#i’ve heard so many different things…some people say only use it in the morning

[birdietrait]

to those with a light therapy lamp, what time do you normally use it?

[missberrycake]

I’ve been thinking this morning about if Steve didn’t get back together with Nancy at the end of S1—I think there’s a lot of different ways that could go, but what if Steve ended up as one of Eddie’s lost little sheep?

Because even if Steve was popular enough to keep afloat in the choppy waters of high school, after his bust up with Tommy and Carole—and even when he’s seen talking with Nancy and Jonathan Byers of all people—he still doesn’t really have any true friends left. Sure, he has people he can chat to in class, but at lunch? After school? Nobody is really thinking about who ex-jock, ex-bully Steve Harrington is hanging around with. 

Perhaps he spends the rest of his junior year dreading lunch hour, because he knows he’s going to have to deploy some serious charm tactics—taking as long as he can in the queue, chatting to the students either side of him—and perhaps if he lingers long enough at one of the tables of his more social classmates, pretends he’s just catching up, carrying on a conversation from class, he can make it seem like it’s all still as easy as it was before. 

Sometimes, though, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend. On those days he’ll retreat quietly to his car and eat his lunch behind his wheel, wondering how different it might have been if he’d never gone back into the Byers’ house that day last fall.

It’s on one of those days that Eddie sees him. It’s not like Eddie hadn’t noticed him before, he’s always on the lookout, after all, and Steve Harrington is one of those people who always drew his eye. He’d seen him scouring the cafeteria while queueing up for his state-mandated mac ‘n’ cheese, searching for a space where he could fit. 

And, of course, he’d heard the whispers about Steve—that he’d punched Tommy H in the face, gotten his crown beaten from his head by Jonathan Byers (though he didn’t seem to hold a grudge). If there’s one thing to know about Eddie, it’s that he’s a bleeding heart, and so when he sees Steve sitting alone in his car, winter frost glittering against the metal, he lets out a heavy sigh and trundles over. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he says, pushing down a smirk when Steve jumps (he is easily startled these days, isn’t he?).

“Munson,” Steve replies with narrow eyes. He doesn’t trust Eddie yet, not entirely. 

“There’s more space in my van. If you wanted some company.”

Eddie leaves it like that, keeps it casual, knows that he might get it shoved right back in his face—expects it to be, even. And so he’s surprised at how quickly Steve nods back at him, a real smile breaking out on his face, if only for a moment, until Steve clears his throat and says, “Sure, yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.”

It’s the start of something big. A delicate balance where the two of them pretend that it’s not that important, but somehow they’re more honest with each other than they’ve ever been with anyone else. Steve tells Eddie all about how he doesn’t even really know who he is anymore, and in return Eddie shares just how worried he is that he knows exactly who he’s expected to be, and that he can’t change his fate even if he wanted to.

By the time the next school year starts, it’s well established with the school population that Steve Harrington has somehow landed himself with an honorary spot in the Hellfire Club. He doesn’t play—refuses to learn, even if it’s clear that he’d do pretty much anything else that Eddie Munson would ask of him—but he helps set up the meetings, sits with them at lunch, smiles stupidly whenever Eddie gets up onto the cafeteria tables to rant about the shallow-mindedness of his peers. 

And if Eddie’s diatribes are directed at the popular crowd with a little more venom than they used to be, and if he seems to take great pleasure whenever Tommy H, or Carole, or those posers on the basketball team frown and scoff and sneer at him, it’s no great secret to everyone else in the lunch hall exactly why. 

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[alphajocklover]

AirBoyfriendNBoyfriend

**based off an ask I accidentally deleted, but had already written a story for. I don't remember the exact words, but I'll do my best to paraphrase. Was written with the help of my friend, editor and beta reader, @innermostthoughtsartappreciation **

'My 2 straight friends and I are going on vacation together. We went to our AirBnB but things have been weird since we got here. One of my friends seems more muscular than usual? He was already pretty tall but not he's really built. And last night I swear I heard my friends talking about sex in the other room or something? And this morning I woke up with a ring on my finger? Whats happening?'

You say this all started because you and your two friends went to an Airbnb? And you woke up with a ring on your finger?

In this case, what's happening isn’t some sort of elaborate conspiracy conducted by a shadowy cabal, nor is it some nefarious scheme by one of your friends/enemies to transform you to their liking, nor is it anything else of that sort. What happened here is very simple: you guys used the wrong AirBnB.

No doubt you all know that I’ve talked about EB Jewelry before. You know the jewelry company that transforms people using their products. They’re one of, if not, the biggest name in the transformation business. Still, there are plenty of other companies out there that use transformation devices and items. Most are much smaller than EB Jewelry and try to fly under the radar when it comes to being able to transform people, but they are still out there. Including the very AirBnB that you and your friends signed up for. Air-Boyfriend-and-Boyfriend. Usually only referred to as simply AirBFnBF by those who use it, they’re often mistaken for AirBnB. You probably think they should be sued for copyright infringement, but you are entirely wrong. It is shockingly near impossible to sue a company that uses magic, and not as shockingly completely not worth the hassle and complications it would cause. For a $70 billion company like the real AirBnB to sue.

Despite their similar-sounding names and acronyms, the two companies do wildly different things and cater to a rather starkly different clientele. Airbnb lets you rent different houses for short periods and market themselves for all people to use, while AirBFnBF lets you rent out different relationships for however you wish to be in them, and usually exclusively caters their services to gay men.

Here's how it works. Just like with Airbnb, you go into the app or on their website and you choose the place you want to stay at during the duration of your trip from the list of vacant places. Unlike AirBnB however, you also get to choose the people you want to become during your trip. You can customize whoever each party member becomes, and your relationship to and with each other. It’s a way for groups of people, though usually a couple, to try out different fantasies and sexual scenarios together.

What I believe must have happened was that one of your friends earnestly mistook the AirBFnBF app for the AirBnB app, and skipped the relationship settings page entirely because he didn’t understand what it was for what it was supposed to mean. Therefore, if he did do that, the app would have gone to a random fixed preset, which there aren’t a lot of for a group of three men.

I have a friend who works for AirBFnBF, and they told me you guys have probably been randomly assigned their most popular thresome preset: A Newlywed Throuple: consisting of a Hunk, a Muscle Daddy, and a Twunk. I know it sounds strangely specific, but you’d be surprised by just how many people love to use this one Throuple in particular.

You’re going to be in for a lot of surprises during these next two weeks. Including a new body, new memories, and a ludicrous amount of hot & steamy sex with your two new husbands. None of you will remember your true- selves until the two-week vacation rental is over. So until then, enjoy yourself!

That's what you’re supposed to do on a honeymoon after all. Your friends will probably be very confused when these two weeks are over. However, on the off chance they or you all enjoy being big gay hunks and having tons of hot & steamy sex with you or together, there is a permanent settlement option you can invoke. It cost a small fortune, but with how happy, hot, and horny the three of you are all acting together now, I'd bet anything you guys will make your money back in no time

[redpill-tfs]

Red Wave

January 1st, 2025

Yo, so I started this Red Wave trial thing today. The docs said it’s supposed to, like, make your brain work better or something. Was told to track my thoughts in this journal thing. Honestly, I’m just here for the cash. I’m not buying into any of their science-y shit. Took the first pill this morning. Feel normal so far. Guess we’ll see if this stuff actually does anything.

Since I was told to describe myself a bit, I guess I might as well if I want that cash they promised. Name's Blake. I'm 26 and work at a local manufacturing company in the finance department. It's a pretty chill gig. Don't gotta wear a suit either which is good. Didn't even wear one to my graduation and I don't plan on starting now.

Anyway bro, I'm also a proud atheist. Never got into politics, but I guess I'm more liberal. I mean, just let people do what they want, right?

February 10th, 2025

Alright, not gonna lie, I’ve been feeling kinda sharp lately. Like, my head’s clearer, and I’m getting more stuff done at work. My boss Emily even said my presentation didn’t totally suck, which is rare. Oh, and I actually ironed my shirt today before work. Don’t know why—just felt like I should look decent. Weird, right? Maybe these pills aren’t total BS. I don't know why, but I've been thinking of wearing a tie to work...

March 12th, 2025

So get this, man: I bought a suit over the weekend. A whole grownup suit and a tie to go with it. I dunno know why, but I just felt like stepping up my game for my presentation at work today. And man did I look good. I got so many compliments on my fit. It honestly felt really good. My bros thought it was weird and so do I, but now that I have it I guess I'll use it at another presentation in the future.

April 15th, 2025

Something weird is going on. I heard some chick at work talking about her church today. Instead of scoffing and rolling my eyes, it made me, like, think a little. Like I got curious about it. I don't know what's going on, but I might have to check it out sometime.

Speaking of work, I've been wearing a tie more and more. It feels... right. People seem to notice too. I get so many compliments about them. I went back to the store and pick out a whole bunch of different colors. I may be the only guy in the department wearing one, but standing out isn't a bad thing I guess.

May 18th, 2025

Alright, so… I went to church today. Yeah, me. Blake, the proud atheist. Walked past St. Mark’s on the way to grab Starbuck's, and something just made me stop and go in. The music was kind of awesome, and the pastor’s talk about purpose hit me harder than I expected. I don’t even know what’s happening to me, but I’m starting to think there’s more to life than what I’ve been living. I might go back next week to see what I've been missing, but I'm not sure yet.

June 30th, 2025

This morning, I prayed. Like, actually prayed to God. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, but it felt… good. I’ve also started reading bits of the Bible over the past week. There’s some deep stuff in there. Work’s going great, too. I’ve been mentoring one of the new guys, and Emily says she’s impressed with my leadership. Suits are now my everyday thing. Who knew dressing sharp could feel so right?

July 23rd, 2025

I’ve been pulling away from my old friends. Their whole sarcastic, edgy vibe just doesn’t sit right with me anymore. Instead, I’ve been hanging out with people from church who share my interest in self-improvement and faith. I’m even thinking about joining a volunteer group at the church. Life feels more meaningful now. My mind still feels so clear too. I don't know what this pill is doing to me, but it's working.

August 11th, 2025

I’ve been reflecting on some big ideas lately: responsibility, tradition, family values. They make so much sense now. I’ve also started watching a few commentators online who align with these views. Their logic is compelling. Honestly, I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. It’s like a veil has been lifted. Why should abortion be legal? Why should we violate the second amendment with gun control laws? Why do gays think thy can decide how the rest of us live our lives? So many questions I'm learning the answers to. I never paid much attention to politics, but maybe I should.

September 7th, 2025

Sunday service has become the cornerstone of my week. I’ve officially joined St. Mark’s and volunteered for their community outreach. Pastor Williams’s guidance has been invaluable. I’m entirely committed to this new path. My wardrobe, my habits, even my worldview have all transformed. I’m proud of the man I’ve become. I've said this a million times already, but it just feels right.

October 20th, 2025

Today is my birthday, and reflecting on this past year astounds me. My former self seems like a stranger. I’ve embraced faith, order, and purpose, and it just feels right. I got my hair cut to be a lot shorter than I once had it as a special birthday gift to myself. It feels more appropriate for my new image.

I had some friends from bible study over for a small party. I wore my best suit for the occasion. We played games, ate good food, and prayed of course. There was a riveting debate on the role of faith in politics. All in all, it was a good time. I can't believe how much my life has changed just in 10 months.

November 30th, 2025

Today was the final day of the trial. The scientist leading the study asked me all sorts of questions, from my conservative views to my faith in God and my new sense of style. I'm not sure what it all has to do with a mental focus pill, but I didn't feel like asking questions. I'm sure they know what they're doing. Anyways, I better get going. St. Mark's is having an event today to celebrate God and all of His glory. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

December 1st, 2025

The Red Wave trial has concluded with a 100% conversion rate among participants. Subjects exhibited profound and permanent shifts in personality, behavior, and worldview. Pre-trial skepticism and liberal inclinations were entirely replaced with conservative, faith-based identities. This case highlights the pill's efficacy in aligning individuals with structured, traditional conservative values. Further research will examine long-term societal impacts of widespread application. More subjects needed.

[idlerin]

love sick — 05. it’s all cliché and full of obvious red flags

romance 101; guideline #18 — before anything else, to love someone is to love yourself first.

the squeak of the ball hitting the ground and shoes sliding across the vinyl flooring were the sounds you heard as you spent the past hour or so watching grown men consistently smashing a ball. you were one to play your roles well but you did not find that much of an interest in sports in general. you understood why people enjoyed them but it never really became your “thing”. as you watch your quote-en-quote boyfriend on the court, you’re beginning to see the appeal.

you had eyes, it was no wonder why so many people fell for suna rintarou if you only consider his physical attributes from afar. maybe it was his gaze? It was the kind that lures you in, he doesn’t look particularly interested most of the time, perhaps that was why people get a kick when he reacts differently. people have their preferences so you wouldn’t put it past them to be attracted to suna’s kind, those who make you want to learn more about them because of how reserved they are.

you look at your phone to check the time, it is 1:30 pm, their practice was supposed to end early. “early” because they began at around 6 in the morning, you could never even imagine running in the morning.

you sighed, it wasn’t like being in the gymnasium was that bad. your friends, atsumu and kageyama were here too since they were part of the team but other than that you were a total loner. sure, there are some other people here with business you don’t know of and some just there to watch and you could probably approach one of them to get some company… but that meant you had to further the conversation, you usually do have a lot of things to say but that’s exactly the problem.

your mind wanders to a conversation you had with a person the other day instead, their name was… hayami? yeah, it was hayami. she wanted to approach you about this certain situation she was in. her friend of four years confessed to her and she didn’t know what to do because she didn’t know if she liked him back in that way. throughout the years she’s had several “what-ifs” about liking this friend but it was never really a strong emotion. now that he’s confessed to her, she doesn’t know how to properly respond and she ended up running away from him. she's afraid he thinks she hates him now.

the first thing you told her was that it was okay to feel confused because she didn’t have to name a proper emotion for it right now, being “sure” of liking someone can take time. you advised her to tell him that she needs time to think first so he isn’t left hanging and that whatever she decides what to do, he should be able to understand. hayami voiced out her worries that she didn’t want to hurt his feelings because of how much she treasured their friendship. you replied by stating that not saying and telling what she meant from the beginning could hurt her and him more in the long run.

“head in the clouds?” a voice you’ve recently become used to reach your ears. you jerk your head back only to see suna in front of you, a towel slung over his shoulder.

“are you done?” your shoulders resigned from the previous bit of shock at his presence, you really were too lost in your thoughts.

“yeah, i’ll just get some things from the changing room,” he said, you nodded while your eyes drifted behind him. atsumu was wiggling his eyebrows at you and you resisted the urge to grimace.

“i’ll go with you,” you exclaim, sick and tired of sitting on the bench.

“didn’t know [name] the sweetheart was such a perv,” suna raised a brow at you.

“excuse you?” you asked, confused.

“i’m going to change,” suna deadpanned, “if you wanted to watch i’d let you.”

you shook your head, at a loss for words for once in your life, “that was obviously not what i meant, but i’ve already had my hands on you, right?” you smile, recalling yesterday when you bombarded him with a hug acting like a girlfriend who missed her boyfriend very very much. your mind was then brought back to your cupcakes which were unapologetically ruined, you mourn your hours of hard work, “so what’s a little sight-seeing?” you continue to tease, standing up.

now you’ve made him speechless, he thought he could win? hah not as long as you still have your wits about you.

“nice to know you think i’m such a view, i’d assume you enjoyed yourself for the past few hours then?” suna started walking before you could retort, you were left to follow him with a small smile on your face due to amusement.

on your way to the lockers, you saw kageyama still practicing, he really could not catch a break, wasn’t practice over? meanwhile, atsumu was making grand gestures towards you and suna, and you wished you had something to throw at him. unfortunately for you and fortunate for him, you only brought your phone out with you today (you had no classes, okay, you initially planned to catch up on some reading today, ann liang’s this time it’s real—which was coincidentally about fake dating as well—was waiting for you at home).

“hey, what were you going to give me today?” you finally ask, you didn’t get to properly talk about it with him since he was busy training. you were leaning on the wall next to the entrance of their changing rooms, he was the only one in there so it was fine to act casual.

it took a minute or two before suna finally came out, duffel bag over his shoulder where the towel once was and cloth scrunched in his hands. said cloth was then tossed to you, you almost dropped it since your reflexes aren’t that quick.

“my extra jersey, wear it on the game this sat,” suna said casually as he watched you hold his jersey up, the number 7 plastered on it, the name suna on the back. how many times have you read and watched main characters in books and films cheer for their significant other while wearing their jerseys? now you are going to partake in that sports romance trope, how funny reality can be!

“oh is that all? what else do we do for today?” your head tilts to the side.

“i heard there’s an event in the campus grounds today, i was thinking we could go there since there would be a lot of people,” suna urged you to start walking and follow him with a simple nudge of his head.

“alright, i’ll warn you now though i didn’t bring any money,” you said with a skip in your step, still clutching the shirt since you don’t have anywhere to leave it in, “can you put this in your bag first, though?”

“who said you were paying?” he said casually while taking his jersey and placing it in his bag for a second.

you froze for a moment, “could you stop acting like a k-drama male lead?”

this made suna chuckle, he chuckled, you don’t think you’ve even seen the man smile, “you caught on quickly, huh? osamu’s been recommending me shows so that i could ‘learn by example’ whatever that means.”

right, you keep forgetting the suna is in the same friend group as atsumu and his brother, you know there’s this other guy in the group too named omiomi something? atsumu wouldn’t shut up about him. you’ve met osamu briefly before but you wouldn’t say that you were properly acquainted with him, you do see him a lot on campus because you get startled by how much him and atsumu look alike.

“i’m a matchmaker, i’m clearly well-versed in all forms of romantic media,” you say in a ‘duh’ tone.

“you can carry us then, acting romantic isn’t for me,” suna shrugged.

“no, you have to do your part,” you insist, as you step out of the gymnasium.

“what you want me to hold your hand or something?”

“that would be a good start,” you say, holding your hand out to him. he stares at it as if it’s some unknown species, and then he wordlessly extends his hand to intertwine with yours.

masterlist — previous | next

❥ fun facts !

it was only recently that [name] got addicted to strawberry flavored drinks.

semi has gigs weekly that [name] always goes to watch.

atsumu once during april fools convinced osamu to wear matching clothes from head to toe and wear matching caps to see how many people would confuse them for each other.

love sick ! a suna rintarou social media au

synopsis. cupid! calling cupid! as the resident matchmaker slash hopeless romantic of tokyo university, you are the person people look for to get love advice or to set them up with the love of their lives. when suna rintarou comes to you asking for the opposite, to help fend people away from trying to get with him, to the extremes of even asking to fake date you, you couldn't refuse! mostly because you did owe him since he was on the receiving end of a bunch of your clients’ unsuccessful love efforts (hey, you do warn them your matchmaking only has a 62.3% success rate).

a/n — gotta love a man that insults you (just kidding, suna rintarou is the exception).

taglist is OPEN ! + (1/2) @yas-mjm @agirlwholovesalot @yenqa @fairywriter-oracle @noideawhothatis @alienvarmint @renardiererin @cheezitwh0re @yaboiithewreck @zephestia @nicerthanu @wolffmaiden @2baddies-1porsche @bluegrey02 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @lylovw @fo-love @cloudsvna @haruskatana @apinu @coyloves @rockleeisbaeeee @geombyu @girlkissersco @reveusecherie @mwhahahalasagna @megumiif @erenjvegerrr @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ris-krispie @kamikokii @complexivelovely @justabreadslice @hearts4faey @yuzurins @eleanorheartschishiya @hearts4itoshi @justsomeonewhoyoudontknow @rijhi @sleepystrwbrryy @snail-squasher @seiamor @wave2love @le000xxgrd @iuspired @theidontknowmehn @linmabbe @rntrsuna @tenaciouswritersheep

if i can not tag you, please change your mentions settings to “everyone” thank you!

