#though i must admit this thing took a different turn after each paragraph and maybe it shows? idk you tell me

[flowercrowngods]

yearning hours (hidden track)

🤍 also on ao3

The city is quiet tonight, dormant long before midnight; weary at its very core, just allowing November’s cold to settle without much of a fight.

Steve should be asleep, too, but he doesn’t want to break the spell he’s under, doesn’t want the heaviness of his eyelids to become something deeper, something stronger, something that will bring an end to this feeling that’s come over him.

Sprawled on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he just breathes. A steady in and out that‘s been effortless for a few hours now.

The breathes in the gentle dimness of his bedside lamp, inhales the sound of electro pop playing from beside him, playing from another lifetime altogether. He exhales the present, lets go of the thoughts of sleep, of leaving this moment, of moving anytime soon.

I saw your eyes. And you made me smile.

It’s been forever since he listened to this tape. So long, in fact, that he didn’t even know he still had it. Lifetimes passed since last he heard these songs, the synthesisers and guitars, the beat of his heart in tune with the drum of the snare.

Four years. It’s a lifetime. Everything’s a lifetime when the world ends, and ends, and ends. Everything’s a lifetime if you leave parts of yourself behind, unreachable for yourself, but far from untouchable for others.

Everything’s a lifetime if you live in Hawkins, Indiana.

And though it took a while, I was falling in love.

The song washes over him the same way it did four years ago, and yet it settles inside his chest, his gut, his lungs in a way it never did before. It fills him with each inhale, as if daring him to forget again. As if daring him to try.

There are three tapes spread out on the bed beside him, just within reach of his hand that’s hovering over the rewind button of his little radio that’s seen better days but still hasn’t ripped a tape in months.

Once the song begins to fade, he presses the button, the dim light now accompanied by the familiar clicking and whirring and the thoughts of seven, eight, nine, ten, as Steve is counting the seconds before he has to press play again to listen to Space Age Love Song again.

He exhales a drawn-out breath as, with another definitive click, the song starts over. Gentle snares fill his room. And Steve breathes.

I saw your eyes.

And he smiles.

And you made me smile.

Because somehow.

For a little while

He’s thinking about Eddie.

I was falling in love.

And for a moment, while he breathes and stares and listens, that’s okay. For a moment, for the duration of this song, for the lifetimes it survived and the ones yet to come, that’s okay. The waves of the music carry him through time and space, carry him to a world where it’s safe. Where the safest thing to do about your heart’s desires is not lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

The phone rings. It’s midnight and the phone rings. Steve is floating, anchored and weighed down by his skin and bones, breathing himself back into reality, because the phone rings.

He looks up and reaches for the landline phone on his bedside table, the movement sluggish to his heavy limbs.

The words take a while to form, but he’s aware that the other person can hear the music playing, they’ll know he’s here, they’ll know he listens. They’ll know, hopefully, that he’ll talk soon. He just… He just needs a second.

But then it’s only silence that meets him, and Steve frowns. Just as he’s about to open his mouth and ask, he can hear a breathy little, “Oh. Shit.”

And he blinks. Swallows. Leans up on one arm to fight the floating.

“Eddie?”

“Uhh. Hi, Stevie.”

There’s a tremor to Eddie’s voice that Steve can make out even through the music he’s reaching out to turn down the volume now. Alarm shoots through him, accompanied by protectiveness and the readiness to take ok the world. For Eddie. Again.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Too fast. Too breathy. Too frantic, and Steve can hear the clinking of his rings against the plastic of Wayne’s landline phone. He can see Eddie wrapping the cord around his fingers, can picture him chewing on it, too. “I just— uh, I… I cleaned my room? Rearranged it, too. I really like how… Look, ignore this, okay? I realised that this was kinda dumb the moment you picked up the phone.”

Steve leans back again, his head hitting the pillow as he lets Eddie’s voice wash over him. He sounds nice against the low music still coming from beside Steve. Eddie always sounds nice. Steve kinda wants to listen to him forever most days.

“What’s dumb, Ed?”

A snort, and Steve wants to feel that breath tingling his cheek, or neck, or throat. He wants to touch that smile of self-deprecation he knows spreads Eddie’s lips now, and wants to turn it into something more genuine. More vulnerable. More his.

“Calling you at midnight and telling you that i cleaned my room.”

“And rearranged it,” Steve adds, helpless against the gentleness of his voice as he says it.

“Yeah. That.”

He smiles, his eyes finding their spot on the ceiling again as he reaches for the radio again, pressing rewind, because his heart is a fluttery little thing tonight, and he wants to bask in it for a moment. Wants to be allowed to pretend.

Something old washing into something new. The feeling fits well with the others, a tenderness inside his chest where Eddie lives, surrounded now by the song, wave after wave, and with the memory and possibility and chance of different lifetimes, different phone calls, different Steves.

“I don’t think that’s dumb, Ed,” he says after a while. “I like it when you tell me things, midnight or not.“

“I… That’s cool.” Silence. But an Eddie kind of silence that it’s always only a prelude. Always. For bigger things the longer it is. And Steve’s counted all the way to seven before Eddie, quietly, secretly, says, “I like telling you things. Midnight or not.”

The smile that splits Steve’s face is almost one that needs to be hidden in the pillows, with the way the world sees it as a challenge when he smiles. But he doesn’t hide it. Midnight smiles don’t need hiding.

“So tell me about your room.”

Another silence, only five beats this time, but it leaves Steve yearning for Eddie to fill it nonetheless.

“Do…“ One, two, three, four, f— “Do you wanna come over and see?”

And now it’s Steve who’s silent. Steve whose heart is beating so loud he forgets to count the seconds, forgets to fill the silence, forgets just for a while that he’s still only pretending, he’s still only longing, not reaching.

And still, still still, he asks, “Right now?”

Eddie’s answer is no more than a breath. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Okay. He wants to stay in bed longer, wants to cradle the phone to his ear and listen to Eddie. To his breathy little voice, like he knows about midnight smiles, and even more about midnight whispers.

He’s still floating in the car, having grabbed one of the tapes from his bed, letting the more synthetic snares and guitars fill the air he breathes that’s beginning to smell vaguely of leather and tobacco and soil and Eddie.

The more you live, the more you love. Or so they say.

It settles in his arms the same way the car’s gentle thrumming does; this certainty. The longing. The love.

He’s not even sure when it happened, only that he can’t get rid of it now. Doesn’t want to get rid of it, most days. Not yet. He’ll spend the rest of his life letting it go, but he wants to keep it for a while yet.

Especially with Eddie calling him at midnight just… Just to tell him something that makes him happy. Obviously, obviously makes him happy. So happy he wants to tell Steve about it. Like Steve is worthy of that, like he is the obvious choice.

It makes him giddy. Makes him float. Makes him turn up the volume, letting it almost ruin the moment, fragile as it is — but only almost.

He makes it to the trailer park in no time, finding Eddie already outside. Waiting for him.

No amount of inhaling and exhaling is enough to save Steve now, not with Eddie approaching his car before he even comes to a stop. Not with Eddie reaching out to open his door, looking at him, face painted in the light and shadow of the little overhead light of the Beemer.

“Hi,” Eddie says. “I cleaned my room.”

“And rearranged it,” Steve adds, an echo of earlier, the same smile on his lips, but Eddie doesn’t smile. Eddie just nods, frantic.

“That, yeah. But… I cleaned my room. And you’re here. Because I told you. Because I cleaned my room.”

Steve blinks, loosening his seatbelt and slowly, so as not to spook Eddie, he gets out of the car. Comes to a stop in front of Eddie, the door still open behind him.

“Eddie, what—“

“You’re here,” Eddie says again. “You like it when I tell you things.”

Steve nods, the cold November air not enough to save him; he still inhales Eddie, still exhales a longing so deep his lungs feel like they’ll never fill again.

“And you like telling me things,” he says, because Eddie’s gone silent, his wide eyes still frantic, and Steve wants to help.

“You’re here,” Eddie repeats again, like it has a meaning that Steve’s not catching.

He nods, then, heart and mind racing alike. “Because you asked.”

But Eddie shakes his head, still rooted to the spot, still keeping his eyes on Steve like he’s afraid he might disappear if he so much as blinks. Steve wouldn’t think of it. Will stay as long as Eddie wants to look at him.

“Because you want to. Because you like it. Because… Because I cleaned my room. And the first thing I wanted to do was tell you. And you listened. And you told me it’s not dumb, because you like it when I tell you things, and— Steve. Steve.”

He can’t look at those wide eyes anymore, not when he’s been found out, not when the heaviness is returning, weighing on his limbs and his heart, telling him to panic and to run and—

“Steve.” A whisper. A hand on his cheek. Not to tip his head up. Just to rest there. Just to stay. “I wanna tell you things all the time. The stupidest, littlest things. I wanna tell you because you’ll listen and because you’ll— you’ll make me feel like… Like this. Because you’re here! You’re here when all I did was clean my room. At midnight. Way past midnight, actually. I’m… I… God, I just.” An exhale, and it sounds a lot like Steve’s. “I love you.”

Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting Eddie’s again. Searching for the lie, searching for the dream, searching for one of those lifetimes that aren’t meant for him. But he finds none. He finds sincerity; scared, vulnerable sincerity, like Eddie is a little bit insane with it.

Like he’s faring no better than Steve.

“You… You do?” Eddie nods, frantic again, the hand falling from Steve’s cheek so he can pick and bite at his nails. Unthinkingly, Steve reaches for his hands to hold them in his own. “I— I’m…”

“It’s okay, you don’t— uh, you don’t have to say anything. Really. Please don’t, actually, I’m just… You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you—“

“Ed,” Steve whispers. “Eddie.” They sallow in unison, the air charged between them but clearing in Steve’s vision now, carrying him no longer like someone floating along the tides yearning.

He’s not floating, he’s not lifetimes away. He’s here. He’s here.

“Can I… Can I try something? Can I kiss you? Please?” he adds in a whisper.

And it is with that same whisper, with that same shared breath, that Eddie says, “Please.”

The kiss is chaste, but it’s enough. Enough to survive the night, enough to be not the beginning and not the end, but something comfortably settled in the in-between.

When they break apart, Steve doesn’t let Eddie go far as he pulls him into his arms rather immediately. Just to hold him there. To let his mind catch up. To bask.

And it’s only after a while of breathing each other in, their hands roaming over the other boy’s back in ways more gentle than they were ever allowed to before, that Eddie breaks the silence.

“I really do wanna show you my room, though, that wasn’t a ruse.” He mumbles the words against the side of Steve’s throat, and Steve — still unsure of his footing — laughs and brushes a careful kiss against Eddie’s temple that leaves him with goosebumps.

“Ready when you are,” he says, though it’s almost a sigh. An exhale. Exhaling Eddie, and inhaling his warm smile and the smell of his hair. Steve leans in for another kiss to Eddie’s forehead, lingering this time.

In and out. It’s all Eddie.

Ring-clad fingers find their ways in between his own, and then Eddie tugs him — gently, like he’s afraid Steve will break if he moves too quickly; or maybe it’s Eddie’s who’ll break — toward the trailer.

Inside it’s warm, the lights are low, and the only thing illuminating Eddie’s room down the hall is a black string of warm white lights wandering along his walls and in between photos and pictures and drawings and posters that litter his wall.

And in the middle of it all, there’s Eddie. Smiling at him, giddy and gentle and genuine and so, so pretty. And Steve knows, then. Eddie’s room has never looked better.

(the songs are space age love song, and the more you live, the more you love by a flock of seagulls)

[amessywritersmind]

Sunrise, Blue Eyes - Frodo Baggins

Summary: A spur of the moment decision to see the sunrise turns out better than Frodo could have ever hoped for.

Word Count: 1636

Note: Hello everyone! I’ve already gotten some requests, which I’m super excited about!! Before I start working on those though, I wanted to start finishing up stories that have spent months in my drafts! Most of them are almost done, just needing a few paragraphs to close them out, so I will be finishing those up and then getting to work on those requests asap!! Anyways, enjoy! 

Blonde hair billowed out behind her as she ran, Frodo hot on her tail. How Laurelia had this much energy this early in the morning, Frodo would never know. Why he even agreed to be out here at such a time, an hour before sunrise, when he could be curled up in his warm bed in Bag End was beyond him. Really though, he knew the answer to that question without even having to try.

She had asked him to come with her to a great hill overlooking Hobbiton, hours before the sun was in the sky, and without asking why, Frodo had agreed right away. It was something he often found himself doing, agreeing to her impulsive and sometimes outrageous ideas without knowing fully what he was getting himself into, though he didn't see that changing anytime soon. He didn't know why, but it was like he just couldn't help himself.

Shaking these thoughts out of his head, Frodo focused his attention back towards the bubbling girl in front of him, winding through the tall grass of a field, glowing with excitement at whatever she was dragging him to.

"Hurry! We can't be late!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"Well, Lia, not all of us wake up with the energy of the sun itself inside us!" Frodo grumbled out in fake annoyance, though the smile in his voice was not lost on her.

At his comment, Laurelia turned back slightly, her face radiant with mirth, and grabbed Frodo's hand with a laugh, tugging him faster up the hill in front of them.

"Only a little further, my sleepy head, and then we'll be there and you can rest to your heart's content." she promised sweetly.

"and i'm using you as a pillow!" he shot back, a smirk now prominent on his face. He couldn't stay mad at her for long, not even fake-mad.

Finally, they reached the peak of the hill, sitting down in the cool, green grass. Once Frodo had caught his breath again, he took in the sight in front of him. From this view point, he felt like he could see all of The Shire. Little smials, lit up with front porch lamps, scattered the rolling hills, a few stars still twinkled above him, and he was sat in the middle of it all, right next to his bestfriend, and long time love (though nothing was official just yet). It took his breath away.

"Woah..." he whispered, almost to himself.

"It's beautiful isn't it? Just wait, when the sun comes over that horizon line. The whole valley glows. The way the sun reflects off the dew drops on the grass, the roosters crow to announce the start of the day, the birdsong to welcome you as the sun rays say 'good morning'...it's all so...magical." Laurelia spoke aloud as the first rays of sun split over the horizon.

A light breeze fluttered past the pair, rustling the branches and leaves of nearby foliage. Frodo felt himself shiver, the movement catching Lia's attention. Without saying a word, she tucked one arm under Frodo's nearest to her, looping it through in order to hug herself to him. She placed her head gently on Frodo's shoulder, taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes, his chocolate curls tickling her forehead lightly. He was instantly warmer.

He rested his head on top of her own as a bird, the first sign of life aside from the two of them, flys past, landing on a little bush near the edge of the hilltop. Frodo watches as it plucks the leaves and little berries from the bush, not seeming to mind the world going on around it. 

“I’m glad I decided to come” he found himself stating quietly. 

“I am too” Laurelia all but whispered. 

After a few more minutes of silence, the sun now half way above the horizon, Lia spoke again. 

“Do you remember when we met?” she wondered aloud. Frodo chuckled at the memory. 

“Yes. I had just moved in with Uncle Bilbo that day. Infact, I had barely finished getting settled before you were banging away on the front door, demanding Bilbo introduce us.” He laughed, nudging her lightly with the shoulder she was resting upon. She tapped his arm lightly at that. 

“Aren’t you glad I did? I, my friend, have saved you from a lifetime of boredom, which you inevitable would’ve had, had it not been for me” Laurelia continued joking. Frodo laughed in agreement. 

“You were so cute back then, what with your curly hair and your wide, curious blue eyes...” she trailed off, suddenly feeling extremely nostalgic. “that’s what first drew me to you y’know, aside from the fact that you were new in town.” she finished, squeezing his arm once more. 

“What? My blue eyes?” He asked, genuinely curious now. 

“No, silly! Well, ok yes, but not just the color. It was something more. I’ll never forget how I felt when I saw those eyes of yours for the first time...” She began, looking up at him briefly. He gazed back at her with the same intensity she had felt on that very first day. She cleared her throat and looked back out at the sunrise, the glow of the sun illuminating the rosy tint that had appeared across her cheeks. 

“Something in them spoke to me that day. For one reason or the other, I looked into them and it was like they were the only thing I could focus on. They told me of a kindness, a special kind that only the purest of souls can posses. They made me feel safe, and welcomed. I knew instantly that I could trust you in that moment. They told me of a love, a love that you give so selflessly and freely, a love that I’ve been lucky enough to receive ever since.” Laurelia spoke her mind freely, not stopping once to think about how this all must sound, spilling out of her mouth in the early hours of the morning. A secret meant only for her ears, and his. 

“And what do you see now? When you look into my eyes...”Frodo whispered almost dreamily. 

Laurelia pulled away from him slightly, enough to look him in the eye, but not enough to sever their connected limbs completely. She took her time getting lost in those eyes, ones she’s become so familiar with over the years. She tried to find a string of words that would describe what she saw, no, more like what she felt when she looked into his eyes but it was as if all speech had evaded her. Finally, a single word came to mind. The clarity of it hit her like a wave.

“Home.” she stated simply, there was no other way to describe it. 

Frodo couldn’t help the ragged breath that fell from his lips at that answer. 

“Home.” he stated again, tasting the word on his tongue. He came to the conclusion long ago that by her side was the place for him, and he stuck by that thoroughly, but to hear her say this gave him hope. Hope that maybe, she felt for him like he did her. There was only one way to find out. 

Frodo hadn’t noticed how close they were to each other, but the longer she looked him in the eye with so much intensity and admiration as she was now, the more he felt physically pulled to her. And her to him. Before either them knew what was happening, their lips had touched. 

Warmth flooded the both of them, the tenderness of the moment and the glow of the valley below, illuminated by the rising sun, was enough to make Frodo feel as if his heart was about to burst out of his chest. Not with the sadness Frodo felt when remembering his parents, nor with the anxiety he sometimes got when the town began stirring up new rumors about he and his uncle. No, this feeling was different, more pleasant. It was love.

As the two pulled away, the sun had finished its rise over the hilltop, its rays reaching the blushing couple. 

“I love you” Frodo found himself whispering, a rooster sounding far off in the distance. 

“And I, you. Always have.” Laurelia admitted gently, facing forward again and returning her arms, and head, to their previous positions. 

Down below, Hobbiton stirred to life. Farmers got to work in their fields, merchants began setting up their stalls in the town square, the morning air was full of peace and happiness, and most importantly, Frodo had his home resting her head on his shoulder. 

“I really am glad I came.” he found himself saying after a few moments of silence. 

“I knew you would be! And look, you didn’t even fall asleep once!” she exclaimed quietly, giggling lightly. 

“Now, we best get back before your uncle notices I’ve stolen you away again!” Laurelia began, getting up. Frodo stood as well, stretching his limbs slightly to regain feeling in them. While he was doing so he could help but see Lia staring at him with eyes full of love and a hint of something else. 

“What?” Frodo laughed out. The only reply he got was Lia stepping closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms moved without thought, snaking themselves around her waist. Before Frodo could question any further, Lia leaned in close, right past his lips and to his ear.

“Race ya” She whispered with a smirk before planting a kiss on his cheek and taking off down the hill. Frodo was stunned momentarily before finally regaining his senses. Shaking his head, a smile unable to leave his lips, he raced down the hill after her, following after those billowing blonde curls once again. 

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Centerfold [Pt.2]

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale

(Read Part one here)

Beca Mitchell’s phone was a box of constant communication. She had her emails redirected so that she could feel every single time she needed to address something at the office, even if she was there and the soft pinging culminated in the very screen she stared at. She had a multitude of contacts and would video chat with the team in Italy, and sometimes L.A.

So, what she knew deep down, was that it was impossible for her not to look at her phone all day. Physically she had to check the notifications to keep her world running. Emily intercepted most of them, keeping her deep stare on her own screen before glancing up at her boss every couple of minutes. They were both on edge and Beca didn’t much appreciate the tension that sparked between them.

She held her breathe each time a new ping sounded off until eventually that lull of anxiety was hushed to a dull ache in the pit of her chest. She went through her morning meets and a new presentation to her team about how their coding for a new watch wasn’t up to parr- they had a few days to fix it before it dropped, and the CEO made sure she knew that.

When the notification from Chloe did finally come through, Beca almost didn’t’ notice. She registered the pink of the logo that slowly shifted to a deep purple. But the name? Oh, the name she hadn’t clocked for a few seconds after that. And even then, Chloe Beale? Her Chloe, actually responded.

Beca lilted the computer screen and frantically looked up at Emily, who was already at her door. She didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she situated the office and closed the blinds and very coolly, but not so coolly, pressed her back against the wood and breathed.

“Dude,” Beca said.

“I know,” Emily said “Did you read it?”

She hadn’t read it. She hadn’t even thought to read it because her mind got stuck behind the massive roadblock that was Chloe Beale and her stupid pun username. She opened the application and hesitated over the message icon. She was supposed to be playing it hard to get like she didn’t’ care if she even got a response. But she did care and apparently so did her assistant because she was right behind her, blindly gawking like her halo fell into her eyes and blinded her from right and wrong.

“If I click this she’ll see that I read it and then there’s no going back.”

“You don’t want to go back, do you?”

“You told me to keep her guessing,”

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d even get a response.” Emily shrugged sheepishly “Figured you would forget about it in a few days and… open it.”

Beca frowned but hovered the mouse over the message. She wanted to close her eyes but felt like she was watching a car accident, complete with the red and blue flashing lights and the metallic crunch of metal. Either way, she couldn't avert her stare. She didn’t want to.

