#need to study calculus rn and took a break

[ssaluss]

I had to open my notes so now sh¡t got serious! First of all i want to apologize for my broken english, i can read it really well but when it comes to forming sentences my mind just slips off sometimes.

Second: i LOVE rambling and reading others rambling, make me feel part of something and i really like adding to others ideas and all, glad you liked it ^^

Im feeling better and i don't know how to add more but i really enjoy this concept so lets dive into it again!

The lab thing also makes more sense in a way that i don't see shadow being a deadbeat parent, not in the present, less so in the future with a more mature shadow and even if they trapped him or whatever, he would fight till his last breath if he knew there was someone depending on him. Knowing that its following the 2006 line ill still say that silver is a second attempt at recreating project Shadow, by GUN it adds the sour taste, by some illegal company it adds some mistery about how they got the information and why they want it, also adds to why they never went after him, maybe GUN discovered this stole data and whiped out the illegal lab just like they did in the ark or it just got destroyed with everything in the future.

Just cause i think its cool, for some reason when reading about the subspecies my brain went "Ah Yes, the concil" and i can't stop calling them that. Going by the logic here, it could also explain the more "eel-like" appearence in the drawing, there's no need to be bulkier, they're slender so it's easier to scape danger situations without making a fuss. The orca in the doom surf could come out of necessity, they're kinda agressive, as this subspecies being weaker, it could be a mean of protection, as, at least silver, is a target while doom surfing (i also wanna add that while shadow surfs, silver could dive, he doesn't needs to surf but dive is a good abilitie for him not only lore but gameplay wise cause it differenciates, it also creates the situation of him not being afraid to swin cause he knows he can do that, he simply thinks its linked to some power he still can't truly reach when he wants, just when he needs).

The control part actually adds to my first reblog of this when he can be an enemy cause of the control, it also can be used for some good angst in a way that he wouldn't know why he can't resist, and after all, he has a good heart so why is his head full of this bloodlust?

Socially its just funny to think about him staring at people subconsciently thinking his words made trough (he just weirded someone out, they called the Police once)

I think past shadow would want to keep his distance not only because he's weirded out, but depending on what shadow we're talking about, i assume he would be afraid of caring this deeply, specially cause he don't even know silver well, he doesn't want to grow attached and even not wanting to be friends or have anything with silver, he still cares and it scares him, he's still (living and) learning how to properly care about his friends, Rouge and Omega, and with them it was more natural, he is taking his time and all, with silver is all too confusing.

The sonic bit i imagine Shadow seeing a chance and taking it or maybe it was sonic making a joke that made it click, like a "how did you know he meant that? Do the "ultimate lifeform" (imagine the fingers quoting and he imitating shadow) have telepathy now or you're just hanging a lot with ames and got addicted to that card stuff or whatever?" If shadow took a chance i imagine him just brushing something off and going "the kid had a plan, he explained it"

"...He didn't explain sh-"

As silver is more related to shadow then just being B.A. and all, maybe the link is different, more personal, maybe in a normal situation with just other B.A. He would hear the call, simple and clean, but with silver he has the urge to act, he doesn't know yet but some part of him already sees silver as family and has a different bond.

It does not help Shadow that Silver is in fact younger and naturally people tend to give more attention to the younger people close in danger situations and they work well together, the chance is they would be paired up to fight anyway, but got separated while fighting.

I also don't know about B.A. biology but alongside my headcanon that they are produced, not conceived, hence the unique nature of the bond of the hedgehogs, i also headcanon that their blood is a darker Red, almost black even when fresh, so if silver got hurt shadow just got a nod to what he already felt...

The blood trail is dark as night but with a unmistakable Red tint to it.

Not that far, Silver just laying with a pained expression, but in his eyes its like he knew he would come, even so when he appeared the younger one looked surprised.

"S-shadow? How did you..."

"I heard it"

And now Silver is the one who got questions

If we keep this well have a full A fic just needing edition lol

People talking about what if Shadow was Silver’s dad y’know but NOT ONCE have I seen anyone say that if that’s true, then Silver has black arms blood

[cwcthzl]

yeah no we need to discuss the sex worker richie thing. cause yeah. so much to say. say more rn

deb

i KNEW you were gonna love this because. yeah. i can't stop thinking about them

basically richie is in college and he gets weekly allowances from his dad because they're fucking loaded and he is spoiled but he starts spending his money on stupid shit and went starts telling him off so he decides to make money by himself and starts looking for easy ways to make money and he finds out he can basically get paid just by dirty talking a few minutes so he does that. he also thinks it can be a good opportunity for him to train his voice during those calls because he will not be speaking with his usual tone, he will be talking with a bedroom tone and basically it's an act! also people will literally cum to his voice, which is gonna boost his ego, so why pass on the opportunity? maybe he will also bust a nut or two.

he starts doing this but it's wayyyy more boring than he predicted. it's always the same stories, the same roleplays, the same requests, or the same voices, or the same freaks, and even though it was entertaining at first as time passes it actually becomes a job but richie likes the easy money so keeps doing it. he is just telling a mf to take their clothes off and praising them and he is getting PAID. what else can he want?

but one day it's late at night, richie can't sleep, he is probably the only one available since it's 3am but no one is calling and he is contemplating if he should just fuck it and go to sleep when maisie (the contact center operator) calls him to let him know he has a guy in line who is named stanley that wants to talk to someone, richie thinks for a moment if he should deny this horny bastard 'stanley' by telling maisie he got class tomorrow, but instead he sighs and tells maisie to contact him to his line.

richie is messing with the pen he stole from his professor as maisie puts the guy on line. richie expects to hear another shaky, high tuned voice until the other end of the line rocks up his ears by a clear, "hello, is this james?"

"yes, it is james. did you need my company for this lonely night?" richie lowers his tone as he speaks. james is the name he goes, as a respect of his privacy.

"no, actually." richie is confused, and the question 'then why the fuck are you calling me?' is on the tip of his tongue but then he thinks it's some sort of bratty roleplay. okay, two can play that game.

but then stanley continues.

"are you good at algebra?"

then richie finds out stanley called the center just to ask a fucking math problem he couldn't solve, and because he didn't want to wake anyone up and had no idea where to ask it, he used the phone sex center his friend gave him as a joke as his resort. it was really fucking funny, it made richie break character and laugh, even made him crack a couple of jokes which stanley threw back at him with even funnier remarks before richie told him 'he was the best worker in town for algebra' and stanley explained him the problem. it made richie rise up from his bed, grab a paper and a pen in the middle of the night to solve a fucking algebra question.

exchange took 7 minutes, and since stanley already paid for the 10 minutes option, they chatted awhile before stanley thanked him for solving the problem with last 3 cells he had on his brain. richie told him he's gonna grow 3 more until the time stanley gets stuck on calculus. stanley laughed, 'beep beep,' before wishing him a good night and ending the call.

after that richie actually waited for stanley to call back. without even realizing. the dude entertained him more than all the other clients, it wasn't wrong of him to wish he called again, right?

and then stanley calls again. and again. because the finals are coming up and he needs to study. and during those times richie tells him to call how his exams went, and stanley does. richie starts liking the guy's voice a bit too much. they start chatting aside from math problems and yeah

i got tired

[purplesurveys]

1655

Name all the pets you've ever had. We had a number of goldfish when I was a kid but I had always named them all Goldy hahaha I was never creative. We had Tobi (rabbit), Kimi (dog), Mitch and Andie (lovebirds), Arlee (cat); and currently we have Cooper and Agi, both dogs.

Are you on break, or do you still have a couple days of school left? I haven’t been in school since 2020 and have no plans on going back.

Do you like Stephen King novels? I’ve never read his books, but I’ve seen a handful of film adaptations – The Shining, Carrie, The Shawshank Redemption, and Misery.

Have you ever had a macaroon? I’ve had both macaroons and macarons and never had a positive experience with the former, largely because I hate the taste of coconut.

One of my friends dislikes animals in general. Are you like her? No. But seriously? All animals??? Even cats or dogs????

Do you prefer being on time, or do you not mind being late? I’m early or on time for the most part, but I’m not nearly as anal as I used to be about punctuality. I fully credit that to the pandemic and how it taught me not to take things so seriously, and these days I never really put myself in a rush anymore.

What is one adventurous thing you'd be willing to do? (ex: skydive) Travel to outer space.

Have you ever made a bucket list? Not really; I feel like that would just pressure me more than anything. I have a couple of major life goals I mentally keep track of, but it’s hardly a bucket list.

What subject at school did you absolutely hate? Chemistry, physics, calculus, and trigonometry.

How many cell phones have you gone through up till now? My current is either my 8th or 9th, if I’m not mistaken.

Italian food or Chinese food? Chinese.

Do you have more than the standard earlobe piercings? Nope, I have exactly just the earlobe piercings you mentioned.

Ever studied a foreign language? I guess I can count English as something I had to study? since I was raised speaking Filipino and very little English. I took up Spanish on Duolingo during the pandemic but never got past the tenses; and I’m self-taught in written Korean.

Don't you hate it when your family eats all the ice cream at home? Nah, never was too big on ice cream anyway. They do finish the tubs all the time though and very quickly too; you were very accurate on that.

Ever been in a near death situation? If so, what happened? I wouldn’t say so. Worst thing that’s ever happened to me is probably either a dog bite or the time my cousin inadvertently dragged me further underwater while I was already struggling to breathe, but I wouldn’t call either of these near-death scenarios. Traumatizing, but I was nowhere near death.

Do you like to make flash cards when you study? No, I always found that method to be so wasteful on paper. I used to just rewrite all my notes on a yellow pad so I remember the lessons, then capitalize what needs to be capitalized and highlight what needs to be highlighted.

Favorite flavor of gum? Just your plain spearmint does the trick for me.

Do you tend to be frugal, or are you more comfortable spending money? Depends on the situation, which isn’t the smartest. I’m ridiculously frugal now that I’m preparing for a trip to Thailand, but if I didn’t have any plans like that on the horizon I’d probably be spending money on food deliveries and clothes rn.

Do you have a connection to any religion? I’m Roman Catholic on paper and will probably be so for the rest of my life, but I’ve been atheist since I was 10.

Ever played a team sport, or are you not sporty at all? Nah. I play table tennis but the most team sport-y that ever gets are doubles.

Do you put posters on your bedroom walls? Yeah, I do. Since having my room renovated in December and having all the posters taken down, it hasn’t been a priority though; I like the way my room looks now.

Do you sleep with one leg sticking out of the covers? No, my near-25 year old ass remains a proponent of the whole monster-grabbing-your-foot so I never do that hahaha. These days though I do tend to wake up with my blanket already entirely kicked off since it has started to get hotter where I live.

I have extremely weird, frightening dreams. Do you? I only get nightmares when I’m depressed, and thankfully I haven’t had any nightmares in like, two years. Says loads about my mental state as of late. :)

Has anyone ever told you that you're a good singer? No, because I am not.

Ever been to the Big Apple? If not, do you want to visit? No, and sure! New York and Illinois are the only two states I’m looking to visit; otherwise I’ve got no plans to travel to the States.

Opinion on Gangnam Style? I absolutely despised the song during its heyday, but my stance on it has considerably softened in recent years when I realized how talented Psy is. I will say he has other songs I find better though! New Face is really catchy, and of course there’s That That which I can never ever ever EVER dislike.

Do you ever watch TED talks, live or online? No, I always irrationally hated those lmao. Always seemed a little bit pretentious/condescending to me.

Did you ever watch the Lizzie McGuire movie? I LOVE THAT MOVIE. It’s all I watched when I was 5. If you popped it on for me at this moment I could probably still recite a good 70% of the lines.

If you did, do you know what the guy that played Gordo looks like now? (ew) Damn, why ew? Unless he’s since been exposed to be a gross pervert or abuser I think that’d be a pretty harsh way to refer to him haha.

How many email accounts do you have? I have one work email and two personal ones.

Ever shamelessly played Farmville on Facebook? I never did get to play Facebook games; I wasn’t allowed to make an account during the time when the games were crazy popular. I don’t feel like I missed out though.

Are you a big fan of dessert? Nope. Not too big on sweets.

