#warning for bad handwriting ig

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

does anybody want to see the very serious and professional annotations i made in my julius caesar textbook

[stormberry-12]

you look like your name is daryll ~ lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x fem!artist!reader

warnings: none...? not edited ig

notes: random blurb to try to get the creative juices flowing. last part of faceless is on its way, just want to make sure it has all the details and is legible lol. have a good one! :)

You stood off to the side in the crowded art gallery, offering tidbits of information to random people. Some asked logical questions about the pieces of art you were selling but most just wanted to know where the nearest bathroom was.

This wasn't the way you planned on spending your weekend but your boss had invited some top dog, rich athletes to promote the museum and insisted you come and help.

It hadn't been all that bad, you were finding a few people who weren't just there for the free champagne, that you could sell some of your work to, making some extra cash here and there. However, you slowly grew bored of standing there waiting for somebody, who actually appreciated the purpose of the gallery, to pass by.

As you slumped onto a bench and pulled out your phone you heard footsteps approach you, looking up at what looked to be an avid sports fan you pointed to your left and said, "Bathrooms that way,"

He gave you a confused look and stared up at your art on the wall, "Uhm, I don't need to go, thanks though."

That made you feel stupid and you felt your cheeks heat slightly, "Sorry, I didn't think you would actually be here to look at art."

"Why?" he asked sassily. Along with the sass he had a British accent, which made your heart flutter slightly.

"Well," you sighed, "you look like your name is Daryll and you wore a smiley face bucket hat to an art museum."

He laughed and scratched the back of his neck. "Try again, it's even more lame than Daryll."

"Uhm, Eugene?"

"Do I look like a Eugene?" he questioned with a small smirk on his face.

You laughed, "Not really,"

He shook his head, laughing with you, "If I can guess your name can I take you out to lunch?"

You looked up at him confused, this was not how you saw this conversation going. Oh, who cares, "Go for it Daryll."

"Y/n?"

You looked at him with wide eyes, "Okay, that's not even funny,"

"You have nice handwriting," he put one hand in his pocket, pointing at your signature on a painting with the other.

"Anyway, I got to get going," he gestured behind him, "can I find you later?"

You chuckled, "Sure Daryll,"

He grinned wider and walked off in a rush.

After your lunch break, you returned to your post. There weren't as many people wandering around anymore. Magnified voices blasted from around the corner, followed by a crowd of people laughing. You followed the noise and shifted into the crowd, looking up at the platform of speakers.

Oh shit. It was your new friend that you had tried to chauffer to the toilet. He was the famous rich guy who was supposed to be giving this place a lot of money.

"What would you be, Lando, if you weren't a Formula 1 driver?" the interviewer asked, the two men pulled out their whiteboards and started scribbling down their answers.

"Okay- actually Oscar let's start with you," he walked over to the other guy who turned his board around. "What would he be?"

"I said a golfer being beaten by Carlos Sainz,"

The crowd groaned and laughed at his answer as the question continued, "And Lando says... a golfer, an artist, or..."

"Only fans," He grinned, and you couldn't help but laugh with the rest of the group.

Lando.

He had a nice name too. He caught your gaze and winked.

[jisungchan]

notice me | lee jeno

or: where your friends set you up (accidentally) so you end up alone with your hot college professor, lee jeno

⚔︎ warnings: professor!jeno x student!reader (therefore powerplay), unprotected penetrative piv sex (pls wrap it we cannot have anymore children in this economy and society), oral + fingering (f receiving) softdom!jeno x sub!reader (ish? not really strong dynamics tbh), bigdick!jeno agenda, light degradation/praise (idk he just yappin fr), oh yea... YAPPER JENO idc🗣, sexy consent, he finished inside so BEWARE (once again PLEASE do not bring anymore poor children in this world), light nipple play, marking ?? (hickeys galore), afab!reader with she/her pronouns, NO race specific descriptors (skin colour, hair texture, etc.), NO body type specific descriptors (size of reader body parts, height, weight, etc.). also this is basically porn w/o plot ngl but it's whatever ig

^^ let me know if i forgot anything hehe

2k word count

a/n: i completely gutted this blog and deleted all my old posts because that was a completely different audience/fandom and i have now ventured here... i haven't wrote something like this in a while so it's quite bad

“yeah i mean, he is hot, but he’s our teacher.” you exclaimed to your friends, gossiping about your teacher, professor lee jeno.

the way he would loosen his tie in class sometimes and peer at students through his glasses was just too much to handle. the dark haired older man was definitely easy on the eyes. 

“okay… so? i would let him hit any day.” your friend said, and you all laughed, yet were all in agreement. 

next thing you knew. it was time for class with the devil himself.

you sat in your usual seat next to your friends. while they all usually messed around during class, you always paid attention. your education was very important to you, and you weren’t going to let anyone get in the way of that. so you sat there, studiously taking notes and listening intently to everything said, taking it all in. 

as you were taking notes, a note got passed to you. “listening extra hard to your boyfriend today huh?” you rolled your eyes at the familiar handwriting and shot your friends an irritated look. 

professor lee got a glimpse of this, he peered through his glasses, and shot you a dangerous glare. 

“y/n, see me after class please.” he said, before swiftly turning around to finish his lecture. 

you couldn’t focus the rest of the class, so you settled for writing your thoughts in your notebook. how were you supposed to see him one on one? you could barely handle him in class. you made note to go off on your friends after you were done seeing mr. lee. 

then, the bell rang. students fled the room, nobody quicker than your friend group, feeling a little guilty for getting you in trouble. 

“so, y/n, passing notes in my class, are we?” he said, his back turned to you, erasing the board filled with an hour’s worth of notes. 

“i’m sorry, it’s just a stupid note my friends passed to me.” you mumbled back. He motioned you to come to his desk as he sat down in his chair. of course you obliged, immediately going to the opposite side of his desk. 

“let me see it.” he said emotionlessly, his hand out expecting it to fall in his palm.

“no sir, please, it’s just a stupid joke.” you pleaded, but his hand still was expectantly extended.

eventually, you dropped it in the palm of his large hands. he opened and read the note aloud, finishing with a hint of a little smirk.

you shuffled in place, cheeks burning and blushing from him reading it out loud, it was so embarrassing and you wanted to die on the spot. 

“i see someone has a little crush. you’re a good student, you know that y/n?” he said to your surprise. 

“thank you sir, i try my best.”

“and i think good girls deserve a little reward, wouldn’t you agree?” 

you looked up to him loosening his tie and taking his jacket off. 

“come, sit.” he said as he patted the desk right in front of him.

blindly, you obeyed. mind blurry from the very sudden and odd words coming from your teacher. you sat atop the desk, right in front of his sitting figure, and more importantly, his face. you kept your legs clamped shut, and you regretted wearing such a short skirt today.

“don’t be shy now love, like i said, good girls deserve rewards, now let me reward you, yeah?

you nodded, and with that, he separated your legs, staring hungrily at the wetness leaking through your underwear. 

he laughed.

“already? i see that ‘stupid little joke’ must be getting to you, hmm?"

this was all too embarrassing, you tried to close your legs back, but jeno was too strong. he tsked and widened your legs even more. then, he scooped your underwear with one finger, tugging it down your legs. 

“was so excited when i saw you with that note, finally had an excuse to get you alone.” he said, his hands lightly grazing your inner thighs.

he stood, hovering over you, and kissed you. 

it wasn’t desparate and harsh, but slow and sensual. he licked your lower lip, then took it between his teeth. he placed his hands on your hips as he continued. he moved down to your neck, embedding hickeys into your skin. 

“how true is that note? is that why you’re such a good student in my class?” he questioned you once again.

“yes, no? i do genuinely enjoy your class, sir” you breathlessly replied. 

he sat back down, you could feel his breath on your wet, eager cunt, just waiting for him to do something about it.

and as soon as you uttered a 

please

jeno wasted no time to please you.

his wet, experienced tongue masterfully landed on your clit, giving you little kitten licks. then, he pressed his lips on you, making out with your sloppy mess of a cunt. his tongue circling around your entrance, teasing it until finally replacing it with a finger. his tongue went back to stimulating your clit as his finger repeatedly abused your hole over and over again. he added another, and you’ve never felt so full. as if his long, veiny fingers weren’t enough, he curled them, hitting your sweet spot causing broken whimpers to fall from your quivering lips. moans escaped your mouth as he kept going.

as he heard your gasps of exasperation, he looked up, boring his brown eyes into yours.

  “such a sweet pussy for a sweet girl.”

he continued his actions, until eventually you started getting restless, pulling on his hair tightly and squirming around.

“go ahead, cum on my fingers darling” he commanded softly.

and with that, you were sent over the edge, making a mess of his fingers and all over his mouth. you thought your ‘reward’ was finished, but jeno had other plans. 

“you thought that was all? y/n, you are my top student, i have to treat you accordingly.”

then, he flipped you over on your chest, ass out in the air.  

“no spanking this time, but if you act up again, i will have to punish you, okay?”

“yes sir!” you replied eagerly.

with that, he placed his throbbing cock at your entrance, teasing you and himself with just the tip. you hadn’t even seen his dick, but from the tip, you could tell it was big.

he leans over, chest to your back, speaking lowly in your ear,

“i’ll show you how a real man fucks,”

he pushes himself in a bit 

“how you should be fucked”

he pushes himself halfway into you, you’re already whining at the stretch 

“you’re gonna walk out of here and never want anyone else’s dick ever again.”

and with that, jeno forces the rest of his length inside you, licking the shell of your ear as he stands back up.

your pussy squeezes in shock from him throbbing inside of you. he hasn’t even moved yet, but you can already feel yourself becoming undone. 

“you still with me baby? hmm? can’t have you fucked out when i haven’t even fucked you yet, can we?” he asks mockingly, squishing your cheeks with his hand to turn your face toward him.

jeno just thinks you look so beautiful, face flushed with lust and eyes glossy with desire as you shake your head no. 

“use your words baby, need to hear how much you want your professor’s cock.” he starts shallowly thrusting, just enough to make you let out a quiet moan.

“please, fuck, please fuck me. needed you for so long.” you whine, attempting to grind back on him in effort to get some friction for your poor needy cunt. he picks up the speed, starting to drag his dick in and out at a more rapid speed. you can feel each vein massaging your gummy walls. 

“fuck, me too baby. every time i saw you walk into class, just wanted to bend you over the desk and fuck you just like this. let everyone see how much of a slut you are for me.”

your head hangs down, forehead against the desk as he presses his hand in your back, causing you to arch even more. high on euphoria and need, you start bouncing your ass back on him, meeting him halfway. you hear a small laugh that turns into a low grunt at your actions, when he suddenly pulls out. 

sad at the feeling of emptiness, you didn’t even have a chance to protest before he flips you around, ass on the desk and your arms keeping you sitting up. 

“wanna see those pretty tits bounce when i fuck you.” is all he says, before he ruthlessly enters you again, going even faster than before. 

you moan and clench around the feeling, never having felt so full before. you’re gushing around him still, causing his length to be covered with your slick, it even dripped all over his desk and over both your thighs; though, you’re too turned on and needy to even be embarrassed. all you need right now is to cum around him.

you lift your shirt up, granting his wish of seeing your chest bounce and jiggle as he fucks up into you. he groans and takes one in his hand, kneading it and rolling your nipple before pinching it, making you yelp. he then brings his head down to paint more hickeys all over your now exposed chest, leaving so many littered across your skin. 

“is my pretty girl enjoying herself on my cock?” he hums as he kisses back up to your neck. 

you moaned in response, not able to formulate words. his gentle question was contrasted by how hard he was ramming into you. with every thrust you heard your skin clapping together; you swore you both were going to break his desk.

“you’re gonna let me cum in you, right? be my perfect little student and let me cum in you, yeah?” 

“yes please, god, i need you to cum in me. wanna be so full of you, please.” you choked out, furiously nodding your head. 

he kept going at a steady pace, fucking himself into you over and over again, chasing after his release. he placed his thumb on your clit rubbing circles, with the other gripping your waist.

“cum with me, yea? make a mess on my pretty cock, okay?” he cooed in your ear once again. that was all you needed to finish, and you came all over him as he came inside of you. 

after a moment of each of you catching your breath, he pulled out. you whined at the feeling, especially as you felt his cum start to leak out of you. he took his finger, gathering it, and pressed it back into you. you hissed at the feeling of his finger in your sensitive cunt again, but he kept fingering you through your overstimulation. the moment he placed his thumb on your cunt, you came for a third time, crying out his name. 

he cleaned you up with his handkerchief, slipped your underwear back on for you, and even helped you fix your clothes and hair. he looked at you fondly as you soothed face, still showing evidence of your semi-fucked out state. 

“you were so good for me, how about a free private tutor session at my place? i could go into so much more depth than what we discussed here.”

i do not give permission for my work to be translated or reposted.

[chiruuu0]

nobody knows | julie han smau - who are you

summary: you and julie han have much in common, both are big players, but the only difference is that you only care about the people you've been with, which keeps your name out of their mouths nor never bad mouthed you. Julie, on the other hand, has no remorse and completely ghosts people after she gets what she wants.

warnings: strong language, smut (ig), fluff, crack

featuring: Yujin (IVE), KIOF members, Yunjin & Kazuha (LE SSERAFIM), and more..

note: im js writing this 4 fun 😭😭😭 but, i'll update in my free time because of my hectic school schedule😭

prev | masterlist | next

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a/n: WHY DOES TUMBLR LIMIT ONLY 10 PHOTOS😭😭😭 btw don't mind my shitty handwriting in one of the photos🙏

[enigmatic-prismatic]

Hi sudden rainworld jumpscare from me after I finally decided to actually look into the game more so I knew wtf I was doing while playing I suppose

I made a thing

Warning that it's based on rat kings and the game rattenkönig tho ig(lowkey just that game but make it scug LMAO/hj)

I haven't finished drawing any other characters so all that shall be received is this traumatized child, ignore my bad handwriting

[averseunhinged]

it is the end of the summer and project: secret plan to treat my own anxiety disorder until i can find a semi-local psychiatrist who is both taking patients and not a complete wackadoo has been. you know. hits and misses.

(+) have figured out my newly diversified social media usage to some extent, i.e. where i'm comfortable posting what content

(-) really, really hate juggling bluesky, instagram, tumblr, and the artist formerly known as twitter*. it makes me feel even more scattered than i normally do.

(+) removed most of the social media apps on my phone. it feels more manageable when it's not a constant barrage of notifications. i still have tafkat and bluesky on my phone, at least for now, but the rest are strictly laptop only.

(+) wrote things, both fic and original, with the actual intent to share them

(-) still having phases of massive panic attacks while writing, because i dared contemplate potentially allowing other ppl to read it in some capacity or another

(+) not having them every single time i open up a word document, tho. sometimes it even feels as fun as when i'm handwriting in notebooks.

(+) participated in fandom stuff

(+) sort of

(+) like the bare minimum of participation

(-) and then: panic/horror/despair

(+) but i'm kind of figuring out how it all works in the year of our lord etc. and there is LESS of the aforementioned, which...jesus, i can't even begin to describe how nice it is to be able to do things i really do want to do without the meatsack totally shutting down, because it can't read the room, and thinks i'm for realsies going to die.

(-) i was for sure using the wrong strain of sativa for a while

(-) white durbin was a bad scene for me

(+) do recommend jack herer and og sour diesel for adhd, tho. they sort of streamline the braining, but don't totally jack me up.

other more personal ups and downs, too. so. progress. ish. not as much as i (unrealistically) wanted, but there was some at least? i don't have a ton of secret plan stuff going into autumn, other than REALLY do it up for the autumn/winter holidays this year, if i'm well enough, because my sister broke off a long term relationship with a guy who was not holiday fun.

more of what i've already been trying to do, i guess. if i have to. which i do. being a very high risk person during the plague times broke my brain (which was already a cesspool of medical trauma, self-conscious anxiety, the sads, and no-longer-medicated adhd), and it's deeply annoying that doing things that make me feel short-term awful makes me feel long-term better.

i'd like to keep doing wip wednesday, but multifandom. i would like to actually finish fic and post it. i would like to do exchanges. i would like to review things. i would like to participate in and contribute to fandom at least to the level i used to. which was pretty minimal in the grand scheme, but it was something.

*if we are friendly here and you would like to be friendly on other hellsites, i think i'm at a point where that's okay. dm me or whatever. i do private life stuff on tafkat (very open about my severe medical problems, so content warning) music/tv/movies/food babbling on bluesky, and mostly use ig to keep up with friends and family, but haven't posted anything myself in years. unfollow amnesty for everything always. we can still be friends, even if you don't want to know my every opinion on trap-infused pop country or whenever i end up almost dead in the hospital for the millionth time.

