feel like she’s allowed to be upset anyways bc some people have it...... way worse.... can u say Imposter syndrome

kind of an enabler...... will be that person to push u to try things but not in a peer pressurey way, more like if u are unsure abt sending a text she says do it

wears fun earrings and socks! think lollipops or gummy bears or found objects like she collects that shit it’s her lifeline

boxes! she’s been boxing since she was abt 12, courtesy of her older brother (who is now a doctor thx ruby) and it’s a good way to exercise and release stress

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

best friend -- two of a feather, cut from the same cloth, or complete opposites it doesnt matter to her (the abbi to her ilana)

roller derby friends -- she’s p close to the team, margs on her

makeup artist pal -- i think it would be neat fr someone to try and teach her makeup whether its normal or sfx bc she wants to look like a monster or smthn

she’s gullible, u take advantage of that -- u just tell her lies p much and she’s like yeah ok that sounds right

party friends

classmates

fwbs (f/m/nb) -- tbh she might have one or two of these but they literally are the def of pals who bone sometimes... like v good abt being like you good? u dont want more? cool me too

exes (f/m/nb) -- mostly dated women or nb people but def cld have had a guy

she smokes you out -- p much the only reason u hang out w her is bc she has good weed

someone she’s fought -- like fully decked in the face, prob said something that rubbed her the wrong way and it just devolved from there

people who dislike her -- she could definitely be seen as annoying bc shes loud and dorky and funny so ??

breaks someone out of their shell -- p self explanatory, pushes them to have fun, w everything happening shes rly like lifes too short to not take the opportunities around u

cousins! probably on her dad’s side! i figure she has some east coast fam 

anything? truly?

[barbarasbae]

Even in Hawkins - Stay Tonight

Part Seven of Even in Hawkins 

Billy Hargrove x Reader x Steve Harrington 

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: SAD READER, smut!, underage drinking, unprotected sex (just don’t do that), 18+ please

After school, Y/n went looking for Billy to return his denim jacket. She spotted him by his car, going outside to talk to him. Another omega ran up and slid under his arms, Y/n able to make her disappear if she were more willing to use her status to her advantage. But she thought it was mean to growl at someone for no reason. She stops in front of Billy, taking him in. He was clearly cold, goosebumps on his exposed chest. “You want something sunshine?”

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the movies with me and Steve on Friday, but I see you have other plans, so nevermind.” She walked off in a hurry, ignoring him calling after her, her still wearing his jacket. They finish presenting the project the next day, Y/n quiet and only talking to Billy when he spoke to her. Weird. 

Billy showed up to a party alone on Friday, wanting to get off or get wasted before the end of the night (or stoned, he didn’t really care). He grabbed a beer and an omega, pulling her to the dance floor with him, trying to ignore her giggles. She lets him grind on her, Billy not really caring about being neat and letting his beer spill on him when someone bumps into him. It was Y/n. She was wearing a yellow sundress. In February. She was drunk, her stumbling through the crowd like she was looking for someone. He abandoned the omega he was basically humping, her pouting and letting out a shrill whine that pierced his ear drums. “Hey, sweetheart.” Billy cooed, grabbing Y/n by the waist. She turned, beaming up at him. “Billy! You’re here!”

“Yeah. You here alone?”

“No! I came with my friend Samantha. I don’t know where she went.” She gave a look around, a concerned expression on her face. She spotted her and waved, Billy chuckling as the equally drunk beta girl waved back. Billy leaned down and nipped her neck, not minding the giggle he got from Y/n. He sucked on her scent gland, her pushing his chest gently. “Stop! You’re gonna leave a mark.” She ‘scolded’, biting her lip. “That’s the point, princess.” He pulled her closer, lips on her ear. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her, smiling into it. Billy laughed when she jumped, him having squeezed her ass. “Scare you, Y/n?” She shook her head, tipping her cup back into her mouth. She dropped the empty cup when someone bumped into them. “Oops.” Billy redirected her attention, cupping her jaw and pulling her back into some heavy kisses, her moaning softly when his tongue went in her mouth. “Ow! You bit my tongue.” She pouted, hands now on the collar of his leather jacket. He kissed her nose in an apology, hands groping her ass again. “Yellow’s your color, baby.” He complimented, stealing a few pecks before forcing his tongue back in her mouth. She tugged a little on his hair, Billy rubbing her cheek bone. She pulled back and looked him over. “I don’t think red’s yours. You should take it off.” She flirted innocently, hooking her finger in his open shirt.

 Billy slowly guided her towards the stairs, their fingers interlocked. He found an empty bedroom with a lock, pushing her against the door and crashing his mouth against hers, her hands on his arms. She reached behind her and locked the bedroom door, Billy dipping lower for a minute to pick her up, not breaking the kiss. She gripped his shoulders tightly, surprising him and licking a stripe up his neck. He walked to the bed, placing her down so he could take off his boots. She popped off her shoes, sitting on one side of the bed, waiting to get in his lap. Billy dropped his jacket on the floor, climbing on the bed, her leaning into kiss him again. Billy settled against the headboard, Y/n eagerly climbing on top of him. Billy pulled her flush against him, kissing her neck. “You sure Stevie’s okay with this, Y/n?” She didn’t say anything, Billy sucking on her neck under her ear. She whined lowly, Billy stopping and pulling away. She wouldn’t look at him. “Y/n?” She started crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He swiped under her eyes, her shoulders shaking gently. “Baby, talk to me.” He pleaded, her wiping at her face. “S-Steve broke up with me.” She whimpered. Well, shit. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight. She tucked her head under his chin, hugging him back. “I don’t know w-what I did. We were fine Wednesday.” Her skin was getting warmer, feeling him nudge her hair with his nose. She shifted, the alpha stiffening as she scented him. “Will you go home with me? My family went on a school trip for the weekend.” She asked softly, wiping more mascara off her face. He nodded, grabbing a tissue of the nightstand, wiping her face gently. He led her downstairs after she was cleaned up, his jacket around her shoulders. He steered her outside, avoiding Steve, who was standing with Nancy and Jonathan. “How’d you get here, baby?”

“Walked.”

“Here, get in my car.” She sat in the passenger seat, snuggled into his coat. He looked over at her when they got to the end of the road, her completely curled up on the leather seat. Adorable. “We’re here.” She sat up blinking sleepily. She unlocked the house, shivering as the snow chilled air started getting to her. He kicked his boots off, her shoes sitting next to his by the door. He picked her up and carried her up the stairs, making her giggle. She got dumped on her bed, pulling Billy down on top of her. She smiled up at him, Billy taking her in. This felt good, having her under him. Familiar, Billy thought. But definitely not the same. He liked it, used to screwing around with male omegas because they couldn’t get pregnant as easily (which meant condoms were more optional if they remembered). “Billy?” 

“Hm?”

“You okay?” She asked, taking off his leather jacket and kissing his chin. He nodded. “All yours baby.” She lifted her hips, shimmying off her panties, Billy tossing them off the bed. He helped her lift the sundress of her body, her popping off her bra and looking over the dressed alpha. “You can’t fuck me unless you’re naked.” He smiled, her biting her lip. “You wanna be fucked.”

“Yes, please.” He stripped, pumping over himself a few times. “Wet already, huh?” 

“I want you to fuck me.” She whined softly, his tip rubbing over her slit. “You want me to cum all over? Mark you?” She nodded, squirming. Billy kissed down her neck, humming softly when he got to her scent gland. “Mark me. Please.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around him, hands flat on his back. She gasped, Billy pushing into her. Her fingers curled as he started pumping, the alpha desperate to comfort the previously crying omega. She was a sweet thing, Billy admittedly angry upset with Steve. This made his plan to become alpha to them both so much harder.”B-Billy? Billy please be a little more-ooh!-gentle.” She pleaded, his nails tearing at the skin on her hips. “Sorry, pretty girl. You’re easy to get lost in.” She gave him a small smile, the inebriated omega pleased with the compliment. He slowed his hips, her biting her lip. “Can you go, maybe a little faster? Oh fuck!” She squealed, bed creaking every other thrust as he drove her hips into the mattress. They exchanged desperate, sloppy kisses, her moaning into every one of them. He slowed, allowing himself to push deeper and finding what he wanted. Her knees drew up, his knot teasing her entrance. “You feel that, baby?” She nodded rapidly, closing her eyes as a whimper escaped her. “Feels so good.” Thick fingers poked at her clit, a broad tongue lapping at her scent gland. She dug her nails into his shoulders, toes curling at the combination of his touches. “Alpha.” She moans, head tossed back to give Billy access to her scent glands. “Claim me.” 

He paused, pulling his mouth away from her skin. “No, sweetheart. Not like this, alright? Let’s wait until later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Turn over for me. That’s a good girl.” She grabbed one of her pillows, presenting for him. He purred softly, cock throbbing at the sight in front of him. He plowed into her harshly, the omega letting out whines as he tried to cum. He found her clit again, rubbing her slick over the little bud as he gave her more snappy thrusts. “Alpha.” She arched her back, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. “You’re being so good, omega.” He gave into her little pleads, littering her skin with hickeys instead of marking up her neck. Still a claim mark, just less permanent. Plus it was fun to watch her squirm in frustration every time he started to suck on skin that wasn’t her scent glands. “I wanna cum.” She whined, pushing herself onto her hands. He placed his teeth over her scent gland, his knot getting excited. He sucked, her mewling softly. Then his knot popped inside her, the omega letting out a shriek as she came on it. He groaned, dropping his forehead on top of her hair, fucking his knot and cum into her slippery warmth. “God baby. So fucking hot.” He praised, cock throbbing after coming so hard. They laid down, panting hard. Billy peppered kisses up her arm, back and neck, Y/n seemingly extremely happy with that choice. When they were finally able to pull apart, she got up on shaky legs and looked over the sweaty, naked alpha in her bed. “Take a shower with me?”

“Of course.” As the warm water ran over them, Y/n purred softly in contentment. “Thanks for taking me home tonight. I needed to be with someone. I think I might’ve drank myself until I puked if you hadn’t.” She mumbled, shivering as he gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb. Billy leaned to meet her, kissing her gently. They climbed into her bed and passed out almost instantly, both sleeping better than they had in many nights while in each other’s presence.

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[let-it-raines]

Rising from the Ashes (17/?)

When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones.

As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: Remember that thing I said about a happy ending? They’re (and you guys) are getting one💜

Soon! I’m sorry to those I mislead! I didn’t realize that. Oops. They’re getting one when the story is over, I promise 😘

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current 

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“How does that make you feel?”

She cuts her head to look at Dr. Lawrence and the way she’s tapping her pencil against her notebook, the one where she most likely writes down “Emma Swan is crazy” over and over again. It’s what she would write down if she were her own therapist because damn, sometimes she is crazy.

“Isn’t that a little cliché to ask me how that makes me feel?”

She sighs, her shoulders heaving the slightest bit, and she rolls her eyes. She likes Dr. Lawrence. She really does, but sometimes all she wants to do is take that notebook and rip it into pieces. She’s been coming here for two months now, since late February, and April isn’t bringing her any new revelations. Not that she thought therapy would. She just wanted to talk to someone else who wasn’t so emotionally invested in her life, to talk to someone who won’t get hurt by the things she has to say. They’re not all great, and she’s only a little ashamed by that. That’s what she’s supposed to be working on though.

“It is, yes, but I think it’s a legitimate question to ask when you’ve been circling around saying that it bothers you that Killian hasn’t proposed yet.”

Her lips press together in a firm line, a sour feeling settling in her stomach and making it twist into something that has to be unnatural. Feeling this way has to be unnatural. “I did not say that.”

“Not in those words, but you did.”

She sighs again, unable not to, before falling back on the couch and rubbing at her eyes, most likely making her mascara run and create some kind of weird, smoky eye raccoon look. This is a really uncomfortable couch, the cushions almost like rocks. Shouldn’t the thing be more comfortable? Aren’t people supposed to feel comfortable in here? That’s a thing, right?

“I’m not,” she starts, not really sure where the words are going as she uncovers her eyes and looks up at the paneled ceiling. They should do that in the living room. It’d look nice. “I’m not upset that Killian hasn’t proposed. Us getting married has never been a top priority for us, you know? We love each other, and a piece of paper and a diamond ring isn’t going to make us love each other more.”

“But it is more of a commitment.”

“Technically, yeah. With the whole legal aspect and all. I don’t – I don’t know. I want  to marry Killian. I really, really do. And I know he wants to marry me. He’s had a fucking ring for at least five months now, had to have had it for a few months before that, and he’s never asked me.”

“You’ve had a lot going on.”

She chuckles darkly, her stomach untwisting and sending that unpleasant feeling to her throat so that she feels like she could vomit all over the hardwood floor in here. That would probably be an extra fee that insurance doesn’t cover. “What? You mean like my dead ex-husband coming back from the dead, having to explain to him ‘hey honey, I moved on from you and am in love with your friend and can’t make you happy like that anymore. By the way, I realized most of our marriage was shit, but I can’t harbor any resentment toward you because you’re a hero and the father of our kid and have been through more bad things than I thought possible. Plus, you know, I did love you at one point and you’re a nicer guy now.’”

She finishes her words on a long breath, her shoulders releasing some of their tension, before she twists her head to the side and looks at Dr. Lawrence furiously scribbling notes down. Great, she’s probably going to get put into a mental institution now. Can her therapist do that?

Probably not.

God, she has got to get a grip.

And stop on the way home and get something for dinner so her mom isn’t forced to feed her when she picks Henry and Ada up from her house. Killian’s working late on some project with Robin that she cannot wait to be over. She swears that it’s aging him by ten years some days. He’s always so tired and stressed. Sometimes she wonders if he needs a new job, one that’s less stressful and reminds him less of his time in the Navy, but whenever she brings it up, he always says that he’s happy there and that the money is good. She believes him, but it doesn’t keep her from worrying about him and wanting to work on the stress that’s in his shoulders and between his brows.

Dr. Lawrence still doesn’t say anything, and for some reason this bothers her enough to make her keep going, to keep rambling.

“And I guess…things have calmed down now. It was like I was walking a tightrope for a long time, and I wasn’t allowed to trip or fall, you know? Because if I did, things fell apart. I had to be strong for Henry and for Ada. I had to be strong for Neal too. And Killian, even when we were going through that…even when we were going through that rough patch. But I failed, you know? I felt so lost and helpless. Sometimes I felt worthless, which is not an uncommon feeling for me but recently, it wasn’t a usual one. It took me a long time to get over Neal’s death, to get over being abandoned again, and Killian just made me feel so – he made me feel solid. Happy. Good. He was there for me when I felt like I had no one. He listened to me cry over my husband’s death. He listened to me cry over raising a baby alone. He listened to me. And he let me be me, which was something I didn’t have a lot.”

She smiles to herself thinking of it all, of all of the times Killian has been there with her and for her throughout the years, all the way back to them meeting in Oceania and him making her laugh. He’s always making her laugh.

“He’s my best friend on this planet. I can be myself when I’m with him, and he has held my hand through the shitstorm that have been parts of my life, even when I didn’t want to let him. I love him, you know? And I’m badass, by the way. Just thought that needed to be said. I’m badass and totally could have made it on my own, but Killian…with him I get to be strong and independent while also having that hand holding mine for comfort and support. He’s made my life so much better. He’s given me Ada, and really, he’s given me Henry too. So, yeah, I guess I am bothered by the fact that he hasn’t proposed yet. I’m worried that maybe he’s changed his mind again. I shouldn’t really. I know he loves me. He doesn’t let me doubt that. I just…I want to be with him fully. Hell, I want me to not have a different last name than both of my children. I want to marry him, and yeah, a part of me is worried that he doesn’t want to marry me, that everything with Neal has made our entire relationship be altered.”

Once the words are out, she knows that she can’t take them back. She doesn’t want to take them back. This is…this is her life and her emotions and she needs to feel them. It feels really good to say all of that, and honestly, she wants to say more. She wants to talk more about Killian and more about Neal. She wants to go back to what they were talking about last week and how Neal’s moving has affected everyone, especially Henry. She wants to talk about how terrified she is being a parent and putting her kids in such stressful, life changing situations.

She wants to talk.

But the clock on the wall says she only has ten minutes left, and she figures that Dr. Lawrence has to have something to say or else she’s been writing on that notepad for nothing.

She reaches up to wipe her eyes, to wipe away the tears that have been furiously falling without her permission before her hand lands on her pendant. She’s going to have to make herself look less puffy. She doesn’t even remember when she started crying.

“I think Neal coming back has altered your relationship,” Dr. Lawrence begins, and Emma sits up on the couch, straightening out her shirt and her back as she sniffles. “How could it not? Besides the emotional trauma and joy of having him be found alive, it’s completely changed your life. You and Killian are no longer parents to Henry alone. You share that responsibility even if the two of you carry the load. Your ex-husband is no longer a dead man. He’s a real human being with thoughts and feelings that aren’t always going to be perfect, so you have to adjust to that too. For as much change as you’ve been going through, Killian has been going through something too. You have to give him the emotional time to adjust as well because while I don’t know the man, I do know that he cares about you and is probably putting your feelings above his.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe Killian thinks that you’re not ready yet, that he thought you were still going through too much emotional upheaval until you two talked about it a bit – ” she looks down at her notebook, eyes seemingly searching for something “ – two weeks ago.”

Ah, so maybe she does actually pay attention.

“Does that really count as talking, though? I literally just hinted around at it.”

She smiles. “But it’s a start.”

-/-

“Henry, you have got to put your shin guards on so that we can go.”

“I can’t find them,” he shouts back over the railing.

“Of course you can’t,” she mutters to herself, rolling her eyes a bit as she looks down at Ada who is currently banging her hands against the wall and giggling to herself. Kids are so damn weird sometimes. She doesn’t understand what the purpose of banging her hands against the wall is, but if she’s about to have to go upstairs and help Henry find the rest of his soccer uniform, she can’t leave her down here by herself despite how much baby proofing they’ve done.

Her entire house is metaphorically wrapped in bubble wrap, and Ada still manages to find ways to nearly kill herself just by exploring.

This is terrifying.

How is Killian not back from his run and the grocery store yet? He’s already supposed to be here so they can go to the fields together like they’ve done every Saturday this spring. He already missed their usual breakfast, so he really needs to show up soon. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic or there was some kind of freak watermelon accident and there are watermelon all over the road. Or maybe he ran into someone he knows. She doesn’t know, and even though she really shouldn’t be angry at him right now, she’s had a bad morning and needs him.

And she misses him. He’s here, always right here, but he’s felt so distant lately, so far away. She felt so good after her therapy appointment on Tuesday, like she was ready to talk to him and finally fix things and have all of her emotions centered, but she’s barely gotten a chance to talk to him in the three days since. Both of their jobs have been busy, the kids have been insane, and then she had to deal with Neal cancelling his trip into town this weekend. She understands, really, but Henry understanding is different. He misses his dad, and if the hour long phone call last night is any indication, Neal misses Henry too.

Her life is a constant ebb and flow of being all together and all falling apart.

