#who had such pale skin that people started talking to my mom in Spanish rather than him.

[marshmallow-biscuit-blog]

I feel like their human counterparts finally look right now-

[nightfang22]

The Norski and the Themby-Chapter One

A/N:I hope you all enjoy and keep in mind that I wrote this fic a very long time ago so I apologize if it's poorly written haha!I really like that this gives me the opportunity to compare my previous writing to my current writing!Remember to comment down below any thoughts so I can tweak future chapters because I'd love to continue this fic!And I'd like to give a special thank you to all of my kind followers and mutuals who like my writing!Especially my best friend @p34ch-tr33 who inspires me to continue what I do.I love you all!

Warnings:None

Pairing:Tord x OC

Word Count:2.5k

  I had just transferred to a new school in London. I dad got a really nice job offer that he couldn't possibly refuse. It was I first day. I was 16. My name is Lyric Aries. And I was a complete social pariah. No matter the school, no matter the people, no matter the country. I never seemed to have any friends. It probably doesn't help that I'm originally from Amsterdam. As in, the Netherlands. I mostly just spoke Dutch with my mom and older brother, Frost. Frost was 17. He had short, jet black hair like my mom but striking crystal blue eyes like me. He also shared the pale skin. For people who never used cars and were outdoors biking all the time, we both sure were pale. Unlike our mother, of course, who had gorgeous olive-toned skin and chocolate brown eyes. Our father on the other hand, was deeply tanned with your same striking blue eyes and hazelnut brown hair. Our father was Cuban. He mostly spoke Spanish but learned Dutch over the years to win over our mother's heart.

  Pulling on my hoodie and grabbing my bike helmet, I exit my room for breakfast. Today would be my first day of "secondary" school, as they called it. I hate to admit it, but I was slightly hopeful. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps I were worried for nothing. I hopped down the stairs, helmet in hand, and greeted my parents with a kiss on the cheeks. "Hola, Papi. Hallo, Moeder." My brother, Frost, cleared his throat to get my attention. He was pointing at his cheek expectantly and chuckling as I gave him a Goedemorgen kus. We sat around the table and I dug into my bowl of grapes and blueberries. "Ben je enthousiast voor school?" ("Are you excited for school?")  My mother asked. I simply nodded with a mouth full of fruit as I cleared my plate into the sink. "Bye!" I yelled, grabbing my messenger bag and hopping on my bike. We didn't use cars in Amsterdam. Why start now? I heard gravel kick up behind me which could only mean that Frost was trailing behind me to school. My palms were sweaty and my legs shook as I pushed the petals faster and faster. I skidded to a stop in the school's parking lot. I had to do my very best to use English while at school. That wasn't going to be easy since no one in my family spoke English fluently. My mom and brother spoke Dutch and my father spoke Spanish. I gulped as I locked my bike onto the bike rack. I waited patiently for Frost to pull up beside me. It wouldn't be hard for him to make friends here. He was nice and pretty in the way that most boys weren't. He was also very tall. He was a good 7 inches taller than me. I only stand at 5'7".

Once Frost pulled up next to me and locked in his bike, we walked to the doors together with our arms linked. I had a very loving and supportive relationship with my brother. He was my best friend. Well, aside from my actual best friend Lena of course. Lena and I are only online friends. We've never met in person yet. I came back down to reality from my daydream to realize that Frost was holding the door open for me. "Na jou?" ("After you?") I smiled and nodded. We both knew very little English so it was just easier to talk to each other in our native tongue. We approached the office where a pretty lady with blonde hair and librarian glasses was looking at us with a smile. She stood and greeted us rather loudly. "You two must be our new students. I'm Caroline. The school's secretary." We shook her hands. "Your schedules are in English. Is that okay?" She slowly spoke nodding at us for approval like we were slow in the head. This confused me. Speaking a language I don't understand slower doesn't make me understand it. I soon realized she was being offensive. This angered me. As I began to roll up my sleeve, Frost put a hand on my shoulder and smiled at her, nodding and taking the papers. He turned me around and back into the hallway. Handing me my schedule after scanning it, he said, "Het lijkt erop dat we maar één lunch en één les samen hebben. Komt het goed met je?" ("It looks like we only have lunch and one class together. Are you going to be okay by yourself?") I bit my lip, looking down at the terrifying piece of paper. I could only nod as my throat constricted. Frost gave me a tight squeeze and went off to his first class of the day.

 I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. My first class was…civics? I think that is some sort of history class. I start glancing around at the doors looking for the matching numbers to the class. '102…102…102…102!' I found it. I slipped in quietly just before the bell rang. I looked around at all of the people around me. They all spoke such fluent English. I didn't know where to sit or if there were assigned seats. Just then, the teacher noticed me standing there and grabbed the class's attention. "Everyone! Please quiet down. We have a new student in our year today. This is Lyric Aries and she's-" I cut the teacher off. "They." That's right folks. I'm nonbinary. The teacher gave me a questioning look. "Excuse me?" I looked at her. "They. Mijn pronouns are they/them. Ik ben nonbinary." I stated simply. She looked taken aback by my statement and interruption of her speaking. She continued, "Anyway, this is Lyric Aries and they will be joining us for the year. Please be kind. Lyric, you can have a seat next to Thomas over there." I looked around the room at where she was pointing. There was a boy in the front by the door. He had rather pointy hair and a blue hoodie on. He also had… black eyes? Well, okay then. I nodded and walked towards him as his head shot up at the sound of my bag dropping on the floor next to him. He smiled awkwardly and waved. I returned the gesture. Were those braces? 'Cute.', I thought as I turned my attention to the teacher. Class droned on for a bit. It was sort of hard to keep up what with having to flip through my translation tablet every few seconds to figure out words. As I was looking for the word government in my tablet, a crumbled ball of paper was tossed onto my desk. I looked over at Thomas with quizzical and curious eyes. He smiled and nodded at the paper ball. It took me a few moments to carefully unfold it without any tears. I scanned the words on the page while picking out the ones I understood. I held up a finger at him while I translated the message into a language I could understand. Once I was done, the message read, 'Hi, I'm Tom. You're new here, yeah? Where are you from?' I smiled at the note and then directed my toothy grin at him. I began scribbling in rapid fire Dutch. 'Ik kom uit Amsterdam.' (I'm from Amsterdam) Realizing that he wouldn't be able to understand it seeing as how he was an English speaker, I quickly translated and rewrote my message before handing it off to him in traditional ball form as he had done for me. Just as he was about to write a response, the teacher cleared her throat and walked over to us. "Thomas, you know the rules. No note passing in class. Give it here." She took the note from his fingers and scanned over it. "Well, since you two seem to be getting pretty chummy, I'm sure you won't mind being Lyric's guide for the remainder of the day then." I was about to object but Tom interjected with a nod. The teacher seemed satisfied with that and went back to teaching, leaving the note on his desk. He sneakily tossed it back to me. 'I'd love to show you around if you'd like. You could sit with me and my friends at lunch?' I grinned from ear to ear and nodded eagerly.

Tom and I walked down the halls together. "Can I see your schedule?" He asked. I tilted my head to the side, perplexed. He pointed to the paper in my hands. My eyes widened in understanding as I nodded, handing him the paper. I watched silently as his onyx orbs scanned the page. His lips quirked up in an awkward metallic smile. "We have all the same classes together!" I smiled excitedly. That was one of the only sentences I understood in English. We continued our day like that, him showing me to classes and us sitting together, until lunch rolled around. I had brought my lunch, mostly because I didn’t particularly care for anything besides my dad's Cuban cooking. Tom looked over to a table and spotted a group of boys whom I had assumed were his friends. "There! My friends! C'mon, you can sit with us." He motioned for me to follow him, making sure that I understood what he was indicating with his hand motions. Being around all English speakers was hard. I followed him to the table where the three other boys sat. They each wore a different colored hoodie and one of them wore a…suit jacket?...over his purple hoodie. "Guys, this is Lyric. They're new here so I thought that they could sit with us." This caught the attention of the one in the green hoodie who was drinking a can of what appeared to be some sort of cola and the one who had the suit jacket/hoodie combo. "Hi! I'm Edd and this is Matt", he pointed to the ginger who made the fashion statement, "and that's Tord." He pointed to the boy with the red hoodie and devil horn-like hair. I smiled at this. I peered closely at the book he was reading. It looked like some sort of manga for an anime. I simply waved. "Ik ben Lyric." Edd and Matt looked at me with confused faces. "Lyric speaks very little English." Tom supplied. This is what caught Tord's attention. "Where are you from?" He asked. He had a very alluring accent. It was clearly Norsk. I racked my brain on how to say it in English so they would understand. "I'm from Neverland." I said, feeling rather proud of my English usage to what I had hoped would be my new friends. The boys all burst into laughter. Tom patted me on the shoulder. "Lyric, I believe that you meant The Netherlands. Not Neverland." He chuckled. I blushed a bright red and looked away, grumbling back in Dutch. "Hetzelfde." ("Same thing.") I decided to sit down and open my lunch box. That's when I noticed Frost walk into the cafeteria out of the corner of my eye. We made eye contact and I waved him over smiling. I tugged on Tom's blue hoodie sleeve. "Kan mijn broer bij ons zitten?" ("Can my brother sit with us?") Tom looked at me quizzically. "Huh?" Oh, right. He only spoke English.