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 1)

Haymitch x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue

“Well,” Haymitch grunts, rising from his seat in the bar car, “that’ll do it.”

Y/N knows the drill. Busying herself with the game plan, preparing the devices for her tributes. Loaded with resources to aid in their training.

Haymitch leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before stumbling away toward their train car.

He won’t even see them, not until it’s absolutely necessary. Haymitch has no desire to make small talk; he doesn’t want to know them. Just makes it harder in the end.

His wife, on the other hand, is either a saint or criminally insane by Haymitch’s account. She insists on knowing them, allowing each to take a little piece of her off into the arena to die.

He used to spite her for it, for her inability to simply stop running herself into the ground trying to save kids who are already dead. He doesn’t anymore. That’s who she is and he learned to love her for it. Still, Haymitch doesn’t want to watch. He was always better at picking up pieces than keeping things in place.

“Y/N Abernathy!” A shrill voice scolds when the set of doors behind the youngest victor open without warning.

“Effie Trinket.” Y/N waves a hand in her direction.

“What are you doing? Where is Haymitch? The two of you are meant to be-”

“Look, you’re new at this. I get it, everything is exciting. Can’t wait to make these kids arena ready in just a few days.” Y/N grumbles, never looking up from her tablet. “But it doesn’t work like that. We’re stuck on this fucking train until tomorrow morning with no weapons to train them and no cameras to wave at. There’s no rush.”

“Language!” Effie gasps at her choice of words, coming to stand in front of Y/N with both hands on her hips. “The tributes are waiting.”

“How many people have you killed?” Y/N asks, turning her eyes up at Effie.

The woman simply balks at her, speechless.

“Have you ever held your intestines in your hands? Or fought your way to the top of an hourglass that was slowly filling with sand?”

Effie narrows her eyes into slits. She’d been warned that Haymitch might be hard to manage, but no one said a thing about her.

“It’s ok, not many people can say yes.”

Ms. Trinket stomps her foot like a petulant child.

“I don’t tell you how to do your job, stop telling me how to do mine.”

————————————————————————

When Y/N is good and ready she makes her way to the dining car, Katniss and Peeta are sat patiently there. The boy’s fingers picking anxiously at the satin blue arm rest of his chair. Y/N takes a deep breath. Here we go again.

The pair of tributes snap their heads in her direction, waiting expectantly.

I can’t save you. Only you can do that.

“I’m Y/N. Good to meet you. Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark.” The woman says, more cool and calculated than Katniss expected. She has a digital pad in hand, jotting down notes with her stylus. Giving one to each of them in turn.

“Oh, uh- thank you.” Peeta accepts his gratefully.

“Beginning at the main screen, let me know if you have any questions, there are diagrams of strategies for attack and defense-”

“Where’s Haymitch?” Katniss asks, tapping at her screen with inexperienced fingers.

“He may join us later if it suits him.”

Katniss visibly recoils. This is not the woman the Capitol shoves down their throats on television. Sweet and demure in nature, with a smile to sugar coat even the darkest of thoughts.

“Contingent upon your strengths and weaknesses, this is a playbook of every effective strategy that I’ve seen, heard of, or performed. With different arenas come different challenges, so you’ll need to do some adjusting to meet your specific goals.

If you are skilled in hand to hand combat, I suggest numbers eight through eleven. If you’re skilled in a long range combat, numbers one through five. If you’re skilled in both, I suggest a combination, otherwise known as numbers six and seven. If you’re skilled in neither, I suggest you do the best you can to prepare yourself. Number twelve is for my non fighters, my hiders, climbers and camouflagers. People tend to overlook that strategy all together, but not me. It buys time, if you’re lucky, it buys enough to wait out the masses.”

Peeta nods, hanging on her every word.

“Which one did you use?” Katniss wonders, trying to digest the harsh angles of the first diagram.

“Seven.”

Six and seven are combination. “I thought you won with a knife?” Katniss was only two at the time, but there is no shortage of recap. From the people who love Y/N and the ones who believe that the Capitol ate her soul.

“I took the last career out hand to hand, my partner covered the distance.” Y/N explains. “Axe to district one’s back, gave me a fighting chance. Allies are invaluable weapons if you pick the right ones.”

————————————————————————

Climbing into bed that night Y/N feels Haymitch stir, tossing a lazy arm around her as he nuzzles against her back.

“Well? What’d you think?” He asks, reeking of whiskey. “They gonna last a couple minutes? Hours?”

Y/N feels her jaw tick. “We owe these kids the same care and preparation as we gave the rest.”

“As you gave the rest.” Haymitch says pointedly. “I’m a shit mentor, you told me that.”

“You did this for a long time by yourself and I,” she breaks off, tapping anxiously at his fingers. “I commend you for that. But I can’t do it alone. I’ve tried, it doesn’t work.”

“That is not on you.” Haymitch says, under his breath. “The kids have been too young, too weak-”

She sighs, “if we don’t try, that is on us. Haymitch, what if they were our kids?”

“If we aren’t careful, it will be our kids.”

“Even if we play our parts; ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ like a couple of good little show animals, they could get reaped anyway.”

“We made them the most beloved children in Panem. Nobody will be lining up to watch them fight to the death.” Haymitch tries to brush it off. He can’t even think about shit like that. From the moment they were conceived, the odds were put in their favor.

“There’s never been a child born of two victors, people are curious.” Y/N feels him tense.

“Someone told you that?”

She nods, “Finnick’s heard it a couple times now.”

“Heard it where?” Haymitch demands.

Y/N lowers her voice, “Haymitch, you know where.”

From his patrons, the ones Snow forces on him. They pay with secrets.

Part 2

[writerpey]

Regressor!Ellie Williams Headcanons

I’ve loved tlou literally forever, and I decided to finally write something about little ellie because tlou 2 remastered just released! I wanted to write about how ellie first started regressing & how the people in her life embraced that side of her. I have more of 17-20ish yr old ellie in mind, but if you only like the show there’s no major spoilers in here for season 2!

After David, Ellie was never the same again. He took the last of her childhood and innocence from her in the blink of an eye, and she was left with an unexplainable hurt that settled deep within her chest. As Joel scooped her up and pressed a kiss to her forehead after everything happened, she had a longing to feel that way when everything felt like it was too much.

Getting used to living in the safety of Jackson was tough for Ellie. She was used to being on guard for all of her life, the QZ a gruelling place to grow up for a little girl, let alone the harshness of the journey her and Joel took across the States.

She first started regressing a year after settling in Jackson. Things were different when she began to let go of the guard she constantly had up, and movie nights with Joel were one of many instances that made her feel small. When he put an old VCR that played cartoons on one night, she sat in quiet awe, eyes wide and sparkling at the images onscreen. Joel noticed, of course, his heart lifting with bittersweet memories of Sarah cross-legged in front of the TV on Saturday mornings.

Cartoons became a regular basis for the pair, and as the weeks passed Joel noticed a pointed change in Ellie. Her familiar humour and giggles, which he hadn’t heard since David, made a noticeable return. Ellie started to show up on Joel’s back porch, fingers twisting in her shirt, asking if he had found any more to watch.

As time went on, Ellie became less hesitant about this part of herself that she had tucked away for so long. Sometimes Tommy would show up to her little shed in Joel’s backyard, new Savage Starlight comics in his arms as she practically vibrated on the spot and thanked him with a hug that nearly knocked him over.

Her regression is in general is a very unspoken but known thing. Ellie doesn’t have any word for it, but as she grows into her inherent little-ness, she is always aware of how much Joel, Tommy, and Maria encourage and help her through the way she’s feeling. That’s not to say every moment is perfect— for one, she felt like Joel was watching over her too much as she got older. She started ranting to Dina about how there was some secret plot between Joel and Tommy to keep her away from Jackson’s regular patrols, and it turned out she was right.

Just because I get… That way sometimes, doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself! You need to trust me.

Then Ellie, you need to tell me when you’re feelin’ younger. I can’t be sure unless you make it clear to me.

After a while, Ellie learned to tell Joel when she felt small. Once she was busy on her gardening shift at the greenhouses and couldn’t focus on the task at hand. Jesse was in her ear talking about Dina, the shift manager was frowning at how slow she was repotting tomatoes, and Ellie threw her gloves off and left in a frazzled hurry. She found Joel at the Tipsy Bison eating lunch, and practically threw herself into the chair across from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

I’m all— I’m all… My head’s all fuzzy today.

Joel quirked an eyebrow at her and set his fork down. Y’need some takin’ care of, then?

Ellie sunk low in her chair as if to physically escape from the conversation. If she wasn’t so conscious of how small she felt, she would’ve slid all the way down and hid under the table to get away from the fact that Joel was making her admit to her regression. … Yeah.

Ain’t you supposed to be workin’ your shift right now? C’mon girl, let’s get you back there. I’ll help and then we can read some of those comics you like so much together.

Ellie reached out and took Joel’s hand as they went back to the greenhouses together, tucking herself in close to his side. Jesse ruffled her hair upon her return, and she slapped his hand away and shot daggers at him with her eyes.

Maria and Ellie took to cooking together at times when the girl felt small but Joel was busy with town duties. Ellie wasn’t allowed to measure any ingredients—not after she assumed salt made everything taste better and dumped a whole bunch into the soup Maria left to simmer. But Maria, ever patient and kind, tasked Ellie to stir and mix whatever they cook or bake.

Ellie loves to spend time with Tommy, too. When her anxiety spikes and she’s full of energy that has her bouncing on the spot, Tommy is the best person to help her work out her energy. Little Ellie loves a good game of tag, the simplicity of chasing Tommy around outside bringing a warm and happy flush to her cheeks. Competitive in nature, Ellie really makes him run, catching on immediately if he’s let her win on purpose. She also gets very pouty and fussy when Joel refuses to join their games of tag, saying he’s too old for that kind of thing anymore.

Dina, on the other hand, brings out a softer side of Ellie when she’s regressed. Tender touches from the girl and kisses on the cheek make Ellie’s heart race, and she catches herself feeling small when she doesn’t expect to around Dina. Dina gifted Ellie a plush giraffe when they started dating, and Ellie immediately started sniffling, touched by the gesture and unaware that Dina had known about how she felt small sometimes.

Hey, hey, don’t cry. What, you don’t like it? Should I take it back? Dina had gently teased, only to be met with a teary and insistent sentence that no, Ellie loved it!

Ellie brought the giraffe to her next movie night with Joel. He wanted to cry too, but smiled warmly at her and kissed the crown of her head, pulling her into an embrace that she had gotten used to over the years.

Now ain’t that somethin’, Ellie. Y’give it a name?

Ellie gasped. You can do that?

[alovesreading]

Can we plssss get a sick and sleepy Matty trying to plan the perfect Valentine's night out with reader before she finally forces him home to down some Nyquil and catch some z's? I would dieeeeeeeeeee

You Go To My Head

Summary: The plans that Matty has arranged for you to celebrate your first Valentine's Day together are out the window when he becomes ill, but staying in to take care of him doesn't mean the day is ruined. And you assure him of it by saying those words he hasn't heard you say before.

Word count: 9.1k

A/N: Got this request a little after Valentine's Day and I've finally got the chance to come around giving it the proper time and attention to write it. The chance being me playing Billie Holiday to help me battle a sudden case of insomnia which ended up in too many ideas for this flooding every corner of my mind and staying up all night writing it. I hope you enjoy this one as it's pure fluff, unlike the previous Matty one shot I put out lol (sorry about that one), and thank you for reading! x

Masterlist

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You’ve known Matty for almost a year, four months of which you’ve been dating and after all that time, you have grown to know him like the back of your hand.

It’s the morning of February 14th, Valentine’s day, and it’s the first one you get to celebrate as a couple so Matty has been talking about making it the best night for ages.

There’s absolutely no complaints from your side, you find it absolutely adorable how much he has been taking different things you say into consideration for the day to end up being perfect.

For instance, one random day at the start of January when you had been drinking at your best friend’s house, Matty was sitting beside you with his hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles on your skin as the whole group of ten people sat around the living room engaged in conversation and you had asked which wine it was that you were drinking because you found it delicious.

Your best friend’s fiancé had stood up to get the empty bottle for you and once he handed it to you, you read it out loud a couple times to memorize it.

“This might be the best wine I’ve ever had. I love it.” Was all you had said, setting the bottle back down on the coffee table in front of you before going back to your conversation.

But you noticed the absence of Matty’s touch then and when you went to complain about it, you found him writing something down on the notes app of his phone.

“Babe? What are you doing?” You asked after letting out a little giggle.

You didn’t want to pry but the note seemed to be filled up with bullet points and you were curious to know what it was that he was so urgently writing.

It was a relief to your curiosity that he showed you his screen and quietly said, “Just writing down that wine so I can get it for us for Valentine’s day dinner.”

You quickly scanned through the rest of his bullet points and grinned hard at seeing written down multiple things you had casually mentioned weeks before, not only to him but to others in conversations where he was standing right beside you.

You chuckled reading one of them saying, ‘Green lingerie is her favorite.’ and not being able to hold yourself back, you cupped his jaw and gave him a quick kiss.

“You’re adorable aren’t you?”

His cheeks went the slightest bit pink as he rolled his eyes playfully. It didn’t take much from you for him to be putty in your hands.

But today you have woken up to sniffles and sneezing from him, a particularly loud one startles you out of sleep making you sit up against the headboard of his bed with a frown.

“You alright, honey?” You ask him, your eyes struggling to open up at the brightness of his bedside table light.

You can make Matty up to be standing right at the foot of the bed, putting his joggers on. He hums in response, and it sounds a bit groggy but he goes up to you, kisses your temple and gets you to lay back down.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” Your boyfriend apologizes, brushing some of your hair off your face, “Go back to sleep, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You frown with your eyes closed, still half asleep so you forget you can ask him why and where he’s going but his soft touch and the little kisses he’s leaving on your head have you falling back into slumber.

Not sure of how much time later, you wake up to his door opening and see him very carefully walking up to the bed. He’s carrying a tray filled with food, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers on his right hand as well, and it makes you coo as you sit up to get it from him.

“Awh babe, this is so cute!” You say as he takes the last few steps to get to you.

“Happy Valentine’s—“ Matty starts but, out of the blue, his face is scrunching up like he’s in pain and you take the tray and the flowers from him rather quickly and in a slight panic.

Seems like you made the right decision taking it from him when you could because he turns away from you fast and lets out a loud string of sneezes into his elbow.

You wait until he’s done, pressing your lips together to not laugh because even though you feel bad for him, it was funny.

He freezes for a few seconds until he’s sure he isn’t sneezing again and, sniffling, he turns around to face you again.

A big smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he resumes what he was saying before, “Happy Valentine’s day, babe.”

Pure happiness radiates off you then, you scrunch up your nose at him, looking down at your breakfast in bed and then back up at him.

“Happy Valentine’s day, honey.” You reciprocate, resting the tray beside you on the bed and reaching your arms out so he can give you a cuddle.

With fast strides the singer comes to you and crushes you in a tight hug, you relish in his hold until he’s pulling back to leave loads of kisses all over your face.

You giggle as he does so and the butterflies that erupt in your stomach have you filling up with warmth.

His lips fall all over your face and finish with a loud kiss on your lips, one which you both end up elongating and you would’ve ended up getting carried away if it wasn’t for another sneeze he feels coming which makes him suddenly get away from you again.

“Fucking hell.” Matty curses through his teeth, groaning lowly before he walks back up to bed and sits right beside you.

You’re just watching him as he comes to sit with you on his bed and you take note of the way he seems to plop down on it and his eyes automatically close for a fair few seconds before he forces them back open and sends a toothy smile your way.

You have to ask again despite knowing he’ll continue to say he’s fine, “You okay there babe? You look like you’re becoming ill.”

One of your hands comes up to check on how warm his face is, pressing the back of it on his forehead and you can feel he’s warm but not enough to say he’s got a fever, or at least you can’t tell because he barely gives you any time to check as he grabs your hand to kiss it multiple times and then intertwines your fingers.

Matty nods with a soft smile, “I’m okay babe, I think it’s just hay-fever.”

Your eyes narrow at him, because it’s not even hay-fever season but you’ll just give him the satisfaction of ‘believing’ him this time.

“Right, hay-fever.” You reply, a bit of amusement in your tone.

But he wants to distract you from his state so he squeezes your hand and points at your breakfast in between both of you. “I tried my best but it looks peng, doesn’t it?” He asks all proud of himself and it truly does look amazing.

Your mouth waters looking at everything he’s made for your full english breakfast, and you note that he’s made you your favorite tea as well and there’s a blueberry muffin on the side too.

“Looks amazing. Thank you so much, babe.” You turn to cup his jaw and peck his lips, but he steals a couple more kisses before you can turn back to your food.

You see there’s only food for you though, so you frown and ask him, “Have you eaten already?”

Your boyfriend shakes his head, “No, I’m not hungry yet.”

And that only makes your frown grow deeper, he’s always snacking on something and it’s late enough now for him to at least have had a piece of toast and a cup of coffee.

“We can share.” You state, diving right in for your beans and toast.

He waves you off saying, “It’s okay babe, I’m really not hungry.”

But you won’t have that so, taking a bite of your food and munching on it, you bring the toast with beans up to him. Your hand is cupped right under so it doesn’t spill, and you’re very careful as you take it closer to his mouth.

“Open up.” You tell him once you swallow, bringing the toast right up to his lips but he shakes his head like a little kid. “It’s gonna spill and you’re the one that’s gonna have to change the sheets.” You point out as you watch the toast getting more soaked by the beans and them slowly sliding to the sides.

Reluctantly, Matty opens up his mouth and takes a bite. You smile satisfied at him and kiss his cheek as if to reward him for listening to you.

That goes on with the rest of your breakfast, making him take bites of it with you and it’s when you’re halfway done with it that he gets his appetite back and he’s the one eating most of what is left. Not that you mind though, you happily let him eat the rest of it since you’re already feeling quite full and you still have a full cup of tea and your muffin left.