No, her life is good. She’s just been stressed the past few days. That’s all.

“Come on, bug,” she sighs, stepping toward Ada and picking her up, wondering when in the world this kid got so heavy. Ada lets out what has to be an actual, blood curdling scream and starts thrashing around while Emma carries her up the stairs. “Ada, shhh, it’s okay. We’re just going upstairs. You don’t have to have a meltdown.”

That somehow only makes things worse, the cries going up another decibel, and she resigns herself to this as she walks down the hallway into Henry’s room. There are clothes scattered everywhere, his notebooks spread across the floor. When in the world did his room get to be such a mess? He has to clean that tonight or tomorrow. It cannot stay like this.

“I can’t find them,” he whines again, tossing a pair of shoes out of his closet, the pair of converses landing on one of his books.

“Have you checked in your bag?”

“That’s the first place I looked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he shouts, coming out past the doorway and running his hands through his hair, yanking at the brown strands. “Why is Ada so loud? Make her stop.”

“I’m trying, kid.”

“Try harder.”

“Hey, no,” she says sternly, trying not to yell to escalate the situation, “you do not get to tell me what to do, especially not being loud and harsh like that. I understand that you are upset and can’t find your shin guards and that your sister is being really loud. I get that. I don’t like it either, but yelling isn’t going to solve any of our problems.”

“Ada is yelling.”

“Henry,” she sighs while Ada lets out another loud cry. Shit, this is not a good day. It’s not even ten in the morning yet. “Ada is a baby. She can’t really talk. You know this. I’m going to text your dad and ask if he knows where your stuff is.”

“How would my dad know if he doesn’t live here anymore?”

Her stomach drops for a moment before she realizes that she used the wrong term for Killian. It’s usually not confusing, but sometimes it’s so easy to slip up like that.

“Your daddy,” she corrects. “I’m going to text your daddy.”

“Killian is not my daddy. He’s my step dad.”

Her stomach really does drop then, a heavy anchor weighing her down and making it nearly impossible for her legs to stay steady and her arms to stay strong against a still wailing Ada, even if her cries are beginning to calm down. What did…what did Henry just say?

Why did he just say that Killian isn’t his daddy? She knew that sooner or later he’d feel too old to call Killian his daddy, that he wouldn’t always call him by the name he started calling him when he was five, but he’s not supposed to be calling Killian his step dad. Yeah, that’s pretty much what he is, technically, but that’s also not what he is. He’s his dad. He’s the man who raised him, and Henry should never think otherwise when that used to be all he knew.

“Where did you learn that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Henry.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest while his lips curl downward. Does she have the most dramatic kid in the world? Probably not. But he seems to be going for that title today. She’s just waiting for him to start crying or throwing things. Or hopefully not throwing things. That would be a disaster.

This day is kind of a disaster.

At least she hasn’t gotten to the point where she has to take away Henry’s games yet.

“My dad told me that’s what Killian is.”

Motherfucking hell.

She’s going to start crying.

And throw something.

Maybe throw Neal. Definitely throw Neal. He’s bigger than her and hundreds of miles away, but she could get it done. She could. Absolutely. All of those stories about mothers raging to protect their children – one of those is going to come true after she figures out what the hell is going on. Neal wouldn’t have told Henry that. He wouldn’t have. But then why would Henry have said that? He obviously knew he wasn’t supposed to tell her before she pushed him into saying it, so he was probably trying to protect his dad.

But why would Neal have told Henry that in the first place when they explicitly told him over and over again that this is how their family situation works?

It must be some kind of misunderstanding. It has to be. Neal wouldn’t do that, and if he did, it has to be a mistake, a slip of the tongue. She’ll call him later and get it all straightened up. It’ll be fine. Right now she really just has to focus on Henry and this situation and getting him to his soccer game.

Swallowing the gulp caught in her throat, she puts Ada on the ground, figuring that’s probably all that she wants to stop this crying, and squats down so that she’s at eye level with Henry, reaching up to brush his hair off of his forehead while he stares at her with those watery chocolate brown eyes.

“Kid,” she whispers quietly, curving her lips into a small, hopefully reassuring smile while she keeps pushing his hair back, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Henry nods his head up and down, his little shoulders heaving while Ada has managed to make her way to Henry’s bed and is holding herself up on it. At least she’s not banging on the door.

“Killian is your daddy. You can call him Dad if you want to, if you feel too old to be calling him Daddy. That’s okay. You are a very special kid, and like I’ve told you before, you get to be lucky enough to have two dads who love you and care for you more than anything in the world. Not every kid gets that like you do.”

“But Dad told me when we were on the phone that Kil – that my daddy is my step dad. Like how Ella has a step mom.”

She doesn’t know how to explain this. It was easier when Neal was dead, which is a horrible thing to think. But Henry understood it much more easily then. He embraced it more. Now he’s older, though, and has an entirely different situation for his life.

She wishes Killian were here. He’d help and know what to do and know what to say despite the fact that this would break his heart even more than it’s breaking hers.

“It’s…it’s grown up things. I,” she sighs, running her free hand through her hair and trying to think while her thighs begin to ache from this position. “You know how when we told you about Ada being born, we told you it was because Mommy and Daddy loved each other and that helped to make her?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, back when your dad and I were married, we loved each other and made you so that we could love you.”

“I know.”

She smiles at him again, making sure that her eyes don’t leave his except to glance over to Ada as she plops down on the ground and starts messing with some of Henry’s books. Thank God she’s stopped crying. That was miserable. Her entire life was about to implode in the span of five minutes.

“But then your dad disappeared, and I didn’t have him to help me love you or me anymore. But your daddy came along and he fell in love with me and  with you. And he was around to help you learn how to walk and talk, just like he is with Ada. He took you to the pool to go swimming and to the playground. He went to all of your school plays and all of your birthday parties. He tucked you into your bed at night and read you stories, and he’s spent so much time loving you and me and your sister that I don’t think we can even imagine how much he loves us.”

Henry nods his head, and she desperately hopes that he understands. She doesn’t understand how to explain this without scarring Henry for life about sex when he is so not ready for that. She knows that some parents are fully open with their kids about things like that, but it’s not her parenting style.

“So he and my dad are the same?”

“Y-yeah,” she sputters, knowing that she needs to attack this conversation with a better plan later but thankful that things have seemed to calm down. “They’re the same. They’re both your dads, and they both love you so much that I bet your arms don’t even stretch out that far.”

Henry sticks out his arms to test the theory out, and she can’t help but chuckle at that. He has such childlike innocence and faith for someone who keeps having his life changed and uprooted, and even though she still feels like a frayed wire right now, she knows that she has a set of good kids in her life.

Leaning forward, she wraps Henry up in a hug and holds him as tightly as she can without smothering him. He hugs her right back, and she feels a little of the lead that’s in her stomach dissipate.

“Come on,” she says as she pulls back, “we’ve got some shin guards to find and a soccer game to go to.”

They find the shin guards in the kitchen of all places, and even though they have to practically sprint across the fields to get to his match, they make it in time. She knows a lot of the other parents there, a lot of them have kids in Henry’s class, but she prefers to sit under this tree in the shade with Ada. It’s at the corner of the field, so she still has a clear shot of Henry and he does of them.

Emma: Where are you?

Emma: We’re already at the fields. Hope you get here soon!

Emma: We’ve had quite the morning. Can’t wait to tell you about it later.

She puts her phone down on the blanket and pulls Ada back to her so that she can adjust her hat on her head, making sure she’s totally shaded while she slathers more lotion on her.

“Mama,” Ada babbles, grabbing at her necklace with enough force that she could snap it. Emma has to immediately grab Ada’s hand and move it away before twisting the necklace around so that Ada can’t see the diamonds. “Mama. Mama. Mama.”

“What?” she laughs, scrunching her nose up when Ada tries to grab at it too. “Baby, you’re driving me crazy today. Nothing makes you happy, and you’re going to either rip my nose off or break the necklace your daddy gave me.”

Ada giggles at that, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Emma can do nothing more than shake her head as she continues to get Ada’s arms with lotion. She’s wearing a United jersey with Jones written across it that Killian got her. He’s so extra sometimes, and this is a prime example of it.

She kind of loves that.

Plopping Ada down on the blanket in front of her, she snaps a picture of her back with the soccer field in front of her, and sends it off to Killian, hoping that he’ll answer this one since he hasn’t answered any of her other texts and calls. She’s trying to ignore that and convince herself that it’s fine, but there’s this weird, sinking feeling that’s stayed with her all day. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe it’s something else entirely.

Emma: Henry’s number one fan!

The rest of Henry’s game (or is it match? She’s really not sure.) goes by pretty quickly. He’s at the age where the kids are actually pretty competitive, so it’s not so much all of them running around and kicking balls in the wrong goal as it is them legitimately trying to win the game. Not quite as cute as it used to be, but Henry likes it. That’s all that really matters.

“Did you see me kick that goal?” Henry gasps when he runs over to her after the game, his hair covered in sweat and grass stains covering his knees. “It was awesome.”

“It was awesome,” she agrees, holding her hand up for him to high five him before holding Ada’s hand up so that she can do the same, even if it’s not with quite the same impact.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He got called into work,” she lies, not too sure how to handle this situation. That seems to be happening a lot lately. “He’ll be home later, though.”

The smile that was on Henry’s face instantly fades, the upward curl twisting down. “He didn’t see my game?”

“No, kid. He didn’t. But he wanted to.”

“He promised that he’d come to all of my games.”

“I know,” she laments, bringing him into her side. Poor kid. Both of his dads have bailed on him this weekend, and she knows that if it’s just today, it won’t mess with him too badly. But if it’s…if it keeps happening, well, it can’t keep happening. She won’t let it keep happening. “But sometimes things happen that make us break our promises. I’m sure your daddy is so sad about not getting to see you score that goal.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighs, his shoulders sagging forward as she starts to pick up all of their stuff so they can walk to the car.

It doesn’t take long even navigating through all of the kids and parents, and soon enough she’s driving out of the soccer complex and on her way home with the kids so that Henry can get showered and Ada can take her early afternoon nap. The music cuts off in the car as a phone call comes in, and she hits the button on her steering wheel to accept Neal’s call, leaving it on speaker since he’s probably calling for Henry anyways. Good. If he can’t fly home this weekend because of work then at least Henry will have this.

“Hey, Neal,” she greets, pulling up to a stop light and inching closer to the car in front of her.

“Hey, Ems. How are you?”

“Good, good. We’re on our way home from Henry’s soccer game. Kid, why don’t you tell your dad what you did today?”

“I scored a goal,” Henry shouts from the backseat, his voice far too loud. “It was really cool. Avery kicked the ball to me, and I kicked it right past the Dragons’ goalie. She couldn’t stop me.”

“That’s awesome,” Neal laughs. She can practically imagine the smile on his face, and it makes something in her heart settle thinking of how much Neal is here for Henry even when he’s physically away.

-/-

-/-

“Come on, Emma, push.”

“I can’t,” she cries, holding onto the handrails over the bed while a contraction roars through her body, making all of her limbs shake as she feels herself shutting down, feels her will to keep going fading. “I can’t do this by myself.”

“I am right here, Hon,” one of her nurses soothes, holding onto her hand even though Emma doesn’t know her name. She should know her name. She’s the woman who is by her side while she delivers her son. If she’s the only one going to be here, Emma should know her name. It’s too painful to ask. “You’re doing just great. So is your baby. His heartbeat is so strong, yeah. He gets that from you.”

“He’s okay? He’s still doing okay? This isn’t – this isn’t hurting him, ah, too much?”

Her nurse squeezes her hand, holding on tightly as she watches people move between her legs. She’s officially had her vagina stared at by more people than she ever thought would stare at it, and even though she doesn’t want to think about that and what’s happening right now, it’s all that she can focus on.

If she doesn’t, she’ll think about Neal.

He should be here.

He should be here holding her hand and helping her through this.

He should be here to hold his son when he’s born.

He should be here.

But he’s not. He can’t help it. He’s training. This is what he has to do. This is his job. He’s helping so many other people, and that’s what she has to remind herself. That’s what she has to keep repeating over and over again as she suffers through labor. Why did no one tell her how much this hurts? They did, but it was in broad terms. It wasn’t like this. It was never described like this. Everyone always glossed over it and told her that it would be all over and she’d have her baby in her arms and that everything would be okay.

How is this okay?

How is any of this fucking okay?

She’s by herself.

She’s alone and has no one here but this nurse who she still doesn’t know the name of to help her. Neal isn’t here. Ruth isn’t here. Neither is David. Or Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret would be good at helping here. She’s been through this. She’s so soothing even when she’s annoying and pushing all of her opinions on Emma.

She doesn’t even have any friends here. All of her friends are mostly Neal’s friends, and she doesn’t know any of them well enough to ask them to be here.

Why didn’t she make more friends? Why didn’t she keep some of hers from freshman year? She had friends, didn’t she? She had people she talked to and got lunch with. She knows that she did. She had to.

She’s been alone for so much of her life, but right here, right now, is the last place she ever thought she would be alone.

She can’t do this. She can’t. It’s too much.

Maybe she’s not meant to be a mother.

She can’t be one.

How could she when she didn’t have one for most of her life?

“I can’t be a mother,” she cries, tears stinging hotly behind her eyes while her contraction begins to wane. She knows it’s only a brief moment of reprieve. Her son is almost here. She knows that he is, that has to be. She’s been suffering in here for too long for him not to be here soon. She needs him to be here. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Sweetie,” the nurse promises her, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. Neal always does that, and it’s so damn soothing. She misses him. He should be here. She can’t stop thinking that. He should be here. “You can be a mother. It’s just scary right now, but you’re doing great trying so hard to help this boy come into the world.”

“But I’m alone,” she whispers, the words barely escaping her lips before they get captured by a sob, one that moves her shoulders and makes her vision completely blur.

She’s alone.

She thought she finally wouldn’t be, but she is. She’s alone and terrified.

But she’s been alone for most of her life, and the sad truth is that she knows how to deal with it. She knows how to deal with handling things by herself, how to deal with pain and happiness, with loss and with celebration.

She knows.

So she can do it. She can get through it. She has to.

She can be a mother.

She can be a mother for this kid. Maybe even for herself too.

Her eyes haven’t seen this kid outside of a black and white picture. Her hands haven’t felt him move except for the hard kicks to her ribs that have taken her breath away. Her arms haven’t held him except when she’s cradled her bump at night.

She doesn’t know anything about this kid, but she knows that she loves him. She knows that she wants to be his mom and to be there for him for every day of his life.

She knows.

This is her son, and she can do this.

And she does.

Even with the epidural, it’s possibly one of the most painful things she’s ever experienced, and she knows that doesn’t go away anytime soon. All of the books told her that about the recovery. But there was no way they could tell her the pure joy that she feels holding this red, squirmy baby in her arms. He’s beautiful. He’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen in her life, and she made him with her body.

She and Neal made him.

They’re parents. They’re freaking parents.

She can’t wait to tell him, to let him know that his son is here, but right now all she wants is to spend time with her boy, to get to hold him and never let go.

She’s never letting go.

“Hey, Henry,” she sighs, rubbing her finger across his cheek while he looks up at her. He has Neal’s nose. She always thought people who could tell who a baby looked like when they’re born are crazy, but her kid has Neal’s nose. “I’m your momma. I am. You are so precious, and I love you so damn much. I’m pretty sure you don’t understand what I’m saying, so that curse is just between you and me, okay? Yeah? Just between you and me. Your daddy never has to know.”

“You did a great job,” her nurse sighs as she stands at the door. “That’s a good baby with a healthy mom.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning her head back against the pillow. It feels so comfortable, but she’s not ready to go to sleep quite yet. “It really means so much to me to have had someone to hold my hand throughout all of that.”

“It’s certainly not a problem.”

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. I was kind of busy.”

“Ingrid.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

Ingrid walks out of the room, and she turns all of her attention back to Henry and the roundness of his eyes, the dark lashes. He’s so bald, but he’s got this one little patch of dark hair. He’s beautiful. Just beautiful. And not crying, which she thinks she likes most of all.

“I think you and I are going to be good friends, kid,” she tells him, letting him grasp onto her finger. “Like, you eat food from my boob, so it’s pretty much a given that we’re going to be close. Just saying. My body has gone through a lot for your existence, and I expect some good mother’s day gifts someday. Your daddy knows what I like. Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet your dad. You’re going to love him. He’s so funny. I bet he’ll make you laugh all of the time, yeah? But not as much as me. Don’t tell your dad, but I’m so much funnier than him. He has no idea.”

Throughout the rest of the day, nurses and doctors come in and out to check on both she and Henry. She knows that she takes a lot of naps, but it’s all a bit of a blur for her as some of the pain starts to kick in and she struggles getting Henry to eat. Once he does, though, she feels like infinitely less of a failure. It’s a weird feeling, being so devastated by something that’s really not in her control, but she has to keep reminding herself that she’s not going to be perfect at this and that things are going to go wrong. Hell, so many have already.

But Henry is here and healthy, and that’s all that matters. That’s always been what matters.

“Thanks for making me not be alone anymore, kid.”

-/-

-/-

Neal and Henry talk for the rest of the ride home, but really, it’s mostly Henry going on and on about his game and saying the same things several times while Neal pretends it’s brand new information to him. When she pulls into the garage, the door shutting behind them, she switches the call to her phone so that she can talk to Neal for a little bit while she sends Henry inside to take his shower, hoping that he’s actually going to wash himself instead of simply standing under the water.

“Thanks for calling him today,” she tells him as she rocks Ada back and forth in her glider, hoping that she’ll fall asleep soon and not have another meltdown. “It was kind of a big day for him, and you have no idea how much that means to him.”

“Of course. He’s my kid. Just because I’m not at home anymore doesn’t mean I’m not going to be there for him.”

Her heart lurches, practically dropping to the pit of her stomach, and she has to hold back the tears that are threatening to push through. That’s literally all she’s ever wanted since the day Henry was born.

“That’s good,” she sniffles, adjusting Ada in her arms. “You’re a good dad. You’ve done such a good job adjusting to being a parent to an eight-year-old who likes to talk back and who you can’t just cuddle with to make them stop crying.”

Neal hums on the other end of the line. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sound a little upset.”

“I – ” she begins, almost ready to spill all of her thoughts to Neal, but she bites her tongue to hold herself back. She’s not about to share how upset she is with Killian with Neal. That’s pretty much asking for disaster. She knows that they have a good relationship, a good friendship, but they’re not the kind of exes who talk about their love lives with each other. Not in graphic detail. They talk about Henry and the movies and old times. She doesn’t tell him her intimate thoughts, not anymore. “It’s been a long day. The kids had me about ready to pull my hair out.”

“Killian didn’t help?”

“He got called into work,” she lies, telling Neal the same one she told Henry earlier. Killian will call soon. He has to.

Neal clicks his tongue.

“What?” she asks, watching Ada’s eyes flutter closed.

“Nothing.”

“It’s obviously something, Neal. I know you. You click your tongue when you have something to say.”