Ever had a brush with the paranormal? If so, describe. No. I don’t actively believe in it just so that I also don’t end up being paranoid all of the time.

Were you one of the popular kids in high school? I’d hate to call myself popular but I was in one of the more-recognized cliques, I guess? One that was also associated and regularly hung out with the popular cliques in and out of school; I think it’d be fairest to say that.

I dare you to write the name of a person you strongly dislike. JV.

Do you know the band Vampire Weekend? Yup.

What do you think about Marilyn Manson? Sketchy.

In general, do you prefer going out or staying home? Going out.

Biggest trouble you've ever gotten into at school? Does it count if it happened in kindergarten? LOL my friends and I were called out in a sermon because we were excluding some kids from joining our circle, and they ended up crying about it which is how it came to light. 

Apart from that I never got into much trouble...in high school I did try to provoke the teachers by being super vocal about my same-sex relationship at the time (Catholic school, I’ll let that speak for itself) because I wanted to test what lengths they were willing to go to do something about it, but for some reason we were never confronted about it, never got called to the counselor’s office.

Do you own one of those "professional" DSLR cameras? I did, but I turned it over to my sister when we realized it was she with the talent for photography and cinematography, and she ultimately took it with her when she enrolled in a film course. Then she accidentally dropped the poor camera to the ground during a shoot, smashing it to pieces :( and that was the last I heard of it.

Does it bother you when you see a 6th grader with a bunch of gadgets? Maybe not bothered, but shocked? just because it would be such a jarring sight compared to my own experience when I was in Grade 6. I know phones and laptops are pretty much a necessity now, even in school; but that was definitely not the case when I was 12 in 2010. Getting caught with a phone or even a damn iPod back then literally brought the entire batch into a standstill and had everyone subjected to an inspection – bag inspection, body frisking, taking off your shoes, the whole shebang.

Favorite pair of shoes? My Ivy Park Forums.

Where were you on 9/11? Probably being put to bed. I was 3 at the time, was living on the other side of the planet on a different timezone, and had no clue what was happening. Any food in particular you just can't get enough of? Sushi, takoyaki, chicken tenders, anything truffle.

Did you buy yearbooks every year in high school, or did you not bother? Eh, the thing here is you only get yearbooks when you’re in the graduating class because only the graduating classes would get shot for photos, so it was never something to collect unless your family is SUPER extra and wanted to get every single yearbook for the hell of it. And nobody ever did the latter.

Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome? I do. It sucks. Nope.

Are you a fan of British Youtubers? (Marcus Butler, JacksGap, etc) I was pretty much the ambassador for the crew back in the day. What a time. It was Zoe Sugg, Joe Sugg, Caspar Lee, Alfie Deyes, Tanya Burr, Jim Chapman, Oli White, Marcus Butler, Niomi Smart; by extension Jack and Finn, Jacksfilms, KickthePJ, Dan & Phil, Will and Arden, Louis Cole, Louise Pentland, hell even Pewdiepie and Marzia too...and then didn’t the crew even have an EXTENDED extended version? Hahaha like Grace/Mamrie/Hannah, Tyler Oakley, Connor Franta, and Troye Sivan who would collab with them from time to time. It was genuinely an awesome and fun phase to spend my teenage years on. I even saw Joe/Caspar/Oli when they visited Manila in 2015 :)

Jalapeños: yay or nay? I LOVE jalapeños.

Did you ever play Minecraft? Nope, never understood how it worked.

Did you ever have a Club Penguin account? Were you a member? I never played it. I tried it once, but it didn’t appeal to me.

Favorite concerts you've been to? Did you scream until you were hoarse? I do make it a point to scream as much as I can for shows I get tickets for, because I don’t go to a lot of them anyway. Favorite show I’ve been to so far was Paramore in 2018.

So where were you when the Boston Marathon bombing happened? I was at home, on Tumblr, knee-deep in the wrestling community, watching the events unravel in realtime and deathly worried for my mutuals who I knew were living in Boston or near the city.

Rainy days on the weekend: yay or nay? Any rainy day is an instant yay for me, unless I’m driving lol.

Do you look down on girls that wear shorts with Uggs? No, but then again nobody ever wears Uggs here so.

Californian girls talk and dress a certain way, don't they? Idk.

Ever crushed on a teacher? If so, what subject did he/she teach? Yeap, 2nd year high school, biology.

Ever take an art class? If so, what'd you think? I took an art studies elective in college and loved every bit of it.

[mythiccheroacademia]

No, this is 

A/N: Talk about record timing. Can’t believe I got this out in one go. This is the last part of the three part Sero fanfic series. No more angst. Y’all got lucky with this one ;)

Sorry for the mushiness. You and Sero are simps™️. It was kind of ugly.  However, it couldn’t be helped. 

I had fun writing this. I hope you had fun too. Enjoy 🖤

Pairing: Sero X Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, not graphic but heavily implied under-aged sex that teenagers don’t do (hope you noted the sarcasm), and fluffiness!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

No, this is

It was 24 days post-breakup. You were doing better. Much better. There were still days when the tears would burn, but it was nothing crippling. Not like it used to be. Besides, between training and your academics, you didn’t have time to mope around. You might be heartbroken, but you weren’t going deter your life because of it.

You sat on your couch, studying for your Calculus test the next day. The busy work had been down to a minimal, so you had more time to study for exams. For now, you were reviewing everything you and Momo had reviewed during the evening.

Then your phone buzzed.

You squinted as you read the name, assuring yourself you weren’t seeing wrong.

It was Sero.

It had been over three weeks since you received a text from him. And vice-versa. You almost forgot his contact was in your phone. Hagakure had said texting him in a moment of weakness would mean double heartache for you. So, you made yourself suppress any urges to text him.

There was a voice inside your head to ignore the message. It was only recently that you had been okay with seeing him on a daily basis. And the class dynamic was going back to normal. You didn’t want to ruin it again—

He double—no—triple texted.

Maybe you shouldn’t have opened it as quickly as you did.

Sero: Hey, how are you doing?

Sero:

Okay, that was probably weird. I’m sorry for texting you after all this time. I know I’m probably the last person you want on your phone so, I’ll make these next few paragraphs as quick as possible

Sero:

At first, I thought time apart would be good for us. 24 hours after, I was a mess, but seeing you smile and laugh…I thought I could suck it up and move on if you were too. Three weeks in, and I’m going crazy not being able to talk to you. I know it’s almost been a month and I am every bit of a coward for only now growing the balls to finally reach out to you, but I need you to know this. I didn’t want to break-up. I never did. I only said that because I was angry, defensive and I wanted to hurt you. It was in the heat of the moment, but that’s no excuse. I was being a dick. I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to be condescending. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I never mean to make you feel like I don’t have time for you.

Sero: I would spend every waking moment with you if I could, but it’s just been a bit overwhelming lately with school. Something I know you can relate to and I’m sorry was acting like I was alone in that. I feel like such an asshole for letting you go. You’re worth fighting for, Y/N. These past 18 months have been so amazing and I’m not ready to let that go. I never want to. I want to be by your side through thick and thin. I’m sorry for not showing you that as of late, but I swear it still holds true

Sero: Long story short, I’m willing to fix this if you want to. I want to talk. Face to face. If you don’t want to get back together, I understand. I will respect your decision no matter what. I just want to make sure both of us lay our issues on the table so, at the very least, we get closure and, hopefully, stay friends. Know that you will always have me as your biggest supporter, even if it’s not in the way I want to be

Sero: I love you, Y/N. Now and forever. I’m so sorry I ever hurt you

He watched the dots in the chat bubble bounce, on and off, for 30 minutes.

You: Hey

Sero: Hey

You: Apology accepted. Thank you for reaching out and I didn’t mean to leave you on read. I just had to type up my corny paragraph in notes before I sent it to you. You know how I get

Sero: Of course. And even if you did mean to, I would deserve it

Sero: And I’m all ears…or eyes?

You laughed at that. Even after all this time, he was still cracking jokes.

You: I thought I could make peace with what happened that night. It was so hard going to bed, knowing we had fought and not making up. But you looked like you were moving on and I didn’t want you to pity me. So, I chose to move on to. Or, at least I tried to.

You; The truth is, I never wanted to break-up with you. I don’t even know why I ever suggested the idea. I was mad and I just started rambling, finding whatever I could say to hurt you like I was hurting. I’m sorry for that. It makes me feel happy that you feel the same way. When I heard you agree with me, I felt like I could’ve died right there. I thought ‘I just helped him get rid of myself.’ I felt like the biggest idiot for ruining our relationship. Thank you for apologizing, but I also have things to apologize for.

You: I’m sorry for storming in your room with an attitude. I’m sorry for being a hypocrite and getting angry with you whenever you had schoolwork. That’s important and I was being a jerk. When I confronted you, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that either. I haven’t loved anyone like I love you, Sero. Losing you broke my heart in ways I didn’t think were possible. 18 months isn’t enough time. I probably sound selfish, but I want more. With you. Only you. I want to talk it out. I know we can fix this. I want to so badly because I love you too much to let you go

You: I’m so sorry for hurting you

Sero: apology accepted. not to be annoying, but you don’t know how happy I am rn. i’d kiss you if i could

You: simp

You: talk tonight?

Sero: look who’s talking

Sero: and as much as I want to, you have the calculus test tomorrow, don’t you? I want you to get all the study time you can

Sero: tomorrow night?

You: no, you have tutoring for the Japanese Lit exam Friday. I know how hard you’ve been working in that class, so I want you to put all your energy on that

You: we can talk after school Friday?

Sero: okay, sounds good

You: okay

You: thank you for not giving up on me

Sero: never

Sero: I love you, baby. I’m sorry again

You: I know. I love you more

Sero: impossible

…

The next day, your classmates were very confused to see the two of you walk into homeroom together. They gaped as you laughed at a joke he cracked.

After nearly a month of ignoring one another, you two were suddenly keke-ing it up? What?

Your friends wanted answers. So, you were forced to tell them after class. Most of them were happy the two of you would talk it out. They respected your split but missed how happy you two when you were together. It just made sense.

Mina and Bakugo said they would only be happy if the talk went well. Bless their hearts.

On Friday night, you were just about to text Sero to ask where and when you’d talk. Before you could send the message, a knock on your window made you jump.

“Helloooo~” the perpetrator goofily sung, dangling by his tape.

You rolled your eyes as you opened the window to let him in.

“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you said no more dangling by windows like a stalker?” you teased.

“I did?” he chuckled.

You let him use your shoulder as support as you held his waist and he climbed through the window. Detaching himself from the used tape, he finally stood on his feet, but his arms never left you.

A moment passed between you two as you stared at one another. Sero only looked at your smile for three seconds before he took your lips with his own. Your hands threaded through his hair as his cupped your cheeks, squeezing out all the space between you.

The kiss was firm, desperate, and it kind of hurt; but it was everything you two needed at that moment. It was a crash course of the 28 days you spent apart. The feeling of your lips pressed against his was arresting. You couldn’t think. All you could do was relish in the feeling of relief. Relief that you were re-learning that he tasted like warm cinnamon and spice.

It was oxygen that separated you two. You kissed one of his hands on your cheeks and Sero connected your foreheads.

“I missed you,” he whispered, against your lips. “I was an idiot.”

“You were.” You softly kissed him, biting his bottom lip and enjoying the way he groaned. “But I was too. I missed you so much.”

“Forgive me?”

“Only if you’ll forgive me.”

“Always,” he smiled.

You returned it tenfold. “Always,” you repeated.

Then your lips found one another again. This time, you drew impossibley closer. Your arms found purchase around his neck as his hands slid down to your hips. Your tongues explored the warm cavern of the other’s mouth, making up for lost time. You moaned into him and Sero felt his dick twitch. One hand gripped the back of your head, tilting your head so he could have even more access. His other hand gripped your ass, making you whine in need. Just as your hands touched the warm skin on his taut stomach, Sero pulled your head back.

“Fuck—wait, baby,” he panted.

“What?” you hissed, pissed he was interrupting.

Even with his eyes clouded with lust, Sero would always prove to be the rational one in the relationship.