Chloe: Hey stranger. I must admit that I was never expecting to hear from you again, big shot manager. I’ve kept my tabs on you… New York is my home, so if you’re serious about coffee, so am I.

Her breath caught in her throat. Chloe Fucking Beale had said yes. Her childhood love had agreed to coffee that neither of them could probably stomach. Chloe Fucking Beale who was a playboy model with more than a million Instagram followers, and Chloe Fucking Beale who she was pretty sure she still loved.

There had been other people, men, and women that she had thought she fell for. She folded into soft touches and stronger commands. She was happy for months at a time and on one rare occasion a full year with a man who ran his own tours of the city. But none of those relationships had ever been like the one she had with Chloe.

Beca pulled in a long breath that filled her lungs with stale coffee and copy paper. She tilted her lid and looked to Emily because she was the expert. And Beca was frozen. That same cold excitement filled her and it also rocked her ever-loving shit. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think.

Emily looked at the darkened screen, then at her boss, then back at the screen before lunging forward and typing back a reply. Perfect. Are you free this Saturday?

It turns out that Chloe was free that Saturday and if she wasn’t, she didn’t’ say a word and quietly cleared her schedule. The day was quickly approaching and Beca really wanted to know why the New York Branch put her in charge of everything when she could barely figure out what to wear to a simple cup of coffee.

This felt more like a simple cup of coffee.

Emily eventually got tired of the barrage of pictures she was getting and took a cab to Beca’s apartment an hour before the actual date. They settled on black jeans and a blue button-down that Emily pulled closer to her chest for extra measure because according to her “You look good in anything and Chloe won’t be able to make eye contact with you.”

Then she was on a subway that smelled like stale snow and hot morning breath. They picked a small shop downtown that not many people knew about. It was a feat in the city to find a place that wasn’t packed like a sardine can and Beca trusted Chloe’s judgment tenfold.

Beca got there first, and her palms were sweating despite the cool atmosphere that swept through the little shop each time the door opened. It was a meta cross between a thrifted bookstore and a café. People sat and ate and read and the scent of what Beca imagined old magic to be, mingled well with coffee grinds and fresh pastries.

She ordered a simple black americano and settled by the front window, the glass fogged from a warm contrast with the cold of the busy street and curved lettering faced the patrons. There was a simple logo and one barista behind the counter. She chose a random book and pretended to read, but only skimmed the same paragraph over and over again.

Her main focus was on the door and the bell that chimed each time it was opened. One of those times, after a businessman and a hipster kid hugging his laptop close to his chest, it was Chloe. Soft and vibrant compared to the rest of the dim academic setting.

Her hair was pulled behind her ears and a pair of golden framed glasses rested on her nose. She had aged like wine and the wind that blew in behind her carried the sweet scent of southern peaches through the front door. She wore a white sweater with a plaid peacoat and high wasted jeans, and Beca knew she was staring.

Everyone was, they couldn’t’ help it. She overtook the room with a warm and sparked presence. If anyone recognized her they didn’t’ say a thing, out of saving their own face or because the girl in the centerfold of the latest playboy was wildly different than the one standing in front of her. This… this was her Chloe.

She didn’t’ know if she could hug Chloe, if touching was okay, but as she stood to greet her, she was pulled into the warmth of the woman. She was wrapped in overwhelming touch and emotion and she buried her nose into Chloe’s hair as they held onto each other, not quite willing to let go of the familiarity before realizing that it was inappropriate not to.

“Wow,” Chloe ran her hands down Beca’s arms, stopping at her elbows “You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

“It’s the lighting in here, I think it’s one step up from basement overhead.”

Chloe laughed and it was a magical sound. The only thing more intoxicating was her smile, which never seemed to leave her lips as she ordered her own drink, something loaded with sugar and caramel, and leaned forward across the table to get a better look at her date.

Beca sipped her coffee and quirked an eyebrow “What?”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, I think it’s perfectly acceptable for me to study you.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” She tested “What have you been up to all these years?”

Chloe leaned back in her seat and cupped her mug. It was a russet red and steam rose from the pale liquid that soaked inside. There was a sickeningly sweet odor to it and part of Beca regretted ordering nothing but a black coffee. It seemed like a disservice to the atmosphere of the shop.

“Oh, a bunch of stuff here and there. I used to be based out of LA, I did a lot of acting there. Little stuff like soap operas and a couple of commercials. It wasn’t for me, though so I moved here to pursue modeling and it’s been going well. Really well.”

Beca didn’t’ want to mention the playboy magazine or the curve of Chloe’s legs and the way her skin shown under the bright summer sun. She never returned it to Jason because he never asked for it back. It was an unspoken solidarity between the two.

“That’s amazing,” Beca smiled, feeling excitement in her chest “Anything I would recognize?”

Chloe hummed into her drink “Mm, maybe a few things. It depends on how you feel about Playboy. I never thought you were much of a reader.”

Beca looked down dejectedly at the old spined book to her right. It was true, she hadn’t read the Catcher in the Rye and she barely got through the introduction paragraph because of the nerves and the heartbeat that beat so strongly against the inside of her wrist right now.

“I’m not usually. But I do enjoy looking at the pictures.” Beca flicked her stare back towards the woman across from her “Though, that’s not the reason I reached out to you.”

“Truth is, I’ve always wanted to message you, but you looked like you were doing so well. Like you were so happy. I didn’t want to throw you off or seem like I was chasing something that we used to have.” She said, “So I waited.”

It was Beca’s turn to laugh, “I felt the same exact way. We’re both pretty stupid, then huh? Waiting like this for something we knew… for something we knew we wanted.”

Chloe smiled wider and clinked her mug against Beca’s yellow one, not spilling any of the mostly full drink. “To being stupid. And getting to know each other all over again.”

And that’s exactly what they did. They sat and talked until they were the only two in the coffee shop and Beca even dared to kiss Chloe when they got to the subway platform.  She tasted like caramel and sunshine if such a thing was even possible.

But it was because she had found Chloe. Centerfold Chloe. High school Chloe, and most importantly, her Chloe.

[crowleyellestair]

Proof- Eskel OS

Summary: Y/n asks for Eskel’s hand, but she wants permission from the family first

 Nerves racked through her body as she sat in the back of the bar. In hindsight, maybe it was easier to go to Vesemir first, letting Lambert fall second in this order. Dandelion had assured Y/n that both of the witcher’s would be supportive. Hell, Geralt had agreed to their excitement that would match his own. Of course, the White Wolf hadn’t outwardly expressed it, but Y/n was aware of the signs that said he was.

The woman’s fingers thrummed against the table and her eyes tried to reread the paragraph she had been stuck on since she sat down. The book had always calmed her, yet the weight of the situation laid on her shoulders like water behind a dam.

“Alright,” Lambert’s booming voice called as he plopped down across from her. “What was so important that you sought me out? Alone, no less. Should I tell Eskel?” A small smile made its way to present itself, nerves and joking be damned. She placed the book in her bag and passed the full cup of ale she got for him to his side of the table. He nodded in thanks before taking a long drink.

“I need you to not tell Eskel, actually.” The younger witcher tensed as he sensed the urgency and waver in her tone. He placed the cup down as he readied himself, arms crossing over his chest.

“Oh? That’s not a great way to start a conversation.” Y/n let out a sigh, reading herself as well. Her eyes opened and met his own, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

“I know that this isn’t necessarily the way to do this. And I know you aren’t related by blood. And, I know this could come off as disrespectful, but I refuse to go on without trying. Lambert,” she took a large breath, squaring her shoulders a little. “I am asking for your permission to marry Eskel.” She watched as the younger witcher mimicked a statue. After a minute or so, his brows furrowed.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you need family permission in these situations, and Eskel considers you his brother. And not just because of the ‘witcher’ thing. I… I know Eskel will never ask for my hand, and there are times where he insists it’s too dangerous. I’ll stay at camp wherever he goes no matter what, but I want him to know that I’m serious. That I’ll never leave him.” Lambert laughs, and rests his elbows against the tavern table.

“You know he loves you. A little too much if you ask me. It’s been, what? Four years?” Y/n’s hand rubs against her brow as she sighs. She still hasn’t gotten a distinct reaction yet, and she didn’t feel as though she was above water.

“Yes, and I am aware he loves me. Despite that, I know that he still worries about my love for him. You guys don’t really believe in marriage, but I don’t come from the same background. I think that maybe, if we get married like from anyone back at my hometown, he’ll know that I’m serious. Like I want to be with him the same way I know how others express they want to be with their significant other.”

“That’s just convoluted.”

“That’s just Eskel.” Lambert let out another laugh, and a true smile donned him.

“Can’t argue with that.” Y/n still waited with tense shoulders and wide eyes. Lambert went in for another drink before a brow raised to his hairline. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you… Do you approve? Accept my proposal for your brother?”

“Yeah, obviously.” She let out the breath she was holding, letting it turn into a chuckle, and returned his smile.

“Obviously.”

 The healer was proud of herself for making Lambert swear to secrecy until she announces things as she couldn’t ask her light for his hand until she asked Vesemir. And she couldn’t, for the life of her, find the older witcher. Or at least, not without Eskel knowing. Y/n had to wait until winter, and even then, she had to wait until she could get him alone. Her anxiety grew back, as before, if Lambert said no, she would have time to cool off. If Vesemir refused, then they’d have to live with that together until the snow passed.

Luckily, the greenhouse he had started precuring wasn’t attached to anything in the fort. After the first three weeks of winter, Vesemir was finally alone an Eskel was occupied with Lil’ Bleater. At first, she knocked on the door, knowing Vesemir knew she was there from her footsteps. The small grunt is what pushed her into the room. There wasn’t much that was ready, most everything being sprouts. He was bent over a hedge of something when she approached him.

“Vesemir?” The old wolf looked up, placing the vial in his hand onto the table. One look at her worrying hands, and he knew something was off.

“What’s wrong?” She gave a small smile, picking up the small clippers between them, and snipping off a brown leaf on the already presenting Caphea Ilevea.

“Nothing, I hope. I mean, of course, if you say no, it will be okay.” Her own brows furrowed, matching his. “I mean, it won’t be. At all. But I will still care about you-.”

“Y/n.”

“Yes, the point. You are Eskel’s father in our hearts, and so I need to ask you this- with no disrespect intended. I am asking for your approval to marry Eskel.” Much like Lambert, he simply stood there for a moment. His arms slowly crossed, and his brows furrowed more.

“Witcher’s don’t marry.”

“I am well aware of that, sir. I wouldn’t have taken this route if I didn’t think Eskel needed it. He still worries that I’ll leave him one day, but I need to prove to him that I’m not going anywhere. I would give my life for Eskel, but he doesn’t believe that devotion will last. I will admit, the Path is hard, but I’d go through anything for him.”

“Have you asked the others?” Her hand flew to her neck after she placed the clippers down. A flush crossed her cheeked in embarrassment.

“Yes, but for a reason. Geralt had walked in when I asked for help from Dandelion. And I decided Lambert could be the biggest resistor in this situation. I remember how long it took for him to warm up to me. I’m sorry for not asking you first, as I know the father-.”

“You’re already breaking the rules by being the one to ask for the man’s hand to begin with.”

“Yes. As I said though, no disrespect.”

“And none taken. You have my permission. I know how well you keep him safe. But you must know, that there are prices to this. You can’t back out for any reason. You aren’t allowed to die, either. Your passing would destroy him, even if you would happily replace his life with your own.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Vesemir grasped the vile once more, bending down to inspect the stems of the plant in front of him.

“What have I told you about calling me ‘sir’?” Y/n smiled as she made her way back to the door.

“Not to say it, as you’re no noble. However, that’s the correct title for a father in law, and I have seen you as such for years. It’s just going to be official now.”

 The whole time, Y/n had been worried about what his family would say, and not how the witcher himself would react. Eskel had started to pace in their large shared room. Y/n decided a while ago to sit on her heels, as continuous kneeling might be bad for her knees on the stone floor. It had been going well, until the implications of everything set in.

“How could you do that, Y/n? Why would want to?” His hand hasn’t stopped rubbing his scarred cheek, and she was sure they’d have to replace the rug as his walking track would be visible once everything was over. Y/n flinched at his volume, but only because she knew everyone in the keep would now be aware of what was happening.

“Because you don’t believe me when I say that I love you.” Eskel scoffed, but the out of character action was visibly regretted.

“Of course I believe you. I’d know if you were lying.”

“Then you don’t believe that I’ll stay.” That made him stop in his tracks. His sad eyes glistened as they flew over her form.

“You can’t know what you’ll want in the future. And tying yourself to me is what starts the wedge. You’ll feel trapped, and I know that if we do become married, I won’t let you go.” His voice lowered to a wobbly whisper. “Geralt’s djinn bind might be a little different, but he was strong enough to let Yen go. He found happiness somewhere else. I can’t do that. Not with you.”

“Eskel, you know how clever I think you are, but you’re being a right ass.” His brow rose and he plopped himself across from her on the floor. “How long have we known each other? How long have we been together? If I knew where I could find a djinn, I’d leave right now and bind us together. This is the safe and fun way of showing you to open your eyes. That I love you, and that will never change. That when you leave for a hunt that you refuse to let me follow on, that I will still be at the camp waiting. I want others to know that I love you, and how that will never change.” The witcher’s eyes were finding the wall very interesting, so Y/n closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and he was forced to look at her. His shoulders were slumped, and his legs were barely folded. He was vulnerable. But Y/n wouldn’t do anything to destroy that. “You took a chance on us once. Can I ask you to do it again?” His lips pursed, and he blinked a few times, the little wetness that had gathered disappeared.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I love you, Y/n.” She quickly brought their lips together, his hands finding her hips.

 (Part 2? The ceremony?)

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

*bzzz* *bzzz* *bzzz* Oh wow, look at the time! My alarm’s gone off, which means another Ranma Rewatch is ready to begin! This week we’re nearing the end of the first season of the show, with the fifteenth episode. Judging by the title, this one introduces Shampoo, a fairly major character throughout the series. I’ve mostly been neutral on her, but I am interested to see if this viewing makes me like her more or less. We’ll see next paragraph, after I’ve seen the episode.

So, uh, holy moly. I did not expect this episode to be this meaty for stuff to talk about. I’m not doing a Character Spotlight again this week (waiting for more Shampoo content before I give her one), but this should still be quite the post. So, let’s get started.

The episode starts with Akane and Ranma (in his cursed form) eating parfaits in a restaurant together. There’s a TV special in the place showing some reporters making contact with a village of amazon women, who live deep in China. Ranma’s like, ‘Hey, I’ve been there!’ but soon one of the walls to the building is destroyed by someone. That someone is one of the amazon’s from that very village, Shampoo, and Ranma knows who she is: she’s there to kill Ranma.

Doing what he does best, Ranma hides, and Akane wants to know what the deal was with her. He explains that a few months previous (the timeline feels weird to me there), Ranma and his dad were in China, still with the Jusenkyo guide. So, probably not far from the springs. Oh, and they were still cursed at the time. They came upon that village of amazons, right as they were having a tournament. Ranma and Genma ended up eating the grand prize, and when the winner, Shampoo, took issue with that, Ranma just fought her to make him the winner. That turns out to be a problem, because in doing so he triggered one of their most customs: whenever they’re beaten by an outsider, the guide explains, they give them a Kiss of Death, which is a promise to follow them wherever they go and kill them.

Which is exactly what Shampoo did. The entire time they were in China, Shampoo chased them, and now she’s finally found them in Japan. Back at the Tendo estate, Ranma has changed back to his original form, so when Shampoo shows up she’s quite confused. She never met Ranma while he looked like that before, and doesn’t know it’s him. But she does remember seeing Akane eating with her target, and when Akane refuses to tell her where Ranma is, Shampoo decides to add another person to her murder list. Ranma defends Akane, knocking out Shampoo in the process.

At that point, everyone is expecting her to give Ranma the Kiss of Death, again, but she doesn’t. I mean, she does kiss him, a lot, but it’s not a murder promise. No, she is clearly snuggling up with him hardcore, pissing off Akane something fierce. For a moment, it looks like she and Shampoo will fight, but Akane backs off, leaving Ranma to her. Everyone is now sure that Ranma must have been lying before, and she was some girlfriend he had in China, but he keeps disavowing it. Akane only shows back up to the situation to clarify that she doesn’t think of herself as ever having been Ranma’s fiance, then storming off.

With Akane’s dad pissed as hell and wanting to know what’s going on, Shampoo, who barely knows any Japanese, hands over a copy of her country’s rules. Soun tries to read it, but he doesn’t know any Chinese. Nabiki starts reading from it though, revealing that the Kiss of Death is only for outsiders who are also women. If an outsider man beats an Amazon in combat, she has to marry him. Ranma pushes back against this, hard, but Nabiki makes clear she doesn't know Chinese either, the rules have a Japanese translation that Soun completely missed.

Later, Akane is beating up a training dummy she dressed to look like Ranma. Clearly, she is not upset about this situation whatsoever. She tries to tell herself that, well, it wasn’t like they chose to be together, their dads made the engagement. But she flashes back to an episode that hasn’t aired yet, remembering how protective Ranma can sometimes be of her. Then, she hears Ranma trying to tell Shampoo that her village’s customs are outdated, that they can’t get married for that dumb of a reason. Akane’s sisters appear to further explain to Akane that Ranma wasn’t trying to cheat on her or anything, it was out of his hands. Sadly, she’s set off once more as Nabiki translates some of Shampoo’s Chinese phrases as ‘My beloved husband’ and ‘I love you’. It’s obvious she either doesn’t understand Ranma’s attempts to divert her, or she doesn’t care. Either way, the more she snuggles up to Ranma, the more he has a hard time talking her out of this, making Akane mad again.

That evening, Ranma’s on the roof considering the situation. Now that she isn’t trying to murder him, he realizes that Shampoo is actually pretty cute, and ‘nicer’ than Akane. Ryoga appears, throwing cold water on Ranma and explaining how much he hates to see Akane getting jealous because of all this. Ranma starts to say that it isn’t his problem is Akane feels that way, but she appears and denies it, saying he could do whatever he wants. But then Shampoo shows up, sees the red-headed Ranma, and tries to kill him.

From there, the last five minutes or so of the episode is a loop of events: Ranma, in his cursed form, tries to escape the violent Shampoo; Nabiki, realizing an opportunity, gives Ranma hot water but charges him ridiculous rates to use it; Shampoo switches to trying to cuddle Ranma, he runs away, and Ryoga uses cold water to turn him back. The episode ends back where that cycle started, for the third time, as Shampoo chases Ranma away, and Mr. Tendo looks at his damaged home, realizing how much this whole situation is going to cost him.

So, that’s the episode! Let’s get into more detail, though. Starting at the beginning, I find Ranma’s scene there really interesting. I don’t think it’s the first time the show has shown Ranma as eating something he usually wouldn’t while in his cursed form, but it is the first time that’s discussed with someone else, I believe. Ranma clarifies that as a guy, it would be embarrassing to eat a parfait, but it isn’t embarrassing to do when he’s a girl.

This is maybe the first time Ranma has actually called himself a girl while in his cursed form, and it leads me to a few different ways to look at the situation. It could be that Ranma’s normal embarrassment comes from how other people see him, in which case he’s just using how he looks different while cursed as a way to avoid that. It could also be that Ranma’s embarrassment is entirely internal, and he’s started to think of himself in his cursed form as actually being a girl, giving him a way to do feminine things without hurting his pride. This is kind of a complex topic, weaving together gender and gender expression, so all I think I can say for now is that I don’t think this is evidence towards Ranma not being a guy, but instead that Ranma is an opportunist who will find loopholes, even in rules he imposes on himself.

Also, this scene raised another question for me: were they on a date? Throughout this whole episode, Ranma and Akane had a really different vibe to me. Especially in the sub, the way they talked about them made it sound as though they were actually in a relationship now, on some level. That kind of threw me for a loop, because it kind of shatters how I saw the series.

The way I remembered it, Ranma and Akane were ‘officially’ engaged, but never considered themselves more than friends, at least to a level they were willing to admit to. It’s obvious they care a lot about each other, but I didn’t think it went further than that, at least thus far in the series. But their hangout at the cafe seriously felt like a date, and while Akane is angsting later on she’s talking about them being ‘together’.

What’s so weird about this is that, well, it kind of works for me. They’re still rocky with each other, thanks in no small part to Ryoga’s interference, but they’re definitely a lot closer than they were even back during Ryoga’s introductory arc. I will admit I could just be reading these scenes wrong, but it is so weird to think that, at least before this episode, they had made a step towards being closer.

Let’s move onto the new character: Shampoo. The first thing I found myself thinking about, during this episode, was how similar her introduction here is to Ryoga’s. They both show up out of nowhere, trying to kill Ranma, having just come from China. The big difference, however, is that Ranma’s reaction to Ryoga was mostly, ‘Who? Oh, yeah, that guy from school. Good to see you again!’, and even as Ryoga has become a bigger fixture in his life, Ranma is rarely more than annoyed with him, except when enraged with Ryoga using his curse to get closer to Akane.

In contrast, Shampoo showing up scares Ranma, a lot. Unlike Ryoga, who Ranma never knew was even chasing him, Shampoo has been constantly trying to kill him for months. What is odd about that is that Ranma is clearly far stronger than her, which makes me wonder why he keeps running, instead of trying to fight her again. Does he think it would make the situation worse? Is he worried about the collateral damage? Has he tried it, only for her to just keep coming for him?