When you finish eating, he takes the tray away and comes back to lay with you. You end up watching some films, cuddled up in bed—his head hidden in your neck as you scratch his head and play with his curls. But turns out, an hour into the first one, sleep takes over him again and you’re left watching some horror movie on your own with his soft snoring as background noise.

You really adore moments like this and your heart grows in your chest when he clutches you a bit tighter in the middle of his sleep, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

You have to bite your tongue to not let out a little screech, it’s honestly embarrassing how everything he does makes you want to react like a schoolgirl with a crush.

He’s your boyfriend, yet you always react like this and you’re learning to happily let yourself react to the feelings that overcome you rather than be embarrassed as he always likes to remind you those are the little things that made him become more infatuated with you.

It had been how genuine you always were about your feelings and opinions that made him feel so comfortable with you from the moment you met and it’s why he hadn’t felt like getting closer to you was a hardship.

Matty was one of those people to keep his old friends around rather than make new ones but with you it was so easy to welcome another person into his life and make you a priority like you’d known each other for ages.

That’s why there hadn’t even been a doubt in his mind to take you home with him for the holidays, despite you two only being together for two months. He knew regardless of anything, you’d be a constant in his life.

And you had never felt more right throwing yourself right into him, even if there had been some people warning you about stuff from his past, you had heard it all from him and you knew it wasn’t something to push him away for.

He was so special to you, you had grown fond of him so quickly and it had been scary at first but finding out he felt the same way as you did was such a relief. You still remember that day vividly and it’s mental to think how he manages to make your stomach flip and your chest tighten just the same as he did that day when he confessed he really liked you.

You fully have lost track of the film you’re now watching, too submerged in your thoughts and your feelings for the curly haired man that’s got his hold still around you, so when you snap back into reality and you see the graphic death that has just happened, you accidentally voice out loud your aversion for it.

“Ew, fucking disgusting.” You let out, a bit too loud which has Matty squirming in your arms.

“What?” he asks against your chest, his voice low and deep from sleep.

You curse under your breath and resume scratching his head, “Nothing, sorry babe. Go back to sleep.”

Your boyfriend hums in acknowledgment of what you’ve said but the sudden reminder of which day it is has him jolting awake. Your arms fall beside you as you watch him sit up and rub his eyes, you’re about to tell him once again that he should go back to sleep when he turns to look at you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” His nose is stuffy and you can hear it in his voice, his tone weak and nasal.

You snort at his apology, as if there was any need for one. “Why are you apologizing?” You rhetorically ask, “I always do that to you and you don’t like it when I apologize for it.”

His head falls to rest on your shoulder and he yawns before replying, “It’s Valentine’s day, I shouldn’t be falling asleep on you today when we have so much to do.”

You grin at his words, “Oh right, what’s all that we have to do?” He reaches out for your hand and intertwines your fingers then, humming when feeling your warm touch.

In his hazy mind, he’s about to tell you what he had been planning but he realizes just in time to keep the words from spilling out. He tuts at you, lifting his head off your shoulder and narrowing his eyes at you like he’s caught you red handed, “Oh you think you’re slick, don’t you?”

Using your intertwined hands, Matty wraps his and your arm around your front to pull you flush against him, his lips fall to your neck where he leaves a trail of loud open mouthed kisses that end up in you giggling from his curls tickling you.

“I’m just curious.” You correct him in between your laughter and that statement has him pulling away to look at you with a smirk on his face.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” He chats back, trying to tease you like he always does.

But you boop his nose, seeing straight through him, “Don’t act like you don’t want to tell me.”

And you get him there because he’s been biting his tongue far too long to not ruin the day he’s planned for you both. Yet he still tries to act like you’ve just made a wrong statement, making a mime of zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key.

You roll your eyes with a smile on your face, not surprised by his antics and then you’re unwrapping your arms from around your front so you can get out of bed.

He doesn’t let you at first, pulling you in impossibly closer and after chuckling at him, you tap his arm with your free hand to let him know, “If you’re not telling me what it is then at least let me bring your gift.”

The news of you having a present for him makes it easy for you to slip out of his hold and when he sees you take the first few steps towards the door of his room, he’s telling you, “Babe I told you not to get me anything.”

You shrug like you don’t really care for those words, “And since when should I listen to you?”

You’re out of his room in no time, not giving him the chance to respond but he’s there propped up against his headboard with a massive grin on his face.

Matty knows he fucking adores you, but he hasn’t had the courage to say it yet and despite being almost certain you feel the same way, there’s that nagging feeling in the back of his head that loves to remind him things like this are too good to be happening to him and they always get taken away from him when he least expects them.

He would’ve started spiraling if it wasn’t for your voice pulling him out of his awful train of thought. “Close your eyes!” You instruct him, poking your head through the door but keeping his gift away from his eyesight.

The singer does as you tell him and keeps his eyes shut until he feels the bed dipping in front of him and there’s a particular type of cold touching his knee.

The second he opens his eyes, he’s met with a gorgeous Fender acoustic guitar. The mahogany shines beautifully under the light coming through the half open curtains and he’s just admiring all of its details for a minute before he’s looking back up at you with a grin that’s hurting his cheeks but he can’t wipe off his face.

He pounces on your lips, kissing you sweetly but intently and you can feel the ‘thank you’ through it. You’re kissing in a slightly uncomfortable position since the guitar is still in between you both so it isn’t long after that you part from each other.

Matty makes sure to peck your lips as many times as he can before taking another full look at his new possession.

“D’you like it?” You ask shyly, like the spark in his eyes isn’t proof enough that he loves it.

He’s lifted the guitar now and positioned it against his chest to start strumming softly and tune it, “I fucking love it Y/N. Thank you babe.” He leans back in for another kiss and you meet him in the middle, cupping his jaw to kiss him properly.

You press the tip of your nose against his in a eskimo kiss before sitting back in your spot, and you watch him as he finds himself teasing melodies out of his neck guitar. He felt like something had shifted back to normal when having it in his arms, and it’s because his favorite acoustic guitar had gotten lost on the tour and he’d been putting off getting one to replace it because he still had hope of it appearing.

It was also because he had some sort of emotional connection to it that he hadn’t wanted to accept was a memory now but with you gifting him this one, he knew it wouldn’t be sad to let the other one be left in the past.

“Where was this?” He asks curiously when remembering it took you a couple of minutes to get it and he hadn’t seen you arrive with anything the day before other than your handbag.

You’re proud of yourself for finding the perfect spot to hide it days before, “I hid it away in the spare room’s wardrobe like a week ago.”

Matty cackles at your smug expression and gives you the win because he’s sure it happened the day you told him you were coming by to pick up something you had forgotten but he hadn’t been home. He hadn’t suspected a thing because you actually had taken something of yours with you, so it was a job well done.

Before he has the chance to compliment your intelligence, you are asking, “Can I now know what we’re gonna do?”

He narrows his eyes at you and you look at him innocently so he ends up nodding a few seconds later but before he can tell you a thing, the need to sneeze comes to him.

You chuckle as he sneezes continuously but hold your breath when he stops, you’re fully amused by the way he tries to act like nothing’s wrong as he ignores what’s just happened and rests the guitar on the floor by the bed to leave the room to get something.

He comes back five minutes later, his steps slow as he comes back to where you’re sitting but instead of sitting next to you, he rests the big box that has your name written on it and drops facedown on the bed.

Snorting out a laugh, you run your nails up and down his back a few times before taking your soft touch up his neck and to his head.

He moans in pleasure when you massage his scalp, softly tugging at the roots of his hair and your cheeks heat up at the memories of the night before when you were listening to those sweet sounds of his falling right down your ear.

You don’t mind giving him all of your attention but you’re so intrigued about what’s in the box, you break the silence with a quiet, “Can I open it?”

That question brings Matty back to reality, his head whipping up far too quickly for it not to have hurt and you are confirmed of it when he lets out a groan in pain but he doesn’t let you ask if you’re okay because he’s bringing your attention back to your present.

“‘Course and get excited, you’re gonna love it.”

He sounds so sure of it, your hands rush to rip open the box and it’s such an eager response that it has him cackling with his eyes half open.

Turning to look at him distracts you from getting a peek through a hole you just managed to rip through the box, but when you feel you have fully opened one of the lids your eyes are back on the gift.

You gasp the moment you catch the glimpse of the cover of a My Bloody Valentine rare vinyl you’ve been hunting down for so long. Your reaction only gets funnier when you lift it up and find a handful of the rare edition vinyl you have always wanted to get.

Sonic Youth, Bjork, Pink Floyd, Tears for Fears, Jeff Buckley, PJ Harvey, The Rolling Stones.

Music had been one of the things you’d bonded over since the very beginning, finding out you were an avid vinyl collector was interesting to him and when you shared your extensive knowledge about many limited and rare editions, he’d been blown away by your hobby.

It was a talent really, how much you knew and how easy it was for you to grasp all the information you managed to find. He’d gone record shopping with you many times and you’ve taught him many things about the world of pressed records.

Using your various tracking down tricks, he had managed to get friends in Japan to look for the records he remembered you’d mentioned times before, even when you were just friends, and that’s how he’d managed to find you the gems that were right in front of you now.

“Holy shit!” You say admiring your new records, your heart bursting in your chest just from knowing he listened and remembered the small things you say. “Thank you!” you almost shout, throwing yourself over him.

Cupping his jaw with one of your hands while the other keeps you hovering over him, you kiss him with pure gratefulness radiating through you. Your hand goes from his jaw to tangle in his hair and pulling on it softly makes the kiss grow needy.

Your hips come down to press over his, and slowly you start rolling them over his, the friction making you shudder over him. His hands go to get a hold of your hips, guiding your movements to match his as he starts meeting you in the middle.

But then he breaks the kiss, once again feeling the need to sneeze. You sit up, straddling him, waiting for the inevitable to happen. You bite your tongue as you watch him about to sneeze but then it’s like, after seconds of buildup, it goes away and all he lets out is a frustrated sigh.

His arm comes to rest over his eyes and you giggle at his defeat. Leaning down, you press a chaste kiss on his lips and get off him to continue looking through your box because you’re certain you caught a glimpse of something else underneath your new LPs.

And you’re right because you find a medium sized white box with a red ribbon tied around it that reads Valentino in big red letters and you know just what he’s done.

“Matthew!” You scold him loudly and it seems that he has been falling asleep because he gets startled and is quick to sit up.

He frowns when he sees the box in your hand but you don’t seem to want to open it, “What’s wrong?”

You look back down at the box and up at him, “If this is what I think it is, I can’t accept it.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” He asks confused, “You’ve been dying to get it babe, and if you weren’t buying it yourself then I was definitely gonna buy it for you.”

You whine at his words because you know what this is now, a dress you had fallen in love with a few months ago and you had ended up trying it on, sending him a bunch of pictures which he unfortunately had come around to see far too late for he was on stage when you sent them and when he’d said, Please tell me you got it, you look so stunning babe xx you had burst his bubble saying it was too much of a splurge for a dress you’d only get to wear a few times.

When you undo the ribbon and take the lid off, you’re met with the dress and it kills you how much you want to keep it but he’s already got you the records, and adding what you knew the dress costs was too much for you to accept.

“I can’t.” you say once more, putting the box down and away from your eyesight so it’s less sad to see it go again.

But your boyfriend will not have that, he knows just how much you love it from how pained you look when saying you can’t take it.

“Yes you can and you will.” He states, there’s no more arguing about it when he adds, “It’s never too much when it comes to you babe and I don’t care about the cost of things when it means I can make you happy.”

You sigh, your hands hesitating to grab the white box again but then you feel his hand come over your thigh, tracing figures on your skin and with his best puppy eyes, he says, “Try it on for me please?”

It’s a debate inside you that goes for longer than needed so he scoots a bit further down the bed to be right beside you. Both his hands go to brush your hair behind your ears and then cup your jaw, “I’m dying to see you wearing it in front of me babe, I’ve been thinking about this dress since the moment I saw those pictures. And you’ll have to know I got it for you as soon as I got back home, I was just keeping it so you could wear it tonight.”

Your eyes are staring right at his, taking in the honesty that shines through them in silence, but you let out some giggles when he adds, “Meaning it’s been a while too so I can’t really return it now.”

You press your lips against his before standing up and going to his ensuite because if you’re gonna try on a pretty dress then at least you want to look presentable. So ten minutes after you’ve done your skincare and freshened up—and heard Matty sneeze about three more times—, you walk out of the bathroom with the dress on and a smile that’s making you glow.

He gasps dramatically the second he sees you, somehow triggering another sneeze that makes him splay out on bed and stay staring at the ceiling for a long minute. You cackle so loud at him, not even being able to say ‘bless you’ to him from how amusing you find it.

“Right, don’t laugh at me woman,” He scorns you as he sits back up on the edge of his bed, “I was about to compliment you.”

You try to gather yourself, swallowing chuckles as you try and take a deep breath yet the entertained smirk doesn’t leave your face.

He ignores it to resume his dramatics, wolf whistling as you strut slowly towards him and spin around right in front of him.

His hands hold you by your hips and he rises to his feet to stand in front of you, “If you look like this right now, I think I might have a heart attack later tonight.” His hot breath hits your lips and you’re just begging for him to kiss you then.

Matty knows it so he goes to tease you by resting his forehead on yours, to make you beg for the kiss but the second you feel his skin on yours, you’re gasping and leaning back surprised.

“You’re burning up.” Your eyes are open wide and your hand goes instantly to feel how hot his face is. No wonder his eyes look glassy and his cheeks are pink.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer to his front by your waist and hiding in your neck, “I’m okay babe, just a bit tired.” He leaves a few soft kisses on your skin but you’re far too aware of how hot he feels against your skin and you need to help him get his temperature down.

“Yeah, no.” You reply disagreeing with his words, he’s trying to dismiss this now to be able to go through with your plans but that’ll only have him being miserable later and that’ll be worse for himself. “You need to take a warm shower right now.”

A warm shower when you were getting a fever was always something your mom had forced you to do, and it’s your holy grail whenever you feel yourself becoming ill.

Matty only groans in response to your instructions, he would rather sleep it off than get in the shower and end up shivering when coming out from under the water no matter how hot it could be.

And since you know your boyfriend so well, you add a little detail you’re completely sure he won’t turn down.

“I’ll join you,” You say, pulling on his hair softly so he comes out of his hiding place on your neck. “Deal?” You ask looking right into his eyes and you have to bite your bottom lip so you don’t laugh at the way his face lights up and he eagerly nods.

You make him go into his ensuite first, going to the kitchen to get him ibuprofen and a glass of water. Once you make it back to where he is, you find him languidly getting rid of his shirt and joggers.

He looks like he’s in pain just to be standing there in his boxers, hugging himself but when his eyes fall on your figure leaning on the doorway, he switches his pout for a soft smile that reaches his tired eyes.

Before you can wrap your arms around him, you put the glass and the pills out for him to grab, “Take this first please.”

The only thing that keeps him from complaining and putting it off is the fact that the sooner he takes the ibuprofen, the sooner you’d jump in the shower with him. So he quickly swallows back the medicine with a gulp of water, leaving the half full glass forgotten by the sink.

The shower doesn’t quite turn out like you would’ve liked on a day like today, the second he steps under the warm water it’s like he becomes aware of every single one of his achy muscles and he barely makes an effort to move.

You help him wash his hair, softly massaging his scalp and smiling at the noises he’s making from how good your touch feels. He tries to wash yours but he almost feels too sore to not groan when moving around, you laugh and tease him by telling him, “You’re a big baby.” but taking the task from his hands.

It ends up being a quiet and mindful shower, where every kiss that you share is one of appreciation and care. It’s a stark comparison to any other shower you’ve shared before but you both really quite like how it has turned out even if Matty was the one aching through it.

He dries himself up as quickly as he can, shivering once out of the glass walls of the shower and, despite the steam keeping the wet room warmer than his room, he’s feeling the change of temperature intensely.

You come back with new clothes for him, a pair of joggers and a knit sweater he stole from you, and you both get changed at the same time.

Coming back out to his bedroom, he makes a quick run for his bed but you tut him when he’s about to dive into his pillows with wet hair.

Getting a hold of his hand, you make him sit at the edge of the bed, “I need to dry your hair first babe. You’ll only get worse if you go to sleep with a wet head.”

He hums, letting his eyes close as you leave to get the hair dryer. You’re back in under a minute but it feels far too long for him so when you’re back standing in front of him, after plugging the dryer in, he lets his head fall on your stomach and his arms wrap around your waist.

Looking down at him, you coo and get to drying his hair so he can get the rest he so desperately needs. The constant hum of the hair dryer drowns your ears for a little over ten minutes, your fingers brush through his locks as the hot air blows and dries them up.

Whenever he sneezes, you feel him tremble in your arms but never does his hold on you falter, it only tightens and you truly feel so bad he’s gotten this ill in a matter of hours.

You make sure the hair at the nape of his neck is properly dry, and once you deem your work done, you leave a kiss on top of his head, your senses filling up with the scent of his shampoo and his curls tickling your face just the way you love.

Rubbing circles on his back, you let him know he can now properly get in bed, “All done now, honey.”

He turns his head to kiss your stomach over your—his—shirt and then lets himself fall back on the bed. As you unplug the dryer, you watch him shuffle under the covers, pulling them all the way up to his chin.

You shake your head, letting yourself get amused by how much he acts like a little kid when he’s ill. It’s not something you’ve gone through with him before so you find yourself memorizing every second of this new experience.

Picking up your box that’s still sat at the foot of the bed, you start cleaning up what you’ve left around the room: your clothes from the night before going to the laundry bin, hanging your coats up in his dresser and placing your forgotten shoes back in their place.

Your soft singing is suddenly interrupted by Matty’s voice when he says, “We have a reservation at seven.”

It honestly makes you laugh, firstly because he startled you and second because he’s been hating having to move an inch of his body and now he wants to continue with your plans. “Babe, we’re not going.”

“Why?” He asks all frustrated, propping himself up on his elbows to sit up but his own body gives him the answer when he sneezes again. Defeated, he lets out a sigh and lets himself fall back down over the pillows before proposing something else, “Just let me take a quick nap and I’ll be up just in time, I promise. I’ve already ruined the plan of taking you to Kew Gardens, I wanna go on our date babe.”

Walking up to him, you get in bed and he scoots to the side so there’s enough space for you to lay down and cuddle him. “You’ve not ruined anything.” You say first, not letting him blame himself for coming down with a cold, “You’re gonna rest and we’re gonna cuddle until you feel better plus I can order some food and we’ll just eat here.” Honestly, avoiding the trouble of getting ready to go out sounds amazing and it’s much better to know you’ll be staying in, in bed with him.

He almost lets himself get carried away by the feeling of your fingers brushing his hair back until he hears you hum and say a quiet, “There we go.” when his eyes start to close.

“But–” He tries to argue when he opens up his eyes to look up at you.

“Nothing.” Your index finger presses over his pink lips and you shake your head, “We’re staying in. Now close those pretty eyes of yours and get some sleep.”

Letting the compliment get to his head, he smirks and teases you by calling you, “Bossy.”