“It’s just that, well, shouldn’t Killian be around for Henry’s soccer game?”

“Sometimes things come up.”

“That’s still a shitty thing to do.”

She huffs, all of that anger from this morning returning as the memories flood back to her brain. How in the world did she forget that she needed to talk to Neal? It’s like she got lulled into some kind of false sense of security and didn’t even realize it.

“You missed his game today too, Neal. For the exact same reason.” She doesn’t know if Killian is at work right now, but that’s what she’s going with. Something must have happened for him not to be here. “And we are far too old to be playing petty games over who is being a better parent to Henry. By the way, where the hell do you get off telling Henry that Killian is his step dad?”

She can feel her voice begin to raise, so she gets up from the chair and puts Ada in her crib, hoping that she’ll fall asleep quickly. When she exits the nursery, she can still hear the shower going, so she walks down the hall and into her bedroom, moving to the bathroom so Henry will be less likely to hear her talk. She can’t begin to count the number of arguments she and Killian have had in the bathroom. They don’t yell too often, but she doesn’t want Henry to hear any of it when they do argue.

Neal still hasn’t said anything, so she asks again. “Why did you say that?”

“I didn’t,” he finally says, his voice completely even.

“Henry told me that you did.”

“He’s a kid. He says crazy shit.”

“He’s a smart kid who only says things when he’s learned them somewhere else. Just admit to it so we can talk about it. It’s already a tricky situation, so we don’t need it to get worse.”

“What’s tricky about it? He’s my kid, and Killian is pretty much his step dad. I mean, you two aren’t married, so not really. But I figured that made it less complicated.”

Less complicated her ass. Why is he being such an ass about this? This is not him, not anymore.

“First of all, he is Killian’s kid too. I have never let Henry think that you’re not his dad. You are. That’s something I’ve made a priority for him to understand ever since he was old enough. But you cannot take away Killian’s right to him as well. Killian helped me raise him, Neal. For most of Henry’s life, Killian has been Henry’s dad too. That doesn’t just change.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that I wasn’t fucking around to raise him.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You might as well have, going on and on about Killian this, Killian that. Fuck, Ems. He’s not the greatest man in existence. You don’t have to put him on a pedestal.”

“I don’t.”

“Please,” he scoffs, and she feels acid swish in her stomach, twisting around as she settles down on the countertop next to the sink, her legs like jello beneath her. “You so do. Ever since I’ve come back it’s been all about Killian and the life you share and the daughter you have, like our marriage was absolutely nothing to you. I bet you didn’t even consider taking me back.”

“What the hell is your problem today? I’m trying to talk to you about our son to make sure that he doesn’t get confused, and you decide to be nasty to me? No, Neal, I didn’t really consider taking you back. Life moved on. It changed. But don’t you dare for a second think that I didn’t go through hell trying to figure out how to deal with things when you came home. I nearly lost my mind trying to handle everything. I care about you. You’re my friend, and I tried my best. But there’s no way you could have expected me to drop everything to be with you when I spent years grieving you.”

“I would have done it for you.”

“Bullshit. I loved you, but you never loved me in the same way. I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I know.”

“I think you’re making a mistake being with Killian.”

“I think you’re making a mistake trying to talk to me about this when it’s really none of your business.”

“If it affects my son, it is my business.”

She scoffs, bewilderment inching its way over all of her skin, gooseflesh rising. How fucking dare he try to turn this on her, try to gaslight her. This is what he’s always done. He’s always tried to steamroll her like this. She thought he’d changed, that he’s tried to be better, so why is he being like this? He shouldn’t be like this anymore.

“You know what affects your son, Neal?” she asks, her voice cold even to her own ears. “His dad fucking with how he thinks of one of his other parents. No part of that is okay, nor will it ever be okay. Don’t do it again.”

She hears him say her name on the other end of the phone, but she hangs up before he can say anything else. He’ll call back. She knows that he will, but she’s done with that conversation. It was ridiculous, in every single way. She knew it wouldn’t be comfortable bringing up the whole step parent thing, but she didn’t think it would ever turn into…that.

What the hell was that?

Neal hasn’t talked to her like that since he found out that she and Killian were together. It was harsh, but she understood in a way. Now though, she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand why he would be rude to her life that, why he would try to make her think that she’s doing something wrong by being with Killian, to make her think that she’s a bad mother. It’s how he used to talk to her, but it’s not how the man she’s known as talked to her ever since he came back.

It’s not supposed to happen like that anymore.

All she wants to do is cry, but she’s too tired to cry. If she starts, she may not be able to stop. It’s all too much. Today has been too much for her, and she still doesn’t know where Killian is, what’s going on with him. In the back of her mind she thinks that maybe she should be calling hospitals to make sure that he’s not in one, but something in her gut keeps her from doing that. She does text Mary Margaret and David, however, hoping that maybe one of them will have the answer.

She needs to know, and worry is slowly covering each inch of her skin.

“Mom,” Henry calls, stepping into her bathroom.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can you make me a hot dog?”

“Sure,” she sighs, giving him a watery smile and wiping away at her eyes. “Let’s go do that.”

The rest of her day is spent with her kids, trying to entertain the both of them with games and movies, even going outside to play on the play set for awhile. She never hears from Killian, and only Mary Margaret texts her back to say that she hasn’t heard from him and that David’s got a busy day at work and probably won’t get back to her until his shift is over. It bothers her, makes her practically sick to her stomach, but she can’t focus on it as she focuses on making sure Ada and Henry have a good day.

It’s what she has to do if she’s doing this alone today.

That night, after she’s got Ada in her crib, she walks to the next room over and into Henry’s. They both cleaned up in here a bit today, so she doesn’t step over any legos or sharp objects as she crawls into his bed behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist and holding onto her son like her life depends on it.

Maybe sometimes it does.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, still flipping through one of his books.

“Cuddling with you because I love you so much.”

He squirms, but he still settles into her. “I love you too.”

“What are you reading?”

“Matilda.”

“That’s a good one.”

“I know. I like it. She has magic.”

She nods her head and settles it down onto Henry’s shoulder, reading behind him while he mumbles some of the words out loud. She doesn’t know how she got a kid who loves to read when she remembers hating it at his age, but she’s really thankful for that.

She’s thankful for Henry and how he changed her entire life for the better on the day he was born, how he brought magic into her life in a time that was so dark that even the stars seemed to disappear, blinking out one by one until there was no light left.

Except for Henry. He has always been the light.

“Did you know I love you?” she whispers to him.

“Yeah, you already said that.”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek and holds him a little closer. “It’s just that I love you and Ada so much that sometimes my heart can’t contain it, and I have to keep telling you so that you know how much I love you, how much I’ll always love you forever.”

“I love you and Ada too,” he says simply. She knows that he means the words, but they don’t have the same emotional depth that her words do. Good. He doesn’t need to feel how she’s feeling, like her heart is threatening to break into pieces over how much she loves him.

“And your dad and your daddy love you too. So much more than you even know.”

“I know. Mom, you’re making it hard to read my book.”

Emma chuckles, kissing his cheek again before she shifts out of the bed, figuring that she’s smothered him enough for tonight. Just because she needs to time with him doesn’t mean that he wants it. “In thirty minutes your light needs to be off and you need to be asleep, okay?”

“Whatever.”

“Henry.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Night, kid. Thanks for making me feel like I have real magic in my life.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

She closes his door behind her and makes her way downstairs, quickly checking on Ada on her way. The house is quiet, only the sounds of the air conditioner running and the refrigerator making ice filling the space. Usually she’d crave something like this. She’d crave having peace and quiet and not having to worry about anything for a little while. She can fix herself a cup of hot chocolate and settle down in front of the television to watch whatever she wants. Those are the nights she craves sometimes, but now that she has one of those, she wants none of it.

All she wants is for this day to be over, possibly for this day not to exist. Frankly, it sucked, and she knows that not everything will be fixed when she wakes up in the morning. She’s still pissed at Neal. Like, if he were home she would probably have the urge to punch him pissed. She’s worried about Henry and how everything is impacting him. She’s already emailed Dr. Hopper today, but sometimes she’s worried that him going to therapy and them trying so much to give him a good life is not enough.

Sometimes she worries that she is not enough.

That she’s not enough for her children.

That she’s not enough for Killian.

He has only made her feel that way once in all of their time together, and she doesn’t hold it against him, not anymore. She understands everything that he was going through. But right now, today, she needs him, and he’s not here.

She falls asleep on the couch, and when she wakes, it’s to a twist in her neck and a twist of the front door handle, Killian coming inside as quietly as possible. At first, she’s relieved that he’s okay, that he’s home, but then she remembers the absolute hell that she’s been through all day without him by her side, without him answering any of her calls.

“Where have you been?” she whispers. She thought the words would be louder, harsher, but she finds that she can barely get them past her lips.

Right now she’s just relieved that he’s okay, that his heart is still beating within his chest.

“Why aren’t you asleep, love?” Killian asks her, stepping into the bright light of the living room so that she can see the red rim around his eyes. “You should go to bed.”

“I’d really rather know why you ignored all of my calls all day long.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“Damn it, no,” she yells, this time the words coming out as she sits up further on the couch, “tell me now. I’m done being pushed around today. You have been gone. I have been worried. Henry has been worried, and you walk in here at two in the morning telling me that we’ll talk later. No, that’s not how this works.”

Killian nods his head while his lips press together in a firm line. He looks exhausted and like he’s been crying, and beneath all of her anger, she feels the worry for him that she’s felt all day. “You’re right,” he sighs, his lashes landing against his cheeks as he looks at the ceiling before his gaze finally finds hers. “I’ve got some things to talk to you about.”

[hellzyeahwebwieldingreviews]

Untold Tales of Spider-Man 06: The Doctor’s Dilemma – by Danny Fingeroth

An unexpected gem!

Dr. Bromwell grabs Peter by the arm and tells him he must talk to him about "his double life." But Bromwell hasn't stumbled on Pete's secret identity. He's talking about the dangers Pete gets into as a Daily Bugle photographer. He asks Peter, for May's sake, to give up the job. Although Peter has worried about the dangers himself, he stiffs Bromwell, saying "I'd appreciate it if you'd mind your own business, Doctor." Regretting every word, Peter goes into an unfair critique of Bromwell and a defense of his photography work. Taken aback, Bromwell gives Pete a new prescription for May and heads toward the door. Peter calls him back and apologizes. He tells him he has considered the dangers but still thinks the reward is worth the risk. Once Bromwell leaves, Peter changes to Spider-Man, eventually web-swinging to the pharmacy to fill May's prescription.

Back at his office, Bromwell can't stop thinking about Peter. Suddenly, he gets a brainstorm. He wants to give Peter a job in the sciences instead. First he goes to Metro Hospital and talks to Dr. Gordon, who saved May's life after Spider-Man brought in the needed ISO-36 (in Amazing Spider-Man #33, February 1966). Gordon reveals that, shortly after Spidey left, a beaten and bruised Peter appeared. Bromwell doesn't know what kind of deal Peter has with Spider-Man but he suspects the web-slinger is taking advantage of him.

Out web-slinging, Spidey comes upon "an eight-foot tall, four-foot wide gent in the green spandex suit" who is trashing an armored car. He is also "amazingly fast and as strong as the Hulk." When Spidey asks for a name, the giant comes up with "Impact," revealing that he volunteered for an experiment involving radioactive steroids (a combination just asking for trouble) for which he never got paid. Now paying himself in his own way, Impact slams Spidey against a wall and escapes.

The next day, Bromwell makes a house call and finds Peter all battered and bruised. He offers Pete a job in his own office helping with his research and lab work. Peter accepts. Aunt May overhears this conversation and is wracked with guilt for letting Peter risk his life taking pictures simply because they desperately needed the money.

So, Peter goes to work for Bromwell. There he researches steroids and finds out that Impact is Walter Cobb, a family man whose mind was warped by the experiment. As the days go by, Peter works at Bromwell's office, just missing catching up to Impact at his various crime scenes. Finally, Bromwell is called to the ER to help treat some victims of Impact's latest assault. As he leaves, Bromwell asks Peter to not go out for news photos. But Peter has to go out to stop Impact. Arriving at the scene,he finds Impact holding two hostages. The police bring out Impact's wife and kids to plead with him. It appears to work, with Impact releasing his hostages. Peter starts imagining a day when his work with Bromwell will lead to greater things than his web-swinging. Then a shot rings out and Impact goes on the rampage again. Spidey tries to calm him but he is too far gone. After pounding on the wall-crawler for a bit, Impact collapses. Bromwell is on the scene and pronounces the giant dead. As Spidey swings home, he reflects on it all. "Bromwell tells me that I should think about my aunt – like I don't do that enough. Impact shows me that there's a right way and a wrong way to try to help those you love. All these lessons! But...what am I supposed to learn from them? Where's the curriculum? Where's the syllabus?"

A great ending, right? But, oops, there's more! On his way home, Peter realizes that he could be as dead as Impact and decides to give up the webs. But at dinner, Aunt May tells him to keep doing what he's doing if it's what he wants to do. The next day, Bromwell waves the Daily Bugle at Peter, indicating the front page photo Pete took, and tells him he let him down, abandoning his lab work for the very work he begged him to avoid. He tells Peter that he has done all he can and that he's letting him go from his job. Pete can tell that Bromwell is hoping he will ask for another chance but Peter doesn't. He has come to completely understand that he does not become Spidey for thrills but to help people and that Uncle Ben and Aunt May would approve if they knew. Or, as he puts it, "Love the power. Guess I'll just have to live with the responsibility."

Had you told me that a Spidey story (and a prose story at that) about Doc Bromwell witten by Danny Fingeroth was going to be cracking I’d have never believed you.

Fingeroth’s body of Spidey work is a mixed bag to put it kindly. This is the man who wrote arguably the single best page of Mary Jane ever in Web of Spider-Man #6, eloquently summing up her emotional conflict regarding her romantic feelings for Spidey. But this is also the man who editorially mandated the creation of Maximum Carnage.

And yet here he doesn’t make a single misstep.

Okay that isn’t exactly true. His opening narration makes Peter sounds like a goddam psychopath. “Love the power. Hate the responsibility.” Er….that’s not exactly true, Peter has moments of enjoyment of his power and frustrations over the burdens it places upon him. But he doesn’t truly revel in his power and typically treats his responsibilities as simply something that HAS to be done moreso than something he resents doing. But that’s nothing compared to “…to take what I need. And to make anybody who gets in my way real sorry they got there.”

WTF dude! I was half expecting that the twist here was going to be that this wasn’t Peter speaking but it was. Fingeroth nicely bookends these sentiments by the end of the story but that doesn’t change the fact those sentiments shouldn’t be there in the first place.

You can maybe just handwave this as Peter being in a really bad mood and not believing what he is thinking. But I dunno, I suspect the real intent here was to clumsily set up something to BE bookended by the end of the story and more poignantly to smack the readers in the face with the central theme of the story. This lack of subtly rears its head again towards the end of the story when Fingeroth seriously spells out for us that Impact is a dark reflection of Spider-Man and the exact ways how. Everything the dialogue says is correct and Impact is actually a very good reflection of Spidey. But couldn’t Fingeroth have been a tad more subtle about it?

But other than that this story unto itself is pretty much flawless. I say unto itself because through no fault of Fingeroth the story’s placement withint he anthology is kind of weird. It clearly takes place after ASM #33 as there are very direct references and fallout from the Master Planner Trilogy. However the nature of the story also makes it highly unlikely to take place after ASM #39 because in that issue Peter is shaken by Bromwell informing him of just how frail Aunt May is. He pretty much tells Peter that if May learns his secret she will keel over dead. So this happens between ASM #33 and #39 but the Looter story clearly happens after ASM #36. Whilst far from inconceivable that this story could happen afterwards, because the last story with the Goblin was obviously tipping the hat to ASM #39-40 this story would’ve been better placed just before the Looter story. As is it’s oddly the THIRD story in this book to take place in this extremely small and specific gap of time after ASM #36 but before ASM #39.

Enough of the nitpicks though. I said this story was a gem and I stand by that.

What pleasantly surprised me most about this story was that Fingeroth seemed to be able to handle the prose format better than every other writer thus far sans perhaps DeFalco.

He wisely knows to emphasis the inner conflicts within the characters’ heads and play up the soap opera rather than leaning in on the action setpieces.

And yet there are two significant action set pieces in this story. Indeed the crux of the whole story REVOLVES around the physical danger Peter puts himself in by going into action. Fingeroth handled these deftly. The action wasn’t over explained and painted a clear picture in your head but didn’t linger too much. Sure you might feel things would be more interesting if you could actually see things but you aren’t drifting off as the writer belabors the combination of punches and kicks Spidey lands. It’s all very streamlined and designed to support the emotional arc of the story as opposed to the action being the point unto itself or simply the means to REACH a conclusion.

In this regard Fingeroth actually edges out DeFalco. Reading/listening through DeFalco’s story the action scenes can just be boiled down to Spidey fights some thugs, drags out the fight for pictures and then one them accidentally dies the specifics don’t matter even though we do get them.

Here Fingeroth forgoes the specifics to simply give you the broad beats to the fight (Impact throws a car, Spidey webs people to safety, etc) whilst ensuring he returns to Spidey’s inner thoughts and peppering in dialogue that is moving the plot and exploring the themes, even if it is simply lightly.

In a way this is a rare example of an action set piece that works BETTER in prose than it would visually. Sure Mark Bagley or Ron Frenz could embellish the fight scene to make it look cool, but the visions of a possible future Peter imagines are more potent and organic when we simply read his train of thought like this. Were it a comic such dialogue would come off as excessive or (if communicated through art) needlessly existential. Additionally as a villain goes Impact is fairly generic, but having him not have any visual presence mitigates that because his importance is more about what he is doing and why than having a dynamic appearance.

To go back to Bromwell, he’s developed more here than he’s been in over 55 years of Spider-History. Were he written like this in his appearances he might’ve become a more beloved character. What’s great is how organic his personality feels. We learn new stuff about him but it feels like a totally logical extrapolation of what little we saw of him in the 1960s. He is a quintessential doctor and Fingeroth lends him a surprising amount of nuance. He isn’t endlessly caring, he has his limits but even so the fact that he wanted Peter to ask him for a second chance at the end was a brilliant touch. It’s a small moment but it helps make Bromwell feel more multidimensional.

And because of this characterization the story earns the pathos of Peter letting him down. You feel sad for Bromwell and for Peter that things didn’t work out for both of them.

Aunt May is also done very well here. She is in typical Aunt May mode but Fingeroth chooses to make that the central conflict of the story rather than a background element. Refreshingly though the issue isn’t that May is on her deathbed, but rather the impact (if you pardon the pun) upon her if anything happens to Peter.  The story is almost a spiritual cousin to JMS’ opus ‘the Conversation’ in that it comes to a reasonable and positive resolution.

What in particular what holds this all together is the brilliant (yet rarely used) idea of treating Peter’s cover story as Spidey’s photographer as a metaphor for him being Spider-Man. It’s something that’s pretty clever when you think about it because the cover story means his loved ones go into relationships with him knowing he takes risks and potentially endangers them, just as if they knew he was Spidey.