As I was trying to translate my question into a language he could understand, Tord spoke up. "Zeker." ("Sure.") I widened my eyes at him and then smiled as I waved Frost over. "You speak Dutch?" I pronounced my English slowly and awkwardly which embarrassed me. Tord nodded. "A little. Is very close to Norsk." Frost sat next to me and looked around at everyone awkwardly. "Everyone, this is mijn broer Frost. Frost, this is Tom, Edd, Matt, and Tord." I pointed at each one of them in turn while smiling. "Hallo." He spoke confidently. "How do you know these people, Lyric?" Frost was a great deal better than me at English which didn't say much because he wasn't very good either. "Tom and I have all of the same classes and Edd, Matt, and Tord are friends with Tom." I spoke slowly and softly so I wouldn't slur or stumble on my words. This was harder than I thought it was going to be. He simply nodded as his response before digging into his tray. He wasn't as picky as I was so he elected to eat cafeteria food while I had Papi make my lunch. "What are you eating, Lyric? Its smells delicious!" Matt spoke up. I blushed a little out of nervousness. "Erm, shrimp quesadillas and empanadas with tortilla chips and homemade queso." I said softly while poking my lunch with a fork. "Veel spaans eten voor een beetje Nederlandse themby." ("Lots of Spanish food for a little Dutch themby.") Tord spoke up. It made me blush heavily that he went out of his way to speak in my native tongue for me. It felt so…intimate. So special. I shook off the thought and chalked it up to him just being a nice guy. Frost eyed him suspiciously. When Frost started to sneer I elbowed him in the stomach. "Ow!" I glared at him. "Wees aardig!" ("Be nice!") I turned my attention to Tord. "Mijn vader is Cubaans." ("My father is Cuban.") He smiled this pointy toothed grin. "Mag ik je agenda zien?" ("Can I see your schedule?") I nodded and slid the piece of crumpled paper across the table to him. He grinned from ear to ear as he looked over it. "We hebben onze tweede helft van de dag samen." ("We have our second half of the day together.") I blushed even harder and suppressed a giggle. There was something about this Norski that kept pulling at me. It made me want to be around him more. Much, much more. I bit my lip softly as I finished up my lunch. The bell soon rang signaling the end of lunch period. I gathered my books and hugged my brother farewell as I followed Tom to our next class. Sure enough, there sat Tord in the back of the class. Tom was seated at the front and I was once again put through the introductions. I was told to go and sit next to Tord because the front rows were filled. I made my way to the back of the class and looked over at Tord. He was smirking at me. I raised my eyebrow. "Ja?" ("Yes?") He lowly chuckled. "Je lijkt te worstelen met de Engelsen. Kan ik het je leren als je wilt?" ("You seem to struggle with the English. I could teach you if you want?") I bit my lip and looked down. I was kind of embarrassed that he'd noticed my lack of expertise in the English language. I looked up into his silver eyes. I slowly nodded as he slid a piece of paper onto my desk. It was his phone number. He sat forward and smirked at me from the corner of his eye. I tried my hardest to focus on the teacher but that was nearly impossible sitting next to Tord.

[axwalker]

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone​ to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC. 

Words: 4,110 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!! 

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?” 

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong. 

 “Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack. 

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”  

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent. 

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?” 

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.” 

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up. 

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony. 

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence. 

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done. 

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.” 

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long. 

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me. 

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality. 

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.” 

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was. 

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.  

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right. 

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me. 

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.” 

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.” 

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion. 

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.” 

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—” 

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

 I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me. 

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City. 

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.” 

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…” 

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

 I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along. 

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper. 

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

 Drake

 What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me. 

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.” 

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.” 

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.” 

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

 “I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.” 

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly. 

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.” 

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand. 

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.” 

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside. 

“What can I do?” I ask. 

“How long do we have?” 

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead. 

 “Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?” 

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway. 

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine. 

“I can’t just leave, can I?” 

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?” 

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

 “I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?” 

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” 

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.” 

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.” 

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything. 

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21​ It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark. 

Special thanks to @norbertsmom​ for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly. 

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la  lista de los niños malos?”   

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever. 

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.    

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep. 

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight. 

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story. 

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me. 

Canasto! 

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach. 

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“ 

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.  

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me. 

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.  

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath. 

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."  

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?   

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.  

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas. 

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it.  Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas!   If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes.  It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug. 

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring. 

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name. 

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes. 

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me. 

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks. 

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name. 

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me. 

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen. 

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals. 

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

  Pt 2 

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.” 

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?” 

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.” 

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory. 

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.” 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look. 

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.” 

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.” 

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile. 

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon. 

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said. 

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.” 

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.” 

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. 

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.” 

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?” 

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level. 

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.” 

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread. 

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops.  Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous. 

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station. 

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes. 

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance. 

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard. 

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.  

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.  

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time. 

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.” 

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed. 

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor. 

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller. 

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.  

I nearly snorted. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers. 

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit. 

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around. 

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum. 

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.” 

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa. 

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command. 

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.” 

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died.  “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile. 

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.    

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears. 

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

[melalot]

Confused

archive of our own link

8 Years Old

Lance was having recess outside in the school playground when he saw a group of kids circling around this boy. He noticed how all the students were quiet and very tuned interested in what one of his classmates had to say. He had never seen so many kids listen to someone this way, not even the teachers. Curiosity got the best of him so he trotted his way over to see what was grasping everyone's attention.

When he got close enough to hear the boy said, "And they told me they were gay!" Lance thought to himself. Gay? What does that mean?

Luckily enough another kid seemed to have the same question as him. "What is that? What does gay mean?"

The boy who was sharing this new word look at his classmate and began to explain.

"It's when two boys date, like a girl and a boy, do. But my mom told me it wasn't normal and that it wasn't okay."

Everyone's eyes went wide, they had never heard about two boys dating. Lance had never heard of this either, he doesn't even think much of dating, he's 8.

Before the conversation could continue the teachers started calling out to the students meaning that recess was over and instruction time was going to continue.

As Lance started getting in alphabet order to line up for class, he couldn't help but think about what he just heard.

It isn't natural the boy had said. It's not okay, the boy had continued.

And Lance thought to himself, why is it not?

xxxxxxxx

12 Years Old

Lance was in 6th grade now. While all the other kids went to a regular middle school, he went to attend the Galaxy Garrison. It was a school for those that wanted to be part of the space program.

Lance had always dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot and flying a space ship to Mars.

He got lucky enough to get into the Garrison, but even though it was a school to prepare you to go up into space, you still had to take the same curriculum you would normally take in a typical middle school.

And honestly, Lance appreciated that. He needed a sense of being normal. He needed work that wouldn’t be the same thing constantly and that it wouldn’t bore him. He also needed that sense to fit in with the outside world, and know more than just about space, he wanted to know how to live in the real world and real struggles.

Thinking about struggles, Lance remembered about his crush on Jenny. She was this girl in his grade with blonde hair and green eyes, she had small freckles plastered across her face and she just had the cutest laugh. Lance had gotten small crushes on other girls over the years, but those were ones that went away after a week. Lance had a crush on Jenny since the day he had laid eyes on her, and it hasn’t stopped.

Lance had tried using what his brother Marco had taught him about flirting. He even picked up some of his lines, and he didn’t think they were bad if he said so himself. But this new transition of puberty had started to take a toll on him.

A few weeks back, Lance was at the beach with some of his friends from the Garrison because they decided to head out there before the cold season came. And something about seeing his friends shirtless had really taken Lance aback. He started to stare, but once he realized he was staring, he tried to keep it cool. Just something about seeing them without a shirt sparked something in Lance that he didn’t know was possible. He blames puberty affecting a hormonal behavior onto him.

Now Lance had sort of the same experience in the locker room. He would try not to look at other guys and became rather uncomfortable and dreaded the days they had to change in the locker room. Lance was so scared of someone catching him stare, so Lance had found a solution which was to often stare at the ground and at his own shoes instead of paying attention to the others.

As he was about to finish tying the knot, he felt someone slide onto his bench on the left. He stopped the movement of his fingers and looked up to see who it was. It was a guy named Tim from his math class. They had talked a couple of times but not much, they usually had minimal conversations when training since they only knew each other in that class.

He tried for a smile. “Hey Tim, what’s up?”

Tim smiled, but his smile started to become rather uncomfortable.

“Hey Lance, I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“Sure, what is it?”

Tim’s head faced forward and he pointed at a boy with black hair and pale skin, though Lance could only see him from the back and couldn’t really tell who it was.

“Doesn’t it make you kind of uncomfortable?”

Lance was confused. “What would?”

Tim cleared his throat and looked around awkwardly, “You know…He’s gay and he is in the boys locker room, doesn’t it make you think he might try something?”

Oh my God.

Oh my god.

Lance couldn’t believe he was hearing this. As Lance grew older he had been more exposed to gay people and LGBT+ people in general. He had heard about kids not being accepted just because of who they loved, kids committing suicide, and kids being disowned by their families and rejected by others. He also heard about them being bullied.

Now he can’t believe he was experiencing it directly.

He wanted to tell the kid he is wrong for thinking that, and that he should mind his own business. But he felt like something was preventing him, and he didn’t know what. So instead he just looked at the boy and back at Tim.

“Nah, chill dude, just mind your own business and ignore him and nothing will happen.”

Lance finished tying his shoes and rushed over to the track field, he didn’t want to deal with this bullshit.

xxxxxxxx

13-14 Years Old

Lance had to complete and assignment for English class and it was an argumentative essay. He had to pick topics that would affect many people. So his teacher wanted them to tell her their topics today, or they could submit it in a note. Lance was in his dorm room and started searching for topics on the internet that he could use for his essay.

It was when he came across the LGBT+ section that something started to draw him in.

He looked to both sides of his room and the hallway to make sure no one was around. Once it was clear that no one would catch him, he clicked on the heading.

Doing this made Lance think back to the times he would watch YouTube videos of LGBT+ people. He liked learning about what they were going through and wanted to have somewhat of an understanding of what they go through so that maybe one day if someone needed it. He would have some sort of knowledge of what to expect.