“W-we still have things we need to talk about.”

“Hanta, you walked in here, your hair in a ponytail, and no underwear under your sweatpants. Your grey sweatpants,” you enunciated. “And you wanna talk?”

“W-well, this is important and—” He tried to continue even as you forced yourself onto his neck. He forgot how sensitive he was there. And were you always this good with your tongue? “A-and—shit—I mean, we promised to talk…talk about wh-what weeee neeeed…oooh right there sweetheart—fuck! No!”

He pulled you away again, this time glaring down at you. However, he didn’t manage long from seeing your glistening lips from sucking on his skin. Your eyes glowed in pride at the darkening mark and they flickered upwards, meeting his crumbling resolve. You licked your bottom lip, eyeing him like he was a four-course meal.

You were gonna kill him one day.

“We need to talk about how to improve our relationship,” he gulped.

You quirked an eyebrow but smiled. “How about a deal? We get rid of this,” he curses as you palm his erection. “And then we can spend the night talking, yeah?”

He didn’t even miss a beat.

“Bet.”

His mouth was on yours in an instant. You figure yourselves out between kisses.

“Door?”

“Locked,” you confirmed. “Condoms?”

Sero hissed out another curse. “Shit, no. I didn’t think we’d—”

“Don’t worry about it. I have some in the drawer.” You jump and he effortlessly catches you so your secure on his hips. The adornment in his eyes makes your stomach do flips. You’ve missed this. You’ve missed him. You can’t believe you almost let him go.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing you almost impossibly soft.

You return it. “I love you too. Now, make love to me, Sero Hanta.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A third of the night was spent tangled beneath the sheets, letting your bodies explore each other until not a single curve or scar was left untouched. After burning through five condoms, the other third was left for conversation. Vulnerable moments were shared. Some tears were shed, but those intimate truths would forever be treasured. Finally, the remainer of the night was spent asleep, wrapped in the other’s arms. A silent vow floating between your lips that you would never let go.

Because, this truly was better.

[deathbyseventeen]

red velvet take it slow - mingyu

Thank you for sending in a request! This is a big help in getting my sea (writing) legs back. Im sorry if this ain’t it, chief. 

Okay, so lets…BEGIN 

This seems like a blooming romance mixed with comedy. TBH it made me feel the KDrama vibe. 

Soooo let’s say you’re a freshman in college and you’re coming in late. You took a year off– had to think about what you were going to study, what you wanted to be. So instead, you took off– no, no you’re not rich. You have family that lives abroad.  So you left, cut off all ties, and postponed your enrollment at a University. 

But there’s this one boy who you felt really bad about having left behind. His name? Kim Mingyu. A year younger than you but, after meeting him your junior year in your Calculus…he was your buddy. He was your table-mate! Your table-mate!! The boy needed to be protected.

Tall, lanky, fringe in his eyes…clumsy, the boy needed to be protected. He was like the little brother you never had. 

But anyways, after a year, it was time for you to go back and start your first year! You had to move into your dorm, unpack, get to know the campus. And then it’s your first day…

It was all going well until some asshole bumped into you on your way to your intro to Astronomy class and spilled your smoothie all over you. It’s the first day! Everyone looks good the first week. How dare he. The cruelt— wait…

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”     

“….Mingyu?” ….. “Y/N? Y/N!” Oh lord, this tall man has engulfed you in a hug so strong. And y’all are like we gotta catch up but I gotta go to class. And WELL he does too so y’all leave with a promise to talk later. And well basically you didn’t really notice that the boy had changes— oblivious, I say! At the most, you were like ‘did he get a new hairstyle?”

Anyways, you’re chilling in your first class, ten minutes in, reading the syllabus when the door is flung open and in comes Kim Mingyu 10 minutes late to this here Intro to Astronomy class….the Professor ain’t happy. But it’s the first day and y’all get lost so he’ll let it go…for now. Mingyu scans the class, looking for a seat and there’s one behind you! Wait— you? Holy canoly you’re in the class. Ya know his little excited smile? Yeah that’s on his face rn 

So yeah, that’s how your quarter is to be spent, looking up at artificial night sky at the school’s planetarium with Mingyu sitting in the seat behind you. But these are just details — y’all want the story, so here it is.

After this night class, Mingyu starts walking you home - only you see it as you walking him home. Your dorms are in the same direction. Please. 

But you don’t gotta wait for night to see him. He works at the humanities library, so when you go to study (which is a lot more often than you’d like to admit) during the day, you end up seeing Mingyu as he works. 

And all this time, our dear Mingyu has been hopelessly enamored with you. Really, ever since he met you in high school.

And you can’t seem to notice, no matter how much he helps you out during the day. He sneaks food into the library for you to eat, helps you get books down without the stepstool. The boy is on it. There to help but you’re oblivious to his feelings. Mingyu is taking things slow WAY too slow. Then again, you sorta just seem his a friend… 

The semester keeps on going and eventually you start to form a little crush on the person who sits next to you during astronomy. poor Mingyu.

 Midterms are eventually around the corner and you try to form a study group with said crush and Mingyu as help. But they don’t show up :(( but Mingyu does :))) 

And while you’re sulking, Mingyu is nervous as heck because he wants to tell you how he feels. Right now! So he basically starts trying to make you feel better and eventually he asks you why you’re sulking…& you tell him. And he responds, “Forget about them. They aren’t worth it.” :(((((((( Sulky you….and then cue Mingyu. “Y/N, there’s something I have to tell you.” “What?” And he confesses. 

You just sit there. Now ain’t this awkward. You apologize to Mingyu and tell him that you’ve only seen him as a brother…..well that’s fine because Mingyu tells you that he’s going to show you another side, and that’s when the real flirting begins. 

Over the course of the quarter, Mingyu keeps doing what he’s been doing all along, now adding wink. That’s what gets you thinking, okay. You know why he’s doing it and it’s freaking you out. BUT he’s also stopped. When you’re bringing down a book, he lets you struggle for a bit and then swoops down when either a) you’re about to fall or b) the book is about to fall. Then he leaves without saying a word. He’s giving you space and at the same time giving you a heart attack. He doesn’t even walk with you anymore! You seriously can’t stop thinking about him. 

Then it starts. You keep looking for Mingyu so much that you start to notice how much he’s changed. For one he’s taller than high school. How? You got no clue. He walks so much more confidently too, head held high. In other words, he’s much more confident– he doesn’t need to be protected anymore. 

Now you’re starting to form feeling every time he’s around. He does the things he’s done before and you blush. He notices. Oh, he notices. But, he doesn’t do anything…yet. 

It’s not until finals week, during your final exam that you finally do something. You see that Mingyu is turning in his exam and you book it. You had been done even earlier but were waiting for him to stand up to follow him. 

It’s then that you confess to him and hope that he hasn’t moved on,…ya know? But he hasn’t. 

So he takes you out on a ‘we’re done with finals’ date and your romance starts.

It’s right before winter break so imma end this with by saying that during winter break, you end up meeting all his new friends. You bond with 96line cause they’re your age. Who, by the way, you find out were the ones telling Mingyu how to act because they figured you’d be reserved about dating Mingyu because he’s younger than you. Which is not to say that you didn’t fall for Mingyu, cause that was 100% according to them. Since as it turns out, Mingyu took some liberties in the way he acted around you. 

From my story game 

[ladylavellaan]

Ha, funny you mention Bakugou because I have a request for you. How about he's coming over to his crush room because he agreed to help them study and they paused on on a beauty video they were watching before he came and he goes on a tangent saying his crush doesn't need makeup, they never worm it before. And his crush is just waiting for him to finish to say they weren't planning on wearing makeup, the person doing it is known for funny commentary

Keep ‘em coming anon, I’m thriving rn. They/them pronouns once again!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

 The click of the door shutting behind Bakugou isn’t enough to tear their attention away from their T.V. This annoys him, considering they were the ones who begged to be tutored in basic calculus. Easy shit, he had sneered, looking away from their big, pleading eyes.

Asshole. Since when was calculus basic or easy?

“Hello to you too,” he announces, dropping the plastic bag on the floor. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You fucking… going on about how terrible your mark is when you’re over here watching mindless shit.”

“Oh, hi Baku,” (read like “Oh hi Mark”) they turned and smiled, tapping their laptop’s spacebar to pause the video. At first, he was confused to the setup they had going on; laptop connected to a T.V, where a woman with blonde hair holding up a bottle has a smile brimming with glee like she just said something she shouldn’t have said. They are on the floor, sitting in a nest of pillows. A low desk in front of them holds their notebooks and pens and pencils and highlighters.

Narrowing his eyes, he walks over and plops down on the ground. They scooch over, and say, “I took a break. Believe me, I was actually doing the practice questions you sent me.”

“Yeah?” His voice is gruff, but it’s distracted. He’s glaring at the woman onscreen. He recognizes her. That’s BebbaBarbles, a beauty vlogger. Which means…

“My favourite was the third question: Because limpid fucks couldn’t give a rats ass about our dying planet, a whole bunch of assbag bacteria couldn’t reproduce during the first two months of a study. You never run out of adjectives, do you? No wonder you’re good at literature.”

“Is this a fucking makeup video?” He blurts out, turning to them. Intense red eyes force theirs to hold his gaze.

“Mhm,” they answer, expression never changing.

“Fucking…” Bakugou suddenly sighs, exasperated. [f/n] feels like a child that’s about to be chastised. They silently brace themselves, leaning back into the pillows they arranged behind them. “Look, I get that you’re insecure, or whatever. I can tell by the way you want to disappear into your uniform like goddamn George Shrinks.”

That’s an old Canadian cartoon…! So retro. How does he know what that is?

“But listen to me, makeup and heroics don’t mix well. Ms.Midnight has to have a special brand made just for her so that oils and sweat don’t mix with her makeup and run into her eyes. I know, because I read her goddamn character sheet! Seriously, her makeup brand is called Intoxicate and yeah, maybe you could buy it, but,” he grabs your collar, and raises his voice just a little. “Do you know how much one primer is?!”

“How much?” They ask calmly, staring at them with those big, glimmering eyes.

“7036 yen, [f/n]. 7036. That’s fucking whack!”

“That is, as you say, whack.” Wow. He knows her makeup line, huh…?

“And like, look, I can’t stop you. I know that. I get that…! I admire that about you. But seriously? If you’re feeling insecure, you’re… Just- I’m saying there’s nothing to be insecure about, okay?! Dumbass!”

There is a pause. He glares down at their notebook. He catches his breath, and snarls, “And you got the third question fucking wrong!”

He leans back on the ground, then abruptly stands up. He shuts off the T.V. and, without another word, grabs the plastic bag filled with the snacks he brought and pours them in front of [f/n], who watched in enamoured silence. Bakugou is a pilgrim of resolve, that’s for sure…

“So,” they begin when he sits back down.

“.. What?”

“For starters… Some primers do come up to that price range.”

“Don’t waste your time and money on-” He is quickly silenced by a finger pressed on his lips. A wild flush invades his face, almost as scarlet as his eyes.

“Hush, now. Thank you for your concern about my mental health, but that video was a drunk makeup tutorial.”

Oh. “Oh.” Fuck. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. She put concealer first and then foundation.”

“What a goddamn fucking animal,” he grunts, still embarrassed. He swats their hand away.

Silence, again. It’s quickly broken by Bakugou grabbing a candy bar from the snack pile and ripping it open, attempting to play it cool after that embarrassing tangent. At least they don’t know that he thinks they’re pretty…

“You think I’m pretty without makeup, huh?” They’re smiling, looking away from Bakugou and at their notes.

“I’m literally going to fucking kill you.”

[taebadam]

Do the odds

who’s your celebrity crush?

ugh idk. Super basic i know but Ezra Miller’s cute though he’s kinda a dick sometimes ? Taemin obviously but not really romantically i guess i just want to dance w him one day tbh... wAIT AMBER IT’S AMBER FINAL ANSWER

rant. just do it

OKAY so i’m super stressed about money rn and i’m like constantly guilty but also mad at myself cause i shouldn’t feel guilty and honestly just for the last week i’ve been going back and forth between either extreme and it’s driving me CRAZY because i’m only in korea for 3 months and i should make the most of it and school is paying for a good bit of it anyway but i also feel bad but like i shouldn’t and i really want to go to Busan this weekend and i just don’t know what to do fuckkkkkkkkkk

how many accounts do you have?

