#which is great since i'm pretty shitty at taking meds

[reginaofdoctorwho]

ya girl has vasovagal syncope now

[grumpybunny-edith]

Furry HRT comics have been something my brain kinda constantly returns to over the last... since people started making them, and so just like anything else I'm really invested in, I feel like I need to analyze them as a phenomenon a little bit.

In some ways, I feel like the most popular formats of these comics are informed by a traditional or uncomplicated view of medical transition. Every character is presented as being able to get an appointment pretty simply, and all live in proximity to their endo. Their initial appointment usually sucks, but characters get what they're looking for and generally don't experience any more roadblocks. The meds people take are always compatible with them, and do not cause any unexpected or adverse side effects.

There's also the assumption in many of these comics that transition has a definite "end". There exists a point where a character is "done", more or less, which isn't accurate to transgender experiences and pushes some of the harmful narrative perpetuated by the medical system. This structure, as well as the fact that furry HRT generally functions more quickly than transgender HRT, is helpful to the format of the stories as short-form narratives, as it helps create a satisfying conclusion.

This is all great for what the format and narratives seem to be trying to convey. Even in amongst the body horror which is common to the narrative, which is in itself useful for exploring how something many view as horrible or uncanny (such as gender transition), they are stories about trans joy. They're about some of the adversity we face, finding happiness among that adversity, and sharing in it with our communities. They're also about finding an authentic self through a medical process that isn't seen in reality, and how regardless of how strange people find something, happiness and self love are what is most important.

But also, when I reflect on these narratives, I sometimes struggle to see myself in them. I'm a person who has spent her entire time medically transitioning dealing with shitty, non-fantastical roadblocks; and it's never the fault of a shitty doctor. Prescriptions take a long time to deliver, insurance doesn't wanna cover it, drugs don't work properly (or sometimes too well, and my doctor starts thinking I have a tumor in my brain), that kind of stuff.

And part of why this bums me out is that there's still so much joy there. It takes more work to love oneself when you spend a month or two off for every three months on, but it's a beautiful thing when you do. There's a whole side of the community engaging with things like DIY HRT, helping and looking after one another even when the medical system won't. There's also people microdosing HRT, either because they're unsure how they feel about it, or there's something in the "in-between" that feels right for them.

Of course artists should put to the page the stories that they want to tell. This post honestly was helping me do the same thing by orienting my thoughts. I'm just yearning for stories that feel a little bit closer to the life I've lived and noticing trends that feel reminiscent of the ways the system hurts us. I love and appreciate every single one of these stories and I hope people don't stop making them - there's so much uniquely trans joy to be had in them. I guarantee this isn't the last of what I have to say about the topic; there's too much here worth celebrating and reading closer.

[spoopydooblr]

The Ken and Stella pregnancy blurb was so good could you write one where they find out that she’s pregnant?

ive been thinking about this scenario a lot and i cant really decide how i want this to go . . .

i think a year or so after they get married (stella is like 30ish) they start to really do their research and find the best fertility clinic in the city. its been almost 20 years since kendall and rava struggled to get pregnant, but still, he's not feeling optimistic.

stella gets a clean bill of health from the doctor, but ken isn't so lucky. just as he suspected, he was the problem. again.

was it the drugs? he was clean now, but he used so much...could he have ruined his chances forever?

stella assures him that it'll be okay, but she never went through what he had to 20 years ago.

they decide on a couple of treatments. they're both taking shots every day and pills at night and its exhausting. most of the meds go to kendall, but stella has to take some too, just in case.

they begin with intrauterine insemination, which is pretty simple and painless, but stella gets her period two weeks later. its hard on both of them, but especially kendall because he knows it's him, not her.

next they try ivf, which is a lot more complicated and expensive (not that money is an issue). now they both have to do injections and stella goes in for her egg retrieval.

the egg retrieval goes better than expected and they're left with 10. ken's sample has some relatively viable sperm so they pull the trigger and try to make some embryos.

the waiting is by-far the worst part, because deep down kendall knows there's no way those embryos are going to get made with his shitty sperm. he's right, unfortunately, and they're back to square one with zero embryos and ten now-frozen eggs.

kendall suggests a donor, like they did with iverson. stella's heartbroken, but they start to look into other options.

because they have the best doctors, however, they get into a trial for a new drug that increases sperm count and viability. stella is thrilled and insists kendall try it, but it's another injection and he's not super happy about it. nothing has ever worked for him, why now?

it's nice to have a break from more intense treatments, so they agree and kendall marks his torso up with injection pricks again.

three months later, ken and stella are enjoying some time off from surgery and tiny, microscopic cells that control their lives. kendall's in new york for the week, working on some financials for their production company (i imagine them making something rival to waystar and completely taking over the media scene), and stella is holding it down in los angeles, or at least trying to.

it's flu season and she's been to so many fancy parties in the last few weeks, stella is sick as a dog. she's a little worried, but the nausea, vomiting and headaches are typical for the flu, right?

she also chalks her late period up to stress. but it's been at least a few weeks...

the day before kendall is supposed to come home, stella drives herself to the hospital after she can't stop throwing up.

"when did the symptoms start?" the doctor asks.

"a week ago, i think, but ive been feeling kind of off for a while."

"and there's no chance you're pregnant? when was your last period?"

stella's heart skips a beat.

"um, i'm not sure. we're trying, uh, but it's been unsuccessful. my period is really irregular and i've been stressed so--" she trails off. "we've been trying for a couple of years."

"and are you taking medication?"

"i did, but it's not really..." she thinks for a bit. "it's not a uterus issue, it's my husband."

"and what is he taking?"

she tells the doctor about the new medication kendall is taking. "it's only been three months, so we're still hopeful. or at least i am."

"i've heard some great things about that new drug. it's really changing people's lives." the doctor smiles, turning away from stella and writing something down. "i'm going to order some tests, but i think you're fine."

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

kendall, obviously, sprints to his jet when stella tells him she's sick. she insists she's fine, but wants him to come home as soon as he can, which stresses him out to no avail.

he bursts through the door four hours later, finding stella reading a magazine on the couch.

"stell!" he says, running towards her.

"hey baby." she hugs him, bringing him down to the couch with her. stella presses her lips to his, but kendall is confused.

"aren't you sick?" he pulls away.

her face breaks into a huge smile. "about that..." stella gets up from the couch and walks to the kitchen.

kendall looks at her quizzically, as she comes back with a piece of paper in her hands.

"i have something to show you." she says, holding the paper close to her.

"okay..." kendall smiles at her, utterly confused.

stella carefully sits next to him on the couch. "here."

kendall recognizes the picture immediately. he used to frame them when rava was pregnant with iverson.

"what is this?" he holds up the ultrasound. it's too good to be true, right? tears prick his eyes.

stella is crying already, and takes his hand. "that's inside of me."

he looks down at the black and white photo again. a fuzzy, bean-looking object sits, next to another, smaller object. he's speechless for the first time in his life.

"what is that?" he whispers, pointing to the smaller object on the page.

stella looks at him, and he really can't read her for once.

"this surprise comes with another surprise." she laughs.

kendall's crying, but he takes another look. "is that..."

"yeah."

"two?" he smiles wide.

"i'm pregnant." she finally says, putting her hands on his cheeks. "baby, we're having twins."

they both burst out into crying giggles, hugging. kendall kisses her all over, stopping at her stomach. it's still pretty flat, but he knows her body so well he swears he can see a tiny bump growing.

THIS WAS SO FUN AND LOVELY TO WRITE I LOVE THEM AND I HOPE U DO TOO

[rival-the-rose]

I meant to make a post yesterday to say that I had such a great day and I figured out how to scrub in while sitting down and made it thru a whole TPLO! I wore an ice belt and had an ice pack down my shirt and used the tall saddle stool and it worked pretty good honestly! I think fractures will be hard, anything that I need to be actively pulling for a long time will be hard since the stool is on wheels, but for basic shit I think I'm good. I did need several applications of alcohol poured down the back of my neck to keep cool but as long as I kept up on that I was a useful scrub nurse which made me so happy. I was worried I would be trashed afterwards but I went to lunch and came back and still had plenty of energy and even spent the last half hour of the day mostly out of my wheelchair running around! I didn't feel great when I got home tho and was back to being semi conscious and wracked with chills.

This morning, I woke up with a pounding headache that got worse with every heartbeat. I chugged a coconut water but had no appetite so I only ate ~half of my oatmeal while I was at work and never finished it. I kept up on water and made it thru 1.5 surgeries, realized I was not doing well after the first one, finished rads and prep for the second one, then took lunch. After eating I had an episode and my partner and my mutual crush had to help me to the car to take me home. Which is where I am now, still barely holding onto consciousness and generally feeling shitty. I was pretty heartbroken, now I'm feeling numb/disengaged from the problem. Of course I am going to have bad days still, even if I'm doing everything right. But it still sucks. I put in so much work, I've had breakfast lunch dinner and 3-5 snacks per day prepared for every work day and I've taken all my meds and different random things to make my body work better and it's so much work and it's still not enough. I know it's not unreasonable to be tired halfway thru my third 12 but I just want to be able to do everything I'm used to doing. And I'm really scared about the prospect of never improving (even tho I've shown plenty of improvement so far, still scary).

[jmtorres]

longtime US donor, trying and failing not to spend ALL day responding to ppl's comments on here so I'm writing up some thoughts in a reblog

giving blood if you are able is always important but over the years of the pandemic it's gotten so much more important, our blood reserves have plummeted, I recently read my local blood services was only able to fill one in three hospital orders for needed blood.

the first question on the questionnaire in the US is "Are you feeling well and healthy today?" so if you are in poor health, if you have a chronic condition or you just feel shitty because you didn't get enough sleep, you got a bit of a cold coming on, whatever, don't feel bad about not donating.

If you have a surgery scheduled in the next month, even if you feel great, don't donate; save your blood reserves for your own healing.

If you are terrified of needles and faint when you have to give a sample at the lab, don't donate, and don't feel bad about not donating.

But if you want to donate and have been turned away in the past, here's a few things to know:

--the amount of iron they test for is slightly higher than normal/average for healthy AFAB people. If you have been told you were just under or borderline, take an iron supplement a couple days before you donate. Heck, they recommend regular donors take an iron supplement regularly anyway.

--because there's such a desperate need for blood, things that used to life or year long deferrals are now much shorter. The deferral for using intravenous drugs not prescribed by a doctor is 3 months (ie if it's been 3 months since you've done that, you can donate blood). The deferral for piercings is 3 months. The deferral for tattoos, in unregulated states, is 3 months. (In many states tattoo parlors are legally regulated/licensed and there is no deferral for tattoos.) The deferral for sex with men who have sex with men is 3 months (and yes it's bullshit but it's no longer *life.*)

--the list of drugs that prevent blood donation is actually pretty short. if you're worried about psych meds like antidepressants, mood stabilizers or ADHD meds, they're not in there. In the US they ask you to read the list and affirm you don't take those, you don't have to reveal any other drugs you take for any reason--if you're well and healthy, it doesn't matter what you take to be well and healthy.