[rabidredsalsa]

I need you to write this scenario I AM DESPERATE

Akito why are you not real

got it bestie 👍 also these were bulleted headcanons because i got writers block but i desperately wanted to write it so sry abt that :(( ALSO I GAVE IT AN ABRUPT ENDING BECAUSE I LOVE CLIFFHANGING MY AUDIENCE (plus i was gonna make a akito relationship hcs soon so this is like the beginning of it ig<3)

Akito Shinonome x Baker!Reader

pairings: akito shinonome x afab reader

warnings: NONE LOL

author's note: BAKRKSBAKRBAKRBAKEBAKEBAKEWOOFOWOARAFARFARAF

to settle things, after you moved to Shibuya, your parents reopened their bakery on vivid street, sending you to school at miyamasuzaka - and instead of getting a monthly allowance like most students do, you worked there part time

after a few weeks of settling in and getting used to the job, that's when you first met akito

he began to be a regular at your bakery surprisingly fast, quickly taking a liking to the cakes and pastries you sold

at some point in time you've already grown so used to his orders that before he could finish his sentence you'd cut him off with "let me guess, the usual?"

during the days when there wasn't a particular crowd, the two of you would stay and chat for about 10-15 minutes before he takes off

you begin seeing him at your bakery nearly every single day, and you both unconsciously grew fond of one another

at one point you asked him if he had any part time jobs or was part of a club, to which he replied with a "sort of..."

that's when most of your conversations revolved around Vivid BAD SQUAD and how you should try and come see one of their street shows if you ever get the chance

and you know damn well you did!!

after another month or two of getting closer through his visits to the bakery and you attending his shows, he began stopping by just for the sake of seeing you

he began stopping by almost every day when you're on break to hang out to thw point that your friends from school and his teammates started thinking you guys were going out-

and to expand on that topic, yes, the two of you began catching feelings for each other, but completely oblivious to these feelings at the same time

i mean, he constantly talks about you to the rest of VBS without realizing, and it's pretty much driving them insane how he still refers to you as a friend LMAO

for you it was probably a bit easier to come to terms with your fondness of him, but for akito it actually took a lot of sleepless nights of him just staring at the ceiling until it finally hit him

"...i guess i do really like them-"

from that point on, it doesn't really matter how many hints you tried to drop, he's 100% certain that he'd be the one confessing

although he had absolutely no idea how to, so he decided to go with the most risk-less method he had in mind

he slips a note along with his money when he's about to pay during one of his usual trips to the bakery, slightly tapping it with his finger to get your attention to it

to your dismay, it took you a few hours to decipher the message, as his handwriting was so messy that you could easily mistake it with hieroglyphs

in the end you just texted him instead, asking him to translate the alien language he'd written the note in-

he probably started punching the air

you had to pry it out of him since he kept insisting it was a lost cause

eventually he managed to tell you that he'd liked you for some time now and and that he'd just recently realized it, but even after you gladly accepted and claimed you returned these feelings he insisted that if you had second thoughts it's perfectly fine if you wanna remain just friends, etc etc

now you're the one punching air

but you two ended talking things over for about an hour on call and sorted everything out with him

i like to think that both your classmates and his teammates saw this as a miracle from god because you two have been going like this without making your feelings known forever LMFAO-

i love torturing both myself and my readers <333 /hj

no but seriously part 2s coming soon

this was absolute ass and extremely rushed since ive been super braindead BUT I WONT DISAPPOINT YALL WITH MY NEXT ONE‼️ hopefully

[daemour]

Pairing: mentions of JackGyeom and BamJae

Genre: Kinda sad but mostly just like fluff ig????

Word Count: 1094

Summary: A look into the journey of GOT7

Warnings: Only slight mention of bullying???

Written for @got7writerscollective​‘s Flight Log project

Kim Yugyeom was thirteen when he first auditioned for JYP Entertainment. He was fifteen and practicing hard for WIN: Who Is Next when Lim Jaebeom, his superior, tells him he’s working hard and his dance will astound JYP, and when Jinyoung assists him.

He was nineteen and Jackson kept bringing him lunch and dinner, staying and feeding Yugyeom, and BamBam yelled at the stage crew in the halls for berating Yugyeom.

He was twenty, and Youngjae taught him piano, Mark let him tag along to his home when Euigyeom is on a business trip when Yugyeom was lonely.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Kunpimook Bhuwakul was fourteen when he first met Kim Yugyeom in the practice room, he was fifteen when Yugyeom got sick and didn’t spit fire back at BamBam until the older forced him to take medicine.

BamBam was sixteen and Jaebeom let him borrow his phone to call him when he lost his, and Mark was hogging the computer to surprise him later with brand new green VANS. He broke his wrist when dancing and Jackson was writing a letter for him in broken Thai.

BamBam was nineteen and sick, Jinyoung was cleaning his room. He was nineteen and trying to pick up girls when Youngjae refused to help him and they kissed instead of the girl across the radio room.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Choi Youngjae was seventeen when he joined JYP Entertainment and was subsequently almost immediately cast into GOT7, eighteen when he debuted and had his first concert, crying backstage with his band members.

Hewa nineteen and Mark is apologising profusely after arguing about something neither can remember. Jinyoung gifted him headphones, and Youngjae wore them almost everywhere. Yugyeom went with him to get his ears pierced, and Youngjae grasped his hand so tightly during the process.

He was twenty-two, and Jaebeom was joking with him as they wrote 1:31 A.M, Jackson was helping him move out of the dorm with tears in the older’s eyes, teasing him about the Shabu-Shabu incident again. BamBam went with him to get a tattoo and Youngjae smiled and saw the younger in a new light.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Park Jinyoung was fourteen when he first met Jaebeom and joined JYP. He was sixteen and leader of JJ Project, Jaebeom beaming at him. He’s eighteen when he was placed into the GOT6 Project, twenty and debuting with GOT7 for the second time.

He was twenty-one, and Mark laughed at him trying to write in English, taking the pen out of his hand and helping him spell “introspect” correctly. He was twenty-one, and Youngjae was taking him to noraebang and buying him snacks.

Jinyoung was twenty-four, and BamBam looked at him with doe eyes, asking him to make a song with him. He was twenty-four and Jackson finally bought him some beef, and Jinyong was satisfied.

Jinyoung was thirty, and he has a child now. Not his, he adopted them, but he loves them nonetheless. Yugyeom came over often, spoiling the child rotten, but Jinyoung watched with a smile.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Jackson Wang was fifteen when Jaebeom cooked him some japchae, and Jackson burnt his tongue. Sixteen when Jinyoung went to the restaurant at 4 am, two hours before training, just to buy homesick Jackson Chinese food.

Jackson was eighteen and Mark spoke to him in Mandarin for the first time, offering Jackson a sense of home. He was eighteen, working every hour of the day, and BamBam gave him a smile and a multitude of bad jokes. Jackson smiled.

Jackson was twenty-three, moving out of the dorm. Youngjae brought over almost ten different plants, and Jackson named every single one of them. Yuyeom stayed with him for the first week, and Jackson smiled at Yugyeom, heart blooming with affection, and Yugyeom loved him right back.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Lim Jaebeom was fourteen and joined JYP Entertainment, Jackson naming every single one of his cats the second time they met.

He was eighteen when JJ Project fell through and Jinyoung cried on his shoulder. He was nineteen and made leader of GOT7, Mark arguing with him one last time just for old time’s sake (He still thinks Mark drank his strawberry milk on purpose).

Jaebeom was twenty and buying Youngjae pudding for his panic attack a day before the debut showcase. He was twenty when BamBam shoots up and Jaebeom buys him jeans.

Jaebeom was twenty-five, debuting for the third time as Jus2. Yugyeom was named leader and Jaebeom ruffled his hair.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Mark Tuan was sixteen and moving to Korea, not knowing a word of Korean, Jackson giving him familiarity and Jinyoung providing help. He was seventeen and arguing with Jaebeom before he cried. Seventeen and Jaebeom covered for him when Mark was too sick to stand up properly

Mark was twenty and flipping around the room for WIN: Who Is Next. He was twenty and debuted with GOT7. He was twenty and too young to be worried about what people think of him, Youngjae buying him two bags full of snacks. (Never mind his diet.)

Mark was twenty-two, and Yugyeom joined him in LA, spending time with his family and laughing at Mark’s nieces. He was twenty-two, and BamBam asked him to help him with his handwriting.

오늘도 내일도 우리 함께면

Mark is forty, and smiles just as bright as when he was sixteen. He still laughs at everything that comes out of anyone’s mouth.

Jaebeom is forty, almost a grandpa according to everyone else. He gets called ‘Jaebeom-ah’ and he’s not too old to go chasing after those brats.

Jackson is thirty-nine, and his affection hasn’t wavered. He flits between all the members, brightening up their smiles and laughing at the maknae’s antics, maybe even joining them.

Jinyoung is thirty-nine, and he brought his child, hiding behind their appa’s back. He convinces them to say ‘hi,’ and they all fall in love, and Jinyoung adores the feeling.

Youngjae is thirty-six, happy and content with his band members. He eats almost everything and Jackson whines when Youngjae steals his sandwich, but they all know he’s not really mad.

BamBam is thirty-six, almost as tall as Yugyeom and still wearing insoles, everyone making fun of him and BamBam chasing after them as always. He’ll always be the short kid from 2014 to them.

Yugyeom is thirty-six, babied as always by the other members, not that he complains. They ruffle his hair and pinch his cheeks, and he slaps their backside as he always does.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Kingjin au

Characters; Kim Seokjin , Min Yoongi , Kim Namjoon Genre; Humour and I guess fluffy ending. Royalty AU too ig Warnings; Few minor curse words but otherwise nothing Word count; 1.4k

Seokjin is a shit King, Yoongi is fed up of being his babysitter and Namjoon is just an innocent jewellery maker that gets dragged into the King’s shit. But ends up with a worldwide handsome man in his bed so who’s the real winner here.

⦁ Okay so we start the story at the castle where the yearly ball is held to celebrate another year under King Kim Seokjin's reign ⦁ Speaking of the King ⦁ He's standing on his chair at the head table as music plays and guests dance and talk ⦁ And he's telling jokes ⦁ People are laughing in that painful way where they don't find the joke funny but don't know what else to do ⦁ I mean, you'd laugh too if your ruler is playing comedian ⦁ "Your Majesty, I believe you've graced us with enough of your jokes now"- Advisor to the King, Min Yoongi or as he's more commonly known; The King's babysitter. ⦁ "Nonsense, Yoongi-chi! I have plenty of jokes left! I can go all night!" ⦁ Somehow, he failed to notice the despair in his subjects eyes. ⦁ Fast forward to the next day where Yoongi is lecturing Seokjin yet again about how a king should act ⦁ "I'm the King, I think only I can judge how the King of my country should act" The childlike pout and sulkily folded arms over the slumped torso of the king is prime example of how Yoongi got his nickname. ⦁ "Nobody takes you seriously, Seokjin. I'm surprised the people haven't started an uprising to dethrone you yet. You act like a child." ⦁ "My people would never! They love me!" ⦁ "As a court jester, sure, a competent ruler however? Not so much." ⦁ "Oh you'll see, this country would fall apart without me!" Followed by a dramatic exit from the advisor's office leaving poor Yoongi with yet another headache and stacks of work to do on the King's behalf. ⦁ That night Seokjin sneaks out of the castle with a plan to prove his point ⦁ He's determined to prove to Yoongi that the country needs him as King and that by the next evening, everything will have fallen to shit ⦁ Except the next day passes and the castle still stands ⦁ Seokjin watches from a little cottage on a nearby hill with his eye pressed to the smaller end of the telescope. ⦁ "A-are you going to return now, Your Majesty?" Poor innocent Namjoon never imagined he'd get dragged into anything even remotely regarding the Royal family. ⦁ Namjoon had always been happy on the outskirts, far enough from the general population to not be bothered but still close enough that he could bike into town to gather provisions whenever he needed to. ⦁ He lived a simple happy life out there on his little hill with the wild flowers and books he pressed them into to make into bookmarks and jewellery that he sold at the market once a month ⦁ And then before the sun had even arisen that morning King Kim Seokjin stumbled out of the nearby woods and onto his porch. ⦁ He hadn't left since ⦁ "Not until they beg," ⦁ Namjoon sighed for he knew the last thing anyone would do was beg to have Kim Seokjin back in charge ⦁ So suddenly Namjoon's life was no longer simple and quiet but full of a sulking royal taking up his own bed and lounging on his favourite arm chair by the window to squint out across the green green grass at the castle ⦁ "I saw another guard today," Namjoon had just returned from his daily ride through the woods. ⦁ "What did they say?" ⦁ "Well, they're not exactly going out of their way to look for you," He admitted and the king groaned, throwing his arms up dramatically before muttering to himself grumpily in a way Namjoon was certain would've been a hex if only magic was real ⦁ Three weeks passed before Seokjin realised his plan was failing and the castle was thriving without him ⦁ In his absence Yoongi had been making all the decisions and the country was honestly better for it ⦁ But of course, if King Seokjin is one thing, it's a stubborn dumbass ⦁ "New plan, Namjoonie," ⦁ "Do I have a say?" ⦁ "Not in the slightest." ⦁ Which is how that very same afternoon Namjoon found himself standing infront of Yoongi on the opposite side of his large wooden desk in his office ⦁ "Ransom?" Yoongi questioned after reading the note previously handed to him that the advisor instantly knew was written by the king ⦁ "Uh, yes, ransom." An awkward shuffle. ⦁ "You're telling me you've had the King in your home for the past three weeks and now demand to be paid to return him?" ⦁ "Yep, that-that's what the note says." ⦁ "You know I was raised with Seokjin, right? I know how handwriting almost as well as my own?" ⦁ Namjoon only gave a sheepish grin. ⦁ And then Yoongi turned and tossed the note into the fireplace behind him before getting up and crossing his study to uncover the safe hidden behind an end table ⦁ A large sack of coins was soon in Namjoon's hands. ⦁ "Here," ⦁ "This...this feels like a lot." ⦁ "Mmh, at least double what you asked. You'll need the compensation for dealing with his shit." ⦁ "Uhm, excuse me, what?" ⦁ "Keep him, if he's gone for a day longer the council agreed to hand the title of King to me. Let's all be honest right now, he's a shit King." ⦁ "I mean, I can't argue that," ⦁ "So, keep him until tomorrow and then tell him he's no longer King and if he returns he'll have to work for me." ⦁ "Can't you tell him?" ⦁ One note handwritten by Yoongi later and Namjoon was plodding back home with his messenger bag weighed down with shiny coins. ⦁ He made sure to take the longe route home just so he didn't have to try to keep the secret from his uninvited guest for quite as long ⦁ And then it was almost midnight and he was stepping into his cosy little cottage ⦁ Seokjin was already asleep in the armchair ⦁ Namjoon spent the night in his own bed for the first time in three weeks ⦁ The next morning he gave Seokjin the note ⦁ He expected the elder to yell at him for hiding it ⦁ He expected Seokjin to scream and do more of his posessed mutterings and curse the whole town ⦁ But the no longer King simply plucked a few pieces of gold from the sack and opened the front door ⦁ "Where are you going?" ⦁ "Does it matter? It's all downhill from here," And then he was gripping the doorframe for support as tears rolled down his cheeks and laughter hurt his lungs "Get it?! Because we're on a hill!" ⦁ It was the first time Namjoon had heard one of Seokjin's infamous jokes in person ⦁ And honestly, he laughed ⦁ Seokjin turned to him with a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before ⦁ "You laughed, at my joke. A real laugh, not the fake ones to keep me happy." ⦁ "It was funny," ⦁ The door closed and Seokjin marched across the wooden floor to throw his arms around the kind younger man's shoulders ⦁ "Uhm, Seokjin-ssi?" ⦁ "Hyung, call me hyung," ⦁ "Oh...okay, hyung." Namjoon's arms wrapped around Seokjin's waist ⦁ For the first time in his life, Namjoon thought that having another person so close wouldn't be so bad. ⦁ So Seokjin officially moved in ⦁ He collected a few of his belongings from the castle and made Yoongi promise to visit and invite both him and Namjoon to all the parties ⦁ Namjoon taught Seokjin about the flowers and how to make various things to sell at market and improve their home ⦁ Seokjin didn't have the best skill but he had a lot of creative ideas ⦁ Soon enough their crafts were the talk of the town and not long after the country ⦁ Even though they had plenty of money to spare they stilled stayed in their modest little one bedroom tucked up close together every night with love in their eyes and swelling their chests together ⦁ And they just knew that they would have a long and happy life together right there where it all started in their little cottage up on the hill

[Author’s note]

This was supposed to be just a quick lil bulletpoint au based on the prompt;

“You kidnap the King of a large country and hold him for ransom. You are shocked when you received twice what you asked for from them with a single note reading: ‘Twice the amount to make sure he never comes back’ ”

But I got more into the idea as I wrote so yeah, more detailed than it should’ve been oops lol sorry I keep playing with the idea of making it into an actual fully written story but im not sure Let me know if you think I should and maybe it could be a whole series and we can have new King Yoongi hire an advisor, mayhaps a certin little Jiminie ;) But that’s getting ahead of myself (guard Hoseok and Jungkook NO! swordsmith jk with the muscles and sweat ehehhe. Namjoon’s florist friend tae who is lowkey in love with the town swordsmith but too shy to talk to him. Little does he know the swordsmith has a weakness for cute boys that sell pretty flowers for a living.)

~Chee

[blurry-fics]

Tipsy

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol use, drunk shenanigans

Word Count: 1256

Request: I had a few people on Wattpad requesting that I write something that involved a drunk Tyler, so now we have this!

Author’s Note: Let me tell you, handwriting a fic and then having to type it out all over again is not a fun time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one shot! It’s the last one you get during the week since, you know, PMW stars on Tuesday ;) (gif is mine, please give credit if you use it! original video was taken from jenna’s ig)

“I look dumb, Ty, this was a bad idea,” you groaned upon catching a glimpse of yourself in the side view mirror. “Let’s go home so I can get changed.”

Tyler reached over and rested a hand on your knee, “Love, everyone is going to look like an idiot. We’re all dressed like we’re from the 80s.”

“You don’t think the eye makeup is too much?”

“I think it’s just enough.”

Tyler leaned over the console and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. You smiled and rested your hand on top of his, giving it a light squeeze.

“Thanks.”

“Alright, now let’s get in there and show these people how to party.”

You took a deep breath before following Tyler out of the car and up the path to Josh’s front door. The music inside was already audible, paired with the muffled voices of people screaming lyrics alongside it. Tyler reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

“Hey! If it isn’t Joseph and Joseph!” Josh called as you walked into the living room. He was decked out in his own 80s outfit, but had opted for a crown as his headgear - a clear reminder of his birthday status. “Thanks for coming.”