3

favorite brand of clothing?

ok that i own/can afford or my dream clothing? cause if i was rich then unif

what unusual talent do you have?

define unusual lmao i mean i can hold a handstand for 3 minutes (or i could at one point idk if i still can)

ever prank called a store?

nah

what’s a question do you constantly get asked?

what my tattoos mean

google the top song from the year you were born

Believe by Cher

what’s your favorite teacher you’ve ever had?

NO DON’T ASK ME THIS It’s a tie between my high school calculus teacher, ap lang teacher and band teacher

what’s a conspiracy you believe in?

the denver international airport that shit is weird

if you could break one of your bad habits which would you choose?

eating junk foodwhat’s something you can’t stop buying?

choco pies lmaoooo also books cause i never have time to read all of them

how long before a trip do you pack?

depends on the trip? usually 2 or 3 days before

what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?

okay so this isn’t a quote but that whole idea of like “think how much you could accomplish if you took all the time you spent doing nothing and did something productive!! don’t wait!! always keep yourself busy!! don’t waste time!!” drives me crazy. rest is so important. rest in healthy ways, yes (productive hobbies maybe) but no you wouldn’t accomplish anything if you were working all the time. we need rest to be productive. i hate people who shame others for taking time during a school break or maybe even just over the weekend to watch tv for a couple hours or lie in bed and read books all day. you know how much you’re gonna get done w that ridiculous new years resolution of yours to take every minute you would spend on you phone and instead study or clean your room? nothing. nothing at all. same w studying habits- breaks are good. you’re gonna be exhausted go take nap and watch some netflix friendo

you can change one thing about your life right now. what are you changing?

i’d keep the family i had in elementary school

what do you think about a lot

things i wish i could do/be

what does home mean to you?

honestly your home lmao. also the lake in lake linganore, the band room at oakdale, our old house’s old backyard, the woods behind our house before they were torn down, nina and grandad’s beach, my aunt’s house and honestly morse at school. places with friends and family really

have you ever been called down to the principals office?

yeah but it wasn’t bad

describe your aesthetic

ok this is probably what i want my aesthetic to be but: black, white, grey and pastel w denim, small tattoos, late night coffee, late nights in the recording studio, chalk, headphones hanging from a neck, dance sneakers and calloused hands. tiny but could definitely do more chin-ups than you

thanks friendo

[kokkoro]

you and me (were meant to be) 2/3

Her name is Clarke and she likes coffee and it takes you half a second to decide you like her.

or part 2 of the ‘i just met you but there’s this couples contest on campus rn and all my friends are busy and you’re just sitting there reading on the quad, pls the prize is a Technivorm Moccamaster KBT 741 and my coffee machine broke last week and im dying pls i need my coffee’ au

(aka the couples competition au) (on ao3)

Clarke’s off campus apartment is cleaner than you expect. It’s bright and open, with a table littered with a multitude of books and a pile of shoes on the rug near the entryway. A mix of heels, sneakers, and flip flops that Clarke had to kick aside when you showed up at her front door. It feels like a home. Warm and welcoming and whole.

You tuck yourself into the corner of the counter with a hot cup of coffee, by the fridge and out of way as Clarke goes about fiddling with her new machine. The smell is permeating, rich and strong, but you at least you find it more tolerable than the taste.

She had invited you over to celebrate, though you’re beginning to see that ‘celebrate’ is simply another word for coffee.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks after her own cup is poured and steaming. She holds it out like it's some tankard filled with beer and not a normal cup of joe, some cream, and two tablespoons of sugar. “To us.”

“To us,” you repeat, clinking your mugs together gently. You bring it to your lips for show, taking a small sip, but your eyes don’t leave her. She holds it close with both hands, inhaling the steam with a happy sigh that she let’s linger a little too long to be normal. It’s far more endearing that it has any right to be.

She hums low at the first taste, eyes closing briefly, savoring it. It’s a few moments before she lowers the cup again. “Have I thanked you yet today?”

“Yes.” You smile, unable to help the satisfying ache that settles in your cheeks. “Twice.”

“Well, thank you. Again,” she says, looking you in the eye, and it takes all of you not to glance at her lips. “I really mean it.”

“You’re more than welcome, Clarke.”

-

You’re sweaty and breathing hard when you finally decide to take a break, peeling off the mesh fencing mask and setting it beside you on the bench. The first few unrestricted breaths you take fills your lungs and it’s a lovely feeling.

“How’s your girlfriend?”

Anya watches you with barely contained amusement, taking a seat next to you as you dig through your equipment bag under the bench for a towel in lieu humoring her with a response. Sifting through an extra pair of gloves and tape for your hands, you end up finding it in the corner side pocket instead, and you give it a quick shake before running it over your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say finally, moving to rub the back of your neck with the towel before tossing it back in the bag at your feet.

You hear rustling, and you turn to watch Anya produce the weekly paper from where she had it hidden rolled up under her opposite arm. There, on the front page, is a picture of you and Clarke. It’s a little off center, but you’re stomach to stomach, your hands on Clarke’s cheeks, hair a little wild and there’s no question what it is you’re doing. The caption reads: ‘art major Clarke Griffin and poli sci graduate Lexa Woods locked lips this Thursday to win Polis U’s official unofficial King and Queen Competition. They are the first LGBT couple to win since it’s installment.’

“You’re famous,” Anya says, monotone, but her eyes sparkle in the way you’ve come to learn as amusement. “And I can’t believe I’m the last person to know.”

You take the paper from her, scanning the article briefly. It’s mostly a recap of the past week’s homecoming festivities. “There’s nothing to know,” you say, glancing at her, but by the look on her face, Anya doesn’t believe you. “She’s not… We’re not together.”

“Tell that to everyone else," Anya says, poking the paper you hold in your hands, and the thin line of her lips quirks up into a grin.

-

It’s quiet in Clarke’s apartment on Tuesdays. Midday, just after one, and it’s warm and cozy and you have nothing else to do. You had to reschedule practice for tomorrow thanks to the basketball team’s unannounced gym takeover and there really wasn’t much else you could do. It did leave you with some free time, though. The sun slips in over the coffee table through the small terrace doors, and you enjoy watching the shadows that stretch as a result. It’s one small reprieve from the hecticness this week has seemed to accumulate.

Clarke joins you after a few minutes, cradling a mug, and she forgoes the sofa in favor of taking a seat on the floor with you. It’s warmer in the sun, you assume, and you prop your head in your hand, studying the way her hair glints golden in the light.

“What’s on the agenda?” she asks once she’s settled, resting both her elbows on the table-top. She has on this loose sweater, the sleeves long, and she uses them to safely hold the scalding cup with two hands.

You give a halfhearted shrug. You always end up feeling a little lost on the days you can’t practice, missing the weight in your hands and the familiarity of the strip, and Clarke’s place seemed like the best alternative. If only to avoid Anya’s needling. “I’m not sure.”

Clarke takes a sip of her coffee, savoring the taste for a second before placing her mug down on an old, already stained napkin. She ruffles through a bit of the mess gathered in piles on the coffee table, plucking an impressively sized workbook out from under the clutter.

She opens to a page bookmarked by a blank piece of lined paper. “How good are you at physics?”

You squint curiously at her. You took calculus last year just as a prerequisite, but you’re not sure if it will help you now. “Why?”

She nudges the workbook closer to you. “Help me?”

You place a hand over the page, dragging the book closer to you. Flipping through a couple of pages bring things back into focus, though most of it remains stubbornly in that fuzzy area at the back of your brain. “I mentioned I’m a graduate student, right? Political science.”

“Yeah.” She’s looking at you with this barely there smile, the corner of her mouth upturned in a little curl. It’s like she already knows you’re going to say yes.

“What questions?”

Clarke’s smile spreads, and she scoots closer to the corner of the table you share. “Page 32, one through seven.”

“I probably won’t be much help.”

She shrugs. “I’d rather suffer with a buddy.”

-

Clarke’s left-handed, you notice. The two of you silently squabble over arm space, nudging each other’s elbows out of the way while trying to focus on the work spread out in front of you. She tries her hardest not to let you see her smile.

(You can hear it in her voice though)

“What’d you get for number 7?”

“47.4 meters per seconds,” you say. You have your head in your hand again, the pencil Clarke found you tapping a light beat against the table.

She bumps your arm playfully and the pencil tumbles from your hand. You reach for it as Clarke goes about vigorously erasing her work. “I thought you said you weren’t good at this.”

“It might be wrong.”

She dusts the eraser shavings from the paper and onto the table, glancing at you with an exasperated quirk of her brow. “You weren’t wrong the other six times, I doubt you’ll be wrong now.”

Once her workspace is clear, Clarke peeks over your arm at your paper and you roll your eyes, pushing it closer to her. “You have to equate the potential energy of the bow to the kinetic energy of the arrow.”

You gently brush her hand out of the way, finding a blank spot on her paper. “The potential energy of the bow is equal to one half K times X squared. K is the stiffness of the bow and X is the amount the string is stretched. Therefore--” You fill in as you go, the scratch of your pencil loud in the moments between. “-- the potential energy is 56.25 joules.”

You shift a line down. “Kinetic energy is one half mass times velocity squared. You know the mass of the arrow and you know the potential energy of the bow, so since kinetic energy is equal to potential energy, you simply solve for velocity.” Your pencil finally stills, and you turn to study the gentle furrow to clarke’s brow, the way her hair stumbles over her shoulder--the dim glow it has in the waning light. “Does that make sense?”

She nods slowly, but you wonder if she’s just trying to convince herself. “Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes find yours for a moment, but she’s quick to look away. “No, yeah, I uh -- I get it.”

“Are you trying to convince me, Clarke?”

Clarke snorts, pushing the hair away from her eyes. She sets the tip of her pencil back on the paper, picking up where you left off, and the quiet click of her calculator keys fills the resulting silence. She shoots you a look not a moment later, mouth pursed, eyes judging. “47.4,” she mutters, scribbling the answer. “Never, ever, let me take a math based science class ever again.”

“The real question is why you thought you should to begin with.”

Clarke shrinks a little bit. “It fit my schedule better than biology.”

“Rookie mistake.”

She turns away, a smile forming as she cleans up the multitude of papers spread out over the coffee table. “Same time next week?”

“Sure.”

-

The gym is loud, a cacophony of triumphant shouts and buzzes that sound off on the speakers. You sink into en guard, sabre poised, and everything else besides your opponent fades away--their breathing, the angle of their shoulders, the stretch of their stance. It’s quick from the moment you settle, when the sound of the starting buzzer rings and you lunge, aiming for the opening you see in the guard.

With a yell, your hit lands at their neck and they stagger backwards from the suddenness of your advance, feet fumbling. You reign in the slack, pulling yourself back and returning to the en garde line, allowing yourself a small bounce on your heels before settling into poise.

The second bout begins quicker than the first, your opponent taking the initiative to attack. He seems unsure what to do with the right of way now that he has it, flicking the blade of the sabre to knock against yours, testing. It makes his lunge easy to read, that long reach of his arm as he aims for your chest. You parry inward, knocking the blade aside and immediately stretch forward. The tip of your sword hits his shoulder, sinks and bends, and you can pinpoint the exact moment he caves in defeat.

“Watch your hands, Aden,” you say, and the tension eases from your muscles as you watch him remove his mask with a huff.

He runs a hand through his hair, the sweat causing it to stick up and fall in amusing ways, and glares at you half-heartedly. “Yeah, yeah.”

You sigh as you take off your mask and you tuck it under your arm, the gym air cool against the sweat collecting near your hairline and the underside of your neck. “You can’t let defeat keep you from trying.”

He undoes his glove, pulling the velcro apart. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“I didn’t get this position because I was good--” his eye roll is pronounced and yeah you probably deserved that, “I worked hard for it. I trained. Skill is a testament to time.”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a natural.”

“You’re a freshman, Aden. You put in the time and the results will follow.” You see the little curl of his lips, that reluctant optimism at your unintentional praise.