--Major blood donor services let you do the questionnaire ahead of time online as a "rapid pass" or "express pass" or something. So you can see if you meet all the criteria before you physically go to a blood drive or donation center. But also, know that not all the questions are disqualifiers. For instance if you've had a vaccine recently, they will want to doublecheck which ones--most of the common ones you have as an adult like flu, TDAP, covid RNA, do not defer you even short term! There's a couple like MMR and chicken pox that use attenuated live virus, that you have to hold 2-4 weeks for, that's why the question is in there. If there's a question on the questionnaire you're not sure about, you can call the blood donation agency's 800 number to find out if it's worth going in that day.

--Don't know where to donate? There's two major blood collection services in the US, Red Cross and Vitalant (formerly UBS). Both sites have a place right up front to put in your zip code and find drives and donor centers near you.

--Also both are currently advertising gift cards and raffles for donors, because the need for blood is that high. Want a $10 gift card for doing a good deed? Donate blood.

Have you ever donated blood?

[innocent-bysitter]

Life is Overwhelming

it feels like I dont know how to stop complaining. I complain about how much I complain. I annoy myself. But this isn't about that. This is about the things I've been complaining about.

How is it that every single time I start getting over some sort of symptom, another one punches me in the face? Maybe I've had this symptom for a while, or maybe it's new, but somehow it's become the focus for the next couple of days. For example; earlier this month I switched medications for mood stabilization, I started by going off my previous one, which, by the way, was working hella good, the only reason I went off it was to stop gaining weight. So I go off it, slowly. I get down to 1 mg (I was on 3 mg) My shitty Intrusive thoughts about shitty bad things start coming back, and soon enough I'm having a breakdown in the living room with my parents like I'm 17 again. I felt like I had moved past that, like I had matured and gotten better. Hmmm, maybe the meds had been working. So I'm off of them and I have a psychiatrist session that day to get a new medication. Like a fucking loser, I get sidetracked sewing (the one time I've actually had the motivation to do this in months btw) and I miss the appointment, it's a good 4 hours before I realize what I've done, but hey! at least I have a cute shirt now! There goes $100 on the missed appointment fee. Cha-Ching! I managed to reschedule the appointment for 4 days later, not realizing I only gave myself 30 minutes to get home from work. Then, on the day of work, I bike in, not thinking that it takes me 47 minutes to get home from work. oops. So lo and behold it's the end of my shift, I get a calendar notification about my appointment, and I realize I haven't even charged my battery, so not only will I be late for my appointment biking home, but my bike will most definitely die on the way. So I ask my managers, somewhat frantically, and manage to secure someone's office for my 15-minute appointment. I get on the call and tell her the issues I've had while being off the meds, which, by the way, are pretty dire. She nods her head and lets me know "Well if you are struggling with any suicidal ideation you should go ahead and call 988" which generally is good advice, but I was kind of hoping for more sympathy or advice or something. That's psychiatrists for you! We've settled on a medication, she calls it in, and I pick it up the next day.

Next Issue: well, I bike home, and there goes my knee.

Lore-Time: For those who know me, you'll know I've had 3 knee surgeries, the first one in 2016 when I was a wee 13 years old. I tore my ACL slipping on wet tile of all things. The second and third in 2018, supposedly playing soccer but I have a feeling it had torn before that. The second one was to clean up the damage from the first one, and then the third to repair the ACL. Since then I've had major knee pain with exercise, shifts in the weather, bending it wrong, standing too long, ect.

I go to the doctor, the same office I went to when I was 13, a different doctor, I wanted someone who wasn't going to call me "Kiddo". He tells me its the cartilage under my kneecap, and he prescribes physical therapy. As I am a creature of habit, I called my physical therapist from the last time I was in physical therapy and I booked an appointment. At my first appointment, she looked at my knee and told me "Your kneecap is in the wrong place, that's what's causing the pain" Great! please fix it! I now have 7 exercises for home and an appointment with her every week. I get told to lay off the biking for a bit. A couple days pass, and I do my exercises. On top of my knee, I'm still struggling mentally.

Next Issue: There's this guy at work, he is flirty, I'm sorta flirty (I feel like I come across as flirty, but I was literally just trying to be his friend), he is sweet, and asks me to the renfaire. I make it clear that I am in general looking for a serious relationship, I've had too many things (problems) with other types of bonds (I catch feelings). He indicates that he understands and continues flirting. Later he tells me that he isn't looking for anything serious, but he likes me and wants to pursue "other things". Me being an impulsive loser who has no respect for myself, I agree. A couple days later, I was approached by another work friend, asking about my love life, I said yeah you are going to have to be more specific, I'm a player (I'm not). We get to talking and they start telling me all these things about our coworker that are kinda shocking and make him seem super sketchy, now I trust this coworker telling me these things because he looks like Ed Sheeran (He is a redhead). But they tell me these things about him trying to look out for me. And so now I'm attempting to ghost him in a polite way. It's stressing me out every time he texts me.

Next Issue: For most of my teenage years to now I've struggled with severe sleep issues. I take two to four hours to fall asleep every night and at least an hour to wake up and get out of bed every morning. I fall asleep in the car, on the train, at work, sitting on the couch, and pretty much everywhere else. I don't hear alarms almost ever, my parents wake me up every morning, and I usually fall back asleep a couple times before I actually listen to them and get up. Not only is this making me late to morning shifts at work, miss appointments, and miss meals, but it's also causing a huge strain on my relationship with my parents, who never thought they'd have to be waking their 20-year-old up with much resistance every morning.

Lore-Time: My parents are awesome, and I appreciate all of what they do, for me, my family, and themselves. They have been with me through all of my mental and physical health troubles and still managed to have time to work full time, raise my annoying but exceedingly cool brother, drive me everywhere because I do not drive, and have a bit of fun here and there.

So finally, after years of struggling with sleep issues, we decided to go to a sleep doctor. He referred me to do a sleep study and my results are perfectly aligned with Narcolepsy type II. YAY!!! part of me is happy to have an answer, the other part of me dreads the word chronic, or when doctors add more medication to my already large pill sorter. And of course, this is one of those things where the primary treatment is medication. But lately, those symptoms feel worse, and the constant need for sleep adds to my depression, where I used to look forward to work, my body chooses sleep to avoid the commute, and the fear of sleeping in and missing work keeps me up. Because maybe I won't miss it if I don't fall asleep. I guess the one thing I don't mind is that I dream almost instantly after I fall asleep, so when I wake up in the mornings and I like a dream, I can fall back asleep and sometimes that dream will continue. The bad part of that is sometimes my brain will ignore whoever is telling me to get up, by prioritizing going back to the good dream.

Next Issue: Not really an issue per se, but I miss my best friend. She is in grad school to become my therapist and she's never not busy and I miss her so much omg. also, she lives an hour and a half away and has no money for gas because she spends all her money on Taylor Swift stuff. I can't even blame her.

I'm sure I have plenty more issues I could share, but that's all for this time. If you read this all the way through: thanks for reading my complaints!

[jonoodles]

It's not hard to understand why there are more out trans people now if you aren't a dullard acting in bad faith. When the threat of violence and legal marginalization was even more of a threat, people lived whole lives in the closet or just commited suicide quietly, not adding to the statistic. Pretty easy conclusion.

I can also say anecdotally that being on estrogen has been far more helpful than the cocktail of SSRIs, Stimulants, and Antipsychotics I've been made to take since I was 11. And I know that being on puberty blockers instead would have spared me a lot of pain

I imagine you're going to pretend you're against all those medications for children too. Even though it's far more widespread and harmful, it's clearly a lower priority to you. And you're going to continue credulously qouting the same psych industry that doles out those meds numbers on diagnosable gender dysphoria.

Either way as shitty as you are I hope you find happinees some day. I mean performative Christian whose obssessed with us, come on, we've all seen where this goes before.

Until that day stop shitting up our tags, I'm trying to look at nice posts on my lunch break.

So this person is saying people who are in the closet also commit suicide, because they couldn't come out and be themselves. (I believe that's what they are saying). I agree that is probably true. And I am not saying trans people commit suicide because they are trans people. I am saying they commit suicide because they struggle and I think we need to help them not only by transitioning them but offering counseling and such. It is simply a fact, I am not attempting to weaponize it, against trans people but rather people who say cis people are just jealous.

Now please do not be offended by my response.

Was it hard to get put on estrogen? Were you diagnosed with gender dysphoria? What was it like to get put on estrogen? I disagree that puberty blockers are a good thing. I still don't think children can consent.

If you're 18 I have no qualms with your transition. I don't applaud you as a hero. But I'll let you live your life. I don't think being trans is really a big deal. Unless it is a child who has yet to go through puberty.

You bring up a good point with the other medication kids can be on

Those medications for children: SSRIs ( anti depressants I believe), stimulants, and anti psychotics. The reason I am somewhat okay with those for kids is because they do not change your body's function or structure on a physical scale to such a great extent as puberty blockers. (Ex: they do not change your bone density ect..) I wish kids didn't have to be on them (anti depressants and such), but sometimes their situations call for it. That should be a medical choice that involves a professional and their parents.

Another thing on that point is: no one is glorifying their mass amount of medication. (Well some are but not the extent of people glorifying being trans)

We can probably both agree being trans is a difficult journey. That is why it is not fit for a child.

I do not enjoy being called a performative Christian. I don't care how you judge me but rather how God would.

Isaiah 56:1 (NIV)

“This is what the Lord says: “Maintain justice and do what is right, for my salvation is close at hand and my righteousness will soon be revealed.”

Here are my beliefs layed out for you to attack as you please;

I disagree with transition as a Christian (that means I will not transition myself or encourage it). But I believe from a legal standpoint adults have the right to do as they please to their bodies. Children do not because they are underaged.

I believe your best point was about the use of other drugs on children. But you still failed to actually defend your case as a whole. You have mainly attacked my character. Which isn't really what invalidates an idea.

I would also like to know what it is like for you to be on estrogen. If you don't respond that's fine, if you would just tell me about it in an "ask" I won't respond publicly to it. I am genuinely just curious.

Thank you for your ask ♥️

~ 𝒥ℴ 🪐

[onemattwolf]

I know i gotta stop taking my adhd meds with coffee. I know i gotta get up earlier so i can take my meds earlier because my day is better when i do.

But i'm stuck in bed (sometimes not even sleeping, just scrolling through fucking tumblr since it's placating my anxiety right now, the mindless scrolling) til noon most of the time. So I get up, i'm craving coffee cus habit and physical dependency. If i don't have it in the morning, I feel pretty sick and foggy by 5pm, so i have it then. Even if i have coffee in the morning, i'd probably have one then anyways cus it keeps my brain puttering along.

But it's all different with the concerta. I take it with coffee and my already bad anxiety gets accelerated. And i feel too sick to eat, which is bad because my disordered eating habits are peeking out again, cus when i was on the concerta withdrawal my weight spiked up again. Which is hard. I feel weird about the weight-loss because i'm just so unused to it—i also have this odd disconnect with my body, since it's not the same body i had the last time i was this weight. My weight distribution is different from the T. I really like it in a lot of ways, but since i lost weight and changed weight patterns at the same time, my brain is like, "woah, not used to this."

And while there was a weird part of me that wanted to gain weight again so i would feel more grounded, jumping up 8 pounds in like, under 2 weeks, was rough.

I need a balance, but everything is unfortunately interconnected.