Through treating the cover story as a metaphor Fingeroth is able to have Peter get a lot of feelings about being Spidey off of his chest. This chiefly comes in the form of his bookeneded confrontations with Bromwell, his angry (and highly unjustified) outburst at the start and his quiet resigned acceptance at the end.

Perhaps the best bi of narration in relation to Peter’s character was when Fingeroth spelled out that Peter might enjoy being Spidey but even if he didn’t he’d do it anyway because he was hooked on helping people. It eloquently emphasis the innate heroism and core of the character. And it does so in a nuanced way too as too often writers have Peter outright hate being Spider-Man or else cynically lean on the idea he’s a thrill junkie of some kind. Fingeroth gets that peter DOES like his work but that isn’t the reason he does it.

Nuance is actually the key word here. There is a lovely sequence where the story acknowledges that Peter might subconsciously be avoiding Impact out of a loss of confidence. It plays very realistically. How often in life has one bad moment shaken us up and made us hesitant to do things we previously did without even thinking about it.

Really I don’t know what else to say about this story that isn’t self-evident by just experiencing it for yourself.

Tiny issues aside it’s really quite excellent and highly recommended.

[smolstrawberrychara]

Klance Au Month - Day 1 - Coffee Shops

This was not supposed to be so long. And I can in no way guarantee I will do prompts everyday, but I definitely want to do some! (rip my other fics)

Lance from Astro:

Keith gets soaked when he goes out for a run in the rain so hits up a coffee shop for shelter. Here he finds a boy claiming to know him and a barista who wants nothing more than for him, and his dripping wet self, to leave. When Keith realises he has no money, the stranger steps in...

Also available on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17626292

Keith had always been impulsive. As a kid that meant punching the little shit who decided to steal his crayon. As a teenager, it was skipping classes when there was something far more interesting happening across town. And as a student, it was going out as soon as he even glimpsed the sun’s rays peeking out between the sheets of grey cloud. Yeah, Keith had calmed down a lot in his old age. Or maybe he’d just learnt to deal with the frequently irritating occurrences of daily life better. That’s what Shiro would say, patting Keith on the back whilst wearing that well-practiced big brother smile that said ‘I’m proud of you,’ that Keith read as ‘please punch me’.

Shiro had introduced Keith to running. At the time, Keith hadn’t been to class in three weeks. Just moped about the house all day like a lonely vampire. But the sun had been shining and Shiro along with it. He’d dragged Keith off the couch and shoved him into some running shoes. Five years later, here Keith was, shorts on, headphones in, hair up. And the sun was shining gloriously for a cool February morning.

That was, when he left.

Now it was pouring like they’d suffered a monthlong a draught. They hadn’t. It had been raining on and off for two weeks now, and every day had been more miserable than the first. So, when Keith spotted the golden rays in the morning, you’d think he’d realise that it would be brief. That objects in motion, stay in motion. Nope. Keith ran out all guns blazing. And now, he was currently dripping wet as if he’d dived into the deep end of the pool, clothes and all.

His feet squelched in his trainers, and every foot fall blasted muddy water up his calves. His skin was covered in a thin membrane of sweat, rain and dirt and his clothes chafed with every slight movement. He huffed down the path, river on his right, houses on his left. He was exactly halfway around his usual route and this seemed to only encourage the storm, wind picking up and sweeping cold tendrils between the now permanent creases off his shirt.

Panting along the path, he finally got out onto the concrete of the quay. Usually it was bustling with tourists and locals alike. Boats lined the canal, rusted tractors lay abandoned above them, kids rolled around the grass and parents yelled at them to keep away from the edge. One day, Keith hoped to see one fall in. Trying not to laugh at the thought, he powered into the main hub. Outdoor seating lay around untouched, shop doors were pulled shut against yellow light and not a soul was in sight on the roads. Keith was weaving around bollards, slowing his pace to avoid slipping on the cobbles, when something caught his eye.

A door swung shut, light bouncing off the shining window. Just beyond, a figure hugged a trench coat tight to their body and slipped away into the silver stripes. Keith looked at the building. It was a modest one, coloured a pale blue with flaking paint and flower boxes full of drooping flowers. White plastic chairs were propped forward against similar tables, water collecting in pools across the surface. The window was steamed up, and the streaks warping the glass were painted with licks of orange from the indoor lights. It looked warm, and the rush of air from the door had the smell of coffee winding up Keith’s nose like smoke. Maybe he could afford to wait out the rain inside?

Keith swung into the café and was immediately assaulted with heat. He shivered on instinct, dragging his feet against the welcome mat as he looked around the room. It was small. White tables and colourful chairs cluttered the space. The counter was painted bright turquoise and held large glass domes filled with pretty pastry’s and delicate cakes. Beyond it was a loud machine, standing sturdy like a bodyguard and squirting out drinks with high-pitched screeches and hisses. Lining the window was a honey coloured table, with tall metal stools standing bright red against it. Keith made a beeline for them, swiping a hand across his face and shaking out his hair. Removing his head phones, he dropped them down on the bench and dug his phone out of his soaked shorts. That can’t have been good for it.

“Sir, you’re dripping.”

Keith jumped at being addressed. Behind him, a thin man glared at him with piercing eyes. Blond hair was sleeked back against his head so tightly that Keith could see every undulation of his scalp. Undulation being a bit of an overstatement to say it was more like his head was perfectly round and there were precisely zero dips in which to undulate with. Everything about him was startling perfect now Keith thought about it. Well-kept nails, creaseless uniform, apron free of any kind of stain.

“Oh, I, uh…” Keith looked down to find a puddle forming. Oops?

The man made a noise. All nose and disregard. Keith watched him raise a single, well-plucked eyebrow before leaving. Keith shuddered. Maybe this was the wrong place to dry off?

He placed his phone on the table and grabbed a few napkins from a pot nearby. Drying off as best he could he sat down.

“Keith?”

He turned to the voice. Behind him, on one of the small square tables, was a boy. He had curly brown hair stuffed under a wooly hat, tanned skin stretched over pointy features and curious blue eyes that narrowed their way towards Keith. Leaning forward, he tilted his head at Keith and pursed his lips. Then they were suddenly splitting into a wide curve and Keith realised it was his turn to speak. He instinctively opened his mouth, waiting to say a name, but it never arrived. He realised too late he had no idea who this person was. He clapped his mouth shut again, dread filling his stomach. The boy seemed about Keith’s age, and did know his name. All evidence pointed to them being at least passing acquaintances. But Keith couldn’t place him anywhere. So, he did the normal thing and just stared.

“It’s me, Lance.” The boy said, raising his eyebrows. Keith continued to stare.

“From astro?”

Astro? Astronomy? Keith took the astronomy module. It was his favourite in fact. He loved stars and the mysterious objects space tried to hide from Earth. He never missed a class. And this person? He took it too? Keith brought the lecture theatre up to the forefront of his mind. Keith liked to sit at the front, near the edge - no-one to block his view and easy to make a quick exit. People rarely sat near him, and to be fair, people rarely turned up to lectures these days. How was Keith supposed to recall him?

“I’m in your tutorial class.”

Ah. The vision changed to a small classroom, whiteboard at the front with a permanent dent in the middle that gathered various conspiracy theories. The course leader, a shrewd rat-like woman with thin rimmed glasses, stood at the front writing equations. There was the guy who only showed up the first day and never again. The girl who always did her make-up before the start – oddly, without a mirror. The two guys who always arrived late. That first day when one of them turned and introduced himself to Keith. Oh. The blob cleared into what resembled a human before it blurred together with reality. Lance. From astro.

“There.” The guy sighed, “nice of you to remember me.”

Keith shrugged. He was beyond politeness these days. It’s not like they’d spoken more than that one time on the first day. Why would Keith remember him? Just as he settled himself back in his seat, Lance was talking again.

“How come you were out running in this?”

Keith let out a growl, “well it wasn’t like this when I left.”

The boy snickered behind him and Keith found himself turning toward the noise despite himself. Lance’s nose was wrinkled with the effort, eyes crinkling at the sides as he hid it in the table.

“Fair.” He said, “guess some of us would check the forecast first though.”

Keith rolled his eyes, “like you can’t just look out the window.”

The words were more for himself than anyone else, he wasn’t planning on starting a conversation, hadn’t planned to see anyone he knew. So, he was already looking back at the rain dripping down the glass when Lance snorted.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mused when Keith regarded him again. He shook his head, trying to hide his smile behind a hand, “you’re just- not what I expected.”

“Excuse me?”

Expected? What was Lance doing getting expectations of him? They just met.

“No, no! I didn’t mean, like not in a bad way. I just…”

He bit his lip, face the faintest tint of red. Keith found it irritating. People always made some kind of assumption when they met him. He used to play to it – if people thought he was a bad kid then he was going to be a bad kid. He remembered Shiro’s sigh, the lines in his brow that were verging on permanent, the sadness in his voice when he said ‘why is this the one thing you won’t rebel against?’ It stuck with Keith. It was such a strange thing to say. Keith always misbehaved. He refused to be told how to be - where to sit in the dinner hall, how to dress properly to impress foster parents, when to smile even when you didn’t mean it. He rebelled against everything.

And that’s when he realised what Shiro meant. People were always telling him he was no good. They didn’t even know him, and yet he was labelled a ‘difficult’ child. Not a kid for ‘first timers’. He would struggle through school, make trouble in the workplace and never amount to anything. But that wasn’t true. Keith was smart. He believed in rules – when they were fair. And he knew that smiling didn’t make you okay, just fooled other people into thinking you were. Shiro made a damn good point. Keith was just toeing the line. So, he quit lying. And

did what he wanted. Like a true rebel, he went to class, studied hard, smiled at Shiro’s lame jokes and let the words of others run off his back like water.

But above all, he refused to acknowledge anyone who paid him, or anyone else, that treatment. Which now meant Lance. He turned to the window.

“I meant I thought you were smart!”

And now he thought Keith was dumb?

“No wait! That didn’t come out right! I meant…”

Lance sounded kind of desperate. Shame. Keith wasn’t going to turn around. He sighed, flicking a menu over on the table.

“Sorry.”

It was the tiniest noise. More like a whimper. It didn’t really match the rest of their conversation. Keith dared a glance back. Lance was frowning down at his notebook, eyebrows in a furrow like he was cursing the thing. That was different. No-one ever used to apologise. Well, they never meant it. They never looked that upset about it, like it hurt them to hurt someone else. Keith opened his mouth to speak.

“You gonna order anything?”

Keith glanced up to find smooth head looming. He looked as if Keith was a grave inconvenience, a stain on his perfect coffee-shop world.

“If you don’t order anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Keith breathed through the irritation, squeezing his hands into fists. The waiter had a fair point, but he didn’t have to make it with such disdain. Keith was still a customer, he just hadn’t bought anything yet.

“Alright,” Keith mumbled, stepping up to reach into his back pocket. His hand slid against his ass, and then straight down to his thigh. Crap. These were his running shorts. He had no money.

Keith looked at the waiter. The waiter looked at Keith. Keith looked at the window. The rain threw itself against the glass like it was going to attack him. He shuddered.

“I’ll buy.”

Keith spun around. Lance was leaning against the back of his chair, fixing the waiter with a face dripping with raw, smug energy. His card sat between two slender fingers and he twirled it in the air.

The waiter sighed, clearly uncaring for the whole ordeal. Keith on the other hand, was still in shock.

“No, no, it’s alright.” He said firmly, gathering up his few belongings, “I’ll just go.”

“No.” Lance interrupted, “I’ll buy.”

His eyes were resolute, daring Keith to argue. Keith took the bait.

“No. I don’t want to owe you.”

“And you won’t.” Lance said lightly, following the waiter to the counter. “It’s an apology, for speaking with my foot in my mouth.”

He stopped to look up at the chalk board. Drinks were written in curly white lettering, with pastel coloured sketches drawn next to them.

“I’ll have a hot chocolate, please.”

Fingers clicked across the till.

“With marshmallows and cream?” The clerk asked in a bored voice.

Lance turned to face Keith then, elbows leaning back on the counter. He poured his gaze over Keith, right from his head down to his toes. Keith felt exposed, stomach swooping at the glint in Lance’s eye. Too busy fighting the heat spreading through his body, he didn’t get the chance to interrupt when Lance was speaking again.

“Oh yeah. Add extra sprinkles too, I want it extra festive.”

Keith let his mouth fall slack. Where the hell did he get that idea from? For one, Keith drank coffee. Black. And he didn’t do all the fancy stuff. He wanted a plain and simple drink and he did not want to draw attention. Lance on the other hand, drew all of Keith’s. He had a huge grin plastered across his face as he threw his head back laughing. Round-head rolled his eyes, dialling up the order and sparing Lance one of his disdainful glares.

“I’ll bring it to your table.”

“Thanks, Lotor!”

Then Lance was flouncing back to his seat and Keith was still standing next to his own chair. What had just happened?

“You didn’t need to apologise.” Keith rushed. Lance looked up at him, blankly. Then a smirk pulled against his lip.

“So, you already forgave me?”

“No?”

Had Keith forgiven him? He couldn’t really remember what he was apologising for now. The whole… event, had him a little bit lost.

“So, then you’ll need a drink.” Lance said solemnly.

“No, wait.”

Lance grinned. Keith struggled. With this conversation, with this person, this whole situation.

“Take a seat, Keith.”

The chair opposite Lance moved out on his own, like a ghost. Keith approached with caution. He did not sit, but Lance shifted when he arrived, that same grin plastered on his thin lips.

“Come on, sit with me.” He crowed, swaying side to side.

Keith eyed the seat cautiously.

“Look, I really didn’t mean to offend you.”

He was looking down at his book again, pen drawing absent circles in the margin of his work.

“I was hoping we could be friends.”

Keith sighed. He shouldn’t sit down, shouldn’t be indulging in this. But despite that fact, Keith flopped down. Lance perked up then, shoulders bouncing. But before he could speak, Keith interrupted him “I get it. You didn’t mean to offend me. But I still can’t accept your drink.”

Lance considered this for a second. “Okay. How about, in exchange for the drink, you help me with my astro coursework?”

He tapped his pen against his notebook and Keith saw that there was also a textbook lying open above it. There were several papers strewn across the table and pens hiding between layers. Lance himself had pen marks all over his fingers and grey loops below his eyes.

“Fine.”

That was enough for another one of those blinding grins. Lance seemed abundant with them.

“So, how come you recognised me?” Keith asked, wanting a distraction from the radiance.

Lance gave a little wiggle and Keith could tell he’d stepped on a landmine. With eyebrows bouncing he sent Keith a mischievous grin, ‘oh, I never forget a good-looking face.”

Keith nearly choked. Was he being flirted with right now? By a strange boy who shone too brightly for a coffee shop? A strange boy he in fact knew and had somehow missed in the however many weeks they’d been studying that course?

“Clearly I do.”

Lance’s brows froze in their strange hooks and Keith realised with striking alarm that he’d said that out loud. Oh god. Keith really was too well adjusted to life alone. Maybe he should listen to Shiro more and make some friends? Lance’s face was still frozen on his and Keith pulled at his shirt. Curse the heating in this place. He really shouldn’t have sat down. He glanced back to the window. Was rain really that bad?

“Hot chocolate.”

Keith jolted as a cup and saucer landed on the table with a loud clink.  Liquid swished out the side as the tidal wave settled, swirl of cream sloshing above. A light dusting of cocoa covered the top, pink marshmallows cut into the shape of hearts thrown haphazardly across the drink. The waiter levelled them with a look.

“With extra festive.”

“Thank you so very much.” Lance said through a giggle. The waiter rolled his eyes, sweeping back to his post at the counter. Keith stared at the drink. Then he stared back up at Lance. The boy was just sparkling eyes above two hands that covered his entire face all the way up to his spiky nose. Keith shook his head fighting off a smirk. He picked up the drink, lifted it to his lips and stared right into Lance’s glistening eyes as he took a sip.

Lance snorted.

“Perfectly matches your aesthetic.”

Keith shrugged, now losing the fight against his lips. “I dunno, I think it’s a bit understated.”

“You’re right.’ Lance said, poking his pen into Keith’s face, ‘it’s just not enough. Shall I call Lotor back and get him to bring us some glitter.”

Keith shook his head. “I’m thinking sparklers.”

Lance burst out laughing. He was all teeth and no eyes and Keith found the noise buzzing in his chest too. He quickly swigged his drink before it could be set free. The taste wasn’t bad either, if he was being honest. Sweet and creamy, tickling his lip as he drank. He was quite content until, one of the marshmallows rolled off and hit him in the eye. Keith frowned, glanced up and saw Lance pretending to read his textbook whilst barely containing more giggles. Keith shook his head but couldn’t shake the warmth in his cheeks.

“So, I’m confused on Quasars.”

Keith frowned, putting down his drink.

“Who isn’t?” He said, shuffling around to get a look at what Lance was reading. After a moment of no more words, Keith looked up and found Lance staring.

“What?”

“Oh!” Lance whipped back around to his book, “It’s just, uh, it’s nice.”

“What?”

“Hearing you say that.”

“What, ‘who isn’t’?”

Lance nodded, still not meeting Keith’s eye.

“Yeah. Guess I thought I was the only one.”

Keith didn’t tend to speak to the people in his class. That’s how he didn’t know Lance. He just kept to himself. But that meant he was privy to his course mate’s conversations. Namely, that nearly every topic they’d covered since the start of term had at least somebody complaining. To Keith, it was a given that absolutely no-one truly knew what they were doing on their degree.

Lance wasn’t Keith though. Lance didn’t just talk to strangers, he went out of his way to make friends with them. Those kinds of people always eluded Keith. Shiro was the same – he took in Keith, and from their first meeting, Keith had been convinced he was some kind of next level angel. But whilst Shiro was adept at caring for others, Keith discovered over time he struggled letting other people look after him. It was something Keith hadn’t had much of an issue with – once someone was actually willing to do it, he liked being looked after. But not everyone was Keith. And just because they weren’t Keith, that didn’t make them perfect. Or evil. And with the words Lance just spoke, it occurred to Keith, that he might have misjudged him. The thought made his stomach twist in a guilt he immediately wanted to fix it.  

“Trust me you’re not.” He said firmly. “Everyone struggles, you’re doing fine.”

Lance looked up at him then, lips parted as his pen fell to the paper in a dull thud. Keith immediately wanted to claw the words back. He should have thought more before speaking. They were far more intense out loud. Almost threateningly so. Keith scraped the barrel for some sort of distraction. Steer them away from his creepy intenseness. “Why-uh, why’d you think that?”

Lance’s stare held a second longer – a second that burned itself straight through Keith. Then he was reclaiming his pen and speaking again with a sigh, “my housemates. They just- they get it all, y’know? One lecture and they’re good to go.”

“I feel dead after half an hour.” Keith said honestly.