“Captain!”

Your head turns at the sound, but not without a glance back at Aden to make sure he doesn’t run away. He seems amused that you feel the need to, but obediently stays put as Ryder makes his way through the throng to you.

He’s nearly half a foot taller than you, and built like a bear in breeches and a tank-top, nearly too stocky for fencing, but his swiftness belies his stature. He comes to a stop by your left hand side, waiting for you to finish whatever it was you were doing, but you urge him to continue.

“There’s, uh, someone looking for you,” Ryder says, and his apprehension at broaching the subject only lasts a second. “I think it might be your girlfriend?”

Your brow furrows, heat prickling in your cheeks. “Put that mask back on,” you say, pointing at a smirking Aden and then you go about unhooking yourself from the equipment. Once you’re free, you hand over your practice sabre to the new arrival, adjusting the helmet under your arm for a better hold. “Ryder, with Aden please. Keep an eye on his hands. I’ll be right back.”

Ryder nods once, grinning. Out of the corner of your eye you see Aden shaking his head.

You weave carefully through the thick of things, pausing to help a few of the new recruits with questions as you pass. It’s not until you catch sight of the double doors to the foyer that you notice Clarke standing awkwardly off to the side, watching a couple of veterans trade blows on the strip.

She does a double take when she finally spots you making your way over, adjusting the strap of her worn canvas bag over her shoulder. Her hair’s a little windswept without her hat, piled atop her head in a bun, but of course it works for her.

“Clarke,” you say as a way of greeting and it’s a little breathless. You wipe a bit of the sweat inching its way down your temple, suddenly self conscious.

“Hey,” Clarke replies slowly, and her eyes seem to get lost on you, lingering here and there before returning up to your face with a subtle shake of her head. It’s a moment before she says, “You fence?”

“I do.” You shift your weight to one foot, taking a quick mental note of the few people who have stopped practicing in an attempt inconspicuously watch your conversation unfold. “I captain the university team.”

“Wow,” Clarke says, and it seems sincere enough. She looks around you and you step a bit to the side so she can see better.  “Is it... is it fun?”

A small smile finally takes hold of your lips. “I would say it is fun, Clarke. But my opinion isn’t exactly unbiased.”

“How long?”

“How long what, Clarke?” you say, humoring her while trying to block out the muffled giggles you hear coming from somewhere behind you.

“How long have you been fencing.”

“Since I was fourteen.”

“So you’re a pro.”

“Not exactly.”

“But you don’t deny it.” she says, leaning closer and you take a small unconscious step back to compensate. You wouldn’t call her intimidating, not in that soft worn tee and frizzy hair and a bit of blue paint speckled under her chin. Overwhelming on the other hand…. that’s a possibility.

“Is there a reason you're here, Clarke?”

She seems to remember herself, blinking. “Oh, I uh….. you said you’d be at the gym, and since I was passing by I thought, you know--” she shrugs, “--that I’d see if you were still free tomorrow.”

“I am. As far as I know.”

“Do you want to meet me for some coffee? I’ve got a take home quiz that could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“Isn’t that cheating?”

“No,” she says, and you’ve never seen anyone so sure of themselves.

-

“What were you doing that day?”

You don’t look up until you finish jotting down the last few numbers. You find her studying you softly, and in the buzz of the small coffee shop down on fourth it feels more intimate than it has any right to be. “Reading?”

Clarke sighs loudly, folding her arms on the table and slouching. Apparently that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “No, but really.”

“Reading,” you repeat more firmly, and she smiles faintly, realizing the quiet tease for what it is. She bumps her foot against your shin under the table and you go back to your work. “I was doing some research.”

“For?”

“A graduate studies class.”

“Ah,” Clarke hums, and you pause your writing to glance up at her. Her face is serious, but at least she’s no longer watching you, her eyes focused blankly on her own paper even though she holds the pencil limply in her hand. She catches you staring a second later and you’re quick to look away. “Sorry for dragging you away from work.”

You give a one-sided shrug, scribbling away. “You weren’t bothering me. It was a welcome change of pace.”

“I can help you out,” she offers, and you throw away pretenses to finally look her in the eye. “I may not be good with the specifics, but my mother used to say my bullheadedness would get me somewhere in life.”

“I don’t think that was a compliment, Clarke.”

“No, but I decided to take it as one.”

This little pang shoots through your heart. “You don’t need to help me.”

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” She scoots a bit closer to the table and her chair screeches quietly in protest, leaning more on her folded arms. It’s as close as she can get to you, and then very softly she says, “You help me. Let me help you.”

Your mouth opens slightly but nothing comes out, so you close it and reconsider. She searches your eyes and it’s hard, you find, not to get lost in them.

-

The both of you struggle with electricity and magnetism. The coffee shop staff shoot you looks of pity as they go about their closing rituals, you and Clarke tucked in the corner booth with your heads in your hands, staring blankly at the pages of Clarke’s physics textbook. You save them the trip over by suggesting relocating to your apartment just a block away. It only takes one mention of your keurig machine for Clarke to begrudgingly accept, sweeping her books and utensils into her bag with little care.

The briskness of the november night takes the both of you by surprise when you step out the doors and onto the sidewalk. The wind hits you square in the chest, pulls at your clothes and bites at your cheeks. It takes your breath away, and you attempt to bury your nose into the flimsy short collar of your jacket with little success.

“Fuck,” Clarke says beside you, pulling the drawstrings of her hoodie tight and huddling further into her sweatshirt. Her pace unconsciously quickens to match your long quick strides.

She sticks close, keeping in time. At this time of night, other storefronts are closing, sweeping the trash and pulling in outdoor signs, and you try not to think about her shoulder brushing yours.

(neither of you take the initiative to widen the distance, the warmth both of you gravitate towards)

It takes you ten minutes to make it back to your complex and then up to your apartment. You open the door, keys jingling as you pull it from the lock and then make your way inside. Clarke follows just behind you, tentatively taking stock of the surroundings as you sling your jacket up on a hook by the door.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Clarke by the shelf of knick-knacks and photos near the entrance and you make your way over to the kitchen. “What would you like?”

Clarke jumps, turning towards you and inching her way over to the kitchen table, fingers curled around the strap of her messenger bag. “What do you have?”

You rummage through the cupboard above the coffee pot. “We have original or italian roast.” Both are Anya’s, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Clarke hums as she takes a seat, pulling things out of her backpack and arranging them on the table. “Italian roast, please.”

You pull the keurig cup from the cupboard and a mug, filling the latter with water from the sink and then pouring it into the reservoir. You’re not particularly experienced with the process, but you’ve seen Anya go through the motions on more than one occasion to make an educated guess at it. When you press the power button and everything seems to work as it should, you figure it was enough.

You linger by the counter as it fills, keeping an eye on Clarke as she resumes where the two of you left off. She looks tired, hair gone messy after being bundled up in her hood, and if you didn’t know her you’d say she was two minutes away from calling it quits and passing out at your kitchen table. But she’s Clarke, and every few minutes or so she’ll shake her head and open her eyes wide as if trying to force herself awake.

And it works. To an extent. Though the look on her face when you finally set down the coffee mug next to her hand, her eyes doing this endearing back and forth between it and you, is another story altogether.

“Thank you,” she says.

You slip into the seat on her left, folding yourself a little ungracefully, but it’s nearing 11:30 and you want this done just as much as her. “What do we have left?”

She takes a quick, grateful sip of her coffee before setting it aside and sliding the book between the both of you. “Well, I’d say we basically finished chapter twenty--”  she winces subtly at the memories and you’d rather not have to relive those moments.  “--so that leaves chapter twenty-one: electromagnetic waves and alternating-current circuits.”

You glance over the first page of the chapter and like everything else, it’s a mess of physics vocabulary and equations with too many variables. Flipping through the next few pages makes you grimace, and you nudge the book back over to Clarke. Being a little more than halfway through the semester, you’ve become more of a soundboard than anything else, a suffer buddy as Clarke put it a few months ago, information from years past but mere child’s play compared to what is being thrown at you now. You help as much as you can though and you hope it’s enough.

Thirty minutes later, though, and it feels like you haven’t budged an inch.

“So if the voltage through the resistor is equal to the supply voltage then that would mean this is true--” Clarke jots a few equations down, waiting until you nod to continue. “--and if we….set this….”

You pick your head up from your hand as Clarke’s voice tapers off, eyeing the almost blank look that has fallen across her face. Possibly a side-effect from all the coffee, and you attempt to temper the impulse to reach out and draw her back. Luckily, it doesn’t last long.

“That’s it!” she exclaims, and you startle at the sudden increase in volume, sitting up straighter in your chair. Clarke looks at you, a wide giddy smile, and nearly upends herself from her seat to hug you, leaning awkwardly over the side of her chair, more one arm than the other. You return it awkwardly, your nose in her hair, and you miss the scent of it the moment she pulls away. “It’s the--thing! You know, the thing!” she says, a loss for words, intent on chasing her chain of thought before it gets away.

In a way so are you. She gathers her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrates and you can’t help but remember the softness of them pressed against your own, that little ghost of a smile you hope you hadn’t imagined. You blame it on the exhaustion as the time ticks past a quarter after midnight, on that little inkling of weakness you call imagination. It couldn’t hurt you more than you already allowed it to, after all.

She passes out just before one, and to be honest you’re not far behind. You had turned around after cleaning up the mess spread out around the kitchen to find her hunched over the table, head pillowed in her arms and snoring slightly. For a moment you watch her, over by the counter some ten feet away, and you feel safe. But you shake your head and sigh, picking yourself up to tidy the table and set her second (half finished) mug of coffee in the sink.

You manage to rouse her enough to shuffle on over to the couch, slipping off her boots once she’s toppled over onto the cushions. She lets out this little sigh that gets lost into the throw pillows, and she wiggles closer for comfort.

You wake up the next morning around eight to an empty couch and the blanket folded neatly on its arm. Besides Anya sitting at the table with this wide smirk, the only thing left is this little thank you note and an IOU scribbled on last night’s coffee napkin that you may or may not save for posterity.

(It has a smiley face on it, of course you save it)

-

Thanksgiving approaches faster than you can comprehend. Between the multiple papers for your graduate studies classes and an upcoming fencing tournament in January, it’s quite like being pulled in multiple separate directions at once, so you savor the peace while you can. With Anya in colorado visiting family for the long weekend and practices canceled until after the holidays, you settle in the wednesday night before with no plans but your butt and that couch and a couple of mixed drinks.

There’s a slew of indie films and documentaries that have been sitting in your queue for the better part of a few months and you plan on making the most of your self-enforced relaxation. That is, until you get the phone call.

You recognize the number as Clarke’s and you pick up before it has the chance to ring again.

“Clarke?”

“Lexa, hi,” she sighs. In the background you can hear muffled noises and something suspiciously close to Christmas music playing. “How are you?”

You stare blankly at the television, your paused program stuck on a close up of the african savannah. “I’m fine.”

The music continues, and it’s long drawn out seconds of santa baby before Clarke decides to talk again. “Can I come over?” she says it quickly, rushed and almost like there’s a high probability you’ll say no. Which is absurd to you. That she could think you would and her resulting silence seems to reinforce the thought because she’s quick to stutter, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--”

“Do you need me to pick you up?” You set your feet down from where they were propped up on the coffee table, setting aside the blanket you had draped over your legs. She doesn’t answer right away and if it weren’t for the noise you would assume she’d hung up. “Clarke.”

“No!” she insists, a little forcefully, and she clears her throat. “No, I can -- I’m good. I can make it. Thank you. I’ll just...” she pauses, and you press your hand to your lips to stop yourself from smiling. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I’m sure.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“Only if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll catch you in a little bit, then?”

“Sure,” you say. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Bye,” she mutters, almost shyly, and then she hangs up.

You haul yourself up from the couch, busying yourself with a menial task as the wait begins. There’s a few dishes in the sink that you clean and put away, but by the time that’s done you stand awkwardly by the kitchen table with little else to do. Everything is where it should be, the apartment is fairly clean, and you picked up an extra pack of italian roast keurig cups at the off chance that maybe something would happen, but here you are now, with something, and you’re not sure why you’re this nervous.