Not quite right hormone levels, depression, shitty pharmacy that means i occasionally need to withdraw from my meds because they suck, shitty doctor who's making the situation worse, overeating due to xmas and my dad always having snacks in the house, fucking up my body from overexercising without stretching so walking hurts so i'm out less or going slower which drives me nuts cus i need the outlet, is leading to the weight gain. Always having beer on hand here, which shoots my weight way up even if it's just one beer at dinner. Beer and popcorn make me gain weight alarmingly fast. As soon as I cut out beer and popcorn my weight drops. And it's not like i'm overindulging in either?? Only explanation is i have a i have a weird GI system that gets wigged out by random stuff.

But on the plus, what's also leading to the weight gain is that i'm actually eating consistently again. I know it was bound to happen if i finally started eating when I should. I'm not eating as healthy as i should (as in, overeating stuff that doesn't make my body feel good/not great nutritional value), but at least my intake is regular??

I know if i just leave it, take my meds regularly, go back to the chiropractor more often and stretch so i can do my walking without pain, cut the snacking back at night and limit the beer, my weight will drop back down quick cus that's how my body works. But my brain is like !!!! and just wants to go back to eating once a day. which... Not good, brain.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Sick Day || Will Byers x Reader

Requested: "how about a will x reader where poor reader is sick so the boys decide to visit her and she’s acting really affectionate hugging will complimenting him trying to kid his cute cheeks even saying how much she likes him and coming back to school so embarrassed by that and scared of confronting the boys"

Pairings: Will Byers x Reader [you two are some shy adorable little babies]

The egg timer that you had set went off with a shrill ring. Cringing, you sat yourself up, and reached over turning it off. You had set the timer as a reminder to take the horrific cold medicine and now it was time to take another spoonful. It was disgusting and it make you gag. But you had been recovering quickly so it meant it was working.

Your face was scrunched up in disgust as you poured the gross goopy liquid out into the spoon, and set the bottle aside.

You sharply exhaled, bracing yourself for the foul taste and closed your eyes. It was even more disgusting than the last time and you felt an involuntary shiver run up your spine. Fortunately, you remembered to set aside your favorite juice to wash it down with, learning from your mistake of taking a swig of water.

Setting aside the medicine and setting the timer for your next dose, you slid yourself under the blankets once more. Nestling yourself up in the caccoon of blankets and pillows you had made for yourself on the couch. After all, you had the house to yourself for the day and you figured it didn't hurt to have some entertainment so the TV was on, the remote next to you.

The cold medicine shortly began taking effect. You could feel your eyelids grow heavy, and the next thing you knew you were being pulled from sleep by a loud thud, followed by a string of hushed whispers.

This of course concerned you, given nobody was supposed to be home until eight PM, but felt relief wash over you when you recognized one of the voices to be Dustin's who was cursing under his breath.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Dammit. Motherfuc-"

"Dustin!" Will hissed under his breath. "Shut up! She's sleeping."

"I'm trying to" you slurred.

Great. You forgot how drowsy and loopy you got on this stuff. It was was easy to forget since you had been home alone while on it. With nobody to interact with, it was harder to tell.

"Y/n. I'm sorry, we didn't mean to wake you." Will said quietly. "We just thought we'd swing by and see how you were doing. We even brought your stuff from school. I took notes for you, so,"

"Really?" You asked, now on your side facing Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max and Mike. "Tha- Thas'sweet, thanks" you cooed, your brain foggy from sleep and cold medicine.

Will chuckled weakly, a genuine smile on his face. "No problem."

Dustin, who was still hopping on one foot, grasping his other was taking sharp breaths.

"Dude, what is your problem?" Lucas asked.

"I stubbed my fucking toe!" He exclaimed.

Max chuckled and Lucas rolled his eyes.

"There'ssome ice in the freezer," you slurred.

"Thanks," Dustin said, hobbling off to freezer in the kitchen.

"Have a seat" you mumbled, and the party looked at one another and shrugged, finding seats scattered across the living room.

Will ended up taking a seat near you, in case you needed anything. Something you appreciated.

"I missed you guys," you pouted, and sniffled, a combination of the cold and your emotions. "So much,"

They gave each other a confused look and looked back at you.

"Man, she's really out of it, huh?" Mike said.

"No kidding," Max said.

"Give her a break, she's been out sick all week" Will said, looking at them.

You smiled tearfully at Will. "You're so nice!" You whined.

Will chuckled, knowing you weren't thinking clearly from the meds.

"Thanks, Y/n," he said kindly.

It was quiet for a short minute, nobody knowing what to say when Dustin came back into the living room with a small baggie of ice.

You giggled, smiling weakly and you called out enthusiastically your friend. "Dustybun!"

Dustin's frowned at the name given to him by his girlfriend, and everyone burst into laughter. "Not cool, Y/n,"

"I like her like this," Lucas said.

"I like you too, Lucas. You're cool." You mumbled, snuggling up to your pillow, thinking he gave you a compliment.

"You're pretty cool too, L/n" He chuckled.

At that moment, your stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear, and you frowned.

"Do you want me go get you some food?" Will offered.

Your eyes closed, you sighed contently. "Yes pleeaase," you drawled.

Will got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Could he be any more obvious?" Dustin whispered.

Mike elbowed Dustin, shushing him.

"What? Like she'll remember this." Dustin argued.

You had been zoning out and suddenly you burst into a fit of giggles. The others looked at you skeptically but you were in your own little world.

Mike shrugged. "That's fair,"

At that moment, Will returned with a small snack and a glass of water. He walked over to where you were sitting and set the glass of water down on the side table and handed you the food.

"Here you go Y/n"

You looked up at him, he was looking at you kindly, waiting for you to take the food.

You were focused on his face. More specifically his, nose. You slowly reached up and touched his nose. "Boop."

He gave you an amused look, and chuckled nervously.

"Um, do you not want eat right now?" He asked awkwardly.

"No, I'm hungry." You stated confidently, and you struggled to sit up and get comfortable.

Noticing this, Will knelt down on his knees next to you on the couch and adjusted the pillow behind your back.

Your head felt heavy when you sat up, and you realized how sluggish your limbs felt.

You frowned. "My head is so much!" You exclaimed distressed.

"What?" He asked confused.

"You heard her, her head is so much!" Lucas laughed.

"Yeah!" You said.

"My head is heavy, duh!" You sent Will a look that said 'keep up, man' and looked at the others, Lucas in particular like 'can you believe this guy?'

Lucas, who was now thoroughly entertained, nodded along with you, encouraging you.

"But it's okay," you patted Will's cheek. "It's a good thing you're cute."

Will turned pink, and looked to others for help, but they only grinned back at him, eyes widened slightly, obviously happy with where this was going.

"Um, thanks?"

"You're welcome," you cooed. "You're so nice, and cute, an-and nice!"

"Thanks," he chuckled weakly.

"Tha-that's why I like you so much, silly!" You said matter-of-factly.

Max who had already found out about your crush on the boy, bit back a laugh, feeling bad for you, but also reveling in the fact that this was happening.

Everyone else was just as shocked, no more so than Will though of course.

"Um, I- uh," He stuttered, his face now scarlet. "Why don't you just eat a couple bites, and uh, we'll let you sleep some more. We've kept you up long enough. Besides, you need the rest."

You pouted. "But I don't want you to go."

"Yeah but you need your sleep. This cold really did a number on you,"

"Ugh!" You exclaimed suddenly, startling the group, and you gestured lazily to the bottle of cold syrup. "I hate that stuff! It's nasty and it made my brain tired,"

You didn't know how else to phrase it, your entire brain felt sluggish and you were barely making sense of this conversation.

A look of disappointment flashed across Will's face as he looked at the bottle. It disappeared quickly and he looked back at you.

"Yeah, which is why you need rest. That stuff is super strong,"

"It super sucks," you retorted, giggling at your joke.

"Yeah, it super sucks." He chuckled, looking at you fondly.

Will stood up and the others followed suit. "Alright, is there anything else you need before we go?"

You blinked rapidly, your brain still catching up. "There is one thing?"

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue.

"A hug goodbye?" You asked, looking up at him innocently, your eyes still droopy.

He seemed taken aback, but complied leaning down to hug you.

Arms outstretched you engulfed him in a hug and as he pulled away you took the opportunity to kiss his cheek, making a small 'muah' sound that the others noticed.

He jumped slightly, and stood up quickly. Looking at you with wide eyes as he lightly touched his bright red cheek where your lips just were.

You giggled mischievously. "Now you're gonna get my germs"

+++

It was Monday morning, and you were finally back at school. You were bummed that you didn't get to stay at home all day but you were relieved you didn't have to deal with that shitty cold that made you miserable.

Plus you would get to see your friends. You barely remember them coming to visit you, and just like that bits and pieces came flowing back. Your face suddenly went pale.

You told Will you liked him. You told your crush you liked him and doted all over him in front of everyone.

Yeah, no, you couldn't show your face to them ever again. You had to get new friends. Sure it would suck, making new friends was a chore and it would suck never seeing them again but that was the price you had to pay. It just couldn't be helped.

Too bad.

"Y/n!"

And now it was time to leave the country.

Cringing to yourself, you sharply exhaled and tried to physically relax.

"Hey, Will."

"Hi Y/n," He said shyly, shuffling on his feet.

"What's up?" You prayed he didn't bring it up.

"I just, I wanted to see how you were feeling. You seemed, pretty out of it."

You sighed, looking anywhere but him. You stomach had a flurry of butterflies.

"Listen, I'm really sorry. I understand if you want some space for a while."

"Y/n it's fine."

"No, it's not."

"It's forgotten. Look, I know you were on some pretty heavy stuff so, it's fine, really. So you kissed me, who cares?" He shrugged.

You eyes nearly popped out of your head and you grew nauseous.

"I what?!"

Will faltered, somehow going pale and turning pink.

"Yo-You kissed me. Don't worry though, it was just on the cheek. It's fine, really."

You backed up slightly, and turned to face the wall of lockers and buried your face in it. You wanted nothing more than the floor to swallow you whole.

Sure you were relieved to hear you didn't actually kiss him but hell, this was still ridiculously mortifying.

"Oh God," you groaned.

"Y/n," his voice was soft and for the forgiving but you hated the pity.

You only groaned louder and shook your head no hoping that would do something to ease the embarrassment.

"I can't imagine what you must think of me." You sighed, prying yourself off the lockers, but you still refuses to meet his eye.

"Well," he said, fiddling with his hands and looking down at his feet. "I thought- I thought it was kinda sweet."

Your mouth ran dry and you looked at him for the first time and ripping your gaze away from your shoes.

"W-What?"

Will smile shyly, and looked around a bit before looking back at you. He took a deep breath and spoke, the words spilling out of his mouth quickly. 

"What I'm trying to say is, I like you too Y/n."

Your heart started pounding, harder than it had been before if at all possible and a nervous but happy smile tugged at your lips.

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do." He smiled sheepishly and nodded his head. "In fact, everyone has kinda been teasing me about it for some time now," he laughed and you giggled along not believing this was happening.

Your eyes met and there was a silent but mutual understanding. He held out his hand, and looked to you fondly. The same look he had in his eyes when he saw you on Friday. A look he only gave you.

"Want to head to class together?"

You looked down at his outstretched hand and you took it, smiling brightly at him, finding it endearing how shy and sweet he was.