There were those who seemed to absorb everything, regurgitating hours later and sweeping through their exams. But Keith was not one of them. And even then, he had a suspicion he only saw what they wanted him to see – not the hours they studied the night before. Maybe even years– some people were that dedicated after all.

Lance let out a short laugh. ‘Me too. Alfor opens his mouth and I’m just dead.”

Keith snickered and soon they were discussing the ins and outs of all their lecturers. It was fun. Keith found talking to Shiro about his disdain for academics was like bouncing water balloons off a concrete wall. He was never impressed. Lance, on the other hand, became invested. His enthusiasm grew with his pitch, hands thrown around in fury as he recalled a particularly awful lecture that wouldn’t have been out of place playing in the back of a hearse. Keith had said as much and Lance had laughed so hard, he spat coffee everywhere. The waiter, Lotor, as Lance called him, was far from enthusiastic about their patronage. He wiped up the spill with a huff, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. As soon as he was gone, Lance fell apart laughing telling Keith about the time he put glue in Lotor’s hair at primary school and the other was yet to forgive him. Lance had zero regrets and Keith would probably commit the same crime now.

The more they talked the more Keith found himself watching Lance’s mouth. He noticed now, how animated it was. It could go from a small ‘o’ to a wide-open grin in a blink of an eye. His teeth were bright white, lined up like crooked little houses along his gums. Then there were his lips. They were pink and looked soft and every so often Lance ran his tongue along them. Keith wanted to do that too. The thought surprised him, and he quickly found somewhere else to look. He could blame the warm café for his reddening cheeks.

Keith hadn’t kept track of time, he hadn’t felt the need when he was happily filling the moment. That was until he heard the door chime and noticed they were the last guests in the café. Must have been a long moment.

Lotor appeared at Lance’s back, a looming vampire.

“Five minute ‘til closing.” He said curtly. Lance jumped at the proximity.

“Jesus,” he breathed, holding a hand to his heart, “does he even have footsteps?”

Keith shook his head, looking out the window. “Wheels for feet.”

Lance laughed beside him. It was a nice sound, loud without even trying. It was like it burst out from nowhere to set the room alight. The more Keith heard it, the more he wanted to hear it. He was stuck in a vicious cycle that he didn’t particularly want to leave.

“Which way you heading?” Lance asked, shuffling his belongings together. The rain was still trailing down the windows and the wind rattled the windows, demanding its next victim. Keith sighed, as he got to his feet.

“Penny Road.”

“Oh! I’m just by the roundabout!’

Maybe he didn’t have to leave quite yet?

“I, uh…” Lance continued, talking to the ground. He was rubbing his neck, now fully dressed in his navy blue rain coat and backpack swung over one shoulder. “I’ve got an umbrella.”

He looked up with a smile. A bashful one this time, with pink cheeks. Keith didn’t know what to make of it. The expression was so different to his previous ones. It made him want to lean forward and squish it. But that would be inappropriate, so Keith focused firmly on the words

“Good for you?”

Lance blinked at him, before a more familiar expression tucked himself against his cheeks, “I meant we could share it.”

“Oh.” Keith’s cheeks burned hotter than coals. He ducked his head before it could be seen and stepped towards the door. “Sure. I’d uh, I’d like that.”

Lance’s feet tapped along the wood until he was at his side again, grabbing a brightly coloured umbrella from the bucket by the door before swooshing it open. Keith grimaced as he was hit with cold air and icy blades.

“Might be a bit windy for that.”

Lance laughed, “nah, it’ll be fine when we’re away from the river.”

Lance was right. It was fine once they were walking along the streets lined with painted town houses. Keith couldn’t help noticing how snugly the two of them fitted beneath the bright fabric dome. He also couldn’t help noticing his urge to link his arm with Lance’s. He told himself it was to just to keep the heavy umbrella steady but that was a lie.

Not too much later they arrived at Keith’s door, startling red against the black and whites of the rest of the street. Keith felt a little smug about bagging this one. It was the best house, even with the cracks in its cobble stone path and the overgrown bushes lining the street and most of the garden. The rain had died down a little, pattering rhythmically against the umbrella like a tent and Keith lingered beside Lance. The peaks of the clouds above were dyed a deep orange where the sun was finally cutting through the grey as if giving its last cry of the day before it sunk down for bed.

“Well, this was a nice way to end a date.”

Keith felt his stomach jump, throwing the breath from his lungs. “Date?”

“Uhh, I mean…” Lance’s face was so bright it was matching Keith’s door. He blinked widely before looking at the ground and mouthing many words but saying very few. “It doesn’t have to be, I just uhh, I thought it would be nice, but I mean-“

“Well, in that case...”

Keith leant in close, right up to Lance’s freckles. He pressed a kiss to a flaming cheek, smiling at how it was warm like a mug of hot chocolate.

“See you in class.” He whispered, before peeking up at Lance’s face. It was red with fluster, blue eyes wide and gleaming as his mouth wobbled into something that resembled a smile. Keith returned the favour, before pulling the umbrella down and letting the rain ping off it. “Lance.”

[sparkleskarkles]

Valentine’s Chocolate

So... I’m sorry this is so late ><

I had meant to have this done by Valentine’s Day, but it ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated... (6,595 words)

Anyway!!  This is a gift for @x0h-worm

The prompt was trans boys and Valentine’s Day fluff

Rated T I guess?  For cursing and sexual imagery/innuendos

I hope you like it!!!!!!

    Saihara and Ouma sat on the former’s bed with a laptop resting on their thighs.  The two boys were tired from the long day at school, and deciding to spend the evening together, as most of the other students were going out.  Saihara had changed into a black shirt and jeans, while Ouma wore an oversized sweater and dark leggings.  The two were huddled together for warmth as even with the abundance of blankets, the cold from the faulty heating system could still be felt. For the two boys, being able to be alone together in private was like a sanctuary.  They could take off their binders and complain about their families, or just play games and make jokes—jokes that they could only make with each other.

           The two boys had begun hanging out together when they accidentally discovered that they were both trans.  Ouma had broken into Saihara’s room, still for reasons he refuses to admit, while Saihara was changing shirts.  Saihara began to panic, but Ouma quickly left and shut the door, waiting for him to exit on his own.  Afterwards, when Saihara finally exited his room, Ouma consoled him both by explaining that he wouldn’t tell anyone, as he assumed that was what Saihara wanted, and that he was also trans.  They started off by bonding over both being trans boys: talking about their situations growing up, where they got their binders, which haircuts would make them feel masculine but still cute at the same time, and so forth.

   Over time, Saihara and Ouma were no longer just two trans boys connecting over their shared gender identity, but rather they became friends.  Saihara had started to notice little tickles Ouma performed when lying, although barely visible to an untrained eye, but the detective saw them, and Ouma slowly became more willing to open up about himself to Saihara, even if only a little.  It was a strange change to the others, they didn’t comprehend where their sudden friendship came from.  Ouma had always appeared fascinated by Saihara, but the taller always seemed annoyed and exasperated by the shorter boy’s presence.  Granted, that was true in the past, but because he had never given Ouma the time of day to really stop and consider him as his own person.  With someone with such a grand air about them, it can be hard to remember they’re people too—like celebrities.

   But the two had become close and cared deeply for the other.  And that’s what’s led to this current moment: Saihara and Ouma sharing the small twin bed and way too many blankets, with a faint light from the computer screen illuminating their faces.  The reason for this impromptu hang out was, in fact, because it was Valentine’s Day.  Saihara usually spent time after classes studying with Momota and Harukawa or with Akamatsu, but the couple had date plans and Akamatsu had blushed and awkwardly stated that there was something that she needed to do.  Ouma had, being just around the corner, overheard that Saihara was alone and didn’t want to leave his “beloved Saihara-chan” alone on such a night as this one.  Saihara had chuckled softly at the other boy’s dramatic gestures, but accepted the invitation.  It was, of course, totally platonic.  And if Ouma had a bar of chocolate that, if asked, was totally from the school store in his bag, well, it was just obligation chocolate because he didn’t want his friend to feel lonely.

   That was a lie of course.

   Kokichi Ouma, the Super High School Level Supreme Leader, was gay.

   And totally and irrevocably head-over-heels in love with Shuichi Saihara. He had always considered the other to be extremely pretty, and he enjoyed that he could never quite pin Saihara down.  As in, he couldn’t always figure out his next choice of action.  That’s what he meant by that.  But as he spent time with Saihara, Ouma’s feelings grew and grew; they blossomed into what one could only call a crush.  But Ouma preferred Panta.  Don’t judge him, he deals with emotions by joking and lying.

   “Are you warm enough?”  Ouma looked over at the owner of the gentle voice and hummed in response.

   “No way, Saihara-chan,” he sang, “it’s colder than Santa’s house in here! You need that pig whore Iruma-chan to make you a heater that calculates your body temperature and changes the room’s temperature appropriately,” he pouts.  “If you don’t get a working heater soon I might never come back.”

   Saihara rolled his eyes, but a faint smiled graced his lips and made Ouma’s heart melt, almost slipping into a smile himself.  “If that’s the case then we could always go to your room,” he offered, knowing that Ouma was lying.

   “We could’ve just done that from the start, you know,” he replied with a nonchalant air and monotone voice.  Truthfully, he preferred being in Saihara’s room, despite the cold.  It was cleaner than his and much easier to navigate, it reminded him of Saihara everywhere he looked, and, most importantly, the cold meant they had to cuddle super close.  And Ouma sure as hell wasn’t lying when he says he enjoys the closeness of their bodies.  Cuddling. For warmth.  Because it’s February and February is fucking cold.  “Geez, Saihara-chan is so mean, making me freeze to death in this cold!”

   “If you’re so cold, why aren’t you using the blankets?” Saihara chuckled and nodded towards the abandoned pile.

   “Oops,” Ouma cheered, “ya got me!  Yeah, that was a lie.”  He rested his hands behind his head and smiled.  Saihara’s room might not have been as cold as the North Pole, but it was still cold. His mind was reeling with the fact that today was Valentine’s Day, the day one romance, love, and confessions. Pair that with his big gay crush, and he was somewhat distracted.  He climbed under the blankets anyway, mumbling, “Or maybe that was a lie.  Who knows?”  Saihara just shook his head with a quiet laugh.

   “You seem a bit distracted,” Saihara mentioned when Ouma was situation under the Super High School Level blanket pile.  Of course his beloved Saihara-chan would notice that, but it wasn’t anything the supreme leader couldn’t lie or joke his way out of.

   “No way,” tears started to form in his eyes as Ouma hiccupped and stuttered. “Could it… Could it be that Saihara-chan never realized my feelings?” he started to sob loudly. Overdramatic.  The bigger he cried than the more it looked like a lie.  Because Ouma couldn’t risk Saihara knowing the truth. He hated telling the truth, but for Saihara he tried.  Sometimes. But not this.  He didn’t want to lose the one person at the Ultimate Academy that took the time to look past his lies, to look past his façade, and befriend him.

   “Ouma!” Saihara lunged his hands forward to grab the other’s shoulders. Ouma, in turn, just laughed.

   “Neeheehee, Saihara-chan did you actually fall for that?  Geez, I thought you were finally able to see through all my lies.”  He started tearing up again, “does our friendship mean nothing to you?”

   “Ouma,” Saihara sighed and retracted his hands back to his sides, “I just didn’t want you falling off the bed again.”  He blushed and Ouma giggled.  He had been fake crying just like now, but became too overzealous and slipped off of the too-small bed.

   “Aw,” the supreme leader cooed, “was my beloved Saihara-chan worried about me?” His voice was airy and melodious, caring the tune of his usual lie, but at the same time it was thick with the hidden truths.

   Saihara sighed.  “Let’s just watch the movie,” he clicked on the mouse pad a few times before looking at Ouma.  “Well? Are you going to join me?”

   Ouma nodded and scooted closer to his friend.  Saihara wiggled into the pillows to get comfortable and rested his head on Ouma’s shoulder, then pressed play.  Saihara’s warmth seeped through Ouma’s clothes and it made him feel at home. He felt comfortable, having someone there with him, having Shuichi Saihara there with him.  He took a deep breath and guided his eyes to the movie.

   Usually, the two boys watched detective and action movies.  Saihara liked the mystery of the cases and Ouma liked the thrill of watching the good guys fight to win.  But today it seemed that Saihara had chosen to continue the theme of the day.  That’s right: Ouma was about to watch a romcom with Saihara.  Now, that’s nothing to freak out about.  In fact, Ouma could easily complain about how boring the movie would be.  But Saihara looked so content with the change of pace and Ouma was enchanted by the look on his face.  God, this stupid crush was going to kill him.  He might as well just ask Harukawa to save him the trouble.

   A long-haired woman was running through an airport.  Ouma watched as her blonde hair bounced behind her.  He supposed that’s what he should find attractive: the gorgeous Hollywood actress, with her full-face of makeup and, you know, being a girl.  He tried glancing over at Saihara without turning his head to alert the other.  His long eyelashes obscured most of his golden-grey eyes, but from what little view he had, Ouma could see the woman on the screen reflected in Saihara’s eyes.  He didn’t look too interested in the movie just yet, as it had only started, but he didn’t look bored either.  Saihara’s mouth was slightly ajar, resting neutrally.  His lips were chapped from the cold winter’s air, and Ouma really needed to stop staring at Saihara’s totally kissable lips.  Well, they’d probably be more kissable if he used chap stick, maybe grape flavored, but Saihara had once told Ouma that it felt too much like lipstick to him and it made him uncomfortable, and Ouma respected that.  That didn’t mean he didn’t have at least three grape-flavored chap sticks on his person at all times in case something actually were to happen.

   “Have you seen this movie before?” Saihara asked, turning his head up slightly to look at Ouma.  Ouma felt somewhat awkward having their eyes meet immediately, feeling like he was caught in the act of staring.

   “Yep!  It’s super good,” he lied.  “You won’t believe what happens when Maribelle—”

   “Stop lying and actually pay attention to the movie,” Saihara interrupted and turned back to the screen.  “The protagonist’s name is Jane.  I’m not sure what’s so interesting about my face but,” he paused momentarily, an awkward blush on his cheeks, “if you’re that bored we can change the movie.”

   “Neeheehee,” Ouma slit his eyes at Saihara, making a face that put others on edge, but then quickly changed into an overeager smile, “what?  No way!  Weren’t you listening?  I said I love this movie!”  He shifted his body more into Saihara’s space to be extra dramatic, almost pushing the other over the edge of the bed.  Saihara screeched and reached his arms around Ouma’s neck to steady himself, holding on tight until he was sure that he wasn’t going to fall.

   “My, my, Saihara-chan!” Ouma gasped dramatically, “how forward of you!” Saihara looked up into deep purple eyes and awkwardly released his grip, stumbling over mummers of apologies as his face heated up.  They had been so close.  Honestly if Saihara had fallen and taken Ouma down with him, there’s no guarantee that Ouma wouldn’t use that opportunity to “accidentally” kiss Saihara.  That’s a lie.  There’s a one hundred percent guarantee that he would absolutely do that.

   The two leaned back into each other and continued watching the movie. Saihara rewound it a little because they had missed a few scenes while their faces had been mere centimeters apart. The memory made Ouma want to blush. God, he was so gay.  He tried to focus on the movie, but watching some attractive girl get with a mediocre guy wasn’t really his thing.  He’d rather see himself get with the most gorgeous guy on the planet.  Ouma had thought about what it would be like if they were dating.  Obviously they would hold hands, and Ouma would flaunt their relationship to everyone.  No, that’s a lie.  Honestly, Ouma would probably be too hesitant to tell anyone, mostly because he wasn’t sure if Saihara would be comfortable telling others.  But, if they were dating, Ouma would be able to kiss Saihara often.  He would stand on his tip toes and firmly press his lips against Saihara’s chapped ones, maybe sticking his tongue inside the other’s mouth.  Maybe even eliciting a moan from Saihara, his voice heavy with want and—

   “What are you thinking about?” the same sweet voice that Ouma had just been fantasizing about had interrupted his thoughts.  Ouma jolted slightly, averting his gaze for a moment before meeting Saihara’s eyes and smirking.

   “Oh?  Does Saihara-chan really wanna know?” he leaned into Saihara’s face with a mischievous glint in his eyes, masking the embarrassed blush that threatened to spill across his cheeks.  “Maybe I was thinking about how much I find Jane attractive, and what I’d do with her if she were here next to me instead of you.  But that’s a lie.  I was actually thinking about how it’s just you and me, locked in your room, sharing a bed on Valentine’s Day, and about how much I want to flip over on top of you and roam my hands down your body.  Lower and lower until I reach the hem of your pants and—.” Saihara’s scream interrupted him. Ouma retreated back into his own space and watched as Saihara flung his hands around to try to cover his face. His entire face had gone red, including the tips of his ears, and he was spluttering incoherently as he gawked at Ouma. Ouma watched Saihara fidget as he slowly regained some composure, although his face was still incredibly red.

   “Ouma!” Saihara screeched, balling his fists into his pants after giving up trying to hide his face without his hat.  “You can’t just… You can’t just say things like that!  Even if it is a lie.”

   Ouma tilted his head at the other’s remark.  “Oh?  Who said I was lying?” Ouma laughed.  “But you know,” he sang, once again approaching Saihara, “you had quite the interesting reaction, Saihara-chan!  It’s almost as if it was you thinking about doing that to me, neeheehee.”  Saihara swatted Ouma’s face away and turned back to the movie, face never dimming in color.

   “I don’t,” Saihara started, “I didn’t.”  He groaned.  “I wasn’t… thinking about that.  I swear! You just… You just started talking about… stuff, and it was embarrassing.  You can’t just… talk about… stuff like that.  It’s not good for my heart.”

   “Why?” Ouma asked.  And before he could stop himself, he tacked on: “are you gay?”

   Saihara looked up at him, and Ouma really hoped his face wasn’t as pale as he expected it to be.  Saihara looked away and stared blankly at the computer screen, and Ouma felt choked by the silence, despite it only lasting about two seconds.  “No,” Saihara spoke up, “I’m bi.”  Ouma blinked down at his friend.  Bi.  Shuichi Saihara was bisexual.  Or at least biromantic.  Bi-something. Bi as in Ouma could actually have a chance with him.  If Saihara saw him that way.  Did Saihara see him that way?  He hoped he did but there was no way.  He was hard enough to be friends with, there was no way someone could have a crush on him. But Saihara never met his expectations; he always went so far beyond and did the unexpected.  So it wasn’t impossible.

   “Oh, cool,” he replied automatically, sliding back into his movie-watching position, “I’m gay.”

   “Cool.”

   “Yeah.”

   They continued watching the movie in silence.  It wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but Ouma’s head was reeling.  Would Saihara think of him differently now that he knew?  Of course not, he was bi, they were similar.  They were both not straight.  They were both trans too.  Why was he so scared of telling Saihara in the first place?  Was it because of his crush?  He didn’t want Saihara asking him if he had a crush on him.  But he also did.  Well, even if Saihara did ask him, Ouma would lie.  It was hard enough to finally be able to open up to Saihara about parts of his past, Ouma doesn’t think he has the energy to tell the truth about this too.  Maybe one day he’ll look back and and tell Saihara about his silly crush with a laugh. Provided they were still friends. He hoped they would be.  Saihara was so important to him; he was the only person outside of DICE that cared about him.  Of course, that’s not why he loved Saihara, it just happened to be that Saihara was the most important person in the world to Ouma right now.