I mentioned it before, but I am not a super huge Shampoo fan. I’m actually seeing more to her, at least a little, but that’s mostly because I’m liking her Japanese voice actress more than her English one. She sounds more fierce and less airheaded in the original language, I’m finding. In general, my issues with Shampoo can be summed up as: I don’t really like that her character doesn’t seem to have a lot of agency; I find the fact she’s written to be dumb kind of racist; and the fact she is far weaker than Ranma is a missed opportunity, and more than a little sexist. I’ll cover those gripes more, along with how they evolve through this rewatch, another day.

While we’re still in the Shampoo Realm, there was something interesting I noticed this time around: at first, after she shows up, Akane calls her cute several times. In general, she doesn’t seem to have any issues with her at all, even joking with Ranma about how her attractiveness must make her chasing him at least a little better. She doesn’t seem threatened by her at all.

Again, there are a few ways to read it. You could use it as evidence towards Bisexual Akane, which I don’t mind doing because us Bi’s need more representation, yo. In addition to that, tying back to what I said about it seeming like Ranma and Akane are actually dating here, it might actually be a sign that Akane was feeling so secure in her relationship with Ranma that she didn’t have an issue with Shampoo, aside from the trying to kill Ranma part. It was only once he beat her again, and the kissing started, that Akane got jealous.

Speaking of, let’s talk a little about jealousy. So, fun fact if you didn’t know, but I’ve actually been in a poly relationship before. Polyamory is actually pretty neato, and if you don’t know a lot about it I’d recommend doing research. One important thing about it is looking hard at jealousy and where it comes from. A lot of stories show jealousy as a necessary byproduct of caring about someone, which I’ve grown to really dislike. We kind of get that here, as Akane’s jealousy is treated as a joke about how much she actually likes Ranma, and less as a character flaw to work past.

Jealousy is a very toxic emotion. It’s root isn’t in love, but self-esteem. It’s the fear that, if your partner likes someone who isn’t you, that makes you a less valuable person, that you could lose your partner and with them an important part of who you are. But it’s important to not base your self-worth on how other people see you, and to not be possessive. Just because you’re in a relationship with someone, that doesn’t mean you can control them, you don’t own them. I feel like the series does touch on this a bit as well, as several characters, including Ranma, imply that Shampoo is more attractive than Akane. Ranma has taunted her from day one about her being a plain-looking girl, so it’s obvious why this amazon getting so touchy with Ranma sets off her alarm bells.

Smaller note, but I do think it’s neat how we get a lot of this idea that, when Akane is really upset, she needs to do martial arts. This obviously isn’t the first time we’ve seen this, but I do feel like this episode hammered home the idea that Akane likes to work through her issues by, well, working out. Honestly, that’s not a bad idea, and it fits her character. She sees her martial arts as a big part of who she really is, and by practicing it, she’s emphasizing her individuality and her identity, in a way.

Last of these smaller notes, but I really loved Nabiki’s attitude throughout this episode. In one conversation, she goes from trying to show Akane that Ranma was kind of forced into this situation, to then making sure she knows what Shampoo is saying to Ranma. It genuinely feels like Nabiki enjoys screwing with Akane sometimes, and that was entertaining.

If it isn’t clear, ‘entertaining’ actually describes a lot of this episode. I really enjoyed it! Shampoo’s introduction was good, sure, but that last five minutes was just pure hijinks, and it was genuinely fun to watch. The episode was also just full of great humor. One of my favorite jokes being Mr. Tendo trying to read the Amazon Law book, that whole part got me really laughing.

Before I move onto the ranking, I did also want to talk a little about watching order. Like I mentioned in the recap, there’s a point where Akane flashes back to something that happened in an arc we haven’t gotten to yet. What’s up with that? Well, I mentioned in a previous post how Hulu has a different order from what I’ve seen online as the original one. That’s because the order on Hulu is the chronological order, as well as the one in which the episodes were originally produced. What I’ve been following, and will continue to follow, is the broadcast order. Apparently, they purposefully aired episodes out of order sometimes. In this case, they moved another arc back into the middle of season two so they could get to Shampoo faster, because apparently she was a really popular character in the manga. So that’s neat. But like I said, I’ll be sticking with the broadcast order.

Like I made clear just a few paragraphs ago, I really enjoyed this episode. But exactly how much? I’m actually having a hard time placing it. It’s introduced a major character, as well as just being a very fun episode. I think I’ll give it third place for now, right behind the middle episode of Kodachi’s introduction, and the episode all about Akane’s bad haircut.

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’

Episode 12: A Woman's Love is War! The Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

Episode 9: True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 13: A Tear in a Girl-Delinquent's Eye? The End of the Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 11: Ranma Meets Love Head-On! Enter the Delinquent Juvenile Gymnast!

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Episode 10: P-P-P-Chan! He's Good For Nothin'

Episode 14: Pelvic Fortune-Telling? Ranma is the No. One Bride in Japan

Will next episode be just as good? Find out with my next week, as I go into the next episode of this arc, “Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul” I genuinely don’t remember what that is, at all! See you then!

[cagestark]

-Defender//6-

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

just a lil chapter. Next is the last.

Read here on AO3.

-

Tony’s hand isn’t as burned as he feared. Once the initial redness wears off, the skin is just tinted pink and a little raw. Still Rhodey supervises down in Tony’s lab while the younger man applies burn cream to the tender skin. On top of all the callouses and scars that his hands already bear, he’s surprised he even feels it at all.

“I’ve never heard you so quiet before,” Rhodey says from where’s he’s seated on a stool on the other side of the lab table, the surface strewn with first aid supplies. The man’s dark eyes track his every move, mouth in its characteristic frown. “I’ve never actually heard you be quiet at all. This must be serious.”

“It’s not, really,” Tony says. But as he says it, he loses his confidence. What happened upstairs seems pretty serious: seriously concerning, seriously unexpected. In a deep, vulnerable place, Tony was seriously grateful. “Peter is protective. I recruited him a few weeks ago when I found him scaling the side of the building.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows climb up his sloped forehead. “Mutant?”

“Enhanced,” says Tony, slowly refilling the first aid supply kit. “Bitten by a radioactive spider, believe it or not. He’s got super strength, agility, and scopulae that help him stick to nearly any surface like Velcro.”

“Goddamn.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“So why are you the surface he’s stuck himself to?” Rhodey asks.

Tony lets the question linger, pondering it. This is Rhodey, who has seen him in all manners of debauchery, who has seen every high and low of Tony’s up-close-and-personal for the last thirty years—but that doesn’t mean it gets any easier to see the disappointment in his face. It doesn’t mean that Tony doesn’t fear losing one of the last people who cares about him, who tolerates him at all.

At last Tony says, “I think he’s kind of in love with me.”

“Kid’s got a crush?”

“Yeah,” Tony admits. “And—he’s not the only one.”

Rhodey sighs, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “Jesus, Tones. How old is he?”

“Legal. Not that it makes it any better with more than twenty years between us. Steve doesn’t approve. He thinks I’m grooming the kid.” 

“These people don’t know you at all,” Rhodey says. “Tony. Tony, look at me. That’s not the kind of guy you are.” 

“He’s the most righteous man alive,” Tony says. His hands shake, weakness, like leftover DT’s from the day she stopped drinking an inordinate amount of alcohol and only indulged on occasion. Weakness. All he’s made from are a dozen different weaknesses stitched together into the shape of a man. “You know me. Obviously I’m not one for self-reflection. But when the man who used to kill Nazis for a living always thinks the worst of me, maybe it’s because there is worse in me.

“Peter treats me like the sun shines out of my ass, all because I treat him like a fucking human being, but he barely knows me. If there’s one thing history has taught me, it’s that there’s Captain America’s side, and then there’s the wrong side. I always end up on the other side. Always. If Peter isn’t careful, he’s going to end up there with me, and that’s not what I want for him. He’s good, I think. In his core.” 

“So are you,” Rhodey says. “None of the Avengers know you, and you don’t even know yourself. If you did, you wouldn’t let yourself be treated like this. At least this kid seems to have some sense, even if he’s subtle as a brick wielding it. I feel a lot better about spending so much time in DC knowing that someone is here and in your corner.”

-

Peter rests his forehead against one of the glass floor-length window panes in his room, mouth full of sticky-sweet cherry flavored pastry. He can barely taste it. Up this high, Manhattan looks fake beneath him, a toy city that he should take care not to step on, like the lego structures he used to leave out around May’s apartment when he was a boy. 

May. The pain of losing her never gets easier. There is no coping, there is just forgetting. Times when his mind is so full up with other things that there is no room for even her, when he’s working on a machine, when he’s training with Natasha in the gym. Then in moments like this, her memory comes rushing back in, and it’s like the grieving process starts over. She dies again to him, every day. 

Are you ashamed of me? Peter wonders, looking into the cloudless sky. There is no answer. 

May had never liked violence, but she was fierce in her own way. She believed in justice, she believed in compassion. Would she think he overreacted in the kitchen when he’d threatened to tear off another enhanced’s limb? Or would she think him justified, if she knew of the things Steve and the rest of the team had done to Tony? Just thinking about it makes his blood boil. People who had hurt Tony physically and emotionally, people who had no respect for him, people who still took advantage of every bit of his goodwill. Unremorseful people. 

Glancing down, Peter sees that he’s crushed his other poptart to crumbs. Kneeling down to sweep them into the palm of his hand, his spine goes stiff, just a brief moment of warning—someone at the door, not Steve, not Tony, someone—before there is a firm knock. Abandoning the crumbs, Peter opens the door a crack, afraid of who might be on the other side. 

A dark, serious complexion greets him. 

“Hi,” Rhodey says. “Can I come in?” 

“Of course,” Peter says, opening the door wide to let him past. He catches a brief glimpse of the other Avengers standing huddled together, eyeing Peter’s room with wariness before he shuts the door on the image. 

It must look strange, a young man whose room is so empty. No photographs on the wall, no pile of clothes on the floor, no posters or game consoles. The bed is made (unslept in most nights, though Rhodey would have no way of knowing that sometimes Peter feels more comfortable in enclosed spaces, that he curls up inside the closet empty except for clothes hangers or that he crawls underneath the bed to sleep). Combined with his display in the kitchen, he can’t imagine what the older, distinguished man must think of him. 

“Is Tony’s hand okay?” Peter asks. He can still hear the pained hiss the man made when the steaming coffee spilt onto his bare flesh. It makes that feeling come up in Peter all over again, that feeling like he has swallowed fire, fury like acid that eats at his stomach, fury that he wants to spit out at someone. At Steve Rogers. “I should have stayed to make sure.” 

“It might blister,” Rhodey says. “But he gets worse down there in his lab on the daily. That’s not why I’m here.” 

“Why are you here then?” 

“Tony is important to me. The most important person in my life except for my own mother. I’ve been watching his back since he was a teenager, and short of dying, nothing’s ever going to change that. That’s either going to make us friends or enemies, Parker. Your choice.” 

On the lengthy list of threats Peter’s received in his life, this is easily the most charming. Rhodey isn’t even enhanced. Peter could kill him without breaking a sweat, could tear his head from his body, could pull off his arms and legs the way other kids do to spiders, to smaller, weaker creatures. But there’s still something formidable about the other man. At the very least, there is something respectable. 

“Anyone in Tony’s corner is someone I want to be friends with,” Peter admits. 

Rhodey’s expression softens. He holds out a hand that Peter meets with his own. “Then you’re alright by me, kid. You could use a lesson in picking your battles, though. It doesn’t take enhanced powers of deduction to see that Rogers wants you off the team.” 

“I’ll fight any battle that protects Tony.” 

“And when you’re on the bench because Rogers has convinced the Powers that Be that you’re too unpredictable to be in the field? Who’s going to be protecting Tony then? Too many injuries have happened on missions because not a single one of them can be counted on to have Tony’s back. You could change that, if you’d get a grip on your temper,” Rhodey says. Peter’s shoulders sag—he hadn’t even thought of that. 

“Sometimes I can’t help it,” Peter admits. “It feels like there’s this monster inside of me. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or something. When they say something bad about Tony or when they hurt him, some flip inside me gets switched. How do I stop?” 

“You’ve got to choose what’s more important to you,” Rhodey says. “Protecting Tony or avenging him.” 

For a long time after Rhodey leaves, Peter stands at the wall of windows, staring out unseeing at the city below while he cycles through everything that Colonel Rhodes said, wondering again and again, Why can’t Peter do both?

-

“This is like, a foreign language to me,” Peter mutters, flipping through the textbook that Tony had retrieved for him. The cover reads FUNDAMENTALS OF ELECTRICAL ENGINEERING. The glossy margins are filled with Tony’s tiny scrawl, and Peter runs his fingers reverently over the writing trying to imagine a fifteen year old boy scribbling on each page. He’s seen pictures, newspapers archived on the New York City Public Library computers of a young, handsome boy crouched beside a robot he built, smiling into the camera. Fifteen years old, and this had been nothing to Tony. Peter is twenty and it takes him ages to get through a single paragraph, googling foreign terms on his phone and struggling to understand the abstract concepts. 

Tony glances up from his StarkPad. He balks at the expression on Peter’s face and turns the tablet off, sitting it aside. “Come over. We can go through it together.” 

“You’d explain it to me?” Peter asks, raking his eyes over the older man’s face. Fuck, Tony is so handsome. That look he’s giving Peter, too, the unbearably tender kind, the fond kind, it makes him all the more beautiful. He’s not above asking Tony for help. His pride was one of the first things he had to let go of when he began to live and sleep rough. “I feel like an idiot.” 

“You’re far from an idiot,” Tony says. He pats the seat next to him and they sit shoulder to shoulder, close enough that Peter can soak up the man’s warmth, struggling not to sway ever closer. Tony has his own gravity, and Peter often feels helpless to it. “You’re self-taught. It’s no wonder that a lot of this technical jargon isn’t connecting.” 

They make it through the first chapter together, and Tony was right—much of it Peter was familiar with, though it hadn’t been presented in terms he knew. Tony is an excellent teacher, too. Patient and insightful, witty. He soothes Peter’s fears that he isn’t smart enough, builds confidence in him that maybe he could learn to be an engineer the way he’d always dreamed. 

“We should send you to school,” Tony says afterwards, handing Peter a chilled Coke from the refrigerator. “An Avengers Scholarship, maybe. Full ride, all the amenities, only the best schools and tutors.”

“You mean you won’t be my private tutor, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, letting his eyes get wide and sweet. Most older men find the guileless thing sexy, but Tony just laughs at him. 

“I wouldn’t want to put your education in jeopardy. People will hardly be able to say I’m an unbiased educator,” Tony says. The warm, dark eyes drop to Peter’s mouth for just a moment before looking away, drinking deeply from his own Coke. “Though I’m sure we could come up with some incentive program for good grades.” 

“Incentive program, oh,” Peter laughs. “I like the—”

An alarm begins to sound, loud enough that Peter feels it in his teeth and deeper. It’s louder, harsher than the sound of Tony’s doorbell. The reaction it evokes in the older man is visceral as well, eyes going wide, jaw going tight as he taps at his glasses. The sound cuts out of the penthouse, but Peter can hear it continuing on in the floors below. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks. “Are we under attack?” 

“Someone is. That’s the alarm for the Avengers to assemble.” 

-

The people under attack are on the west coast. Some ‘half-rate magician’ (Dr. Stephen Strange’s words, not Peter’s) had accidentally conjured inter-dimensional creatures that they couldn’t control nor send packing. The Avengers are being sent to round them up and with the assistance of Dr. Strange, send them back to where they’ve come from. 

For the first time, Peter meets Director Nick Fury, a black man with one eye and a direct way of speaking that Peter can appreciate. Around the table are seated seven other Avengers: Natasha, Steve, Clint, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Tony himself. After Fury ends his briefing on the situation, Steve stands and begins to formulate the briefest bones of a game plan and—

Peter isn’t in it. 

“Sorry, kid,” Steve says. “You’re not yet cleared for field work. Maybe next time.” 

“I’ve been working with Natasha for weeks,” Peter says. Colonel Rhodes words play on a loop in Peter’s brain, and they’re his lifeboat in the sea of anxiety that threatens to drown him. Peter needs to stay calm and play it cool. It’s the only way he’ll be allowed to have Tony’s back, and he must have Tony’s back. “This seems like the perfect mission for me to get my feet wet.” 

Tony sits beside Peter, silent and stiff. Director Fury watches all of them with a cool, knowing gaze when he says, “He’s got a point, Captain.” 

“We’ve got protocols for a reason,” Steve says. “Putting you in the field before you’re ready is an easy way to get hurt, Pete. Sorry, but the answer is no.” 

All eyes turn to Fury, who nods to Steve magnanimously. “Don’t look at me,” he tells them. “That’s your team leader. It’s his call.” 

Peter listens to the rest of the plans with his hands clenched in his lap, knuckles turning white. He cycles through every stage of grief, and as soon as the team breaks to head to the room where the helicarrier will take them to California, Peter catches one of Tony’s wrists to keep him from filing out of the room, just another soldier under Captain Rogers’s command. 

“Please don’t go,” Peter mutters. Director Fury watches them unabashedly, his arms crossed. Tony lifts a hand to ruffle Peter’s hair, but the expression on his face is downright grim.

“Don’t worry about me, kid,” Tony says softly. “I’ve been doing this gig for years now, and I haven’t died yet.” 

That doesn’t comfort Peter at all. When Tony leaves, he takes all the warmth with him until Peter feels chilled to the bone. 

“Parker. Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Director Fury says. He doesn’t offer his hand to shake, and neither does Peter. 

“From who?” Peter wonders out loud. “Captain Rogers?”

Fury hums noncommittally. “Don’t worry about Stark. He is an asset to the Avengers, and I will do all I can to ensure his safety.” 

“With all due respect Director Fury—he is not just an asset,” Peter says. Too afraid of what else might come from his mouth, come straight up from that dark place inside of him fueled by fear and anger and hurt, Peter lets his feet guide him back to the elevator. Without asking, FRIDAY takes him up to Tony’s penthouse. When Tony gets back, Peter plans to move back in (so long as the older man wants him to). He tells himself that again and again. When Tony gets back. When. 

Peter sits and he waits.

[heyyyharry]

Happy Birthday

(from the Flatmate Series)

...in which Y/N throws Harry a surprise birthday party, but Harry ends up making her cry.

This story took place before Y/N and Harry discovered their feelings for each other. 

wattpad link

.

.

.

Harry hated birthday parties.

He didn’t have a terrible childhood as everyone might assume, he just thought birthday parties were flashy. A bunch of people gathering around you to sing a stupid song while you stood there like an awkward fool, waiting for the song to end to make a wish that would never come true. If that wasn’t flashy, what was?

Harry’s last birthday party was in third grade. And he couldn’t remember what happened except for his parents inviting a bunch of kids from his class, most of whom didn’t even like him and only showed up for free food. That was the reason Harry had sworn to let nobody know his actual birthday.

This took place a couple of months ago, it was Y/N’s turn to do the laundry, and by accident, she found Harry’s ID card in his pants pocket and discovered his date of birth. He didn’t know that she knew and she wasn’t planning on telling him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to throw him a surprise party which she had planned one month prior to the special day.

“Harry hates birthday parties. And he’s gonna hate you for this.” Niall stood with his arms crossed and his back against the fridge, watching Y/N struggle with flour and raw eggs to follow this birthday cake recipe she’d found online. She was practicing to make a real one for the party this weekend. Her last three trials had all failed miserably but she was never the kind of person who gave up so easily.

“If you think this is a bad idea then why are you helping me?” She grumbled. Her tongue stuck out from the corner of her mouth as she turned on the egg-beater to mix the ingredients in the big bowl, careful not to spill the mixture all over the counter like last time. Niall couldn’t help but snort at how funny she looked.

“I want to see his reaction,” he said.

“But you’re his best friend. You should be the one to throw him a birthday party, not me!”

“Yeah, I’m his best friend and that’s how I know he won’t like this. I’m only helping you because there’s free cake, and very likely, a pissed-off Harry.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. She believed no one could hate his own birthday this much. Birthdays were supposed to be the most important events of one’s life. She was always so excited about hers, just thinking of all the gifts and special treatments from her loved ones made her the happiest already. Maybe Harry had never properly experienced something like that, to realize how fun birthdays could be. Thus she determined to throw the best party ever for him, of course, with a little help from Niall.

Meanwhile, Harry was sitting in a coffee shop on campus, having no idea that his flatmate and best friend were secretly planning a surprise party for him. He had to study on a Sunday because there was an exam coming up, and he couldn’t concentrate with Y/N breathing down his neck. She would either tell him stories he found no interest in, or nag him about doing chores and complain when he forgot. Harry didn’t hate his flatmate, she could be fun occasionally. Sometimes when he’d had a bad day, listening to her dumb facts about whales during dinner actually boosted his mood. But that was just sometimes, most of the times, he found her annoying.

“Here’s your drink.”

The soft voice got Harry’s attention, and his green eyes shifted up to see a pretty waitress. He’d come to this place many times before, but he had never seen her. He doubted he‘d forgotten such an attractive human being.

“Are you new?” He spoke as the girl put his black coffee down right by his laptop.

“Yeah, this is my first day here.“ She gave him a flirty grin while he was sizing her up. She must love the attention, he assumed. Without waiting for her to go on, he introduced himself and asked for her name.

“Alyssa.”

“Alyssa,” he repeated, smiling as her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed against his arm. She didn’t need to tell him how much she wanted him to take her on this table. Her body language already gave herself away. As he watched her leave, there was only one thing on his mind: he needed to have her, one way or another.