"I'd love to,"

A look of relief washed over Will and he beamed at you. Suddenly, his face scrunched up ever so slightly and you frowned. He brought his other arm up and sneezed into his elbow.

He looked back and you laughed. "Well, I guess you were right."

"What?"

"You did give me your germs." 

The words you had said to him days ago came back to you and you instantly felt guilty.

"Oh Will, I'm sorry!"

He began laughing and you couldn't stop the giggles that arose from your chest, finding the situation humorous. You were also just so relieved at how things smoothed over.

Will caught his breath and smiled genuinely. "It's okay. It's a good thing you're cute." 

You were taken by surprise at his boldness, but then you realized just what he had said. Having thrown your own words back at you from your drunken-like state and you laughed, running your free hand down your face.

"Oh God, let's just get to class" you giggled.

The pair of you started walking when he looked up at you. 

"In all seriousness, even if I do get your cold," He shrugged, smirking. "It was worth it."

The flurry of butterflies in your stomach doubled in numbers, and your heart fluttered.

It was now your turn to be a blushing pink mess.

[splendidlyimperfect]

For @oceanwaves-blog, because you are lovely person and sometimes life can be rough, but we always have people who care about us.

Summary: Gray's not feeling great, so Natsu comes up with a surprise to help him feel better. Rating: General Audiences Pairings: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Music, Inspired by Music, Family Feels, chosen family, sweet husbands, Best Friends, Fluff, minor hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Gray's a bit depressed, but Natsu's a good husband

“You okay, Snowflake?”

Natsu slipped up behind Gray in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Gray’s waist and kissing the back of his neck. Gray sighed, leaning back into the embrace and putting his hand over Natsu’s on his stomach.

“I dunno,” he said quietly, waiting for the hiss of the Keurig to stop before grabbing his coffee mug. He didn’t turn around, just ran his thumb over the back of Natsu’s hand and stared at the tiles along the counter. “Just tired.”

“You always say that when you’re sad,” Natsu murmured against Gray’s neck. He pulled Gray tighter against him and kissed behind his ear. “I love you.”

“Love you too, mon coeur,” Gray said softly. “I dunno, I’ve just been... work is stressful and stupid things are getting to me.” He rubbed his face, then took a sip of his coffee. “My shoulder’s been hurting which is dumb cause it’s been seventeen years.”

“Not dumb,” Natsu said, taking Gray’s hand and placing it on his scarred left arm. “This still hurts sometimes too.” Gray ran his fingers gently down Natsu’s forearm and across his wrist. “I’m sorry you’re feeling shitty,” Natsu added. “Anything I can do?”

“Mm.” Gray set his coffee down and turned around slowly in the circle of Natsu’s arms. Natsu gave him a soft smile and leaned in for a kiss. “Kisses are good.”

“You guys are so sweet it’s disgusting.” They both looked up to see Sylvie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a smile on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. Gray laughed, letting go of Natsu and moving over to hug Sylvie.

“That’s new,” Natsu commented, kissing Sylvie on the cheek and pointing to the ring in her septum. “What’s your mom think?”

“She thinks you’re a bad influence,” Sylvie said, rolling her eyes and gesturing to Natsu’s own piercings. Natsu laughed, leaning back against the counter. “It’s better now that I’m in the college dorms, though. We fight less.”

“Told you,” Natsu said. “You want a coffee before we head out, or you ready to rock?”

“Already stopped at Starbucks, your frappucino is in the car.” Sylvie grinned.

“You’re my favorite niece,” Natsu said. “Don’t tell Kiya or Ada.” Then he turned and pulled Gray into another quick hug. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Gray said, kissing Natsu’s forehead. “I’ve got a bunch of work stuff I’ve gotta get through. Go have fun with your music.”

“’kay.” Natsu waited until Sylvie was back at the front door before pressing another soft kiss to Gray’s lips. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Je t’aime.”

Gray sighed, pressing his face into Natsu’s hair before letting him go. “Je t’aime aussi.”

~*~*~*~

“Why do you have Uncle Gray’s meeting notes?”

Sylvie stood in the middle of Ryos and Sting’s basement, frowning at the sheaf of papers on Natsu’s chair. There were several crumpled pages, covered with Gray’s neat handwriting and various doodles in the margins.

“’cause I have an idea,” Natsu replied, grabbing another chair. He turned it around, straddling it and crossing his arms over the back. “But I need your help.”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow and Natsu grabbed one of the pages, pointing at the doodles - they were actually lines of music that Gray had written. “I wanna learn to play this,” Natsu said, “but I can’t read music, it’s almost as bad as reading books.” He made a face. “If you play it on the piano, I can pick it up by ear, though.”

Sylvie took the music from Natsu and glanced over it. Sting appeared behind her, peeking over her shoulder and shaking his head.

“This is why I play the drums,” he muttered. “No music.”

Sylvie started humming under her breath, fingers following the hand-drawn staffs and notes that Gray had scribbled down.

“C’mere,” she said, gesturing for Natsu to grab his guitar and come sit next to the piano. She sat down and hovered her fingers over the keys, tapping out a few wrong notes before falling into a rhythm. She played the first few lines twice, then turned to Natsu, who closed his eyes and started picking it out on the guitar.

“How do you do that?” Sting asked, leaning against the piano and watching Natsu’s fingers dance over the strings as he corrected himself.

Natsu shrugged. “It just sounds right,” he said. He plucked out the melody a few more times, then nodded for Sylvie to keep going.

Half an hour and some creative flourishes later, Natsu was able to play the song from memory. He switched over to the electric guitar, fiddling with the setting on the amp before running through it again.

“I’m pretty sure this was supposed to be a classical piece,” Sylvie said, kicking her feet up on a chair and twirling a strand of purple hair around her finger. Natsu grinned at her, running through a quick series of notes and ending on a loud chord.

“It’s more fun like this,” Natsu argued, looking up at Sylvie and Sting. “Now all it needs is some drums and bass.”

~*~*~ 

Gray sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. The comptuer screen was making his head hurt, and part of him desperately wanted a nap. He wished Natsu were home.

As if reading his thoughts, a text popped up on his phone.

hey snowflake, hows work? u wanna come for super? ryos is maknig that pasta u like. but if u dont wanna be with ppl i can come home. love u. <3

Gray smiled, tapping his fingers against the phone screen as he contemplated the question. He glanced out the window – it was still light out, and the drive to Ryos and Sting’s place would take him along the beach. And as much as he felt like curling up under the blankets right now, spending time with friends was probably a better idea.

The sun was just setting as Gray drove along the beach, soft layers of gold and pink slowly slipping behind the curve of the park behind him. It helped calm Gray’s nerves, and by the time he got to Ryos and Sting’s place, he was already feeling better.

“Hey, you,” Ryos said as he opened the door. He examined Gray’s face, then pulled him into a hug. “Bad day?”

Gray shrugged, returning the embrace and then leaning back to kick off his shoes. He resisted the urge to repeat the usual just tired, and instead said, “sorta.”

“Well, I made linguine,” Ryos said, motioning for Gray to follow him into the kitchen. “They’ve been downstairs all afternoon, I haven’t seen them since they got here. You want something to drink?” He opened the fridge and gestured to the bottles of beer in the door.

Gray shook his head. “Not supposed to drink with the new meds,” he said, settling down at the kitchen table and fiddling with the napkin on his plate.

“Are they helping at all?” Ryos asked, grabbing the water jug from the fridge and setting it on the table.

“I dunno.” Gray shrugged. “It’s only been a week, it’s hard to tell. I still feel weird about taking them, which is dumb because Natsu’s been on meds for forever.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryos said, sitting down across from Gray. “I hope they help.”

“Me too,” Gray said softly.

The door to the basement opened and Natsu popped his head out, smiling when he saw Gray.

“Hey, handsome,” he said, moving over and kissing Gray’s head. “I knew you wouldn’t say no to pasta.”

Dinner was comfortable and familiar, and Gray felt some of the melancholy slip away as they ate and traded stories back and forth. Sylvie talked animatedly about her mechanical engineering program, and Natsu teased her about the guy she was dating.

“You still think kissing is gross?” he asked, laughing. Sylvie rolled her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue.

“You know I do,” she said, grabbing another slice of garlic toast. “And so does he.”

“Have Ur and Xavier met him yet?” Gray asked around a mouthful of salad. Sylvie shook her head.

“I was actually thinking of bringing him for brunch on Sunday,” she said. “I just hope papa doesn’t embarrass me.” When Sting raised his eyebrows at her, she elaborated. “He wore socks with sandals to Félix’s graduation last week.”

“The horror,” Ryos mumbled from behind his wine glass.

“It was atrocious,” Sylvie muttered.

~*~*~

After dinner, Natsu grabbed Gray’s hand and pulled him toward the basement.

“C’mere,” he said, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Gray frowned, but followed Natsu down the stairs into the practice space they’d set up. Natsu and Gray had spent a weekend helping Ryos and Sting soundproof and paint it, and they kept all of their instruments there.

“Go sit,” Natsu said, nudging Gray toward the couch. Ryos sat down as well, kicking his legs up over Gray’s lap and watching as Sting settled down behind the drums. Natsu grabbed his guitar and fiddled with the amp a bit, while Sylvie did the same with her bass.

“What song is it?” Gray asked, tipping his head back against the couch cushions.

“Surprise,” was all Natsu said. He did some quick tuning, then settled down on the stool and began to play.

Gray watched, fascinated, as Natsu’s fingers flew across the fret, dancing through a ridiculous progression of notes that ended in a loud chord. It was quickly followed by Sylvie and Sting joining in.

The song was bright, energy flowing through the notes, and Gray tapped his fingers against Ryos’ legs to the beat. They were almost thirty seconds into the song when Gray realized it was his music.

“I... wrote this,” he said softly, and Ryos raised an eyebrow at him. “H-how...”

Natsu’s eyes were closed now, and Gray knew he was playing from memory, fingers picking out each note. Natsu had described it to Gray once as colors, splashes of light that jumped out at him and dragged his fingers to the right places.

Gray’s face softened as he watched, memories surfacing of Natsu at seventeen, curled up in the corner of the youth center with his acoustic guitar, hair falling in his face while he played. He was always so gentle with his instruments, even when he was dancing riffs down the fret of the electric guitar. Gray thought of those hands on him, tracing circles on his arms, curling in his hair.

Natsu was gorgeous, and Gray was so, so lucky.

The song ended on a flourish, and Natsu bit his lip ring as he looked up at Gray while the final chord rang in the air. Gray realized his cheeks were wet and he wiped them quickly.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Natsu said softly as he set down the guitar and moved to the couch, crouching down in front of Gray and running his hands up and down Gray’s thighs. Ryos slipped out of the way, giving Gray and Natsu some space.

“You stole my notes,” Gray said softly, reaching out and brushing Natsu’s bangs out of his eyes.

“I did,” Natsu said, sliding onto the couch next to Gray. He kissed Gray’s cheek, then rested his head on Gray’s shoulder. “Did you like it?”

“Of course I did,” Gray whispered, sliding his fingers between Natsu’s and squeezing his hand tightly. “You’re amazing.” He sniffed, looking up at the other three, who were all pretending not to look. “Thank you,” he said, loud enough for Sting and Sylvie to know he was talking to them as well.