But doing this also reminded Lance of how he would have multiple tabs open to switch tabs in case one of his parents or siblings saw his screen. Since his family mainly knew Spanish, they couldn’t really read what he was doing. But seeing something on a screen they probably would.

Lance hated that he felt like he was doing something wrong, and he was ashamed of it. It’s not that Lance was afraid of his family seeing this. He knew his family was perfectly accepting of everyone. But he couldn’t help but be scared about those few family members that seemed uncomfortable of the idea. He also didn’t want to give them the wrong idea that their son could be gay when he wasn’t.

Thinking back on this made Lance realize that maybe he shouldn’t do his topic on LGBT+ rights. So he exited the page and looked for a different topic.

xxxxxxx

Space

Over the course of the past few months, things had gone crazy.

To start off, Lance had gotten stuck in space with this blue lion along with Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and Shiro.

Then he saw an alien warship and wormholed to another planet, light years away from Earth.

After that, he met these 2 aliens on a castle ship, and he found out about this whole galactic war that could affect the whole universe.

And to say the least, after now being back on Earth after 5 years of not seeing his family or his home planet. He felt relief.

Well until other problems came up.

The war was over and they had defeated Haggar. The Garrison decided to cover them up with money since they fought and risked their lives to protect Earth.

But now Lance has personal problems.

You see, Lance is a very flirty guy. He had lots of crushes back in the Garrison like Jenny who he got over after a year and many other girls. And on space he flirted with aliens from left to right, being suave was his thing.

But being isolated in space made Lance realize a lot of things. One of them being that he is capable of having heart-wrenching feelings.

Lance knew he was a romantic guy, it was in his blood, but after so many years of flirting with girls and being rejected, he really didn’t think it would get anywhere. Plus they weren’t any major feelings either, so he decided to just keep up the act.

Until he met Princess Allura. Nobody could deny she was beautiful. Her crystal blue and purple eyes were so mesmerizing and her white poofy long hair was gorgeous. And above all she was a Princess that fought day and night in this war.

At first Lance just flirted with her because she was pretty. But then it got serious.

When he saw who Allura was in the inside he was drawn to who she was as a person. Lance started to fall hard.

He thought multiple times that maybe he should tell Allura about his feelings, but he always decided against it. That she probably wouldn’t take him seriously.

Allura found out anyway. The mice snitched. But Allura did not choose Lance in the end. She was after Lotor, and honestly, after a while, Lance realized that was who she was meant to be with, especially after he cleared up his past. They were made for each other.

Moving on was a process, but he managed to get through it. But Lance couldn’t help but think that something played a factor in making the process easier to get by.

Keith.

It was weird for Lance to think that Keith had a role in him moving on faster, but ever since Keith had come back to the team, Lance was taken upon the task of being his right hand and co-leader. So being focused on his missions helped a lot.

Or was it the missions?

Lance was in denial. And he knew it.

Even when Lance was moping over Allura, he had started to realize many things, and it wasn’t until Keith came back that he realized them.

Back when Lance was still a cadet at the Garrison, he had made up this rivalry with Keith. Keith didn’t really know Lance, and Lance knew that Keith never noticed him. But Lance was destined to score higher and to be better than the best pilot in his class.

So he made up this indirect rivalry, that he would talk about endlessly with Hunk. He even swore that he hated Keith.

But then Keith got booted from the Garrison. And honestly, it made Lance upset, but he tried not to show it. He doesn’t exactly know why he was upset, Keith was his rival, the one he swore he hated. He should have been happy that he took Keith’s spot now.

But lucky enough for him he got the chance when they rescued Shiro, and that is when Lance had made it obvious to Keith that he hated him.

Over time in space, Lance tried to let go out the act. He realized it was childish and that maybe instead he should try being Keith’s friend. If there was one thing about Lance it was this feeling he had about comforting others when they need it, and that’s what Lance did when Keith was distraught and stressed about Shiro disappearing.

When Shiro came back, Lance had noticed the one paladin too many issues and decided to talk about it with Keith because he was the current leader.

Or maybe it was because he saw Keith as a friend.

He shrugged it off.

Lance can admit that Keith is not the best person to talk to when you’re feeling down. But Lance still walked out of that room with a surge of emotions.

“And Lance. Leave the math, too Pidge.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Now Lance thought he could do this, he could be Keith’s friend.

But Keith left.

And reflecting on it now, Lance was devastated. He felt a void within him without Keith being there, without someone he can make fun of, without someone he can pick a fight with.

And Lance didn’t want to admit to himself, but he missed Keith.

Seeing Keith again after so many months boosted Lance’s mood, and he felt like he could be himself at the speed of a tick.

Keith rejecting his hug, made Lance sadder then it should have. And when Lance had some time to reflect on all that was happening. He started to question himself.

Do I like Keith?

No, I don’t. I’m straight, I like girls, and have only liked girls all my life.

But what if you do? A voice at the back of his mind said.

And Lance hated it, he started to cry. Ever since he was a kid there was this annoying voice that told Lance he was in denial about his feelings for guys. And no matter how many times Lance told that voice to shut up and assured himself that he only liked girls, it only came back that much faster, making it much harder to escape from it. And here it was again. Haunting him. And Lance didn’t know what to do this time. Could he really be into guys? Could he be into two polar opposite people at the same time?

Lance couldn’t think.

xxxxxxxx

Present

After thinking it through, Lance decided he should talk to Shiro. Taking it into account that the real Shiro was back, Lance knew Shiro might know somewhat of what he was going through.

He knew Shiro has a fiancé back on Earth named Adam. It was no secret in the Garrison that the record-breaking Takashi Shirogane was in love with a man.

So Lance knocked on Shiro’s door, taking in a deep breath. I can do this.

The door opened and Shiro’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“Lance? What brings you here?”

Lance gave him a nervous smile. “Hey Shiro, I hope you’re doing good. I was wondering if we can talk?”

Shiro rose his eyebrows up in surprise but directed Lance over to the couch of his office. Shiro set down some water for the both of them and made himself comfortable on the seat in front of Lance.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

Anxiety started to kick in and his nerves were alarmed. Lance couldn’t believe he was doing this.

“Shiro I-“ Lance stared at the floor, not wanting to meet Shiro’s eyes.

C’mon Lance, just say it, spit it out.

Say you like guys.

But he couldn’t.

A tear started spilling out of Lance’s eye and his throat was closed up. He felt a weight of emotions on his chest that he wanted to leave but they just couldn’t.

“Woah! Lance! Buddy!” Shiro rushed over to Lance’s side and placed his left arm on Lance’s shoulder and rubbed it. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did something happen?”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shiro, what if…What if I like guys?”

More tears started to fall.

It took a few seconds before Shiro processed this new information, but then he finally found a way to put it into words.

“Is this new for you Lance?”

He nodded.

“Are you scared of your feelings?”

Water started filling up his eyes again, but he tried to hold them back and nodded.

“Do you have a problem with people of the same gender liking each other?”

“No!” Lance sobbed. “I-I don’t really know, I’ve always been accepting of others and I believed in equal rights for everyone and that gays should be happy! And I-I don’t know why…Why I’m so scared of these feelings when it comes to me having them. I’ve always liked girls, only girls, I grew up around people that weren’t accepting of it, even though my own family was accepting of it, I’ve been terrified my whole life, Shiro!”

Shiro tried to speak but Lance cut him off, the words kept vomiting out of his mouth.

“I started looking back on my past life, to see if there were any clues leading up to me feeling this way, and there were so many. I’ve been in denial my whole life because I’ve been so scared of what people would think of me. And I know its stupid and that I shouldn’t give a fuck, but I can’t help but think how uncomfortable others would be around me and I can’t help knowing I’m making someone feel that way because of who I like. This annoying voice in the back of my head keeps haunting me Shiro and I want it to stop! Please! How do I make it stop Shiro? How do I stop being so scared? How do I stop being so scared of my own feelings? I tried everything Shiro, I tried being straight, I tried flirting with girls, I-I made dumb rivalries up. God just, please. What if I go to hell for this?”

Lance couldn’t say any more, he had let it all out. He thinks he even let out about his crush on Keith but he doesn’t care, his feelings are out and he doesn’t know if he feels relieved or scared.

Once Lance settled down Shiro started to talk.

“Listen, Lance. I know this is hard, and not everyone is going to be accepting of this. And everyone accepts themselves at their own time. But you Lance? You’re really strong for keeping this in for so long. You’ve been in denial your whole life, there is no secret about it. But your ways of coping with it weren’t smart. You’ve been supportive and accepting of everyone else, its time you do the same for yourself. You should have just let yourself feel.”

Let yourself feel.

Those words rang in Lance’s head, and he didn’t think he could cry anymore but here he was, breaking down into tears. He hugged Shiro and sobbed on his shoulder. He apologized for being such a mess, but Shiro only supported him.

And suddenly, Lance remembered why he considered Shiro his hero back at the Garrison. He was openly gay and a record-breaking pilot. He was always so brave and owned who he was every single day. And every time Lance had strived to be just like that.

It was only now that Lance found out exactly why he wanted to be like that, and he sobbed even harder.

When Lance stopped crying, he drank some of the water Shiro had given him and tried to clam down.

He looked at Shiro and smiled. He made a good choice talking to Shiro.

“So Lance.”

“Yeah?”

A smirk was forming on Shiro’s face. “So what is this rivalry you made up with someone?”

And Lance couldn’t help but laugh. He began talking about Keith. He felt himself get lighter and lighter as he let this out.

But Lance finally understood now, even if it would take him some time, he knew what he had to do now.

Let yourself feel.