   “Hey,” Saihara’s tired voice sounded hoarse after not speaking for so long. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking about.  You’re always thinking.  And I mean, I know I’m always thinking a lot too, what with all my anxieties and all. But, if you’re worrying over coming out you don’t have to.  You always overthink everything.  I mean, I already knew you were trans, and I’m bi, so… I’m just trying to say that… Thank you for trusting me?  I guess? I’m not actually sure, I’m sorry. But uh,” he drew out the syllable, trying to think of the right words, “you’re still Kokichi Ouma.  That’s how straight allies usually comfort gay people in TV shows I don’t actually know if that was helpful.”  Ouma snorted.  “Hah, yeah. I mean like, obviously it doesn’t change anything?  It’s not like Yumeno appeared out of nowhere and put a curse on you that changed your physical appearance.”

   Ouma doubled over, cackling.  “That’s assuming she can actually use magic!  She’s… She’s always going on about how tiring it would be to use her mana, or how unimportant it is or something.  If… If she wanted to,” he took a few deep breaths to calm his laughter.  He chuckled abruptly again for a quick moment before continuing with a more even voice, “If she wanted to change someone’s physical appearance all she’d have to do is tell Chabashira-chan to punch their face in.”

   “Ouma, you shouldn’t endorse her,” he looked at the other with a twinge of disappointment on his face.

   “Am I wrong though?”

   Saihara was silent.  Ouma held eye contact with his eyes open wide and inquisitive, almost daring Saihara to tell him that yes, he actually was wrong.  “No,” Saihara breathed out after a moment, succumbing to the fact that Chabashira would in fact punch somebody in the face if Yumeno told her to.

   “Exactly!” Ouma declared and slung his arm around Saihara’s shoulders.  “And it’s because of this that I must perform the sacred duty of protecting my beloved Saihara-chan’s beautiful face with my life.”

   Saihara laughed that beautiful, song-like laugh of his and looked at Ouma with such a loving smile on his face.  “You don’t seem to be acting hesitant anymore.  Does that mean you no longer feel awkward?  That’s good.”

   Ouma inhaled a large, overdramatic gasp.  “Saihara-chan!  I can’t believe you actually thought I was upset!  That was obviously a lie.  I’m disappointed.”  But Ouma smiled back at him.  It may have been an awkward attempt, but Saihara did make him feel better.

   Ouma removed his arm from Saihara and slithered down to rest his head on the taller boy’s shoulder, reversing their earlier position.  Saihara rewound the video again, and it picked up at some place where Ouma had no idea what was happening because he hadn’t been paying attention at all.  Saihara wrapped his arm around Ouma’s side, loosely embracing him.  Ouma was happy.  And that was the truth.  He felt so warm and loved in that moment that the content-ness slowly sung his eyes to close, guiding him into a welcoming sleep.

   When Ouma woke up, he was welcomed to a tight embrace and a face full of Saihara’s shirt.  Ouma may have enjoyed cuddling, especially with Saihara, but he also enjoyed breathing—something that was sort of hard to do in this position.  He squirmed a little bit to duck out of the taller boy’s grasp, something that should have been a lot easier than it was—and a lot less embarrassing.  He’s really glad no one saw his desperate attempt to break free from his crush cuddling him.

   When he could finally breathe properly again, Ouma’s hair was in disarray, much more wild than he usually kept it, and his face was red from the struggle and nothing else.  That was another lie.  His face was mostly red because of where his head had been: AKA way too close for his gay little heart to beat slower than 10,000 beats per second, even though Saihara’s heartbeat was calm, and actually quite soothing to listen too.  Maybe one day Ouma would be able to cuddle him that closely, head against the other’s chest, listening to his heartbeat; preferably listening to his boyfriend’s heartbeat.  Ouma didn’t fight off the blush that consumed his face, unconcerned about being seen, as the only other person here with him was sleeping.

   Ouma watched as Saihara slept, which was not as creepy as it sounded.  He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t woken him up in the struggle.  Saihara’s stomach moved slightly as he breathed, expanding and retracting with each breath, moving his chest as well.  His shirt had risen slightly during the night, exposing just the tiniest sliver of skin.  Saihara looked peaceful.  Ouma quietly got off the bed and retrieved his belongings and put on his shoes.  It may have still been early, but he didn’t want to intrude any more.  Besides, they still had class tomorrow.  Or was it today?  Ouma had forgotten to check the time.  He took the chocolate bar out of his bag and placed it on Saihara’s bedside table. Attached to the sweet was a small tag that read “I loooooooooove you Saihara-chan! ♡ And that’s not a lie!!!” with a quick drawing of himself winking and blowing an overdramatic kiss.

   He left Saihara’s room and tiptoed back to his own, being careful no one saw him creeping out of someone else’s room late at night.  God only knows what kinds of rumors Iruma would start if she caught him.  Once inside his room, Ouma threw his stuff onto the ground and leapt onto the bed, screaming into his pillow.  Well, this was it: he did it.  There were four ways this could go, maybe five if Ouma was being creative.  One: Saihara returns his feelings and everything is great (unlikely, as stated previously).  Two: Saihara doesn’t return his feelings and begins to hate him (also unlikely, his beloved Saihara-chan isn’t the type of person to hate others).  Three: Saihara doesn’t return his feelings but he’s accepting and they still remain friends (this would be incredibly awkward and Ouma would scream if this happens).  Four: Saihara thinks the chocolate and love note are a lie (likely, considering Ouma’s overly-high tendency to lie).  And five: Ouma goes back to Saihara’s room, picks the lock, and takes the chocolate bar back, pretending nothing ever happened (which he was very tempted to do).

   Ouma sighed and turned over to face the ceiling.  The paint had dried clumpy, so if he focused hard enough he could make out random shapes and give them a story.  The dried specks reminded him of stars—granted, he had no idea how the constellations were actually shaped, but they were random dots all the same—and he wished he could watch the stars with Saihara one night, maybe cuddling and talking about how much they love each other.  Ouma placed his right arm over his eyes and groaned; hopefully tomorrow would go well.

   Waking up for the second time that morning was torture.  Ouma slid off of his bed and landed with a quiet thud on the ground.  He laid there for a few moments before slowly getting up and grabbing clothes from the closet.  He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a little bit, too tired to process anything yet, and then sat back down on his bed.  He could feel his eyes struggle to remain open, and just as he was about to let them close, his alarm saying that he would be late if he didn’t leave right now began blaring.  He groaned and turned off his phone before sluggishly making his way to his classroom.

   He could hear the loud boisterousness of his classmates from the end of the hallway, and drudged onwards towards it.  When he opened the door, the voices seemed to die down significantly.  Ouma scanned the room briefly with his tired eyes and gave a small smirk.  “Oh? Are you all finally realizing I’m your supreme leader?” he challenged, “I’m glad to see that my loyal subjects bow down quietly before me. Neeheehee!”

   “Yo, dude,” Momota chirped out, “what’s up with this note?”  He gestured to the small object in Saihara’s hands and Saihara looked away bashfully.

   “I,” Saihara stammered, eventually making eye contact, “I only showed Momota, but he was really loud and now the whole class knows.”  He ended his statement as if it were a question, and Ouma stared blankly at the chocolate in his hands.

   Ouma threw his hands up behind his head and, mustering up as much as his tired body could asked, “oh, that? Can’t you guys read?”  He pouted, “It says how much I love Saihara-chan!  That’s my confession chocolate you meanies,” he willed up some crocodile tears to pour out and loudly started sobbing.

   “God, just shut up!” Iruma shouted, “Nobody cares about your twink-ass crush!”

   At that point the bell rung, and everyone who was still standing took their seats.  Ouma caught Saihara glancing over at him a few times, but, like always, Saihara was the one person Ouma could almost never read.  Unfortunately, that included now.  What was he thinking?  He didn’t look put off by the confession, but did he even believe him in the first place?  No, of course not, he made sure to act as though he was lying.

   The day went on as usual: classes passed, Kiibo yelled at Ouma for making a robophobic remark, Harukawa only threatened to kill him four times today, and nobody paid attention to the teacher in the last ten minutes of class before lunch.  Ouma had, gradually, become more awake throughout the day, only falling asleep in class once for about five minutes.  That said, in his tired state this morning he had completely forgotten to eat breakfast, and was now walking slightly faster than he usually did to the dining hall.  Once he had his food, Ouma made his way to one of the outside tables, securely hidden by a tree.  Sometimes he liked to join others just to mess with them, but most of his classmates were still in a Valentine’s Day mood, with the couples flirting more than usual and the single people either complaining about not having a date or about how the holiday is a scam and shouldn’t be celebrated.

   Ouma began to eat his meal in peace.  He didn’t want to confront anyone right now, completely unrelated to the fact that he doesn’t want to be faced with questions about his crush.  Ouma sighed.  That was a lie.  He really should have taken the chocolate back last night.  He heard footsteps approach him, and resigned himself to the fact that of course Gokuhara would want to sit with him anyway, because he was just too nice.  Ouma looked up at the trespasser and nearly dropped his drink.  It was Saihara.

   “Wow,” Ouma sang, “is my beloved Saihara-chan joining me for lunch today?  Did Momota-chan and Harukawa-chan kick you out?  That is just so mean.”

   Saihara rolled his eyes and sat down across from Ouma.  “Ouma, we’re friends.  Am I not allowed to sit with you?”

   “Of course you are, my beloved Saihara-chan!”  His face grew a tad darker as he leaned in slightly, “but that’s not why you’re here, is it?  I can tell. You’re hiding something.”  He took a few more bites of his food and then looked at the other boy with tears in his eyes.  “I thought,” Ouma hiccupped, “I thought you said we were friends.  Why would you lie to me?”

   Saihara was startled by the outburst, clearly on edge.  He fidgeted around slightly, looking anywhere but at Ouma, which made him more suspicious. “Geez,” Ouma spat out, “you don’t have to be so worried, you know.  It’s not like I won’t bite.”

   Saihara chuckled softly, “don’t you mean it’s not like you will bite?”

   Ouma hummed.  “Oh yeah,” he smiled, “or maybe that was a lie. Who knows?”

   Saihara sighed and finally looked Ouma in the eyes.  He blushed slightly and went to pull his hat lower, over his eyes, forgetting he no longer wore it to school.  He looked downcast and put the chocolate from last night onto the table.  “Why did you give me this?” he asked.

   “Because I love you,” Ouma declared nonchalantly, taking another bite.

   “No you don’t,” Saihara countered, “not like that.  This is Valentine’s Day chocolate, that’s supposed to be for couples, or for people with romantic interest in each other.  I didn’t,” he paused, hesitant and unsure of himself, “I don’t need your obligation chocolate, Ouma.  It’s not funny.”

   “What makes you say it’s obligation chocolate?  Didn’t you read the note?  It says I love you.  I know how Valentine’s Day works, Saihara-chan.”

   “And I know how you work, Ouma.”  Ouma looked at Saihara in shock.  The other boy was trembling slightly, and he looked like he was about to cry.

   “Saihara-ch—” Ouma started but was interrupted.

   “No.  Listen, I know you like making fun of people, and you mean it all in good fun, but this is too far.  You can’t just,” Saihara’s breath hitched, “you don’t just make fun of people’s feelings like that.  You always ask us why we hate lies, and this is why: lies like this!”  He gestured angrily to the chocolate.  “You don’t have to feel the same way, but please don’t give me something like this if you don’t mean it.  It really hurts.”  Saihara got up and walked away with tears finally starting to break free, leaving a stunned Ouma in his wake.

   Option number six: Saihara returns his feelings but doesn’t believe they’re real.  Ouma is speechless.  The irony of the situation is so funny that if it were happening to anybody else he would double over laughing.  But this is happening to him.  Saihara liked him.  That’s what he meant by all of that, right?  There’s no other way to interpret that.  But if that’s so, then why was he so determined to believe Ouma was lying? Shouldn’t he have been happy? Ouma really can’t read Saihara at all. But he needed to tell him the truth for once.

   The rest of the day passed too slowly for Ouma.  He was fidgeting all throughout the remainder of his classes, bouncing his leg and chewing at the eraser on his pencil.  All he wanted to do was go back to the dorms so he could confess to Saihara properly.  He had nothing to be afraid of.  Saihara liked him back.

   When the last bell finally rang, Ouma booked it out of class and made his way to his room as fast as he could without actually sprinting.  He threw his bag onto the floor and paced around his room for a good ten plus minutes trying to think of how to confront Saihara.  Clearly, there was something about Ouma’s behavior that made it impossible for Saihara to like him.  It could also very well be that Saihara’s anxieties had some play in the matter.  Either way, Ouma would have to be as serious as he could with Saihara, which would be hard, but he was willing to do it for him. Ouma took in a deep breath and marched out of his room and headed straight towards Saihara’s.  He rose up his fist determinedly to knock, but stopped right before his knuckled pounded against the wood.  He was doubting himself.  He was always so sure of everything, but he always wanted to make double- and triple-sure with Saihara.  There was a fragileness about him, where he was afraid he would break if Saihara pried too far into who Ouma really was.  But at the same time, only Saihara made Ouma feel so comfortable, so real and valid, that Ouma wanted to show him who he really was.

   “Ouma?” a hushed voice spoke up behind him, and Ouma whipped around to be faced with a puffy-eyed Saihara. He brought down his fist and his face fell.  He made Saihara cry.  He really needed to work out this situation immediately.

   “Can we talk?” he asked as seriously as he could.  His face was neutral, no hint of lying or joking, and he held strong eye contact with the taller boy.  Saihara nodded awkwardly and then opened his door, letting Ouma inside, and then closed it quietly after he followed.

   Ouma plopped down onto Saihara’s bed, used to the other soon joining him, but instead Saihara sat at his desk chair, not making eye contact or even looking Ouma’s way.  It made Ouma so frustrated he wanted to scream.  But instead of screaming, he got up and quickly walked over to Saihara.  Saihara, confused by the unexpected action, looked up at Ouma, only to have his face grabbed by two small hands, and a pair of fruity-tasting lips mash against his own. Saihara jolted back, a deep red flush flooding his face as he stammered out incoherent syllables.

   Ouma smirked, “see? Saihara-chan had no right to think I was lying.  I really do—hey wait why are you crying?”  Ouma leaned down to wipe at Saihara’s tears but he was forcefully pushed away.

   “Why are you doing this to me?” Saihara screeched.  “You know I like you!”

   “Goddammit!”  This time Ouma did scream.  “Listen, Saihara-chan.  I had no idea that you liked me, okay?  I honestly didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be romantically into me because I’m such an asshole.  And yes, I know I’m a jerk I just,” he groaned loudly.  “Look, I don’t…bond with people well.  So I end up annoying them and being a jerk.  But even if I am a jerk, I wouldn’t make fun of someone’s crush. Probably.  Actually wait, no, that’s a lie.  I would totally make fun of Iruma-chan.  But not,” he sighs, pausing.  “I wouldn’t make fun of you.  Especially not if you actually had a crush on me.  Which, apparently, you do, which I still don’t really understand.”

   “You…honestly had no idea that I liked you?” Saihara asked, genuinely confused.  Ouma shook his head.  “I thought you could easily understand what everyone was thinking and feeling, though.”

   “Yeah, well, I could never really understand you.  That’s part of what made me so interested in you.  You intrigued me,” Ouma confessed.

   “Only part?” Saihara inquired.

   “The other part was because I’m gay and you’re attractive.”  Both of them were blushing at this point, although Ouma still had a decent amount of control over his expression.

   “So then, if you didn’t know I liked you, why did you give me the chocolate?  And why did you, uh, why did you,” Saihara squeaked, “why did you kiss me?”

   Ouma just looked at him, dumbfounded.  He ran his hands through his hair, throwing all of his composure out the window, finally letting his massive blush take over his face.  “Because I like you too, okay?” he declared, much louder than he had meant to.  He locked eyes with Saihara, who had let his mouth drop slightly.  It was kind of cute.

   That was another lie.

   It was extremely cute.

   And Ouma wanted to kiss him again.  But he waited for Saihara to reply.

   “You,” Saihara gaped, “you like me?”  And Ouma laughed.  He laughed at both of them for being so stupid.  But he nodded.  He nodded as a few tears spilt from his eyes.

   “Yes.  I like you so fucking much.  That’s why I gave you chocolate.  And invited you to hang out with me on Valentine’s Day.  God, Saihara-chan, those are like, super big hints.  At the very least you could’ve figured it out when I kissed you,” Ouma pouted.

   Saihara laughed embarrassedly, looking away.  “Well, it’s not like you figured out that I liked you either.”

   “Duh,” Ouma huffed out.  “That’s because you don’t flirt with me.  Geez, Saihara-chan.”

   “I do flirt with you though,” Saihara looked back into Ouma’s purple eyes, gaining some confidence. “I accepted your invitation to spend time with me on Valentine’s Day, I chose to watch a romantic movie with you on Valentine’s Day, we shared a bed on Valentine’s Day, you slept over on Valentine’s Day—”

   “Can you please stop saying Valentine’s Day like that?” Ouma’s blush grew redder.

   “We cuddled on Valentine’s Day.”

   “I thought that was just, like, a trans thing?  There are some trans guys in DICE and we cuddle all the time,” Ouma supplied.

   Saihara sighed at looked away from Ouma.  He balled his hands into his pants and chewed on his lips slightly.  Ouma was about to ask him why he wasn’t saying anything when a pair of rough, chapped lips crashed messily into his own.  This time Saihara was kissing him.  It was awkward and short, and Saihara hid his face behind his hands to hide his embarrassment, but it happened.  And Ouma couldn’t stop the smile that spread upon his face.

   “Saihara-chan!”  He leapt onto the other boy as he drew out his name.  The chair leaned back from the force of Ouma literally throwing himself onto it, and it fell over from the combined weight of the two boys.  Ouma laid sprawled out on top of Saihara and sat up to straddle him, giggling.  “Hey, hey! Saihara-chan!  I love you!”

   Saihara had covered his face by draping his left arm over it, doing almost null to cover his spreading blush. He still managed to mumble out an embarrassed “I love you too.”

   “Aw, Saihara-chan,” Ouma whined, wiggling, “why are you so embarrassed huh?  Huh?”  He laughed and moved around some more and Saihara grabbed whatever was nearest to him and threw it at Ouma, which happened to be a crumpled up homework assignment that had fallen to the floor during the crash.  He then tried to kick Ouma (gently), but found that rather hard to do in their current position, which just made Ouma laugh more.

   Ouma looked down at the flustered boy with a fond and loving smile.  He leaned down and placed a quick peck on Saihara’s lips before asking, “So, do you wanna date me?”  Saihara nodded, peeking out from underneath his arm.  He smiled softly and it made Ouma’s heart melt.  Speaking of things that melt…

   “Hey, Saihara-chan?” His boyfriend looked up at him.  Boyfriend!