“Happy birthday, Josh!” you smiled, pulling him into a hug.

“Thirty years,” he sighed. “You look amazing, by the way.”

Tyler gave you a gentle nudge in the side, “Told you.”

“Tyler! Man! Great to see you! Look at this outfit!”

Josh threw an arm around Tyler and pulled him into a hug. They embraced for a moment before Tyler pulled away. It seemed that Josh had already had his fair share of drinks, and the night was only beginning.

“Thanks, Josh,” Tyler smiled, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“Drinks and food are in the kitchen, dancing is that way. Who am I kidding? You two know your way around,” Josh smiled, waving a hand in your direction.

He quickly became distracted by more people walking through the front door. Tyler wrapped an arm around your waist and led you towards the kitchen. As Josh said, there was a variety of snacks and drinks set out for the taking. You looked through the cooler while Tyler piled up a plate with food.

“Do you want a drink, Ty?”

“Yeah, can you grab me a beer?”

You turned to look at him, “You’re going to drink tonight?”

“Just a little, is that ok?”

“Yeah, of course. I just want to make sure one of us is ok to drive home.”

Tyler walked over to you, now holding a plate of food in one hand. He rested a hand on your shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“How responsible,” he smiled, kissing your cheek again.

“Well one of us has to be.”

*     *     *

An hour and a half later, you were watching Tyler and Josh dance in the middle of a crowd of people. With a little encouragement from Josh, Tyler’s one beer had turned into two, then three, then four. Now you were here, watching your tipsy husband and his best friend bust out their best dance moves in the middle of the living room.

“Y/N! Y/N! Watch this,” Tyler called, not that it was needed. You hadn’t been able to stop watching him and laughing the entire time.

“I’m watching, Ty.”

Tyler nodded, straightened out his shirt a little, and proceeded to move his arms in a dramatic circle. You stood and laughed, admiring how little Tyler cared about all the people who were watching him. Years of performing in front of crowds could do that to you, you supposed.

“Come dance with me, love.”

You considered his offer for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. One drink wasn’t enough to get you on that dance floor.

“Love, please,” he whined, sticking out his lower lip. He was still dancing, even though his attention was on trying to get you to join him.

“Ty, there’s so many people.”

“None of them are watching.”

“All of them are watching.”

Tyler closed the space between you and reached out, placing his hands on your hips.

“Just try. If you hate it, I won’t make you dance anymore.”

“Ok, ok. One song.”

Tyler immediately began to grin. He just barely pulled on your hips, leading you back to the dance floor. Having Tyler in front of you with his hands on your hips proved to be enough to make you forget about all the other people in the room.

“You know, you have to move your body for it to be considered dancing,” Tyler smiled.

“I’m working on it.”

Tyler decided to take matters into his own hands - quite literally - and began to move your hips a bit more, mirroring his own. Unsure what to do with your arms, you crossed them over your chest.

“What are you doing that for?”

“Doing what?”

“Crossing your arms.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Put them on my shoulders.”

“But we aren’t slow dancing.”

Tyler sighed and dramatically rolled his eyes at you. “Does it matter?”

You finally gave in and put your hands on Tyler’s shoulders. He used this as an excuse to pull you closer to him and start swaying a bit more to the music.

“See? Is this so bad?”

“I suppose not.”

*     *     *

You had expected Tyler’s tipsiness to wear off by the time you got home, but thanks to a few last-minute beers, he was still acting like the giggly idiot you had first met at a party many years ago.

“Y/N!” Tyler called to you from the living room. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, Ty, getting you water.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because you’re drunk and you need it.”

“I’m drunk?”

You laughed to yourself as you finished dropping a couple ice cubes into a glass.

“Yes, Ty, you’re very drunk.”

Tyler sat up from where he had collapsed down onto the couch so that he could look at you. He was still wearing his fake glasses, but they had gone a bit askew after laying on the couch. His hair had also become a bit of a ruffled mess.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he took the water from your hand.

You walked around and took a seat by his knees. He had leaned back into the couch and was taking tiny sips from the glass.

“Hey, you want to know something, love?”

You rested a hand on his knee, “What is that?”

“I love you and I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”

You were unable to stop the smile that immediately spread across your face at Tyler’s compliment.

“I love you, too.”

“And I think you’re the sexiest mo-”

“Ty! Ty, hey, tone it down a little.”

“Sorry,” he giggled, bringing the cup to his lips. “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I know. Don’t worry.”

Tyler’s mouth curled up into a smile as he glanced around the room. You sat and admired him, wondering how he could still be so sweet while this drunk.

“While you drink that, I’m going to run upstairs and grab pajamas for us so we can be comfy while we watch a movie, ok?”

“Ok.”

You started to walk past Tyler, but he caught your arm.

“Promise you’re coming back?”

“I promise,” you smiled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips. It tasted like alcohol.

“Hurry back,” he called as you were halfway up the stairs.

“Don’t worry. I always will.”

[almostafantasia]

tenderly, tragically, beautifully

Summary: In which bad things happen to the people who deserve them the least and Lexa learns that although cancer can be treated, the scars it leaves behind take much longer to heal.

Read on AO3.

Trigger warning: Clarke has cancer in this fic but it’s non-terminal and she doesn’t die. There’s a fair amount of angst though.

She feels as though every pair of eyes is watching her from the moment that she steps through the school gates. Which is just paranoia at its absolute finest because the reality is that not a single person is actually looking at her, but with the very obvious way in which the other kids are deliberately trying not to stare at her as she walks up to the red brick school building, Clarke might as well have a giant flashing sign above her head.

A giant flashing sign reading this kid has cancer, with a vertical neon arrow pointing down at her.

Clarke knows that they all know. Even if Raven hadn’t already filled her in on everything that happened while she was in the hospital, this is high school so gossip spreads faster than a race car speeding around an asphalt track.

“Yo.”

Raven makes an unnecessarily loud entrance, clattering into the row of lockers beside Clarke’s and dropping her shoulder bag to the floor with an unceremonious thud. It catches the attention of those nearby, but upon realising that Clarke is there, those heads quickly turn away for fear of being caught staring.

“Everyone’s treating me like I’ve got a deadly virus. It’s cancer, it’s not contagious!”

She raises her voice with this last bit, startling the group of freshman boys who cross to the other side of the corridor in order to give Clarke a wide berth as they pass.

“Clarke,” Raven hisses, resting a comforting hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

“I’ve been here for two minutes and I already wish I was back in that stupid hospital,” Clarke complains through clenched teeth, taking a heavy textbook out of her bag and throwing it into her locker with slightly more force than actually necessary.

“They probably all heard the word ‘cancer’ and assume that you’re on your deathbed,” muses Raven.

“I’m not.”

“I know,” Raven agrees, as she reaches out to give Clarke’s fingers a reassuring squeeze with her own. “You’re going to be fine, you’ve just got a few shitty cells in your body.”

“John Murphy’s got more shitty cells in his body,” Clarke comments, as the shaggy-haired boy saunters past the two girls with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, giving Clarke the side-eye as he passes.

“Well unlike Murphy, your shitty cells are going to be killed by the chemo. He’s stuck with his for life.”

Clarke appreciates what Raven is trying to do, but that doesn’t mean that it works. As grateful as she is for her best friend’s insistence that she’s going to survive this new obstacle in her life, it doesn’t really detract from the fact that she has months of having her body pumped full of chemicals to get through first.

“Raven…”

“What? I’m just letting you know that I’m sticking by you no matter what.” With a wicked smile, Raven adds, “I’ll always be your best friend, even when you go bald.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” Clarke whines, shutting her locker and turning around to lean against it dramatically.

“You finish treatment just before Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yes,” Clarke nods, wondering in which unpredictable direction Raven’s train of thought is heading this time.

“So you’ll be rocking the cutest pixie cut in town by Christmas.”

Clarke lets herself imagine it for just a second. She hasn’t had her hair shorter than shoulder length since a disastrously bad haircut at the age of ten, but when she pictures herself with much shorter hair, barely long enough to curl ever so slightly around her ears and the top of her neck, she smiles slightly. Mostly at the realisation that with virtually no hair to have to deal with each morning before school, she’ll be able to get out of bed a whole fifteen minutes later than usual, but also at the thought that with minimal effort and a bit of strategically placed styling cream, she can probably make herself look hot as fuck.

“Thanks Raven,” Clarke smile gratefully.

But Raven’s brain is always moving way faster than Clarke is able to keep up with and she’s already onto the next thing.

“Hey, do you think the chemo is going to give you superpowers? Wouldn’t it be awesome if you got x-ray vision or invisibility or something even cooler?”

“Raven…”

Class is weird. Raven walks her to the door of her classroom like a mother dropping her young child off for the first day of kindergarten, and when Raven departs with a final wave over her shoulder, Clarke feels exactly like that scared five year old, out of her depth in a world that seems far too big for her.

It’s pretty much exactly the same routine in the classroom as it was out in the school corridors, except that now, in this more confined space, Clarke can’t really do much to pretend she hasn’t noticed how everybody is behaving around her. Each pair of eyes fall onto her as she passes, then glance away when they realise who has just walked by.

And then the hushed muttering starts. Clarke’s classmates must be seriously misinformed about the symptoms of cancer if they think that she isn’t able to hear the whispering as she makes her way to her usual seat on the far side of the classroom.

As the clock on the wall just above the teacher’s desk slowly ticks away towards the start of another day at school, the desk next to Clarke remains empty. Finn Collins, the desk’s former occupant, who Clarke is ninety-five percent certain was flirting with her in the few weeks leading up to the discovery of the tumour in her back, has moved to a previously empty seat in the back row next to Atom. It’s too much of a coincidence for Clarke to blame this on anything but the cancer. Who would want to flirt with her when there are plenty of other much prettier, much healthier girls in the school to flirt with, all of whom are still going to have a full head of hair in a few months’ time?

“Hey.”

Ten minutes into her first day back at school and already so used to being treated like a bomb that is waiting to go off, Clarke actually startles in her seat a little bit when the girl in the seat in front of her turns around to say hello.

“Oh, hi Lexa!”

Lexa Woods was Clarke’s elementary school best friend until the two of them slowly drifted apart as they grew up and their interests changed. Not to say that they no longer get along, but that they move in different circles now, with nothing more than a polite smile if they pass in the school corridors.

Until now.

“This is for you.”

Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise, then her entire face twists into a confused frown as Lexa places a thick ring-binder down on Clarke’s desk, upon which lies an envelope.

“Um, thanks,” Clarke replies tentatively, picking up the envelope and sliding her finger into the small gap at the edge to tear it open and remove its contents.

It’s just a card, white with pastel coloured butterflies surrounding the embossed words ‘thinking of you’ in a pretty cursive font. Surprised, Clarke flips it open to read the message inside.

Dear Clarke,

Wishing you all the best over the coming months for a speedy recovery.

Lots of love, Lexa xx

It’s pretty much exactly the same as the twenty other cards she has at home from various relatives and friends of the family, empty words that don’t really detract from the potentially life-threatening illness that resides in her body, but it somehow means so much more coming from Lexa than from anybody else. Coming from Lexa, who could quite easily have done exactly the same as Finn and everybody else in this godforsaken school and blatantly avoided having to go anywhere near the girl with cancer.

“And this is everything that you missed while you were in hospital,” Lexa continues, opening the folder to display the thick wad of handwritten notes inside, neatly colour-coded and underlined and separated into subjects by labelled dividers.

“Lexa, what the…?”

“You missed two weeks of school and you must be really behind in all your classes so I wrote out my notes again so that you could have a copy,” Lexa explains hurriedly, a pink flush rising to sit on her sharp cheekbones. “If there’s anything you don’t understand when you read through it, I’d be more than happy to go over it with you.”

“Lexa,” Clarke sighs, feeling a rush of affection for her former best friend as she flicks through page after page of Lexa’s impeccable handwriting, laid out under clear capitalised titles and broken up with nearly drawn diagrams and tables. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It was good revision for me,” Lexa shrugs, as if the gesture is insignificant.

“Wait,” frowns Clarke, as she reaches one of the coloured dividers and enters a different subject, “do you even take Chemistry?”

“No, but I know Monty through the debate club so I borrowed his notes and copied them out,” Lexa answers. “They might not make much sense because I didn’t understand a lot of it but I’m sure that Monty would be able to explain it if you need help…”

“Lexa, this must have taken you hours…”

“Yeah, well you’ve got cancer, it’s the least I can do to help.”

The word hits Clarke like a fist in the gut. It’s been two weeks since the diagnosis, two weeks where Clarke’s mind has been consumed with nothing but that one singular word going around and around in her mind until she’s half crazy. But Clarke realises that maybe the problem is that the word has only been in her head since the diagnosis – nobody around her has been brave enough to say the word aloud since the doctor who gave her the bad news two weeks ago. Even her mother, a doctor herself, skirts around the word at home, as if saying it out loud makes the whole situation far too real to comprehend.

It’s just a word, it shouldn’t hurt so much.

Except that it’s not just a word anymore, it’s a way of life. It’s chemicals being pumped into her body, and being ignored by even those who used to flirt with her, and the inescapable unsettling worry that despite the assurances of the oncology nurse, maybe she isn’t going to make it to the other end of this ordeal with her life.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” Lexa’s voice pulls Clarke out of her thoughts with a lurch, and she shakes her head to focus herself back in the real world.

“No, it’s just…” Clarke tries to explain, her voice just a croak as she tries to push past the lump that forms in her throat. “It’s still quite new to me.” Trying to articulate aloud for the first time, Clarke continues, “It’s weird because it’s all I think about but it still takes me by surprise sometimes. I’m so used to everybody skating around it like they want to pretend that it’s not happening, so it surprised me how forward you were.”

“Sorry,” Lexa mumbles, bowing her head apologetically. “I shouldn’t have…”

Reaching out a hand to touch Lexa’s shoulder in reassurance, Clarke says, “Lexa, it’s fine, I…”

But she doesn’t get the chance to finish. The classroom door clatters open as the teacher enters to start the lesson, and within an instant Lexa is facing the front once more with wide, attentive eyes.

The teacher’s eyes scan the classroom as his voice fills the room to get their attention, but he stumbles mid-sentence when he spots Clarke in their midst. There’s a moment that feels like an eternity, a moment in which Clarke knows the teacher is trying to decide whether to acknowledge Clarke’s return to his class, a moment in which Clarke wants nothing more than to melt into the hard plastic chair as if she has never even been here at all, but then it passes, and the class continues as if nothing has happened.

As if Clarke doesn’t have cancer.

But she does.

“Lexa,” Clarke hisses, when the teacher turns his attention to the computer and pulls up a powerpoint presentation for the lesson. Lexa turns around to frown inquisitorially at Clarke, who forces the resentment out of her mind and the sadness from her eyes as she smiles gratefully at her former best friend. “Thanks for the notes.”

Lexa thinks about it a lot, probably way more than she should think about somebody who she so rarely speaks to these days, but it really plays on her mind. Why somebody so young, somebody with such a bright future, somebody with so much joy and happiness and vitality should get diagnosed with cancer when there are so many bad people in this world that it could happen to instead.

It sucks, and Lexa isn’t even the one with cancer.

She almost wishes that she was. And yes, she knows that’s a terrible thing to think and that she should be grateful for her own good health, but it’s the truth. If there was a medical procedure that could suck the illness from Clarke’s body and transfer it to her own, then that’s exactly what Lexa would do. Clarke has everything; a big friendship group full of nice people that nobody in their year group seems to dislike, good grades, good looks, and an aspiration to be a doctor. Lexa, meanwhile, feels as though she has nothing in comparison - only a few people that she would consider friends, two parents who somehow manage to straddle the line between loving her too much and not loving her enough, and an unhealthy dose of anxiety. It should be her that has the cancer, but instead there seems to be an unjust system of reverse karma in place, where bad things happen to good people.

There are bad people in the world, and there are good people. And then there is Clarke. Clarke, who is so good and pure that Lexa isn’t entirely convinced that she isn’t an actual angel reincarnated in human form. Clarke, who on the second day of kindergarten, helped a tearful and bruised Lexa back to her feet after being pushed to the ground by John Murphy, then declared them to be best friends for life, though only after kicking Murphy in the balls for hurting Lexa in the first place.

Nobody deserves to be diagnosed with cancer less than Clarke.

Lexa almost wonders if Clarke’s illness is karma punishing her. Perhaps fate is saying a massive fuck you to her, not to Clarke, by forcing her to stand by helplessly as the girl she loves suffers. Because there is absolutely no doubt that Lexa does love Clarke. She’s known it for about a year, though she’s probably loved her since the day that six year old Clarke offered out a hand to help Lexa get back to her feet.

But what hurts the most is knowing that there’s absolutely nothing she can do to help Clarke, nothing she can do but sit by and watch as Clarke’s health deteriorates and the side effects of chemotherapy kick in.

Lexa has never felt more helpless.

Lexa almost doesn’t recognise the girl who walks into class the following Thursday morning with bright pink hair. Nothing has changed other than the hair colour – she wears the same worn out jacket she’s owned since freshman year, the same slightly pitiful frown that’s been on her face since the diagnosis a couple of weeks ago – and yet the vibrant pink that frames Clarke’s face makes it seem like she’s an entirely different person from the girl with the beautiful golden tresses that Lexa has known for most of her life.

“Clarke!” Lexa gapes, as Clarke drops into the seat beside her, Lexa having moved back a row now that Finn Collins has taken up his new seat at the very back of the classroom. “I – wow!”

Though Lexa, quite deliberately so, does not ask for an explanation for Clarke’s sudden and drastic makeover, Clarke gives her one anyway, as if she feels like she has to justify her new fashion choice.

“I’ve always wanted to dye it,” she shrugs, reaching up with one hand to play with a single pink curl, “and I might not have hair for too much longer so it seemed like as good of a time as any to get it done.”