Harry came back in the afternoon, looking very happy, which was unusual to Y/N. The first thing he would always say when he entered their flat was either “I’m tired” or “is there anything to eat?” So when he was this elated, there must be something wrong with him, or with the world. And so she had to ask. His reaction, however, wasn't something she could've seen coming.

“Why do you suddenly care about me?” He grumbled instead of giving her a proper answer. His eyes were glued to the phone, not sparing her a single glimpse.

“Just curious, that’s all,” she replied, indifferent on the outside, disappointed on the inside. She wished he knew she’d spent most of her Sunday in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make him a cake. The least he could do was try not to be so rude. Oh well, he would find out eventually, until then, she would just have to tolerate.

.

.

.

“Who’s Y/N?”

Harry flinched when Alyssa mentioned the name, that was when he saw the text on his phone that said: We‘re out of eggs.

“I just bought some yesterday, did she really finish them all?” He muttered under his breath. For a second, he forgot that Alyssa had to ditch her shift to sit here with him. He should be talking to her, instead of writing a whole paragraph to tell Y/N that she should only consume three eggs a week. Even he couldn’t explain why he must worry. When it came to Y/N, he just did.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Alyssa asked as she noticed the change in his expression. It was then that Harry put the device down, shaking his head. “No, she’s my flatmate.”

“So you’re living with just her?”

“Yeah.”

Although the girl said nothing else, Harry could guess what was on her mind. “There’s nothing going on between us,” he quickly added. If Alyssa thought he had feelings for Y/N, she wouldn’t want to see him anymore, and he couldn’t let that happen.

But her next comment was what he would never expect. “It’s funny.” She laughed. “A guy, and a girl, living together. You‘ve never looked at her and wondered if it could be something more?”

Harry snorted as he shook his head no. Him and Y/N? Pssst. Only when pigs fly.

“I’d love to meet her,” Alyssa said, causing Harry’s eyes to grow wide. None of his past hookups had ever asked to meet his flatmate, so he wasn’t sure how to respond. But on second thought, Alyssa wasn‘t another hookup. They hadn’t had sex, and he was genuinely interested in her. He hated to admit, but he was expecting something more than just casual sex. Of course, he thought she was attractive and definitely still wanted to her naked in his bed. But she felt different from the others, and he’d like to see how far this would go.

“You can come to my flat sometimes, and I’ll introduce you two to each other,” he said after thinking twice, watching the smile grow on Alyssa’s face.

“How about this Friday night?” She asked, and he agreed.

“Friday night it is.”

.

.

.

One week had passed in a blink of an eye, and Harry’s birthday finally arrived. 

Y/N placed the last candle on the cake she’d spent hours in the kitchen on making. She secretly prided herself on how it didn’t look like a pile of vomit, nor taste like one. Now she couldn’t wait to hear Harry’s comment on it.

She knew he would go to that coffee shop to study like he’d been doing this entire week. So as soon as he left their flat in the morning, she got the ingredients ready, and phoned Niall to make sure there wouldn’t be just the three of them at the party. When she finished preparing the food, she had to run out to buy the decorations. Of course, she didn’t get any help from his friends, so she had to decorate the flat all on her own. Her hard work did pay off though. Everything was now ready for Harry to come home.

She asked him when he would be back and he said at around 7 PM. Now it was 6:45, the guests were all here and Y/N was extremely nervous. She felt like she was going to war when it was just a party. She had thrown surprise birthday parties so many times before. What made his so different from the others? She would love to figure that out, but at a different time. Now she must make sure everything went as planned.

“Martin just texted me saying Harry is in the parking lot. He’ll be here any minute. Remember not to make a sound, everyone! When he opens the door, we’ll turn the lights on and shout happy birthday, okay?”

“Why are we here again?” A guy whispered to Niall, and Niall shushed him immediately. As soon as Y/N turned off all the lights, everyone got into their position and put on their party hats. Y/N stood right by the door with both hands on her heaving chest. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Harry’s face when he saw everything she’d set up for him.

The lift finally arrived and Harry stepped out, followed by Alyssa. He checked his phone but there was no message from his flatmate. He’d texted her about Alyssa coming over, and it wasn‘t like her to not reply in less than three seconds. Still, he didn’t think much of it and assumed she was just busy making dinner or taking a shower.

“So before I meet Y/N, tell me a bit about her,” Alyssa spoke up when Harry pulled out the keys.

“Well, I don’t know," he murmured. Nobody had ever asked him this question before, so he had never thought of how he would answer it. “She’s quite…annoying, I guess. She always speaks too much. Sometimes I only pretend to listen because I don’t want to be rude. And she’s very uptight, not someone I’d hang out with, you know what I mean?” He shrugged and turned the key. “I’m only living with her because she pays half the rent. If it weren’t for the money, I-“

That sentence was forever unfinished because the first thing Harry saw when he opened the door was the hurtful look on his flatmate’s face. The lights came on. Niall and many of his friends were standing in the living room with balloons in their hands. And there was a whole freaking cake on the table. This was a nightmare come true, but nothing could be worse than the look Y/N was giving him.

“Well, this is awkward...” Niall spoke but nobody paid attention to him. All the guests were waiting for Y/N’s reaction to what Harry had just said about her.

“Y/N, I-“ He stuttered, but she didn’t want to wait for his insincere apology. She pulled off her hat, tossed it in a corner, and stormed off without a word to him. It took him two seconds to realize what had happened and hurriedly follow her

“Okay, the party’s over! Get out everyone, get out!” Niall clapped loudly to get people’s attention. Then he forced everyone out of the flat, holding the door open for them. “Trix, stay away from those cupcakes! Okay, fine, you can have one! Just one! Hurry! Jake, why are you still standing there? Move it! And you too, the pretty lady I’ve never seen before!”

Alyssa was probably the most confused when Niall kicked her out with the rest of the guests. But since Harry was nowhere to be found, she had no choice but to leave with the others. Niall was the last to go, after that, the flat became too quiet. Not even the fun and colorful decorations could tone down the gloomy atmosphere within the place.

Harry hesitated at the kitchen door as Y/N stood with her back facing him. She was cleaning the mess she’d left on the counter after making the cake. At first, he was just surprised, but soon guilt began to sink in. He didn’t expect someone to even remember his birthday let alone spend time on doing all of this for him. What had he done for her in return? He’d talked shit about her to another person and embarrassed her in front of his friends. Now she didn’t even want to look at him. It didn’t just stop there though. It got much worse.

“Are-Are you crying?” Harry was terrified to see her shoulders tremble. “Y/N, I’m really sorry about what I said, I-I didn’t mean it.”

His flatmate finally turned around. And yes, she was crying. This was the first time he had seen a girl other than his sister or his mum cry, and no word was awful enough to describe this situation. He wanted to comfort her, to make her stop, yet he didn’t know what to do but stand there, feeling like a piece of shit.

“I’ll move out...so you can find a better flatmate if...that’s what you want,” Y/N sobbed into her palms. Her words made his chest tighten and freeze him to the spot.

“Of course that‘s not what I want. I said the stupidest things, but I meant none of-“

“I’m going to bed now,” she cut him off and ran back to her room without a single look at him. When she slammed the door, he was still standing in the kitchen. Blood had drained out of his face, and his heart was pounding so hard he forgot to breathe. What to do now? Should he knock on her door to beg for her forgiveness? Or should he wait outside for her to come out? Or should he do nothing and expect her to let this go? He didn‘t know the answer. All that he knew was that he’d fucked up.

Harry returned to the living room after what seemed like an eternity. In silence, he took a seat on the sofa, eyes on the birthday cake that Y/N had made for him. Sighing, he grabbed the lighter to light up one candle in the middle.

“Happy birthday, asshole,” he mumbled to himself, then blew it off.

.

.

.

The next morning, Harry waited right outside Y/N’s bedroom door to greet her with a huge smile while wearing a birthday hat. He didn‘t expect much, but she gave him nothing at all, not even a twitch of her lips to show that she was amused. She stayed silent and pushed him aside to head to the kitchen. For the first time, he followed her like a lost puppy. 

Y/N stopped as she reached the door, startled to see the cake she’d made lying on the table. Harry, now standing next to her, spoke up fast, “I think it’s not too late to celebrate my birthday.”

She inhaled deeply, not looking at him. “I made that cake for you. Eat it alone.”

“I can’t. It’s a huge cake!”

“I’m not eating with you. That’s that.”

As she attempted to walk, Harry immediately blocked her path, spreading his arms and legs so she had no choice but to face him. Y/N didn‘t give in, and neither did he. She moved to her right, and he shifted to his left. They shuffled back and forth a couple of times until she lost it and finally yelled at him. “Oh my God! How old are you? Six?! Get out of my way!”

“Please forgive me!” He clutched her shoulders before she could turn away. “You know I didn’t mean what I said...”

“I don’t care if you meant it, you still embarrassed me in front of your friends.” Y/N pushed him off, crossing her arms as she furrowed her eyebrows at him. Harry hoped she wouldn’t burst into tears again, otherwise, he’d have to dig himself a hole.

“You have no idea what I went through to throw you that party, Harry,” she spoke at last. Her voice was small yet stern. “I spent the past week learning how to make a birthday cake, decorated the house on my own, I had to spend a lot of time with Niall.”

“I told you I never celebrated my birthday. You didn’t have to throw me a party...”

“I know.” She nodded. “But I wanted to, and I started planning one month ago. I just thought...if I could make you feel special on your birthday, then maybe you wouldn’t hate it so much.”

As a response to Y/N’s confession, a tiny oblivious smile spread across Harry’s face. In that instant, he forgot that he looked silly in this birthday hat, that he was supposed to hate everything she had set up for him, including that birthday cake on the table. None of that mattered now that he had heard those words from her lips.

“Why are you smiling? I haven’t forgiven you yet.” Y/N’s voice brought Harry back to reality. “I’m still extremely pissed at you!”

“How many times do I have to apologize?”

“Your apology won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

“This.”

Right before he could question, she smashed a fistful of cake directly in his face and cracked up when he wiped away the frosting on his eyelids. But the sound of her laugh made everything better. He licked the cream on his lips and exhaled a chuckle. “Okay, I deserve this…am I forgiven?”

“Not yet!” Y/N cackled as she grabbed her phone and snapped a quick shot of him wearing a birthday hat and covered in cake. Despite the discomfort, Harry still posed for the picture with his iconic peace sign that she always made fun of.

“Now you’re forgiven.” She checked the photo, grinning like a Cheshire Cat and told him this would go on her Instagram. To be honest, she could send that photo to her whole contact list and he couldn’t care less. The cheerful Y/N he knew had returned, and Harry hoped this time she wouldn’t leave away ever again.

.

.

.

“I think there’s still a bit in my hair.”

“You can wash it off later.” Y/N giggled and wiped his chin one last time before tossing the paper towel into the bin at her feet. “Done. You’re good to go.”

“Thank you.”

His response made her snort. “Why? I was the one who caked you.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Harry swallowed, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you for throwing me a surprise party. That was very nice of you.”

Those words sounded so simple, but as soon as he’d said them, his entire face turned scarlet. He looked away so she wouldn’t notice. Little did he know, she was also blushing. This was the nicest they’d ever been to each other, so in no doubt, a ‘thank you’ was a big deal to them.

“Why did you say the things you said about me last night?” She asked after a moment of awkward silence and avoiding eye contact. Harry heaved a sigh, now he had to tell her the truth or else she’d continue to think he hated her.

“Remember the girl I brought home last night?” Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I’ve known her for a couple of days now. The other day she found out I was sharing a flat with you, and she suspected there was something going on between us. She didn’t seem to believe me when I explained, so I had to convince her that I hated you. If I’d known you were behind the door, I wouldn’t have said it...I was such a dick...”

Y/N couldn’t decide which shocked her more, her flatmate admitting that he was a dick, or him possibly having feelings for a girl.

“Do you like this girl, Harry?”

“I don’t know...Maybe.”

“It’s okay if you do. That’s just human nature.”

Harry quickly rose from his chair and told her he was done with this conversation. When he turned away, however, she stopped him immediately.

“There’s one more thing. Stay put and I’ll be right back!” She said with excitement and ran out of the kitchen, leaving him dumbfounded. Only twenty seconds later, she returned, this time, holding a new pair of socks, and not just any pair of socks, they were Batman socks!

“Happy birthday! These are for you!”

Harry scoffed when he saw them, almost bursting out laughing but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Batman?” He grinned at her, making the poor girl flustered as her eyebrows knitted together. “You don’t like them? Niall told me you’re obsessed with Batman.”

“Do I look like I’m obsessed with Batman? How many times do I have to tell you not to trust Niall?” He said with a chuckle, his heart fluttered when he saw her pouting face. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint her again, so he threw on a smile, tapping her nose lightly. “Thank you anyway. Definitely not gonna wear these, but at least you got me something.”

“This is the last time I acknowledge your birthday, asshole.” She scoffed and playfully hit him on the arm.

.

.

.

A couple of days later, Y/N walked past a coffee shop and found Harry sitting with another girl. She‘d only seen the girl once before, so she didn‘t remember her face. But even from the distance, she could tell that they were having fun. Were they on a date? The Harry she knew never went on dates. Y/N wasn‘t the kind to stick her nose in other people’s business, but she couldn‘t help it this time. She ended up standing outside looking in for longer than intended. Harry was too busy paying attention to the pretty blonde to notice her. It took Y/N a moment, but eventually she figured it out. That was the one he‘d brought back on his birthday.

They were laughing at something on his phone, and he looked so...happy. The same happy he’d been every time he came back from the coffee shop. And now Y/N knew why. She kept on staring at the two, trying to remember if he’d ever laughed that much when he was with her. No, he had never. And now she began to feel differently. Something inside her didn’t seem right. Her fingers gathered into fists and the lumps in her throats made it impossible to breathe. She didn’t know why, but she didn't like this at all.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly walked away, trying not to overthink, but her mind didn’t want to let her off so easily. Now she couldn’t stop comparing herself to that girl who was a thousand times prettier than she was. No wonder Harry liked that girl…

When Y/N got back to their flat, she couldn‘t rest as her insides were on fire. She was biting her nails and pacing back and forth in her room, trying to make sense of her own emotions, but she could not. She thought about what to say to him, or how she would act when he came back. But he didn’t come back that night. He spent the night with the pretty girl. And for the first time since she moved into this flat, Y/N could barely sleep.

When he returned in the morning, she was in the kitchen making breakfast. It was weird to face him after all the changes she'd gone through in just half a day. She told herself act normal, but while trying too hard, her effort backfired. She ended up rambling on about meaningless things, which probably confused him even more than how excited she'd been to see him walk in. 

“Are you high on coffee, Y/N?” He asked, making her blush.

“What are you talking about? I’m perfectly normal!”

Harry didn‘t believe it, yet he only flashed her a smile and changed the subject. “I’m having someone over tonight.”

“Who?” Y/N asked right away, eyes widening. “Is it the girl you told me about?” Please don’t be that girl. Please don’t be that girl.

“No, I won’t see her again.”

“Why? I thought you liked her.”

“I don’t know.” He gave her a shrug. “I thought I did, but after we slept together, I was instantly over it. I blame it on the coffee in that shop, it probably gave me hallucination. I’m never going there again.”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s not the coffee, idiot. Maybe deep down you were so desperate to know what it’s like to like someone for real, your brain created hallucination on its own.”

Harry squinted his eyes at her, thinking for a second before shaking his head. “Definitely the coffee.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she actually felt relieved, and that was something else for her to worry about.

“Hey, need a ride to campus?” Harry’s question pulled her back to reality. She blinked at him, raising an eyebrow when she realized what he’d just asked.

“Why?”

“I’m taking you.”

“Just today or-“

“From now on,” he said with a straight face. “But when I’m skipping class, you still have to take the bus.”

“That means I’m still taking the bus almost every day then.”

“Hey, at least be grateful,” he said but couldn't hold back another smile. Y/N watched her flatmate walk out of the kitchen, and only then did she notice, the face of Batman on his socked feet.

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Seven: Lucky ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Like Magic ] [ Previous || Next ]

Though Ryū wouldn’t call herself a star student by any stretch - at least not in most of her subjects - she does well enough, and excels in a few. Herbology, potions, and other classes that relate to her long-chosen profession of healing are ones she has studied diligently...and her hard work pays off. By her sixth year, she performs in her core classes to nearly the top rank, still managing to keep up with her homework as she also volunteers in the hospital wing.

And in addition, spends time with her boyfriend, one Obito Uchiha.

The pair have pretty much been dating since the year previous, when Ryū actually took the first step and asked him to the Yule Ball. Though they didn’t actually sit and make it official until sometime after, it was pretty much implied from that moment on. And Ryū couldn’t be happier, having been quite fond of Obito since...well, about the time she met him. Obito, however, had had eyes for Rin...who liked Kakashi...it was an entire mess that’s only recently begun being sorted. Between being different houses, the odd web of relationships, and other factors during their years at school, their group friendship has been through its share of metamorphoses. But things seem to be finding equilibrium.

Sitting at a table in the Hufflepuff common room, Ryū is currently writing an essay for her potion’s class regarding several high-value concoctions they’ve yet to attempt making. Her current paragraph is on Liquid Luck, eyes flickering between her Advanced Potion Making book, and her parchment.

“Oi, Suigin!”

Looking up, she sees a seventh year coming in, an amused look on his face. “...yes?”

“You’ve got company.”

Blinking, she then sees Obito following the other Puff in, peering around a bit sheepishly. He’s been in here a few times now, despite the typical school policy of each dorm being off-limits to those of other houses. But Hufflepuff is by far the most welcoming, and though most students were a bit put-off by the bulky Slytherin, it soon became clear he was far softer on the inside than he appears. He’s practically been adopted by them.

Perking up, Ryū gives a smile, gesturing for him to join her. “Not swamped with coursework?” she asks as he sits beside her.

“Er, well...actually...have you started that assignment in potions? About the high-tier ones?”

“Oh! Yeah...I’m working on that right now, actually...need some help?”

“...maybe? Some of it’s just going a little over my head.”

“That’s okay. Here, we’ll get you caught up to where I’m at, and then we’ll go on from there together, okay?”

A wide grin blooms across his face. “Yeah! You’re the best, you know that?”

“Happy to help,” is Ryū’s reply, nonetheless going a bit pink at the praise. Once Obito sets up his supplies, she goes over the first few potions, their ingredients, effects, and risks when brewing. All the while, Obito scribbles diligently until they reach the last potion, Liquid Luck.

Looking over the text as Ryū starts, Obito seems struck by something, and gives her a grin until she pauses in question.

“I think someone smuggled some felix felicis into my pumpkin juice…”

Brow furrowing, Ryū asks, “...what?”

“Because if I’m here with you, it must be my lucky day,” he then finishes, laughing as Ryū rolls her eyes with a groan. She even goes so far as to pick up her book and gently slap his shoulder with it.

“Did you really just make a potion pun? Not only that, but a potion pun that’s also a pick-up line?”

“You didn’t think it was funny? I thought it was funny!”

Sighing, Ryū has to fight against a smile. “...you’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me anyway, right?”

The word begets a small pause, the pink in her cheeks darkening. “...of course I do. You and your silly pun. But we really should get this done, eh?”

“...right.”

Together they wrap up the last segment of their papers, Obito looking ecstatic at having finished so quickly. “How do you do that?”

“I dunno, I just...do. It’s a subject I need to become a Healer, so...I’ve put a lot of work into it, I guess.”

“Oh…”

“What about you? Got any idea what you want to do after next year?”

There’s a pause, and then Obito shrugs. “Thought about being an Auror. I dunno if I’ll qualify, though. Might try for a hit wizard position, instead. Gotta have five Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.Ls, which I’ve got.”

Ryū gives a thoughtful hum. “...I can see you doing that, yeah. Either one, I bet you’ll be good at it! I’ll even help you study, if you want to get to an Auror’s level.”

“...really?”

“Of course! If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll do what I can to help you get there. And working for the Ministry is sure to be good!”

“Guess so. You gonna work at St. Mungo’s?”

“I suppose...or maybe someplace a little quieter. I’ll just have to see how things go.”

“But...you’ll stay near London, right?”

Ryū glances up at his tone, sounding a bit...pleading? “...I really have no idea. It’ll depend a bit on whether or not I end up at St. Mungo’s, I guess.” Her head tilts in question. “...why?”

“Well, y’know...since I’ll be around if I get the job I want…” Obito trails off, and Ryū brightens in understanding.

“Well either way, I doubt I’ll go too far. And I can always Apparate.”

“...I guess so.”

“...what’s wrong?”

He looks pensive for a moment, as though considering admitting to something. “...nevermind.”

“Obito...you know you can talk to me. Are you...worried about something?”

Slowly, his cheeks flush a rosy pink. “...I guess I just...I…” He rubs at the back of his head quickly, looking nervous. “I thought we’d...y’know...end up sort of...close together.”

“You mean, both in London?”

The pink gets darker. “Y...yeah...or maybe...closer.”

Closer than the same town? What does that…?

...oh. “You mean, as in...living together?”

“I-I mean, maybe not right away. Maybe it’d be a little...weird that early on. Maybe after a while. I just...y’know…”

Blinking, Ryū then softens. “Well...I guess we shouldn’t rule that possibility out...right?” It’s her turn to blush. “Sure, maybe it’s a little early to think that far ahead, but...I wouldn’t be against it…”

He looks up, eyes wide. “...really?”

Ryū just gives a shy nod.

“...oh! Okay then,” he agrees, looking far more at ease with that off his chest. “I mean, a lot can change between now and then, so…”

“That’s true.”