[wayhaughterthanyou]

1-120, dare you

3 Fears- That my computer will crash at question 119, spiders, and planes

3 things I love- Wynonna Earp, writing, and video games

2 turns on- Hmm when someone runs their hands through my hair or shows me any kind of affection at all

2 turns off- Flat-earthers and people who refuse to interact with anything other than my genitals during sex

My best friend- My brother

Sexual orientation- Queer trans man

How tall am I- 5′7″

What do I miss right now- Sleep

Favourite color- PURPLE

Do I have a crush- I do..kind of

Favourite place- My bedroom

What am I listening to right now- My brother play fortnite- but the last song I was listening to was I wanna get better by Bleachers

Shoe size- 9

Eye color- Brown

Hair color- Brown

Meaning behind my URL- I think it’s pretty obvious

Favourite song- Morning in America- Jon Bellion

Favourite band- I really really don’t have one, I listen to such a wide range of music that it’s obnoxious and really hard to pick one

How I feel right now- Tired as fuck

Someone I love- MY CAT

My current relationship status- Single as can be my dude

My relationship with my parents- Stressful

Favourite season- Winter

Tattoos and piercing i have- I have a quill pen tattoo down my left forearm and a septum peircing

Tattoos and piercing i want- So so many tattoos, too many to list on this already long ask. As for piercings idk. I’m good for now but I might drill more holes into my body someday

The reasons I joined Tumblr- I was really into the disney memes

Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? Lucky to say that I do

Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?- It was my dad so…technically yes, yes I have

How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?- It takes 3 seconds to get dressed and an hour and a half to be prepared to see another human being

Have you shaved your legs in the past three days? Nope

Where am I right now? I’m at home

Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? I’m surprised I can still hear

Do I live with my Mom and Dad? I do

Am I excited for anything? NYC PRIDE 2018!!!

Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? Yup

How often do I wear a fake smile? Honey I worked in food service for 5 years, fake is the only smile I know

If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Melanie Scrofano

What do I think about most? Wearp

Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind for sure, but I’m working on it!

What was the last lie I told? I told my dad I ate lunch

Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Video chat. Phone calls frighten me

Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes and yes.

Do I believe in magic? IN A YOUNG GIRLS HEART HOW THE MUSIC CAN FREE HER WHENEVER IT STARTS

Do I believe in luck? Yes I have tons of bad luck so there has to be some good luck making someone else happy out there somewhere

What’s the weather like right now? It was pouring and freezing earlier and now it’s super hot I hate spring

What was the last book I’ve read? I recently reread To Kill A Mockingbird

Do I have any nicknames? Seattle

Do I spend money or save it? I try to save it and then I pay rent and then I pay bills and then I don’t have moneys and then I’m sad

Can I touch my nose with a tounge? I literally can’t even reach my septum ring lmao

Favourite animal? Orcas

What was I doing last night at 12 AM? I knocked the fuck out at like 10

What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? Wildwood by Fleurie

What is my favorite word? Sacapuntas

My top 5 blogs on tumblr? @a-maelstrom @weirdofreakish @wayhaughtship @oliviajoytaylor @earpdearp

If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? Have you tried taking Bikini Bottom and pushing it over there?

Do I have any relatives in jail? I had a cousin in for check fraud a couple years ago but I didn’t know her so all I used it for was threatening my bullies

What is my current desktop picture?- It’s a wearp season 2 cast photo

Had sex? I’ve done the sex

Bought condoms? Hell no you can get those for free I’m a baller on a budget 

Gotten pregnant? Nope

Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? Yeah I don’t mean to brag but she was hella wet

Had job? Several

Smoked weed? I’m high rn so

Smoked cigarettes? I used to when I was in middle school and then I had a crush on this girl who didn’t like them so I stopped and I should really thank her

Drank alcohol? Yup, illegally though because i live in a country where you can go to war before you can drink

Am I a vegetarian/vegan? I’ve tried but I have bad enough eating habits already and it made me eat oatmeal all day cause I’m too lazy to do anything right

Been overweight? I was overweight by a lot about 6 months ago

Been underweight? I’m currently underweight

Gotten my heart broken? Yes

Been to prom? Hell yeah! I took my manager from work and we slow danced to Beautiful by James Blunt

Been in airplane? UNfortunately

Learned another language? I took AP spanish for 7 years

Wore make up? Yup

Dyed my hair? So many times

Had a surgery? Tonsils only

Met someone famous? I’ve met a bunch of bands over the years at Warped Tour

Stalked someone on a social network? Of course

Been fishing? Yup! It’s a right of passage when you grow up on an island

Been rejected by a crush? Of course

What do I want for birthday? I want to give myself this present and I want to have at least posted my first video to my youtube channel

Do I like my handwriting? I love it

Where do I want to live when older? Canada

Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? No my parents are dumb

What I’m really bad at? Playing instruments

What my greatest achievments are- I finally looked at my tumblr theme after like 4 years of not knowing what it looks like and its actually not that bad

The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me- Lmao I can’t think of anything that could be on that level right now but the other day my mother looked me in the eyes and goes “You know your life sucks right?”

What I’d do if I won in a lottery: Damn I’d but a new computer immediately and then move across the world

What do I like about myself- My jawline

My closest Tumblr friend- @a-maelstrom

Any question you’d like? My favorite school house rock song is the Preamble song

Are you outgoing or shy? I’m not shy I just generally don’t like talking to other humans

What kind of people are you attracted to? Kind ones

Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? Maybe? If I’ve learned anything from life it’s that you really never know but I DAMN HOPE

Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? It depends on who it’s with but most of the time no

Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? My friend Shaf

What does the most recent text that you sent say? “No, we’re good.”

What are your 5 favorite songs right now? Icon- Jaden Smith, Bottom of the deep blue sea- Missio, Let you go- Machine gun kelly, little sister- trixie mattel, and In the middle- dodie

Do you like it when people play with your hair? 10/10 would die for that shit

Do you think there is life on other planets? Definitely

Do you like bubble baths? I do but I’m too large for my tub and it’s very sad

Do you like your neighbors? I don’t think I have ever said a single word to a single one of them

Where would you like to travel? San Fransisco

Favorite part of your daily routine? Playing video games

What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? Every single one of my bits

What do you do when you wake up? Wish I was back asleep

Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? Darker, I’m pale as fuck

Do you ever want to get married? If I find the right person

If your hair long enough for a pony tail? A tiny one on top of my head

Would you rather live without TV or music? I’d rather die thanks

Have you ever liked someone and never told them? Of course

What are your favorite stores to shop in? Amazon

Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? I guess it depends but mostly yeah

Do you smile at strangers? HA HAHA HAHAHAHAHAHA

Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? I mispelled my name on twitter and was too lazy to change it but today a guy called me out so I changed it and acted like I didn’t because I’ll do what I want sir

Ever wished you were someone else? I used to a lot

Favourite makeup brand? I know nothing about make up

Last thing you ate? Mac and cheese

Ever won a competition? For what? Soccer

Ever been in love? Yes

Facebook or Twitter? Twitter and if you’d like to follow me my name is AmongSeattle

Okay that took a lot longer than I had anticipated but I had a lot of fun. Thank you so much for taking the time to test how much my computer can take before it gives in. Join me next time when I’ll probably be answering 500 questions and encoding my social security into the text :*

[zedesirebox2018-blog]

My Cultural Identity

             Myself. Defined as “I” or “me personally.” I would have to say that I usually hate starting off papers with the definition of a word, I think it’s rather cliché.

However, as I sit here writing a paper that intends to uncover some more of my own cultural identity, I find the definition of the word myself rather fitting.

I am me. I am a single human being distinct from a group, class, or family. Yet, I would be nothing without the influences of said family, groups, and classifications. My existence is rooted in my cultural history, and my identity is entrenched in my experience with this world. Throughout this paper I intend to unearth definitely not all, but race and ethnicity, gender, and socioeconomic status as three of the main facets of my constantly evolving identity.

The first impressions of my cultural identity appear in my race. The first impressions being what others see, and what I see when I look in the mirror. Honestly, sometimes I find it a little confusing, probably as others do too, since being mixed race doesn’t make it as easy to categorize a person. Being mixed race I find myself feeling category-less­ but in the best way possible. I think people always want to tell you where you should be, but sometimes I don’t really see myself anywhere, and I think that that is totally okay. I look at myself and I see tan skin, brown, curly hair, large, brown eyes, and an athletic thin body. I see my father’s skin color in mine, his athletic legs, his passion for music and artistic things. I see my mother’s lips, her eyebrows, her boldness, and her strength.

Do I see my father’s Puerto Rican blood running through me? My mother’s Guyanese blood? I know I have it and that it pulses through my body. I can see it in my features because I can see my parents in myself.

           My father was born and raised in the Bronx in New York by his two parents. His parents were born in Puerto Rico and came to the United States to start a family. They spoke Spanish in their home, and he grew up in one of the poorest areas in New York City, minutes from Spanish Harlem. My mother immigrated to the United States when she was 7 years old from Guyana, in South America, with her father and three brothers. Just like my Dad, she grew up in one of the poorest areas in New York City.

           While I grew up both of my parents spoke English and Spanish. My dad would always have us listen to music that he grew up listening to, and would share with my siblings and I stories of his childhood. When holidays came around, that would mean lots and lots of food. Dinner on Christmas or various other holidays always meant a Puerto Rican feast with arroz con gandules, plantains, yucca, pernil (roast pork), and pollo asado.

My mom would talk about what it was like being a child in South America, and the struggles she had when they first came to America. She would talk about eating daahl, roti, and curry and I could hear her Guyanese accent when she spoke on the phone with relatives or when family came to visit.

           My parents wanted us to be aware and accepting and worldly when it came to understanding culture. They showed us the aspects of theirs, and encouraged us to always be accepting of others. However, my parents never made me feel like I had to choose between Puerto Rican and Guyanese. They never me feel like both of my races were so salient and that I needed to very strongly identify with both or either…and that is what I think it means to be mixed race.