You’re glad he’s not poorly enough to stop teasing you and taking it as a good sign, you just go to tell him, “I’m gonna order some takeout okay? I’ll be right back.”

He hums in response and you leave his side with a kiss on his forehead which still feels hot under your touch. You make sure to bring the covers down a bit before you leave, not wanting him to stay too warm and allowing the fever to continue.

As you order, you keep your voice as quiet as possible to not disturb his sleep, though you’re so far away from his bedroom it’s almost impossible for you to wake him up by being on the phone for five minutes.

With the promise of your food being there in forty five minutes, you hang up and leave your phone there on the kitchen island.

When you come back to his room, you find him peacefully snoring away, now resting on his belly as he clutches your pillow. You turn right back around to get your phone, getting the strong urge to take a picture of him like that, and once the moment is captured and saved in your camera roll, you quietly walk over to his side and check on his temperature again.

You think about how there’s a pharmacy very close by and it would merely take you ten minutes to get there and back, and by the way his temperature seems to stay the same then you feel the need to get him stronger medicine.

So rushing out his house, you are basically power walking to the store. The second you step through the doors, you almost miss greeting the person behind the counter that says ‘hi’ to you and you make a beeline straight for the cold medicine.

When you have two packets, just in case, you walk past a display of Vicks Vaporub and in a quick decision, you take one of the little containers over to the counter with you.

In less than ten minutes you’re back at Matty’s, quickly shedding off your big coat and toeing off your shoes by the door making the least noise as possible.

You bite your tongue and try to keep your steps slow and quiet as you reach his bedroom and in concentration to keep the silence, you get completely startled by Matty’s voice when he asks, “Where’d you go?”

Cursing under your breath, you hold your hand over your heart, “Sorry, I went to get some medicine for you but I didn’t want to wake you up to tell you I was leaving.”

He has a pout on his face when he turns to rest on his side and looks at you standing by the door, “I thought I was having a nightmare.”

“I’m here babe.” You smile sweetly at him but then you raise the little bag you’ve got in your right hand, “I need you to take this right now.”

Your boyfriend watches as you take out the cold medicine, leaving one of the packets on top of his drawer along with the Vicks Vaporub, and opening the box you were gonna use as you approached him.

You pop two capsules on the palm of his hand and he downs them with the half full bottle of water that’s resting on his bedside table.

As he does that, you stand back up to get the mentholated ointment and you’re about to tell him to lay on his stomach so you can rub some on his back when he interrupts you with an inquiry of his own.

“Is the food here yet? I’m hungry.” He’s not really aware of how long he’s dozed off for but it did feel like it had been a long while since he remembered having had his eyes open.

Smiling down at him, because you’re glad his appetite is back, you check the time on your phone before giving him an answer, “Should be here soon, actually.” Maybe twenty more minutes until it arrived, “Got your favorite.” You wink down at him, making him blush.

“Best girlfriend ever.” He states, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head.

You snort out a laugh, “Right, your best girlfriend ever is gonna rub some of this on your back,” You say as you show him the small tub of the famous medicine and finish your instructions, “So take off your shirt for me please.”

He laughs messily, sitting up against the headboard and taking off his sweater over his head. “That you were meant to say tonight but in a totally different situation.”

Joining him in laughter, you watch as he slowly turns around to lay on his front, “Had it all planned out, babe?”

You were just teasing but he hums to confirm that’s exactly what he had done, “Check the last door of my wardrobe, there’s another gift for you.”

You’re fully intrigued then so you rise up to your feet instantly and search where he just told you to. It’s an Ann Summers bag which has a set of matching lace bra and thong and a lace body, the items all in your favorite jade green color.

You gasp, taking out the pieces of clothing, “Mattyyy!”

“What?” He asks aloud innocently, like he’s got nothing to do with it.

You open your mouth to say something but only a mumble of a mix of words comes out which makes him laugh loudly onto his pillow. Your brain is just going places now but you can’t get yourself too excited because nothing’s going to happen tonight anyway.

So you decide to tease him back with that, “It's a pity we won’t get to see it on tonight.”

And that’s enough for him to use all of his strength to pick himself up on his arms and look at you, “No,” He starts off strong and it makes you giggle how serious he looks, “I can see,” His finger points at himself, poking his own chest, “I might be ill but I can see.”

Letting the lace garments fall back inside the bag, you let it rest by the side of your bed. “If you’re so sure.” your words tease him once more and he nods to confirm he is indeed sure.

You let him continue his rambles on how he’s gonna be better in a few hours and that he’s sure some cardio will help him feel better, which has you cackling as you go over to the turntable on the corner of his room and choose to play your favorite Billie Holiday record, ‘Solitude’. Once the needle meets the vinyl, static noise fills the air and you feel in your element.

Sitting down at the edge of the bed you finally push him down on the bed facing down so you can finally get to rubbing the medicine on him. The menthol scent fills the air the second you open the small container and, like a little kid, Matty gags out loud.

Soon enough your hands are slowly but firmly massaging the cream on his back, every one of his muscles relaxing under your agile fingers. You’re not rushing to finish, actually you’d like to have him fall asleep like this so he can fully relax in his sleep and thinking that might help him even more to feel better the next morning.

Matty is relaxing alright, and if it isn’t the way his muscles seem to loosen up under your hands, it’s the loud moans and groans he lets out as you go on about your task.

You’re growing flustered as you keep it up, and long minutes go by when he’s fully soaking in every second of this attention.

“You’re the best.” He’s falling asleep now, his eyes closing against his will and he feels on cloud nine from the mix of your massage, the medicine he just took and your soft singing along to the music.

“I know.” You answer, remembering what he said only a few minutes ago.

He feels the need to emphasize it though, so he adds, “You really are.”

It makes you melt, grinning like an absolute idiot as you keep your hands moving up and down, in circles and zigzags, “Thank you, honey.”

“I really love it when you call me that.” Matty admits with a loopy smile on his face that’s partially hidden by his pillow.

You find that so fucking adorable, you feel like your heart is going to explode, “You do?”

A low, long hum is what your boyfriend gives you as an answer and it makes you smile even bigger, “I’m glad you like it.” you reply and then you’re back focusing on making him feel good.

‘You Go To My Head’ starts playing and, since it’s your favorite off the record, you sing it a little louder than the previous ones.

You go to my head

And you linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning round in my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

“You have the prettiest voice I've ever heard.” is what Matty says next, because you truly sound angelic and there’s absolutely nobody else he’d rather hear sing than yourself.

You narrow your eyes at him, despite him not being able to see you, “I highly doubt that.” you chat back because he’s met so many amazing and mind-blowingly talented musicians that are far better than you, so you have a hard time believing his statement to be true.

But you see him shake his head, “I swear.”

You hum unsure of his promises, “Sounds like you’re sweet talking me now, Matthew.”

And like the cheeky little shit he is, he looks back at you to smirk and say, “Might be.”

You see the way his eyes are half open and if you weren’t none the wiser to the situation, you’d say he was high so you joke, “You’re so gone, aren’t you?”

He’s stubborn so he shakes his head with a frown and contradicts you by saying, “No, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure you are babe.” You answer sarcastically, going back to singing along with Billie to the last minute of the song, the jazz soothing your soul and filling your heart.

You go to my head

With a smile that makes my temperature rise

Like a summer with a thousand Julys

You intoxicate my soul with your eyes

Though I'm certain that this heart of mine

Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

You go to my head

Though I'm certain that this heart of mine

Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

You go to my head

The song dies down but you’re stuck with how when you were singing along, all that you could think of was Matty and how he had completely bewitched you mind and soul. And maybe it was time to admit it out loud.

So deeming yourself done, you lean down to leave a kiss on his shoulder which becomes a trail of kisses up the side of his neck that ends up right under his jaw. Smirking, he turns to face you and being the menace that he is, he somehow manages to push you on the bed to end up on your back right beside him.

“What are you doing, naughty girl?” He hovers over you with barely any strength so he lowers himself until he’s pressed against you.

You know what he’s doing and you’d play a part in the game but all you can think of now is all that you’re feeling for him and you want to finally let him know so you smile and cup his jaw, rubbing the pads of your thumbs on his cheeks.

You pull him in and he thinks you’re gonna kiss him but you don’t, you miss his lips and your mouth comes near his ear but right before he can complain about getting pied off by his own girlfriend, you whisper the answer in his ear, “Nothing, I just really really love you.”

You see him freeze for a fair few seconds and you’re about to start panicking when he sighs in what seems relief and looks down at you with the biggest smile.

Before he can say anything else, he interrupts his own thoughts, “Wait— am I dreaming?” He asks in a quiet voice as if being too loud would shatter the moment.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s been charged with electricity when seeing him react like this. You want to know if he feels the same, explicitly, not trying to figure it out through his reactions so you ask, “Would you prefer to hear it in a dream?” subtly trying to steer the conversation in that direction.

“No?” He says first and it comes out as a question but then he thinks further and he actually would love to hear it in all of his dreams if possible, “I mean yes, but—“

You interrupt his confused rant by dragging your fingers softly over his features, “You’re not dreaming silly.” Your digits run over the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows, his cheekbones and his lips which are slightly parted in shock.

His mouth opens up further, he’s trying to gather his thoughts but also talk so he doesn’t leave you with pure silence.

You’re grateful for Billie’s voice still playing in the background since it helps you not to go insane asking too many questions but they’re catching up to you the more he takes, so you take it in your own hands to snap him out of the trance he seems to be in.

In a quick motion, you flip both of you over so you’re now straddling him, “See? You’re very much awake.”

Like magic he’s back down on earth with you and with his mind finally processing what you’ve just told him a few moments before, Matty lets out a shaky breath that ends up in bubbly giggles.

His hands come up to cup your face, his eyes taking in every single detail of your face and finally reciprocates, “I love you so much.”

Your soul comes back to your body, hearing those words come from him are enough to make you feel like you’ve won everything in life. “I love you very much too.” You say once again and he knows right then that no matter how many times you say it, he’ll never grow tired of hearing you say it.

Only you. No one else saying those words would ever amount to how it felt when it came from you.

“Can I kiss you?” His question is desperate, impatience shines through his eyes.

Your brows furrow at the sudden inquiry, “You don’t even have to ask.”

“You’re gonna get ill.” He explains rather quickly, praying you’d say yes regardless.

He’s relieved when you roll your eyes and respond with a question that makes clear what your answer is, “Do you think I care?”

You seal the moment with an earnest kiss, your touch on each other’s faces is firm like you’re both afraid that one of you is gonna vanish suddenly.

Your tongues meet and it all grows hotter but you’re both aware that nothing further than this is gonna happen and you’re entirely fine with it. You’ll do with the teasing touches you’re leaving on each other when you both get carried away and are unable to keep your hands to yourselves.

Your hips roll down on his, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths but it isn’t until he’s grabbed your hips with his hands and intensified the friction that you let out a loud moan that ends the kiss.

You leave a peck on his lips, your chests heaving as you try to catch your breaths. You remember what he was worrying about before you kissed and say, “My defenses are much better than yours anyway.” to tease him.

He laughs at your comment, smirking up at you with eyebrows raised, almost like he wants you to bet on it. “We’ll see about that.”

You find out you overestimated your immune system when a few days later, you’re the one Matty has to care for as you’re stuck in bed with a tiring fever and an annoying stuffy nose.

“I still love you even though you got me ill.” You say out loud as you watch him walk out of his ensuite and into the bedroom.

A bright grin breaks on his face, he gets in bed and pulls you into his side. He leaves a bunch of kisses on your temple and your cheek before replying, “How kind of you.”

You hum and chat back, “The kindest.”

Neither of you consider this Valentine’s Day to be a failure, not even when you have to celebrate it a week after the actual day, it had all happened just as it was supposed to be.

And you’re so beyond grateful it is Matty who gets to claim your heart as his. There’s no other person you’d rather give all your love to, no one else you’d rather have plague your mind and take every one of your thoughts. Just him, only him.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

A/N: I tweaked the initial request a bit and I think it turned out too adorable for my single heart to handle lolll, I honestly cause myself so much pain writing cute shit like this but I somehow love it so don't worry, won't be stopping anytime soon. I really hope you guys liked it, let me know what you thought about it and if you have any requests or ideas send them my way, I loved creating this little story out of that request. Thank you so much for reading again, have a lovely week everyone! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @red---moon @vinylandcoffeecollection @drinkurkombucha @better--oblivions @kennedy-brooke @faveficz @indierockgirrl @slutformattyhealy @eaglestar31 @kmsmedine

If you want to be added to the taglist for any future fics, let me know :) x

[whoisstillawake]

Miles To Go

Word count - 6.9k

My name is Andrew Silvea. I am a doctor at St. Peter’s Hospital here in Philadelphia, and I knew Adaius Warner. At this time, I don’t think that’s a good thing, but it’s the truth. He practiced here at the hospital with me for many years. I’d even consider us decently good friends, though I doubt we were more than coworkers in his eyes. He was an incredible psychologist and psychiatrist. That all changed a few weeks ago. He got a new patient, a young woman, and unfortunately, and possibly by his hand, she has passed away. I was the man who called her time of death. But she isn’t my reason for concern. 

Before she died, I was given her computer, and was told by her, albeit cryptically, that I needed to get it to Warner. I held it in my office for a while, not sure what to do, as such a request from a patient in that state should be discussed. Then, I overheard some very distressing information by a few of the higher ups. Warner had induced “a confession” from the girl through pharmaceutical means, causing a mental collapse that resulted in her death, and the patient’s mother was enraged. Warner was at risk of losing his job, his license, and could possibly be sent to prison for medical malpractice. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard, and didn’t line up with anything I knew about my friend. A week ago, I gave Warner the laptop, and the story I’d heard. He actually listened to me, and took the warning seriously. I have not seen him since. He has disappeared. His office is just as he left it, as with his house. He vanished, and I worry it’s because of that laptop. He’s gone.

This morning, while checking my email, I was shocked to see one from Warner. It had no subject, no body text, only a link to a document. 

I don’t know what to do. I can’t show this to my superiors, something tells me that isn’t going to do anything. I’ve converted it from its original state so others can read it. Maybe there’s someone else who can read this and help me. I don’t know why Warner sent me this. If you know anything about anything in this file, please let me know. Dr. Warner’s life may hang in the balance.

File #59601 - Rose H. Thompson

As called for by my superiors, I am obligated to thoroughly document each of my patients' cases. These logs are used during everything from court cases, transfer of care processes, postmortems, and so on. More often than not, my patients are well to do, and suffer from early onset dementia or, more commonly post traumatic stress disorder, and so these logs do little but warn the future caretakers what they’re getting themselves into. It was with this case that I realized how important the documentation of patient 59601 would be. I present this now as a case file for perhaps a different organization, if there is one that understands the gravity of the scenario. All names (of both people and places) have been altered as much as possible for the privacy of families and individuals. 

I have included transcripts of audio recordings and other such documentation pertaining directly to this case. 

GENERAL LOG 1 - 10/15/2018

Her size caught my eye first. I remember how small she looked in her hospital gown. Sunken cheeks, grey skin, thin hair, thinner limbs. Yet when I sat across from her, I watched that sallow face light up with a generous smile. She introduced herself and I sat across from her, arranging my things. I had with me a large legal pad, her file, a small recording device, and my laptop. Introducing myself as Dr. Warner, I said all the customary and needed information her patient status warranted her before pushing record. 

[AUDIO RECORDING - 10/15/2018]

Dr. Warner - Dr. Warner, MD. Recording taken October 15th, 2018 at St. Peter’s Hospital. Would you mind stating your name?

Rosie - …me? Oh! Rosie. Rose Hope Thompson. (a pause) It’s always funny saying the full name, sounds goofy. Especially when it’s a serious, like, setting.

Dr. Warner - Rose Hope Thompson?

Rosie - Yes. 

Dr. Warner - It’s a very pretty name. And you go by Rosie?

Rosie - Yeah, it’s been a borderline nickname for so long, and Rose sounds too official. 

Dr. Warner - Understandable. Now… (a shuffling sound is heard) … as you’re probably used to this, I won’t sugarcoat it or add any fat to this meeting. And as this is our first meeting, how about you tell me about- (the sound of typing, a paper flips) well, the accident.

Rosie - Always sounds dark.

Dr. Warner - In what way? 

Rosie - Just…”the accident”.

Dr. Warner - Would you refer to it as something else?

Rosie - I just…if anything it’s embarrassing. We don’t really need to.

Dr. Warner - That’s alright. I think it’d be best to start at the beginning.

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE: Patient becomes extremely serious.]

Rosie - Dr. Warner, I- I need to warn you now. If I tell you this there is a very real chance that it will be the first and last time you hear it, or anyone hears it. 

Dr. Warner - You mean, the details of the crash?

Rosie - The crash, certainly. If that gate opens, I fear I’ll die before anyone hears about the first instance. What started it all. 

Dr. Warner - I don’t think I understand.

Rosie - That’s what it tells me. You’ve read the reports? Well, god, I’m sure you have. I’ve done my research as well. You’re very successful, you’ve got all these awards and certificates and diplomas up and down the walls. Yeah, they’re tucked into shelves and displayed privately because you can’t seem overly confident, but there they are. And to top it off, you obviously have my file right next to you. What doctor worth their salt wouldn’t identify who exactly they’re talking to? Not you. So I’ll hazard a guess that you know exactly how many doctors I’ve spoken with.

Dr. Warner - (a pause) Eight. 

Rosie - Bingo. I don’t want to sound overbearing or rude, but you’re exactly right. And how many of your colleagues have heard my story? Not from the analyses or the police reports, but the way I tell it?

Dr. Warner - Well, since you’re here, I’d assume none.

Rosie - Do you really have to assume? 

Dr. Warner - No. (silence) Will it be the same for me? 

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE: An overwhelming tension filled the room. The time between my question and the patient’s answer couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds, but the way she studied my face, staring into my eyes. I could have sworn it was years until she spoke again.]

Rosie - I don’t know yet. But I’m getting tired. I don’t know how much longer I can hold off telling the story before…um. Before I just can’t anymore.

Dr. Warner - We’ll move at the pace you set, Rosie. I will not push you to tell me. I’m not interrogating you, I’m allowing you to come to terms with any traumatic experiences you might  have had in the past. It’s my job.

GENERAL LOG 2 - 12/28/2018

Patient 59601 begins to open up, slowly. Over the course of several meetings (see logs 2-8), her borderline cold exterior slips away into something else. She’s a college student, studying English. She says she’s working on a Theatre minor, and if she doesn’t win an Oscar, being an English teacher will suffice. There are other details. Her parents and five other siblings live several hours away. She’s moved all over the US. This is where the first taste of her story comes in.

[AUDIO RECORDING TRIM - PULLED FROM LOG 6 - (10/20/2018)]

Rosie - ~~Helena. Well, not exactly Helena. A house in town for the last five years, and a house 15 minutes out of town for the other five. Unionville Court. That was when we were little. 

Dr. Warner - How young? 

Rosie - I think we moved there when I was three, and then we moved in town halfway through second grade. 