“It was fun,” Sylvie said, plopping down on Gray’s other side and snuggling up next to him. Gray sighed, leaning his head against hers and feeling an overwhelming sense of nostalgia for the little girl who used to climb into his lap and demand he read to her. “But I told Uncle Natsu it was supposed to be a classical piece.”

Gray snorted. “I don’t think he’d play classical music if you paid him,” he said, and Natsu nodded in agreement. “And it sounded good.” Hearing Natsu’s interpretation of his notes was... Gray couldn’t think of a word to describe it.

“Well, you know what that means,” Natsu said, bringing Gray’s hand to his lips and kissing it. Gray raised an eyebrow at him, and Natsu smiled. “You’re just gonna have to write more music for us.”

[sweetmusingss]

"I just want to make these decisions together. This is our wedding, babe. And I feel the same way. If you want a huge wedding, I can understand that and get used to the idea. I kind of like the idea of getting legally married beforehand too, just us. It seems like less pressure then but again, I am happy with whatever you want to do. We can take our time. I still can't believe you actually want to marry me. I certainly don't deserve you but I am so grateful for you," I say to you before kissing your cheek gently. I really did feel like I was living a fairytale when it came to getting to marry you but I wanted to make sure to put you first. I wanted you to be happy with whatever wedding we had.

"Well, we do technically get legally married before when we sign the certificate, the ceremony is just for show, but I know what you mean. I am fine with doing whatever you want, babe. It's our wedding but it's always mre for the bride than for the groom... I just want you to be happy and comfortable." Seb couldn't help but think that if all these things didn't happen, you'd want a big extravagant wedding, but now you felt uncomfortable and wanted to hide away which is why you wanted a simpler smaller wedding now. "I don't love the idea of going to city hall and doing it without anyone, but if that's what you truly want, we can do that, babe. As long as my mom is there, I can get on board."

__

Frank bit his lip hard, trying his hardest not to make any noise or show you that he was getting hard from your lack of clothing and you kissing his neck. His excuses were not going to work if you could literally see or feel him getting aroused. It took everything in him to say the next words, feeling like an idiot for even saying them out loud. "Of course I missed you, I always do. But I haven't been feeling that great tonight..," he said softly, pulling the cover back over himself again. "I am just really tired, it's pretty late..," he said even though it was a shitty excuse because you're the one who just performed a show and you should be more tired than him right now. He was so scared to have sex again though and fall into old habits of him being submissive all while having sex that could lead to another pregnancy scare that he wasn't ready for.

I sit up a bit and look down at him, furrowing my brows since even when he was super sick he was still eager to get touched so this was definitely pretty odd. "Oh... are you okay, baby?" I pout as he pulls the blankets up over his body again, it feeling like he just didn't want me touching him for some reason. "Did you take any meds or anything?" It was clear that he didn't want to have sex and as disappointed as I was, I wasn't going to push him or force him. It had been two weeks, I could wait another night... I lean over and kiss his forehead before climbing under the blankets, scooting closer to him and pulling his head down so it was buried in my neck. "I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning. I can make you your favorite chocolate chip pancakes with a smiley face." I smile, running my fingers through his hair soothingly.

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

Hi! My birthday is April 24th and I'd love to read everlark where Peeta thinks he's lost Katniss somehow, like a misunderstanding or even some kind of accident, but everything works out in the end. Love the drama/angst, and I'm down for any rating (but let's be real, the smuttier the better bc it's my birthday lol). No infidelity please! Tytyty! You are awesome!

Happy Birthday! There is definitely some angst in this one. Thanks for having a birthday so we can all enjoy this great story! And thank you to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for writing and submitting it. She’s been a MAJOR contributor to this blog, as have many others, and we can’t thank her enough. Links to part one & part two if you haven’t read them yet. Enjoy! I know we did. 

Happy Birthday! Hope you enjoy this somewhatangsty story. Hugs and lots of love to you on your special day!

 All’s Fair - Part 3

 WARNINGS: RATED E for language, PTSD, and smut. Mostly the rating is forthe smut. SMUT I SAY!

 A/N: HR inthis instance stands for Human Remains. There’s no gore or graphic violence inthis, but there is a healthy dose of angst. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for pre-reading.

 ************************

 My boots scrape the pavement as I stop to stareup and down the parking lot aisles. I find at least four Jeep-shaped vehiclesunder black covers and sigh, drop my bag on the pavement, and search throughthe pockets for my keys. Not even my car keys, either. Customs fucked up mypacking job and I’m pretty sure they wound up back in my footlocker. I find thekeys I need underneath a half empty bottle of Gatorade and unlock my trunk,rummaging around until my fingers find the canvas ribbon on my at homekeychain. Yanking them out, I listen to the jingle of home with the distantgrowl of a C-130 spooling up its engines. The humid North Carolina air pressesdown on my lungs and I blink in the fading light.

 It’s late. I’m exhausted and hungry. And the redREMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT tag on my keys is a one-two punch to the face. Idon’t even know where he is right now. He was supposed to be home sometime lastweek, although I don’t know the exact date, but the fact that he wasn’t here tomeet me means he was delayed somewhere. Or something far worse that I am notprepared to contemplate on four hours of shitty sleep on a cramped rotatorflight and an empty stomach.

 Pocketing my car keys, I slam my footlocker shutand lock it back up, hefting my bag back on my shoulder and hauling the trunkonto its wheels to continue my solitary trek. I hit the lock button on the keyfob twice and hope my battery didn’t die while I’ve been gone. I’ve gotjumpers, but no one I feel comfortable inconveniencing. Most of the others havealready gone home. Prim couldn’t be here this time, unable to get away from medschool. Mom’s too sick to travel. Gale’s still somewhere in Fallujah, I think.At least, that’s the last place I ran into him.

Finally, my car honks back at me and I trudgethree aisles over towards the sound. Think it’s rough remembering where youparked your car after a thirty minute trip into a grocery store? Tryremembering where the fuck you parked it in a long term lot after a year longdeployment. I drop everything when I reach my Jeep. Unceremonious and messy.Fuck the Army and it’s obsession with order.

 It takes me a few tries to get the cover off mycar and folded up enough to shove it in the back. My footlocker and duffle goin next. The pack goes on the front seat since it contains my wallet, such asit is. I climb into the driver’s seat and roll back enough of the canvas sothat I’ll be able to feel the breeze. Keys in the ignition and I freeze, oncemore staring at the bright red tag.

 Peeta gave it to me right before my firstdeployment, in a black velvet box that looked like it contained a fancynecklace. Which it did. A single, luminescent pearl on a silver chain nestledunderneath a layer of padding, but on top had been this keychain. I’d laughednervously and shoved his face away from me when I saw the tag, but then he’dshown me what he’d bought for himself...a red, white, and blue double Akeychain. The emblem of the 82nd Airborne. My unit. They were meant to be asymbol. When we saw the keychains that ought to belong to each other, then we’dknow we were home.

 The C-130 must be warmed up because the tone ofit changes, softens as it faces a different direction. Turning up the taxiway,preparing for takeoff. I wonder what they’re doing tonight. Dropping bundles?Cargo? Jumpers? Or maybe they’re just making proficiency runs. Either way, Iknow Peeta’s not with them.

 “Come on baby, don’t let me down,” I mutter andcrank the engine. She starts rough but she does turn over. I throw my coveronto the passenger side floorboard, needing to feel the wind in my croppedshort hair after months of it being stifled beneath a kevlar helmet.

 As I leave the lot, I make a last minutedecision, turning towards the airfield instead of the main gate. I just want tobe sure. I’d call, but my phone’s buried in the back and I didn’t think to pullit out while I was searching for my keys. And maybe I’m not ready to face thesilence of an empty house.

 The drive is refreshing, but when I reach theairlift wing’s long term parking lot, I realize what a mistake this was. Theirsis almost as full as ours. I drive up one aisle and down the next, slowing everytime I see anything that might be silver. I find it in the fourth aisle.Peeta’s dark silver Mustang, parked next to a black Silverado, a layer ofpollen coating it, obscuring the color. I grip my steering wheel and stare atthe car for a moment. Then I force myself to leave.

 I’ll be going home to an empty house.

 The lights in town feel blindingly bright.Foreign after a year in the desert. When I tip my head back, I can barely makeout a handful of stars as they emerge into the night sky. At a red light, agroup of teens in a Tahoe with all the windows down stops next to me, laughingand singing along with their music. Once more, I’m massaging my steering wheeland trying to find my place in this world. It’s familiar and still disturbing.The lights and the colors too bright, the sounds too much like a dull roar, apounding in the skull.

 It’s when I pass a McDonald’s and my stomachgrowls painfully that I realize I’ll be going home to an empty pantry, too.There might be a can of soup or something, but nothing fresh. No one’s lived inthat house for six months and I didn’t think to ask Eddy, our neighbor’s kid,to stock the pantry for us. He was just keeping an eye on the place,maintaining the yard, and bringing in any mail. It’ll all be junk, but it’sbetter than leaving it to piss off the mail carrier.

 With a sigh, I pull into a grocery store thatlooks new, hoping they have a deli still open so I can get something alreadycooked and warm. I make it quick, though I do spend a few minutes debatingbetween macaroni or potato salad to go with my rotisserie chicken.Choices...something else that feels incongruously familiar. They’ve got abakery, too, and I add a loaf to my basket for dinner, and a couple bagels soI’ve at least got something to eat for breakfast, not caring that they’ll be alittle stale. I’ve eaten worse. I’ll come back tomorrow for a real groceryshopping trip.

 I use the self checkout lane, though, becausethe last thing I want right now is attention called to me in the form of achatty cashier or someone wanting to thank me for my service. Most of them meanwell, but sometimes it’s hard to know what to say in response. ‘You’rewelcome?’ Arrogant. ‘Thank you?’ For what exactly? Thanking mefirst? ‘Just glad to serve my country?’ Yeah, tell that to Darius andhis family… I shake myself and gather my groceries before rushing out of thestore.

 Once I’m safely back in my Jeep with nounnecessary human interactions, I breathe easier. She starts up like a dreamthis time and I drive home, only freaking out at one plastic bag as the windmakes it drift across my path. Pretty good, considering.

 “Here goes nothing,” I say and reach up to pressthe button to my garage door opener. Nothing. Car battery lasted. Remotebattery did not. Time for the car and door dance. By the time I get my Jeep inthe garage, I add grouchy to my list of feelings. My pack goes inside with meand my food. The rest can wait.

 The house is dark and smells musty. I open a fewwindows to air it out, humidity be damned, and flip on a couple lights so it’snot as depressing. Then I eat -- with a real fork, off a plate that I’ll haveto wash -- in about four minutes. Which is savoring my meal, by the way.

 Once I’ve placed my leftovers in the fridge, Iget the rest of my shit inside and in the bedroom, glaring at the neatly madebed. Starting the shower, I toss crap from my trunk until I find my phone andplug it in. Then I wait for the thing to turn back on and for the water to warmup. I’ve got one voicemail from Prim. I’ll call her after my shower.

 I leave my cams on the floor in a pile. I’llshove all of it in the washing machine later. The good thing about shampoo andsoap is that they don’t go bad, although there’s a strange crust around thecaps. I wash quickly, watching the murky water drain away sand and three daysworth of funk layered over remnants from months of half-assed showers.Normally, I’d be in a rush. Limited water and somewhere to be in five minutesmeans that when we got them, showers weren’t luxurious or even very efficient.They were just fast.