“And I mean...we’re still young…”

“...mhm.”

“So...I just didn’t want to...y’know...assume.”

Not bothering to stop a smile, Ryū offers, “It’s always good to be cautious. But I, for one, don’t see that much changing...right?”

Obito glances to her, still pink. “...y-yeah...I hope not.”

Beaming, Ryū leans against him with a happy sigh. “...well, we’ll just take the days as they come, hm?”

“...right.”

With their coursework done, however, the pair seem to unspokenly agree that maybe they’d rather spend a little time out of the dormitory. It’s rather crowded, after all. So Ryū offers to walk him back to the Slytherin dorm, which Obito accepts, the pair heading out into the hallway and walking hand in hand.

“...you really think I could become an Auror?”

“I know you can become an Auror. You just have to set your mind to it, that’s all. You’re a skilled wizard, Obito! It’s just a matter of hard work. Get through that, and you’ll pass the N.E.W.Ts you need.”

“...yeah...you’re right!”

“Of course I am.”

That earns a snort. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”

“I can be,” she replies with a small grin. “But at least I don’t make puns.”

“Hey, that was a good pun.”

“No such thing as a good pun.”

Obito gives her a pout. “You’re so mean…”

“There isn’t a mean bone in my body. I’ve checked.”

“Well, I can be mean...would you like one?”

Looking to him, it takes a moment for the joke to sink in, at which point Ryū blushes a bright red. “E-excuse me?!”

That gets him to break out into a full laugh, ignoring her swats to his shoulder. “I’m only joking.”

“Y-you better be!” Still quite flushed, Ryū squeaks as Obito drags her...into yet another broom closet. “O-Obito!”

“You know as well as I do these are the only private places in this bloody castle…”

Whimpering as Obito’s hands find her waist, Ryū glances aside, cheeks rosy and expression flustered. “Honestly…”

He just chuckles, nuzzling against her jaw. “How am I not supposed to tease you when you get so adorably worked up when I do?”

She doesn’t have a counter, just failing to bite back another whine at his attentions.

“I’m not about to do anything you don’t want me to do.”

“...I-I know.” A bit shyly, Ryū loops arms around his neck, hiding in the crook. “...I guess sometimes I just don’t know what I want…”

“Hn...I feel the same. But I know one thing I want.”

“...oh?”

Grinning, he pulls them apart and gives her a kiss, feeling her stiffen just a hair. “...that, at least, I’m good with.”

She just tucks back into his throat with a muffled sound of embarrassment, making him laugh.

“...I really am lucky…” he then muses softly, feeling her tension lesson. “I have a sweet little Hufflepuff all to myself…”

Still hiding, Ryū replies, “...and I’ve got a sweet big Slytherin.”

“I’m not sweet. I’m scary!”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am. Have you seen the first years scatter when they see me?”

Ryū giggles against his shoulder, making him grin. “You’re also an honorary Hufflepuff, which means you are sweet.”

“Hn…”

“At least you’re sweet to me.”

“...and that makes you very special.”

She backs up enough to meet his eyes, a happy softness to her face. “...guess that means I’m pretty lucky, too…”

     MOAR HP VERSE. Mostly because Meg wanted it, tho I'm certainly not opposed lol - and Obito got to make a felix felicis pun which was glorious. I'll just have to save my backup idea for another time ;3      Anywho, there...isn't much else to say? These two are adorkable and I love them. And this verse. I'm gonna be both relieved and sad when October is over. Relieved cuz omg double drabble duty for two months this year has been Rough™, but sad cuz...less excuse to write these two. Not that I'm going to stop anytime soon (and I have PLENTY of WIPs), ahaha~      But yes! That's all for now~ Thanks for reading!

[s0meday0neday]

Warm and Terrified Outtakes #1

I’m not even sure where this came from, I had in no way planned to write any more flashback chapters, but when I started writing this morning this just came out. The more I wrote it, the more I realised it didn’t really fit in the fic, but I thought some of y’all might enjoy seeing a little outtake.

A look into John’s teenage years. Ending is abrupt, because I just stopped writing once I realised I didn’t want to keep this in the fic.

John figured out when he was thirteen that he didn’t particularly like alphas.

He’d just started year nine, and while most of the year group were having a talk about their O-level options, John was sat in what would be the first of many ‘Life Skills’ classes. The name wasn’t entirely accurate – it wasn’t a class to teach John the skills he would need for the life he wanted. It was a class to teach John the skills he would need for the life an omega was expected to have. Just thinking back to thirty minutes ago, when he’d had to awkwardly explain to Roger where he was going, made John want to sink into the floor.

To distract himself from that particular memory, John flicked through the slim textbook they’d been given, outlining the content of the so-called ‘subject’.

Chapter 1: Growing into yourself

John winced and quickly skipped over those pages, hoping the course wasn’t taught in chapter order.

Chapter 2: What the law says

That could be useful at least, John supposed, but it seemed to be the shortest chapter in the book. He skim-read a few paragraphs – most of it was stuff he knew already – before moving on.

Chapter 3: Your place in society

It was another relatively short chapter, and John didn’t even want to know what it said. He skipped it.

Chapter 4: Your future mate

And there it was. No question marks, no conditional tense, just black-and-white print that has a dreadful finality about it. For an alpha, finding a mate and settling down was an option – a very desirable option for most – but an option nonetheless. For an omega, it wasn’t. Omegas were sparse and in-demand. Just like the textbook, the world around John had assumed from the day he was born that he was going to settle down with an alpha sometimes before he turned twenty.

It didn’t matter that most of the time, John found the scent of alphas overpowering and unpalatable. It didn’t matter that he wanted to go to university before settling down. It didn’t matter that getting attention from his alpha classmates – although it thrilled some baser part of him – more often than not made him so nervous he thought he might be ill. It didn’t matter that John felt a little spark of something warm in his chest every time his best friend looked his way, because Roger was a beta and-

“John, could you read the next paragraph for us?”

He’d been completely zoned out, wasn’t even sure what paragraph they were on, or what page they were on, until one of his classmates leaned over to point it out for him. Chapter 4, page 1, third paragraph. John pursed his lips, skimming the text before he started to read.

“While unmated, you should be open and courteous to any displays of interest from alphas around you. You should…”

As he read, John’s mind wandered to Roger again. Roger expected him to be mated off one day, even if that fact was never spoken aloud, it loomed in background of every conversation they had about the future. And John couldn’t help but think that maybe, if that expectation wasn’t there, Roger might start to see him the way he saw Roger.

Though the thoughts had been slowly crystallising in his head for months now, it was only when he got home that night, and sat alone in his room that John really let himself admit it. He wasn’t interested in alphas. He wasn’t interested in being treated like some lesser, delicate thing. He wasn’t interested in a relationship where his partner had so much power over him and he had almost none over them.

More than anything, he wasn’t interested in being with anyone but Roger.

It was a frightening thought. So frightening that he pushed it aside, and refocused on the disassembled remote control on his desk. All these feelings wouldn’t matter much for another few years, after all, so he would just take a leaf from Roger’s book and try to ignore dynamics and their implications for another few years.

If only it was that easy.

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

Roger had been dating John for a month, though neither of them had been brave enough yet to put that label on the slow kisses they shared when they were sure nobody would walk in on them. The way John kissed him was unlike how anybody had kissed Roger before – the other boy was gentle, and thorough, and looked at Roger afterwards like he’d hung the stars in the sky. It was so nice that Roger didn’t particularly mind that things hadn’t gone any further. The whole thing still felt a bit taboo, after all, and he knew John was a virgin, so it made sense to move forward in baby steps.

Things took a turn one evening, when Roger was over at John’s house. He far preferred spending time together in John’s room, because the place smelled like John, and had his personality all over it – from the neatly-made bed, to the constantly evolving electronics projects John had set up on his desk, to the box of chocolates Roger had bought him last week, that John was taking his sweet time to savour, even though they were a bit cheap.

They hadn’t gotten to kissing yet, content for now just to enjoy each other’s quiet company as John did his maths homework and Roger nosed through his things looking for something interesting. He eventually found something, in the form of a slim textbook tucked in a pile of old textbooks under John’s bed.

‘Life Skills: Book 3’

It rang a bell. Roger could vaguely remember John taking some funny omega classes back before sixth form, but since John had barely spoken about them, Roger had no idea what they involved.

Curious, he flipped open the textbook. It was in a much worse state than John’s other textbooks, looking like it had been stuffed to the bottom of his bag in a hurry on more than one occasion, and with a few worksheets stuffed haphazardly between the pages. Roger tugged out one sheet, eyebrows shooting up when he saw the subject matter. He cast a glance over to John - who was turned away, busy with his homework still – before looking at the sheet in question. It was pretty simple, four questions in bold and then John’s handwritten answers – though it was obvious from the layout that the teacher had expected John to write far more than the few words he had scrawled in.

My first heat came when I was: 15

My heats are regular / irregular

Write how you feel about heats currently: Not good

Write how you think you will feel about heats when you’re mated: Not good

It seemed like the weirdest thing to make a bloody worksheet about, if Roger’s understanding of heats was anything close to accurate. It explained at least why John hadn’t ever spoken about those classes. He was about to tuck the sheet back in and put the textbook away when he noticed the title of another worksheet sticking out.

‘My Ideal Mate’

Roger’s curiosity got the better of him, and pulled it out to have a read.

Similarly to the last worksheet, the layout looked a little juvenile, considering John must have been about sixteen when asked to fill it out. There was a stick figure in the centre of the page, and instructions to ‘List the features you look for in an alpha’. Just as with the worksheet, John seemed to have put in minimal effort. He’d only written three phrases in the vast blank space provided.

Kind

Values higher education

Not an alpha

“Put that down.”

John’s voice was sharp, and so unexpected that Roger dropped the sheet abruptly. When he looked up at John, his expression was hard to read – a mix between about twenty different emotions – and Roger couldn’t tell if his cheeks were flushed with anger or with embarrassment.

“I was just-“

“Being nosy, yes, I know. It’s not any of your business,” John snapped, snatching the worksheet and the textbook away from Roger and walking away to shove them into the bin.

“Sorry,” Roger said, a little nervous. He wasn’t used to John reacting so badly to… well, to anything, really, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

(sorry again for the abrupt ending! Thanks for reading, new chapter should be out sometime before Thursday if all goes to plan)

[a-robin-among-thorns]

In The Shadows of the Rising Sun: Chp 9

Chapters 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8

Once again so sorry for the delay on the chapter its been really crazy on my end. My sister had a baby, I got a new job and just the holiday to name a few ^^;

Chapter 9: Alone Together

Word Count: 2,210

Chise was hasty but diligent as she checked the apartment’s vacancy, silently thankful for the absurd lengths her cousin stretches out her business ventures. Seconds after the door clicks shut Elias emerged from the shadows in a rush and Chise sighed in relief. Although he had been present all day his long bony face is a sight for sore eyes. The sentiment was one he evidently shared for as soon as he was solid again he cupped her cheek in his right palm in almost reverent gentleness. He echoed her sigh, his breath sweeping over her red face in a rush, fanning the tips of her hair between his fingers.

It was so strange to be so sure that his feelings were exactly the same as hers. She blinked slowly, caught in the moment and hypnotized by his earnest gaze. The pads of his fingers fit in the curves of her jaw like she had done when she awoke beside him. She absently wondered if he recalled the action from his subconscious.

Belatedly, Chise pursed her lips and gripped her book bag tighter. If she wanted any hope of finishing her three days of math, not to mention her other subjects, she would have to start soon.

Her books spilled across the coffee table in a series of dull thuds. Fortunately, both science and history were reading assignments and the professors would never call on her if their lives depended on it. English was similar, translate and transcribe a paragraph of your choice from the provided kabuki play passages from hiragana to informal English. She normally dreaded this process, but her past days of constant English moved the work from a sluggish crawl to a leisurely walk.

All the while Elias hung just to the side of her. Although he sat corporally, he took the role of her shadow, all the same. Entranced in her movements eyes following where she goes, silent but ever-present.

Once the last character was redrawn as a letter she grumbled knowing it could be ignored no longer. Consulting her yellow sticky note, Chise split open the algebra textbook and set to work.

The process was slow and grueling. Finicky obnoxious measurements slowly scratched out to produce something that looked like effort went into it. She hated math on the best of days, this stupid fake math that can’t even be bothered to use numbers makes her want to pop a vein. But something about this assignment, aside from its extended length, grated at her nerves.

When it came down to it no matter how hard she would work on this assignment she would never understand it. She would work stressfully for several extra hours and receive a grade only slightly less abysmal than if she turned in nothing. It felt so pointless to toil and struggle for someone who wouldn’t pay her a passing glance. Who acted disgusted when she asked for help.

A hot gruff groan built in her chest and slipped through ground teeth, burning her nostrils. Distractedly she adjusted her bangs harshly and repositioned against the coffee table. In her shuffling, she didn’t hear Elias shuffle closer, peering over her shoulder. She jumped slightly when his hand slipped past her, the plum pad of his finger landing in between the unknown X and a pair of parenthesis.

“This one needs to be applied to all of the numbers inside the curves. It’s not a number, but it can still act like one.” He said simply. No trace of judgment or impatience could be found in his voice.

Her eyes followed his hand as he retracted. When their faces fell on each other he made a small nod in gentle urging. Her gaze returned to the paper. It couldn’t hurt. Slowly she applied his suggestion, more came as she worked, and the picture became clearer and clearer.

“Don’t forget to add and subtract this value because there are two possible answers.” She did just that and wrote out what had to be the closest thing to a properly done solution she had ever written. Another sigh spilled out, not of frustration but relief.

She leaned back on her elbow to look up at him fondly. “How do you understand math so well?”

His eyes crinkled in that glowing smile she had come to recognize. “When working with the fae, especially finicky ones, one must understand proportions and numbers. Even across different understandings. Many humans have met their end by accidentally slighting a proud spirit.” She chuckled at this, the absurd image of a faerie angrily stabbing at a calculator coming to mind.

As they worked together the heat of her frustration subsided. Her jaw relaxed and her breathing became less forced as her effort no longer felt futile. One after one they marked off the assigned problems until all 30 questions have a line struck through them.

The textbook closed with a satisfying thump as she brought the halves together like a grateful prayer. “Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t have done that on my own.”

His head tilted, “What have you done then?”

She shrugged, “I just turn in the best I can figure out.”

Elias looked back to the book between her hands. “And your teacher does nothing if you haven’t learned it?” He questioned.

“Pretty much.”

He was quiet at this looking pensive. As Chise began to put her work away the English assignment caught her eye reminding her of their conversation at lunch. “Would you like to look at this assignment with me? I can start teaching you Japanese.”

How could someone incapable of moving their face smile so plainly? “I would like that.”

He resettled again as she fished out the dictionary. “It’ll kind of be working backwards,” she mused aloud realizing the difficulty laid in front of her. “I’m probably not a very good teacher.” She admitted sheepishly.

“Any teacher is better than nothing.” He pauses, “Better than the teachers you have by the sound of it.” Chise stuttered unsure what to say when her attention snapped to the door and her heart stopped.

Tapping heels resounded through her eardrums like bass drums. In their shuffling the rattling of keys had been lost. Reina fidgetted through her purse and Chise and Elias were petrified as she looked up to the living room. Then back down at her purse.

She frowned and looked up again to Chise alone. She blinked in bewilderment looking to and fro as she skeptically walked forward. The frown on Reina’s face wanted to set in deep but her face was too confused to do so. “Were you...talking with someone? I could have sworn I heard…”

“I was just reciting my English,” Chise interjected forcing the most natural tone she could muster, “we have to read our translation aloud in class.”

Her cousin’s dark red lips pressed together disdainfully as her eyes searched the room. But nothing was disturbed, no exit could be that quick. And there is nowhere to hide in the barren apartment.

“Is...something wrong?” Chise probed in hopes of invoking her pride.

Reina’s posture realigned, regaining its commanding indifference as she unknowingly swallowed the bait. “No everything is fine.” She turned on her heels to place her purse on the kitchen counter. With her back turned, Chise steadily relaxed against the coffee table and stretched her fingers flat against the carpet. A warm shifting murmured against her palm, seeping between her digits.

“You spent a lot more than normal.” Reina’s sharp probing drew her out of the private moment. From the counter she stood with the remaining bills in hand, eyeing the child in her care like a hawk.

“I-i,” Chise gulped, mentally fumbling to come up with an explanation. “S-since it was my birthday Saturday I wanted to get something a little special.” Chise stutters, “Is that ok.”

Her predatory stare breaks as she blinks in realization. That had been this weekend, hadn’t it? “Um yeah, I guess.” She adds under her breath, “saves me from having to get a present.”

When Reina finally settled along the coffee table with takeout curry in hand, Chise felt as though she had lived through five separate heart attacks.

She was somewhat nauseous from the continuous back and forths but partook of her curry all the same. A few spoonfuls of spicy rice made the flip-flopping in her belly cease very quickly. The savory flavors danced on her tongue as she actually tasted a meal she should have been well familiar with. Although she would have happily devoured the entire container, a slight shift of her left hand reminds her to stop halfway.

As impatient an eater as she is everything else, Reina finished her rice soon after Chise and moved to throw away their containers.

Like a started rabbit Chise flung forward to guard her bowl from Reina’s grip, blocking her fingers from the plastic rim. Her brain catches up with her body as she slowly met her cousin’s eyes. Wide eyes narrowed like a bow pulled taunt, aimed at its kill. “What are you-“

“I was just wanting to save it for later,” Chise blurted, “maybe for breakfast.” She strained under the probing glare until Reina huffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure, that’s fine.” She sharply plucked her own bowl, standing in a fluid motion where Chise lay in her line of sight all the long way from the table to the trash. The timid clicking of the top and bottom of her plastic bowl resounded in the apartment as Chise watched Reina retire to her bedroom.

An eternity after Reina sealed herself in her bedroom the light under her doorway finally extinguished. A smaller eternity later, during which Chise showered and readied for bed, Elias had still not emerged from the shadows. From her futon, she ran her fingers all through the carpet. They met no resistance.  

Suddenly nervous, Chise looked over her shadow. No red lights.

Her throat constricts in anxiety. Her mouth suddenly very dry, she croaked out quietly, “Elias?” Nothing.

She sat up like a shot, searching frantically. Red hair whipped from side to side before swishing toward the small hallway. A thicker patch of darkness slithered from the direction of Reina’s bedroom. Her heart relaxed once the shadow knitted itself back into her strange friend. His jaw parted in oblivious confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“No, but...I didn’t know where you were.”

His posture relaxed as his jaw clacked together in understanding. “I needed to be sure she was asleep before I emerged.”

At this confession her insecurity quelled and she found herself feeling oddly guilty. And clingy.

She wrapped her arms around his torso letting the warmth of his body permeate the icy chamber of her lonely heart. He gasped and returned the gesture, tucking his long jaw against her back. A light rumbling sigh vibrated against her sternum.

A similar rumbling from his stomach reminded Chise of the earlier injustice, prompting her to reluctantly untangle herself and make for the fridge. She tried to hand Elias the container of remaining curry but he refused. “You need to eat more.”

She frowned. “But you haven’t had any.” She pushed it toward him again. He held his palm up to push it away. “You haven’t eaten enough.” His eyes bore into her stern and urging.

She huffed and relented, prying the container open as quietly as she could. She dipped her fork in for a few more bites and swallowed roughly. She rubbed her mouth against her fist. “There,” she shoved the container somewhat defiantly at his chest, “now you have the rest.”

Elias nodded and made quick and quiet work of the food.

She sighed harshly as he ate, before returning to the futon. Deliberately she lowered herself onto her back, hair splaying across the ground and staring at the ceiling. Her mind felt both restless and sluggish while she deliberated what she should say. But as he laid nest her on his side nothing she has thought of felt correct. Chise looked up to Elias with guilt still lingering in her eyes. “Elias,” she whispered, “I’m sorry you had to hide here too. And that I didn’t teach you as I promised.”

He stared at her for a moment before finally answering, “it's not your fault.”

She opened her mouth but choked on her words. Chise knew it would be polite, right, if she told him that he did not need to stay if he wished not to. That he did not need to be tied to a place where his actions and presence were so harshly limited. But she was terrified, horrified, that he would take up the offer and leave her as she was before. Leave her like everyone else. Leave her...alone.

“I’ll make sure we have time tomorrow.” She promised in a small voice.

He hummed in agreement. She was not the only one feeling needy she realized as Elias settled himself to lie against her, his head tucked along her neck and his left hand taking her right. As her hand clasped back comfort washed over them. Chise still wished they had been given more time today, but with each other held close, she could be held content until tomorrow.

[lululululipop-blog]

Ch. 1

Sweet Like Candy...?

Hmmm... first two chapters are done. I honestly had to do all the revision, and editing myself, so it took way longer than expected. But please enjoy and keep a lookout for new stories I’ll try to post faster. Haha

Just a Little Something~ 🌸

“She’s not talking to me,” blond hair and red eyes was what trademarked the hot tempered male that spoke.

His friend, Kirishima, saw that he was looking away towards the end of the lunchroom, admiring the small girl who would look back occasionally to give a grim look, only to turn away once more as if making a point.

Kirishima took some of his mate’s food, stuffing it in his mouth; his friend didn’t even pay much mind to it. He simply waved him off which showed immediately how much this ordeal was bothering him.

“Yo, Kacchan, what’d you do? She’s not usually like this,” Kirishima spoke through mouthfuls of Bakugou’s food.