“Yes Kokichi?”  Any and all resolve Ouma had had dispersed at the use of his given name and he squeaked.

Quickly trying to recover himself, although still blushing harder than Saihara, Ouma asked, “do you want to share that chocolate bar?”

[matchasquids]

MARCO,CECIL,DONUT,GOYA,ADELA,AILURA,CROW!!!!

god damn

Full Name: Marco AmoreGender and Sexuality: Male and HomosexualPronouns: He/himEthnicity/Species: Latino (specifically Mexico)/Colossal squidBirthplace and Birthdate: Calamari County, January 25thGuilty Pleasures: Sleeping in late, singing along to the song on the record player, dancing when nobodys watchingPhobias: n/aWhat They Would Be Famous For: His writing and reports?What They Would Get Arrested For: Tresspassing, he probably tried sneaking into somewhere to get information for a new story and got caught, thankfully he was only off with a warning.OC You Ship Them With: @rringabel (its u) OC CyrilOC Most Likely To Murder Them: @rringabel‘s Robin........Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Science-fiction, ComedyLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Horror!!! He’d be so jumpy after watching a scary movie he would refuse to go to the bathroom.Talents and/or Powers: Writing (Journalism), he’s quite good at farming as his parents back home own one, Instrument playing (Guitar)Why Someone Might Love Them: How overall passionate and caring he is, he likes to learn about others and takes interested in others work and helps them in anyway he can. Why Someone Might Hate Them: Their cold voice and stoic expressions might piss people off at firstHow They Change: When he moved to Inkopolis he became more independent and quiet due to the change of scenery and it only worsened when his Grandfather passed away. Upon meeting Cyril he begins to open up more and lossens up a bit and tries to taking pleasure in the little things in life.Why You Love Them: B O I H O W D Y He’s only been recently made (and I haven’t even posted him on this blog yet oops) but his overall design and personality is really relatable?? 

Full Name: Cecil SourieGender and Sexuality: Male/HomosexualPronouns: He/himEthnicity/Species: Filipino/InklingBirthplace and Birthdate: Inkopolis, February 14thGuilty Pleasures: Getting a quad kill/decimating the opposing team, Lying in bed with their significant other for hoursPhobias: Cynophobia (fear of dogs)What They Would Be Famous For: His sniping skills? Also his study in medical sciences, he wants to become a doctor like his dad.What They Would Get Arrested For: Can’t imagine him getting arrested, maybe for causing a public disturbance of sorts?OC You Ship Them With: @rringabel (once again, u!!) OC AloisOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Can’t think of anyone he isn’t problamaticFavorite Movie/Book Genre: Science fiction, Horror, MysteryLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Romcoms, he just doesn’t get how there funny.Talents and/or Powers: Sniping/Turf war, Strategic thinking/planning on the spotWhy Someone Might Love Them: Cecil is very empathetic and tries to be there in the time of need, his overall presence is calming and he is very gentle and caringWhy Someone Might Hate Them: How They Change: After meeting Alois he got a majour confidence boost, he begins to break out of his bubble and become more social and Why You Love Them: My first boy squiddo oh how far he has come!! I’ve grown attached to him over the year and a half time of his existence, he’s changed so much since I first created him and i’m proud of that!!

Full Name: Donut Diana CadburyGender and Sexuality: Female/Homoromantic AsexualPronouns: She/herEthnicity/Species: Latina/French, InklingBirthplace and Birthdate: Inkopolis, March 13thGuilty Pleasures: Reading awfully cheesy romance books, Sleeping in, physical contact with someonePhobias: Astraphobia (Fear of Lightning), Entomophobia (Fear of Bugs) and Trypanophobia (Fear of Needles)What They Would Be Famous For: Their baking, turf wars skillsWhat They Would Get Arrested For: I can’t imagine her getting arrested?? Maybe accidentally taking a cookie and didn’t pay 50 cents idkOC You Ship Them With: @rringabel‘s (thats u) OC Lofty OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Onigiri (yikes)Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Fantasy, Comedy and, depending on how the relationship is portrayed, romance movies.Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: ANYTHING SAD AND SHE’LL BE IN TEARS!!!Talents and/or Powers: Baking, Volleyball, First aid, Sewing, Choreography/dancing and communication skills. Though she only pursues her passion for baking, she still enjoys dancing and playing volleyball.Why Someone Might Love Them: How genuine and kind she is, she puts others before herself and always tries her best to help someone in any way she can.Why Someone Might Hate Them: Her gentleness is often viewed that she’s weak and somewhat of a pushover, also a bit of a goody two shoesHow They Change: They slowly become more Why You Love Them: She’s probably one of my most developed OCs and I love her to bits!! Her colour palette/personality/overall design just fits really well to me and I enjoy talking about her.

Full Name: Goya GaliaGender and Sexuality: Male/BisexualPronouns: He/himEthnicity/Species: Black/Octoling Birthplace and Birthdate: Octo valley, December 1stGuilty Pleasures: Gaming all night, eating a whole jumbo size bag of doritos in one sitting.Phobias: n/aWhat They Would Be Famous For: Gaming? That’s literally all he does he needs to go out more.What They Would Get Arrested For: Probably stealing a nintendo switch or somethingOC You Ship Them With: @rringabel’s (ONCE AGAIN, YOU) Romeo. Also with a warm comfy bed.OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Hmm maybe Camellia cause he failed his team or somethingFavorite Movie/Book Genre: Action, AdventureLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Romance, DramaTalents and/or Powers: Gaming??? He’s also good at hiding stuff like all those dorito bags in a box under his bed so his older sibling wont find them.Why Someone Might Love Them: His overall goofy and chill nature makes it easy to talk to him and be around, he never tries to pry information out of someone and focuses more on making the other feel better.Why Someone Might Hate Them: How gullible and simple minded he seems and how he’s very much a child at heart, he’s very immature.How They Change: They start going out more and socialize and make new friends and takes notice that his emotions are valid and shouldn’t be bottled up.Why You Love Them: He’s such a lil sweetie and is starting to grow on me!! I love the whole Galia family gang (and the backstory behind them)

Full Name: AdelaGender and Sexuality: Female/BisexualPronouns: She/herEthnicity/Species: Latina/OctolingBirthplace and Birthdate: Octo valley, August 21stGuilty Pleasures: Singing along to rap music, dancing around the apartment when nobody else is home.Phobias: Autophobia (Fear of abandonment)What They Would Be Famous For: She has quite the talent in arts (traditionally and graffiti), maybe even her photography?What They Would Get Arrested For: Vandalizing propertyOC You Ship Them With: @rringabel​‘s OC PoppyOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Probably Cecil ngl she probably has a lot of blackmail on him from the days he stays over.Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Comedy, Action, Romcoms in some casesLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Sappy romance,Talents and/or Powers: Photography, Art, Memorizing lyrics and preforming, also playing the trumpet (she likes to stand outside of Alois’s room and play a note, just to freak him out)Why Someone Might Love Them: She’s carefree and honest and likes to make others laugh, she’ll try anything to cheer someone up and tries to support her friends and family in anywayWhy Someone Might Hate Them: Their reckless behaviour causes others to get in trouble, as well as her tendency to talk during class, she can be a bit annoying.How They Change: Once moving to Inkopolis she became more tamed and chill, especially after meeting Poppy. They start getting more confidence and is much more social then back in Octo valley, she also has a knack for turf wars.Why You Love Them: I love her overall design and personality, she can be a bit of a goof ball sometimes and I love her childish personality we incorporated into her!!

Full Name: Ailura ZhuGender and Sexuality: Female/LesbianPronouns: She/herEthnicity/Species: Chinese/Moon JellyfishBirthplace and Birthdate: Unknown, December 25thGuilty Pleasures: Cutting through flesh with a knife with ease, long (like, hour long) bathsPhobias: Autophobia (fear of abandonment)What They Would Be Famous For: ??? Murder maybe I don’t knowWhat They Would Get Arrested For: uh.......there’d be too many to list but mainly murderOC You Ship Them With: @rringabel​‘s OC Cherry, also Ailura x Jail and Ailura x ChurchOC Most Likely To Murder Them: CrowFavorite Movie/Book Genre: Mystery, Horror, Adventure, ComedyLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: RomanceTalents and/or Powers: Knife sharpening, Knife throwing, negotiating.....is blackmailing a talent?Why Someone Might Love Them: Man I got no clueWhy Someone Might Hate Them: Her crude and sadistic behaviour makes a lot of people uneasy, also how manipulative and cunning she is.How They Change: They dont???Why You Love Them: Man i don’t even know why

Full Name: Crow OmeriaGender and Sexuality: Male/Pansexual AromanticPronouns: He/himEthnicity/Species: Thai/Great White sharkBirthplace and Birthdate: Unknown, July 29thGuilty Pleasures: Completing a rubix cube in under 30 seconds, Downing a whole jug of milkPhobias: n/aWhat They Would Be Famous For: Can’t imagine he’d be famous, maybe setting the record on fastest rubix cube finished?What They Would Get Arrested For: Once again, murder.OC You Ship Them With: @rringabel​‘s Robin....also Crow x JailOC Most Likely To Murder Them: AiluraFavorite Movie/Book Genre: Action, Adventure, HorrorLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: RomanceTalents and/or Powers: Rubix cube, Parkcour, Seducing others (?)Why Someone Might Love Them: I got no clueWhy Someone Might Hate Them: Acts very oblivious and innocent which pisses people off (especially when they know he’s of wrong doing). Also his bad habit of asking too many questions at once, he can be a nuisance.How They Change: They don’tWhy You Love Them: My first shark OC!!! Thats literally it

Full Name: Zixen CaruseeGender and Sexuality: Male/BisexualPronouns: He/himEthnicity/Species: Black/Flying squidBirthplace and Birthdate: Inkopolis, November 19thGuilty Pleasures: Smoking a whole pack of cigarettes, doing other people’s hair or playing with other people’s hairPhobias: n/aWhat They Would Be Famous For: Being a assholeWhat They Would Get Arrested For: Shop lifting.....He was arrested once when he was younger and his family was struggling, he was caught quickly thought.OC You Ship Them With: @rringabel‘s King and also Zixen x Financial stabilityOC Most Likely To Murder Them: His ex boyfriendFavorite Movie/Book Genre: Comedy, Action/Thrillers, HorrorLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Muscials, he just ain’t a big fanTalents and/or Powers: Smoking a pack of cigarettes a day, Mechanical work and weapon fixingWhy Someone Might Love Them: Despite his intimidating looks he is actually a huge softie with a big heart and cares for people deeply.Why Someone Might Hate Them: When you first meet him he acts very rude and is aggressive, he takes time opening up to people which makes impatient people hate himHow They Change: After meeting King he feels a bit at ease, after making a new friend he could feel like he could be himself and not keep up the ‘cold and independent’ act and begins showing his feelings more.Why You Love Them: At first he was just a OCs older sibling, but after developing him a bit more he’s grown on me 

[phoebehalliwell]

Socks & Starting Anew

req: could you please write a fic about penny and allen in 1940s

summary: penny, searching for meaning, purpose, or hell, maybe just a little adventure, leaves boston to return to her ancestral home in san francisco, where, with the proper guidance, she’ll find a life all of her own.

a/n: oops it’s long than expected sooo uhh (pt 1/3)

Winter 1945

Allen chose to stay. After the war ended, he saw many fellow shipbuilders pack up and head out, back to their small hometowns, to rejoin with a wife they had left, a little baby now a bustling toddler, or even just a high school sweetheart still flaunting a promise ring. Allen could have gone back home - he was sure people remembered him - but no one was waiting for him. So he chose to stay. There was something about the city of San Francisco that called to him, inexplicably; the great energy of discovery, youth, passion, that seemed to hang in the air, thick as the fog. He couldn’t go back home now - the idea of travelling north, buying some land, and settling down with some chickens and a temperate wife had never felt more foreign to him. No, he would stay in the city. Something was waiting for him here.

Spring 1946

It was time for a change. Penny had no gift for premonition but she knew something grand waited in her future, she just had to find it. It was actually her father who suggested she return to the old family home and take up with Cousin Pearl. Penny had always wanted to visit the house - she has studied it rigorously as a child, begging her mother to take her so she could see the Nexus herself. Her mother refused, of course. She hadn’t set foot in the house since some unspeakable disaster in the 20’s (unspeakable as it might have been, Penny still knew what had happened that February so many years ago; a curious mind and an unbreakable will had led Penny to uncover many things she shouldn’t have). So, she packed her bags and sent a telegram to one miss P. Bowen at 1329 Prescott Street, and was on a train the next morning.

Three days later Penny landed at the train platform in San Francisco, almost immediately tripping over a cat. She apologized to the creature and continued on, beginning the trek to the manor (Cousin Pearl refused to drive under any circumstances, but Penny didn’t mind the fresh air). She hadn’t made it three steps before the cat places itself in her path yet again, wrapping its way around her legs. She attempted to nudge it to the side to no avail.

The cat, black with white markings on the chest and legs, peered up at her with big eyes, meowing softly.

“Oh, no.”

Meow.

“No!”

Penny bent down, putting herself at level with the cat, matching its wide eyed gaze with a much sterner look of her own. “Look at me.” She pointed her finger at the cat. “I am not in the market for a familiar. I do not want guidance, I do not need guidance, and I am not willing to take up the responsibilities of pet ownership. Understand?”

The cat responded by softly licking Penny’s finger.

Penny scowled. “You’re disgusting.”

She tried to shove the cat away with her hand, but it just pushed its head against her, working its way into a pet.

“Incorrigible,” Penny muttered, standing up sharply and walking away from the train station.

The cat called out to her, but she didn’t turn back. Then, a man called out to her.

“Hey! Is this your cat?”

Penny turned back to see a man with cropped auburn hair holding the familiar. It snuggled up to him.

“No,” she responded, “it’s yours!”

Cousin Pearl wasn’t happy Penny was late - it wasn’t like she had planned anything - she just anticipated punctuality. To be fair, so did Penny, until she encountered the rolling hills of San Francisco. She had seen the post cards and the photos, sure, but nothing could have prepared her for the hike had just accomplished with two suitcases and kitten heels. Sweaty, tired, and aching, all she really wanted to do was lay down, but Pearl had other plans.

Penny wasn’t going to be living in the manor for free, that was for sure. Pearl wasn’t charging her rent, she wouldn’t do that to family, but from the second Penny had stepped on that train in Boston she had secured herself a job as Pearl’s assistant.

“It isn’t easy running the best portrait studio in the Bay, as I’m sure you can assume, and I do not get my reputation from slacking off.” Pearl began moving from room to room, adjusting items that she viewed to be askew. “People come here because they know they will get beautiful, quality photos in a clean and efficient manner.” Pearl kept talking to her as she walked; Penny quickly moved to follow her, abandoning her bags in the foyer. “This means keeping the house clean, and not leaving your personal belongings everywhere.”

She paused at this line, looking Penny up and down.

Penny’s eyes widened as she remembered her luggage sitting near the front door. “Sorry. Um, if you don’t mind, where is my room? Just so I know where to keep everything.”

Pearl turned on a heel, heading towards the stairs. “Of course,” she said, not turning back, “right this way.”

Penny quickly darted into the foyer to grab her bags, rolling the two large suitcases to the base of the stairs. She paused, sizing them up. She had just conquered the many hills of San Francisco, if she took another step upwards her legs might give out.

Pearl had already reached the upstairs floor; she could hear the faint click of a door opening and Pearl saying “This room will be yours,” as if Penny was there to see which one she was referring too.

Penny stared down her challenger, stepping onto the first step and hauling up one suitcase alongside her. She frowned at the other one, moving to lift it, but then rolling her eyes instead.

She swung her arms forward, and the suitcases moved themselves up the first landing, and with a turn of the wrist, rotated, and then a final movement, and they carried themselves to the top of the stairs. Penny smiled, darting up to join them.

Pearl was already watching as Penny reunited with her possessions on the second floor. “Well,” she said, “ I guess that brings us to the second over of business. Before each of my appointments we go extra lengths to secure the house against demonic attacks, a method which you will soon be in charge of, so it’s important you pay attention.” Pearl began traversing the length of this hallway, headed towards yet another flight of stairs, these presumably leading up to the attic. 

Penny looked into the room whose door was left ajar - her room, she assumed. It was quaint, with pastel wallpaper and framed photos of old family members. On the bed were extra linens and another comforter, all folded neatly and left for her. Penny flicked her wrist, and her suitcases rolled into the room, and, with a tiny wiggle of the fingers, managed to close the door behind them. Penny smiled, satisfied, then picked up the pace yet again to rejoin Pearl.

Pearl stood in front of a book, large, skinny, with a green leather binding and a large triquetra in the center. “This is our book of shadows. The protection spell used before each booking is here,” Pearl indicates a page very plainly labelled “Protection Spell”, then flips to another page, this one labelled “Lunar Cycle Protection Spell”, “and this is the protection spell I cast every full moon. Understood?”

“Is that it?” Penny tried not to sound underwhelmed, but it didn’t quite work.

Pearl didn’t judge her, surprisingly, but instead nodded solemnly. “Warren magic hasn’t been quite the same since Polly. She took her toll on the book.”

Penny nodded, unsure if she should try to comfort Pearl. She didn’t have to decide; Pearl quickly snapped out of her melancholy.

“But I’d rather see it lost to the world than in the hands of some demonic bastard.” She shut the book, turning to Penny. “You must be tired after all your travelling. Why don’t you rest? We’re starting bright and early tomorrow.”

Penny smiled, relieved, and pulled Pearl into a hug. “I’ll be ready.”

[chronically-angelic-transripts]

Draw My #ChronicLife

February 6, 2000. This is where my story begins. My mom and dad met a few years before, had gotten married and then had me. I was born on February 6th obviously in the poorly drawn state of Ohio. In 2002 my family had another addition. I was no longer an only child. This baby was my little sister her name is Mandy. In 2004 we had yet another addition. The first and only boy so far my little brother, Micah. And then again in 2006 my little sister Elly made the debut into the family. 

Sometime in between 2009 and 2010 I'm not quite sure on the time frame of that, I started having chronic back pain "OW!" The only reason that I remember it was even within this time frame is because of a memory I have with one of my friends. I was over at her grandparents house and we were lying on the floor for some reason and I commented that it felt nice to lay on the floor because it stretched my back out and I said "My back hurts all the time now I don't know why..." 

In 2010 I had my first move. We had been living in the same house ever since I was baby. But when I was 10 and we had to move to new one. Up until now I had been schooled at home but now I went to a real school. I actually got held back a year because my mom actually wasn't that great of a teacher and so I didn't retain a lot of information so I ended up having to redo a year but I went to a community school right there in town. 