 Standing under the clear, steaming stream, I tryto relax. To enjoy the luxury. But I can only manage a few extra minutes beforeI start to feel ansty and get out. It’s silly, but once I dry off and am standingin my underwear, staring at my drawer full of pajamas, I hesitate. Instead, Iyank open one of Peeta’s drawers, finger the neatly folded cotton shirts beforefinally dragging one over my body. The shirt smells stale as well, from it’smonths untouched in storage, but as long as I don’t inhale too deeply, I cansort of pretend that it’s his arms holding me. I comb through my hair andsettle on the bed to call Prim.

 “Hey! Welcome home!”

 “Hi, Prim,” I say and smile for the first timesince stepping off the plane.

 “Oh my gosh! I can actually hear you! Nostatic!”

 “Just one of the many perks of being stateside,”I say and look around the room. Prim prattles on for several minutes aboutschool and how excited she is to see me in a few days. I try to remaincheerful, but it’s not easy. All I can think about is how her life continueduninterrupted while I dodged bullets, sent a friend home in a casket, and camehome to a stale house.

 “You okay?” Prim asks, cutting into my thoughts.

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”

 “I asked if you’d be bringing Peeta when youcome home in a few days and you didn’t answer.”

 “Sorry, Duck,” I say. “I spaced out. It was kindof a long flight home.”

 “I’ll bet,” she says then waits for my answer.

 “I don’t know. He was supposed to be back lastweek, but he’s not, so…”

 “I’m sure he’s okay,” Prim says and goes on tosuggest that he can always catch up to us after he gets back, but her wordsopen the gates of fears and worries that I’ve kept carefully under lock andkey.

 I maneuver awkwardly through the rest of ourconversation until I remind her how tired I am. When we hang up, I sit rigidand at war with myself. And even though I already know what's going to happen,I press Peeta's name and hold the phone to my ear.

 Straight to his voicemail, but I listen anyways.Just to hear his voice for a few seconds, something I haven't heard in sixmonths. I disconnect before the beep and power my phone down then toss it onthe nightstand to charge the rest of the way, wondering if he ever called myphone during those six months he was here and I was not, just to hear my voice.I hug a pillow to my chest before laying down. I squeeze my eyes shut and ordermy body to sleep, but as exhausted as I am, I can’t seem to relax. The sheetscarry a musty smell of their own that makes my nose wrinkle, and they feelcold.

 Four months. I haven’t seen him in four months,and even then, it was thirty seconds from a distance and a twist of luck. On atarmac in Baghdad while we were piling into the back of one plane, he waspre-flighting another. At least, I think it was him. We didn’t get a chance totalk. And I’m not even sure he saw me or knew I was there. Since his deploymentwas six months versus my year, we kept in touch better while he was stateside.Skype and e-mail, when I was lucky to stop at a base with internet. Theoccasional letter or phone call. But once he was in the desert too, all but theemails stopped. We just kept missing each other and it was more frustratingthan anything else.

 With a low growl, I shove myself off the bed,dragging the spring green duvet into the living room with me. I plop on thecouch and turn on the TV, hoping it will numb me into slumber.

 It doesn’t.

 News channels covering events I know littleabout, since I was isolated from current events at home for a year other thanthe tidbits Mom, and Prim, and Peeta while he could, would send to me in theirletters. When I stumble across war coverage on one channel, I pause, butquickly move on. I live it. I don’t need them telling me what it’s like.Besides, there’s a small part of me that’s terrified that the next breakingstory will be about a plane crash.

 The rest of the channels disappoint just asmuch. Petty squabbles on reality shows. Commercials and other fluff. It’s justlike talking to Prim only magnified. This used to be my life, I think as I turnthe TV back off and wander into the kitchen. I eat one of the bagels I’d meantfor breakfast just to have something normal to do.

 When I finally shove myself back into bed, it’swith little hope of sleeping. Still, I try, and I must succeed because I seethings, some of them real, others more difficult to pinpoint. Sergeant Chaffyelling over the pop of gunfire. A woman racing into the streets to enfold herchild into the black billows of her dress before collapsing and crying over hisbody. Peeta’s smile. The ringing in my ears when a grenade went off close by,drowning out the shouts and gunfire that followed. A door kicked in beneath atan boot. Darius laughing the second before the IED went off. A fireball and atower of smoke against an azure sky, the twisted wreckage of a plane’s tail.

 I gasp and wake up, sweating and trembling.Slowly, I manage to get ahold of my breathing and stand, walking slowly to thebathroom to splash water on my face in the dark. I gulp down a few handfuls andthen return to bed, stripping the duvet off first and using only the sheet.Staring at the ceiling as I wait for morning or sleep, whichever arrives first.I can’t tell which one it is, drifting in and out of dreams. Even when I see myroom, there’s Gale, detailing a strategy for clearing a street, his neckbandaged. My mother humming as she rocks in a rocking chair and sews. Theconstant, choking brown haze of a dust storm.

 I am a stranger in my own life.

 When I wake again, it’s late afternoon. Atleast, that’s what my clock says. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, so I’mnot sure that I’m not still asleep. I roll onto my stomach and stare throughscratchy eyes at what should be the empty space beside me. Only, there’s a bodythere, stomach down and faced away from me. My mouth goes dry and I hope it’snot a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past my twisted brain to imagine him lyingdead beside me.

 Reaching out, I poke his ribs and he startles.It takes him a moment, but he finally turns his head to look at me, his eyesbloodshot and dark circles beneath them.

 “You look a little rough for a dream,” I tellhim and he blinks at me, confused. “And quiet, too. That’s how I know you’renot real. If you were, you’d have already said ten witty things.”

 “Too tired,” he mumbles behind a yawn.

 “You should've already been here,” I mutter, thefear of what could go wrong still clinging to me.

 “Plane broke and we had to divert to Turkey.Then we got stuck waiting for parts. I called you as soon as we had a takeofftime from Canada, but your phone was off,” he says and I shrug.

 “No one I wanted to talk to,” I tell him.

 “Ouch,” he says and I scoot closer, hoping dreamPeeta feels half as good as real Peeta. He opens his arms and I snuggle againsthis body. My subconscious has at least gotten the incredible warmth that heemits right.

 “You smell good,” I murmur and fist his shirt inmy hand.

 “I better. I just got back two hours ago andtook a shower first thing.”

 “You got naked without me,” I accuse. “Who’s incharge of this dream anyways?”

 “You were out cold when I got in. Didn't want todisturb you. How long have you been home?”

 “No idea. Tell you when I wake up.”

 “Katniss,” Peeta says softly. “You are awake.”

 I open one eye and look up at Peeta. Reachingout, I pat his cheek and he smiles.

 “You didn’t wake me!” I shout and scrambleupright in the bed and put space between us. I’m not sure if I’m more angryover the fact that he climbed into bed without waking me or that by leaving myphone off, I missed the chance to be there for him when he landed. But he justlays there, watching me with tired blue eyes.

 “I didn’t wake you,” he says softly, one handreaching for me and falling short on the bed, “because you looked so peacefuland wonderful, and all I wanted to do was to sleep next to you for a few hours.Just sleep with the knowledge that I wouldn't be alerted soon, and withouthaving to block out the sound of mortar shells.”

 “How's that working out for you?” I ask,resenting the fact that he's the one who brought it up, reminded me that hewasn't all that much safer than I was over there. He shrugs.

 “Not so well. It's so quiet here.”

 “Yeah,” I say and fold my hands in my lap as weadd to the silence. Staring at one another, neither one of us knowing what tosay, and I wonder if I will feel like an interloper in this part of my lifetoo, caught in a world I no longer understand. I search his blue eyes for somehint of the person I left a year ago. His eyes are the same color, but they'reguarded. Maybe even frightened. And defensive. I don't know how to talk to thisperson.

 “This is weird, isn't it?” I whisper. He bracesa hand on the mattress and sits up so our eyes are on the same level, but hedoesn't reach for me again.

 “Feels that way, doesn't it?” he asks.

 “Prim wanted to know if you’d be coming with menext week.”

 “Yeah. If you want me too,” he says and I nod,because what am I supposed to say to this cautious dance around each other.

 “Are you hungry?” I ask.

 “I could eat,” he says. We make our way into thekitchen and eat the rest of my chicken, salad, and bread from dinner lastnight. In silence. And we don't touch one another.

 I try to summon some sort of feeling. But I'm sotired of fighting and I know he must be too. Maybe it's too late for us.

 Two years of visits here and there while he wentthrough his training pipeline, existing on phone calls and quick weekends inwhich we tried to cram months worth of time missing each other. But there wasalways another absence looming on the horizon, and in those absences, it becamenecessary to survive alone. Without each other.

 He fought to get an assignment that somewhatmatched up with mine, requesting an airframe that others in his service oftenlook down on, shocking his superiors when he wanted and pursued a heavy insteadof a sleek shiny fighter. Requesting a base slated for closure just because itwas attached to the fort I was assigned to. Fought to line up our deploymentsso we weren't waving at one another as we swapped places. And now, each of ustwo deployments in, I wonder if we spent so much time and effort trying to betogether that we don't know how to exist together anymore.

 He flicks crumbs across his plate as we sit insilence, his foot bouncing nervously beneath the table. It's a twitch he'snever had before and I don't know what to think of it. Shouldn't we be happy?Crawling all over one another and ravenous?

 Peeta takes a deep breath and I look up to findhim already watching me. “Think I'll unpack...since I'm awake now.”

 “Okay,” I say, pushing away the guilt that Iwoke him after so little sleep when I’ve wasted almost an entire day moping inbed.

 We move around one another, returning personalitems to their places, shoving one load after another into the washing machine,wiping away the fine layer of powdered sand that’s accumulated on almosteverything. We barely speak, just two ghosts sharing a house. I'm not even sureI'd call it a home.

 “Grocery shopping?” he suggests after we'vestored our footlockers in the garage and I nod. I can't even look at him as wedress, afraid I'll find new scars or markings on his body that tell the talesof whatever horrors he lived through. And I don't feel his eyes on me either.

 “Your car or mine?” he asks softly as he doubleknots his shoes.

 “Mine,” I say automatically, and he nods butstill tucks his keys into his jeans pocket. I catch a brief glimpse of hisairborne keychain, dulled a little but still attached to his house key.

 We limit our conversation to the necessary whilewe drive to the grocery store, and while we fill our cart. At one point, herests a palm on the small of my back as he leans around me to grab a box ofcrackers while I read a label and try not to fall apart at the minute touch.The heat of his hand sears through my shirt, and I lean back into it. When hemoves away, the disappointment rushes through me, swift and painful.

 He tosses the box of crackers into the cart andlooks back at me, a small and hesitant smile curving his lips up just on oneside. And I can't take it anymore, pretending like everything's normal and fineand I’m not five seconds from falling apart. I drop the saltines on the groundand fling myself at him.

 He only hesitates a second before his arms surgearound me and he buries his face in my neck, releasing a quiet shuddering noisethat might be a sob or a sigh of relief. I still shake with fears anduncertainties, my fingers digging into the back of his neck to make sure hedoesn't vanish from my arms. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips touchmy neck. And I don't care that we're in the middle of a grocery store with adozen people muttering in discontent as they have to maneuver their cartsaround us.