[AUDIO RECORDING TRIM ENDS]

I find Unionville Ct. on Google Maps. It’s a small suburb, if you can call it that. It looks like the road carving up the mountain stopped off to the side, threw down a few duplexes, and then continued on its way. Houses, just in the middle of nowhere.

Weeks went by (see logs 9-28). I was getting crumbs of information, but at the rate we were going, it was doing nothing for the case. Patient 59601’s opening speech rang in my head. Was she ever going to tell me? Was she trying to rule my years of successes as obsolete? I hadn’t slept well in a while. I needed a win. 

Sodium thiopental is a drug that is used in some cases to make patients more compliant. If I could get a dose into the patient, not only would she tell me the story, but maybe it would prove to her that there was nothing at risk. If anything, with the acceptance that all she did was wander drunkenly into the woods, perhaps she’d be able to leave the hospital’s care sooner. I brought it up with her nurses, and through some coercion, they complied. The morning the drug was administered, Patient 59601 was immediately brought to my room. She knew something was wrong, and the glare I received as the last of her reservations slipped away was that of a cornered animal, nothing like the girl I had come to know. She sat silently for a moment, before sitting up and looking back at me.

[AUDIO RECORDING - PULLED FROM LOG 29 - (12/28/2018)]

Dr. Warner - Rosie, I want you to tell me about the car accident. 

Rosie - No one wants to admit making bad choices in college, its just “living” or “having a good weekend”. Um, anyway… This isn’t going to be shown to my parents, right? (a pause) You’ll hear about it in court. 

Dr. Warner - Well, nothing we talk about here will be shared without your explicit permission. The only people privy to this recording or this file are your solicitor, you, and me, obviously. 

Rosie - Then I’ll tell you I’d been drinking a little. We all had. 

Dr. Warner - The driver’s postmortem confirmed that, so did your physicals.

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE : As the patient continues to tell the story, her attention shifts from me to the wall behind me. I don’t pressure her to keep eye contact, I let her talk. All my work for the past weeks is finally coming to bear fruit.]

Rosie - I remember the car hitting the guardrail. I had buckled myself in, tried to get Liz to do the same, but she was all over one of the guys. Kaleil? I don’t remember who. The car was moving and my head was kind of swimmy. When we hit the bar, I jerked forward so hard I thought I’d throw up my…lungs or something. My eyes had to have closed before then, because I opened them and my hands were all wet and hot. I didn’t unbuckle, just kind of pulled myself through the loops. The worst parts of crashes that no one tells you about is the radio. It just keeps playing. The pregame music we had in the queue on Liz’s spotify was still blasting. I kicked the door open and rolled out into the leaves. No one else moved. Nobody else was moving.

I needed to get away from the car. I guess I was sobering up pretty quickly. I can’t remember if the hood was on fire. I think in my mind it was. The trees I was looking at with the wreck behind me were flickering, but I don’t know if that was because I had been tipsy or if the car was actually burning.

Dr. Warner - You said your hands were hot?

Rosie - They were sticky and warm. The paramedics wiped them off later, said they didn’t know whos blood it was; mine or the kid in the passenger seat. He’d been, god, he’d been fucking crushed. I never saw pictures of the wreckage, but I remember when I climbed out, that side of the car was dark.

Dr. Warner - From the blood.

Rosie - Not just from that. The corner just felt…dark. Anyway, I got out of the car, had to get away from the dark. I looked at the trees and walked towards them. Like I said.

Dr. Warner - Why do you think you did that? What’s the first thing that comes to mind? You think through your answers too much, there aren’t any wrong answers, I promise.

Rosie - (silence) The car…was safe. Safer than the woods, obviously. But something was there, something was just behind that tree. Now that one. Now that one. Deeper and deeper. So I followed it. It felt natural or…like…needed? I needed to go.  So I walked past the trees and over the wettish groundcover. (a pause, then quiet laughter)

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE - The laughter of Patient 59601 began to change here. Having worked with her for a relatively decent while, I could be completely incorrect in my observation. In a change from her usual laugh, this was breathier, yet far more boisterous, as though she wasn’t concerned with the demeanor she had been painting for herself. Though she wasn’t looking at me, and rarely answering my questions, she sat in the seat with her feet drawn under her, sometimes holding the arms of the seat and bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet every so often.]

Dr. Warner - Rosie?

Rosie - That part of the story is always funny to me. (more laughter) The trees didn’t match.

Dr. Warner - Didn’t…match?

Rosie - My dad went to forestry school. He loves the woods. He taught me everything about trees and like camping and hunting safety. The ground was all pine needles, even though it was a roadside in ToonTown, USA. There should have been dead leaves and wet mossy spots, not cold soil and pine needles. And they were old. Like old old. They kept snapping and shattering under my feet and getting stuck in the eyelets of my shoes. (more laughter)

Further and further. At first I could see, from the car lights or the hood or whatever, but after a while it was all grey. Grey light, like the moon was shining through the trees. It was too cloudy for the moon though, I think it was just my eyes getting used to no light. I couldn’t hear the radio playing as loud anymore, just faint behind me. I was completely alone.

And then it was there. No noise, no warning. I looked up and it was there, looking right at me, just like in Montana. It could see me and I was too close this time. I was too close. I had a chance last time. I didn’t now.

Dr. Warner (overlapping) - Rosie? Rosie. Rose, slow down.

Rosie - Not a chance, not this time. I don’t want to die. What’s it going to do to me? What would be the worst thing it would do? I can’t find the worst one- it’s going to be so bad. I want my mom. Mom? Mom?? MOM!

[AUDIO RECORDING ENDS] 

Rose Thompson was administered a sedative as her behavior became uncontrollable. Her heart rate had skyrocketed and her speech was no longer making sense. According to the police report, Thompson had drunkenly stumbled away from a crash site that housed the bodies of Elizabeth Green, Jakob Brune, Adam Kaleil, and Seth Manzar. Thompson was the only survivor, as the rest of the car’s occupants were killed on impact. None of them were wearing seatbelts. Manzar’s torso had been caught between his seat and the dashboard, severing the body at the waist. It is difficult to say how this occurred, as tests in recent years with crash dummies and scene reconstruction cannot identify how the injury was induced. 

GENERAL LOG 3 - 01/04/2019

Patient 59601 was housed in intensive care following our final meeting. I visited her only once, I regret to admit, on the third. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to seeing me. I entered the white room and saw her lying on the hospital bed. She was barely breathing, so thin I could see her heart beating from where I stood in the doorway. 

I did not record our final meeting. The patient didn’t say anything, and hardly responded to stimuli. When asked to blink for question responses, she affirmed the two choices (once for yes, two for no), but responded to nothing else. I left the room darker than when I had entered, and I could have sworn the other nurses glared as I left. I had failed.  Court? What did she mean? The patient’s parents were contacted, and though devastated, I hadn’t been called in to stand trial. She only mentioned it once, but it had stuck with me. Rosie had been so oddly direct about court.

A week later, it happened. Dr. Silvea, the one who had called Patient 59601’s time of death, called me into his office and informed me privately that word had gotten out about the Sodium thiopental dosage. It turned out that Rosie’s mother was less than pleased that I’d used a “truth serum” on her daughter, and the procedure had resulted in her death. A bit of a roundabout way of getting to the conclusion. He told me she’d be arriving by tomorrow to either get the full story or press charges. 

Silvea handed me a cardboard box as he said this. Initially assuming he was telling me to clear my desk in a backhanded way, I realized there was something inside. Opening it, I saw a laptop, the cover decorated with stickers. I took it out, opening the screen. Password protected.

“It’s the patient’s. Before she went into cardiac arrest, she had me take this. All she said was “Warner”. For obvious reasons, I’m giving it to you.”

It’s been several hours since then, and I have tried one password. I don’t know how many attempts I’ll have before the computer locks down, possibly erasing information on it I needed to see. I’ve combed through all our conversations, re-read her files until I can quote them. Nothing. No mention of her mother’s maiden name, her elementary school, her first pet’s name. It wouldn’t be her birthday. There’s no shapes, no superheroes she likes enough to make the password. I don’t know how much longer I can continue this.

The fear I felt hearing of Mrs. Thompson’s impending arrival and her expectations pertaining to it was surprising. I can’t explain it, I can’t have that. The outcome of the story being relayed had killed the storyteller. What will happen to me? 

Addendum - Unionville. Unionville Court. The password is Unionville. There’s one file. A Word document saved in the middle of the screen. She deleted all other files and shortcuts, I need to open this one.

~

To Dr. Adaius Warner, in the event of the discovery of this device following my death

I know why you had to. Who wouldn’t think I was just being overly afraid of or dramatic over a traumatic event? You were doing your job. 

It’s closer now. It used to hide in the dark or stand far away, at the edge of the road across the way from my window. Last night it was behind the nurse. Maybe it’s been getting closer and I just haven't noticed. I’m writing this while I still have time. If I look up, it has every reason to be in the bathroom doorway. So, I’m keeping my head down and working until the story is out and you can find this. I think it will allow me at least that.

From the age of three until almost all the way to eleven, I lived in the Rocky Mountains. As anyone who has lived in a wooded area, from Appalachia to the Tongass to a thicker patch of woods at the edge of a small town, there are unspoken rules. Leave no trace, have the necessary supplies for outings (whether that’s bear spray or dog bags), and things of the like. One of the major ones, and the easiest ones to remember in my case, is to have your whereabouts known. Text a friend, call your brother, “I’m going for a hike on the trail we took last weekend” is brief enough to save your life. Never enter the woods alone, either metaphorically or literally.

From our house, there was a small town down the hill, like I told you. Helena was decent sized, plenty of stores, barbershops, a library, a run down  but that was fifteen minutes away, an eternity for a child. The house we lived in was small, but Mom and Dad used to joke that our yard was massive. They meant the woods. We had a really large front yard with an old, yellow and blue plastic swing set with a slide, a carousel horse that would play music when you rode it, and a little plastic house with shuttered windows, a yellow play phone, and a swinging door. 

The manufactured aspects of these little sculptures in the yard appeared to clash with the wildness of their surroundings. I never saw it this way, probably because that yard was my childhood. There’s a lot you can learn from the woods. I learned about deer and antler sheds, what not to do when coming across a bobcat, and a rabbit’s predators. 

That last one really stuck with me. I remember seeing one running around our yard in tight circles on a cold morning. I thought the little animal was playing, until I saw movement in the bushes. Dad told me later what the name of the animal was, stalking slowly towards the frantic bunny; a lynx. When the lynx was close, about three feet from its target, the rabbit stopped. I watched it lay in the snow, breathing fast. I pulled the shades closed quickly, hoping not to see that ending, but I knew what happened when I went out to play the next morning and saw a rusty spot in the snow. Being younger, I didn’t know about giving up like that, so desperately. The memory stayed with me for a long time. 

My sister, my brother, and I were told extensively that we were to stay in the yard. There was lots of grass around the house and things to do inside, Mom would say, but do not go past the gravel driveway and into the woods. We never wanted to, most times the shoots of trees were so thick it was difficult to see past them, and the swings always seemed more alluring than what lay behind them. 

Every time mom would send us outside with the familiar call “Stay in the yard!” either David or May would turn to me without fail and ask “Why?” in their little hushed toddler voices.

I was the oldest, and so I knew everything. I’d make up stories about the three of us running from the White Witch, legends about bog monsters hidden behind sheets of rain, and the occasional look to the trees behind them, punctuated with a dramatic gasp to scare them. 

I always had too much of an imagination.

And then, one spring, when the days were still short but not nearly as cold, my family got the flu. Dad probably brought it home from work, so we were all bedridden for a week. It was the worst sickness I can remember, stomach cramps and fatigue for days, heavy air in the house from a lack of common movement, all capped off with a final night of shocking cold as the fever broke.

I woke up on my first day without an upset stomach, and went to my mom’s room to ask to go outside. The air in my parent’s room was heavy, like a tomb. I have a vivid memory of the tan curtains not letting any light in, except around the very edges.

“Mom?”

No answer.

“Mom?” 

She gave a gasp, shooting up and away from her sheets. My shoulders rose in panic, and I tried to calm her down. “Just me, Mom!”

Then she groaned and sank back onto the mattress.

“What is it, baby?” her voice came pressed from her pillow.

“Can I go outside and play? Please?” She muttered something, the cadence of the sounds leaving her mouth so familiar from the thousands of times I had heard it. I rubbed her shoulder and left the room, making sure to close the door quietly behind me.

Stay in the yard.

I looked for my shoes. Then I looked outside and saw how wet the ground really was, so I dug through the hall closet until I found my yellow raincoat and my frog rain boots. I had gotten them both for my seventh birthday and hadn’t had a chance to wear them out yet. What a great reason to christen them. I pulled open the door and stepped out onto the porch.

The air was clean, and I breathed in big gulps of it, of oxygen that wasn’t recycled through sick lungs. It tasted like wet grass and heavy pine needles.  

I jumped off the porch and made quick work of the rocks and railroad ties that functioned as makeshift parking bumpers, flipping them up and catching the massive nightcrawlers in my quick hands. The worms always seemed so much bigger than they were when I think back now, but maybe I was just little. 

When I had enough of them, I put the worms in the compost pile, like how my dad showed me. I briskly wiped my hands on my coat and looked around the quiet yard, slightly grainy because of the light rain. There just wasn’t anything to do without my siblings. I tried to make something up, a reason to have to charge into battle, a princess who needed saving, anything, but nothing stuck. Eventually, to blow off energy, I sprinted around the yard in big circles, and flopped into the grass when my breath was gone. The sky was just as grey as before and I found myself missing May and David. 

I considered going back inside to read, or maybe fall asleep again. This wasn’t fun anymore.

Then something fell, snapped, to my left. I sat up and looked, just in time to see a white tailed deer rising from the brush in the woods. I quietly pivoted, getting my feet under myself, and I watched as she shook her head free of rain and dew. She was beautiful. 

I felt like I was in church, like I had to quietly watch this go on. The doe leaned down and nosed something in the grass where she had just been and an even smaller head popped up from the grass. The little fawn got up on “unsteady legs”. My parents would be impressed with those words, the ones from Beatrix Potter and James Herriot. 

I wondered if I had unsteady legs, and I tried to stand up from the strange squatting position I was in, promptly falling on my face.

The white underside of the two animals’ tails whipped up and their heads aimed at me for a moment, the fragile silence so swiftly broken. They looked for only a second and bolted. I wasn’t hurt, and really had no reason to cry, but there I was, feeling foolish as my lip trembled. I had scared the deer, and I was alone again. 

Before I could stop myself, I was up, crossing the gravel driveway, and moving the shoots from the trees to the side, natural as anything. The old leaves from last fall still carpeted the ground in a damp way. I pushed branches out of my face, and only when I had walked a good bit from the driveway did I turn around. There was a moment of quiet, and I felt like even if I hollered, the silence would persist. I looked right at that driveway. 

And slowly, I turned and went further into the woods. 

There was no reason for it. I didn’t need to go, but I went anyway. There was no path, I was making my own. Eventually I found familiar traces of animals. I saw a tree’s trunk entirely shredded, and saw the antlers of the buck who had done it a few feet away. I propped them up under the tree gently. “Maybe the buck will want them back.” I saw tangled squirrel nests perched high in the skeleton fingered trees, and heard little animals rustle away under the leaves.

I must have walked forever. In hindsight, it was only fifteen minutes. The woods were quiet, and I looked up at the cement sky, craning my neck backwards and holding my hands out straight in front to catch myself if I stumbled. I wondered if the tree limbs were cold up there. My boots splashed through low puddles hidden under the leaves. 

All at once, the steady push of tree shoots and long branches gave way, and I broke out of the dense trees into a little clearing. It couldn’t have been bigger than my living room and kitchen, but little me thought this wide swatch of free space was glorious after so many close trees. There were large tables of wood hidden in the tall grass, old stumps from a logger’s work long ago. I pulled myself up onto one. Dad and I would count rings on trees when we hiked. Normally I would lose interest after a little while and let him keep counting, his strong hands and tough fingertips tracking sickness, fire, drought, and good summers. 

Those stumps in the clearing were huge. I tried to count some of the rings, and when I got up to thirty seven (after messing up four times) I gave up. I didn’t know how old those stumps were, but they were way older than me. Probably older than Mom and Dad too. 

Though I couldn’t count the rings, I could still admire the wood. Long fingers of lichen and beds of moss carpeted the whole outside of the stump. The wood was so wet and mottled that it looked grey when I first laid eyes on it. The way the wood bowed in the center of the stump made a perfect circular pool to collect water, and I looked at my face in the dancing reflection. 

I don’t know how I didn’t see it immediately, the moment I entered the clearing. Maybe if I had, I would have left sooner, been safer.

I have to consider, though, what could have happened if I had never seen it at all. Would my life have gone on normally? Would I have been safer, had no cloud of panic over me? Gotten to live more? Or would I have ended up in the same predicament I am now, skipping the middleman?

Everything up to that point is so clear in my mind. I can tell you exactly how many stumps were in the clearing (twelve), what bird was calling in a tree above me (my favorite, a western meadowlark), even that my left shoe had a scuff mark up the side from a rock that I had scraped against. It was in the shape of Iceland.

But I couldn’t tell you how I saw it, just that my eyes traveled and locked on it, after I had looked up from the puddle. 

The thing, perched a few stumps over, was a little bigger than my head. It was pressed into the wet wood, and was soaked through with rain. I began, without thinking, to walk over to it.

The birds had grown quiet. They hadn’t shut down entirely, but they were muted, muffled. I felt the wet grass leave slim trails of dew on my exposed hands and on the fabric of my jeans. When I made it to the stump, almost directly in the center of the clearing, I stopped in front of it. 

The thing was a bear, a stuffed teddy bear. The fur’s original color was completely unrecognizable; it was too wet, so it was very dark. It must have been there for weeks. Some of the stitching on the nose was loose and waving in a slight breeze.

What caught my attention most wasn’t the loose thread. It wasn’t the fur, or the shape, or the murky glass eyes staring off into the woods behind me.

It was the bright yellow ribbon tied in a neat bow around the stuffed animal’s neck. The ribbon was silky, light. And it was clean. Among the mud and water and age of this clearing, the ribbon was bright and clean. 

In my juvenile mind, I wasn’t afraid of the presence of the bear. But a feeling came over me in that moment. Never in any scenario since have I ever felt the way I did then, alone, in that clearing, looking at that bear. 

And something was telling me to leave. A little voice in my head was screaming at me, telling me if I didn’t get away from the woods, the clearing, the stumps, the bear, all of it, right now, I would die. It was such a powerful feeling, I heard myself confirm it.

“I’m gonna die.” 

It was whispered, breathed. I know I didn’t say it loud enough for anyone to hear it. But the second the words left my mouth, I heard something, almost react, in the woods directly in front of me. My knees buckled, and I stared into the trees. 

Like an idiot, I looked directly at it.

Too small, too small. The clearing was no longer big enough, and it felt like the trees were closing in. 