Or maybe you are and you just don’t want to admit it.

The intercom to your apartment sounds fifteen minutes or so later and you buzz Clarke up from the bottom floor. Clarke comes in bundled up in a large sweater and a thick wool scarf, cheeks rosy from the cold, and bearing a six pack of pumpkin ale.

She shivers visibly, standing just beyond the door as she takes in the heat of your apartment, before holding out the beer. “I bought us some drinks.”

You stand aside to let her in. “That’s not coffee.”

Clarke elbows you as she walks past, right in the gut but gently and this small smile forms while you watch her set down the case on your counter. “I drink more than just coffee, thank you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

She snorts, looking back at you challengingly as she fishes out a bottle from its containment and twists the cap off. “Oh, you better believe it.”

You join her by the counter when things settle. She takes a small sip and you stand close enough to see the way her ears peak through the blonde of her hair, red tipped and her flushed cheeks blotched from the sudden change in temperature. You gently touch her elbow, holding the contact for a second so she turns towards you. The blue of her eyes glows in the dim light of your apartment and you wonder if they find what they need when they look at you.

“Can I ask?” you begin tentatively. She doesn’t look away for a long moment, and you hope that means that line you're hesitant of still hasn’t been crossed.

“I wanted to get away for a moment,” Clarke says, shrugging. You have half a mind to realize that that’s not even the half of it, but you don’t push. She does the rest on her own. “My friends have this thanksgiving get-together on the Wednesday before. We eat, get a bit drunk, have fun. You know, it's for friends. They’ve always been more like family to me, anyway.”

She tilts her head back, looking up at your ceiling before glancing back down at her beer. The bottle twists in her hands, fingernails picking at the corner of the label.

“And then he shows up and I kinda just wanna….” she sighs heavily, the words lost, and her grip tightens on her drink until she forces herself to relax. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to --” she shakes her head, “you were the first person I thought of. Wells was more than happy to help me out.”

“That’s okay.” You gesture to the living room, the television still paused. “I was watching a documentary. Did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” she breathes, and the relief on her face is clear. “That sounds great.”

“Popcorn?”

Clarke moves away from the counter, patting her stomach with her free hand. “I’m good for now. Thank you though.”

You nod, plucking a beer from its cardboard holder and twisting off the cap. Clarke makes her way over to the couch, stopping halfway to look over her shoulder to make sure you’re following, and you do once both the caps are tossed into the recycling. She huddles into the far right corner of your couch, pulling her feet up after she slips off her shoes, her nose buried in her scarf, and you hear her sigh.

“Is it too cold?” you ask as you take a seat next to her, reaching for the remote that you left on the coffee table.

“No, it’s perfect,” she says, muffled. Not too long later she comes back up for air, taking a quick sip of beer. She sinks back into that warmth within seconds though. “What did I miss?”

You look back to the television. “The baby ostriches made it to the watering hole,” you say.

“Africa?”

“Yes.”

She snuggles further into your couch. “Oh good. That means I missed the scary part.”

You don’t bother tempering your smile, pressing play on the remote and settling in yourself. The both of your fall into a comfortable silence, quietly sipping your pumpkin beer as life on the african plains unfolds itself in your living room. You take a break to microwave a bag of popcorn halfway through the second episode, and when you return you sit shoulder to shoulder with the bowl in our lap.

(The warmth you feel when neither of you make a move to widen that distance after the popcorn is finished and the empty bowl moves from your lap to the table is… comforting. Content. And a whole bunch of other things your fuzz filled brain can’t manage to comprehend)

“The Dead Poet’s Society,” she says hopefully as you scroll through the main menu some indiscernible time later (you learn watching episodes of Africa back to back tend to have that kind of effect). You turn to look at her and the world outside is dark, but you feel light. It's no wonder as to why. “What about that?”

“It’s sad, Clarke.”

“I know.” She shrugs and you feel it. “It’s good though.”

It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.

-

Clarke leaves late in the night. She wakes you up, her hand gentle on your shoulder and you feel not all quite there, half draped across the arm of the couch as you are. Her eyes are blue, this soft calm blue, and you find at that moment that you’d be okay with never looking at anything else.

“Is it okay if I leave the beer here?” she asks in a whisper, leant in close, and her voice fills your head.

You manage a nod, blinking, your tongue dry and heavy in your mouth. Everything about you feels sluggish, mind fuzzy and one step behind, and you don’t like it. The way way her touch disappears, her hand slipping as she pulls away, tucking an errant strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes.

You don’t like feeling like you’ve already been left behind.

“Clarke.” You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you feel.

She smiles this small gentle thing, and oh the way your heart clenches. “Have I thanked you today?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, without thinking, sitting up as if to follow. Because why would you need to. Your voice is hoarse and she smiles a bit wider at the sound and a tiny part of you hopes it convinces her to stay.

“Thank you,” she says anyway, half of a shrug. She buries her face into the scarf wrapped around her neck, hands deep in her pockets and this lazy slouch to her shoulders. “Get some sleep okay?”

It’s a few seconds before she makes a move for the door. There’s little you remember after that.

-

“Here,” Clarke says, holding out a cup of coffee and you glance at it, looking up from your notebook at that mug with the silly reindeer--Clarke’s soft hands and her chipped nail polish. You can’t believe she walked all the way from her apartment to the campus library with that thing and you find it’s hard to ignore that feeling that burns softly in the pit of your gut and you look away. That doesn’t deter her though. “Come on, you look like you need it.”

Your gaze rises and then falls, but ultimately you set your pencil down and accept the drink from her hands. “Thank you.”

She slides into the chair beside you, glancing over the books you have stacked in misshapen piles. To say she looks a little worried is an understatement. “How long have you been here?”

You tap her arm and she angles her wrist towards you, the face of her watch reading 4:37pm. “Six and a half hours.”

“Shit, Lexa,” she whispers, almost scolding. “Have you eaten at all?”

You think for a moment, but come up short. “No.”

Her lips purse into an almost frown, a displeased crease between her brows. Your face softens at the sight, this small, nearly nonexistent smile to your lips as you watch her expression sour minutely.

“Don’t give me that face,” she says.

You’re quick to avert your attention back to your notes. “I wasn’t aware I was making a face.”

Out of the corner of your eye she looks at you incredulously, a silent dare, but you don’t take the bait. You figure if there was ever a moment too close for comfort, this would be it. The harsh thud of your heart against your ribs is telltale enough.

“You need food,” she says a few moments later when you don’t acknowledge her further, her fingers touching yours.  It’s distracting, but you don’t want her to stop. “Anya said you had practice this morning--”

That gets you to look up, and you blink owlishly. “You talked to Anya?”

“Yeah… I -- I kinda stopped by your apartment hoping to catch you.” she backtracks, shaking her head as if to remember. “She’s the one who told me where I could find you…. Is there something wrong?”

“No, I was just-- it’s fine.”

“She’s intense,” Clarke says.

You snort. “That’s putting it lightly, but yes, she is.”

“She would want you to eat.”

Your jaw drops slightly, watching Clarke fiddle with the sleeve of your sweater, as if pretending she didn’t just offhandedly threaten to use your roommate as leverage to twist your arm into getting you away from your work. When she glances up and your eyes meet the underhanded smirk is hard to miss.

You narrow your eyes at her. “Don’t bring her into this.”

She lifts her shoulders into a shrug. “Oops?”

“Did she put you up to this?”

“No, I’m more than happy to do that on my own.” She gives another tug, your sleeve now captive between her thumb and index finger. “Food?”

It takes a second, but you give in. “Sushi?”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

-

Clarke handles finals week almost as well as you do, which is to say she doesn’t. If it’s possible, she’s worse. You learned quickly that the people around her come first, and that doesn’t change even when she needs it the most. She’d run herself into the ground given the time, so when you get a call deep into finals week, you figure this is it.

It’s her number, from her phone, but the voice is too deep to actually be hers. You remember her mentioning Wells, her childhood friend and longtime (though sometimes reluctant) partner in crime, and when you show up to her apartment it’s him who opens the doors. It’s nice to finally put a name to a face.

You find there’s a gentleness to him that’s oddly relaxing.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says, ushering you in quickly. You don’t get to offer much in return, feeling out of place by the door as he hurries to pack things from the kitchen table into his backpack.

You’ve been in Clarke’s apartment numerous times but it feels different now. Fuller, you think. To see a place with the people rather than simply their things. You watch as he goes through this mental list, checking to make sure he has everything, the pockets full and zipped, and then slings the pack over his shoulders.

“I’ve gotta run, but I really appreciate it. She was knocked out last I checked, but,” he shrugs, rolls his eyes, “who knows. She likes tomato soup and grilled cheese. Cheddar, not american. There’s kraft singles in the drawer, soup’s in the cupboard. She’ll tell you she likes it crispy but don’t, she’ll complain later that it hurts to swallow.”

He stills abruptly in the middle of the room as his mind wanders again. A shake of his head a second later brings him back. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Make yourself at home. If you need help just give me a call.”

And then he leaves with an awkward salute. The door closes shut behind him, the silence trickling in from it's hiding places and then familiarity along with it. The fridge hums, cars creep past on the narrow street below, this low murmur and general static, and you lower yourself into a seat and listen, the bag you brought with some busy work and books hanging limp from your shoulder.

You hear her before you see her. Some hours later after you’ve gotten comfortable in one of the kitchen chairs, a book propped open in your hand. It’s this tired shuffle of feet, of thick socks dragging sluggishly along the hardwoods. You chance a glance towards the hall and she appears around the bend in baggy sweats and a loose long sleeve shirt that’s rumpled and half twisted. Her blonde hair sticks out at random angles, a little gnarled and in desperate need of some attention. You watch her attempt to tug her hand through, a fight that she ends up forfeiting, and you look away before you’re caught.

It takes a lot of self-discipline to keep your eyes on your book. “What are you doing out of bed, Clarke?”

Out of the corner of your eye, she startles comically, hand moving to clutch at her heart.  She stays like that for a few long seconds, relaxing when intrusion among her apparent solitude has been deemed unthreatening. That doesn’t stop her from vigorously rubbing her eyes, blinking in quick succession once she’s done only to find her surroundings the same and the dreams very much over.

“I was--” Clarke starts, voice more than raw, and you finally allow yourself to actually look. You notice the bags under her eyes, that extra color to her cheeks and neck. She takes quick stock of the rest of the apartment, perhaps wondering what other surprises it may have in store, but her sights keep settling on you. “What are you doing here?”

Careful to keep your page, you close your book. She seems unsure of herself, legs a little wobbly as she stands still in the middle of the hall, hesitant to move past the threshold that separates the bedrooms from the living space.

“I’m here for you, actually,” you reply.

“For me?” she croaks, pointing to herself.

“Are you hungry?”

She’s a bit taken back by the question, or maybe just surprised, and her hand drops to her side. Her mouth opens as if to answer, but nothing makes it out. She clears her throat instead, the pain evident in the dip to her brow, and bumps her closed hand against her thigh.

She nods.

(You wonder if she’s ever put herself first)

You gesture to the couch, and she wordlessly stumbles her way towards it, collapsing onto the cushions the second she’s close enough. For a moment she’s oddly still, face down on the couch and you briefly entertain the thought of checking her pulse, but not too long later her body quakes with the coughs she tries to hide into the pillows.

It’s pitiful, and yet in some way also endearing. You check on her while you go about finding the pots and pans and a skillet for the grilled cheese, glancing over your shoulder to find her still stubbornly face first in the pillows. She’s alive. If the small, occasional tremors are anything to go by, and her stubbornness makes you smile to yourself. You stir the tomato soup as you wait for the cheese to melt and you realize you’re right where you want to be.

She’s going to be okay. She won’t let herself be anything else.

You nudge her leg with your knee about fifteen minutes later with a plate of grilled cheese in one hand and a cup of tomato soup in the other. Her response is to peek from the confines of the throw pillows, eyes narrowed and slightly glossy with tears from coughing, and you shift slightly to place the plate and cup down on the coffee table behind you before turning back to her.