Poston’s Biracial Identity Development Model shows the steps of identifying oneself with finding personal identity, then choice of group categorization, then enmeshment and denial, then appreciation of multiple identities and exploration of heritages, and finally the integration and valuing of a multicultural identity. Ethnically I identify with Puerto Rican, Guyanese, and white culture. My ancestors are from Puerto Rico and from Guyana, and as I described earlier, I grew up with aspects of these cultures in my life. Racially I am clearly not white (just based off of what I look like) so I consider myself to be mixed race. I grew up around mostly white people, living in a nice area, going to a good school, having the opportunity to play whatever sport I wanted to, and being able to go through most parts of my life without people assuming things about me because of my race.

However, I still know what it feels like to have someone refer to a Puerto Rican person as a spic and those words are still very hurtful to me. I’ve had people tell me that my curly hair isn’t professional enough, and that I need to straighten it. I’ve had people see me at first glance and assume white, and then furrow their brows when they attempt to read my Spanish-sounding last name. I’ve had people deliberately question where the “brown” came from when they see my mom and me, because although she is South American she has pale skin and I am tan. Being biracial, I find it is not where I identify myself that I struggle with, it is with people wanting to tell me where I should be.

Continuing to look at the Biracial Identity Development Model, I believe I am still within the first step of finding my personal identity, and I attribute this to the fact that my mixed race identity is made salient depending on the situation I am in. Being at a school like Cal Poly, people have asked me “what are you?” Since most of my life and even now I have been around majority white people, I think when I was younger I really tried to categorize myself as white, because identifying with my Puerto Rican and Guyanese culture wasn’t as important to me. But, as I’ve gotten older, it has become more important to me. This is because as I evolve, and become a person that I myself love, trying to speak Spanish better, listening to more Latin music with my parents, and thinking about how their stories relate to my own life story has become more important to me.

I don’t think I ever truly denied my biracial identity, as the third step of Poston’s model describes, but I think I definitely used to choose to be unaware of it. Finally, as the last two steps describe I believe I am still on my quest of exploring my heritage and integrating my identity as my own. My biracial identity is something that can’t be put into a box, even though people truly wish they could put it there.

In another aspect of Hay’s Addressing Model, gender is something I find crucial to my identity. Being a woman means that gender-based issues and encountering sexism is something that is and always will be part my life. I grew up with a mother who is an Emergency Medicine Physician, and who is now the Chief of Medicine at her hospital. Even now, people who have met my mom automatically assume she is a nurse because she is a woman, and I find that completely intolerable.  To say that I grew up with an incredibly strong and driven woman as my role model isn’t saying enough. She has been working since before I was born, and before I was born my parents made the decision together that my dad would leave his job as an accountant in New York City and stay at home to take care of the family that he knew my mother wanted.

For all of my life, my mother has worked while my dad has stayed at home. That kind of family dynamic is the opposite of most families in the United States, but it is something I believe has played an unbelievably huge role in shaping who I am today. I’ve grown up watching a woman pursue her career goals while being an attentive and supportive mother, while having a father who has supported her nonetheless, and been the most loving, and incredible father without his manliness being threatened by having his wife working.

I’ve grown up with independence being encouraged, with both of my parents encouraging me to strive for any career, and that I should never, ever, settle. I am a woman and my post-graduate goal is to go to Dental School and do oral surgery. Having a goal like that would never be possible without having a family that has shown me that I should never allow being a woman to be a barrier to achieving my goals. Through my twenty years of life so far I’ve learned that not only do men view women as less, but so do other women, and the only way to break from it is by encouraging and empowering each other. I know that I will have job interviews where people will make decisions based off of how I look, and no matter how hard I try people will always see being a doctor as a male dominated career, but even with that I will not stop persisting.

I’ve discussed my family throughout this paper and the tremendous impact they’ve had in shaping me into the person I am today. The life they have provided me with is the last facet of the Hay’s Addressing Model I am uncovering throughout this paper. My socioeconomic status has provided me with so many opportunities that have made me unbelievably lucky. Growing up with a mother who is a doctor, I am very humbled to be living this comfortable life I have. Furthermore, and knowing how my parents grew up compared to where they are now and what they have given me, I am humbled even more.

I grew up with privilege.

I attended the best public schools in the areas we were living in at the time. I played multiple club sports such as soccer, volleyball, and track and field because my parents could afford it, and now I sit here at an out of state university because of my upbringing. My parents believed it was crucial for me to leave Arizona and attend a good university in a beautiful state, so they did everything they could to make it happen and here I am. My socioeconomic status has enabled me to travel, which has increased my cultural understanding, and this again is privilege.

On one of the first days of class we were asked to write down things that we identify our self as. Looking back at that list, I see that I wrote down mostly characteristics, like “athletic, caring, hard-working, loving, smart”, and a few identities like “a woman, a daughter, and a sister.” I didn’t write down my race or my ethnic identity, because of the privilege I have those aspects of myself weren’t especially salient to me in that moment, but as I grow, they are becoming more important. Being a woman my middle name is persistence, and with the privilege I have been given because of my family’s socioeconomic status I intend to make the most out of the life I have been given, because the future ­is female. I am a mixed race woman who’s race is Puerto Rican, is Guyanese, and ­is White because that is the culture I have grown up with.

I am still taking steps in my cultural identity development. They are small and big steps. It is by not trying to hide some of race by straightening my hair on weekends, or maybe even doing the 23 and me test so I can learn even more about my background, and by doing my part as a human to understand, accept, and enjoy my own life and the lives of those around me.

[gayinthespacebetween]

Song of Autumn in Springtime

Hehe combining prompts like a pro. Y’all like my daughter Jane too much, I’ve got another ask about her I wasn’t able to cram into this. Now, I was planning on doing this as a one’shot, but i9t just felt better if I cut it off here. (It also gives me time to actually finish it but shhh). The second part is coming sometime soon.

So yea, here you have it: My daughter Jane suffering of a bad case of The Gay and dealing with that. Which means not really dealing with it at all. Lyrics and title come from the Song of Autumn in Springtime by Rubén Darío, though it’s in spanish, so be warned!

Like a kid I was, awkward and shy, couldn’t ever have been any other way.

Jane had always been quite a queer individual.

(And yes, she meant it in the literal sense of the word).

She had always been an outcast. Growing up as a magic being in a place that forbid magic and didn't care enough to understand it was harsh. She can still remember the first years of it all: the other kids would come to her, asking her to show them their wings or make them pretty or help them get their "happily ever after". And Jane had wanted to. It was what she was made to do, after all.

But she couldn't. Not without breaking the law at least. It seemed that her fae blood also gave her an advanced understanding of how the world worked (saying such things is just a fact, not really bragging in any way), because she just knew doing any of the things they asked would get her in trouble. If course, being reminded by her mother every time she accidentally did something "magical" also helped her remember such things.

By the time middle school came about, everyone knew that no matter how much they asked, no matter how nicely, Jane simply wouldn't use her magic. Consequently, that's also the time where everyone stopped caring about her. She was a rather shy girl, but she had a few people she considered friends. But they all left her, deciding that if she couldn't do what she was meant to do, she wasn't worth their time. And it hurt. Because no matter how much the adults praised her ("How mature! How smart! How nice! Jane Fairchild, such a perfect little daughter!") She knew she would never truly belong. She wasn't what Auradon expected her to be.

It wouldn't be until years later that she would realize magic wasn't the only thing about herself she would have to hide.

 ...

Like daybreak, pure delight she was; her smile – like flowers after rain. Her hair was as the night, fashioned of darkness and unhappiness.

It all started with Audrey. Well, it started with Chad, but that lead to Audrey...

She and Chad had always been friends. Cinderella and Abigail were still very close, and it only made sense to them to raise their children together. The first four years of their life, they were always side by side, sometimes even sleeping on the same crib. He would touch the light blue freckles that ran through her cheek and shoulders she hadn't yet learned to hide with concealer, and he was the only one apart from her own mother that had seen her wings. Chad doesn't remember those years, but Jane does. Jane always will.

Chad does remember their preschool years together though, and how he always protected Jane and drove away the kids that pestered her with questions and requests. Even if they didn't talk much anymore, he remembered those years, and so it was only natural for him to invite Jane to his 10th birthday, even if by then no one spoke to her anymore. And Jane attended, of course, because she had hoped things could change for the better between them. That things could go back to how they were.

But they didn't. Chad was much too distracted being the king of his own party and having fun with his friends. Jane had a good time, of course, Charming's parties never disappointed. But she had been hoping for more than a quick "hello" and a small hug. But it was fine, she understood.

But then, at the middle of the party, someone new came in. A beautiful girl she had never seen before. Her brown hair was let loose, curling up in a way that Jane was sure was their natural state. Her dress was pale pink with light blue patterns on its hem, contrasting nicely with her rather dark skin, and she had an authoritative air to her that suggested a strong personality. Jane found herself itching to be close to her, to get to know her and, perhaps, become her friend.

But then, everyone's attention was on her and greetings were quick to come. Chad hugged her like he used to do with Jane, back when it didn't matter who your friends were and who you hung out with. It became clear that she was in a whole other league that Jane couldn't even hope to reach.

Being fae meant she was able to feel everyone's feelings as if they were her own, and she certainly hadn't missed the way certain children would suddenly get this new surge of happiness at spending time with a specific someone. She felt it now, as Chad hugged Audrey. The boy was giving off waves of nervous excitement and innocent happiness, and she was sure she could feel it from some of the other boys, too. Sadly, all those confusing feelings were meddling together, and so she didn't notice that those were the exact same feelings she was going through as well.

Audrey had been her first crush, and yet the realization had escaped her.

Jane's and Audrey's story doesn't end there.

 ...

And there was another one… More sensitive, quiet, loving, kind; her will to live, to love, was greater than I’d hoped to find.