Bakugou growled at his words, “Damn it if I know! I’ve been thinking since this fucking morning and nothing has come up that would be considered out of the ordinary! All I know, is we were fighting that random villain out in the streets, then she decided to stop talking to me! Didn’t even bother to visit me in the hospital, dumbass.”

Kirishima hummed in understanding, “Girls are confusing.”

Bakugou nodded at this, “No shit. And she’s making it rather obvious that she’s angry as well. That idiot.” His statement seemed gentler than his usual tone, showcasing how truly he was worrying about her.

Kirishima found this admirable, so he offered his own advice, “Why don’t you just ask her?”

Bakugou turned as if he had just been electroshocked by Kirishima’s sole words, “Huh? You’ve got to be kidding me. If she wants to solve whatever is going on, she’ll come up and talk to me first! I’m not going out of my way to talk over something when she’s the one angry about it.”

He took his water bottle and drank it quickly, extinguishing the flames that were starting to grow even stronger inside him. Water could only do so much, however.

Kirishima seemed to be taking a liking to playing around with Bakugou’s food, and he began building a large tower out of the sauce packets Bakugou had brought, “Then... how about you try acting sweet for a while?”

Bakugou seemed confused at this. How would one act sweet? Sweet was something quite out of his Kacchan-dictionary that consisted of specifically vulgar language with the addition of a few superhero terms and the occasional, “Stupid” and “idiot” added in. “Don’t look down on me,” would be the summary in the back of his dictionary.

Kirishima shrugged, “Nothing is gonna get solved if neither of you do something. Instead of talking it out, perhaps you could try different things until she’s happy again.”

Bakugou didn’t like the idea of that, “Why do I have to be the one to make the first move?”

“Hm, would you rather admit that you’d give in to her if she was the one who spoke first?” Kirishima spoke without thinking, but couldn’t take the words back. They were already out there, disintegrating into the very depths of Bakugou’s brain.

Standing up, he took a strong grasp of Kirishima’s shirt and pulled him to meet him face to face, the pile of sauce packets toppling over, “How the hell am I supposed to act sweet?”

Surprised that Bakugou seemed to actually be thinking of taking up the offer, Kirishima nodded, smiling a toothy smile, “Well... first...”

“Delivery for (y/n) (l/n)?!” A mailman called out from the class doorway.

Now, (y/n) wouldn’t be considered unpopular, she had her good number of friends and she was deemed as a promising hero, but she definitely wouldn’t be considered popular enough to have a secret admirer. And, from the large bouquet after bouquet that appeared behind the mailman, arranged with a variety of balloons, clearly someone had it bad for her. Or perhaps she had won a prize, which seemed like the more likely answer even though she hadn’t participated in anything that would call for a reward.

Her friends urged her up, so, hesitantly, she began walking up to the ever so happy mailman, as he handed her the pile of bouquets in a wagon, and a letter. “You’ve got quite the caring boyfriend,” the mailman finished, before moving to the side.

(Y/n) seemed bewildered. What boyfriend could he possibly be talking about? The one she did have would never do anything like this, clearly it was some sort of stalker.

She opened the letter, slightly nervous but trying to bite back the fear from showing on her face. The handwriting was perfectly printed and the scent that engulfed her was that of spicy peppermint; fresh. The only recognizable part of it that could possibly pinpoint the source of the letter, was the signed name at the bottom: Bakugou. She turned her head to the side to ensure that she hadn’t just imagined the name, and rubbed her eyes. Opening them again, she squinted at the paper, almost burning a hole through them with her sharp stare as if somehow the name would suddenly change. Nope, Bakugou’s print was still on there, making fun of her. This must be some sort of prank Kirishima or maybe one of the other guys were playing on her. There was no way—

Interrupting her thoughts, the mailman moved to the side and the balloons made way in the middle of the long school hallway. There, dressed in a delicious suit of crisp black with matching, polished, black shoes and a red undershirt, stood Bakugou, with an assortment of roses and yellow daffodils. (Y/n) covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Although he looked oddly stunning in that suit, it did not at all match his personality. And she didn’t want to attempt at embarrassing him after he did all this, but it was a very non-Bakugou sort of thing to do. He must have been forced by someone to do this. As he strolled up to her, it took all she had to keep back a silly smile while everyone else stared in complete awe of Bakugou’s sudden turnaround. Just as she was about to give up and just laugh out loud, Bakugou came up face to face in an incredibly suave and swift move, taking (y/n)’s waist and dipping her, that (y/n) couldn’t help but gasp out in surprise.

“Good morning,” he stated, handed her the flowers, kissed her cheek and then entered the classroom, not even shoving his way through the crowd of students.

(Y/n) stood with the letter in her left hand, the bouquet of flowers in her right, and a mailman and wagons of balloons behind her, eyes unbearably wide.

“Class is starting,” an unknown classmate whispered to her.

Slowly, so very slowly, (y/n) trudged towards her seat. The hot-headed, hard-to-maintain Bakugou... that was definitely not him.

It must have been a joke, a very odd and bizarre joke that, maybe once the punchline was thrown, she'd be able to understand. But there seemed to be more occuring, all in just the span of a single morning. She was probably going to have to take him to the nurse to make sure he hadn’t been hit by some very clearly powerful quirk.

(y/n) pulled out her notebook and began jotting down every bizarre occurrence that she believed would provide as useful information when asked what she deemed was wrong in her usually temperamental boyfriend. She did well hiding her spying glares towards his spot.

[8:00 a.m.]

A fellow classmate (Kaminari) came up to Bakugou and began making fun of his attire.

"Damn, red? Making some sort of fashion statement, are we?"

Kaminari then proceeded to tap the back of Bakugou’s head with his pointer finger. Bakugou simply continued trying to take notes that (y/n) would later have to ask for. This went on for a few more seconds until Bakugou grabbed the boy's finger, giving him a piercing glare. Perhaps this would finally break Bakugou into at least showing a little bit more of his original self?

"If you have enough time to be commenting on an outfit, perhaps you should have entered a fashion school. You're here to learn how to be a hero, act like it," With that statement, he let go of the boy's finger and returned to writing more notes.

Kaminari looked astonished, but ashamed and went back to his table, grumbling about how even heroes should know how to dress.

Bakugou caught (y/n) staring at this moment, and shot her a cute smile and wave. It was a double hit that would have worked if that were how he always acted, but it simply caused (y/n) to shiver and turn back around.

[8:40 a.m.]

"Everyone, turn to page 64 of your History of Heroes and fighting throughout the world. Raise your hand if you would like to read once you reach the page!”

And just like that, not only had (y/n) missed an entire forty minutes of notes but, now, she had even forgotten her book at home. Which meant she would not be able to go through that lesson that day either. And to make matters worse...

“All right, since no one’s participating how about.... (y/n)? Please read the first paragraph out loud.”

(Y/n) was positive the teacher must have some sort of radar that sensed distraught in her students and was glad to use that to her advantage.

Sadly, (y/n) stood from her chair and apologized, “I’m sorry, but...”

And just like that, a knight in shining flames appeared next to her.

“What she’s trying to say is, that, we haven’t been able to see each other lately, so is it all right if we sit next to each other today?” Bakugou asked, giving the teacher a sad sort of glance.

The teacher shook her head, not really being able to believe that Bakugou was genuinely asking and not screaming that he demands her obedience, “I’m sorry, but, seats are assigned and it wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the alumni if you got to switch and they didn’t.”

Surprisingly, the teacher actually looked apologetic. Probably a sucker for romance.

Bakugou peered down, almost as if he was trying to keep from looking sad, “Ah, I see. No, I understand. You are a just and fair teacher after all, I wouldn’t expect less from you. But, you see, we’ve already been unable to see each other outside from school since we’ve been so busy preparing for our own futures that we’ve hardly had time to think of where she and I will be heading... together! I just fear that we’ll grow apart... after all, we’re already told by so many adults that,” Bakugou sighed and held on to (y/n)’s hand, “Romance... doesn’t exist in an adolescent’s heart. Could it end up being true?”

He ended the blow by giving the teacher a forlorn look straight into her eyes. The teacher seemed to be in tears and the whole class was silent.

Finally, she took a large, shaky breath and nodded, “Yes, I understand. I don’t wish for you to end up believing in what they say about you and,” she smiled joyfully at (y/n), “your girlfriend and end up giving up on a past love like me. NO! Please, take a seat next to her. And, what is this, are you sharing a textbook with each other? Ooh! Romance IS alive still! All right kids! Settle down, I think we’re going to do some partner reading instead.”

Of course there were grumbles, but the closet romantics were silently cheering the couple on.

The teacher came up, wrapped her hands around Bakugou’s, and smiled, “Stay strong!” With that, she disappeared to the back of her desk and pulled out her phone. Perhaps to make a call from a long forgotten lover... or something.

For the next twenty minutes, it was a k-drama of Bakugou leaning in so she could smell the sweet scent of cologne (which he’d never used before), and slight blushing coming from (y/n).

Something was definitely not right. She had seen something from Bakugou in the middle of his speech. Everyone else had seen him as proper and a romantic during it, he seemed incredibly sincere. But the real Bakugou would never dare even attempt to utter such sweet sonnets, and she knew this for a fact.

What made it even more clear was the slight twitch of his eyebrow that showed clear frustration. Bakugou was still in there somewhere.

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(Part 12 of ?; start; previous; next)

Some days later, they were taking turns sitting on a pile of rocks above the village, seeing how far they could throw stones. Leofe, despite never having been cyberized, or indeed never having even seen the inside of a modern aug clinic, easily outdistanced Katherine every time. Maybe her augs had been offline so long she was reverting to baseline. That was a worrying thought.

Leofe paused, rock in hand, and looked at her. “You know,” she said, “It’s astonishing how badly you speak.”

“I thought I was talk better now?” Katherine said.

“Better. But still, astonishing.” Leofe looked at her rock pensively for a moment, then threw it. It landed fully twice as far away as Katherine’s had.

“Even children don’t make any of the mistakes you do,” Leofe said. “You find the words easily enough. You just don’t know what to do with them.”

Katherine had gone to bed that night with a warm, satisfied glow. So she was making progress at least.

Despite his shyness at first, Leofric turned out to be a little more sociable than his sister, when he realized Katherine could understand him well enough.

“Don’t worry,” he said to her one day while they were fixing road-posts. “Leofe is sharp, but she means well.”

Katherine opted not to mention the incident with the knife.

“And you learn so quickly. She’s a good teacher, no? All the children love her.”

Katherine found that pretty hard to believe.

“Say to me,” Katherine said, “I not first outlander here to come, yes?”

“No,” said Leforic. “Not the first.”

“You know other? His name? When he come?”

“That was before I was born,” he said.

“Your parents?”

“I don’t know.” And I don’t want to talk about it, the tone of his voice added.

Trying to get any information out of Leofe or Leofric about the history of their people was like pulling teeth. They would acknowledge only that their people had not always lived in the Dry Valleys, the place they called the Stonedales. But they would not say how they had come here, or why they spoke a dead language, and why they shunned cyberization, or outside contact. And when Katherine approached the others in the village, they were even less helpful. The few people who had begun to acknowledge her existence at mealtimes started pointedly ignoring her again.

Katherine had never been so lonely in her life.

She did her best to take notes on the Dry Valleys People. She didn’t have her memory augs, or even anything to write with, and Leofe indicated the writing materials they did have were too precious to be wasted on the likes of Katherine. So she did her best to memorize things as they occurred to her, in the chanting fashion of Leofe’s people.

Lovely Leofe likes to argue; Lanky Leofric has a loping stride. From post to post he quickly passes, Races miles at a runner’s pace. Nine villages, known to me. In each a hundred in all their houses. Diet of meat and boiled mosses. Political organization? Possibly elders? Possibly patriarchal, by their pattern of names. Hunters, not herdsmen. Grow moss in the hills? Water from glaciers, hence village’s location.

Okay, so that one didn’t alliterate. But it was pretty obvious.

Even if he didn’t talk about history much, Leofric was a reliable source of gossip, especially at mealtimes.

“You see that one, next to my father? That’s his friend, Andrac.”

“Tall, big face hair?”

“Yes. He’s from two valleys over. He goes overland in the summers. They hunt, out on the ice.”

“On the ice? No animal on ice, yes?”

“They don’t hunt animals. They hunt dragons.”

Katherine wasn’t sure she’d heard that right. The word meant either dragons or worms.

“Hunt dragons?”

“Yes. You know, very big. Tough hide. Spit fire.”

Katherine struggled to form the right question in her mind, frustrated that she didn’t know the words.

“But, but. Dragons not. Is not. Dragons not be.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Are not dragons on, on, uh, on dirt.”

“No, on the ice. Like I said. Overland.” He gestured vaguely up the valley.

“Ah!” Katherine let out a cry of frustration. “No hunt is not thing be!”

Leofric shook his head.

“No, sorry, I really don’t understand.”

“Ugh, forget it,” Katherine said in English. “If he hunts dragons, he hunts goddamn dragons.”

“Oh, you see her?” Leforic pointed to someone else. “She says she’s a witch. She’s not really, she just wants people to leave her alone.”

Katherine turned this cryptic statement over in her mind, but didn’t bother trying to interrogate it. No use. She did her best to remember though.

Witches are lonely, Leofric says. And Andrac dares dragons to hunt, Out on the ice, Antarctica’s wastes.

She tried to ask Leofric as much as she could. Even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about his people’s history, maybe he could talk about their present.

“How village arrange?”

“Sorry?”

“How you make leader? Er… king? Lord?”

Leofric laughed. “No, we don’t have a king.”

“What you have?”

Leofric didn’t seem to understand the question. “We don’t have anything like that.”

God dammit, she thought. How the hell did you say “formal or informal power structures” in a language you barely spoke?

“How you answer question as group?”

“You mean, how do we know things? With books. And history. We’re not stupid, you know.”

“No, no.” Katherine shook her head. “How you make, uh, make decision?”

“Decisions about what?”

“About everything. About where house, about how much food. About, uh, about to hunt dragon?”

“We do as we want. We are a free people, aren’t we?”

Katherine didn’t really know how to answer that.

A free people fared south, Over the sea to an icy shore. Here they hoped a haven to find, In stony halls on stony ground. Why the hell would they come here To this frozen shithole, the barren buttock Of God’s creation?

Ugh. That didn’t even scan. Whatever.

Leofe’s lessons continued unabated, and with no diminishing sense of urgency. Katherine now tracked her days in verses and paragraphs and pages, not in days. One evening, right when they finished the Gospel of Luke, Leofe announced a sudden end to the lesson, despite the fact it wasn’t even dinnertime.

“So soon?” Katherine asked. “But what about killing me so the snow doesn’t have to?”

Leofe shrugged. “You’re doing better,” she said. “Not so lazy lately. You can afford a night of rest. And tomorrow you have to get up early.” Then she had turned, and abruptly departed from the room.

Despite her encouragement, Katherine could not help but feel uneasy. That night, she tossed and turned; got up for a few hours to sit over the gospel-book and go over a few passages that had given her trouble; then gone back to bed and slept badly. She was awake as soon as Leofe entered her room that morning, no boot-prodding necessary, though it was hours earlier than usual. Leofe waited for her to get dressed in silence.

“What’s going on?” Katherine asked. But Leofe didn’t answer.

They went out from the village. Katherine realized to her surprise that she had completely lost track of how long she had been in Antarctica. The sun was low in the sky--far lower than it had been when she’d set out. Perhaps any day now, it would sink below the horizon for good, and the six-month-long Antarctic night would begin. Katherine had already looked forward to that long darkness with uneasiness before she set out from Dublin. Now, cut off as she was from the outside world, it seemed even more ominous.

Leofe led her out along one of the paths that led up into the hills; but Katherine soon realized this was not one they had taken before. It bent back on itself repeatedly, avoiding climbing too steeply, and she could not see where it led; finally, as they approached a great cleft in the hillside, she saw that it disappeared into the gap. Leofe led her to the cleft, and pointed into it. Katherine followed her hand. The cleft was the opening of a cave. Not a natural cave. There was a narrow, low passage, cut with tools, that quickly vanished in darkness. Leofe produced a candle from her coat, and stepped into the mouth of the cavern. Sheltering the candle from the draft, she lit it and beckoned Katherine to follow.

Katherine was not given to panic in small spaces, but she couldn’t help but feel a little anxious in the constricting space. It sloped down gently for twenty paces, then began to rise once it was deep inside the hill. As they walked up the slope, Katherine realized there was a dim light coming from ahead of them. They were not the first ones here. After another thirty paces, the passage ended suddenly; it opened into a great, cavernous chamber.

They entered the chamber and took their seats at a stone bench along the rear wall. The bench, like the chamber itself, had been carved out of the rock of the hillside. Painstakingly, Katherine imagined; given the technological proclivities of the Dry Valleys People, it must have been the work of hundreds of bodies, over years. There was space for two hundred people to stand around comfortably here. Benches lined three walls, and in a circle around the middle of the room, narrow pillars rose sharply up to the ceiling. A cleft in the ceiling, some natural fissure of rock, admitted a small sliver of sky, but mostly the room was lit by lamps and candles set in alcoves and on spurs of stone around the room and on the pillars themselves.

But the chamber was not lined with unadorned rock. The floor had been grooved with sharp, tile-like patterns that radiated outward from the middle of the room. When they reached the walls and the feet of the pillars, they contorted themselves, and twisted suddenly into sinuous shapes that wound back into each other, like vines or nests of serpents, all the way to the ceiling. And on the far wall, opposite the entrance, where the floor was a little raised like a platform, the curling patterns opened up, and united to form the outline of seventeen great portraits, each as high as a person, each different in appearance. A few were men, a few were women. A few, Katherine couldn’t quite tell. Each head wore what looked like a crown; each pair of eyes was shut, as if deep in thought or sleeping. Lamplight flickered across their faces.

“What is this place?” Katherine asked Leofe quietly.

“Quiet,” Leofe said. She pointed to the opposite side of the room.

There were aged men and women standing there. Some that Katherine recognized from the house where they had passed sentence on her. There were twenty or thirty of them now, and they spoke together in quiet tones, which bounced off the rock but did not come to Katherine’s ear in any intelligible form. As they stood there, gradually Katherine became aware than more were filtering in to the room. Some she recognized from the village below. Some she did not.

“They decide today?” Katherine asked Leofe. Leofe only nodded. “You didn’t tell me.”

Leofe shrugged. “It would not have helped. You are ready, or you aren’t.” Leofe looked down at the ground. After a long pause, she said “I did everything I could for you.”

They sat there for another hour, as more people arrived, in twos and threes mostly. Katherine noticed that as they came into the chamber, everyone fell silent, even if they had been in the middle of a sentence. No one approached the platform where the old men and women stood. There was a practically funeral air in the chamber, and Katherine wondered if her fate hadn’t already been decided.

Part of her wanted to stand up, stride into the middle of the room, and shout for their attention. Make a fuss. Mess with their heads. Yell cuss words in their holy place. But another part of her, the part of her that had paid careful attention watching the villagers interacting in the hall, the part of her that watched Leofe carefully every day, to see what that impassive mask of her hid, that part quietly said no. That there is a time for yelling and cussing and making a scene. This is not it. You do not impress these people, and if you force their hand, they will not be gentle.

So Katherine sat quietly, and waited for something to happen.

Finally, when it seemed no one else was likely to arrive, and Katherine’s butt was beginning to suggest even something hard and flat in wood would feel like a royal throne in comparison to what it was currently planted on, something did happen. Some unseen signal swept through the room. The old people on the platform stopped talking, and turned to face everyone else. The rest of the room organized itself; people got up off benches, came away from the walls, gathered in the middle of the room, and faced the platform. Leofe stood up quickly, and motioned for Katherine to follow.

The figures parted as she approached, and they watched her go past. Leofe pointed to a spot right in front of the platform, in the empty space in front of the crowd. Katherine walked to it, and looked around her.

Once again, she had the uncomfortable feeling of an insect under a magnifying glass.

One of the men, white-haired with a thick beard, stepped forward. His face was lined and worn, and he might have played the part of a loving grandfather, or a kindly professor, in some other context. But the expression he wore suggested that he had never smiled in his life; that, indeed, frivolity was something he thoroughly disapproved of, and the only acceptable alternatives to work and study were sleep or death. He looked at Katherine, then at the crowd, then back at Katherine.

“You are Katherine Alice Green?” he said. He made no effort to speak carefully or slowly like Leofe did, but Katherine fixed her attention on every syllable.

“I am,” she said.

“You have come to the Stone Valleys against our law,” he said. “You are an invader. An outsider. In times past, men and women such as you have come among us, and they have made life very hard for us. We have never sheltered them, nor asked them for aid of any kind in return. We do not seek or tolerate the presence of outlanders. This, we believe, is known to your people. Yet you are here.”

To Katherine’s surprise, Leofe spoke from behind her.

“My father found her on the shore of the ice. She was nearly dead and half-starved. She comes here through no fault--”

“Be silent, Leofe. You are not part of this. It is for you to speak, Katherine Green.”

“Um. I. Ah…” Katherine’s brain was working overtime, trying to explain how she got to the Dry Valleys. Why she had come here. What she meant, in a way that would not invariably make everything worse. But worst of all, suddenly all the words she had been carefully gathering over the past few weeks had vanished. Poof, gone, flown away. She could not find any of them. “I’m not sure how to explain in a way--”

“You will speak in our tongue,” the man said sharply.