“Clarke,” you say, and her pout only gets bigger. “Can you sit up or do you want some help?”

Clarke shakes her head and you wait. She gets up slowly, pushing herself with the remaining strength in her arms and bringing her legs around until her feet are planted firmly on the floor. You hand her the plate with the little cup, and then reach for the remote that sits beside a messy pile of nail polish and old magazines. The first station you find is a late afternoon talk show and it’s mindless drone and audience laughter is a welcome addition among the static.

You backtrack towards the kitchen table after clarke takes her first bite of grilled cheese. She takes her time to chew, and you’re back with your book before she’s gotten through her second bite. You settle into the other corner, prop open your book against your leg, and pick up where you left off.

Whether or not you manage to comprehend what you’re reading, well. That’s a whole other monster. You get bits and pieces. Snippets of old government policies and other academic jargon that comes in second to the tiny bit of tomato soup collected at the corner of Clarke’s mouth that she wipes away with the side of her thumb.

Bits of the crust remain once she’s done, scattered over the plate and the empty bowl of soup. You flip through the next few pages, skimming the words and finding the next chapter too far away for your liking, so you lean forward to set it aside on the table and then reach for the plate in Clarke’s lap.

“Thank you,” she says, watching you as you stand.

You lift your shoulders in a small shrug. “What else are girlfriends for?”

She gives you this small lopsided smile in response and the swoop your stomach makes alights the butterflies resting there. You return it somewhat cheekily, embarrassed and unsure what to do in the wake of it, but you manage. Somehow, you manage.

You wander off to wash the plate and cup in the sink, taking your time so your insides have a chance to settle. The dishes--including the skillet and the pan of tomato soup--are spotless in two minutes flat and left to dry on the polka-dotted dish towel by the sink, and with nothing left to keep you, you make your way back to the couch.

Clarke has stretched out, head lolled back against the arm of the couch watching the television out of the corner of her eye. She spots you and attempts to adjust, but you wave her off.

You point at her legs. “Lift for a second?”

And she does, drawing her knees back towards her chest so you can take a seat. You guide them back over your lap once you’re good and Clarke sinks further into her slouch, chin nearly touching her chest.

“You are far too good to me, Lexa Woods,” she mutters practically into her shirt, but at least it seems as though her breathing comes easier. Her eyes droop closed, hands folded loosely together over her stomach, and you watch the rise and fall of her chest, your thumb absently rubbing back and forth across her shin.

-

Clarke (4:21pm): I passed!!!

Lexa (4:27pm): Congrats :)

Clarke (4:29pm): Celebrate? At the station around 7?

Lexa (4:30pm): I’ll meet you there

-

“So there’s this christmas party my friends are hosting,” Clarke starts one cold december afternoon, and you look up from your book. She doesn’t look back, seemingly enraptured by the television, but she does wiggle her toes that are tucked under your thigh for warmth.

You return your attention to your book when she offers nothing else beyond that, toying with the corner of the page. She wiggles her toes again though, and this time when you look up she’s waiting for you.

“Do you want to go?”

You tilt your head. “With you?”

“Uh...” Her mouth drops, a confused dip to her brows.  “Yes...? With me. I thought--”

“I’m joking, Clarke,” you say and she purses her lips to stop herself from smiling, nudging you harder with her foot and you have let go of your book to steady yourself so you don’t topple over.

You push her back and Clarke laughs, holding on tight. You end up in a pile on the floor, between clarke’s legs and her hands at your back, the both of you in a bit of hysterics, and you don’t remember the last time you laughed like that.

-

The night of the party it is blistering cold and snowing faintly. Quiet uneven drifts that prickle your skin on contact and seem to burn. You and Clarke take an uber downtown to an off campus apartment housing, and the twenty or so feet that separate you from the front door when you pile out from the backseat are covered in five seconds flat, the both of you crowding into the foyer, Clarke pushing you in from behind.

“Christ,” Clarke breathes into your shoulder. Her hands lightly grip your waist, keeping you close for heat as you try to shake some warmth back into your limbs.

“It’ll be warmer upstairs,” you say, brushing the dusting of snow from your coat, waiting for Clarke to release you. She does eventually with one final groan, pressing her forehead into our back before stepping away and stuffing her mittened hands into her jacket pockets.

Music plays, muffled by the walls, and it grows steadily louder as you climb the stairs. The third and final floor has its doors open and people mill about outside and on the staircase to talk and enjoy a bit of quiet away from the main noise. More than a few say hi to Clarke, and she offers a small wave to the lot of them.

“Raven inside?” she asks, pointing.

A man reclined on the top step taps the lip of his beer bottle against his chin. “Last I saw she was mixing up shit in the kitchen.”

“Anyone throw up yet?”

He grins. “No, but you’re early.”

“Great. That’s just great, Murphy,” Clarke says, tugging you closer by the hand. “You’re helping me out if anyone does.”

His eyes roll and he shrugs, but you have a feeling that it's not a ‘no.’ “Isn’t that a girlfriend job?”

You catch gazes with him, and there’s a look of mischief in his eyes as he brings the bottle to his mouth for a sip. Clarke, however, doesn’t respond, and you don’t get much time to dwell on it before she pulls you into the apartment.

The actual apartment itself is a hallway and interconnected rooms, people collected in clumps and couples in corners. A stereo plays a collection of rock christmas music in the living room, the couch full and standing space slowly getting there as well, but you don’t get much time to observe. Clarke leads you to the end of the hall, opening a door that turns out to be a closet.

Clarke strips herself of her mittens, stuffing them in her coat pocket and then off comes the scarf and finally her jacket. She hangs them up on an available coat hanger before turning to you. “Jacket,” Clarke says, holding out her hand. “And anything I can start you off with? I’m going to see if I can quickly find Raven in the kitchen and say hi.”

You shrug out of your coat. ‘What are my choices?”

“Well.” She tilts her head. It’s a beat or two before she continues with: “You know, I’m not quite sure.”

“Surprise me,” you say, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smirk..

Clarke nods her head. “Whisky it is.”

You eye her curiously, but her face is impassive and gives nothing away. “Sure,” you say, apprehensive, handing her your coat, and when she turns to hang it next to her own there’s the slightest of smiles on her face.

“Mingle,” she says once she turns around, her hand on your lower back and pushing. “I’ll come find you.”

You stumble forward, glancing back at Clarke who simply shoos you in the general direction of the living room, and you go somewhat reluctantly, looking back after a couple steps to find Clarke lost to the mess of people mulling about in the small kitchen. So you decide to wander.

There’s a couple faces you can pick apart from the crowd as vaguely familiar, though most likely they’re people you’ve run across cramming for finals week in the library. Not that the off chance of running into somebody you knew swayed your decision to come. Your social circle basically consists of Anya and the fencing club and that’s more than enough for you. So when a girl from across the room spots you, eyes widening, and immediately begins her trek through the throng, you wonder if there was something you missed.

You don’t recognize her, but she seems to recognize you. “Lexa?” she asks hesitantly, almost trying to hide behind a red singles cup she holds in her left hand.

“Yes?”

Her face changes immediately. “Oh my god, hi! It’s so nice to finally get to meet the girlfriend.” She holds out her hand and is quick to add, “I’m Niylah by the way, a friend of Clarke’s.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, unconsciously reaching for her hand, lost somewhere between the word girlfriend and it's relation to Clarke. Your brain short-circuits and it’s a second or two before it can reboot. Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah. We suffer through art history together. She talks about you all the time.” She lets go of your hand. “This is a little late, but congrats on the big win. I’ve been trying to get my girlfriend to run with me. So far it’s a no go, but maybe one day.” and she shrugs, a smile stealing its way to her mouth.

It’s an expression you’ve become rather familiar with. “It was certainly an experience.”

“With someone like Clarke I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She nudges you with her elbow, impish, but her face is quick to soften. She looks at you then, and there’s something in her eyes you can’t seem to place. Admiration? A bit of relief? She taps her fingers against her cup and her eyes dart away. “She could use someone like you though. To keep her grounded.”

“Niylah?”

Both of you turn at the sound and you spot Clarke just a few feet away, a drink in each hand. She steps in close to you, handing off your drink which looks suspiciously close to whisky, and then pulls Niylah into a one armed hug.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Clarke mutters into her hair, giving a tiny squeeze for emphasis.

Niylah is quick to reciprocate. “The feelings mutual.” She pulls away slightly, face serious. “Quick--question six, Mrs. Edie’s exam. Renoir or Degas?”

“Degas,” Clarke says without hesitation and Niylah tips her head back and groans. Clarke pats her shoulder.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom and cry now.”

“Text me sometime?” Clarke says before she has a chance to escape off to the bathroom to mope, catching Niylah by the wrist. “We can catch up.”

Niylah smiles softly at her, and for a moment you think there’s more in common between the two of you than you realize. “You can count on it.”

You both watch her go, Clarke by your side, and you raise your cup to your mouth for the first cautious sip. It most certainly is whisky. You clear your throat and Clarke chances a quick glance, hiding her smile as best she can behind the rim of her cup. The second sip is easier than the first and you both wander into the living room to find a place to relax.

The second you’re through the threshold, Clarke gets waved over and you follow. The people on the couch scooch to make room until there’s space for both of you to sit, but the fit is still a tight squeeze. You end up half tucked behind her, Clarke’s arm overlapping yours, and she pats the back of your hand.

The old movie How The Grinch Stole Christmas plays muted on the television, and you find yourself watching it as Clarke carries on a conversation with her other neighbor.  You’ve seen it before when you were young, and the nostalgia makes it easy to lose yourself in it. You quietly nurse your whisky, watching the poor dog tumble his way down the slippery mountain slope.

“You don’t have to drink it,” comes Clarke’s voice, soft, and you know better than to look, but you do anyway. Squished this close, you’re nearly nose to nose with her, and your eyes do this embarrassing back and forth between her eyes and then, for a fraction of a second, dip down to her lips.

You pull your gaze away quickly, focusing instead on her hand over yours and that subtle and subconscious graze of her thumb across your knuckles.

You give your cup a little swirl and the ice cubes shift against the plastic. “I like it,” you say, settling the cup back on the arm of the couch, held upright by your loose grip, and your attention returns to the movie.

“Still.” She pauses to watch you. “It’s not a problem. I can get you something else.”

But you don’t get to say anything else. The room is suddenly awash with wolf whistles and raucous laughter. It takes a moment to realize the entire room has its eyes on you--well, technically behind you, and you shift to look over your shoulder. What you find is a woman in a santa hat sporting the largest grin. It takes a second more to see the mistletoe hanging over your head.

“Raven,” you hear Clarke grit between her teeth.

The threat has zero effect, the mistletoe dangling on its string above your heads. “Come on, Clarke, don’t ruin christmas.”

“Raven,” Clarke repeats.

“Clarke,” Raven pouts. “Just one kiss? Your girlfriend is practically dying of loneliness.”

You don’t want to get pulled into this, but Clarke looks at you and it’s as if she doesn’t know what to say. The apology is written so clearly on her face it may as well be stamped across her forehead and you don’t know why it wedges this thorn into your side. She looks unsure and the longer she stares, the more the peanut gallery gathered around you eggs her on.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, eyes resolute but her cheeks positively red. The person on her other side pokes her in the ribs and she swats it away, the blush stretching to her ears. She wrings the sleeve of her shirt in her fingers, avoiding your eyes as the chants of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ grow in volume in the wake of her question and the deja vu isn’t lost on you.

And you give her this smile. “Of course.” Because it’s nothing you haven’t done before.

(somewhere among the mess a voice shouts ‘gay!’ and yes. Yes you most certainly are)

She goes to cup your cheek but she hesitates and it’s just the tips of her fingers along your jaw. Your heart stops anyway, though. It trips over its own feet and stumbles and your breath hitches the moment you press together with her.

(her lips are as soft as you remember)

Your foreheads meet with a gentle thud and you exhale through your nose, content on letting the feeling last as long as she’ll let it. There’s a hesitancy in the absence of adrenaline and the second you feel her retreat you make no move to follow.

The show, no matter how brief, is more than enough to placate your audience, and once Raven moves onto the next couple by the stereo, the attention shifts and you’re left to your own devices.