Lonnie had helped Jane in a lot of ways that Mulan's daughter probably wasn't aware of.

She had been her first roommate ever, once she finally moved to Auradon prep. And, consecutively, she had been one of Jane's first friends. She had showed Jane what it was like to live with another teenager and actually get along with one, not minding in the least bit Jane's awkwardness and her love for topics someone her age probably wasn't interested in. And Lonnie was also patient in the right ways; always making sure Jane was comfortable and never bringing in people without telling Jane first, mostly so she had time to decide if she wanted to slip away to the library while Lonnie spent time with her friends.

She also helped Jane discover she liked girls, but that wasn't intentional. Or at least Jane didn't think it was. What would she get out of it, anyway?

She remembered how she had come to the realization. It had been a day like any other. Jane had finally cemented her place as the coordinator of the spring break dance and she needed to speak with Lonnie about the dance number she wanted to do, about decorations Lonnie would like to use, as well as the colors, so she had looked for her everywhere at school, and hadn't had any luck finding her.

Closing her eyes, she tried to sense Lonnie's feelings instead. She didn't like using such methods to find her, but this was important. Sorting through the usual cluster of emotions a high school filled with hormonal teenagers often had, she was finally able to place Lonnie's in the forest. It had been hard- her emotions were soft and relaxed, almost in a dream-like state. Jane couldn't help but wonder what the usual hyper and active girl was doing to be so calm.

When she arrived at the clearing that wasn't that far from the school, she saw Lonnie, sitting in the grass with her eyes closer like nothing in the world could bother her. The light was shining brightly, making Lonnie's skin shine against it. She was wearing a blouse and skirt, but those were in paler colors than usual, and the skirt seemed to float under her, making her look almost heavenly. It made Jane's breath catch in her throat.

A new surge of feelings, among those nervousness and attraction, started swirling inside of her, and with annoyance, she tried to turn her attention to those away to focus instead in Lonnie's calmness- only to realize that she was too far away to be feeling some student's emotions so intensively. Which meant...

Which meant they were her own.

Jane let out a half-surprised half-horrified gasp at the familiarity of them. She had definitively felt like that around Lonnie before, but being always surrounded by people meant she was able to ignore it. She had no such luck now.

Her gasp caught Lonnie's attention, disrupting her peace and making her open her eyes. Jane felt Lonnie's flicker of annoyance before she noticed it was Jane who had interrupted her meditation, after which it disappeared.

"Oh, hey, Jane." She grunted, standing up and shaking off imaginary dirt. "What's up?"

Now, Jane was still mortified at the discovery that she maybe-possibly-totally had a crush on her friend. So you must understand that when she squeaked "N-nothing!" And ran back the same way she came it was because she was already looking for solutions on how to get out of this mess.

By next week, her request had been approved of, and Lonnie had been roomed with someone else. Hopefully, someone who wouldn't crush on her and then ran away screaming. Her excuse was that she couldn’t handle Lonnie’s constant swirling emotions around her for so long. It was believable, mostly because it was partially true: Jane had only ever lived with her mom, after all, and young fae were prone to being overwhelmed by human emotions if they got constant exposure to them.

When Lonnie finally left after hugging her and apologizing for any trouble she might have caused, Jane stood there, holding herself back from confessing her lie and saying the actual reason she needed Jane to go.

It's for the best, it's for the best...

But whose? Lonnie wouldn't be affected by it as long as she didn't know, and even then, it's not like Jane would be the last person to develop feelings for her. She needed to be honest- if she was doing this, it's because she was afraid of herself, of finding out even more things about herself that she knew Auradon wouldn't approve of.

Jane’s and Lonnie's story doesn't end there.

 ...

Still another imagined my lips to be a casket made to bury our love. She gnawed at the very heart of me, that’s what she strove to do.

Lastly, there was Mal. And how ironic was that, that Mal of all people would help her sort this out once and forever? But it made sense: Mal was a wild card, she existed within Auradon, but also outside of it, so the fact that she helped Jane understand the parts of her that existed in spite of Auradon's restrictions was just logical. Maybe even destiny.

One look at the purple haired girl, one mere look, and it had been enough to send Jane into a downward spiral. Had it been the leather? The bad girl attitude? The mysterious vibe she gave off? Whatever it had been, Jane knew she shouldn't want to get closer to the girl. She was too… intriguing. And she was also intimidating, so Jane did what she did best and tried hard to make herself unnoticeable.

Or so she tried, because not even two weeks after the VKs got to Auradon, Mal cornered Jane in the bathroom.

The girl was actually quite nice. She listened to Jane's insecurities and offered plausible solutions. What's more: she used a magic spell to fix Jane's hair, and when Jane had looked into the mirror she saw something about herself she actually liked.

"You look beautiful." Mal rasped. And while Jane blushed she couldn't help but think that Mal was flirting with her.

Goodness, did she know about...?

"And you know? You could be even more beautiful." She placed her hands on Jane's shoulders, a smirk on her lips as she watched her eyes widen. "If you just asked your mom..." She sighed. Jane's brain was completely blank.

"I will." She promised, and while this is something mostly for herself, she can't help but think that it was, in some ways, for Mal as well. That she was proving herself somehow.

The smirk returned, bigger this time, and Jane felt happy again. Maybe she could make a new friend in Mal. Maybe they could be even more. Was it foolish to think in such way?

Jane's and Mal's story doesn't end there.

[hellofanimagination]

Don’t Wanna Fall In Love

Prompt: Requested by Anonymous. “Oh my god you have no idea how happy I am that requests are open! You're like my favorite writer on here. Okay so could you do one with punk Gerard and like everyone hates him and so does Y/N but then one day they get paired to do a project for school and so they have to meet up at Gerard's house and Y/N is not happy about it but then it turns out Gerard's actually a total sweetheart and then lots of fluff thanks 😊”

Word Count: 1,814

Pairing: Gerard x Reader

A/N: omg you’re so sweet! <3

--

You know those kids at school that everyone hates, usually without reason? Everyone has always just hated them, well, Gerard Way is that kid. Of course he has friends, some idiot named Frank, but the majority of the school hates him and honestly you don’t know why. But you hate him too. You like to tell yourself that you hate him for good reason because you’re not the kind of person to go around hating people without thought as to why, so your mind supplies you with the little things he does that drive you nuts. Like how he always starts debates in class so the teacher will forget to assign homework, or how he never seems to change his clothes, or the way he looks better in makeup than you do. They’re stupid reasons to hate a person, especially when he’s never even spoken a word to you, but he’s Gerard Way and you’re supposed to hate him.  

“Is he assigning partners today?” Your best friend asks you as you file into your Spanish class. You have been talking about your midterm project for a few days but you can’t get started until partners are assigned and you’ve been hopeful every day all week.

“I hope so,” You reply, taking your seats beside one another.

The teacher is too tall for his pants, he always is, and his socks are scrunched down around his shoes. He looks like a dorky grandpa who dances to quiet music at the family party. His eyes are a faded out grey but when he starts talking and Spanish tongue fills the room he lights up and his eyes dance across the class like everything is filling with colour and life in front of his very eyes. It’s the main reason you like him so much, his passion for what he’s teaching.

“So let’s talk about your project,” He starts and a few kids groan. He starts pairing kids off and you get more and more worried the more names he says, losing friends left and right until finally he calls out your name and…Gerard fucking Way, of course.

“Oh, fuck,” Your friend giggles and you slam your head down on your desk, groaning and feeling hopeless about this project for the first time since he presented it to you. That punk asshole isn’t going to do shit!

For the rest of the class everyone gathers in partners and groups to plan and discuss, start working as soon as they can. You trudge over to where Gerard sits with his legs out in front of his desk and his head bent over his notebook. He has dark jeans on with too many zippers and holes and his boots are scuffed and have pink laces wrapped all around and tied in a clumsy bow. You can’t see his face, hidden by his mop of dark hair as he scribbles furiously on his page. You cough and stand awkwardly by his desk and he lifts his head, eyes taking a moment to focus on you.

“We’re partners,” You say as explanation and he smiles.

“Okay awesome, you wanna come over after school? I can’t work during weekends ‘cause I have band practice but after school is always fine, well usually anyway.” He rambles a little bit and you scrunch your face at him, your confused expression effectively shutting him up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be an asshole?” The words slip out before you can stop them and Gerard’s face falls for a split second before he starts laughing. His laugh is sweet, something you hate to admit.

“You’ve been listening to too much talk.” He’s still smiling but it’s not as easy, almost fake, and something guilty twists in your stomach.

“Sorry,” You duck your head and Gerard shrugs. You glance up and catch sight of his notebook before he closes it, a comic book style drawing of a cat in a biker jacket was sitting on the page and you almost blurt out how good it looks but you hold it in, you’ve said enough stupid shit for today.

The bell rings and Gerard climbs from his desk, standing and looking at you and he really is beautiful once you look at him. Sure he could do with a shower but his eyes are deep and full and his mouth is so pink, something flutters in your chest and you try to push it away but he gives a half hearted smile and the butterflies stick.

“Meet me out front?” You ask and he nods, walking away just as your friend walks up.

“Let’s go, we have math.” You listen to them talk and talk on the way to class about their amazing partner and how great and simple this project is going to be. You’re in class before they realize how awful you must feel and turn to you with wide eyes. “Oh shit, what did he say to you?”

“I have to go to his house,” It’s not abnormal to work at someone’s house, especially on such a big project, but this Gerard Way and not one of your friends.

“Oh that sucks, what if he has like satanic witch shit all over the place?” They’ve always had a strange imagination and you roll your eyes at their words but your stomach twists painfully.

“Geez,” You breathe out and they laugh.

“Just kidding, but text me when you get there okay? I wanna know everything!”