 “What’s happening to us, Katniss?” he whispers,and I know he’s not talking about the nightmares or the shortened tempers, butthe apathy. The need to not make a big deal out of things, not even a reunionafter an entire year apart. Or the fact that it’s easier to ignore the possibilityof hurt or death or worse because if you think about it, you’ll go mad.

 “I don’t know,” I whisper.

 “I missed you so much it physically hurts,” hesays, his arms shaking against me for a moment. I think about how many timesthese arms have been my refuge from the world. Always so warm and strong.

 “Me, too,” I admit. But we’ve opened thefloodgates and words pour forth from his lips.

 “It was bad enough being here and watching thenews. I’d go fucking crazy watching it, looking for you in the footage, hopingI’d get just a glimpse of you and dreading it at the same time. But being therewas a million times worse. Every time we got called for medevac or to moveH.R., I’d feel ill, certain that I’d be seeing your face or your name on acasket and knowing it’d be more than I could bear. Katniss, I don’t know if I’dever be happy again if I lost you.”

 My eyes burn with unshed tears. I should tellhim about my nightmares, too. RPG’s and planes shot from the sky. The wordsstick in my throat, and then someone behind us clears theirs impatiently. Iswipe at my eyes as Peeta releases me and we step apart enough to look at theintruder.

 “Excuse me. You’re blocking the shelf,” shesays, oblivious to or blatantly ignoring the obvious tears in both our eyes. Areminder that this is not the place for either of us to break down. Not with anaudience.

 “Thank you for your patience,” Peeta says toher, bending to scoop the dropped box of crackers off the floor and depositingit in our cart as we walk away. Only this time, we join hands and each use onehand to steer the cart.

 Our conversation is still somewhat stilted afterthat, and maybe it will be for awhile as we adjust back to each other’spresence, to the comfort of relative safety and the absence of the fears of thenight.  

 We pay for our groceries and I manage to get ushome without incident. As I cut off the engine, Peeta reaches out a hand tosqueeze my thigh and I look up at him while I press to shut the garage door,the remote now with a fresh battery. His thumb rubs up and down my thigh, asoothing touch along a rubbed raw nerve.

 The air around us already hangs heavy withhumidity, but under his steady gaze, it thickens until it’s almost stifling. Heleans towards me and my grip on the steering wheel tightens. Peeta haltshalfway between us, his eyes flickering down to my mouth and then away with anearly inaudible sigh. For now, I will ignore the voice in the back of my headthat insists there’s no point. One or both of us will just be heading back outthe door in six to twelve months. A seesaw of adjustment to life and thensurvival. Or maybe they’re just two different kinds of survival. But I refuseto let this wall stand between us a second longer.

 With my hands firm on the steering wheel, I moveto meet him over the gearshift and capture his lips with mine. His fingers onmy thigh clench and he brings his other hand up to hold me to him, his palmwarm on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing a path from the corner of mymouth to the edge of my jaw and back again. And I can't believe we waited thislong. I let go of the steering wheel and grip his shirt instead, yankingroughly on the fabric, needlessly because he’s not pulling back or going anywhere.

 He tilts his head and I open my mouth withouthim asking, because I need this kiss right now. Right here. The soft tremorthat shakes through me at the first touch of his tongue to mine. We are sloppyand graceless, but one kiss only makes me want more. All too soon, though,Peeta gently separates our mouths with one last suckle of my bottom lip betweenhis.

 “We should get the cold items put away beforethey all melt,” he croaks and I nod, although I’d much rather kiss him for thenext hour. Releasing my leg to open his door, Peeta kisses the tip of my noseand smiles at me.

 With each mundane task that we complete, thegaping wound between us knits together. A gradual healing. By the time we’vefinished putting our groceries away and managed to prepare and consume a meallike human beings, I’m thinking of tonight, about spooning with him in bed,less in terms of something we just do and more in terms of the comfort that itmight provide.

 When Peeta stifles a massive yawn, I suggestheading to bed, even though I’m not tired yet. He has to be beyond exhausted.Within seconds of crawling into bed, his breathing evens out and I lay in thecircle of his arms, listening to the calm sounds of spring outside our openwindow.

 Eventually, sleep takes me as well, and while Istill see things I’d rather not, they’re easier to face with Peeta’s arms warmand steady around me.

 Some time during the night, I wake to darknessand feather soft touches drifting up and down my side, beneath my shirt, aroundto my belly and up my ribs, back down and around to my side. Over my hip, thetouches dulled through the fabric of my shorts, igniting on my thighs before hereturns to my torso. For a second, I wonder if he’s even awake, but then hislips brush over my neck and I shiver. Peeta’s touches halt and I bite my lip,wanting him to continue.

 “Why’d you stop?” I finally whisper.

 “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers back.

 “I don’t mind,” I say and rest my hand over his,guiding it in the soft caresses for a moment before I tuck my hands beneath mycheek and relax into his touch as he continues unguided. Each delicate brush ofhis fingers lulls me deeper into a boneless state of bliss, reminding me ofjust how starved I’ve been for something like this, for the softness of hisloving touches. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness.

 “You know what I’m thinking about?” he whispersand kisses the back of my neck.

 “No,” I murmur, content to lay here and let himkeep doing what he’s doing.

 “I’m thinking about that quart of chocolate icecream in the freezer.” It’s not what I was expecting him to say, but my eyesjump open as the idea takes hold.

 “You have my attention,” I say and he chucklesbefore kissing my neck again. Then he’s up and tugging me off the bed. We hurryinto the kitchen, laughing as I slide across the floor in my socked feet. Peetagrabs the ice cream while I get the bowls and spoons. Within minutes, we’reseated at the table and enjoying the frozen treat.

 “Dear diary,” I say as I moan around my firstspoonful and then stare at the smeared reflection of my face in the bowl of thespoon. “It has been seven months since my last ice cream. And even then, it wasmelted by the time I got to eat it.”

 “That’s just sad,” Peeta says and grabs thecontainer, adding another scoop to mine. “You need to catch up.”

 “That’s a lot of empty calories,” I protest andhe shakes his head.

 “We’ll burn them off later,” he says, andalthough the comment could be perfectly innocent, my stomach does a strangeflip and warmth pools in my chest in spite of the freezing chocolate in mymouth.

 Peeta keeps eating, oblivious to the effect ofhis comment, and so I continue to spoon one bite after another into my mouth,savoring it like I haven’t savored anything in months. In between bites, wemanage to open a little more, share a few of the lighter tales of our timeoverseas. It’s relaxing, sitting here enjoying a midnight snack, him in hisboxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt, me in my pajama shorts and a tank top.It feels like something we could do everyday, made special in its normalcy.Eventually, though, our spoons both scrape our bowls to get the last melteddrops. I tip my bowl up and drink what the spoon can’t get.

 “Are they useful calories if they’re slurped?”Peeta asks. When I lower my bowl to scowl at him, he’s grinning, blue eyessparkling in laughter. And for just a second, I see the eyes of the boy I fellin love with in the face of the man I still can’t survive without. My bowl hitsthe table with a loud clink and I wrinkle my nose at him. He bites hislip, like he’s trying not to laugh out loud.

 “What?” I ask sharply.

 “Nothing,” he says as he gathers both our bowlsand rinses them before loading them in the dishwasher. I toss the ice creamback in the freezer and set my hands on my hips to glare at him. “It’s just,you’ve got some ice cream on your chin.”

 I swipe at my chin as unwanted heat floods mycheeks and spreads down my neck. Here I was thinking maybe our relaxing midnightsnack would help us leap the last unspoken hurdle, and I can’t even eat like anadult. Oh so sexy. But Peeta’s smile won’t be contained as he moves to stand infront of me and lifts his hand to my face.

 “You missed,” he whispers, swiping his thumbover my chin. “And you call yourself a sharp shooter.”

 His hand leaves me and his eyes still dance withmirth as he sucks the ice cream from his skin. In a flash, I am heated andrestless, unable to look away from his pink lips as they pucker around histhumb or the deep pools of blue as he watches me.

 “That was mine,” I whisper and he pauses withhis thumb still in his mouth. When he removes it, the silence of the kitchenshatters with the soft sucking noise of release.

 “Come and get it,” he breathes. We stare at oneanother for what feels like ages, the moment strung tighter than a bow ready tofire. We snap at the same time, mouths colliding and hands grasping shirts andhair.

 Peeta steps forward, forcing me back until I’msandwiched between him and the refrigerator. His mouth slants over mine againand again, ravenous and demanding. I can’t tell my moans from his as Ifrantically relearn the feel of his hair, the back of his neck, his shouldersbeneath a soft cotton shirt. The taste of his tongue and the ridges of hismouth. When his hand cups my breast and kneads it in the same rhythm as thehand massaging the back of my neck, my fingers clench, scraping my nails overhis skin. His hips thrust into me and we both moan as my stomach somersaultsfrom hungry to rapacious.

 Peeta flattens his body against mine and triesto say something that gets lost between our joined lips. His arms circle me, asteel band of support and I lift my feet to wrap my legs around his hips,trusting that he won’t drop me. With careful steps, he walks us back to thebedroom, but I refuse to stop kissing him. A year. An entire yearwithout his lips and hands on me.

 We need to catch up.

 When his knees hit the bed, our mouths joltapart and I giggle as we flop onto it, Peeta’s hands and the soft mattressbracing the fall as we bounce and he smiles at me before he resumes kissing me,our hips pressed together as we shift restlessly against one another. My feetcaress over the backs of his thighs and his hands encourage me, skimming overmy legs and grasping my ankle to wrap my leg around him again.

 I want our shirts off. I can feel the heat ofhim burning through the fabric that still separates us. I want it unfilteredand undiluted on my bare skin. But I don’t want to stop kissing him to tell himthat either, so I leave the clothes and let the need build and scratch at thehairs on his neck and the back of his head.

 After who knows how many minutes of this, hecomes up panting and tears at my shirt. Relieved, I arch my back and lift myarms so he can remove it to throw it across the room. I’m expecting him to takehis off, too, and gasp as he instead fuses our mouths together, the cotton ofhis shirt dragging over my nipples. The unexpected stimulation does wickedthings to my nerves, my legs pulling him closer in response, until the hardridge of his arousal presses into the soft folds of mine. His hips buck in myembrace, the sudden pressure sending a frisson of need all the way out to myfingertips.

 “Katniss,” he gasps as he lifts his head to transferhis mouth to my throat. Each word he speaks is kissed into my skin, lower andlower on my body. “Hold. Onto. Something,” he warns, pausing only to give eachbreast one quick, hard suck and a moan of appreciation before he moves on. “Ihave an entire year of not tasting you to make up for.” Until he reaches mypajama shorts and silently slides them and my panties down my legs, lays mebare to his gaze. I slip my hands beneath the pillow and grab hold of it whilehe stares at me.

 “Say something,” I whisper when he remains quietand still, staring between my legs beyond the point where I am still confidentin his desire for me.

 “Words aren’t enough to describe how incredibleyou are. I’ll just have to show you,” he murmurs.

 The bed bounces as he drops heavily between mylegs. With no warning or preamble, he wraps his hands beneath my thighs andholds me open, his mouth descends and he moans loudly as he suckles my folds.At first, I squirm, the sensation of being licked there distant and no longerfamiliar. But Peeta doesn’t let me hide behind shyness or uncertainty. Hismouth is on a quest, and before long, I’ve forgotten time and distance,writhing beneath the onslaught that sets my entire body aflame with need.