As Clarke glances away, a brief moment of sadness passing across her face as she does so, Lexa’s insides lurch unsettlingly at the thought of Clarke’s hair falling out against her will. She quickly remembers that Clarke will be taking the day off school tomorrow for the first of many chemotherapy treatments, which explains the unexpected change of hair colour mid-week, and just tries to imagine for a second how terrified Clarke must be at the prospect of going into hospital for such a daunting treatment.

Lexa flails silently for a moment, wondering what, if anything at all, she can say that might ease Clarke’s mind ahead of her hospital visit but nothing comes to mind that won’t do more harm than good. Lexa settles instead for saying something a little different.

“The pink really suits you.”

Eyes wide with surprise as she lifts her head to look up at Lexa, as if she hadn’t been expecting the compliment at all, Clarke softly mumbles, “Thanks,” before reverting back into a glum silence for the rest of class.

Clarke’s absence on Friday, despite her only sharing a couple of classes with Lexa, feels somewhat akin to Lexa having to spend the day without one of her arms. She’s a mess for pretty much the whole day, distracted with pondering thoughts of where Clarke is, of what the doctors will be doing to her, and of hoping that none of it is as bad as the scary word chemotherapy makes it all sound.

When she arrives home from school that afternoon, Lexa collapses on her bed with her phone in her hand, the screen unlocked and opened on a message conversation with Clarke, but she hesitates with her thumb hovering over the keyboard before she sends anything. Nothing that comes to mind quite seems right for the situation - casual well-wishes seem too impersonal and asking how the treatment went seems far too invasive and unsympathetic.

Lexa exits the conversation and locks the phone with a sigh, shaking her head in dissatisfaction. She wants to be there for Clarke, she really does, but there’s no class at school for how to be a good friend to somebody with cancer and it’s not really something that Lexa can do on intuition alone.

She decides, forty minutes later and after some assistance from her mom, on a simple Facebook post; an old photo of the two of them with their arms around each other and toothy grins on their faces at Clarke’s eighth birthday party, which she captions “Found this looking through some old stuff - partners in crime since kindergarten!” and then tags Clarke in it. Nothing fancy. It’s simple, it’s irrelevant, and it will hopefully let Clarke know that Lexa has been thinking about her all day.

She definitely doesn’t spend the next few minutes eagerly refreshing her new feed, waiting for a notification that lets her know that Clarke has seen the post.

It never comes.

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, if not a comment then perhaps at least a like, but each time the little red bubble pops up in Lexa’s notifications, it is with somebody else’s name and not Clarke’s. A selection of school friends like the post, both from their high school and old friends who knew the girls back around the time that the photo was taken. Some names are ones that Lexa doesn’t recognise, presumably friends of Clarke’s from elsewhere. Octavia Blake reacts to the post with a red heart that Lexa wishes came from Clarke instead.

The first comment is from Raven; “Double denim? Griffin, you were such a style icon!”

It hurts more than it should, two minutes later, when Lexa’s post remains unacknowledged but the little blue thumb icon appears underneath Raven’s comment with Clarke’s name next to it.

Clarke is back at school on Monday morning, almost as if she was never gone. There’s no indication that she missed a day of classes for the first of many life-saving medical treatments, no missing hair, no hospital gown or big sign around Clarke’s neck saying I had chemo. And Lexa curses herself for even thinking that things would be different.

(She decides that Clarke’s pale skin and tired eyes are just a figment of the imagination that is looking for something different in Clarke’s appearance.)

“Hey,” Lexa greets Clarke in their first class of the day. “How was the … uh, the treatment?”

Raising a single eyebrow at Lexa, Clarke replies, “You can call it chemo. That’s what it is.”

“Sorry,” apologises Lexa, feeling the mild burn along her cheekbones that is no doubt accompanied by a pinkening of the skin there. “I’m just new to all of this.”

She regrets the words the very second that they leave her mouth. The way that Clarke’s face falls, disappointment filling her blue eyes as her brow knits into a furrowed frown, is enough to inform Lexa that what she has just said was insensitive on every level.

“You’re new to this?” Clarke asks, her voice soft but laced with bitterness.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Lexa says dejectedly. “That was insensitive of me.”

Lexa is more disappointed in herself that she would care to admit. She’s spent more than a little bit of time this weekend on her laptop, googling questions like what to say to a friend with cancer and the overwhelming number one piece of advice she could find was to not make it about herself and how she feels about Clarke’s diagnosis. And yet, all that research is for nothing as she lets herself down within the first thirty seconds.

“It’s fine,” Clarke assures her, though Lexa can’t help but feel that this isn’t fine at all, nor will it ever be until Clarke’s treatment finishes and she gets the all clear in however many months’ time. “I get it, you want help but don’t know how. The best thing you can do is to just act normal.” Lexa nods along earnestly as Clarke reaches out a hand and rests it tenderly on Lexa’s forearm, before continuing. “And Lexa, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You’re treating me like a human, not like a time bomb. That’s more than I can say for most of the rest of the assholes in this school.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa attempts to apologise a final time, but the arrival of the teacher for the start of the lesson means that she isn’t given the chance to take her apology any further.

“By all means, come on in,” Clarke says to Raven, pushing open her bedroom door as she leads her best friend inside. “But fair warning, it looks and smells like a hospital.”

Clarke wrinkles her own nose as she steps into her bedroom, the nasty smell of cleaning product invading her nostrils. Her bedroom doesn’t really feel like home much at the moment, the various medications prescribed to her for combatting the side effects of chemo scattered haphazardly across all available surfaces in the room. The smell, despite her desperate pleas, comes from her mother’s insistence of giving the room a thorough disinfect almost every other day so that Clarke doesn’t catch anything while her immune system is reduced.

“Jesus Christ,” Raven blanches as she follows Clarke into the room, lifting her hand up to her face to cover her nose and mouth. “Do you not have any air freshener?”

“I’ve asked my mom to get me some,” Clarke answers. “She insists on keeping this place spotless. I’m already sick, a few germs isn’t going to do any harm.”

Raven’s hand reaches out to Clarke’s, her fingers clasping around Clarke’s wrist to get her full attention.

“Hey. No. Mama G is a medical professional, you listen to what she has to say, okay?”

“Jesus, Raven,” Clarke whines, dropping onto the bed with a plop that rumples the freshly washed sheets. “Are you my mom now?”

Raven launches herself belly first onto the mattress next to Clarke, propping her head up with one elbow as she sends a wicked smile in Clarke’s direction.

“Shut up,” says Raven, rolling over onto her back, where she steals half of the pillows and cushions that decorate Clarke’s double bed and sets them up against the headboard behind her. “Are we gonna watch a movie or what? It’s so awesome that you’ve finally got a TV in your room.”

Shrugging and reaching for the remote control that sits on top of a pile of untouched pamphlets from the hospital, Clarke points it at the brand new television that sits on top of the dresser against the opposite wall and says, “Cancer perks.”

The end of the school year and the start of the summer break between Clarke’s junior and senior years of high school comes around two weeks later, shortly after her second chemotherapy appointment, and Clarke has never been more grateful to have a couple of months off school.

She can already feel some of the changes in her body – most notable is just how lethargic she’s starting to feel. Clarke has always been the number one advocate for power naps but since starting the treatment, she’s found herself passing out pretty much everywhere, including in class, though two hours of calculus on a Monday morning is probably enough to send anybody to sleep.

The other thing is her hair. It hasn’t started to fall out yet, not properly, but Clarke has started to notice a bit of thinning. Each pull of her hairbrush through the newly-dyed pink hair tugs strands out from her scalp that get caught around the bristles of the brush and when she showers, there is slightly more hair than usual to pull out of the drain at the end. It isn’t noticeable in the mirror yet, but Clarke knows that the worst part – when actual clumps of her hair start falling out in uneven patches across her scalp – is almost imminent, and she’s grateful that she won’t have to go to school during this in-between stage.

Lexa is thankful for the arrival of the summer break. Junior year has been a lot of work and she knows that her final year at high school will be even more tiring. As much as she’s looking forward to throwing herself headfirst into another year of challenging schoolwork and college applications, the two months she has before that to mentally and physically rest is exactly what she needs right now.

And yet, three days after the last day of school, she finds herself already missing the crowded corridors and the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Well, maybe not those, per se.

She finds herself missing Clarke.

Their friendship is by no means rekindled to the level that it was at before they started drifting apart in middle school, but Lexa likes to think that they’ve reached the point once more where they can text each other and make social plans without it being weird.

Clarke, on the other hand, seems to disagree.

Lexa Are you free today? We could catch a movie or get lunch if you like! Or something else, I’m open to suggestions.

Clarke I’m pretty tired actually. Think I’m just gonna stay at home.

Not yet disheartened, Lexa is already prepared with another suggestion that might suit Clarke a little better.

Lexa I could come over and we could watch something at yours?

Clarke I think I just want to sleep tbh

Lexa tries to think of something to say, anything to let Clarke know that she’s always going to be welcome to hang out with Lexa later, but everything she tries typing out just falls flat. She doesn’t want to seem needy, doesn’t want to force Clarke to exert herself any more than she’s physically capable of doing right now, doesn’t want to make Clarke feel guilty for the way that the side effects of the chemotherapy are inhibiting their social interactions.

She just wants Clarke to know that she isn’t alone.

Lexa No problem!

Clarke stands in front of the mirror and adjusts the beanie on her head for what is probably the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

“You look good,” Raven says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Except that Clarke is worried. Because Octavia is throwing a party tonight and Clarke has been coerced (by Octavia, by Raven, even by her own mother) into attending and it’s the first time she’s left the house for anything other than a hospital visit in the three weeks since school finished. And the first time in almost as long that Clarke has worn anything except for pyjamas.

Not to mention the fact that it’s the debut of her new hairstyle. If you can even call a patchy buzzcut a hairstyle. Hence the beanie.

“Are you sure people aren’t going to notice?” asks Clarke, turning to look at Raven, who is sprawled across Clarke’s bed, playing on her phone as Clarke gets ready.

Pushing herself up into a seated position, Raven grins up at Clarke and answers, “The only thing people are going to notice is how hot you look. Because damn girl.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” Raven insists, shaking her head. “Everybody is going to wish they were you.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow, because she’s pretty certain that there is not a single person in the world who would want to be a kid with cancer.

Raven doesn’t miss the look that Clarke shoots her and she jumps up to her feet, crossing the room to stand beside Clarke as they both look at Clarke’s reflection in the mirror.

“You’re hot,” Raven tells Clarke again. “The colours really suit you, your tits look great in that shirt, and you’re totally rocking that beanie. Fuck the cancer, you’re awesome!”

And for just a moment, Clarke believes it.

Parties aren’t always Lexa’s thing. She not a huge drinker, nor does she like big crowds of people, not to mention the fact that she doesn’t fall into the right social circles to get invited to most of the parties thrown by the kids in her year at school.

But for some reason Octavia Blake, who has never taken the time to talk to Lexa much off the soccer pitch that they share during training for the women’s varsity team, personally insisted that Lexa just had to come along to the party that she’s throwing tonight.

It’s not Lexa’s scene at all. Music thumps from two loudspeakers positioned on either side of the living room, questionable drinks are being poured into cups from a large keg being manned by Octavia’s college-aged brother, and sweaty bodies are crammed into every corner of the Blakes’ small house. But Lexa doesn’t get invited to parties often and she’s determined to at least try to enjoy this one.

(Her attendance has absolutely nothing to do with the possibility that tonight might be the first time she sees Clarke since school finished for the summer. Nothing.)

There’s a big shout from the already quite tipsy Octavia when Raven arrives at the party, and Lexa’s eyes desperately squint towards the door for Clarke.

And there she is.

Oh boy.

Lexa doesn’t know if it’s the jungle juice catching up with her or if the sight of Clarke entering the room behind Raven is really that mesmerising, but her head starts to swim a little bit. Clarke looks a little thinner than before, a little more tired, but Lexa hardly notices that because Clarke is still just as beautiful as ever. There’s a dark gray beanie pulled over her head, hiding her hair (or lack of it, as Lexa quickly realises may be the case), but it just emphasises everything else. The sharp plane of Clarke’s jaw. The blue in Clarke’s haggard eyes. The dip of the neckline on Clarke’s rather revealing tank top.

Jesus Christ, when did Lexa become so fucking gay.

Lexa’s heart is racing, and the only thing that stops her from passing out, or from locking herself in a quiet and soundproof room for the duration of the party, is that Clarke has an expression on her face that matches the same startled-slash-terrified feeling that Lexa has too.

And so Lexa pushes her own anxiety aside and makes it her main aim to make Clarke feel as comfortable as possible in this scary new environment. Lexa takes a sip from her drink for courage, then plasters a smile on her face as she pushes through the crowd to cross the room and welcome Clarke.

“Clarke!” Lexa beams, her smile genuine as she throws her arms around Clarke’s neck in a greeting. “I didn’t know if you’d be here tonight.”

Lexa didn’t know, but she hoped.

“Yeah, Raven came to my house and basically dragged me out of bed,” Clarke shrugs. “Also, my mom threatened to cut off the wifi at home if I didn’t leave the house. She’s worried I’m becoming a recluse. I swear parents are supposed to worry about kids going to wild parties and getting involved in underage drinking and sex, but apparently when you get cancer they actively encourage it.”

“Then why are you complaining?” Lexa teases Clarke. She gestures towards the kitchen, then asks, “Do you want something to drink?”

Clarke squints at the plastic cup in Lexa’s hand, inspecting its contents with a wary gaze, before she answers, “Sure. Why not?”

Clarke’s hand seeks her own so that they don’t get separated as they slowly navigate their way through the mass of drunk teenagers, and Lexa tries to ignore the erratic pounding of her heart in her chest and the feeling of Clarke’s warm palm against her own. It’s stupid to get so worked up about such meaningless platonic intimacy, but this is Clarke, who gets Lexa’s pulse racing by just looking at her. Lexa knows that being with Clarke in that way is beyond her wildest dreams, but even an act as simple as having Clarke’s hand squeezing her own as she leads Lexa towards the kitchen, is more than Lexa thinks she deserves.

“Are you having another?” Clarke asks, when they make it to the keg where Bellamy is pouring his homemade concoction into plastic cups and distributing it to the teenagers that surround him.

Lexa glances down at the cup in her hand and takes a moment to think, before knocking bag the dregs at the bottom and nodding as she passes it across to Bellamy for a refill.

“So,” says Clarke, when they both have their drinks, leading the way out of the kitchen and through the glass doors into the back yard, where the music is quieter and the air much cooler than the warmth indoors that feels heavy with the scent of cheap alcohol and teenage sweat. “You seemed surprised to see me here tonight, but I’ve never seen you at a party before.”

“Yeah, parties aren’t usually my thing.”

They reach the far side of the yard, where a rusty swing set stands under the branches of a tall oak tree, and Clarke sits on the seat, looping one of her arms around the chain to keep herself steady, while Lexa stands nearby.

“What’s different about tonight?” asks Clarke.

“Octavia was very persuasive,” replies Lexa. She takes a quick swig of her drink for courage, and then continues, “And I was hoping you’d be here. I wanted to see you. To know that you’re doing okay.”

The cover of the darkness, lit only by the crescent moon ad a few twinkling stars in the sky, does a good job of hiding the blush that rises to Lexa’s cheeks when she confesses that seeing Clarke was a motivator for pushing herself beyond her usual comfort zone.

“I’ve been bad at replying to your messages,” says Clarke. “And I’m sorry for that. Sometimes I just don’t have any energy and then I forget and…”

“No!” Lexa protests quickly, holding up a hand to stop Clarke before she can apologise any further. “You don’t have to say sorry. I probably text you way too much.”

“I like that you message me,” Clarke says in a soft voice. “It’s nice that you think of me.”

“Of course I think about you,” says Lexa, laughing softly under her breath, because there is hardly a moment that goes by where Lexa isn’t thinking about Clarke, even subconsciously. “You’re … I mean, you’re you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Clarke asks, an inquisitive smile on her face.

Lexa’s cheeks burn in embarrassment and she’s grateful that it’s late enough that the shroud of darkness hides her red-tinged cheeks.

“You’ve always been special,” Lexa shrugs as she answers, avoiding eye contact with Clarke out of fear that she’ll fluster and stumble over her words. “You were my first friend in Kindergarten. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” replies Clarke, and when Lexa finally looks up, it is to find Clarke grinning fondly at the memory. “Murphy pushed you over and I kicked him in the balls.”

“My hero,” says Lexa, mockingly fluttering her lashes in Clarke’s direction.

“God, even back then you were an adorable nerd,” Clarke teases, taking a swig from the plastic cup in her hand.

“Wait, you think I’m adorable?”

“I don’t think I said that,” Clarke denies resolutely, though Lexa can see that she’s trying to fight a smile that gives away the truth.

“You definitely said that,” insists Lexa.

“I also called you a nerd,” Clarke reminds Lexa matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but that’s old news.”

They fall into silence, and as Clarke gently pushes herself back and forth on the swing with her feet against the lawn, all Lexa can see are flashes of memories from years past, of two small girls chasing each other around the nearby playground and seeing who can fly the highest on the swings before losing their nerve.

“I’ve missed this,” says Lexa, smiling to herself at the memory. “Missed us.”

“So have I,” agrees Clarke, scraping her feet against the grass to bring herself to a standstill. “We should do this more often. Hang out, I mean. If you’d like to.”

Lexa’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah, I … I’d love to!”

Lexa can’t remember why she was ever so worried about coming to this party in the first place.

The thing about promises is that they are easy to make and even easier to break. So when Clarke and Lexa promise to spend more time together, to rekindle a friendship that has been not much more than a pile of ashes since middle school, it’s far too easy to just let things continue how they did before the party.