--

Gerard doesn’t live in some creepy punk mansion with bats hanging around the door or people smoking on the roof; he lives in a normal house with parents and a brother who grin when they see him and he tells them about his day and steals his brother’s snack before leading you downstairs to the basement. You’re in shock when you get to his room, star wars comforter on his bed and comic books and doodles all over his desk and clothes thrown all over the place. It’s messy but it’s childish and human and so not scary.

“Expecting something different?” He asks as he lets the door fall closed. You blush and he laughs. “Everyone does, you should have seen Frank when he first came over. His room is way cooler than mine, says it’s ‘cause he’s a better punk but he’s just an ass.” He’s laughing and Frank isn’t real to you, you’ve never met him, but he’s real to Gerard and years of referring to him as an idiot suddenly crashes down on you making you feel like the idiot.

“So where do you wanna start?” You ask and Gerard yanks off his patch-covered jacket, tossing it on the floor and exposing his freckled arms and how his shirt dips down to reveal the pale skin of his sides. Your throat feels dry and Gerard is pulling things out of his bag, bent over and making his shirt hang open wide enough that you can see the rolls of his stomach and your mind spins. Not hating the guy everyone hates? Fine. Being attracted to him? Less fine.

“I was thinking we could start with the history, I’ve already got some notes on that, and then move out from there.” He explains, textbook and notebook in his lap. You nod and move nervously to sit beside him.  “You okay? I promise I won’t bite.” He teases and you blush and smile despite yourself.

Gerard is smart, like miles ahead of you smart, even when he gets off track and starts babbling to you about a song this reminds him he’s still smart, it’s like he knows big servings of everything. You just listen, mostly, when he gets off track, not wanting to hear him stop and get awkward, his voice like light rain on your walk home or a song you just can’t place, calming and welcoming even when you don’t know where it’s coming from. You end up in the middle of his floor with papers and plans thrown about when he gets so off track, you’re talking about a movie playing in theatres that you both want to see when Gerard asks you to see it with him.

“With you?” You ask without thinking and he laughs.

“Unless you’d rather go with my brother,” He’s teasing but he’s nervous too, he’s hiding behind his dark hair and you find the action utterly adorable. Who knew the bitch ass punk boy could be such a sweetheart.

“Ya, I’d like that.” You smile and Gerard grins, looking at you with wide open eyes.

You glance down at your phone and you squeal unhappily, making Gerard jump and flutter some of your papers. You look up at him sheepishly and he giggles, fucking giggles like the cutest person ever, and you nearly forget what you were so upset by.

“It’s a lot later than I thought; I need to catch the bus.” You explain and Gerard shakes his head.

“I’ll drive you,”

He drives you in his mom’s van, its warm and lived in and when Gerard backs out of the drive way it makes a funny nose and he talks to it like it’ll listen. He drives a little nervously, not something you would expect, he grips the wheel too tight on turns and hits the breaks a little rougher than intended at red lights, it’s endearing when you aren’t  worried for your safety. He talks while he drives, music filling the car from the radio and he accidently starts singing lyrics between sentences and sometimes-when it’s a good song-he just forgets he was talking and starts singing to you. He has a nice voice, untrained but beautiful, and you can only imagine how he’d sound if was really trying and not just singing to make you smile.  

Your house comes into view and when Gerard pulls to a stop you don’t make a move to get out of the car. Gerard runs fingers through his dark hair and you’re not annoyed by him and his eyeliner and how he has too many things to say; he’s sweet and kind and he drove you home. You want to tell him so but how do you even go about that? You unbuckle and Gerard is looking at with softness in his gaze.

“I’ll see you at school, right?” You ask, holding the door handle, reluctant to leave.

“Of course, and if you’re lucky I’ll let you see my band practice this weekend.” He’s smiling and you start nodding before you realize it. “Awesome,”

“Thanks for the lift.” You say, leaning over to peck his cheek. You pull back with a nervous smile and Gerard Way-punk boy and absolute sweetheart-is blushing. “Goodnight, Gerard.”

“Night, Y/N,” His voice is soft when he replies and when you get out of the car he waits till you get inside before he drives away.

[thedrowsydoormouse]

If you could make any household pet enormous what would it be? My dog is already pretty big (he sat on my throat the other day and I almost blacked out).

Favourite mythology/fairy tale etc? I don’t know if this really counts but I really love hearing ghost stories from the Disney parks. I love the contrast between the super clean, family friendly, safe image Disney prides themselves on in the parks versus the darker underbelly of the hauntings showing the not so safe and family friendly side.

If you could design a planet what colours would you choose? Every color of the rainbow, made metallic/sparkly, with a black background so they really pop.

Sentient plants or sentient machines? Machines. I’m basically vegetarian so sentient plants would be a nightmare.

Disney, Pixar or DreamWorks? Disney who also owns Pixar so I guess both of those!

Ice cream or soup? It depends on the weather and what I feel like having because I love both.

If you could live in any TV show/film/book which would you choose? Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist because I would love to know what songs are playing in my head so I can make a playlist.

Futuristic or steampunk? Steampunk. Give me corsets and top hats and all that crazy shit any day!

Space travel or time travel? Time travel because eventually, if you travel far enough into the future, you wind up in space anyway.

Superhero or sidekick? Hero. I hate being told what to do.

Favourite guilty pleasure? I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you like something just own up to it and own your truth instead of feeling like it has to be at all shameful.

Best comfort food? I live in Southern California and grew up eating a lot of asian food so my comfort foods have become Chinese takeout, sushi, thai food, and stuff like that.

Least favourite school subject? Biology. My teacher was the worst and it was so boring.

Weird quirks/actions you’ve noticed you do since rp? I don’t rp nearly often enough to have developed any quirks.

Favourite scene from any book/show and why? I have way too many but in the most recent episode of Zoey’s her powers were glitching and she was singing all her inner most thoughts out loud and that entire episode was fucking brilliant!

If you could come back as an undead being which would you choose? Vampire. I’m already basically nocturnal, I’m inhumanly pale, and I can totally get behind the aesthetic.

Rp scene that was the most difficult to film. See previous rp question.

Oddest things you’ve used to make a costume or film stand? When I was in college I had to make a ball gag out of a couple headbands and a dog toy for a student film I worked on. It was a very fun, interesting Halloween.

Favourite type of chocolate? Milk chocolate.

Do you think you’re best known for fluff, angst or crack? I haven’t actually published any of my writing yet but a lot of it is very angst-y.

Favourite hot drink? Tea. I could drink nothing but hot tea all year because there’s so many variations and flavors to suit my moods.

Outfit aesthetic you aspire for? “Is she a witch, a vampire, or a rock star. Or maybe she’s a pirate. I honestly can’t tell but I wish I was her because she is fabulous.”

Sun, moon or stars? Moon AND stars.

If you could master any five languages which would you choose? French, Irish, German, Spanish, and Italian.

Favourite place? It depends. My favorite place here in California is New Orleans Square in Disneyland. But my two favorite places to travel to are New York and New Orleans.

Something that’s bothering you at the moment? I can’t tell if I’m bored or hungry.

Favourite headcanon? Jimmy Palmer (NCIS) is openly bi but completely forgot to come out at work which is why it’s never mentioned or talked about.

Plot of a story/show you wish had been completed? I wish we had actually seen the Tiva reunion in Paris instead of just hearing about it second hand through the notes Senior had Jimmy deliver.

Favourite trope? Sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

Favourite flavour of crisps/chips? Zapp’s Spicy Cajun Crawtators.

Sweet or sour? Both

Spicy or savoury? Both again.

What would be the theme tune to your life? Monster by dodie

Favourite breakfast food? I hate breakfast.

If you could live in any historical era which would you choose? Sometime between the late 60′s (Vietnam Conflict era) and the 80′s when punk and goth were just starting out and counterculture was becoming more of a thing.

Premise of memorable childhood TV shows? I grew up watching a lot of Food Network more than actual kids tv and my favorite show was about how various sack foods are made.

If you could be any shape what shape would you be? I’m already pretty close to an hourglass shape.

If you could switch lives with any character who would it be? Breena Palmer from NCIS. I want a husband who loves me and our kid as much as Jimmy does and it would be kind of awesome to work as a mortician!

If you could switch the limb of one animal with another (e.g a spider leg to a fish tail) what would you choose? I would swap out my dog’s paws with cat paws because his nails hurt like a mother fucker when he steps on me.

If you could create a country what would you name it? Addamsland.

Do you make ny resolutions? Never have, never will.

Season you’re most looking forward to? Fall. I’m ready for Halloween.

Fish scales or reptile scales? Fish. They tend to be more metallic or holographic!

Paper or parchment? Paper because I’m not pretentious.

Paperback or ebook? Paperback. 

Warm tones or cool tones? I am painfully cool toned.

Creative subjects or analytical subjects? Subjects that require creative analysis.

Fog or snow? Fog. Give me those horror movie vibes!

Make up a premise for a TV show you’d want to see. Everyday life of a Chosen One post revolution in the style of B99 or Parks and Rec.

Any unpopular headcanons? Sam never actually got his soul back, he just got better at hiding it.

Favourite story genre? Urban fantasy. Give me magic in a big city like modern day New York and show how it seamlessly weaves into everyday life.

Trope that is most overrated in your opinion? Enemies to lovers but only if it’s done wrong like with (this is gunna piss off a lot of people) Reylo. Don’t have a girl fall in love with her abuser. If it’s done right in a way that doesn’t promote domestic abuse then I’m fine with it and sometimes even enjoy it. But it’s done wrong too often for me to ignore.

City lights or candle light? City lights. I want to bathe in neon.

Which element do you think best represents you. Fire. I can be really useful and helpful but I can very easily get out of control and destroy everything.

Opinions on valentine’s? Fucking hate it.