That doesn’t mean you open your eyes. At least not right away, lingering as long as you can in the moment and the feelings left on the tip of your tongue.

“Sorry,” she mutters and you can feel it, her breath warm and smelling vaguely of peppermint schnapps.

“What for?”

You feel her shrug and you pry your eyes open, blinking a few times, and it's like being woken up from a good dream too early. But what greets you when you do, Clarke’s warm eyes and red cheeks still close, is a dream all itself.

“Things, I guess.”

You lean in without thinking, dipping to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. There’s the slightest movement as she accepts it without protest, quiet, blinking, shifting to study you softly afterward and you’d say the whisky made you brave. But it’s just one drink and there’s no one to blame besides yourself.

Clarke’s sighs, audible, and she leans into your side, resting her chin on your shoulder. The conversation drops and you watch the rest of the movie in relative silence, the noise from the party drifting as Raven and her band of followers roams room to room. It’s sometime after the credits when it finally dies down to an extent.

The kitchen remains a hubbub of noise, however. Glasses clatter, ice spills, people laugh. After a minute or two Clarke hauls herself up from the couch and you miss the weight immediately, so you pick yourself up and follow.

You get another set of drinks, watching as Clarke whips something up after shooing Raven away from the alcohol and you forget about the kiss halfway through your second mixed drink. You get caught up in a discussion about the education system with a group of student teachers, but Clarke remains a point of reference in the corner of your eye. She spends her time mothering a pair of incredibly drunk boys who can’t seem to stop giggling when they ask her for increasingly absurd drink names. They don’t notice when all she hands them is watered down juice.

“This is the good stuff,” one of them mutters, a pair of sunglasses askew on his head. The other laughs into his juice and Clarke rolls her eyes.

She finds you when they’ve finally passed out, hunched over on the island, their sleepy snores this quiet undertone among the kitchen noise. She steps close, presses her face to the back of your shoulder and you acknowledge her presence by turning your head, nudging her gently with your chin.

You have a few more drinks and then call it quits. The exhaustion settles in to stay sometime around midnight, and you want to leave before someone actually does puke and you and Clarke are left to clean up the mess. You go out into the hall where it's quiet to call an uber and then shuffle back into the apartment to find Clarke.

She’s back on the couch, smushed in the middle between Raven and the two drunk boys from earlier, watching the commotion with mild interest. She spots you over by the entryway in a matter of seconds and smiles, turning to say something to Raven. The other woman grins, drawing Clarke into a hug that is impossible to escape from and she succumbs to the inevitability. It lasts a minute at least, but Clarke manages to slip away after one last squeeze, pulling away just barely and then scampering over to your side.

Her hand finds yours and the world melts away and all you’re left with is just the two of you in that hall, the muffled music and laughter. The hallway is dark and your head is fuzzy and she’s already close enough to you that there’s no reason to reach out for her.

“Are we dating?” you whisper, almost a tease as you watch her shuffle through the closet for your coats.

“No,” she says, blunt despite the softness she manages to coat that word with. You find yourself  staring at the redness in her cheeks--on the small upturn of her mouth and that tick of a smile, and you find yourself wanting to kiss her all over again. “No, we’re not.”

Your ride home drops her off first and you watch her amble up the sidewalk to her apartment through the frosted backseat window.

[purplesurveys]

375

Choose any age you once were; answer the questions about you at THAT age. Age of choice: 17 (this was in 2015), as determined by Gab haha. The People I Knew Who was your crush (or significant other) back then? I was with Gab for the first half of the year, but I broke up with her too. Was anyone crushing on you? If so, who? I dunno, possibly. I was never entirely sure of Gab’s feelings in the first run of our relationship cos we rushed the whole thing really, so I don’t want to assume and say that she was attracted to me then. Who was your best friend at the time? Sofie, Angela, and Gab. Pretty much the same crew except I don’t talk to Sofie anymore. Any enemies/people you didn't like? Marielle, as always. Which family member were you closest to? I’ve never been close to my family, but if I had to name someone I guess it would be one of my older cousins, who I call Kuya since he feels just like an older brother to me.

Which family member were you the least close to? My mom. If you were in school, name a teacher you had: That was senior year, sooooo...Ms. Michelle. She was our class adviser but she also taught homeroom. What was your attitude toward people in general? I think I relied on other people a lot, because that was the year my grandfather died (first time I ever had to deal with death) and I got dumped and for the first time in several years, I suddenly cut Gabie out of my life. It took some adjusting that could’ve only been fixed by surrounding myself with others. It also helps that it was our last year in high school so it was a year when my classmates and I really bonded together. The Places I Went: Whose house were you at the most? I didn’t go to a lot of friends’ at the time but it was most probably either Athenna’s or Angela’s. Where was your favorite place to go to have fun? Chelsea’s house I think haha. My friend group weren’t mall people, we just hung out at the houses of those who’d be willing to accommodate us for the evening and for the most part, that was Chelsea’s place. Did you go on any vacations at that age? If so, where? Sagada/Baguio is the most significant one that comes to mind, but I’m sure we went someplace else but I’ve just forgotten. Where was your favorite place to shop? I didn’t shop much at the time. Favorite place to eat out at the time? I don’t think I had a favorite. I was stuck in school for 10 hours for 5 days straight for 14 years and we were far far away from the city, so going to the mall and trying out restaurants were very seldom. Did you go to any concerts? If so, who did you go to see? I did! I saw One Direction. Barely though, since our seats were far and it was held on mere concert grounds (not an arena which has multi-levels), meaning if you were far away then you had no chance of actually seeing the artist/s. We were far but still close enough that we could make them out, and that was good enough for me. Did you prefer being indoors or outdoors? I was definitely an indoors baby. I still am but I also like going outside now. What state/province did you live in at the time? I’ve been living in the same house. The Things I Did What did you and your friends usually do when you hung out? We were minors, so we’d usually get together for each other’s school events. Half of my friend group was from an all-girls school (AA), and the other half is from an all-boys school (Ateneo). If Ateneo had some sort of benefit concert or fair, we’d go there. If we had our own fair or concert or whatever, the boys would come over to hang with us. If it wasn’t a school thing then we’d normally hang out at someone’s place and order in food. It was a simpler time. What did you usually do in your free time? 2015 was a busy year and whatever free time I got, I used to take charge of the school yearbook or study for college entrance exams. Was there anything extra memorable you did at this age? Yes. I had my first kiss, first breakup, first experience with death, and I went to Sagada and was at peace with myself for the first time that year. I also passed the 3/3 universities I applied for. Oh and I was able to mend my relationship with Gabie and we ended up so much closer than I ever thought we would get. Pretty crazy year. Did you kiss anyone? If so, who? I did. Gab was my first kiss. I thought I was terrible but a few years later she showed a Tumblr post of hers writing about that kiss, and she seemed to think otherwise. Did you ever get in trouble for anything? Like what? I probably did, but I’ve most likely discarded it from my memories. What kind of music did you usually listen to? Up Dharma Down, BP Valenzuela, Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith...I was into a lot of sad music because again, I went through a breakup and it had been a pretty shitty year. Oh and that was the year Adele’s Hello came out which was the icing to my shitty fucking cake. Did you buy anything that you still have to this day? What was it? I’m sure I do, but I don’t keep track of the years I buy my stuff. Did you ever get teased for anything? I don’t think so. What was something you got upset over, if any? I recapped all of them several questions ago, my friend. What was something you got really excited over, if any? Passing the UPCAT and getting Gabie back (as my best friend) were the pots of gold I needed (and got) by the end of 2015. There was no better way to cap off the year. The Things I Liked... & Didn't Like A band/singer you liked? I was on a One Direction high throughout 2015 since I saw them in concert. Hozier also blew up that year and I was alllll over his first album; Athenna introduced me to Banks and I stanned her album as well. A band/singer you didn't like? Meghan Trainor probs. A song you liked? Even If You Asked Me - BP Valenzuela. I continue to stan that song h a r d even four years later. A song you didn't like? Idk anything Meghan Trainor or Ellie Goulding put out. A subject in school you liked? English but only because it was incredibly easy and Hamlet was a breeze. I hated the teacher and I knew she hated me too though. A subject in school you didn't like? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about calculus. A food you liked? Chocolate chip cookie cups with milk shots were the trend back then and I remember going crazy over them. I’d still have 10 of those today if there were some in front of me. A food you didn't like? Fruits. Something you liked to do? Hahahaha. I liked passing by Gabie’s classroom. She knew she made a mistake dumping me, and while it was really evil of me, I really enjoyed passing by everyday cos I just knew she’d watch me the whole time. I asked her about this when we got back together and my hunch was right. Something you just didn't like to do? Working on calculus worksheets, so I never did attend to those. Still ended up at the top university, so that’s a nice ‘fuck you.’ A TV show you liked? Breaking Bad. A TV show you didn't like? Not so sure. Whatever was hyped back then. Maybe How I Met? A person you liked (as a friend)? Angela. A person you didn't exactly like? Marielle. The Things I Owned Did you own any electronic devices? If so, what? Sure. I had an iPhone 5 then and my old HP laptop. What about toys? I was 17. Overall, what did you have in your room? I think I still had my wrestling posters up during that time, and I also had a letter art thingy on the wall with the quote, “There isn't a person on this planet that should let a past nightmare dictate or cloud their future dreams,” said by CM Punk. I had darker curtains at the time so it was so much easier to be in an ~emo mood while I listened to dark indie songs hahaha. Were any posters plastered on your wall? Of who/what? ^ Refer to previous question. Do you remember what kind of backpack you had for school, if any? Yes, it was a black Nike backpack with yellow accents. Did you own a diary/journal? If my survey blog counts, then yes.

Can you name one thing you got for your birthday at that age? Yanna got me my favorite brand of wafers. I’ll never forget that present, it was so sweet. Did you own a bike/car? Or anything for transportation besides walking? My dad got me a car by the end of the year but I didn’t learn how to use it until the next year. I went to and from school via school service, which is our version of a school bus. What kind of clothes did you usually wear? Meh, my style had still been pretty basic at the time so nothing special. When you go to a private all-girls Catholic school that requires you to wear a uniform for 10 months in any given year, you never really have the time to explore styles that exist beyond your plaid skirt and your white socks. The Things That Were IN What band/singer was very popular, if you can remember? The Weeknd, Drake, Rihanna, Adele, Ed Sheeran. One Direction was pretty big but only because Zayn left that year. What was one song that was played on the radio a lot? Hahaha I had to look this up since I’m terrible with hit songs and the years they came out. The song that screamed to me the most to mention it is Fetty Wap’s Trap Queen. Shit BLEW up in 2015. I’m listening to it rn just for old time’s sake and it still seriously bops. What was something most people your age owned (or HAD to have)? iPhone 5. At the time, it was the perfect phone in the perfect size. Now I can’t stand seeing one cos I had mine for so long, even while everyone overtook me with iPhone 6′s and 7′s lmao. Was Facebook popular yet? Oh yeah. Very much. What book series was the most popular? I’m not so sure about that. Murakami got really popular in my circle at the time, but I’m not sure if that applies everywhere else. What TV series was the most popular? Probably Game of Thrones. What movie did a ton of people go to see? I had to look this up, but apparently there was an Avengers movie out this year. What kind of clothes were most people wearing? Off-shoulders started to spread in 2015, if I remember correctly. Did you tend to like what was popular, or not really? I was sort of in the middle. I listened to One Direction and Rihanna, but I also liked nonconventional stuff like punk rock and wrestling. It’s the same today. What I Think Now Overall, what was it like to be this age? It was definitely one of the better years. 17 was a defining year, and I lost a lot and gained a lot and learned a lot. I’d have no problem rewinding 2015 if I absolutely had to, even if it meant going through the ugly shit again. Looking back, do you miss being this age? I do. I was happier. Do you prefer being the age you are now? To some extent, yes. I don’t really like dwelling in the past. But I do acknowledge that I was happier when I was 17. Now to make you feel old: What year was it when you were this age? 2015. Pretty recent, sis. Would you relive this age all over again? Already said that I would. I’d want to learn as much as I did that year, all over again.