It’s not that Lexa doesn’t try. Because she does. She sends Clarke occasional messages, links to things she’s seen online that she’s found funny, photos of the mundane happenings in her day to day life, little anecdotes that she thinks Clarke might enjoy. And Clarke replies most of the time, but it’s very rarely more than a one word answer or a laughing face emoji. When it is something more, the conversation fades out within the two or three messages after that.

Lexa tries her best not to push Clarke, because as much as she wants Clarke’s friendship to be the same permanent fixture in her life that it used to be, she also knows that Clarke is having a difficult enough time right now without having to fend off the unwanted attention of a former best friend who has a massive fucking crush on her.

When three weeks have passed since the party, three weeks since they promised to spend a little bit of time together, three weeks in which virtually nothing has changed since before their conversation at the party, Lexa decides to attempt to initiate a face-to-face meeting.

Lexa Woods Do you want to hang out later? We could have a movie night? You wouldn’t even have to leave your bed!

She doesn’t have to wait long for Clarke’s reply.

Clarke Griffin Yeah, might be fun

Lexa Woods Cool! I’ll bring popcorn! What time do you want me to come over?

And that’s it. There isn’t a reply to that message. Lexa checks her phone over and over again, just in case she has accidentally missed the ping of her text tone, but there’s still nothing. She assumes that Clarke has fallen asleep, that her message goes unanswered for a completely legitimate reason, but Lexa soon starts to second guess herself and doubt begins to creep into her mind.

Maybe Clarke doesn’t want to hang out with her.

Maybe Lexa is being too pushy.

No, Lexa tells herself. Clarke likes you. Clarke wants to spend time with you. It’s not her that’s pushing you away, it’s the cancer.

With that in mind, Lexa slips into her shoes, grabs a jacket, and decides to head over to Clarke’s house.

When Lexa arrives at the Griffin house, she is nervous.

Nervous that Clarke won’t be in the mood for socialising and that she’ll be turned away at the door.

Nervous that she’s going to be invited inside and will have to somehow find a way to cope with spending two hours watching a movie with a girl that she’s basically in love with.

The fluttering of her heart is almost enough to make Lexa go home of her own accord before she can enter the house.

Lexa musters all of her courage and raises her hand, tapping on the front door sharply with her knuckles. While she waits for somebody to answer the door, Lexa’s heart pounds so hard that she can hear the blood rushing through her ears.

It feels like an eternity that Lexa is waiting on that doorstep, but the door finally swings open and Abby Griffin peers inquisitively at her.

“Hello, can I-?” Abby stops mid-question to peer closer, and recognition seeps across her face as she realises who is on her doorstep. “Lexa?”

“Mrs Griffin,” Lexa nods, smiling politely.

It’s been years since Lexa has been to the Griffin house, years since she’s seen Abby, and though things have changed – there are different cars on the drive, a new rug in the hallway just behind Abby, more gray in Abby’s hair and more crinkled lines around her eyes and mouth – Lexa feels like no time has passed, like she’s still a bright-eyed middle-schooler visiting for a slumber party with stolen candy and whispered secrets beneath the sheets long after the rest of the house has fallen silent.

“Please, call me Abby. And come in!” Abby steps aside, welcoming Lexa into her home and closing the front door behind her, before she continues, “It’s good to see you. It’s been far too long since we had you in this house.”

Lexa nods in agreement, and then asks, “Is Clarke around? We said we’d have a movie night.”

“I haven’t seen her for a while,” Abby answers with a frown, pausing to think before she speaks again. “She came down and made herself some toast just after two but it’s been quiet since then. She’s probably been sleeping.”

“Oh, okay,” says Lexa, trying to mask her disappointment.

“You can go up and see her if you like,” suggests Abby. Abby’s eyes widen as she has an idea, and she explains to Lexa, “I tell you what, I haven’t planned any dinner tonight so we could order pizza for your movie night. How does that sound? Why don’t you go and wake Clarke and ask her what she wants on her pizza? You remember where Clarke’s room is, don’t you?”

“That sounds great,” says Lexa, the anxiety from earlier starting to be replaced with comfort as Abby makes her feel welcome in the place that used to feel like a second home.

She can only hope that Clarke does the same.

Leaving Abby alone downstairs, Lexa ascends the staircase to the upper floor of the house and makes her way to the door that she knows leads to Clarke’s bedroom. And yet again, she hesitates outside the door as nerves begin to rise within her gut at what she might find inside.

After two deep breaths, Lexa knocks lightly on the door and then, when there is no response, she pushes it open and peers inside.

Clarke is asleep. That much is apparent straight away. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slightly agape, and she snores softly. One of her arms is flung casually above her head on the pillow, while Lexa can just see a few toes decorated with chipped red nail polish peeking out from beneath the covers at the foot of the bed.

The most glaringly obvious thing in the room, and Lexa tries her best not to stare at it for too long, is that Clarke has no hair.

Lexa always knew that Clarke was going to end up losing her hair at some point, but she immediately regrets not preparing herself for the sight. Clarke’s scalp is stubbly, like the hair has been shaven close to her scalp at some point in the last few weeks, but the little hair that remains is thin and wispy, like that of a newborn baby before their proper hair starts to grow in thick. It only adds to the childlike image that Lexa gets of Clarke, sprawled out on her bed like an infant taking a nap, and Lexa wants nothing more than to wrap Clarke up in bundles of blanket as she presses soft kisses to her forehead and whispers promises to keep her safe.

Grateful that Clarke is asleep and therefore unable to witness Lexa staring at her almost-hairless head, Lexa forcibly drags her eyes away from the sleeping girl and takes in the rest of the room. Though it’s still the same room that Lexa remembers from her childhood visits, it’s much different. The room feels smaller and less inviting, is Lexa’s first impression. It smells clinical in here, but that’s not it. Across the dresser, there are an assortment of medicines in bottles and boxes, labelled with names that are just as terrifying as they are long. Lexa had no idea that cancer treatment required so much medication.

A giant corkboard leans against Clarke’s closet door, upon which Lexa can see various information pamphlets from the hospital pinned up with brightly coloured pins. Most of the corkboard is dominated by a huge yearly wall planner, which Clarke has decorated with coloured stickers to denote which medicines she needs to take on which days, as well as written in all of her hospital appointments. At the bottom of the board, there’s a handwritten sign that says 12 days to next treatment, with a homemade flip chart to change the numbers as she counts down. Around the edge of the board, Clarke has pinned up a few inspirational quotes, and Lexa smiles to herself as she reads one in particular - scars are like tattoos but with cooler stories.

It’s all very strange to Lexa, seeing the evidence of Clarke’s cancer all over the same bedroom that she used to have playdates and slumber parties with Clarke in, but the reality of it sinks in a little more that it has before. Lexa feels a tinge of sadness at the realisation that this is what Clarke’s life has become now, but also a huge swell of admiration for how Clarke is refusing to let the cancer take her down without a fight.

When Lexa glances back at the girl still soundly asleep in the bed, she feels as though she’s looking at her in a different light.

“Clarke?” Lexa says in a hushed voice, crossing the room and sitting down gently on the edge of Clarke’s bed, trying not to cause the mattress to jolt suddenly under her weight as she takes a seat. Lexa is torn between wanting to wake Clarke up to spend time with her or leaving her to continue her peaceful slumber, but it is the selfish part of her brain that wins out in the end. “Clarke, it’s me. Lexa.”

Clarke stirs ever so slightly and Lexa reaches out with one hand to brush the back of her fingers against Clarke’s warm cheek, stroking the soft skin tenderly. Clarke leans into the touch, and her bleary eyes flicker open just a fraction.

“Your mom is going to order pizza for dinner,” explains Lexa. “Does that sound okay?”

Clarke lets out a little grunt that Lexa assumes is an affirmative, and so she continues her line of questioning.

“Great, what do you want on yours?”

“Cheese,” mumbles Clarke sleepily.

“Just cheese?” Lexa asks for clarification. “No other toppings?”

“No.”

Clarke rolls onto her side towards Lexa, tucking her legs up to her chest as she curls up and pulls the covers over her shoulder. Her eyes are closed once more, as if she never stirred at all.

“Do you want me to leave you to sleep?” asks Lexa, her voice just a whisper as she tries not to startle the sleepy girl beside her.

Clarke lets out a low hum that Lexa interprets as an affirmative, and Lexa slowly gets to her feet, careful not to disturb Clarke as she crosses the room and backs out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door with a soft click.

Once she is back downstairs, Lexa relays Clarke’s pizza order to Abby, as well as her own, then takes a seat on the couch in the Griffin’s living room.

“She’s fast asleep,” Lexa says, once Abby has phoned the pizza restaurant and placed their order. “It was almost like she was talking to me in her sleep.”

“She does that,” nods Abby. “Sometimes I can go into her room and have an entire conversation with her and she’ll have no recollection of it when we speak later in the day.”

“Wow,” gasps Lexa. “She must be really out of it. Does she spend a lot of time asleep, then?”

“You could say that,” Abby laughs softly under her breath. “Now, Clarke has always enjoyed her sleep. It’s difficult enough to get her out of bed in the morning at the best of times, but since she started the treatment, she spends most of the day in bed. She’ll surface a couple of times a day for a snack, but it’s rare to see her awake for more than a few hours at a time.”

“I…” Lexa starts, but then trails off, wondering if the way her thoughts are going aren’t appropriate for a conversation with the mother of a cancer patient. But Abby looks at her with warmth in her eyes and an encouraging smile on her face, and it makes Lexa feel a little like there isn’t a wrong thing that she can say, and so she continues, “This is probably going to sound really ignorant, but I’ve never known anybody with cancer before, and seeing somebody go through all of this is so different to how I imagined it to be. I don’t mean that to sound so…”

“No, Lexa, there’s no need to say sorry!” Abby is quick to shut Lexa down for she can start apologising. “I’m a doctor – I deal with people suffering from all sorts of things on a daily basis, and I even did a placement in an oncology ward when I was a student doctor – and there are things about Clarke’s treatment and the side effects that surprise me.”

Lexa smiles gratefully at Abby’s words, and then continues, “It’s just, media makes it seem like cancer is about your hair falling out and being connected to a machine by a tube.”

“And there is an element of that to it,” Abby interjects.

Nodding, Lexa adds, “But it seems like it’s so much more than that.”

“There is,” agrees Abby. “You also have to remember that not everybody experiences cancer in the same way, so the way that Clarke’s body responds to the chemicals fighting off the disease is not necessarily the same way that mine would, or yours.”

“Clarke is … I know it’s stupid for me to be saying this when it’s mostly my fault that we aren’t as close as we used to be.”

“Lexa,” says Abby, reaching across the space between them on the couch and resting a comforting hand on Lexa’s arm. “You and Clarke have been an important part of each other’s lives. It’s perfectly natural for you to be affected by what she’s going through.”

Lexa smiles gratefully, Abby’s words doing a little to quell the guilt that Lexa feels for finding it difficult to talk or even think about Clarke’s health.

“Clarke is special,” Lexa confesses to Abby. “Clarke has always been there for me. She’s been looking out for me since the day that we met, and it feels like it’s my turn to repay that favour, to look out for her.” Lexa pauses, before she admits, “And I’m worried about her. She doesn’t seem the same as she used to be.”

Lexa wonders for a moment if she has said the wrong thing, when Abby’s brows furrows and her eyes fill with sadness at the changes she’s seeing in her only daughter.

“She’s not,” agrees Abby. “And she may never be. But whatever she may seem like now, she’s going to be a much stronger person when it’s all over.”

Lexa is reminded of another one of the quotes she saw pinned to Clarke’s corkboard up in her bedroom - Cancer is always going to lose, because though it tries to make you weaker it only ends up making you stronger.

“To quote Kelly Clarkson; what doesn't kill you makes you stronger,” says Lexa, and Abby laughs softly at her words.

“Mom?”

They both startle at the sound of Clarke’s voice, having not heard her descend the stairs, and look up to find Clarke rubbing her tired eyes as she enters the room,  wearing pyjama pants and an oversized hoodie.

“Who are you talking to? I thought Dad was away toni-” Clarke stops mid-sentence when she notices Lexa. “Lexa?”

Lexa gives a meek little wave. Clarke looks completely surprised to see Lexa in her living room, as if she doesn’t remember either inviting Lexa over or even the short conversation that they shared in her room earlier. Lexa remembers what Abby said about Clarke often having entire conversations that she’s too tired to remember later and realises that must be the case.

“Told you she wouldn’t remember,” Abby's says, quiet enough that only Lexa can hear her.

“I came up to your room earlier to ask you what you wanted on your pizza,” Lexa explains to Clarke, smiling kindly in an attempt to reassure Clarke that it’s completely fine if she doesn’t remember. “We had a conversation.”

“We did?”

“Pizza is on its way,” says Abby. “Probably about half an hour.”

“I don’t know if I’m hungry,” Clarke protest, her voice feeble. She drops into one of the armchairs and curls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to keep them close to her body as her head drops back against the cushion behind her.

“That’s fine,” Abby tells her. “But it’s there for you if you want it. Lexa says you two are having a movie night.”

“Oh shit, I totally forgot about that!” sighs Clarke, eyes widening as she remembers inviting Lexa over.

“Language, Clarke!” Abby scolds Clarke, though there isn’t actually any trace of anger in her voice.

“Sorry,” mumbles Clarke.

“I can go if you want me to,” says Lexa, trying to mask the disappointment as she makes to get up onto her feet.

“No!” says Clarke quickly, leaning forward in her seat slightly and letting her feet slide onto the floor as if preparing to chase Lexa if she tries to leave. “Stay! Please?”

Lexa drops back into her seat perhaps a little too eagerly, just pleased that she’s finally going to be able to make true of the promise they made at Octavia’s party and spend some time with Clarke. If her heart picks up its pace in her chest, then Lexa vehemently ignores it.

“Let’s use the den,” says Clarke. The Griffins have a room at the back of their house that they call the ‘den’, a small-ish room with a couch, a television, and several towering bookshelves along one wall, and Lexa remembers the room well from her childhood visits here, she remembers eating chips in front of cartoons, and making a fort to hide from the grown-ups. “My bedroom is too much like a prison.”

Lexa nods, her only concern being Clarke’s comfort at all times. If Clarke would rather host their movie night in the den, rather than the bedroom that has become almost like her own private hospital ward at home, then Lexa isn’t going to put forward any complaints.

“That sounds like a great idea,” says Abby. “Why don’t you girls go and set up in there? There’s some spare blankets and pillows up in the spare bedroom if you want to make it more comfy in there. I can bring the pizza to you when it arrives.”

“Thank you, Mrs Griffin,” says Lexa.

“It’s Abby,” replied Abby, a twinkle in her eyes, “and you know that, Lexa!”

They build what can only be described as a nest on the couch in the den, cocooning themselves in a warm bundle of blankets and cushions while they choose a movie from Netflix. When the pizza arrives, Abby brings it through to them and smiles at the sight of their heads peering out from under all the blankets.

The pizza box sits between them on the couch, resting on a small cushion, and they help themselves to cheesy slices while the movie plays in the background. Despite her earlier protests that she wouldn’t be hungry, Clarke’s stomach gives a traitorous growl when they lift the lid, and she manages almost two slices before she gives in and says that her appetite has gone.

Clarke falls asleep about halfway through the movie, and with her stomach full and the nest of blankets keeping her cosy, Lexa can feel her own eyes drooping with the onset of drowsiness not too long afterwards. She tries to fight it, to stay away and watch the movie, but her eyelids are heavy and she quickly succumbs.

When Clarke wakes up, she is uncomfortable.

Which is weird because she’s bundled up in blankets on the soft couch cushions in the den, with Lexa fast asleep against her side. She should be the epitome of comfort.

There’s an unsettled feeling in Clarke’s stomach, and it takes her a few sleepy moments to realise that she feels nauseous. The need to be sick is not an urgent one, but it is there, but as soon as she realises that she’s feeling queasy, it takes over her entire body and she can’t think of anything else.

Clarke tries to extract herself from the blankets without disturbing Lexa, but with the other girl asleep against her side, her head resting on Clarke’s shoulder, it’s a harder task that it seems. The blankets are tangled around their limbs and as she tries to remove herself from their warmth, Lexa stirs against her and her eyes blink open.

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks, her voice raspy in her newly awakened state.

“Just gonna go to the bathroom,” Clarke says, trying not to let her discomfort show. The last thing she wants is for Lexa to worry about her.

Lexa looks on in concern, but she nods silently and lets Clarke leave, helping to remove the blankets so that she can make her escape.

Clarke knows the drill by now. She reaches for a hair tie and pushes her hair back into a loose bun, then sits on the edge of the bathtub within reach of the toilet basin. She takes deep breaths, trying to stop the bile from rising in her throat, but by this point she knows it’s going to happen.

When she can’t fight it anymore, Clarke leans over the basin and retches, emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. When she doesn’t think she can be sick any longer, when there is nothing left to throw up, Clarke scrabbles with one hand for the flush, while the other reaches for a square of toilet paper to wipe the disgusting dribble from her chin and lips.

“Clarke?”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Clarke glances up from where she is huddled on the bathroom floor to find Lexa leaning against the doorway with concern on her face. The very reason that Clarke rarely has friends over at her house is because she doesn’t want them to see her like this, but the illusion that she’s dealing with cancer with her dignity still in tact is lost the moment that Lexa lays eyes on the way that Clarke is clinging to the toilet seat with her own drool coating her lips.

“Go away, Lexa,”

“Can I do anything to help? Do you need anything? Water?”

Clarke is loathe to ask for help, but her throat burns and there’s an acidic taste in her mouth and water sounds like heaven.

“There’s a bottle of water that I left in the den,” Clarke reluctantly says to Lexa.

“I’ll go get it.”