 I grip his hair and then mine. The sheets andthen his hair again. I watch him until I can’t, my body taking over andbanishing thought in favor of feeling as I crest and shudder, moaning gibberishinto the night.

 Instead of stopping, though, Peeta keeps going.His tongue pushing deep inside me to drink of me as I tremble and yell that Ican’t. But apparently, I can, as he sends me careening over another peak whenhe flicks his tongue over my clit then sucks it into his mouth.

 Falling limp, on the bed, I gasp for air andgroan in beautiful agony. Still, Peeta gives me no reprieve, sliding his handsover my legs until he grips my calves and pushes my knees up until they touchmy ribs.

 “Peeta, please,” I beg, unable to articulate thesearing feeling I can’t escape as his mouth continues it’s sweet torment. Hetakes it to mean that I want another, but it feels so good that each swipe ofhis tongue actually hurts. “Too much,” I finally manage to gasp.

 Undeterred, Peeta’s head shakes as though he’stelling me “no,” but the result is a streak of pleasure so acute that I screamand kick wildly, thrashing on the bed violently enough to unseat him.

 “Fuck!” I hear him exclaim, followed by a loudthud, but I am so lost in the shudders still wracking my body that I don’trealize what’s happened until the pounding of my heart calms enough for me tohear clearly again. It’s only then that I notice that Peeta’s not between mylegs any more. Not even touching me nor even on the bed.

 “Peeta?” I ask hesitantly and his laughterdrifts up to me from the floor at the foot of the bed. Gathering my wits, Ishift to the edge and peer down at him. He’s lying on his back, looking up atme with a pleased grin on his face, one hand behind his head and the otherresting leisurely on his stomach. If it weren’t for the obvious strain of hiscock against the cotton of his briefs, I’d think he was just reclining downthere to get a rest.

 “What happened?” I ask, self-consciously runninga hand through my own hair and tucking strands back behind my ears.

 “You came so hard, you kicked me off the bed,”he says, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it. He reaches up and grasps mywrist. “Come here.”

 I squeal as he tugs me over the edge and ontohis chest, but then I let go any embarrassment or doubt as he pulls me down tokiss him again. This time, it’s leisurely, allowing me a chance to recover fromwhatever the hell it is he just did to me. He reaches up and yanks the duvetdown to cover us both as he ends the kiss, his arms cuddle me to his chest andI settle my head on his shoulder. He’s still hard against me, but doesn’t seemto be in a rush to find his own relief. As it was when I woke earlier, his handtraces delicately over my skin, my back this time.

 A restless longing takes place in my breast, andeven though he seems content to take things slow, this kind of hunger won’t besated easily.  When he makes no move, I push myself off his chest and sit,straddling his hips.

 “Where’re you going?” he asks quietly.

 “Nowhere,” I tell him, but make my fingers walkdown his torso towards myself.

 His eyes jump between my hands and my face as Iwatch him for any sign that he doesn’t want this as much as I do, but when myfingers curl beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, he lifts his hips fromthe floor and pushes them down his legs. I move my hips, dragging my still wetlips over the length of his cock. With a curse, Peeta drops his hips back tothe floor, his shorts still somewhere on his legs as I take him in hand andkeep up the steady revolutions of my hips over him, sliding him through both myhand and my lips.

 “Oh fuck me, that feels like heaven,” he groans,eyes riveted to what I’m doing to him. I bite my lip and brace a hand on histhigh, and even though I just came three times on the bed, I already wantanother. Heat and blood pulse through me as I move and Peeta whines a little,his hands massaging my thighs.

 I started this to tease him, but it quickly hasme just as excited as him. I let go of his cock and instead grip his shirt,tugging on it like it’s a set of reins and the only thing keeping me frombucking wildly on top of him.

 “Katniss, please,” he begs and bites his lip,lifts his head and smacks it back on the floor in distress. “I wanna cum insideyou.”

 With a nod, I shift myself and he aligns us,releasing a string of expletives as I sink down onto him, his right leg kickingin rapid succession as he tries to hold back. Taking his face in my hands, Ibend over and kiss him as we move. Short, sweet tastes as I slide up and downhis cock. Peeta’s arms wrap around me, hold me close as he draws hearts andswirls on my back, guides my hips in riding him. I try to keep it slow, but hekneads my ass and pushes my hips so they roll over him instead of bouncing. Mybody grasps hold of the pleasure and I take it, following his lead until mylegs start to cramp and I have to straighten them alongside his, laying my bodyflat on top of him.

 When I can move again, I slide up his body andkeen into the night as he curses beneath me. It’s the best of both, taking hiscock in and out while still grinding my clit against him. I grab his chin andhold him so I can stare into his eyes, foggy with need and deeper than theocean. He whispers to me, dirty words in broken phrases.

 “I dreamt about this every night, alone in ourbed and then in my bunk. How fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re on top of me, mycock deep inside you. Jerking myself off when my balls ached with the need tocome. I’d have to bite my lips so no one would here me and blow my load in ashirt or a sock and do laundry the next day. Fuck, Katniss,” he breaks off toswallow and kiss me a moment before I push his head back to the floor because Iwant his words right now.

 “I’ve been starving for the feel of your lips anywhereon me I could get them, your legs around me, and fuck, your tits on my chest,god they feel so good there. And your pussy. I’ve needed your pussy on my cockevery day since the day you left. Fucking starving so bad for the clench ofyour walls and the smoke in your eyes as you come for me.”

 I grip his shoulder and move faster, his wordsdrawing forth a greater arousal and making the slide smooth and easy asbreathing. But it’s not enough to get me there. I whimper and tell him that Ineed more and he grips my thighs, spreading me wide over him as he bends hisknees and leverages himself on his feet to thrust up into me. He’s groaningloudly, getting close as I still lag behind him. And for some reason I think ofthe night I first mentioned the possibility of our future together. I had noidea where we’d be on this night, but I remember the tremulous way he’d offeredme an out, if I’d wanted it. How scared and brave he’d looked as he tried tohide the hurt that just the thought my leaving caused him. Then how he cededcontrol to me without question and let me fuck myself sore and hoarse on him.

 “Pull my hair, Peeta,” I urge and brace myselfto help.

 “What?” he asks with wide eyes.

 “Pull my fucking hair,” I order him and his handshifts to grip the short locks. Then I borrow the words that sent me hurtlingtowards my own orgasm all those years ago. I’ve never forgotten them. “Now takewhat you want. Your cock wants it so bad. I can feel it. Hot and pulsinginside of me.”

 He makes a strangled noise as his fingers tanglein my hair and his hand yanks on me, slamming our bodies together again andagain as pain tingles across my scalp then mellows into pleasure.

 “Stop holding back and fill me with your fuckingcum,” I demand and my muscles ache with the effort of maintaining this pace,but he shouts my name and his hips jerk erratically as his eyes squeeze shut.He stops moving, but I keep going, milking him until he grabs my ass and shovesme down onto him even as he thrusts up into me one last time. We remain there,hips suspended above the floor while he finishes with an elongated moan.

 When he relaxes, dropping us to the floor, Itake his lips with mine and kiss the shuddering breaths from his throat. Hishands flex and clench on my ass and then start my hips rolling again, andbefore I can think or prepare myself, I shatter with a soft sigh, my clitpulsing against him as warmth and wonderment floods through me.

 Peeta makes a sound of contentment in his throatas his leg spasms once more before we lay there, a mess of heavy breathing andfinally sated bodies.

 “Too long,” he groans, his voice rumbling in hischest beneath my cheek. “A year is far too fucking long to go without you.”

 “Yeah,” I agree. Then, because I am an idiot anddon’t think before I speak when I am a melted puddle spread across him, I saysomething stupid. “How long do you think we can live like this?”

 “I don’t know,” he murmurs, shifting us so thatwe’re eye to eye. “But I’m willing to work for us for the rest of my life, ifthat’s what it takes, Katniss.”

 “Me, too,” I whisper and kiss him once more toseal the promise.

[realtalk-princeton]

I feel that everyone around is doing so well freshman year, when I'm doing pretty bad. I have Bs and Cs while every one of my classmates are getting As and Bs. What do I do?

Response from Nick Carraway:

Hi, your perceptions of how well everyone around you is doing are not entirely accurate. In my grade, a 3.75 is top quintile (top 20% of the class). That means only about a fourth of the class have higher than an A- average (3.70 on the 4.00 scale). The average in most classes at Princeton is scaled to a B or a B+ (with the occasional lucky course that’s scaled to an A-, though this hasn’t been the case in any of my courses). That means that 50% of the class is getting lower than that average grade, right? There’s simply no way that all of your classmates are getting all As and Bs. Freshman year is a struggle for everyone. Keep in mind that the average freshman GPA is significantly lower than the average upperclassmen GPA, since the adjustment to Princeton is rough for many, many students. 

I think that there’s this pervasive culture here where the expectation is to exude effortless perfection. We got into Princeton; we’re surrounded by some of the smartest kids in the world. No one wants anyone else to know that they’re struggling in their courses (or socially, emotionally, whatever). Students here give off the vibe that they’re cruising through the semester, nailing their exams and assignments (when that usually is not the case). It’s hard for everyone!! It’s just that no one wants to admit that. Which is pretty shitty if you ask me. If you google and read about “Penn Face,” the same thing is even more prevalent at UPenn. 

My advice to you would be twofold:

1) Don’t compare yourself to your peers. If you’re premed, don’t compare yourself to whatever average GPA HPA (or me) says you need to get into top med schools. Don’t ask your friends what they’re getting in their courses. Don’t compare yourself to the average. You are here to learn at an incredible place surrounded by incredibly smart and talented people. Just focus on yourself and doing the best that you can do in your courses. If it takes you a few semesters to get in the swing of things here, so be it. That’s super common. You’ll be leaps and bounds more mentally health and happy if you get over this habit of comparing yourself to others. No one cares what quintile you’re in. Most jobs don’t even care particularly much about your GPA. Expose yourself to cool classes, cool extracurriculars, and cool summer experiences. Things work out for happy princeton students.

2) Tamper your expectations. You’re not going to be top of your classes anymore! You might not even hit the average sometimes, and that’s okay. Everyone at Princeton is smart (which was certainly not the case at most of our high schools). If you decrease your expectations from the get-go, it’ll also do wonders for your mental health.

Other contributors can feel free to add, but that’s my take as a premed senior who has definitely gotten into ruts by comparing to myself to others and having unrealistic expectations for grades, etc. here. Submit another question if you want further advice or input. Good luck anon!

One last thing, the semester is only halfway over. Most classes only have about 40% of the grade (or less) decided at this point. Final exams and final papers/assignments are extremely heavily weighted in college (much more so than in high school). It’s not like your current grades are exactly representative of how your transcript will look at the end of the semester. Be proactive. Go meet with your TAs and profs to go over what went wrong during your midterms so you won’t make the same mistakes again during finals. Use office hours regularly (not just the week before exams) to clarify things that you’re not understanding during lecture). If your friends are doing so great in their courses, ask them for study tips! Ask them if you can study with them. Your peers can be an incredible resource.