So when I went to this new school I was well the new kid obviously. It was fourth grade and I was kind of a loner. I mean not by choice I was just kind of over here and they were all kind of over there. I mean I guess I don't blame them like I was the new kid they didn't know me but it just kind of sucks, you know? So there was this one girl named Destiny and we became pretty fast friends. So we would hang out most all of fourth grade and then partway through 5th grade and then partway through 5th grade she just kind of decided that didn't really mesh and she kind of left. 

At this point I had already been struggling with a little bit of depression and my one friend that I had abandoning me was just a little bit too much for me to handle honestly. What I am trying to draw here is like a Cheshire Cat face but I can't draw so I'm going to explain that that is what that is supposed to be. Having my friend leave me just the depression consumed me I didn't have anything to keep me occupied. My only memories from fifth grade are being in the dark, trying to get help, trying to pull out. I sat... you know those lunch tables where there's like half of it it's like really long but there's like two parts to it that are very clearly established? Yeah I started eat lunch out one of those all by myself. I felt very isolated. 

In sixth grade things got a little bit better. Depression never really goes fully away but you can have enough fun to kind of forget it's there the blackness kind of fades a little bit. It never really goes away but... there you go. So the blackness can fade a little bit so you distract yourself things get a little bit better. That was sixth grade for me. I found this group of people this kind of group of other outcasts kind of like me and we made our own little group. I actually named it. We called ourselves M&M; or the modern Musketeers with our motto "all for one and one for all" There were two boys and three girls. Just the five of us. The two boys were Justin and Trey and then there was me Delaney and Madi. 

Madison and Trey both left the school after sixth grade so it was just me Justin and Delaney which I actually have some pretty good memories from that time. We were all kind of awkward and we never went out for recess so we would always help the janitor clean up the cafeteria while everyone else was at recess. Which doesn't sound that great but it was really fun 'cause it was just the three of us in this wide open cafeteria and I remember this one time when we smashed open a barbecue packet. We made a lot of messes because meaning we were just gonna clean them up anyway. Never started a food fight though. Okay moving on. 

So my mom had gotten pregnant yet again and this time there were two of them I don't know why I I tried to add the babies holding up peace signs but I failed terribly at this but I thought it was funny that the babies would be giving peace signs and also that I failed so terribly at having the babies give peace signs so I just kept it. This happened in 2012 by the way...because I forgot to do that earlier. Okay so my mother had finally given birth. I had two little baby sisters named Mia and Libby. This is all the children and then my parents have as of yet so yes still just the one boy. That same year or maybe it was the year before that. I have a terrible memory okay? This is very hard. 

Ever since, actually ever since I was born we had been going to this one church it was it was kind of weird It had a lot of rules. Girls could only wear skirts. I wore pajama pants around the house sometimes in the winter and stuff but I08:49never wore a pair of jeans until I was 12. We were also supposed to have very long hair and cutting it even just trimming the dead ends off was just...no. And you couldn't pierce your ears either. That's what that's supposed to be. That's supposed to be an earring but it kind of just looks like more hair but no. No ear piercings or tattoos. It was the only place I could put a tattoo leave me alone. 

My mom had decided that this church wasn't really for her anymore and kind of peaced out on that. I don't know why I keep using peace in this section but she says "peace I'm out! "and she gone. This actually led to me questioning religion a lot. It sent me into a tizzy that lasted for years and I'm still no quite decided but it was really bad at the beginning. I was just so confused I mean what was right? Christianity? There's Jewishism? I don't even know what you call it. I don't know. I know what you call it I can't remember okay leave me alone. science? There Scientology? Aliens? what do I believe? What should I believe? 

In 2015 I had to move from my second house of my life an hour away from my hometown. Our family was getting pretty big at this point and my dad already worked in that town so we just decided it would be better to move there instead. So, 2015 it was finally time for high school. Yes this is an actual model of what my high school looks like it's really weird.11:292016, 10th grade. At this point in tenth grade my health started to decline. I was having more trouble with my back, I was having more trouble with my hips I was having trouble with my knees. My ankles started to be all weird my my toes my declining health also meant that my depression took a hit for the worst. I started to descend into the darkness, which was not fun. 

I decided to seek out therapy and they referred me to a psychologist (or I forget. Is it psychologist? I think it's psychologist.) where they gave me meds. The first med that I was on didn't really help me much but then the second med that I got on it helped me a whole lot I am so much less depressed than I was. So I know that my mental health was in a pretty good state I decided I needed to take a real look at my physical health. I went to my PCP and she decided we were gonna do "ALL THE TESTING EVER!!!" Despite all the testing I still have no idea what's wrong. 

The one piece of advice my doctor did give me was to exercise and I figured swimming is pretty easy on the joints. So I did that. I was not a very good swimmer in slightest but I did it. Halfway through the season I kind of realized that it was a terrible mistake because the joints in my arms had started hurting. I never had problems with the joints in my arms before and then suddenly I did. It was not fun. Now I'm going to go to a video by me from before so. 

About halfway through the season I didn't really go back anymore because my wrists and my hands had started hurting my joints never used to click before and now they do. My wrists started hurting they didn't used to click either, my elbows started hurting they don't really click but they hurt now, my shoulders click if I do this and they hurt by themselves now too. I used to have a lot of shoulder like muscle pain but now I'll get joint pain and sometimes it'll even feel like my shoulders trying to fall out of its socket I never be used to be able to bend my fingers back this far, I never used to be able to do (oops the camera can't see) I never used to able to touch my thumb to my forearm like this, I never be used to be able to do any of that. Oh they also didn't used to be able to do this this or any of this you can see. I think they used to click a little bit but now they click like a lot. 

I can touch my toes now which I can only I only used to be able to get to about here (my knees) and now I can touch my toes all the way down. See I can lift that up. My sister measured with (you're foot is in the shot) My sister measured it for me and it goes up like seven centimeters off the ground. My elbow doesn't really hyper extend but it still hurts all the time. My shoulders are the same way and yeah it's just a big ol mess. I also have started experiencing POTS symptoms and I didn't really start experiencing that until I started exercising. So honestly I'm a little scared to exercise at all anymore because I'm scared of it getting worse. Which I think is understandable.

So now I'll explain a little about POTS symptoms basically whenever I would stand up my heart would freak out. It's due to it it's a type of dysautonomia which is a dysfunction the autonomic nervous system which regulates things like blood pressure, heart rate, digestion all that good stuff. So basically my first symptom was my heart just would freak out. 

Because I was experiencing this, I went to my doctor. She referred me to a cardiologist and he ordered me a tilt table test. I actually fainted during the tilt table test. So I went back to the doctor who was under the assumption that I was just fat and had not been exercising and he was like "I don't know I'll just give you some meds and no diagnosis" 

So now we're almost to the present. 11th grade. By 11th grade given the problems in my... everything now, I had started walking with a cane over the summer. I only use it sometimes when I need it during school but even on days when I have to use it I still I get home and I just... I crash and it really sucks to be honest. My path ahead is still just one giant question mark. I have hope that I will get into this online academy thing that my school does where I can still be a student but I go and do it. It sounds like a wonderful solution and I'm probably gonna find out the day after tomorrow whether or not I got it. I don't think I'm gonna add it here just let it be unfinished. 

So that's my life so far. I may do a part two in a year or two. Who knows? But if you want to see it as it happens ,subscribe! The vlogs have been pretty inconsistent but I'm hoping to get better if I get in to the online school. Like, share subscribe and follow my media. Links in the description.

[inbl0om]

2016 in review

Hey followers, it’s that time of year again! Aka, the year is about over and I write a diary-entry-like text post about how the past 36[6, in this case] days have been for me. Which none of you will probably read. Oh well. Here goes:

Part I: January - Late May I returned to Fordham in the middle of January for my final semester at Fordham. Things were...hard for me to verbalize. A month before, December 2015, I overcame a brief scuffle I had with a few of my friends due to how belligerently drunk I got the night after my first LSAT. Things evened out, but I left LA after the new year with a very troubled heart. I kept asking myself, what would I do if I didn’t get accepted to any of the law schools that I applied to? I had no back-up plan. Ok, that’s a lie; I did: work for a year or so, then go back to school to get my MBA. But I made no effort to apply to any jobs in either city that I called “home.” And that’s another thing: the word “home” began to have many different connotations. So many that I began to hate the English language (for more than the obvious reasons) for having no other word(s) to express exactly how I was feeling. Every party I went to, every living room I pregamed in, every nap I took on Fordham’s quad (”Eddie’s” for all my Fordham followers)--just made me want to cling to New York City even more. College seniors everywhere dread “the ‘G’ word,” but there is no way to explain the disdain “graduation” inflicts on one’s mind and body when the second semester finally rolls around. If anything, the second semester--and every inching second towards the occurrence of the “g word”--makes you really pause the commotion of your life and smell the roses that are the life you made for yourself the past four years.

I met a boy in January on the MetroNorth. He was sweet--almost too sweet. I became too desperate for his attention that I scared him away. Pretty Typical. In February, I retook the LSAT. Then, on the 17th, I turned 22. Once again, I had a birthday party, but I was sad to see that not as many people came as did for my 21st. I also went on my first-ever Tinder date. In March, I came home to Los Angeles for Spring Break. I went to San Diego with a few friends from high school and let myself feel healed by the ocean. In April, I got my first law school acceptance. My fate was sealed. I placed my enrollment deposit and began to come to terms with the certainty that I was, in fact, going to leave New York City for good and return to Los Angeles. I was so happy. And I was so sad. My closest friends were all so ecstatic for my future (and I could tell because that Facebook status was my most-liked EVER at an astounding 180+), yet we all knew what it meant: I was leaving. I was going to be gone.

May was both wonderful and terrible for that reason. My job and my internship both ended, and I focused mainly on my remaining days in New York City. My roommate and I decided to have a “Purple Party” to celebrate that we were both going to graduate schools that just so happened to have the same official color: purple. Mutual friends of ours who lived in a house with a huge backyard let us throw it. Over 200 of our friends came. And at one moment, I actually almost cried. I almost cried because all of these people--who I had either been friends with all four years, had met them along the way, or had just met them that semester--were there for me. Followers, it’s no secret that I suffer from depression and anxiety. I have always had self-esteem issues, as well as abandonment issues and fears that I am never enough. But that night, in that moment, I felt loved. Senior Week commenced later that May. I can’t remember most of the events, but I remember them being fun for many reasons. One night I lay on Eddie’s with my other roommate and we looked at the stars and were holding each other in tears because of how thankful we were that we met each other. Another night, one of my best friends and I finally got around to talking about the reality that was me leaving soon. My brother flew in early (and stayed with his best friend from high school who just happens to go to my Alma Mater) and went to Senior Ball. Senior Ball was amazingly fun...until the after party. Ugh. So much unnecessary drama. But anyway, graduation finally happened. Graduation was surreal. The weather was cloudy, it was somewhat humid, my sister didn’t make it because she missed her flight because she chose her (now ex-)boyfriend’s prom over me, our speaker basically told us that the world is a very terrible place, and seeing AJ get his diploma made me happy that I finally got to say goodbye to him. But honestly, I still can’t believe that it happened. And I don’t think I even know where my diploma is. Oops. Anyway, I’m bummed that I didn’t get to take as many pictures with as many people as I wanted. And I’m still a little bummed that I spent too much time with my family doing all these touristy things. But after my mom and my sisters left, I had two days left in New York City. My last day was really, really hard. May 24th. I won’t forget it. I woke up that morning seeing my bags packed and my bed bare. My walls, which I am notoriously known by my friends for as being the most filled, were blank. I went to lunch with my best friends and tried not to cry the entire time. Afterward, we went to my apartment. In the two hours before my scheduled Uber was to pick me up, my friends helped me take down all the photos that I had taped on the walls. We laughed as we reminisced all the crazy moments that I had captured of our countless shenanigans. Some of my friends asked if they could keep certain photos because they realized in that moment how sentimental it was to them. And then finally, the uber came. I hugged each and every person of my squad. And then when I hugged my main girls--Darby, Alex, and Emma--I lost it. I hugged Darby the longest. But honestly, it’s probably more correct to say that she held me. I finally got the strength to get in the car...and as I drove off, not only did my friends wave, a few of them actually ran after the car. My heart broke into a million pieces. But then it swelled in joy. Never had I ever felt love like this. This love is accepting, this love is patient, this love knows who I am and wants to grow with me. Even with so much distance that I had now created between us. And my brother and I proceeded to get super drunk on the plane back to Los Angeles afterward.

Part II: Late May - Late August The best way to sum up my summer in 2016 is this: I was super fucking depressed. I was mourning my old life. At this point a year prior, I was starting my job in the Admissions Office, I had just moved in to my off-campus apartment, and I was spending every afternoon and night with my best friends either in their living rooms, their backyards, or via drunken shenanigans in Manhattan and Brooklyn. But this year? I was locked in my room watching Netflix and Hulu. Sure, I was very happy to be with my family, and I was happy that I got to spend a lot more time with my friends from high school that decided to move back to LA like I did. But something was missing. I felt empty. I felt lonely. And I felt my heart break even more when I saw via Facebook and Snapchat that my friends from Fordham seemed to have moved on with their lives and had accepted that I was no longer a part of it. I had a depressive breakdown in early July, a little after the fourth. I ripped the pictures of my college friends off my walls and threw many framed pictures I had on the ground, where they shattered. I screamed, cried, and wrote FAT and WORTHLESS all over my body in sharpie. Then, about two weeks later, I went to the hospital because I was self-harming. I had not been suicidal to this degree since AJ broke up with me about a year and a half beforehand.

Then, in late July, two good things happened to me: (1) I started watching Haikyuu!! and (2) I began to take my Intro to Legal Writing class at my current law school. What I liked about my into to legal writing course is that, not only was it super preparatory for my starting career as a law student, I also met many people who I am still friends with--including Aileen, who has become my best friend at law school. Similarly, what I liked about (and still love about) Haikyuu!! is--put simply--it helped me fill a hole that I was feeling. Through the Karasuno Volleyball Club team, I was able to find a fictional psuedo-family while I was looking for ways to create a new one for myself in law school. I also briefly dated a guy I met on Bumble. That was okay, but ended pretty early on. It was nice to know that even LA boys wanted me. And on that note--I also finally came to terms with my sexuality and came out to my family. The summer ended a little early for me because of orientation, but I’m happy that it did. After having a few crying fits wondering whether law school was what I was actually meant to be doing with my life, I was finally ready to attack head-on.

Part III: Late August - December The only thing I really got from orientation was new friends. And honestly, close to 85% of the people I met that first week are still my friends now that the semester is over. These people (Aileen, Josh, Maddy, Michael, Alex, and Joanna) are the main persons who kept me sane. Followers, law school is like nothing I have ever--or will ever--experience. The reading is literally only case opinions, class time is spent trying to affirm what you taught yourself, and your grade in the class is (almost always) determined by the final and maybe a midterm. You have you teach yourself most of it. Your professor is only there to help clear up any questions you have on the rules, their elements, and/or their factors. The most difficult part is teaching yourself the application the rules, because some rules are very broad, and others are super narrow. But once you get the gist of determining which rule falls where, everything else begins to fall into place. Labor Day Weekend was spent in Lake Arrowhead with these new friends. Followers, I haven’t seen that many stars in years. I made a few wishes on three (!!!) of the four shooting stars I saw, and I actually had a panic attack. But!! these new friends were actually super supportive and patient. I guess those are just a few perks of having friends who are older than you.

I actually flew to New York City for Fordham’s homecoming at the end of September! And let me tell you, there were waterworks. The first day, I went to breakfast with my old roommate and another close friend in Brooklyn, and my old roommate and I just about cried when we were reunited after she ran down the stairs to greet me from the uber. My old roommate and I went into Manhattan and ran errands before meeting with my other old roommate, Darby, and our other friend Ben for dinner. And once again, Darby held me while I cried. I was just so happy. There are so many posts on my tumblr in which I attempt to describe how warm, welcome, and loved that these people make me feel. We had a wonderful midtown dinner at an Italian restaurant with live music before heading down to the Village to go out. I got to meet some of Alex’s new friends at her grad school (which was a nice touch because she had taken me on a tour of her portion of the NYU campus earlier that day). We had a pretty lovely rest of a rainy night before going back to our borroughs to sleep. The next morning, Katie arrived, I got to eat NYC-style bagels that I missed oh-so-much, and we went to Homecoming. Homecoming was great because I got to see so many friends that I didn’t even realized I missed. We got drunk under the tent, went to a backyard party, and got pizza at the local spot afterward. And then, at night, a smaller group of us went to the old house of mutual friends that had younger mutual friends living there now. That’s when it hit me: things have changed. No part of my old life is how it used to be. Sure, these friendships will be maintained, and New York City will always be a part of me/have a piece of me--but the illusion that life as it was had not budged since graduation was immediately busted. I left the next day. With tears. But I know I’ll be back.

Anyway, the rest of the semester went by pretty smoothly. I briefly dated a guy I met on Bumble, but it turns out he just wanted me for sex. Whatever--he and his incredibly small penis can go fuck themselves. And then, there was another guy who I actually and genuinely thought liked me at my law school. But like Bumble fuckboy, he only wanted me for sex. He started to spread a rumor that I had assaulted him, which I quickly was able to shut down due to how completely false his accusations were. The good news: I was given a newborn hatchling tortoise!! Little Takala fully hatched on October 4. The little ooo came home to me on October 18, and my life has been exponentially better ever since. I have never understood the hype surrounding pets until I started to care for Lil T. I love that tiny animal more than I love myself. Academically, I hit a bit of a rough patch. I received a very low score, despite a gracious curve, on my first ever midterm exam. This trend continued with other midterms I took. But when December 1 hit, I decided to buckle down and redeem myself. There was no way in hell that I am not going to be at the top. The semester ended on December 21. My friends and I all went out and had a pretty crazy afternoon and night. I came to many realizations about my law school friends, such as who lies about their grades, who cheats, who steals outlines, and even things like who is manipulative and who is most likely going to be at the top or bottom of the class.

If 2016 taught me anything, it’s this: change is constant, and change is difficult. I left many friends and memories--a life--back in New York City; and I created a new life for myself in Los Angeles--aka the city that I was born in and grew up in. 2016 also taught me how to be resilient, how to stay true to myself, and how to both open up about these emotions and to also be a better listener. 2016 was better than 2015 in that I was able to do so many cool things with my friends (both old and new), but it was also worse than 2015 in that all these changes all at once made me very depressed in such a way that was completely different from the depression I felt in 2015.

Hopes for 2017 But anyway, I have a pretty good feeling for 2017. Because my birthday is on the 17th day of February, I have always considered 17 to be “lucky” for me. So, I hope that this year will be good to me. I hope that I can reach my goal weight, to live a healthier lifestyle, to be more receptive to change, to keep getting what I deserve (as in, have the fruits of my labors be from my effort rather than luck)--and, ultimately, to let my anxiety calm the fuck down and actually let life and the universe allow things to fall into place for me without me trying to move too fast or without me trying to unfairly manipulate things into my favor. So, I hope that 2017 will be better than 2016. No--I know 2017 will be better than 2016. Watch out, universe. I’m gonna slay.