Running. I was running now, twigs cracking like fireworks under my feet. I could see where light pushed at the edge of the woods, and I raced towards it, praying that when I crashed through the brush, the noise of movement in the old dry leaves would stop as well. The sounds weren’t just coming from me, but God help me if I was foolish enough to look back. 

The gravel driveway was sharp as the heels of my hands scraped into it, my feet in the air, the water-filled ditch I had jumped trembling with miniscule, falling grit. I don’t remember when I had started to cry, only that I touched my face and my hand came away wet. I scrambled towards the safe picture of my house and jumped through the door. 

The moments of silence as the door slammed shut was punctuated only with Dad’s snort, a snore saved for “almost waking up”, and then the air was quiet again. I took in big gulps of air, the adrenaline wearing off.

I don’t really remember moving to the couch, but I remember leaning over it, not all the way on, not off it either. I could see my breath fogging slightly on the window. I was stood like a little statue, staring at the edge of the trees I had jumped from. 

There was something there. Something big. I could only see the idea of it, it was still at least fifteen feet from the driveway, and there were plenty of trees between it and the gravel. 

I stood there. I stood and I watched the trees move. Not the brush under the trees, but the trees themselves, tilting from beyond the visible treeline. 

An awfully white face came into view from behind the branches. Its eyes were too big for a person, yet its face too human to be an animal’s. It was massive, it had to be, how on earth would the tops of the trees be moving if it wasn’t? I was petrified. And all I could do was stare back into its face. 

I couldn’t stop looking at it, it’s shape and size, just as I do now, when I catch it standing at a corner when I drive by. When I wake up at night and look out my dorm room window that faces the baseball diamonds, catching that sickly white moving behind the bleachers. When I take the final bow with my castmates and see it up on the catwalks or crammed almost comically into box five. 

I wasn’t thinking this while gazing, horror-struck at it, but having to recall this now, a chill finds me. I was not a good runner, not a tall kid. I find myself now looking at this sin of creation and wondering how I had managed to do it, to escape. I hadn’t. This thing had followed me home, had ambled behind me, only moving at speed enough to keep me in sight. And now it knew where I was, it was looking directly at our front door, swaying softly with the movement of the branches around it.

I was behind a wall, behind a locked door, safe from its sight. But in my state, I had a realization that this was how the rabbit must’ve felt. I had run and run, I still felt it in my throat. And yet the animal hadn’t rushed, didn’t need to. It moved how it wanted to, and it could have got to me easily all the way back in the clearing if it so desired. If that had been the case, what would I have done? Would I have laid down like that little animal I had seen that winter, curled up against a dilapidated memory of a teddy bear? 

I had been peering through the window at this thing, thinking it had lost me, but it finally turned its head, slowly, slowly, and had begun to look back. I tried to tear my eyes away, but the sight of whatever had been hunting me kept me facing it. Tears streamed down my face and I wanted to scream, hide in my parents room, like I would run from a nightmare. 

But this was no nightmare. I had blood on my face from whipping branches and cuts on my legs from thistles. This was real. I was in my house, looking into the dead, wide eyes of something I couldn’t and still struggle to comprehend. In any case, in any sense of the situation, I was facing it alone. 

I’ve never seen eyes as horrifying as the ones I saw that day. There were moments where they seemed to be all white, with a single pinprick of a pupil, and then the wind would blow, moving the trees and the clouds, changing the view, and they’d be an endless, empty black. One thing stayed consistent, however. The mouth of this thing was pulled tight at the corners, the pale skin stretching sickly over razor-like teeth, broken and stained; a sick caricature of a smile. 

Through these realizations, no noises were apparent to me. The room was drained of sound, and the raindrops on the window made no noise. I couldn’t even hear myself breathing, and yet I could hear it breathing out there. Long, relaxed, passive breaths, like it was simply admiring the view of my safehouse with its horrible face and horrible body, like someone gazing at a soon-to-be-consumed gingerbread house. That’s all I was, a treat for a…a thing.

And then it left. That was the worst part. It didn’t break our toys in the yard, didn’t dent the neighbor’s car, didn’t knock over the trash bins. The thing turned around, achingly slowly, and began going back the way it came. I watched it leave. Even from behind the window, I could hear trees groaning, branches bending to make way for the creature’s figure. And I realized that we never broke eye contact, my stomach cramping at the sight of its grotesque neck twisting to keep its wide, white face towards me. That image haunts my nights, a thing, not a person, who knew more than I did, who had me under its thumb, and who knew I had seen it.

Fuck, I had seen it. 

I’m there now, looking through that window. The scratches on my face burn with the salty tears that I spread trying to wipe them away. Pain was far from my mind, my young eyes glued to the now too empty trees. I hear those childish thoughts, semblances of plans.

I never told my mom. Not because I was scared she’d be mad, but because I knew she wouldn't believe me. She’d think I was just telling more stories. 

But now I have nowhere else to hide. Nothing I can do to warrant getting away from something that’s chased me for this long. I’m lying in this hospital bed and feeling it breathe over my shoulder.

I hope it approves of this retelling.

~

If you’ve read all of this file, you’ve caught up with me. 

I don’t know what to say. I’ve started typing, writing pages and pages of excuses for a lost mind, a girl who suffered intense trauma from a) a car wreck and survivor’s guilt and b) a childhood fever dream at the most. And yet, each time, I delete it all. There is something here that cannot be explained away. I have no credibility with this creature, this entity. What can you say to an idea? Disregard its existence? It stands in front of me, plain as the words on the page.

If I was to read this without the prior knowledge of those meetings, if I had never read the file, if I was simply handed that story, I would have called it fanciful. I would have said the writer had a future in sci-fi, maybe as a novelist. I would have wished them the best.

I do not have that luxury. Rose Thompson was a very real girl. She had a very real reason to be afraid. 

I pulled some strings and got CCTV footage from her room. I watched weeks of myself walking in and out, watched her family visit, watched her sleep. I sat up straighter when last Monday began playing. She’s lying on the bed. I can see her face illuminated by the laptop screen that now sits on my desk. I can see her type each word with her pointer finger. She does this for hours. I realize how difficult it must have been for her to write the story, let alone the mental strain she was put through in its creation.

I found myself drawing the thing days later. I can’t explain how, it simply would manifest beneath my pen or pencil. The worst part? I couldn't get it the way my mind’s eye imagined it. It’s ever changing. I needed to know exactly what Rosie saw. A voice in me screams what a morbidly curious thought this is. She gave up everything to satiate me, and I crave more. I need to know it all.  

I’m standing at the edge of the woods. The swing set is gone, so is the plastic house. I can see the front window, though. It’s just as she said, facing the woods. I don’t know what I want. The plane ride away from the hospital and Mrs. Thompson was something I never saw a professional like myself doing, but if I don’t find the clearing or this thing, what will my job be worth?

If not for that, what will this life be worth? I have to know. That’s my job.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep

[samantha-chicago]

Fireproof - Day One

 WC : 5657

As I walked up the driveway with my bag over my shoulder making the walk I’d been wanting to make for years. Not only just to be part of the firehouse but to see my brother which he had denied many times. I walked onto the apparatus floor looking about 

“Carver is it?” A man asked and I nodded 

“Rebecca Carver” I smiled holding my hand out and he shook it 

“Kelly Severide. Boden told me you’ve already had a tour and all you need to do is sign a bit of paperwork.” I nodded listening to his every words following him as he started to walk “Your turnout gear is already on the left side of Squad. I try to put everyone's out when I come in” I nodded 

“Thank you Lieutenant” I smiled as he walked into the Chief’s office 

“Ah Becca” Boden smiled and I smiled back. I try to get most people to call me Becca. I just like it better. 

“Morning Chief” I smiled and he placed some papers on his desk 

“Sign these and I’ll start my spiel” I smiled signing the papers as he started his talk. About how everyone is family and if I ever had a problem with a slight problem with anyone that I can go to him. Talking about how everything should be done by the book but not to be afraid of doing whatever is right. He then started about how I should just listen to whatever Severide says and the basic rules of the firehouse. “Well, then Becca. I’ll let you get to work” I smiled looking at Severide who nodded 

“I’ll catch up with you in a minute” I walked out and through to the locker room. I had stopped by yesterday to look around the place and meet Chief Boden without the rest of my shift being here. I waited in the locker room for Severide who smiled over as he walked in “Erm, here's a locker” He said after looking at them for a minute or two. I smiled as he handed me the roll of masking tape and a pen before walking out. I pulled a bit of tape off before putting it on the locker and writing ‘B. Carver’ on it. I looked at the lockers next to mine, Sam's and Mouch. I put my bag in before quickly getting changed before the rest of the shift walked in. The navy blue pants, the navy blue squad shirt and the squad zip up. I sat down on the bench pulling my boots on as the rest of the shift started walking in. I locked my locker up before walking out looking for Severide. 

“Lieutenant” I said walking over and he looked up 

“Call me Severide. What can I do for you?” He asked and I nodded at his first comment 

“Mind if I get myself used to your squad? I know you’ll probably have everything in a different place to where my old squad previously used to have them” I asked and he nodded

“Knock yourself out Carver I’ll call you over when the rest of this lot is here. Still too early for them” He chuckled and I smiled 

“Please call me Becca. It’s what I’ve always been called and I’d like to keep it that way” Severide nodded and I walked over to Squad. I looked through all the compartments getting myself used to where everything was even starting to test myself just to make sure I had it down. I was still doing that when I heard a voice 

“Becca?” I looked up from the compartment I had just looked into to see Sam standing next to me. I looked up at him 

“Oh hey Sam” I smiled getting up still unfortunately having to look up at him 

“What are you doing here? What happened to Squad Six?” He asked with a frown as I shut the compartment 

“Well I got transferred because Walker is a sexist fucker” I hummed 

“Language!” He exclaimed and I shrugged 

“I’m not eighteen any more Sam” Sam rolled his eyes walking off. “And even if I was eighteen. I’m still older” I reminded him and he turned around shaking his head 

“You just had to come here didn’t you? Just when things get normal for me you or Nathan have to come and force your ways into my life. You left Rebecca, not me!” 

“Oh so now it was my choice to leave was it?” I asked looking up at him and he shook his head walking off “This isn’t over Samson!” I exclaimed walking back out to the squad. I shrugged him off before climbing into the back of Squad and looking around at all the equipment in there. Memorising where everything was, was going to save time on calls and in the end save peoples lives faster. When I looked up Severide was standing at the other end of the squad. I jumped a little 

“Sorry. I’ve just put the pieces together” He said sitting down. I knew what he was talking about. 

“What gave it away?” I asked sitting opposite him 

“All of it but I’ve just had a read of your record as well” I looked down knowing that everything was unfortunately in there “What makes you think that I should trust you?” He asked 

“Look at the criminal record. I’ve served my time for that. As for the insubordination, well not my fault none of the lieutenants don’t want a woman on their teams.That’s what it’s all came down to. The fact I’m a woman and the first on Squad. If you don’t want me here I’d prefer you just tell me now so that I can look for another job without having to go through all the insubordination reports” I replied 

“Criminal record?” He exclaimed and I nodded slightly 

“I was a teenager and like I said I’ve done my time for that. I spent three years in Juvenile detention hence why Sam is so annoyed and I quote ‘Left us all alone’. They were petty crimes. Theft of food that kind of thing” I explained and he nodded 

“I want you on my team, Carver. At least for this shift. I want to see how you work before I make my mind up. I know the Lieutenants on the second shift Squad are sexist. I’ve worked with them all before and I’ve seen it first hand but there's a lot of insubordination on your record but from your Chief’s there's a lot of good things. The only way I can decide is by seeing you work. Now I get that sometimes Lieutenants and their Squad don’t agree on matters but I’ll always attempt to listen to your ideas unless it’s gonna take too long” I nodded looking at him 

“Come on. Breakfast is ready and the other three are here now” I got up with a slight nod putting everything back where I had found it. I followed him from the back of Squad over to the table 

“Cruz, Capp, Tony. This is Rebecca Carver, our newest member from today. Becca this is Harold Capp, Tony Ferraris and” I cut him off 

“Joe Cruz” I smiled as Joe gave me a hug 

“You two know each other?” He asked and I nodded 

“When I ended up on Engine Sixty-sixty, Becca was on Truck eighty-six” He briefly explained and I just left it there with a nod 

“Well I’m sure you know how well she works then” Severide nodded 

“She's great Lieutenant. You’ll love how she works” I smiled at Joe. Now he was just being nice. “Come on Becca. You want anything to eat?” He asked walking inside 

“Nah I’m good. I eat before shift” I nodded

“Forgot about that. Coffee?” He asked, turning around in the doors and I nodded following after him. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder “This is gonna be great” He cheered and I smiled, shaking my head as I walked with him. I poured myself a cup of decaffeinated coffee watching Joe fight for his breakfast. Before I knew it everyone was called into the meeting room everyone was taking their respective seats. I just hung about at the back in the corner 

“Good morning everyone. So quick briefing this morning because I know that your Lieutenants are desperate to start cleaning” There was a groan all around the room at the word cleaning. What’s wrong with cleaning? I like it “So I’m sure everyone guessed it’s cleaning day. The quicker you get started the quicker you get finished. I’d like you all to welcome the new member of Squad. Rebecca Carver. Squad opened up a fifth seat for her so please treat her like family” Suddenly all eyes were on me and it’s safe to say it was very awkward. Joe had a massive smile on his face and Sam didn’t even look at me “Alright everyone. Dismissed” Everyone slowly started leaning the meeting room with some introducing themselves as they passed. Soon it was just Sam and I left in the meeting room. 

“I’m not here because you’re here Sam. I’m here because Severide runs the best Squad in the city. Even then that’s not why I’m here. I got pink slipped by all three Lieutenant’s in my firehouse. Insubordination for running into a fire believe it or not. Not like that’s what I’m trained to do or anything” I moved sitting on the table in front of him “I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I’m not going to leave again. Not unless Severide also pink slips me then I’m well and truly out of a job” I looked down at him for once as he caught my eyes

“I might have overreacted just a little bit. But it is true. I got settled here and Nathan came and asked me for a whole load of money and I stupidly gave it to him then I get settled again and in walks Rebecca to save the day on Squad” He shook his head “Where were you when I needed someone?” He asked and I looked down at my lap 

“You know where I was and you know that you could have come and seen me Sam! You’re the only one who never did” I got up just as the bells went 

“Firehouse fifty-one, battalion twenty-five. Structure Fire 382 South Ada Street” 

I ran out to squad pulling my turnout gear on before climbing into Squad before Capp had even opened the door. Severide let out a little hum as he turned to look at me 

“Bonus points for beating Capp” I chuckled a little, pulling my tank on and checking my mask.

“Don’t get cocky out there Carver” I looked at Joe with a nod

“I’ve changed since the last time we worked together” I smiled checking I had enough air and all my tools were where I liked them as Tony started to drive. Tony soon parked outside a house and I looked out the window. A house. Fully inflamed. We all jumped out looking at Boden 

“Squad I want a primary search. As quick as you can. Truck get that roof vented” Boden ordered 

“Alright. Carver, I want you with me. Tony, Capp take the first floor. Cruz sees if Kidd needs any help if not join Carver and I on the second floor” I grabbed my halligan before walking behind Severide over to the door. “Ready Carver?” He asked and I nodded, pulling my SCBA on then my hood and helmet. Severide kicked the door in and I followed him up the stairs. 

“Fire Department” I called out as I opened a door letting Severide walk on. I searched the room, pulling out the bed and opening the closets. “Clear in here Lieutenant” I radioed to him before catching up with him as he had found people in one of the rooms. 

“Carver take the kids” He ordered and I picked the oldest up, placing them on my hip before picking up the baby in my other arm. 

“Cruz is here” I informed him nodding to Cruz as he walked in “Cruz help Severide” I told him and Severide shook his head 

“I’m okay. Help Carver” I shook my head

“I can manage these two Lieutenant. Stairs are still clear.” I replied walking out of the room and downstairs. 

“Carver is coming out” Joe radioed as I got to the front door and walked through all the smoke. As I got to the bottom of the porch stairs Sam came over taking the oldest kid from me while Violet took the baby. 

“Both found in one of the bedrooms. Severide is coming out with an adult female. Around 30. Burns on the left side of her body” I told them taking my SCBA off and moving out of the way for Joe and Severide

“Ambulance sixty-one to dispatch. I need two more ambos to my location” Brett radioed in as I walked over to Squad. Just as I pulled my tank off Severide and Joe walked out the house with the women. See I knew that stubborn ass needed help. 

“House is clear chief” Severide called over to Boden who then ordered Engine to put the fire out. I walked over to the ambo to check on the kids.

Brett looked over with a sad look and I looked down at the baby who was now intubated. I sighed walking back over to Squad. I put my tank back in its home with my mask as I looked back over at sixty-one Severide had just shut the doors and it sped off. I sighed looking back over to the house that still had smoke pouring out of it as the water removed the heat from the fire. 

“Good job in there Carver” Severide tapped my shoulder and I nodded a bit. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m emotional” I explained and he shook his head 

“If you’re not emotional at this job then that’s when I worry especially when it’s kids” I nodded a bit “Come on let’s go see if we can find out how this started” He grabbed another halligan and I did the same following him inside. I wasn’t a fan of overhaul or finding out how fires started but Severide was obviously interested in how they started. 

“It was a candle” I pointed to the starting point where the candle holder had made it through the fire and Severide nodded “If she had fallen asleep, the kid knocked it over. All possible” I shrugged and he nodded 

“Guess that didn’t help” I shook my head 

“I’ll get over it eventually. Just like everyone I have my ways of dealing with sad calls” I shrugged walking upstairs and he nodded following. 

“I walked into the bedroom picking up our halligans before turning around with Severide right behind me. I smiled a little

“Got everything?” He asked and I nodded now following him down the stairs. When we got out to squad I put the halligans back into their compartment before climbing in. 

“I think we need a trip out” Severide hummed and I looked at him. Joe raised his brows 

“Boat trip the day after tomorrow. Get to know Becca a little more” I looked at him 

“Think I’m busy” I joked 

“Mandatory Carver” I shook my head 

“Don’t worry. I have no plans ever” I shrugged as Tony reversed onto the apparatus floor. I jumped out of Squad, pulling my turnout gear off before walking into the common room. I poured myself another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter as someone stood next to me 

“Blake Gallo. Didn’t get time to talk to you before the call out” He smiled and I turned to look at him 

“Becca Carver” I nodded 

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked and I nodded 

“You just did” I joked 

“Another one” I nodded

“Go on” I smiled, turning to look at him as I took a sip of the coffee. 

“Why Squad?” He asked 

“To be honest with you. I just did the training for fun” I shrugged “Then obviously I finished the training and got offered a spot on Squad twelve I think it was. Bounced around for a while. Squad’s not a typical place for women. Landed up here and hoping I’m going to stay here for a nice little while” I explained and he nodded 

“Makes sense. I hope you’ll like it here” He walked around to the fridge and I nodded walking out to the Squad table. 