Lexa hurries out of the bathroom obediently like a dog rushing to fetch a ball, and Clarke is only left alone for a moment because the commotion brings her mom along in Lexa’s absence. Abby enters the bathroom and takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Clarke’s back.

“Clarke, are you okay honey?” she asks.

Clarke glances up and puts on a forced smile, as she replies sarcastically, “Peachy.”

Lexa returns with the water bottle, filled with fresh water, and gives it to Clarke with a worried expression still on her face. Clarke accepts the bottle with a grateful nod of her head and takes a huge gulp, swilling the water around her mouth to wash away the taste of her own vomit, before she spits the water into the toilet basin and takes another sip to actually drink.

“Lexa, I don’t want you to see me like this,” says Clarke, now that her throat isn’t quite so dry and scratchy.

Though Lexa looks as though she wants to say something, she remains silent.

Pushing herself up into a standing position, it is Abby who comes up with a solution, leaving Clarke on the bathroom floor beside the toilet as she says to Lexa, “Lexa, how about I make up the spare room for you and you can sleep there tonight?”

Lexa keeps staring at Clarke with a frown on her face, eyes full of pity and something else, before she finally glances up at Abby and nods silently. Abby ushers Lexa out of the bathroom, leading her down the hallway, and it is only when Clarke has been left alone in the bathroom that she lets herself break down, tears cascading down her cheeks and her chest heaving with sobs as she collapses on the bathroom floor and just cries.

School starts up again at the end of the summer and so begins Lexa’s senior year.

Clarke doesn’t show up on the first day, nor on the second, and when she does finally show her face on the third day, she looks wearier than Lexa remembers, and her words are much more negative.

“I just don’t want to be here,” complains Clarke, when Lexa meets with her during morning break to give her a copy of Lexa’s notes from the two days she’s missed. “I don’t see the point.”

“Of course there’s a point!” Lexa tries to assure her. “This is senior year, your last year!”

“And what?” shrugs Clarke dejectedly, slumping against her locker. “I have to miss school for appointments but what about the days like yesterday where I physically couldn’t get out of bed? I’m tired all the fucking time!”

“I’m sure the teachers will be able to help you catch up on the work you’ve missed,” Lexa suggests.

“The teachers don’t give a shit,” replies Clarke. “I’m not in school enough for them to care. They’ve already written me off as a hopeless case. I’m just a kid they’ll talk about in a few years, like ‘remember when we taught that girl with cancer, such a sad story’. That’s all I am to them, a story.”

“Then I’ll help you!” promises Lexa. She hates seeing Clarke like this, hates how the cancer seems to have drained all of Clarke’s positivity. “I can come over to yours and help with the stuff that you miss and it’ll even help with my own revision.”

“I can’t ask you do so that.”

“I want to,” Lexa shrugs, her voice soft.

Clarke looks at Lexa in confusion, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown, like she’s trying to work out why Lexa hasn’t written her off in the same way that nearly every other person in the school has.

“But why? There’s no point. My life lost all its worth the moment they did the scan and found a tumour.”

Clarke chokes on her words towards the end, and Lexa catches her reaching up to rub at her eyes, as if wiping away tears. Within a few seconds, Clarke’s chest is heaving with sobs and her cheeks are damp.

“Come on,” says Lexa, putting an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and guiding her into the nearby girls’ bathroom.

There are two girls in there when they enter, standing at the mirrors touching up their eyeliner, but upon seeing Clarke in tears, they seem to sense the need for privacy and quickly gather their belongings, vacating the bathroom to leave Lexa and Clarke alone.

“It’s okay,” Lexa soothes Clarke. “Let it out.”

“Why me?” sobs Clarke. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing” says Lexa, as she pulls Clarke in for a hugs and wraps her arms around Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke’s own arms circle loosely around Lexa’s waist and her head falls on Lexa’s shoulder, her tears soaking the sleeve of Lexa’s t-shirt. “You did nothing. You don’t deserve any of this and it makes me so mad that it’s happening to you.”

“I had it all planned out,” says Clarke, another sob tearing through her body as she trembles in Lexa’s arms. “I was going to get a good GPA and go to med school and become a paediatrician but none of that is going to happen anymore.”

“It can still happen if you want it to,” Lexa tries to reassure Clarke.

Clarke pulls herself out of Lexa’s embrace and walks into one of the toilet stalls, emerging a few seconds later with some toilet paper scrunched up in her hand, which she uses to dab at her eyes and then blow her nose.

“That’s the other thing,” Clarke says to Lexa, tossing the used tissue in the nearby trash can. “I’m not sure I even want to be a doctor anymore. Why would I want to spend the rest of my life working in a place that reminds me of what I’m going through now?”

“Then that’s fine,” Lexa answers without hesitation. “There’s still so many other things you can so. You can still go to college without deciding what you want to major in yet, or you don’t have to go to college at all if you don’t want to.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow and she looks at Lexa with an expression on her face like she doesn’t understand why Lexa is so insistent that Clarke’s life isn’t as bad as she thinks it is.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” asks Lexa.

“Being so nice to me.”

Clarke still looks at Lexa with incredulity in her eyes, like the very idea of somebody showing her kindness is one that she can’t begin to fathom.

“Do you remember in Kindergarten when you helped me up after Murphy pushed me over and then kicked him in the balls?” asks Lexa, and Clarke’s glistening blue eyes soften with traces of amusement as she nods through her tears. “You’ve always had my back and now that things aren’t so great for you, I want to have yours.”

Lexa omits the part where she’s basically in love with Clarke and would do anything to ensure her happiness.

“I mean, Murphy hasn’t done anything but if you want to kick him in the balls anyway, it would really cheer me up.”

“Noted,” smiles Lexa.

Though her cheeks are blotchy and there are red rings around her eyes as evidence of her tears, Clarke is no longer crying and Lexa is grateful that she seems to have cheered up a little. She thinks that seeing Clarke like that, seeing the emotional impact that the cancer is having on her, is far worse than it is to see all of the physical changes on Clarke’s body. Even seeing Clarke hunched over a toilet bowl emptying her stomach that time Lexa went over for a movie night was more bearable than this, because at least Lexa knew that the nausea would pass. Seeing Clarke so upset and feeling like there is nothing she can do to help only leaves Lexa feeling completely helpless, and she wishes that there could be steps for her to take to ensure that Clarke doesn’t have to feel like her life isn’t worth anything now that she’s sick.

“Seriously, though,” Lexa tells Clarke, who has now turned to the sink and is splashing water over her face from the faucet. “I’m here for you. I know that things aren’t going your way at the moment, but I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone, because you’re not.”

Clarke’s eyes are still red and the skin around them puffy from her tears, but there’s something much deeper in them as she looks at Lexa, like maybe she might be finally starting to believe that what Lexa is saying is true.

Something changes in Clarke.

Lexa hardly notices it at first, because in many ways nothing changes at all. Clarke still misses a lot of school and when she does show up, she is still just as weary and down about her situation as she was at the start of the school year, keeping her head down on her desk for often entire lessons and secluding herself from most of her peers during break and lunchtimes.

But there’s definitely something different too. Something in the way that Clarke’s eyes seek out Lexa’s in the school canteen and her tense shoulders relax visibly as she comes to sit at Lexa’s table. Something in the way that Clarke will always choose to sit next to Lexa in the classes that they share, even if she ends up sleeping on her desk for the entire lesson. Something in the way that Clarke has started inviting Lexa over to hers after school every now and then so that Lexa can help her with the work she’s missed, even though their ‘study sessions’ usually end up with them binge-watching TV and reminiscing about memories from years past until their cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

Lexa likes it. Well, she doesn’t like that Clarke is still struggling, but she likes the way that even though Clarke is having a tough time, she’s giving Lexa the chance to try and make it a little less difficult.

Clarke has her last treatment in early-November and Lexa spends the entire day glued to her phone. Or at least as glued to her phone as she can be at school without the teachers noticing it and confiscating it from her. She checks it as often as she can, waiting for a message from Clarke to say that she’s out of the hospital so that she can congratulate Clarke on making it to the end of a gruelling six months of chemotherapy.

There isn’t a message, but when Lexa checks Facebook during her lunch break, there’s a post from Clarke at the top of her feed, dominated by a goofy selfie of Clarke at the hospital with a dumb filter that distorts her face and gives her a pair of animal ears.

Lexa taps the ‘like’ button instantly, then scrolls down to read the caption that Clarke has posted below.

Clarke Griffin 34 minutes ago Last ever chemo today! It’s been a difficult six months but I’m coming out the other side stronger and I couldn’t have done it without the most incredible support from the best friends and family I could ask for. Thank you to each and every one of you for sticking by my side during these tricky months. I love you all! All there’s left to do is to wait for the scan to confirm that the cancer is gone and then I can start growing my eyebrows back!

Lexa’s eyes prickle with tears and she wipes them away immediately, before anybody else can see her crying in the middle of the school canteen, but Lexa can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face with the growing pride that she feels for Clarke and the struggle that she has overcome as she types out a comment on Clarke’s post.

Lexa Woods So proud of you and the strength that you’ve shown! <3

It doesn’t come close to expressing what Lexa is really feeling, but when the notification pops up a few seconds later telling her that Clarke has replied with a heart emoji of her own, Lexa hopes that maybe it’s just about enough.

On the day that Clarke goes for her final scan and gets the all-clear from the doctors, who tell her that the chemotherapy has been successful and that she’s in complete remission, they go for milkshakes and donuts to celebrate.

“To you,” says Lexa, holding up her milkshake glass when the waitress brings them their drinks, and Clarke meets it with a soft clink of her own against Lexa’s, “for being the strongest and bravest person I know and kicking cancer’s butt.”

“To you,” adds Clarke, keeping her glass raised even after Lexa lowers her own, “for sticking by my side when so many others turned their backs.”

Lexa wraps her lips around the straw and sucks up some of her milkshake, sighing at how refreshing the drink is, before she puts the glass down on the table.

“Of course I stuck by you,” Lexa shrugs. “I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”

“I appreciate it,” smiles Clarke. “As long as we’re still going to be friends now that I’m healthy again?”

Clarke has genuine concern in her eyes, like she actually thinks that Lexa might stop being her friend now that she no longer has the excuse of wanting to help Clarke through her difficult times.

“Of course we are,” Lexa promises Clarke. “I’ll always be your friend, even when you have hair again!”

Clarke’s face cracks open into a grin and Lexa flushes with delight at having made Clarke smile, a sight that has been so rare over the last few months. It’s nice to see Clarke relaxed for once, instead of exhausted and void of hope, and Lexa can’t tell if Clarke is actually more radiant than before or if it’s just Lexa imagining things. Either way, Clarke looks beautiful as she sips on her milkshake, even more so when she smiles, and Lexa is reminded of all the un-friendlike feelings she has for Clarke as her heart stirs in her chest and makes its presence known by thumping rhythmically against her ribcage.

To distract herself from her racing heart, and to stop herself from doing anything stupid like telling Clarke that she looks beautiful and accidentally confessing her love, Lexa gestures to the box of donuts on the table between them and asks, “Powdered sugar or chocolate sprinkles?”

“Like you even have to ask,” grins Clarke, reaching for the donut decorated with chocolate icing and multi-coloured sprinkles.

The cancer might have gone, but Clarke’s social anxiety definitely has not, and the nerves that she feels upon entering the party that Octavia is throwing at her house for half their year is almost overwhelming. Her hair, barely starting to grow back and still a closely shaven fuzz on her head, is hidden beneath a comfortable gray beanie, and even though it has been months since she had long hair, Clarke still feels self-conscious about her current look.

The other partygoers greet her as if nothing has changed, as if she hasn’t spent months going in and out of hospital appointments and barely showing up to school. There’s the people who have always been her friends, even through it all - Raven wraps Clarke in a tipsy hug when she first sees her, Jasper greets Clarke with a fist bump and offers to pour her a drink from a suspicious-looking homemade concoction stored in an old plastic water bottle, Octavia drags Clarke straight into the middle of a makeshift dance floor in the living room and starts grinding up against her instead of Lincoln - but there’s others, people who have barely acknowledged Clarke during the last six months, who greet her and smile as she passes as if she has never had cancer at all.

It’s weird and Clarke doesn’t like it.

When Clarke has finally managed to escape from Octavia’s inappropriate dancing, using an excuse of needing to go somewhere a little cooler, Clarke makes her way to the slightly quieter kitchen and pours herself a drink.

“So the cancer is gone, huh?”

Clarke glances up, bottle of soda in one hand and a red plastic cup in the other, to find Finn smirking across at her. Finn, who was definitely flirting with her before the diagnosis, but who hasn’t even looked her way since, let alone spoken to her.

“Well,” says Clarke, trying not to let her disinterest in conversing with Finn creep into her voice. “I’m in complete remission, so…”

“So you’re basically cured.”

Clarke knows that she used to be attracted to Finn, though in this moment she can’t possibly remember why. Perhaps the chemotherapy has killed all traces of the former attraction along with the cancer.

“Finn, it…”

“When is your hair going to grow back?” asks Finn.

He must think that he’s flirting, because he wears a smirk on his face and leans closer to Clarke. Clarke decides that they must be living in alternate universes, because Finn clearly thinks that his advances are wanted, while Clarke is struggling to think of anywhere she would rather be less than here with Finn.

Except for perhaps the oncology ward with a tube pumping chemicals into the port on her chest, but it’s an incredibly close call.

“What if I like it short?” Clarke replies haughtily, folding her arms indignantly across her chest.

Still undeterred, Finn says, “I think you look really pretty with long hair. You know, how it was before.”

“Well, if you like it short then I guess I have to grow back.”

Finn completely misses the sarcasm in her voice because instead of getting the idea that Clarke doesn’t care about what he has to say and backing off, he instead leans yet closer and says, “How about we go and talk somewhere a little more private?”

It takes all of Clarke’s self-restraint to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“And by ‘talk’, you mean hook-up?” she asks him, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Well, I guess. If you like.”

Clarke loses it.

“No, Finn,” she snaps, spitting his name out like it’s a nasty taste on her tongue that she can’t wait to be rid of, “I don’t like. I don’t like the way that you think you can ignore me for six months and then as soon as I finish my treatment, you decide that it’s okay to start flirting with me again because you no longer have to deal with a girl who has cancer.”

“Clarke,” whines Finn, “I only meant that…”

“Well, guess what, Finn?” continues Clarke, barely allowing herself time to take a breath before she launches off again, not giving Finn the chance to try to wriggle his way out of this one. “I’m always going to be the girl who had cancer! You don’t go through something like this and just forget about it. This experience has changed me and I’m not the same girl who had a crush on you last summer. And if you didn’t want to be around for that change then that’s on you.”

“Clarke…” protests Finn.

“Finn, I don’t care,” Clarke tells him bluntly. “If you didn’t want to be my friend when I had cancer, then you don’t get to be my friend now that I don’t.”

Clarke is pretty proud of herself for that one, but she becomes aware that her rant at Finn has drawn a little bit of attention from the handful of other people in the kitchen. They watch her with mild fear on their faces, as if worried that she’s going to turn on them next and give them the same kind of treatment that she’s given Finn.

But Clarke is done ranting, and from the way that Finn is finally silent, Clarke thinks that maybe she might have got through to him.

Clarke decides that she has to make a quick exit to escape the judgement of the other people in the kitchen, but when she looks up at the door out of the kitchen, she notices that Lexa is standing there watching her, and Clarke realises that she must have seen the entire exchange with Finn.

With her conversation with Finn fresh in her mind, Clarke realises that Lexa is the only person outside of her tight-knit friendship group who has even looked Clarke’s way during the last few months, let alone tried to support her through the biggest challenge of her entire life, and the realisation has everything clicking into place.

Clarke pushes past Finn and walks towards Lexa, grabbing Lexa’s hand with her own on her way out of the kitchen and pulling Lexa with her.

“Come on, Lexa. We need to talk.”

We need to talk.

Put together in that order, they are probably four of the most ominous-sounding words in the English language, but Lexa has no time to process what they might mean or what Clarke wants to talk about. Clarke’s hand grips her own and Lexa is being dragged down the hallway of Octavia’s house, past a few other kids in their year, until Clarke opens up the front door and leads Lexa outside into the chilly December air.

“Clarke, what…?”

Clarke kisses her. Like actually kisses her, lips gently moving against Lexa’s while one of her hands comes up to tangle itself in Lexa’s hair.

It’s not at all what Lexa imagined their first kiss to be like - and Lexa has probably imagined and re-imagined a thousand different scenarios in which she and Clarke share a first kiss. Lexa has pictured it being tentative and clumsy, she’s pictured it being fiery and fuelled by lust, she’s pictured it taking place right after Lexa has delivered a smooth line to knock Clarke off her feet, and she’s pictured it happening in the darkness of her own bedroom late at night during a slumber party. In fact, had you asked Lexa just thirty seconds ago, she probably would have said that there is not a single version of their first kiss that she hasn’t already imagined.

But she never once imagined it to be like this, never thought that it would happen on Octavia Blake’s front step while a party rages on behind the closed front door, never expected that Clarke’s lips would be so soft or that her hand would caress Lexa’s scalp in the way that it does, never once predicted that Clarke kissing her would make Lexa’s heart beat in her chest like it’s having its very own high school house party in her chest.

Lexa tries to be as present as she can be, a task which is a lot harder than it seems when her entire body feels like it’s floating off the ground and soaring into space. She tries to kiss Clarke back, and she lifts her own hand to cup Clarke’s jaw, where her fingertips dip just beneath the soft material of the beanie that Clarke wears and her thumb traces patterns along the bone of Clarke’s gaunt cheek.