Ugh. This was her oral exams all over again. Why couldn’t she find the stupid words? She looked over at Leofe, who was staring at her with frightening intensity. She wished she knew what Leofe was thinking. This kid is doomed, maybe. All that work for nothing.

Katherine took a deep breath. No. This was like the shore. She was not going to give up, not here. Not if she could help it. She pushed down her panic, closed her eyes, and thought very carefully about what she wanted to say.

[fuck-bowers]

Twelve Days of Criss-mas / Vic Criss x Reader

A/N: I was requested a second Halloween fic for Vic by @aprilfooledyou but Halloween had passed before I could post it, so I thought for the moment, I would post a festive fic stuffed with holiday fluff :-) be warned. v fluffy. v cheesy. just in time for Christmas. hope you enjoy!!

“Wow, who’s your secret admirer?”

You beamed down at the letter in your hands, folded in half, a big “Day 3” scrawled on the front. Immediately you blushed, laughing to yourself. “No idea. These just started the other day.”

Letters were being taped to your locker daily now, apparently counting up to an unknown set of days. Your best friend Teresa grinned excitedly, looking over your shoulder.

“Open it up!” She excitedly insisted, and slowly you folded open the piece of notebook paper to find a paragraph of a letter inside, just like the two received before it. Teresa squealed, startling you.

“It’s a love letter!” Your best friend said, seemingly surprised. You had a similar shock when you discovered the first letter - no one had done anything like this to you before, much less to any other girl at Derry High.

Before either of you could read it, you closed it abruptly.

“Unfair! I gotta read it!” She whined, and you shook your head with a grin.

“No, come on, they wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“You know who they are?” She questioned, even more curious. You shook your head again, shrugging.

“It could be anyone.” You replied. Looking down at the folded letter in your hand, you furrowed your brows. 

“I don’t know what they mean, ordering things in days.”

For a moment, the two of you were silent, until Teresa smiled wide. “The twelve days of Christmas. It’s a twelve days of Christmas thing.”

It made so much sense. You smiled back at her, surprised you hadn't figured it out earlier.

“That’s totally it, you're right.”

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, Teresa began to walk backwards down the hall, but not before pointing at you with raised eyebrows.

“You tell me the second you know who it is.”

“Of course!” You hollered back. As she left in the stream of other students going home, you opened the letter up. In messy handwriting, you deciphered the letter’s contents.

Dear Y/N,

Boy, this is weird. Don't girls like stuff like this, though? Maybe not, if you don't know who it's from. But it could be kinda nice. I dunno.

I love your voice. It's nice and chipper and sweet and it cuts through the sound of everyone else’s voice in a crowd full of people. In class when you ask questions your voice is a beautiful low tone, musical notes hanging in the air until the bell rings. - Yours truly

The day before, it had been about your eyes, and the very first day, it was about your smile. You were a blushing fool, grinning down at the paper, standing alone by your locker. Coming back to reality, you looked down the hallway.

You wished whoever wrote it would be watching nearby, but of course, you were alone. You'd have to wait nine more school days to even know their name.

Vic Criss scribbled ‘yours truly’ onto the bottom of the torn out notebook page, flipping it over before Belch Huggins, sitting beside him in the cafeteria, could read it. Belch smiled slyly.

“Is that homework?”

Vic gave a nod, looking down at it. “Uh, yeah. Thought I'd start an essay early.”

Staring at him for a moment, Belch finally gave out a laugh. “Boy, you're full of shit.”

Of course, Vic would never admit his love letter writing to Henry, and especially never to Patrick - but Belch seemed to have the most potential to understand.

Slowly, Vic opened his mouth, thinking of how to phrase it.

“This, uh, this girl I like. I've been leaving her letters. For Christmas. That's all.”

Belch cocked an eyebrow. “She must be fuckin’ special.” He commented, taking a bite of his sandwich.

You were. Vic had known it since middle school. Other girls, though attractive, though kind, had never enticed him as much as you had. And you only had spoken to him a handful of times. He didn’t want to go through Christmas break still debating whether or not to make his feelings known.

“Yeah.” Vic muttered, folding the finished letter in half. On top, he wrote “Day 3” in big, bold letters.

Day 4, day 5, day 6 - the days passed by, each with a note taped to locker #52, right before the last class of the day. Though the text was nearly chicken scratch, you could read it, and each letter’s ugly handwriting was juxtaposed with its poetry.

Dear Y/N,

Every time I hear your laugh, it brighten up my day. It sounds like wind chimes in the summer.

I wish I could make you laugh. Maybe someday I can. Evan if I told the lamest joke in the world and you gave me a pity laugh, I'd be happy to know I caused that wonderful noise.

I hope you had a good day today.

- Yours truly

Dear Y/N,

You're so smart. You already know. But whenever you're called on in class, you speak so elecuently and you know every answer to every question your asked. If you've noticed me in class, you know whenever I'm called on, I either fuck up saying the right answer, or I just get it flat-out wrong.

You're probably sick of these letters, right? I would be too. Don't worry, there's only a few left!

- Yours truly

Dear Y/N,

O.K , I didn't know whether or not it'd be in good taste to write this or if it would make me look like a total creep - but it's a part of what I like about you, so I might as well be honest. You've got a smokin’ body. Just like yesterday's letter, I'm sure you already know and don't need some rando telling you, but wow, you've really got it going on. You’re incredible. Do you go to a gym? … don't answer that.

Anyway, that’s just one of the many things about you that I’m crazy over. This is the crudest letter you'll receive, I promise.

- Yours truly

You couldn't help but giggle at the last letter. It really was a boy who, at least vaguely, knew about decency. At every school day’s end, it was what you looked forward to with excitement, wondering what the next one would say. Days 7, 8, 9, 10, passed by with each love letter sweeter than the last. The weekend was usually a breeze to get through, but between days 10 and 11, it couldn't go by fast enough.

Eyes searching through every class for your secret admirer, you weren't sure what to look for. Any and all of the students - well, some more than others - could be the one.

Day 11’s note was different - it included a big hint.

Dear Y/N,

I was sitting in the cafeteria alone after class, all mad cuz I had just failed a test I'd studied really hard for. The guys had all made fun of me for even trying. I thought if I tried to study, instead of just slacking off, I could get a good grade for once. I guess not.

You came up to me and said that you'd failed the test, too. I know you didn't. You're too smart. I don't think you were flirting or anything, I think you just knew I took it hard. I said yeah, it was much harder than Ms. Goodman said it would be, and you smiled and said that's the way she is. Then you said see you later and walked away.

If that's something you do for people you barely know, it says so much about who you are. I wish I knew you better.

- Yours truly

As the letter came to a close, your heart raced, butterflies rushing in waves through your stomach. There had only been one guy you'd done that to. It was one you had never, ever expected to be the romantic behind the confessions.

Vic had held a debate in his head all morning long concerning whether or not he’d deliver the final letter in person. The last letter said nearly outright who “yours truly” was - unless you did that to everyone Ms. Goodman failed.

Even so, how uncomfortable would it be if you were hand-delivered the 12th letter by the same boy you wanted to avoid after reading the 11th? You came to class seemingly in a good mood everyday, but Vic couldn't tell if it was because of him.

Vic wasn't as invasive as Patrick to hide and watch you read each letter, and he wasn't as bold as Henry or Belch to ask you out instead of going to all this trouble. Hell, Patrick wouldn't have left a single letter either, much less care if you liked them or not.

Of course, this was new for Vic, too. He wasn’t sure if too many of his mom’s soap episodes had gotten to his head, or if it was the wonder of Christmas driving him to confess his love like this. Regardless, he didn’t want the gesture to be too over the top - he might as well leave the letter, rather than deliver it.

The towhead of the Bowers gang placed the final letter onto your locker, taping it securely. Drawing in a deep breath for a long sigh, he wondered if you’d talk to him after this, if it was a good idea to write his name in the final letter instead of the typical ‘yours truly’, if the entire twelve days of letters itself was a good idea at all.

Coyly tapping him on the shoulder, Vic nearly jumped as he turned around, eyes wide. They seemed to widen even more when he realized he’d be getting his answer.

You beamed at him, and realizing it must be okay to smile back, he started to. That's when you put a hand to his cheek and quickly pressed your lips upon his.

The long-awaited kiss lasted a tender, surprising moment, but before Vic had the chance to kiss back, you pulled away.

“Merry Christmas, Vic.” You wistfully said with a smirk, as you turned and ran back to class without a second glance.

He stood alone in the hallway, breathless, slowly smiling, just as you had been upon receiving your first letter.

Within seconds, you’d made it a good Christmas - and he looked forward to an even better year.

[b0oker18]

My First Post: My thoughts/headcanon on the relationship of Mulder and Scully pre and post “I want to Believe”

Disclaimer: Originally I just wanted to just share my thoughts on Mulder and Scully's relationship pre - “I want to Believe” and there relationship during “I want to Believe” but I have never really expressed my thoughts publicly before, so this becomes a much longer conversation. So it might get a little messy at some point. I say things like I may get into that in another post and then it goes on for three paragraphs. I just want to get this out there and don’t want to edit anymore. Sorry! Enjoy!

I just re-watched the X Files “I Want To Believe” for the first time in like 4 or 5 years recently, I always liked the movie (I guess), but never REALLY thought about it much other than the MSR scenes.

But upon watching again, and having watched season 10 and 11, (maybe i'll share my thoughts on that another day) I now see the movie with a different set of eyes. Specifically the complex relationship of our beloved M and S. I would like to share some of my theories/headcanon with the tumblr-sphere if there's even anyone willing to listen and give their feedback and thoughts. But please keep in mind that these things are my personal feelings, I have no proof that what i am saying is 100% correct and quite frankly no one else does either. Please Enjoy!

A lot of XF fans say that Scully is sad throughout the entire movie, and I agree, but in my mind it is justified (and please bear in mind that I am mostly thinking just in-universe and not the decision of the writers, directors, actors.) I mean think about it, she has a man at home, who is isolated from the world, he spends his days cutting out newspaper stories and pinning them to a wall in an office the size of a half bath. Mulder is bored, even though he does not admit it. (The pencils on the ceiling in his office are a dead giveaway). Also Scully seems to have her head above water, being a successful doctor. I don't think Mulder is necessarily jealous of that, but it's got to hurt him sometimes. Thats human nature! He lost his chance to tell the world of the things he's done and that sucks!

I also want to be clear that this does not mean I think that M and S spend their days in misery. I think that once Scully comes home from her shifts at the hospital most days Mulder did his damndest to put down the newspapers and be with his woman to the best of his ability. Given his circumstances however it must of been hard to have a fantastic relationship, when he probably never left within a 10 mile radius of there home. I want to believe that there was happiness in those days, and even though I don't think they were exactly fucking like bunnies every night (though in my dirtier headcanon I think the kamasutra was something that suited them in the Bedroom), i don't think they shared every thought and feeling about everything under the sun, remember until season 11 communication was never a strong point. I do think that having each other in those difficult circumstances helped a lot though.

I want to move on the the movie now and sort of get in the heads on M and S. At the start of the movie the FBI comes to “Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital”. They have an ultimatum for Mulder, help us and you will be a free man (which is ridiculous, but you know X Files and shit). Anyway, I could totally see why Scully would jump all over this, for a couple of reasons. 1.) Mulder will finally be free! They can see the world as a couple and truly enjoy their lives. 2.) This one may be reaching but I can accept it. I think in that moment, she believed that once Mulder accepts the FBI’s request and helps them with the case, it would make him see that “hey, you know what? This life is not for me anymore, I’m getting too old for this shit!” which admittedly was not bright on her part. But she took that leap of faith. BTW she sort of admitted it was a mistake several times throughout the movie.

Of course with Mulder being Mulder he dove right back into the thick of it. This is what has been missing in his life for the past 7 years! He becomes that old obsessed Mulder, who I always refer to as “season one Mulder” and because of that he loses sight of what Scully is trying to say and what she wants out of the relationship. Which leaves me to one of the more controversial moments in the film, when Scully sort of breaks things off with Mulder. She cant stand what this case has done to him. She can no longer take obsessed Mulder any more, there relationship has changed. There is no more will they, won't they, there is no more fear of if they got together will it change them in a bad way, which is the feelings I believed they always had during the orginal run. They come home to each other every night now.

I sympathize with Scully here a little bit. I understand where she is coming from. Her life is in a completely different place now, she is a Doctor doing work that must be incredibly stressful and difficult. Not to mention working at a catholic hospital that probably has zero budget and probably can not help 50% of the patients that walk through the door. Basically she can not moonlight as an X Files consultant. I also think what she said in the locker room (I’m not coming home or whatever it was) was a last ditch to get Mulder to wake up and realize that this isn't his life anymore either, which of course backfires.

Now jumping ahead to the end of the movie. The case is solved and life seems to go back to normal. Except of course for the relationship of our dynamic duo, which is still in limbo. Remember how Father Joe told Scully not to give up, clearly Scully struggled over the fact that God may be talking to her through a literal pedifile priest ( yea... I don’t have the energy to get into that today). This is something that she does not to tell Mulder through the entirety of the movie (remember what I said about communication). When she finally tells him, I think that it was the start of the thawing of the relationship which had briefly gone cold.(There is some symbolism in this with the melted snow in the make-out scene) Had Scully not told Mulder what he said I don't think he follows her outside. From there we know the rest. Mulder wants to escape the “darkness” a line that I hate (it's so cheesy), but I'll go with it. Scully of course complies, and they embrace.

Now I want to get into a little bit of post IWTB, which would fall in between 2007 to 2015 I choose to believe that scully breaks things off in 2015 possibly end of 2014, I refuse to believe that they broke up “soon” after IWTB, like CC had implied in interviews, no bro, they didn’t break up that quickly, just no. I believe that after taking there little island getaway things were going very well for M and S, I believe that Scully took a brief leave of absence from the Hospital and M and S got to see a little bit of the world together. Also I will fight anyone who tells me that they did not attend at least one Knicks game together, we all know how much Mulder loves the Knicks (Go Celtics!) (I’m from New England, so sue me!). Mulder and Scully's relationship to me is SUPER complex, there are so many ups and downs, and it did not end with IWTB, which I want to get into a little bit.

So I had a fantastic back and forth with the lovely and super insightful @f-u-carter​ the other day (you can read here the conversation was expanded upon in the notes FYI). It started with me anonymously saying that in my head canon I believed that “Plus One” came before “This” canonically, I had a couple of drinks in me and had some fun with it. The conversation turned into our beliefs as to why we believed Scully left Mulder (in 2015 not 2009 like CC wants us to think). I want to add a little bit to that. So from 2007-08 to 2014 I believe (or at least I want to believe) Mulder was a new man in many respects, I think he left his newspaper clipping days behind him for a while, and although he was still Mulder in a sense, like having many conversations with Scully about X Files related things. I believe that the “boredom” he felt for so long was gone.

So what changed? Why in the season 10 premiere is he back to being old Mulder? Again @f-u-carter​ brought up some great points and it helped change my mind. (here it is again, remember the convo is expanded in notes) I think that the world changed for Mulder in unexpected ways. He was suddenly living in the “Edward Snowden” age, where we are constantly being spied upon (again I’m talking strictly in-universe, I’m leaving personal feelings out of it). This could absolutely put Mulder into another tail spin, like a major one! Also originally I thought the 2012 alien invasion was the major factor, but I don't really feel that way anymore.

I have a feeling this frustrated Scully a great deal, I mean she got what she ultimately wanted from Mulder post IWTB, and know here is is back to “season one Mulder”. Given where she was in life, she just could not deal with it again, and it put a huge strain on their relationship leading to the break up. Look do i like the break up, HELL NO, do I truly understand it - not really. But unfortunately due to a certain creator and his never nude propaganda, it is what it is. I can not ignore canon, so this is me trying like hell to justify.

On the somewhat positive side of things, and I can dive deeper into this in another post, I think what rejoining the X-Files did for M and S was taught them how to communicate about feelings and realize there place in the world. Not necessarily working on the X-Files (but it's part of it) but more so that there is no one else for them in this world, just Mulder and Scully. Fate, God, whatever brought them together for a reason. They are the ultimate bringers of truth, the light in the darkness. P.S. I would love to someday talk about God in the X Files universe and how I believe he/she operates, but I need to collect my thoughts on this some more.

Mulder got his mojo back, and Scully I believe, and this may not be the most popular theory, learned how to forgive herself and let go of the mistakes of her past. The last conversation in “Nothing lasts Forever”, I believe puts some credence into my theory (you can read my theory on what Scully whispered to Mulder Here and I think I expanded on it a little, which you can read in the notes). She talked about her guilt of giving up William and her guilt for leaving Mulder (albeit in an X Filely sort of way). I think the final conversation in “nothing lasts forever” is one of the most brilliant conversations both in-universe wise and directorily wise (is that a word?), and I may blog about that another time. In short I think Scully always looked to God to forgive her, but as my Grandmother used to say “God helps those who help themselves” (i’m not religious, but I think it is a beautiful saying).

Last thing I want to talk about is the most controversial episode of season 11 “My struggle 4”, and some of my thoughts on this. A Lot of X Files fans say that Scully “threw away” William, I hate it when people say this. I can understand why people loathe this ending so much, but if you made it this far in this ridiculously long first post then maybe you can hear me out. Throwing something away is a lot different than letting something go. Throwing away implies that you no longer what something, letting go means that you care enough about something to know when to say goodbye. I believe Scully is doing so with William. I don't think Scully ever believed that she was suddenly going to be a Mother to William after being estranged for 17 years. When Scully said “I was never a Mother to him”, the cold hard reality of it is, she is telling the truth, being a Mother is not just about giving birth, but raising the child until adulthood. William (I hate calling him Jackson BTW) was raised by other people, and as an almost adult, at least old enough to make decisions on his own he CHOSE to be a criminal, CHOSE to be left alone. Scully in my mind accepted that. Going back to “nothing lasts forever” again, remember when Scully was talking about Mulder always “Bearing North” (I’m too tired to find the exact quote, sorry), I think she very much took that to heart, and she is doing the same thing Mulder always did, bear north. William knows that Scully loves him, but she also knows who he really is, something she could never protect, ever. To add to that William would never let her protect him, because she and Mulder would die doing so. It is certainly a very heavy burden for Scully, but one in my mind she has to accept.      

As for the pregnancy… I have a much harder time explaining that one. What it does do though, in my opinion was put M and S in a position that they came close to having but never actually had. Being actual parents, like for good this time. There is no CSM, alien/human hybrids, super soldiers, whatever to take that away. Should we be jumping up and down for joy over this? No. But if we keep this conversation in-universe isn't it kind of what they wanted? There ages be damned. Could they of lived a quiet, peaceful, happy life without another child, sure! But what this baby does is change them as people. We no longer have to worry about Scully leaving for a third time, because Mulder has been reading up the latest conspiracy theory, putting him into another tail-spin. Mulder is an actual Father now, the new syndicate is dead, William can be whoever he wants (and yes I believe Scully and Mulder know he is alive still). What else is there for him now? Other than being the best older daddy and lover to Scully he can possibly be. Do I think this is some brilliant ending, of course not! But, under these circumstances can I live with it? Yes I can. (I realize that this part is my weakest argument, but this ending is canon and for my own sake I need to rationalize it).

So that is my very, very long first real post, about something I care about deeply. I never really had a voice to let my opinion be known, because None of my friends, family, etc. care about The X Files. Which is fine by me. You have no idea how good this feels, my thoughts have been cooped up in my brain for a long time now, and it was starting to kind of affect me negatively (plus I was laid off recently so I have a lot of free time - don't worry though, I was just hired elsewhere and I start in a few weeks!).

If anyone ever reads this post, whether you agree with me or not, whether you think I suck or not, the only thing I really want to do is keep the conversation going in a positive light about two characters and a show that we love deeply. I will try and blog about something X FIles related maybe once a week, every few weeks, IDK yet. (maybe some sports stuff to, cause I like that shit, but if I do I promise it will be quick.) And of course if everyone thinks this sucks, you will never hear from me again lol!    

But I want to keep the conversation going, because it is so much fun hearing other people's theories and headcanons (when it is done respectfully) But the XF community is filled with classy people, and I love that. Anyway here are my closing thoughts for today. Mulder and Scully are incredibly difficult people to read. Because of the structure of the show, there is SO MUCH left unsaid and unseen. But honestly, I personally would not have it any other way. I think it's why I fell in love with these characters so hard. You can take what you want from what little we have seen from their lives, and make of it what you will. Some people think Season 7 was the “season of secret sex”, they were banging every night for like a year, and you know what? There is NOTHING in the canon of season 7 that says they were not. There is a true beauty to that. I honestly believe that. I have to believe that. My opinion, if you care, is that they banged twice in the original run, once after “Per Manum” and once after “All things”, but that's just personal headcanon. But thats it, that’s the show! If you want to believe that M and S proclaimed there love to one another every night during season 8, that’s great! If you still believe that William was a naturally conceived, and CSM only played a very small roll, if any in his creation, that's fine, if you want to believe that after Mulder and Scully had sex the first time, they spent the rest of the night reading each other french poetry, God bless you! Again please understand what i'm saying, the secret beauty to this show that I wish more people talked about is all of the things we don't see, we can shape parts of that universe in our own image, which many other shows don't have the balls to do anymore.

This is the most in-depth have ever been in regards to the X Files and I am proud of myself for doing so, I put my heart and soul into this and I hope you find enjoyment in all of this. Remember Mulder and Scully love each other with the heat of a thousand suns, and even though there have been bumps in the road, at the end of the day they always find their way back to each other. Typing this now, I wouldn't have it any other way and to quote one of the great female characters of all time “I’d do it all over again”. Thank you!