“Where should I start cleaning?” I asked Severide and he looked up 

“You want to clean?” He asked and I nodded slightly 

“I enjoy cleaning? That a problem?” I asked and he shook his head 

“Nope. I mean you can mop the apparatus floor if you want” He shrugged and I walked inside looking for the cleaning supplies. I looked up as Joe walked in 

“Joe. Where’s the cleaning supplies?” I asked and he waved me over. I followed him into a cupboard. 

“Everything is in here” I smiled with a nod. I grabbed the mop and bucket before walking into the showers and filling the bucket up with water and bleach before pushing it out to the apparatus floor. I started mopping it down 

“Hey Lieutenant” I called and he looked over “Can we move the trucks or do you want me to just work around them?” I asked

“Tony go move Squad, Capp get Herrmann, Kidd and Brett to move their trucks” I smiled in appreciation as I moved out of the way of Tony

“Yo Severide? Why are we to move?” Herrmann asked walking out of the common room 

“Becca is mopping the floors. Can’t do it with a fourteen tonne truck on top of it” He shrugged

“Why’s the new kid mopping the floors?” Kidd asked 

“Because she wanted to. I was gonna leave the cleaning to you lot” He shrugged and Kidd looked over 

“You wanted to clean?” She asked and I nodded 

“After a call like that cleaning helps me to relax” I shrugged just as the bells went yet again

“Ambulance sixty-one, truck eighty-one, squad three. Multi-vehicle crash. Highway ninety” 

“Guess cleaning will have to wait” I shoved the mop and bucket away before running over to squad. I pulled my turnout gear on before jumping in. 

“So I was just reading your record” Severide started and I looked at him

“Thought you read that already” I shrugged 

“Not your academy and squad training records” I nodded slightly 

“You got some pretty good times there Becca. Bet some of mine unfortunately” He chuckled and I smiled a little 

“Which ones Severide?” Capp asked 

“You’d like to know” Severide chuckled

“That’s why I asked” Capp shrugged and I chuckled 

“Repelling and water rescue” I replied

“How do you know Carver?” Severide questioned and I shrugged 

“After I beat them, instructors would tell me how long you went unbeaten against them.” 

“Of course he would” Severide shook his head jumping out of Squad. I climbed out and looked at the crash with a frown. Two cars. Three victims in one car and not a single person in the second car. The windscreen was smashed in the second car. I looked about with a frown. Walking over to the edge of the bridge and climbing over the railings and looking into the water “Carver, what the hell are you doing?” Severide asked through the radio. I looked back before climbing back over the railing onto the bridge as Severide stood behind me. I smiled a little sheepishly “Well?” He asked 

“I was checking if the driver of the red car wasn’t in the water. Sorry Lieutenant. I won’t do it again” I replied and he nodded slightly 

“And is the driver in the water?” He asked 

“Inconclusive” I replied 

“Then gear up” I jogged over to squad pulling my turnout jacket off. I pulled my turnout pants and my uniform quickly off before pulling the wetsuit on before jogging back over to the bridge where Joe was now set up for a water rescue. As I looked at Joe Tony and Capp were already tying me to Joe

“Be safe down there Becca” He smiled and I nodded, pulling the mask over my face and opening the valve on the tank before letting myself down into the water. 

Just another rescue. I muttered to myself. I was never allowed to do one of these before. ‘Too weak’ I was always told never mind being allowed to do one for myself. I soon spotted someone swimming over to them. It was a teenage girl. I grabbed her under the arms before tugging on my rope twice letting Joe know I had the victim. I quickly attached her to the spare rope tugging it three times to tell the boys to pull her up. I wanted to look about just in case there was someone else with her. I’d never forgive myself if there was. And I was right. I grabbed the teenage boy by the shirt, taking my rope off and securing it to him before tugging on it three times. I surfaced from the water looking up at the bridge. I could see Severide shake his head before I removed my mask 

“Another victim coming up” I shouted looking around before pointing to land where I was going to swim to. Severide shook his head as Sam appeared at the edge of the bridge 

“Carver just wait there. Rope is coming down” Severide called back down and I swam over in the direction of the rope. If I caught this then it would be a total miracle. I did have to swim over to the rope but I soon secured it to myself before giving them a nod that they could pull me back up.  I was soon being pulled back up into the air and before I knew it Severide was pulling my over the railing by my wetsuit 

“I’m okay Lieutenant” I responded and he nodded 

“Don’t ever take your line off again” He warned and I nodded 

“Sorry Lieutenant” I replied looking down. Severide walked off and I walked back to squad. I knew Sam was following me “Go do your job Sam. You can lecture me later” I replied, getting in the back and pulling the door shut behind me. I rubbed my face as I sat down on the bench and removed the wet suit. I hung it back up before grabbing a towel and quickly drying myself off. I pulled my uniform back on along with my turnout pants before stepping out of Squad. I pulled my radio over my body before walking over to Chief figuring it was best to stay out of the way. 

“That was reckless Becca and so stupid. But I have to admit it was a good save” Boden looked down at me and I looked up at him 

“Sorry Chief. I’m just going to stay out the way” I replied and he shook his head 

“Go help your team. They need it. If Severide says otherwise he’s got me to deal with” I walked back over to Severide. 

“Carver grab the other side of the backboard” He ordered and I did as told by taking the other side of the backboard so that Capp could run around the car and help from the other side. I looked into the car. It was just a young woman left inside. She couldn’t have been older than maybe twenty-five. How her life was going to change. Once she was on the backboard we quickly moved it onto the stretcher before letting the paramedics whisk her away “Carver go get a brush” I nodded walking over to Squad where Sam was standing with the brush for me. 

“Figured you’d need this.” I rolled my eyes at his petty behaviour, taking the brush and walking off. I sweeped up all the broken glass to the side of the road so that the road could get opened quicker. As Capp and Tony put all the gear away and Severide stood about supervising. Joe walked over standing next to me as I sweeped the pile as close to the side as I could 

“That was a good save. No matter how dangerous it was. Severide would have done the same thing so don’t let him or Boden or anyone else tell you otherwise Becca. We all know that you did what you had to” Capp nodded standing next to him

“Don’t beat yourself up, Carver. You saved that kid's life. We save some, we lose some. That’s part of the job unfortunately” I smiled a little leaning against the brush as the recovery truck came into sight. 

“Thanks guys” I nodded to them in appreciation before putting the brush away. I threw my turnout jacket on my seat before walking over to Severide. 

“Good save Becca. Just don’t scare us like that again please. Cruz almost dropped that kid when he realised it wasn’t you” I shrugged a little 

“Life would be boring if I didn’t scare him every so often when working with him” Severide chuckled 

“Come on then” He chuckled walking over to Squad “Let’s go squad” He called and I climbed into the back. I rested my head back against the window. Re-doing my bun as Tony drove back to the firehouse. 

“Lieutenant. We need to fuel up” Tony informed Severide who nodded

“Just do it Tony” We got to the gas station and I sat up. 

“I’ll do it” I exclaimed, getting out of Squad. I walked around and started filling Squad up. As I looked about I noticed a Chief’s buggy pull up. I smiled as my favourite Chief pulled up. Well he wasn’t exactly my chief but oh well. I walked over to his buggy “Boo” I chuckled walking up behind him

“Becs what are you doing here?” He asked looking about 

“I got transferred again. I’m with squad three” I smiled and he shook his head. In disappointment? Maybe.

“Again Becs?” He asked and I shrugged

“Hey I think Severide’s gonna keep me” I shrugged while walking backwards. 

“He better keep you. I don’t want you back” I smiled waving to him before getting back into Squad 

“You know Hawkins?” Severide asked and shrugged a little 

“Started off as partners when I used to be a paramedic. Then we dated a little. By a little I mean like a week? Maybe two? Then he became my chief. And now he’s just stuck with me” I shrugged as Joe laughed 

“Dated for four months” He laughed and I shook my head

“Hooked up for four months. Dated for two weeks” I replied and he shook his head laughing “You’re meant to be nice to me. Anyway, What’s this I hear about Mrs Cruz, baby Cruz and child Cruz?” I asked and he looked over proud 

“Chloe and I got married. Then adopted then had our own kid” I nodded listening to him “Javi we adopted after I rescued him from a fire. Brian is our own kid. Oh he’s so cute. I’ll show you pictures later” I smiled 

“Where was my invite to the wedding?” I asked dead seriously and he looked at me

“Didn’t think you’d want to come? You know. You always told me the stories” I gave him a look as if to say ‘you’re stupid’

“You’re stupid Joe Cruz” I hummed getting out of Squad as Tony parked 

“Hey that hurt” I shrugged as Sam came storming over. 

“What the hell was that Rebecca? Seriously? You just go risking your life for random teenagers? We both know you’re that stupid to do that! I don’t understand you Rebecca. You tell me that you’ve changed. That you don’t risk your life like you used to any more then you pull fucking stunts like that? In Chicago? In spring?” I shook my head as he raised his voice 

“This! This is why I got arrested. This whole. I’m better than you thing that you have going on! I tried my best to save you from Nathan. I did. I got arrested instead. I tried my best to change and not risk my life anymore but you know what. That was a teenager. With his whole life ahead of him. I was conscious. I can fucking swim Samson!” I exclaimed after pulling him onto the driveway away from the rest of the firehouse “I will always be older than you. You will always be the youngest child whether you want to be or not. I don’t care. If you’re not happy with me here then pink slip me. Get everyone involved. Do it. I dare you!” I challenged him walking away and inside the house 

“Hey Carver. Ridder cooked you want some?” Gallo asked and I shook my head walking to the bunk room. I knocked on the door to Kidds quarters who waved me in 

“Girl to girl. You care if I hide in here for a little?” I asked and she motioned to the bed for me “I’m gonna explain everything to you because Sam won’t” I replied sitting on her bunk and she nodded looking up from her paperwork 

“Oh please do. He’s harder to break than Mouch” I chuckled 

“Sam’s my little brother. He’s got this stick up his ass because I got sent to juvie after trying to save him from my other younger brother. Sam’s older brother. I’m the oldest. I think Sam thinks that I’m here to sabotage him. I’m not. This was the only firehouse I hadn’t been at. Sexist Lieutenants. I’m sure you understand that one. Anyway he also likes to think that he’s older than me and does this whole protective thing” I explained and she nodded 

“So what happened to his arm? That true?” She asked and I nodded 

“Yeah. It was about a week, maybe two before I got sent to Juvie. I was seventeen. Nate was fifteen and Sam was about nineish. I was leaving for college. I tried to steal some food for Sam. I had enough to pay for myself but I was gonna take him with me. I didn’t make it to college or manage to save Sam” I looked down playing with my hands “I failed as a sister in that respect. Nathan’s always been the golden child. Could never do anything wrong. Me on the other hand. I was disowned. I don’t know about Sam though. We’d talk a lot as we grew up and I managed to get into the academy. He wasn’t happy about it at first but we got there. I can see that Sam likes it here and if that means I’ve got to leave then I will” I added and she frowned 

“I don’t think you should leave. What are you going to do if you leave?” She asked

“I might have an in as a paramedic. Helps that the Chief really likes me” I chuckled and she shook her head with a laugh 

“Look as Sam’s Lieutenant I appreciate that whole story” She motioned with her hands and I smiled a little “But from firefighter to firefighter. Don’t give up on that Squad part. From girl to girl. You’re welcome to hide out in here any time” I smiled over to her 

“Thanks Lieutenant” I smiled 

“Call me Stella” 

“Then call me Becca” I smiled, taking my phone out of my pocket. I checked my messages “I’m gonna go get some food” I got up walking out of her quarters. I walked into the common room as Ridder held up a plate and I nodded walking over

“I don’t need to start cooking any vegan or vegetarian options do I?” He asked and I shook my head

“Just no shellfish. I’m allergic” I replied 

“Don’t worry. I can’t cook seafood” I smiled, taking the plate from him as he handed it to me.

“It’s just spaghetti bolognese. You missed the garlic bread though” 

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks Ridder” I sat down at the little circle table in the corner of the room not wanting to interrupt any conversations or sit anywhere where I wasn’t meant to. I looked up as I felt someone sit next to me. 

“So Becca can you cook?” Gallo asked 

“Do you want the firehouse standing?” I asked and he chuckled 

“I’ll take that as a no” 

“Then you’d be right,” I nodded, taking another bite. “I can bake though” I added and his head picked up. 

“Seriously? Oh you’ve got to let us try some” He replied Ridder sitting down nodding his head at the same time

“Maybe. My apartment isn’t really big enough to cook in but maybe sometime” I shrugged

“I’m going to hold you to that Carver” Severide said walking in and I nodded

“Note the fact I said. Maybe” I replied and he shrugged 

“You could bring something to the boat. Let us test your baking before the rest of the house” I chuckled a little 

“Maybe. Just maybe” I chuckled. I looked over at the clock. Thirteen hours into shift. How time goes so fast I will never know. “I’m gonna hit the beds before the bells go off again. Thanks Ridder” I got up putting my plate into the dishwasher. I walked through to the bunk room lying on an empty bunk that had no belongings next to it. I pulled my boots off before pulling the cover over myself. Scrolling on my phone until Gallo sat on the bunk next to me. 

“You picked a good bunk Carver” I chuckled, putting my phone down. “Night Becca” He smiled

“Night Gallo”

[jackinalex]

Hi there! I really like your writing, you write plots that suck people in very well. I have a question though, and please take this as genuine curiosity because that really is what it is. What are your thoughts on the, hmmm let's say ethics, of writing fanfiction about real people? Ive found myself drawn to the dynamics of relationships for both real and fictional pairings, but when it's real, there is always something that kind of twinges at me. I've seen interviews where sometimes the subjects get uncomfortable knowing people write about them, and I could see how I might feel wierd about it if it were me. But on the flip side, the stories are of course fiction. You seem very involved in this side of the fandom, and I would be very interested to know your thoughts.

Putting this under a cut bc it’s so long lol.

Thank you for the compliments! You made my morning. To answer your question, I think that rpf is a complex and nuanced topic, but what it really boils down to is the subjects' feelings. I’ve written rpf in some capacity for going on thirteen years and will use each of those fandoms as examples to express the nuances of the topic.

When I was 14-16, I wrote WWE fanfiction. The difference between wresting rpf and say, bandom rpf, is that WWE for the most part is fictional and the wrestlers portray some sort of character, even if they go by their real names, therefore it is similar to writing about a tv show or movie (though some people include their real lives and real families). I’ve heard a few wrestlers say that fan fiction is a little weird, but the ones I wrote about never said it made them especially uncomfortable. In fact, Torrie Wilson (my queen), has even tweeted about Jorrie, which is the ship of her and John Cena, which was my first rpf ship I ever wrote about.

When I was 16-18, I wrote YouTube rpf, first about Pewdiepie and Cryaotic (I know, yikes), and those two (especially Cry, and I know, yikes again) spoke at length about how they didn’t mind fan fiction at all. They even read some as content for their channels. I then wrote about Ian and Anthony from Smosh, who also read fan fiction (MANY) times for their different channels. They even read part one of my fics on their channel at one point. Sometimes Ian and Anthony did seem a bit uncomfortable with the fanfiction, but it was more that they didn’t want to read the fics themselves and less that the fics existed. They’ve spoken at length about how they’re happy for people to express themselves in any way, even if it’s through fan fiction about them.

Finally, we have ages 19-now. I’ve written about Jalex for the longest period of my life (nearly ten years, which is nuts). It’s interesting because they’ve made hundreds of jokes about fucking each other for years, made references to fics and how they want people to keep writing them, and Jack even had a Jalex shirt for his JAGK line. Then, around 2012, interviewers started pushing them to talk about it far too much to the point where it made them uncomfortable. So I don’t think it was the fics themselves, but rather being asked about them and being put on the spot.

I say all of this to say that I think rpf is okay if you do the following:

Find out if the subject has explicitly stated that they do not want to be included in fic.

DO NOT send the fics to anyone you’ve written about (unless they’ve asked for them, for some reason). Also, do not mention fics or shipping to these people (unless, again, they’ve asked you to).

I think that people have the right to not want to be written about, but as you said, it is purely fiction. Also, when people have large platforms and have lots of fans, there are “fan” things that kind of just happen, not just fics, but also fanart, fan edits, speculation, gossip, etc. It’s part of the fame. The love and admiration people hold for their favorite celebrities has to go somewhere and that’s often through fanwork.

I hope this somewhat answers your question! I can only speak from my own experience, but this is the conclusion I’ve come to after years of rpf. If you’re interested in participating, we’d love to have you! Our fandom is small, but loyal and tight-knit. Much love!

[polyamorousmisanthrope]

Organization, Self-discipline, Distractability, and a Rant

A friend of mine re-posted this tweet. I am quite certain that because of this friend’s (VERY REAL) struggles there was a feeling of being seen and validated. And that’s a valid point of view. If something comforts you in your struggles, that’s valid, no kidding. And this article might annoy you. Scroll on by. I’m not wanting to dump on what keeps you going. Times are rough enough. Seriously…

My initial reaction before logic kicked in was nearly incandescent rage. Which led to this rabbit hole as I tried to deal with it.

Why did a little meme make me so mad?

So, remember how it took me thirty years to vacuum a closet? I could have as easily said it took me thirty years to pay my bills or cook a meal or several other things.

Oh sure, I’m organized now. I’m talking “color-coded boxes when it is time to move” level of organization, ‘kay? But even though other people don’t see it, I still remember being shamed in fourth grade because of the desk cubby crammed full of books and papers, and being asked, “You’re so smart, how come you can’t–” about So. Many. Things.

I didn’t become organized by ignoring reality

I am not naturally organized. I am not naturally industrious, and I am not naturally all that productive. I’d call myself lazy, but that invites a lecture from anyone who loves me about being too hard on myself.

I did, at some point, need to accept certain realities. Not paying bills can land one in court. Disorganization can be a big problem in one’s professional life. In my own case, I also have a big problem with depression, so I cannot count day to day being on the ball and thinking clearly. (I mean, really, this rant was because of an initial reaction of NOT thinking clearly)

So, shooting for some damn Platonic Form of “Organized and Disciplined” in my case is a recipe for failure. I’m going to bet it is for you, too.

If your plan has no way to account for delays and failure points, it’s a wish, not a plan. There used to be a fashion in self-development on YouTube to have The Perfect Morning Routine. You know, get up, do twenty minutes of yoga, make yourself the perfect nutritionally-balanced breakfast, read some Improving Literature, and bike to work… that kind of thing. To tell on myself, yeah, I’m trying to get in more stretching and yeah, I use a yoga app for that. My general idea is that I’ll get up and do twenty minutes of yoga (stop laughing at me) and then do my day. I did not, in fact, get right up and do that. It’s almost ten in the morning, I’ve been up since six, and I’m here writing this incredibly detailed rant and not getting in that stretching. So I’m failing, right? Wrong.

“Imperfectly Perfect” has a lot going for it My goal for the month is to get in ten minutes of yoga a day as an average measured over a month. I’ll throw in a few minutes today at some point. Probably after I write this. While an organized person looks like they’re doing things in a strict way and in a specific order, that may not be entirely the case. Sure, you have to show up at the dentist at a specific time, or take your meds before you eat or something. But what time you do your writing or wash your dishes has a lot more wiggle room. Let it have that wiggle room and let goals that don’t need to be exact be inexact.