The kiss is a bit of a surprise - as far as Lexa is aware, her feelings for Clarke have been entirely one-sided until now - and Lexa can’t help but wonder what has changed in Clarke’s mind to bring them to this point. When Clarke draws back from the kiss to change the angle, Lexa pulls back from the kiss, though she keeps her hands on Clarke to hold her close, trying to let Clarke know that this is just a temporary pause, not a permanent halt on their kissing.

“Clarke, what…?

“Finn was hitting on me and it made me realise that there’s only one person I want to be doing that,” explains Clarke. When Lexa stares at her dumbfoundedly for a few seconds, not quite believing what she’s hearing, Clarke elaborates by saying, “You.”

Lexa’s jaw drops open like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing, even though she already has the physical evidence that Clarke wants her from the way that her lips are still tingling from the recent pressure of Clarke’s mouth sliding against her own.

“Listen, this isn’t going to be easy,” says Clarke, dropping the hand that is buried in Lexa’s hair so that it’s draped around her neck and bringing the other one up to match it. “I still have to go to the hospital for tests every few months and there’s always a chance that the cancer could come back. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but mentally I’m a bit of a fuck up right now.”

“Clarke…” protests Lexa, shaking her head.

“What?” shrugs Clarke. “It’s true! I’ve still got a difficult journey ahead of me but I want to make that journey with you. I want you to still be by my side, because I can deal with the cancer - not very well, I admit - but I can deal with it. I don’t think I could handle not having you in my life.”

There’s a question in Clarke’s eyes, as if she’s waiting for Lexa to promise that she’s never going to leave. Lexa can’t find the words to do justice to the way that she’s feeling, so she decides to do it with actions instead. Her hands tighten on Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer as she leans down for a second kiss that feels like Lexa is arriving home.

“Just to be clear,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s lips, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Clarke lets out a little noise, something that Lexa decides must be the audible version of an eye roll, before she answers, “Yes, idiot. Be my girlfriend?”

Lexa doesn’t know how she manages to keep kissing Clarke when her mouth is threatening to crack into a huge grin, but she manages it, only pulling back for long enough to say, “Yes.”

[stormberry-12]

fuck, i think i love you ~ jj maybank

pairing ~ jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings ~ language, slight angst at the beginning ig, and then fluff :)

notes ~ my first tumbler blurb! It might be kinda bad idk. lowercase intended. I'm going to open up requests soon! hope ya'll have a good day, stay safe <3

"DING DONG!" you shout excessively loud, smirking at the sign on the front door of the chateau. jj's messy handwriting and logic to solve the situation made you giggle.

john b's broken doorbell had been an ongoing inside joke for a while now. though you knew you were always welcome in the chateau you stood out there like a dork just to make jb work extra hard today.

after a few moments, john b walked over to open the door, "hey, y/n! what's with the yelling?"

you just pointed at the sign on his house and smirked, jb rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of 'jj you dumb ass-' and 'it's not that funny,' before stepping aside to let you in.

"i'm actually headed out, i think jay's in his room. I'll see ya in a bit" he ruffled your hair and you swatted his hand away.

"k, thanks bird shit," you stuck your tongue out at him as he exited the house with a salute. suddenly feeling nervous you took a deep breath and walked over to the guest bedroom that jj had claimed as his own, knocking lightly.

you were greeted by a sleepy-looking jj, his shaggy blonde hair was sticking out in all directions and he squinted his eyes at the sunlight coming from the window behind you. his icy blue eyes widened as they adjusted and settled on your soft features.

"uhm- y/n, hi, uh-" he studdered over his words.

"can i come in?" you asked quietly.

he nodded and you walked into the dark room sitting on the bed, "sorry if I woke you up..." you started trying to break the tension.

"s'all good," he replied sitting next to you and immediately starting to fiddle with his rings and stare down at his feet. god, this was awkward.

"so uh, yesterday..."

"yesterday," he repeated your words and sighed softly. you both snuck a glance at each other, locking eyes you both blushed furiously and looked back down at the floor. you mentally shamed yourself for not planning out what you were going to say to jj before you got here. a gut-wrenching silence stuffed the room for what felt like an eternity before he spoke up.

"'m sorry, i kissed you,"

your heart shattered. you didn't want him to regret it.

" it was kinda spur of the moment, an I don't know what I was... shit-" he struggled to force some type of coherent words to come out of his mouth as he ran a hand through his messy hair.

"stop beating yourself up jay," you interjected. "i'm sorry for getting all flustered and running out like that. it wasn't fair to you-"

"no, no, you had every right to leave. i was being stupid and it was so random, and i feel so dumb-" his voice faltered. you both looked up again and for the first time ever you saw panic and insecurity in jj maybank's eyes.

"jayj..." you said softly, bringing your hand up to his cheek. "your not stupid and your not dumb,"

he leaned his cheek into your palm, "i'm sorry, I messed up, it won't happen again y/n/n. i promise." he linked his pinky finger with yours, something you both subconsciously did together when you made each other a promise.

but you pulled your finger away.

" jj," you brought your other hand up to his other cheek so you were holding his face in between your palms, forcing him to look at you. "i think i might regret running away more than you regret that kiss,"

his eyes filled with confusion before you brought his face closer to yours and pressed your lips to his. he inhaled sharply before kissing you back. electricity erupted through your body just like it had the night before. you both pulled away to breathe.

" i'm so fuckin confused right now," jj deadpanned and you giggled. "but fuck, i think i love you,"

you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck, and he hugged you back. there was a silent understanding of your feelings for each other and your hearts warmed. "i love you too jay,"

[imagine-me-here]

Felix Felicis (Harry Potter)

Summary: Reader is an exchange student from Ilvermorny who has a huge crush on Draco but is convinced it’s unrequited love. (Hint: IT’S NOT) Media: Harry Potter Genre: pure fluff Warnings: middle-school language, mild Brit-speak, irresponsibly liberal use of italics and dashes--as per usual Word count: 1,685 Notes: written for the amazing @elizahackler on IG. Go follow them!

The rain was unrelenting on your first day at Hogwarts. Not even one day had passed and you were already feeling homesick. You missed the gentle layer of snow on the Ilvermorny grounds, and the comfort of the Wampus dorm. Hogwarts was cold, old, and gloomy, and everyone spoke in an unintelligible British accent. You should've just stayed in America, and you would've, if you were allowed. But your house head decided that spending a few semesters overseas would do you some good. So here you were, already predisposed to believe your year in England would be living hell. And the way things were going, or seemed like you would be right.

You waved goodbye to your parents, who had apparated with you to King's Cross, and the Hogwarts Express gently pulled away from the station. Soon after, the train was chugging along the track and you were seated in a cabin alone, earbuds in. As your favourite song came on, you glanced out the window at the scenery--verdant mountains and valleys, lush with trees in shades of emerald. You smiled to yourself. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. A new school, new opportunities to make friends, new classes to ace, field trips to London--

“What insolent idiot dare sit in my cabin?! My father will--” A tall, handsome boy with platinum blonde hair burst into your cabin, accompanied by his two friends. The badge on his cloak was the same shade of green as the trees. Slytherin, you thought.

“...hear about this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. You pulled out an earbud and stood up straightaway, trying to leave the cabin as fast as you could.

“I'm...sorry,” the boy said. His eyes flickered to your Wampus crest. “Um, it's alright. You can stay.”

But you were already awkwardly standing in the doorway, and sitting back down with someone who had just called you an idiot would be even more awkward.

“Sorry,” you breathed, as you shuffled off to find another cabin. You plopped down as your senses came back.

Damn. He is cute.

“Slytherin!”

The sorting hat took under two seconds to place you in the house of ambition and cunning. You smiled as you made your way to their table, but your grin was wiped off your face as you saw that the only free seat was next to the blonde boy you had encountered on the train. Begrudgingly, you sat down next to him.

“Sorry about that incident on the train,” he apologised. “I thought you were someone else.”

“It's alright. I'm used to it, being an exchange student and all. Except most of the time people really mean it.”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” he said, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

You shook it firmly. “(Y/N) (L/N). Likewise.”

Dishes upon dishes of roast beef and chicken, vegetables and potatoes, casseroles, and twenty different kinds of soup and salad were set upon the table. Draco reached for a pitcher of pumpkin juice and offered to pour you some.

“I’ve never any, but I'd love to try some,” You said, holding out your goblet. “Back home they usually had apple-cranberry pop.”

“Pop? Like a fizzy drink?”

You laughed. “Right. Of course. Yes, like a ‘fizzy drink’.” You took a sip of the juice. It was incredibly smooth and slightly sweet, flavoured with a touch of honey and a bit of cinnamon. “This is delicious.”

“I know.” Draco passed you a few dishes and you loaded up your plates. Every dish was something different, and although the menu was missing a few items you had loved at Ilvermorny, you were sure you had a few new favourites.

After dinner, you brought your stuff down to the Slytherin dungeon and changed into your pajamas, barely awake. It had been a long day, and you were incredibly tired. You just caught a glance of Draco as he passed your room, and the two of you waved goodnight, a small smile on your face.

Draco really wanted to read History of Wizards Combatting Evil in the 19th Century. Really. He had asked for extra credit in Defense Against Dark Arts, so he should only be able to keep up with his work. But he kept reading the same sentence over and over again, not really processing it. His mind was on something else entirely--not Elvira Doraville’s crusade to ban the Unforgivable Curses in 1870, but (Y/N), the Ilvermorny exchange student and newest member of Slytherin.

Over the course of the dinner, their conversation ranged from school to Muggle movies to international affairs. It only took Draco a few minutes to tell she was kind enough for Hufflepuff, had boldness that would match a Gryffindor’s, and matched wits with the best of them in Ravenclaw. He had tried his hardest to befriend her, but even despite her upbeat personality, Draco had a sinking feeling that she was just trying to be nice, and tomorrow she would pretend he never existed. He had, after all, called her an insolent idiot, so he wouldn't expect her to want to associate with him. But if, on the off chance, she did like him…

Draco shut his book and leaned down, reaching between the wooden slats supporting his mattress. He emerged with a small black notebook, which had, scrawled on the inside in a six-year-old’s handwriting, “Propurty of Draco Malfoy”. Every wish, hope, dream, and desire he had had for the past ten years had been recorded on these sheets. He opened to a blank page, grabbed a quill and ink, and scribbled as his top priority:

I want (Y/N) to like me.

The next morning was cold and clear, but there was a thin, glistening layer of snow covering the Hogwarts grounds. You quickly got dressed in your new Slytherin robes and made your way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Your eyes scanned the table quickly, secretly hoping to find Draco and sit next to him. But you only saw him for a minute as he carried a bowl out the hall, your eyes meeting his for a moment before he turned away.

Draco spent the next day avoiding her, or at least, trying to. Instead of talking about yesterday's Transfiguration homework enthusiastically at the Slytherin table, he grabbed some oatmeal and left as quickly as possible, lest he see (Y/N). The rest of the day was conducted in the same manner. He actually payed attention in Divination and finished his Astrology map before anyone else, giving him a good half-hour of free time--a curse in disguise, because any free time was time spent thinking of (Y/N).

After classes ended, he sent Crabbe to tell Madam Hooch that he would be missing Quidditch practice due to a cold, and promptly made his way to the abandoned first-floor girl's bathroom.

Out of his school pack he pulled an Ashwinder egg, a squill bulb, tincture of thyme and a few other ingredients--the ingredients needed to make Felix Felicis. After nearly an hour of laborious stirring, chopping, more stirring, juicing, and even more stirring, the luck potion was ready. Just a single sip and (Y/N) would fall head over heels.

Draco packed up his potions kit and poured the dregs of the mixture down the toilet (Moaning Myrtle would just have to deal with it). He threw his pack over his shoulder and hastened out of the room, not looking where he was going.

This is ridiculous, you thought. Absolutely ridiculous. Despite the train incident, you liked Draco. A lot. And you thought he liked you back. He was even, maybe, flirting with you last night at dinner. But now, all of a sudden, he was ice-cold. Maybe all the rumours you had heard about him were true, that the only thing he really cared about were his grades and his family name. You angrily walked down the hall. How stupid I was, to believe he actually liked me back. He really is just like they all say: a selfish, condescending--

“Whoa!”

In a split second, you were being tossed head over heels, or at least it felt like that. You were mere inches away from cracking your head on the marble floor when a hand reached out and caught you. You eyes roamed up the pale arm, past the black and dark green robes, and you found yourself staring into the silvery-blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. Wordlessly, he pulled you back to your feet. It was only now that you noticed a shimmery gold liquid spilled on the floor, and an empty vial in Draco’s hands. It didn’t take a top grade in Potions to recognise is as Felix Felicis, one of the most difficult potions to make.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” You said quietly.

He picked up the books you had dropped on the floor and handed them to you, your fingers brushing against each other. His eyes met yours, and your gaze lingered a little too long, some kind of magnetic force keeping you staring at each other

“Draco, I...” your sentence trailed off as he leaned in closer and closer. One of his hands reached up and cupped your cheek. Slowly, your lips met his, his other hand travelling to rest on the small of your back. You deepened the kiss and wrapped your arms around his waist. After nearly a minute, you broke away, gasping for air.

“I really fancy you, (Y/N). And I know I’ve been acting like a prick, but only because I was nervous around you. Scared, even, that you wouldn’t like me. I thought if I made the potion, I would have a better chance with you.”

“‘Fancy’? Oh, you mean you like me,” you teased.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I ‘like you’.”

“And just so you know, you don’t need any luck potion to get me to like you. I was already head over heels. Quite literally.”

He pulled you closer for another kiss. “I guess wishes do really do come true.”

[neverisalongtime-ja-blog]

Chapter 22: Dot Hacker surprises

Hey everyone! Here I bring you another chapter of the #JoshAn story.

I’m sure some of you had noticed that Anastasia’s IG profila haven’t been that active lately and I’m sorry about that but it have bee and hard couple of dyas for me and I don’t want to be on social media that much. I’ll come back, eventually so don’t unfollow her becaus I’ve been founding amazing pictures to upload there!

As always I wanna thank you all for reading my fic, I love you all so much!

Anastasia_Truman  ❤️️

Read chapter 21

When Mandy knew about the date with Valentine, of course, she lost her mind and she had no trouble letting Anastasia know her disappointment.

-          Why the fuck did you go see Valentine? – She asked Anastasia in the house she shared with Peyton.

-          I was testing myself – Anastasia answered.

-          Testing yourself? – Mandy said desperate. – I don’t understand you right now. Valentine is an asshole, why is it so hard for you to understand that?

-          I know – Anastasia said taking Mandy by her arms and smiling – I know that now. I needed this; I needed to see him to close that chapter in my life.

-          But An, he is dangerous – Mandy said looking at her friend’s eyes.

-          My car’s hood knows it – Anastasia said letting her friend go and taking a seat in one of the futons in the living room – He hit it. Don’t you worry about me, ok?

-          Of course I worry about you; you are having a shitty moment with this entire Josh breakup situation. Believe me; you don’t need Valentine in your life.

-          I don’t want him, trust me – Anastasia got up – I actually took a weight off my shoulders; I feel relieved. I’m gonna go home and I will take a long bath and then I will watch as many horror movies as I physically can on Netflix.

-          Call me if you need something – Mandy said while Anastasia was at the door – Oh! And by the way, Dot Hacker’s album is out today so you should call Eric and congratulate him – Josh’s image appeared in Anastasia’s mind instantly.

-          I will - She said.

She sat in her car remembering all the times Josh told her about the album and how he never let her listen to any song. He was a perfectionist and never liked when others listened to his work before it was complete. She also remembered him saying that she would get a copy; that sounded very unlikely to happen right now. She sent the congratulations text to Eric and after a few minutes thinking about it, she sent one to Josh too.

“Hey, just wanted to congratulate you for the release of the album. I haven’t heard it yet but will soon. People are saying great things about it. – She lied- Coming from you I’m sure it’s perfect”

She tapped the send button without thinking about it. She hadn’t talked to Josh since he left her house after breaking up with her. Almost a month passed by since that. He never tried to contact her and she was busy forgetting about him to write him. But his album release looked like a good moment to know about him. She drove home with the image of his face in her head and asking herself for how much longer this was going to hurt.

Before opening her front door she noticed a package on the floor. She picked up and conveniently enough it was the new Dot Hacker record in CD version and vinyl. There was a note attached to it, from Josh. It was his handwriting, she could recognize it. The note read: “I told you I would give you a copy and this was the most special I sent. Hope you like it. There are a couple of surprises inside. I know you will recognize them. Maybe they are things I should have told you but never could. JAK”.

Tears filled her eyes. It was inevitable. She entered the house, left her bag and the discs to one side and went upstairs to have a bath. She kept an eye on her phone but still no sign of a reply from Josh. She took her time and tried to relax; then she went back downstairs and cooked herself a nice dinner, grabbed a wine bottle and took the vinyl Josh sent her, put it on her turntable and got ready to listen to the songs.

C Section was the first and she found it beautiful. Josh had that song ready a long time ago. She couldn’t help but get lost in his sweet, velvety voice. He had pipes even if he didn’t like to sing that much. She could hear him sing all day every day.

The first “surprise” that Josh promised was in the song Apt Mess.

I don’t want this anymore I can’t find the door How’d we get so lost Not fair

Try to take charge Of the picture at large Discover reaches that are far Are far off

Listening to that part she knew it was about their relationship. Josh felt lost but she never saw any clue about that situation. Now she felt bad, like in a guilty position. Maybe she hadn’t paid the attention he needed in the relationship. Maybe she had been selfish. The tears appeared again.

 Whirlwind, spinning, don’t miss the chance to discover Why is my foot caught in this trap while you’re still running?

 He definitely didn’t felt comfortable with her. How did she miss that? How did she miss the fact the he felt so miserable. Was it her fame weight? Or was it the fact that she didn’t want a commitment in the immediate future? She felt disgusted with herself. She pushed him away and didn’t do anything to catch him again. At the same time the fact that he never said anything to her about it crossed her mind. She poured another glass of wine, wiped the tears from her face and prepared herself for another song.