[quasithinking]

Gravity’s Rainbow: Part XV

We're introduced to Katje in this section. Katje is Blicero's Gretel, Slothrop's temptation, Pointsman's octopus's conditioned stimulus, Pudding's feces factory, and Pirate's—I don't know—salvation, maybe? Why does she get around so much? Whoever she is, she's important enough to be rescued by the Allies—by Pirate, to be explicit—via a message sent from Europe to London in a rocket. Was she, as Blicero suspected, always an operative for the Allies? Or was that just Blicero's paranoia, which grew so strong that he eventually sent the message to rescue her from himself via rocket? I don't know because I'm not a tenured academic who can devote the kind of time needed to understand Gravity's Rainbow! Also, I've only read the book once so far. I'll probably have it all figured out after my current, second reading! By the way, Katje means kitten in Dutch. Just in case that's important. Which it totally is because cats are fucking the best. Right up there with raccoons and goats. You might now have a slightly better understanding of me, now that you know my favorite animals are the most chaotic of our domesticated friends or, at least, in the case of the raccoon, urban dwellers. Side note: when I was around ten years old (I'm 49 now! Yeesh!), I saw my first Red Panda at the zoo and instantly declared the Red Panda as my favorite animal. I always forget how much I like them until they pop up on the Internet. Ten year old me would be severely disappointed in 49 year old me. Red Pandas didn't even make my list of favorite animals after I remembered them and had a chance to edit the previous paragraph! They only made this side note!

Speaking of loving chaotic things, I love Bob Mortimer so much that I accidentally became him.

This section begins with Katje being secretly filmed in Pirate's apartment while Osbie Feels prepares psychedelic mushrooms for smoking. I have never smoked mushrooms before. Is that better than eating them? Or do you still wind up just as paranoid as Slothrop when he's, um, well, when he's just being Slothrop? I once went to a strip club with a couple friends of mine while I was on mushrooms. The DJ at the club knew one of my friends and kept making references to him during the night. This caused everybody in the club to look back at our table. Strangers constantly looking up at a person on mushrooms feels aggressive and terrifying. After this happened a number of times, I turned to my friend and said, "I have to go outside." He responded, "Why? Are you going to cut somebody's head off?!" Anyway, the film will later be used to condition an octopus into attacking Katje for part of the Tyrone Slothrop experiment. But we'll get to that outrageousness later! Katje walks into the kitchen where Osbie is cooking the mushrooms down to powder just as Osbie opens the oven door which sends her into a sort of fugue state where she relives her time playing Gretel with Blicero as witch and Gottfried as Hansel. Although it's an extremely adult version of Hansel and Gretel with bits like "'the Rome-Berlin Axis' he called it the night the Italian came and they were all on the round bed, Captain Blicero plugged into Gottfried's upended asshole and the Italian at the same time into his pretty mouth" and "Katje kneeling before Blicero in highest drag, black velvet and Cuban heels, his penis squashed invisible under a flesh-colored leather jockstrap, over which he wears a false cunt. . . ." There's plenty more to that last example but I don't want to put in too many spoilers and/or visuals that might upset the squeamish. If it's true that Stephen King based his entire novel It on "The Three Billy Goats Gruff," is it possible to read Gravity's Rainbow with the conceit that the entirety of it is based on "Hansel and Gretel"? The 000000 rocket is the oven Blicero shoves Hansel inside. Except there's no Gretel to save him in this version, her having run off to the Allies. Much of the characterization in the novel is based on the methods each character is using to control what they can in the face of the War's unending random violence and death. For Blicero, Gottfried, and Katje, their method is the fairy tale of "Hansel and Gretel." It is a predetermined act in which they control their roles and their environment. Or, at least, Blicero controls them. But Katje, at least, feels it is a rational decision. I don't know, exactly, how Gottfried feels about it. It's possible we eventually get a section from his perspective (I mean prior to his perspective from within the 000000 rocket) but I don't remember it. But I will remember it soon because it's in this section! Part of Blicero's suspicion of Katje, that she might be a British spy, is a result of the "Hansel and Gretel" game itself. Isn't it Gretel who pushes the witch in the Oven in the end? Is she fated, simply by the rules of the game Blicero has chosen, to bring about his end? The game itself, used to control a world one desperately knows they have no actual way of controlling, fuels a new kind of paranoia for Blicero. She is his slave, his obedient servant, his pawn to move as he wishes. And yet, she is also his demise, his bringer of death. Just as the rockets which often misfire and fall back upon the Germans firing them, Katje presents a danger to her master, Blicero. Here, Blicero's description of Katje's commitment to Nazism, to the game: "But not Katje: no mothlike plunge. He must conclude that secretly she fears the Change, choosing instead only trivially to revise what matters least, ornament and clothing, going no further than politic transvestism, not only in Gottfried's clothing, but even in traditional masochist uniform, the French-maid outfit so inappropriate to her tall, longlegged stride, her blondeness, her questing shoulders like wings—she plays at this only . . . plays at playing." Blicero (for now the story has dipped into his perspective. As so often happens in Gravity's Rainbow, a remembrance of a character by one character often turns into the narrating perspective of that character who might remember another character which will change the perspective to that third character's point of view) contemplates an earlier point in his life when he began the trajectory (parabolic, perhaps?) of the life he currently leads. It's similar to Pointsman contemplating the minotaur and the maze and Ariadne and how the lure of Pavlovian conditioning led him to The White Visitation and planning his experiments on Slothrop. This comes after his quoting a line from Rilke: "And not once does his step ring from the soundless Destiny...." He thinks about a friend from youth who was so athletic that his Destiny as a soldier to die on the Eastern Front was practically set, simply by muscle memory, by reflex. He thinks about these Germans, these youths, all used for their ability and their belief in the lie of Deutschland Uber Alles, manipulated by others, to be sent to their deaths. But more so, he thinks about those who will survive the war, those less committed than he, those limber enough, like Katje, to change. Blicero himself has grown tired and now just looks forward to the end of his story. "He only wants now to be out of the winter, inside the Oven's warmth, darkness, steel shelter, the door behind him in a narrowing rectangle of kitchen-light gonging shut, forever. The rest is foreplay." I feel like I'm just doing a lot of summarizing but it's my only method for getting a handle on the plot and the characters which will solidify these ideas in my head which in turn should allow me to recall previous passages when I get to sections that rely on the information within these passages to fully understand and grasp the meaning of the future scenes. Blicero admits to worrying about his children, Katje and Gottfried, when he's gone. This worry makes me think it was indeed Blicero who sent the message via rocket that brings Pirate to rescue Katje (it isn't. I don't know who it was though. Katje? Piet? Wim? The Drummer? The Indian?!). As for Gottfried, well, Blicero's freedom for him is, um, somewhat different. Blicero also remembers his time in the Südwest and how he met the Herero boy, Enzian, whom he took under his wing. "Took under his wing" is an awfully innocent way of saying "sexually molested and kidnapped him back to Germany." Enzian, we will find out later, has become the leader of the Schwarzkommando. From the first time I read the book, I remembered this scene where the young boy uses the name of his God as a stand-in for fucking which drives Blicero crazy with guilt and blasphemy and lust. But I didn't realize, once Enzian was introduced, that this was who that was. This is definitely something I need to keep in mind in that it colors the relationship between Blicero and Enzian. Sidekick and apprentice were the words I thought of to describe Enzian's relationship to Blicero previously; now I must also remember to add the words molestation, kidnap, and victim. And then after Blicero ponders Katje's withdrawal from the game (I think only mentally at the moment although that would set up Blicero's decision to free her completely via extraction by Pirate), the point of view shifts to Gottfried. Before I get to that, I want to clarify something I said in a previous section. I pointed at how dumb I thought my Children's Lit professor was being when she suggested we write long essays on single sentences of text. My point wasn't that critical analysis shouldn't somehow be longer than the text being analyzed; obviously that's going to happen an awful lot. Some lines and paragraphs need pages of explication! My issue was that she didn't want us straying away from that single sentence. She didn't want us bringing in other examples of the text and exploring greater themes inherent in the work while using the sentence as a basis for a longer discussion. She simply wanted us to focus exclusively on that sentence. So while I'm obviously all for dissecting the shit out of a text (although to really go in-depth on Gravity's Rainbow would take more time than I'm willing to spend so my sectional blurbs are far, far shorter than a truly explicatory dive should probably be), I'm simply not for the completely out-of-context vibe she was creating by pulling a single sentence out of the whole and concentrating exclusively on that piece. Because what does it matter if you can't refer back to the entirety of the piece of art it was pulled from? Or as Roger Mexico said: "'I don't want to get into a religious argument with you,' absence of sleep has Mexico more cranky today than usual, 'but I wonder if you people aren't a bit too—well, strong, on the virtues of analysis. I mean, once you've taken it all apart, fine, I'll be first to applaud your industry. But other than a lot of bits and pieces lying about, what have you said?'" The "you" is in italics in the previous quote because Mexico is referring back to Pointsman's previous argument that ends with "but what has one said?" Anyway, back to Gottfried, I guess! Gottfried is young enough that death is unreal to him. It is something that happens to others. The war for him is an adventure, and the game he plays with Blicero nothing more than routine, a routine that, though outrageously different, is nothing more than the routine his fellow soldiers live through. He understands that his freedom will come with the end of the War. Until then, he plays the game, he longs for Katje, and he fucks Blicero. But he is nothing more than an observer and he watches when Katje finally quits and Blicero, subsequently, throws a huge tantrum. Blicero's reaction suggests he didn't send the message to rescue Katje. Perhaps she sent it, or one of the Allies she's been secretly passing information to for the last year. According to rumors Gottfried has heard, Katje has fallen in love with a Stuka pilot in Scheveningen. This Stuka pilot exists and his name is Wim. And on her last meeting with him, she is rescued and taken back to London by Pirate after Wim and the others (Piet, the Drummer, the Indian. Who? I don't know! Maybe a reference to a movie about British spies in WWII?!) abandon her. They abandon her because they were seeking the location of Blicero and his rocket site, the one piece of information she couldn't bring herself to betray. But once she left Blicero for good, he knew she had betrayed him and he immediately had the rocket launch site moved. Now with the context of the rest of the novel, I can see where Katje came from. She was feeding information to the Allies just as Blicero suspected. But she just couldn't feed them enough. And even though her cover as a loyal Nazi party member came at the cost of sending three Jewish families to camps, she still feels she gave them more than enough information. Nobody seems to agree because she didn't give them Blicero. But Pirate takes pity on her and sends her over to The White Visitation. Here's a lengthy transcription of Pynchon's description of the commerce of the war: "She's worth nothing to them now. They were after Schußstelle 3. She gave them everything else, but kept finding reasons not to pinpoint the Captain's rocket site, and there is too much doubt by now as to how good the reasons were. True, the site was often moved about. But she could've been placed no closer to the decision-making: it was her own expressionless servant's face that leaned in over their schnapps and cigars, the charts coffee-ringed across the low tables, the cream papers stamped purple as bruised flesh. Wim and the others have invested time and lives—three Jewish families sent east—though wait now, she's more than balanced it, hasn't she, in the months out at Scheveningen? They were kids, neurotic, lonely, pilots and crews they all loved to talk, and she's fed back who knows how many reams' worth of Most Secret flimsies across the North Sea, hasn't she, squadron numbers, fueling stops, spin-recovery techniques and turning radii, power settings, radio channels, sectors, traffic patterns—hasn't she? What more do they want? She asks this seriously, as if there's a real conversion factor between information and lives. Well, strange to say, there is. Written down in the Manual, on file at the War Department. Don't forget the real business of the War is buying and selling. The murdering and the violence are self-policing, and can be entrusted to non-professionals. The mass nature of wartime death is useful in many ways. It serves as spectacle, as diversion from the real movements of the War. It provides raw material to be recorded into History, so that children may be taught History as sequences of violence, battle after battle, and be more prepared for the adult world. Best of all, mass death's a stimulus to just ordinary folks, little fellows try 'n' grab a piece of that Pie while they're still here to gobble it up. The true war is a celebration of markets. Organic markets, carefully styled 'black' by the professionals, spring up everywhere. Scrip, Sterling, Reichsmarks continue to move, severe as classical ballet, inside their antiseptic marble chambers. But out here, down here among the people, the truer currencies come into being. So, Jews are negotiable. Every bit as negotiable as cigarettes, cunt, or Hershey bars. Jews also carry an element of guilt, of future blackmail, which operates, natch, in favor of the professionals." Once Pirate mentions that The White Visitation is where Katje can escape to, the scene shifts to her arrival there, and Osbie and Pirate having a conversation about going mad. I must, once again, transcribe a bit of text because it has a recurrence of "magenta and green" in an account of Dumbo (which will also have a recurrent mention later where Dumbo's magic feather becomes soldier corpses (or some such thing!)): "'Of course, of course,' sez Osbie, with a fluid passage of fingers and wrist based on the way Bela Lugosi handed a certain glass of doped wine to some fool of a juvenile lead in White Zombie, the first movie Osbie ever saw and in a sense the last, ranking on his All-Time List along with Son of Frankenstein, Freaks, Flying Down to Rio, and perhaps Dumbo, which he went to see in Oxford Street last night but mid-way through noticed, instead of a magic feather, the humorless green and magenta face of Mr. Ernest Bevin wrapped in the chubby trunk of the longlashed baby elephant, and decided it would be prudent to excuse himself."

Ernest Bevin, Minister of Labour during the War.

We learn that "[w]e are never told why" Katje quits the game with Blicero. But Pynchon adds some speculation that mostly amounts to simply saying, "Fuck it." In his analysis of why he brought back Katje, Pirate teaches me the word "crotchet." I shall immediately add it to my vocabulary, much as I added hobbyhorse after reading Tristram Shandy. And then, as Katje denies being Pirate's responsibility, knowing only that she owes him a debt, Pynchon gives us the story of her ancestor Frans Van der Groov and the story of the Dodoes. And I need to take a break because this section made me weep terribly last time I read it and I must prepare. The Dodo story reads like an early draft of Mason & Dixon. It easily, aside from the linguistic style, could fit into that book (which I'll probably re-read soon). And while I thoroughly loved this section the first time I read it, I gave it no real mind to the overall novel. I do that now upon my second reading and it makes me sick to my stomach. If not an analogy of the Holocaust or of Colonial Genocides, it is certainly a portrayal of the thing within humans that allow, or perhaps demand, grisly and horrendous crimes such as those. After the story of Frans Van der Groov and his dodoes (Dodoes that found salvation, or Preterite Dodoes?), Pirate and Osbie have a short conversation about what will happen with Katje. It begins like this: "'He's haunting you,' Osbie puffing on an Amanita cigarette.     'Yes,' Pirate ranging the edges of the roof-garden, irritable in the sunset, 'but it's the last thing I want to believe. The other's been bad enough. . . .'" I don't know who the "he" and "the other" are referring to! Frans, possibly, since Pirate makes reference to having been told the story later in the novel. Pointsman, maybe? Slothrop?! I guess some things will need to remain a mystery. The section ends on a scene at The White Visitation where the film of Katje that was being recorded at the beginning of this section winds up being played for Grigori the Octopus. He's being given a stimulus to respond to in the next Chapter.

[angeltriestoblog]

I Miss 5 Seconds of Summer???

A few days after 5 Seconds of Summer held their concert in the Philippines last 2016, I wrote a blog post with this exact same title then went on to elaborate that I missed the version of them that I fell in love with. I’ve unarchived it so anyone who bothers to read this has a salient starting point, but be warned: I seriously can’t make it through the entire thing without suffering from a chronic cringe attack—who ever told 16-year-old me that she could write?!

—

I have listened to 5SOS’ entire discography almost exclusively today. But my Spotify followers wouldn’t know. In an expert attempt to evade their judgment, I go on Private Mode so I can cry to their music in peace. I’ve also been watching a couple of their videos too. My favorite is this live performance of Ghost of You where Calum Hood does some immaculate vocal blending at the 1:26 mark. I have my watch history paused though so I don’t get bombarded with more recommendations and end up spiraling further down the hole.

It’s funny how I think that removing every trace of related activity on my corner of the Internet could also erase it from my own memory, render it as a mere figment of my imagination instead of a clear manifestation that I’m starting to like them again. And it might seem even funnier that I am convinced that people care! But then again, I did unstan them pretty publicly a few years back following a misogynistic interview they did for an issue of Rolling Stone, which also featured all four of them almost fully nude on the cover.

To this day, I continue to dissect the piece with one part of me thinking that I might have overreacted, having seen and read it for the first time when I was 14 and much more of a prude, and the other knowing that I did not. In one paragraph, Luke Hemmings admits that during the early years of the band, they took advantage of the amount of female attention they were at the center of. “They were wildest on their early tours, when they’d go to bars to mingle with fans after shows,” it read.

In another, Hood talks quite nonchalantly about his infamous dick pic that made its rounds on the Internet the year before, and how it surprisingly gave the band a lot of publicity. “Now I’m just working on the sex tape,” he jokes. “I’ll call Pamela up, like, ‘Hey, it’s been a while. We really need to hype this band up!’”

Having risen to fame as the opening act of the clean-cut British-Irish group One Direction, 5SOS was immediately touted as a boyband—next in line to 1D’s throne, or competing with them for the crown, depends on which magazine you read. Though this exposure granted them a huge teenage fanbase (myself included), they hated the label that came with it. They constantly asserted that they played their own instruments and wrote their own songs, and behaved in a way that well-curated, expertly marketed groups would not: carefree, loud, playfully and forgivably naughty. No one would believe them though. People would say it’s the curse of being conventionally attractive in the music industry. You were almost always expected to be a popstar, a commodity that catered to the masses. But they tried anyway: maybe a lip ring and a couple of tattoos would do the trick, sprinkle some curse words here and there in interviews, get caught smoking or drinking.

That interview was their final act: their big-time effort to break away and hopefully land a spot amongst the rock bands they looked up to and wanted so desperately to impress. Even if it meant objectifying, mocking, and taking advantage of the girls who propelled them to stardom in the first place. Simply put, that interview was them desperately trying to get rid of fans like me. And so, I obliged.

—

Now that I’ve been staying at home for almost three months straight, I have revisited a lot of old favorites: poorly written fan fiction I used to eat up in my early teenage years, full seasons of Nickelodeon TV shows (only the good ones) downloaded off sketchy places on the Internet, my childhood journals filled with my loopy handwriting and family of stick figures. I know I’m not alone in this pursuit: it seems like we’re all holding on to remnants of our past to remind us that we have experienced better days, and they will surely come again soon.

I felt like it was inevitable I’d return to 5SOS because they had released their fourth full-length album during the first few weeks of the quarantine. Everywhere on social media, I was reminded that one single was out, and then another, and then another and I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. After all, I did give Youngblood, their third record, a spin when it first came out as well. I thought their attempts at experimentation bordered on pretentiousness, and figured that if this was the musical direction they wanted to take, I’d surely hate every succeeding record as well.

But the problem was I really liked it. Although it wasn’t a no-skip album, each track was different from the rest, all showing a level of inventiveness and mastery of musical technique not present in previous releases. After playing the entire thing again and again, even the songs I didn’t vibe with at first started to grow on me. Turns out the beauty of Easier and Teeth is in the details: the thrumming bass at the beginning, the unconventional vocal inflections, best appreciated in an enclosed area with the volume on high. My amazement at how their musical style had progressed over the years led to me listening to all of their albums in chronological order, then rewatching some of their funniest interviews which were alarmingly easy to retrieve from memory.

During these times, I’ve wondered why I still remain curious about what they’re doing, why I still give their music a shot when I see it on my Release Radar. They never apologized for the article and I assume that they talk about things of that sort even more now that they’re older.

And I guess the answer is simple. Besides the fact that the music is honest to God amazing, they kind of made me who I am. Having found them during the height of my teen angst phase, I reveled in having idols who were open about rebelling against the system and forging our own paths despite being looked down on by those older than us. It was through them that I was introduced to bands that further diversified my taste in music, that I started experimenting with a more introspective type of writing that led to the style I employ to this day. I made so many good friends because of them, some of which are still in my life today. Looking back, I wouldn’t consider it the best version of myself but she was different. More importantly, she was really happy.

—

I am well-versed in the discourse surrounding problematic faves, and I know that if I ever find myself in such a situation, I have two options: either go down the productive, politically correct road and steer clear from them, or continue to consume their work but with the knowledge that what they did was inexcusable. I teeter between boycotting their music altogether—because even Spotify streams can be translated into revenue and there’s nothing that powers oppressors like financial stability and fame—and choosing to separate the art from the artist so I can appreciate good work without the reputation of its creator clouding my judgment.

I guess at this point, I probably am looking at them with rose-tinted glasses. I heard that some victims of even the most abusive and toxic relationships look back at their time with their former significant others with fondness. Though what I had with Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael was nowhere near romantic, and their transgressions far from a personal attack, maybe it applies to my situation too. I look at 5SOS now through the lens of the 14-year-old who embedded watching Keeks into her daily routine, or fell asleep listening to Heartbreak Girl on repeat and rejoiced when it hit 1,000 plays on her iTunes. They are no longer that band, and I am no longer that girl. And while it doesn’t hurt to remember the times when we were those people, I must remind myself that things can never go back to the way they were.

Maybe this doesn’t have to be as dramatic as I’m making it. But that’s the good thing about keeping this blog despite getting published on other corners of the Internet—I can make it as dramatic as I want to be.