“Good Enough” and “Perfect” are two different things. Good enough is better than Perfect. Bed making… I’ve heard people say that bed-making is too much trouble. When I hear that, I almost always presume another choke point — bed against the wall makes making it a pain in the ass, depression makes it hard to get OUT of bed, never mind making it, things like that. But… If the only time you make your bed is when you have the energy to make it neatly enough you won’t be yelled at on Parris Island, you have absolutely confused “Perfect” and “Good Enough.”

I took that picture thirty seconds before I wrote this. I did no adjustments on the bed. It’s just how I made it this morning. I woke up this morning cranky and wanting to punch Humanity in the mouth. So, not motivated. This meets my personal definition for good enough. It’s made. I’m dressed and doing my day.

Good. Enough.

Defining Good Enough will help you. What is “Good Enough” in your life?Ignoring real issues of executive function will set you up for failure.

Are you distractable? I am. In fact, this article is a prime example of distractability for me. I haven’t written what I plan to do for the day in my Bullet Journal and haven’t done most of my Wednesday morning chores. I got ranty and just had to sit down and write this. That yoga I was going to do? That planning out the day I (usually) do? Obviously not happening right now as I ranty, ranty, rant.

But my life is set up to account for things like this. I accept and plan for the fact that stuff like this happens! I have a means to track what needs to be done that won’t let the genuinely important and urgent things fall through the cracks. Even though I am currently caught up in the glorious dopamine hit of ranting, those things that need to be done are quietly sitting in their places, waiting for my attention.

Thing is, it’s more than just a to-do list. It’s setting up your life to account for how your brain works.

That might mean storing your extra sheets under your mattress so you will immediately re-make the bed when you wash your sheets, or hanging a mask on the back of your door so you don’t forget to put then thing on before you leave your apartment. (Yeah, I know, that looked oddly specific, didn’t it?)Being organized and disciplined is a skill. Mastering skills take time.

Think of anything you know how to do — playing an instrument, cooking a meal, writing fiction, driving, whatever.You might have wanted to master it overnight. But if you actually developed the skill instead of stopping the activity, you probably put in a lot of time and effort. You probably had failures that made you wince at yourself.

Learning the skill of organization is no different.

I know that saying it took me thirty years of solid work to get organized seems like hyperbole. It’s not. It was really that difficult for me.

Which is, I know, why images like the above set me off a little. I know the intention is to make people feel better about a mutual struggle.

But it also makes me feel like in the common cultural mind, my life’s work was mostly a waste of time.

[cocogrrrl]

3a - i do enjoy them

(part of "my princess (choose your own adventure)") no cws wc: 523

“I used to think they were tedious growing up, but I think they can be awful lots of fun.” You said, lifting yourself from the space of Kyle’s neck. “However, while I may know quite a few people, I only watch from the sidelines.

“There’s something warm and special about seeing all these different people come to an event together. They all have different views, likes, and personalities. To see them all mesh together in this weird amalgamation of different conversations, it feels wonderful to be a witness of it all. You find a gem or two sometimes, and it brings you a little hope, you know?”

“That’s really nice, actually.” He said, looking at you in awestruck. Why, though? It’s not like you said something revolutionary—you were just speaking your mind. “I thought you were the type of person to enjoy those things for their image, but not in a bad way! It makes sense to think that way, but the way you look at things is so peaceful.

“You’re a very inspiring person. Do you know that, YN? I want to look up to you.” 

“Please don’t,” you chuckled. You found yourself happy at the thought that someone sensible like Kyle actually thinks you’re a good person, so much so that they believe in you. “I thank you, though. That’s one of the nicest things I’ve heard someone say.”

Your coachman announces that you have arrived. You two exit, and you are greeted by a posh venue where many people, both young and old, are chatting themselves away.

People say hi to you, and some inquire about Kyle. You break the news about your engagement, and they are shocked to hear the news. All of them were people you were on good terms with, so they were in full support of your betrothment with him. Even if you haven’t seen these people in so long, you wondered if you could invite them to the ceremony.

You and Kyle wallflower-ed during the night. It wasn’t a bad thing, though, as you got to show Kyle how fun it is being a part of something as special as this. He didn’t get it at first, but when he saw two little kids, who so obviously had a crush on each other, exchanging coats, he found himself closer to understanding you better.

“It’s such a pretty sight to see people have fun like this,” you sighed, pointing out to two best friends getting absolutely inebriated. They most definitely would regret it in the morning, but you knew that they knew that they had right now, and that’s what mattered to them most. 

By the corner of your eye, you could catch Kyle’s eyes on you—once flickering to your lips. You tried paying no mind to it, but, god, did you feel all warm inside. You couldn’t think of anything else at that moment other than him. 

“Kyle?” You turned your head to look at him. 

“YN?” 

“I love the way your mind works.” was all you said. You didn’t even realize you said it until he replied to you.

“I love how you work.”

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 2: The Sea

Chapter 11

We watch in silence until the hovercraft has removed the last of the three bodies. I add three X’s to the Dead Chart, then decide it is as safe as it will ever be to refill the empty water bottle. Besides, only Taffeta and Tychus are left of the Careers. Zalea is still out there, and she made it very clear that after the stampede, things were no different between us. She’s formidable, but against two of us, I am confident we would beat her. And that just leaves the boys from Three and Twelve, neither of whom I have seen since the bloodbath. They could be anywhere, doing anything.

And then it hits me. There are only seven of us left. I return to the cave with the water bottle and grin at Mako as I go to our backpacks to add the tablets to the water. “They’re going to interview our people.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Top eight,” I say, still smiling, opening the box of tablets. “Bring out the friends and family. Well, top seven, actually, since Tychus took out that other girl… Oh no.”

“What?” Mako is on his feet and at my side in a second. “What’s wrong?”

Silently, I hold up the second empty box of tablets.

His face sinks. “That’s not good at all.”

Before Elsie and Merritt said they’d gotten some, I’ve never heard of a tribute getting water-purifying tablets from a sponsor. I suspect that’s one of their ways to keep the Games from going on forever. If we can’t get drinkable water, we’ll get desperate fast, and then we’ll start fighting each other for anything we can get. It would sure speed things up if Mako and I were to now find ourselves without drinking water.

“We could boil it, you know, like how you purify salt water if you’re desperate.” Mako says, though from his tone I can tell he already knows what I’m going to say.

“The only one of the many items we need for it that we have is the pot.” I take a deep breath. “We’ve got two bottles. That’ll last a while if we’re careful. Enough time to plan the best course of action, figure out who’s most likely to have a way to get clean water, find them, and kill them.”

But as the day drags on, we realize that, for all we know, no one has a way to purify water. It would explain three tributes slugging it out by the river, being watched (and finished off) by a fourth, who did seem very interested in taking anything he could find off their bodies.

“Maybe that’s why Tychus killed Seven. Maybe she had some tablets. Or maybe they were running low and with her dead that’s one less person to share water with,” Mako says. “But if that’s the case, why wouldn’t he go back and kill Taffeta right away and then not have to share with anyone? Or kill her before he left? No, the cannon always sets everyone on edge, so he would’ve had to wait until after. But then why hasn’t he done it yet?”

As Mako settles in for bed that night, I add the twelfth tally to the wall and scratch an X under Six, Seven, and Eight. We are no nearer to figuring out who has water, and we have only one bottle left. I am tempted to just drink some of the river water. Maybe it’s fine. But maybe it isn’t. It’s just as likely to be full of some horrible bacteria or something as it is to be drinkable.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

The next morning I double-check my math from the night before. I don’t exactly trust my brain in matters of math while on watch, but I am confident I am right. I leave the cave and find Mako starting a fire. He plans on trying to boil the water and seeing what happens. I don’t approve of this plan, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I pat him on the back as I walk by.

He snorts. “Thanks. Never thought I’d live to see nineteen.”

“Well you’re sure cutting it close with this whole water thing, but you’ve made it.”

We spend the day sitting in the shade of the trees, eating blackberries, drinking as little as humanly possible, and trying to come up with a plan. Finally, while the anthem plays the end of another deathless day, we decide to go after the Careers.

The next morning, we pack everything in the backpacks and hide them up trees. We scatter our firewood back around the tree patch and dump the coals out of the pot, which we then smear with mud and hide up another tree. We eat a breakfast of only blackberries because the rest of the food we have is dried or salty or both, which in no way helps our dehydration situation. Finnick hasn’t sent us anything since the binoculars, but I am kind of glad about this because I am sure bread, especially the sweet stuff, would make me thirstier than I already am. Though I wish I had something to eat other than blackberries.

We each take only one spear, hiding the other four in a hollowed-out fallen tree. Having run out of ways to delay the inevitable, we each take a last sip of water and start across the plains toward the cornucopia. We don’t even know if the Careers are there, but we don’t know where else to start.

Halfway to the cornucopia, a tiny parachute lands in front of us.

I open the box. Inside, wrapped in some sort of thin paper to keep it from bouncing around and breaking, is a vial about as big as my thumb with an eye-dropper lid. I stare at it, confused, then hold it out to Mako.

He snatches the vial and twists the lid off so desperately I’m afraid he’s going to drop the whole thing, spilling its precious contents, whatever they are. I only know they are precious because the Games have been going almost two weeks and the vial is small, both of which point to it being very expensive. But Mako does not spill any of it. He holds the eye dropper under his nose and takes a delicate sniff, then smiles.

“We can go back,” he says. “We’re good. Let’s go back.” And he turns and starts back toward the cave.

I jog after him. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s for water. I forget the name, but they’re drops. You just put a couple in, let the water sit for half an hour or so, and you’re good to go. Just like tablets. But this should last us,” he holds it up to the sun, gauging how full it is, “ten days or so, probably.”

I let out a sigh I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thanks, Finnick.”

“And thanks to whoever paid for this. We owe you one.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Four more days pass. By my count it is the seventeenth day of the Games. Unprecedented. And I am getting tired of fish, blackberries, and buffalo jerky. Finnick hasn’t sent anything since the drops for the water. In fairness, I can’t remember any Hunger Games lasting this long. I can’t imagine the price of a bag of crackers, let alone some cream cheese rolls. It’s a good thing we don’t need medicine or anything crazy like that.

Fires are becoming commonplace. Every day we see three or four scattered around the arena, never in the same place twice. I think we all have the same idea: lure the others to us, fight them on home soil. It’s weird to think of the little patch of trees and the cave as our home, but I’ve grown quite attached to this place.

 The next day we hear shouting on the plain, but never a cannon.

“I wonder what the people at home said about us,” I say that night as we put out the fire and gather the coals in our pot.

“All good things I’m sure,” Mako says. “I’m more curious who they talked to. Our parents, obviously.”

“Jade and Coral.”

“The fishing crews.” He laughs. “Can you imagine old Reefer on every screen in Panem?”

I snort. “Maybe they got him and Rizz at the same time.”

“And both drunk, if we’re lucky.”

Still chuckling, I crawl into the sleeping bag and drift off.

The night is uneventful. Mako says that a few buffalo have been wandering around the trees when he wakes me, but nothing worth worrying about. They’ve always left us alone in the past.

My watch passes just as quietly. In the morning there are several sets of hoofprints on the shore and around our fire pit area.

Mako rebuilds the fire, then wades out into the river until he’s up to his knees. We’ve had more luck spearfishing than regular fishing.

“I think I’ll go get more firewood,” I call, already heading into the trees.

“Sounds good. Don’t go too far.”

“I won’t.”

I wander through the trees. We’ve picked the area clean of fallen branches, so we actually have to cut firewood now, which is difficult with only a knife. But the work is better than staring at the fire all day.

I am on my way back to the shore with an armload of firewood and a precarious grip on my spear when I notice how quiet it is. How quiet it has been. It’s been several minutes since I heard any birds. I walk around the blackberry patch on the edge of the trees. The branches fall softly to the ground. I open my mouth, but the only sound is the sword slicing through Mako’s neck.

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[beauty-of-fear]

Chapter 1

 I was never taught, nor have I ever experienced, that there was a good side to fear.I heard  about it in movies. You’d always hear the superhero say “once you overcome your fears life  starts.” But they didn’t know that the little girl watching grew up in a world where fear was a  

constant feeling, a sense of survival, how you knew you were still alive and escaping fear was  how you stayed alive. I was always taught you felt fear and ran in the opposite direction. The  other side of fear always looked like getting home safe after walking home late at night. There  

was a never a chance of overcoming fear, because fear was meant to be feared. There was no  empowerment or courageousness in fear. As far as I knows fear was that pit in your stomach  when you were walking home at night, or early in the morning to get to work, and overcoming  them looked like being able to put your keys in the door and opening it to your house. What was  so courageous and special about that? Well, After I left my Brooklyn block and got on a plane to  the west coat. Specifically to Loreto, Baja California. I understood what was special about fear.  

 You see all I knew growing up was 72nd Street and Bergen Court, or The Block, my  school,P.S.312, which was a few block away, and Originals Pizza, where I would get the penne  vodka slice and a lemon Snapple with my friend every day, which was also a few blocks away  but in the opposite direction. The Block to the naked eye was nothing special. Rows of attached  brick houses and my friends who lived in them, and the street which was our playground.  Whenever it was sunny out we would flood the street, and our parents, if they were home, would  watch out their windows as they cooked dinner after working all day. This was my world. There  was no fear here because I was familiar with this world. It was my block. There was nothing to  be feared here. Although we were sheltered in a way, we were still exposed to many cultures. My  friends were all from different places than me, but we all shared a similar background. That is,  our parents were working class people struggling to make ends meet. Leaving us while they’re at  work and so we had to fend for ourselves. Might sound scary to some, but when you’re  surrounded by 10 other kids going through the same thing. It was not scary at all. It was normal.  Although we had this commonality our ethnic backgrounds could paint a rainbow. Just to name a  few: Nasim was Puerto Rican and Moroccan, Shem was Jamaican, Gabby was Italian, and  Michael was Russian. And Me, my mom from Israel, but ancestors from Libya, and my Dad  from Puerto Rico. My grandma had the opposite experience than me. She was the first to leave  her home land, or how I always thought of it, her block. She was born in Tripoli, Libya, but when  she was 3, in 1947, she had to leave for Israel because of riots and killings against Jews. It was  the only place they knew would take in Arab Jews. So that was her new home, where she had  most of her childhood memories and where she had her 4 kids, and raised them until her oldest 

was 16. But after about 20 years they all left to achieve the American Dream. So they all packed  up their bags and headed to their new new homeland, New York, and so my mom came here  from Israel when she was 5, the youngest of 4. As for my Dad, a bit of a distant relative, he was  born and raised in the Bronx, but my Abuelita from Puerto Rico. I’ve never been to any of these  places besides in my head when they would tell me about their trips to visit our families who  lived there, or when my curious mind wondered and would ask what it was like when my  grandma was growing up. “It was nothing but sand. Mountains and Mountains of red sand.” My  grandma illustrated for me in her broken english, talking about what Israel looked like when she  first got there. Her heavy accent and broken english added more color and character to these  mountains of sand. It always bothered me that I could not see what she saw when she told me her  stories. But when my time came to leave New York, I could not even imagine the weight that the  sight of something that wasn’t brick lined houses and pavement, would have on my chest once  my eyes got a taste of them. This sheltered life was beautiful. It was all I knew. I look back and  think fondly of it. But there was more to life waiting for me than these houses and streets that  saw me go through every stage of life. It was time to learn and grow, and my trip changed my  life in more ways than I thought it would. It taught me how to find myself in fear, and not lose  myself to the feeling, and what’s on the other side of it.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you want the last dream you had to come true? I don’t recall my last dream, but I’m gonna say no cause my dreams tend to be really weird and random. 

When did you last talk to the person you'd most wanna talk to right now? There isn’t anyone I really want to talk to right now. 

What kind of pill did you last take? My sleeping pill. 

Do you like wearing glasses? I actually do. I feel super weird without them. I think I kinda hide behind my glasses so there’s that, but yeah I have no desire to get contacts or like laser surgery. 

Does your mom know the last person you hung out with? Yes, she knows herself. 

What were you doing 4 hours ago? I was watching Yellowjackets with my mom and bro. I know, I know I’m super late to that show but naturally and no to surprise to no one I’m obsessed already and I’m only on the 4th episode. I was in episode 1. 

What would you most like to eat right now? I’m looking forward to the Taco Bell I’ll be eating pretty soon.

How long were you last in the car for? Uhh like 5 minutes, if even that. 

What is something good that happened last weekend? My aunt came to visit me for a few days and we had fun as always.

Do you like holding hands or do you think it's stupid? I think it’s cute. It’s also not so black and white, like there’s other options you could throw in there. 

The last song you heard, what does it make you think of? I forget what song I last listened to.

How'd you get your last injury? Health related issues. 

What do you like about your birthday? I don’t get as into it like I used to, like I used to get so excited when I was younger. My birthday is just whatever. It’s nice if I’m able to go somewhere, like a little vacay getaway, though. 

Do you like being home alone at night? No.

What first comes to mind when thinking of 10th grade? That was the year I started my emo phase. 

What's the scariest thing that's happened to you? Uhhh.

Has an ambulance ever came to your house? Yes.

The person you're thinking about- what are you thinking about them? I’m not really thinking about anybody.

When did you last skip class? *shrug* I’ve been outta school since 2015. 

Do you like the shape of your fingernails? Ha, what nails?

Did you look at your fingernails for the question above? No. I already knew I barely had any nails to check. 

Whose pool did you last swim in? It was my friend’s boyfriend’s (at the time) community pool. That was a decade ago. 

What's something you like about your 3rd hour? --

Is formspring a good idea? I had one back in the day and it was interesting, but no one ever sent me questions, ha. I just answered the ones you could choose from that were asked by like a bot or something. There was some celebrity tea being spilled on some formsprings, which at the time I ate right up. 

What's your biggest problem at the moment? Meh.

What's the cutest thing someone's ever done for you? Hmm. I’m not sure what I’d say was “the” cutest. 

When did you last see a police car? *shrug*

Why aren't you doing something more productive than this? I have nothing else I need to be doing, let me be.

How many people know about the last person you kissed? A few.

How many different cars have you driven? I’ve never driven a car. 

What did you do on Thursday? I had a doctor appointment in the morning and then just chilled and napped. 

What color was the last thing you drank? Light brown coffee with some cream color. 

What do you do on Fridays? Same shit I do everyday. 

Have you ever had to take desperate measures in a desperate situation? Mhm. 

What door did you last open besides any on your house or car? I haven’t opened any doors in awhile. Kinda hard when you’re bedridden and even if I’m up in my chair I’d still need help. I don’t need to open any doors in my house, so that’a helpful. I don’t go anywhere, except for a doctor appointment, and in those cases I’m being pushed around in a gurney so I can’t open any doors. 

What is the meaning of life? To figure out what that meaning is for you.