You're the screaming

Screaming when my throat runs dry

I'm behind your turnaround

Not sure who's the buzz

That was Beseech and she found it like a love song.

Hide and seek you

You're just waiting to be caught, to be found

Let me be your feet on the ground

Be your safe and sound

I wanna see you get angry

The war's waiting for my word

Remember me

Remember me

 Those ‘Remember me’s’ resounded inside her head for what seemed like minutes. Remember me… Of course she remembered him; he was the one leaving without saying a word. Suddenly, without any warning, anger took power of her mind. He had the nerve to write her that note and then give her those songs and he can’t even reply to that fucking message she sent him earlier? She texted him three hours ago.

Anastasia started to scream, as if that way she could take out all the pain she had inside her body. The song was still sounding in the background. She got up the couch with a lot of force, spilling her glass of wine and that made her angrier. She kept screaming, it was like an external fiery force taking over her body. His voice could be still heard in the living room and the song was starting to annoy her. She focused on Josh and all the anger she had inside. The song was coming to an end. She couldn’t believe it. If Josh would had talked to her none of this would have happened, they could have figured it out and maybe they would still be together. “Damn Josh!” she screamed and on a madness rant she grabbed the turntable and threw it to the ground, and it broke in two. She just wanted to stop hearing his voice; she just wanted to stop hearing him. She wanted to stop… that… just stop. She sat on the floor with the broken turntable next to her and the vinyl still on it, she grabbed it and broke it too in as many pieces as she could.

She lied there, in the cold floor, confused, crying. She looked at her phone one last time to see that Josh never replied to her message.

The next day the morning light hit her violently in the face, she opened her eyes slowly, it took her four attempts to proper and fully opened them. She got up from the floor where she fell asleep last night between tears and pieces of her turntable and Josh’s record. She realized what she did, the disaster she made in her living room. Her turntable was destroyed, she lamented it, it was an unique piece, it was made of light cedar wood with a modern technology for a perfect sound and they weren’t manufactured anymore. She felt sad.

She got up and picked up the pieces and after cleaning the place she realized she didn’t want to be alone in her house. She went upstairs, took a quick shower, grabbed a small suitcase, packed a few things and got in her car. She was going to Malibu, Barbara and the twins was that family support she needed right now. Anastasia turned the radio on and she had a CD inside the device, and like sent by the force of the universe it was “Rumors” by Fleetwood Mac, Dreams started to sound and oh… how she loved that song, that record, that band. In that moment Stevie’s voice was all she needed to hear. She started to sing along, like a procedure of catharsis.

 Like a heartbeat… drives you mad

In the stillness of remembering what you had

And what you lost...

 When the chorus came she sang harder.

 Thunder only happens when it's raining

Players only love you when they're playing

Say... Women... they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean... you'll know, you'll know

 Oh, if only she could write like Steve wrote that song to Lindsey. And there it was the answer, she needed to write, she was going to Malibu to have a week of peace with her family and she would seat in the shore to write, about her, about Josh and to let go all those feelings she didn’t want to feel anymore. It worked once it could work now. She was broken inside and she always did amazing songs when her soul was down and in dark.

 And if you don't love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

You would never break the chain.

 She was singing The Chain this time. It was like the perfect record for the perfect moment. Stevie never let her down. Why Josh couldn’t be like Stevie?

After an hour driving, Anastasia parked in front of her sister’s house. She walked to the entrance and knocked the door two times. Barbara opened and stared at her confused.

 -          I thought that I was fine but I’m not – She said and Barbara just gave her a hug without answer back. Tears ran in Anastasia’s face again.

 The next two days all Anastasia did was eating, sleep and play with the kids. She loved the twins; she was there the first years when she still lived with Barbara. She took care of them so many times and, of course, the twins loved her back. London, the boy, was starting to learning drums and she was thrilled that at least one of them liked music and wanted to continue the legacy. Lynda was the intellectual one, since she learned how to read she never stopped; now she was writing short stories and small poems. Anastasia was proud of them and she always says it so they never forget it. Having kids was far from her plans but she enjoyed being the twins so much.

On a Tuesday she locked herself in the studio at the “guest house” in Malibu. She was determinate to write, carry all the feelings inside of her and put them in paper. She walked to the terrace that surrounded the recording studio and took a deep breath letting all that sea scent fulfill her lungs. She loved Malibu; she wished she could have a place like this when she could run from everything. She could do that there, but it wasn’t the same, she wanted a place where she could be totally alone. The past two years she hardly have any opportunity to enjoy her loneliness and sometimes she needed, sometimes we all need to be actually alone, just with our self and our own soul.

Now she had to write. She felt so good writing, for her, was better than a therapist, she tried psychological therapy for years and she even took antidepressants when she was a teenager as a treatment for her chronic depressive syndrome but one day she was sick about it, about the pills, she felt sick with all those chemicals in her body, she leave them. One day she decided that her humor and thoughts wasn’t going to depend of a pill. Instead music was the medicine she needed, and work. Once she started to work hard she didn’t had the time to think about the miserable aspects of her life. Many will think that she was suppressing her suffering with work and that would result in a sick outburst someday, but for now it worked for her. She was a workaholic but with the tour she had to slow down her lifestyle. Now she was free again, until middle February when they played in New York again.

She seated in the terrace to write, she thought of Josh but not in a sad way, more in like a teaching way, she try to think in all the lessons this relationship left her. If he had told her what she did wrong this would have been so much easier. But in her mind the relationship was perfect, yes they had their ups and downs but as far as she knows everyone does. He left her, that was the true, he left her without saying a word, he send her a message trough his album, an album she was sure he changed in the last weeks to add those things about her. If he took the time and the work to do that she must have mean something to him. She didn’t wanted to feel like Josh just totally forget about her and didn’t care about her, she was sure he still do that but she was ignorant about the reason why he want to stay far.

 The monument of a memory

You tear it down in your head

Don't make the mountain your enemy

Get out, get up there instead

You saw the stars out in front of you

Too tempting not to touch

But even though it shocked you

Something's electric in your blood.

 She grabbed her black notebook and started writing. The words just flowed from her mind to her fingers and were imprinted on the paper as an evidence of her feelings. She remembered the cover of Dot Hacker’s album with the three flowers.

 And people just untie themselves

Uncurling like flowers.

 But still you stumble, feet give way

Outside the world seems a violent place

But you had to have him, and so you did

Some things you let go in order to live

While all around you, the buildings sway

You sing it out loud, "who made us this way?"

I know you're bleeding, but you'll be okay

Hold on to your heart, you'll keep it safe

Hold on to your heart, don't give it away.

 After midnight Anastasia realized she was starving so walked downstairs to the small kitchen in the guest house to prepare her something to eat then she saw her phone on the counter, a small light was blinking as a clear indication that someone was trying to contact her. She touched the screen and it lighted up, she saw that Carl, Dead Curse’s manager, tried to call her about twelve times and let her a couple of text messages. Mandy called just five times and Eric called her a couple of times too. All right, people where looking for her, she called Mandy back as she thought was the only one which was prudent to call at such hours.

 -          Did somebody died? – Anastasia said when Mandy picked up the call.

-          We thought you did – She answered – Then Barbara told us that you have two days locked on the studio.

-          Man, it’s been two days already? – Anastasia said.

-          Carl needs to talk to us, so we are going to have a reunion at the label tomorrow, at ten in the morning, be there.

-          Ok boss! – Anastasia said.

-          How have you been feeling? – Mandy had to ask.

-          I’m fine. For real. This time I’m being honest – Anastasia said.

-          Well I see you tomorrow at the label, don’t be late! – Mandy said and hang the phone.

 If Carl was going to be at a label reunion something must happen, it wasn’t the usual, for sure. Maybe they wanted another record soon or the label was going to say that the Chili Peppers were doing so good with the new opening band that they wasn’t going to play the rest of the shows that was planned. Oh, how wrong she was…

 -          Thank you all for being here – Paul, the label head executive started saying at the reunion – We are going to be quick because we know that Carl needs to come back to the tour. Here is the thing, we made a mistake taking you guys out of the tour, people actually like your performance and we have a lot of concert goers asking for you to be back on The Getaway tour.

-          You serious? – Mandy asked with her chin in the floor. She was surprised.

-          Yes – Paul continued – So we want you to come back. The New York show is just a couple weeks away and after that we want to have you guys as residents on the rest of the North America dates.

 Anastasia turned to see the faces of her band mates and the smiles were big. Mandy had a light in her eyes.

 -          We actually miss you all on the tour – Carl said.

-          Man, this is awesome – Nick said with an even bigger smile.

-          I’m gonna send the schedule to all of you if you accept to come back – Carl talked again

-          There’s no need to ask that, is obvious that we are going back – Eric said

-          For sure – Mandy said.

 And then all the eyes were upon Anastasia’s face. It was a great opportunity and the fact that people actually wanted to see them was overwhelming but that also means she was going to deal with Josh more that she expected to. She wasn’t sure; it was a great deal for the band but a terrible plan for her mental sanity. She looked at her friends, they wanted this, she didn’t want to disappoint them, besides that life on tour was great, but it was good with Josh, she didn’t know what to do now. She wanted to be selfish and say “no, this is no good for me”, she looked at her friends again, looked at their smiles and a complete different set of words came out of her mouth.

 -          Let’s do it – She said not believing her brain dictated that phrase. 

Read chapter 23

You all now already that I can’t write songs so I’m using some of the ones I love that goes along with Anastasia’s situation.

How Big, How Blu, How Beautiful is a record that helped me a lot with a break up and Various Storms & Saints is the prfect song to forgive yourself. I love it.

[justfangstvdto]

Imagine accidentally swapping Stefan and Damons bodies while practising magic (part 2)

(This is part two of my little series and is once again inspired and dedicated to the wonderful @shadyladyperfection who thought of this marvelous idea! Let me know what you think! Happy reading my lovelies!)

Characters: Witch!Reader, Damon, Stefan, Bonnie

Warnings: Slightly foul-mouthed reader

Word count: 1.114

Part 1

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Of course Bonnie quickly agreed to help you in your dire situation Let´s hope she knows how to reverse this funny, yet worrying outcome of your practising. She arrives a few hours later, because she was busy before and is greeted by Damon, who is still inhabiting his brothers body.

Damon(as Stefan): “Hey BonBon.”

Bonnie is visibly startled by “Stefans” greeting.

Bonnie: “What´s going on?”

Y/N: “Uhm, I might have body switched Stefan and Damon.”

Bonnie: “You what?!”

Y/N: “Well, Stefan is now in Damon and vise versa. You know, like they are still themselves but in anot-”

Damon(as Stefan): “I think that was a rhetorical question, Y/N.”

Y/N: “Oh.”

Bonnie: “So you body switched them. How?”

Y/N: “Uh the spell was written down in the grimoire you found in your stash. I just, I don´t now, wanted to try it and then BAM, an earthquake hits us and this happened.”

You gesture towards Damon in Stefan´s body, who´s shaking his head around to fix his, well Stefans, hair.

Y/N: “Here that´s the spell, look.”

You point to the grimoire on the table. Bonny flips the book and reads the spell you used.

Bonnie: “I have never seen a spell like this. Or this kind of handwriting.”

Y/N: “But you do know how to fix this, right?”

If someone knows how to clean up this mess, it´s Bonnie.

Bonnie: “I´m not sure.”

Or not.

Damon: “Great. We´re stuck like this. Good work, Y/N.”

Y/N: “Screw you, Damon. We´re gonna fix this, you´ll see.”

Bonnie: “Y/N. Here look at this. There´s a number next to the title. 20. Does that mean anything to you?”

Y/N: “No, I don´t think so. I guess it´s a page?”

Damon(as Stefan): “Well duh.”

Y/N: “Do you have anything productive to contribute, or are you only here to throw around with useless comments?”

Damon(as Stefan): “You caused this, Y/N, so I´ll “throw around” as many comments as I like.”

You are on the verge of lecture him how you are certainly not the only one who makes mistakes and he should not overreact, but Bonnie stops you just in time.

Bonnie: “I think I found something.”

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, dropping whatever lecture you where about to throw at Damon.

Bonnie: “Here look at that. I think your ancestor might have mixed up the spell. The body switch spell is filed under Enchantments, even though it should be put under Soul spells.”

Damon(as Stefan): “Even your ancestors are as clumsy as you.”

You turn to Damon with a false smile on your face and present him your middle finger. Bonnie chuckles at that, while Damon sighs and leaves to get some more bourbon. He couldn´t survive being in his brothers body without it.

Bonnie flips back to the page where the spell originally should have been written down, and you spot something at the bottom of the page.

Y/N:  “Converterent anglicus”? The fuck does that mean?”

Bonnie: “It means reverse it english.”

Y/N: “Well, fuck me up side down. You´re serious?”

Bonnie: “Uhm..yeah I think so?”

Y/N: “That´s all it took? Reversing the spell in english? What kind of grimoire is this?”

Bonnie: “I don´t know. I have never seen anything..this sloppy.”

Y/N: “Yeah, it´s a family trait I ´m afraid.”

Damon walks down the hallway, passing by the mirror and stops. He looks at Stefans hair and nods in a agreement. His “hero hair” isn´t as bad as he always thought. He fixes a loose strand of hair and returns to the living room, where you and Bonnie, try to translate and reverse the spell.

Bonnie: The actual spell you used, is translated to:  Two bodies, standing before mine with unlike minds, come forth and exchange your light.

Y/N: “Okay, so we just reverse it??”

Bonnie: “I think I got it: “Light your exchange and forth come minds, unlike with mine.” The rest doesn´t make sense.”

Y/N: “That doesn´t sound like an actual spell to me.”

Bonnie: “Hm yeah you´re right. Maybe it should be taken literal?”

You let the translated spell run through your mind once again, but everything you come up with is fire. Naturally.

Y/N: “Light your exchange? Do I have to fucking light them on fire?”

Damon(as Stefan): “Uhh, no fire. Absolutely NO FIRE, okay? I´d rather be stuck inside my brother.”

Bonnie: “We don´t need actual fire for this. There is an old spell called soul burn, which forces souls back to their original body.”

Y/N: “Are you sure this works?”

Bonnie: “No but it´s worth a try.”

Out of the blue, the door swings open and Stefan in Damons body walks in.

Stefan(as Damon): “Hello, brother.”

The door swings shut and he takes of the sunglasses he was wearing.

Stefan(as Damon): “And hello Y/N and Bonnie.”

Damon(as Stefan): “Stop using my lines, Stefan!”

Stefan(as Damon): “Nope. Not as long as I am stuck inside your body.”

He gives Damon´s shoulder a claps, before he turns his attention to you.

Stefan(as Damon): “Any progress?”

Y/N: “Yes, we´re actually ready to try to fix this. Bonnie, can you do the spell, or do I have to try it myself?”

Bonnie: “I can do it. It´s an easy spell.”

Damon(as Stefan): “Thank god!”

[A few minutes later..]

Bonnie prepared everything she needs for the spell and is ready to go through with your plan. She rubs a just prepared oil in her hand and places one hand on each of Stefan and Damons forehead. She mutters a spell you can´t quite make out, due to your beginner level of magic. But that may be for the best. As soon as Bonnie speaks the last words, the ground begins to shake once more, and you realize the spell must have worked.

Stefan and Damon get up from the ground. Damon´s face is wearing his signature smirk, while Stefan sighs in relief and excuses himself shortly after

Damon: “I´m back.”

Y/N: “..bitches. If you´re gonna say that line, then please do it the right way. Amateur.”

Damon is about to throw another sassy comment your way, as his face turns into one of pain.

Damon: “What the hell is…”

He massages his back and walks over to the mirror, probably to examine whatever is hurting him. He lifts his shirt carefully and your mouth instantly drops open at the sight of what´s covering his lower back. It´s a artfully drawn, colorful…butterfly. Stefan actually got a tramp stamp while he was inhabiting his brother.

Damon: “You´ve gotta be kidding me!!”

You and Bonnie look at each other, before bursting out in laughter.  That´s the reason why Stefan excused himself so suddenly. What a genius.

Damon: “Stefan! STEFAN!!! Get back here!! WE ARE NOT FINISHED!!”

Tags:

Forevers:  @laitalianax3​ @shadyladyperfection​ @imnoaingeal​ @christinalibertymikaelson​ @maliae14​ @xqilahx​ @5-seconds-of-animals​ @fanobsessed​ @givemesomehybrid​

Damon Fan Club:  @xxlaurataxx @onlygodcanjudgeme-sh @i-swearimnotafangirl

Stefan Fan Club: come on guys, any Stefan fans here?

Bonnie Fan Club: Where are my bonnie fans at?

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[ao3feed-mcufemslash]

Cliche Soulmate AUs for Multiple Fandoms

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2ng0frR

by forgetmoisilvousplait

Watch as I attempt to not fuck everything up and go so OOC you can't even read this.

Nah it's chill. I hope.

First fic, basic af, please criticize, this is for the most part experimental to see how I'd like to approach writing on this site.

I hope you enjoy. This is all soulmate shit because I'm a gross sap. Probably won't take requests. We'll see.

Words: 2479, Chapters: 4/4, Language: English

Fandoms: X-Men - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, Multi

Characters: Pietro Maximoff, Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler, James "Bucky" Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark

Relationships: Pietro Maximoff/Reader, Kurt Wagner/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Bucky/reader, Tony Stark/Reader, Quicksilver/Reader

Additional Tags: x-men pietro, first fic, i call pietro peter rip, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate AU, Cliche af, ig ill just kms, you're a star, a great big shining star, Reader-Insert, tony has bad handwriting, bucky is homeless??? au, i can't speak german, RIP

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2ng0frR