If you could feasibly live on one other planet, which would you choose?

Wood or marble? Wood. Marble, to me, is a little too Kardashian. I’d rather see an ornately carved wooden entrance way than one with giant marble staircases and marble pillars and the walls painted to match the marble.

Are you a spontaneous planner or an in advance planner? I like to have some idea of what I’m getting myself into but I also enjoy being able to go with the flow the day of and seeing where my moods take me.

Did you have any weird beliefs as a kid? The mirror in my bedroom was a portal to a different universe.

Any famous historical figures you think don’t deserve it? 90% of the famous white men. Like fuck Elvis and fuck the Beatles.

If you could be any plant which would you be? Mistletoe because of my red hair and my love of poison!

Any weird facts? Teeth are actually closer to calcified skin than bone.

Did you have a treehouse as a kid? No.

Rabbits or ferrets? Rabbits.

If you could switch lives with someone you know for a day, who would you choose? My dog. He does basically the same shit I do all day but he doesn’t know what’s going on so he never stresses about anything.

Opinions on nicknames? Some are fine. It depends on who gave it to you and their reason behind it. 

If you could become instantly skilled in one new skill, what would you choose? Fixing computers.

Ink wells or biros? normal pens.

If you had to switch one: fish in the sky or birds in the sea, which would you switch? Birds in the sea. 

Cheesecake or sponge cake? Both.

Weirdest deja vu moment? Last night watching TOWIE and talking with my mom.

Field of wildflowers or a forest? Forest. Weird shit happens in forests.

Nymph or merperson? Nymph.

Funniest story behind an inside joke? My freshman year of high school I was in the fall play and during my costume fitting they had me try on a dress that fit me like a second skin. The problem was they put it on me backwards so I had to rush to get it back on the right way. At the same time, one of the guys in the cast was trying to get into the wardrobe room and was pounding on the door telling us to hurry up which led to my friend, who was helping me with the dress, yelling at me to suck in my boobs (which were shockingly big for my 90 lb., 14 year old self) while twisting the dress around and another friend stopping the guy from opening the door. The whole thing gave off very B99 cold open vibes and it was great! Every time my friend saw me after that she’d yell “suck in your boobs” and we’d both die laughing, much to everyone else’s confusion!

If you could, would you choose to erase any of your memories permanently? I would erase all my memories from 9/11. Hopefully that makes me not as depressed and anxious.

@anangelamuse-castiel-spnfam I don’t know how I finished mine first because that never happens but now it’s your turn!

[multiracialmedia-blog]

Ask Lisa: Helping a Child Accept His Evolving Racial Appearance

Evolving racial appearance

Ask Lisa: Helping a Child Accept his Evolving Racial Appearance

All children change as they grow, but a multiracial kid’s evolving racial appearance can have unexpected social and emotional implications. In today’s column, a mother worries about her multiracial son’s longing for the straight, blond hair he had in early childhood and his wish to be “totally white,” like his friends.

Dear Lisa,

I’m white and have been married for nearly 24 years to a multiracial man (he is black, white, and Native American). We have two young children—a boy, 8, and a girl, 3. Our son is going through some issues with his identity when it comes to his appearance. I’ve talked to some of my mom friends, but most of them are white with white husbands and white children, and they don’t get it. They seem to think it’s the same as their kids wanting a different color hair or fewer freckles. We’ve always been open with our son about his ethnicity, and my husband’s family is beautifully diverse in appearance. Some of his brothers married Latina women and one married a woman from India. Unfortunately, we live in a rural area outside a small city and in our area, most of the people are white. We also homeschool, and most of the homeschooling families around are white, so my son has basically all white friends right now (except for his cousins whom he doesn’t see all that often).

Her Son’s Evolving Racial Appearance Makes Him Feel “Other” in his Mostly-White Environment

My son has always looked very white. He has pale skin and blue eyes and he had blond hair in the beginning but it keeps getting darker. As he gets older, it has become curlier and stands up and out rather than hanging down straight. This is bothering him a lot more than I thought it would. He wants to keep it very short, but that’s a band-aid. I want him to be happy with who he is. We talked about how Daddy’s hair grows up and out as well. He says he wants to be blond because that’s the best color, which really disturbed me when he said it. When we talked about how he is of mixed ethnicity, he said, “But my friends are totally white.”

Do you have any suggestions for ways I can help him feel more comfortable with his evolving racial appearance and his identity as a multiracial person? It’s a different challenge than I expected, simply because he is “white-passing,” but has issues around his hair, now that it’s changing.

L.J.

Dear L.J.

It’s inevitable: as humans of all descriptions grow and age, our bodies, faces, and hair undergo changes. For multiracial individuals like your son, the metamorphosis can be loaded and emotionally complex. Racially specific changes may not affect who we are inside, but they do impact how we are classified by American society: our social status, the subtle prejudices others hold against us.

Many of us have looks that fluctuate depending on our hairstyles, clothing or even the lighting in the room. Adult multiracial people like myself usually have an awareness (and a bit of a sense of humor) about how we are perceived from day to day. For example, when I lived in New York, by the end of winter, when my skin was at its lightest, people were more likely to address me in Spanish. When my hair got very long, someone asked me to explain to them about Diwali. When I wore a Star of David, the Jewish symbol, people asked if I was Ethiopian-Jewish. (I am black/African American and white/Ashkenazi Jewish.) As an adult, I am aware of the different ways I am seen. None of it surprises me or challenges the way I see myself.

Children, on the other hand, are just developing a sense of self and starting to recognize that differences between people have meaning. (E.g. Grandpa has white hair because he is old. Aunt Savita has brown skin like other people in India where she comes from.) Despite common misconceptions that young children are “colorblind,” numerous studies show that kids far younger than your son are aware of racial differences and make associations based on color.

Your son may look mostly like everyone else in your town, but he knows that part of him is different. It’s clear from your letter (and from the fact that you married your husband), that you treasure his difference, but I have a hunch your community does not. You’ve been open with your son and talked to him about his multiracial background. But where he lives, white is the norm, the ideal, and the identity he favors regardless of what you and your husband teach him.

Now, as long as your boy appears as white as he feels, his sense of belonging remains intact. (And what does it mean to feel white in a majority-white environment? It means that there is no need to consider your race or to worry about being different because you are simply regular.) Suddenly, your son’s hair is betraying his self-concept, setting him apart from his friends, which is understandably jarring to him.

You’re right to be concerned that he’s developing shame around the one piece of him that appears “of color.” His looks may continue to evolve well past puberty. My own son, now thirteen, had green eyes and light hair as a baby. His hair didn’t curl at all until he was four and his fair skin didn’t begin to tan in the summer until he was almost ten. Since we live in an area where he is surrounded by different races and looks, his evolving racial appearance never distanced him from his classmates. (Though he did once ask me to blow his long, poofy hair straight so it would “hang down.” He looked so silly, we quickly wet it and scrunched the curls up again.)

Whichever Genes Dominate, Counter the Message That Some Racial Features are Better Than Others

Your son will need support in this. While television and films are much more diverse than they used to be, there are still stereotypes and negative images associated with blackness, subliminal messages that prize whiteness and proximity to whiteness. Read books with him and take him to see films that feature children of color as protagonists. Display photos of light and dark family members, so he can see his heritage—and his hair—in photos if not around town.

Also, try to figure out why your son is feeling so bad right now. Are other children making fun of his hair? Are people saying casually racist things about your husband? Or are there gentle reminders that your husband’s racial background is less desirable than yours and your neighbors? Your son may have overheard a seemingly-innocuous comment such as, “Except for his hair, you can’t even tell …” as if African Ancestry were something to be minimized.

While your town may seem polite and welcoming, your son doesn’t see his full identity reflected there and believes he would be better off blond. Your husband’s diverse extended family might be a wonderful antidote. Is it possible for your son to see his cousins, aunts and uncles more often? I think having a chance to enjoy his family’s vibrant diversity might go a long way in countering his shame in not being white. Even more importantly, enlist your husband’s help. Encourage him to teach your son all about his various ethnicities. Most of all, have daddy teach your son how to care for his hair and bond with him over its wonderful, “up-and-out-growing” uniqueness. With an appreciation of his rich, cultural background, your son may soon begin to regard his evolving racial appearance with pride and acceptance.

Ask Lisa: Helping a Child Accept His Evolving Racial Appearance if you want to check out other voices of the Multiracial Community click here Multiracial Media

[melalot]

Confused Pt 1 [Rewritten]

I rewrote this chapter, and a lot did change! The beginning not so much, but the reason in the rewrite was that I thought I could write this better? And I left out a bunch of things that I felt like were needed in the story. I'm sorry for the long wait, but hopefully, I can get the last chapter out soon! Feedback is always appreciated!

Ao3 link

8 Years Old Lance was having recess outside in the school playground when he saw a group of kids circling around this boy. He noticed how all of the students seemed very interested in what one of his classmates had to say with the way their heads would lean in closer to the sound of his voice, and the way their eyes never left the boys face. He had never seen so many kids listen to someone this way, not even the teachers. Curiosity got the best of him so he trotted his way over to see what was getting everyone’s attention. When he got close enough to listen, the boy said, "And they told me they were gay!" Lance thought to himself. Gay? What does that mean? As if someone had read his mind, another kid asked, "What is that? What does gay mean?" The boy who was sharing this new word look at his classmate and began to explain. "It's when two boys date, like a girl and a boy, do. But my mom told me it wasn't normal and that it wasn't okay." Everyone's eyes went wide, they had never heard about two boys dating. Lance had never heard of this either, he doesn't even think much of dating, he's only 8. Before the conversation could continue the teachers started calling out to the students meaning that recess was over and instruction time was going to start again. As Lance started getting in alphabet order to line up for class, he couldn't help but think about what he just heard. It isn't natural the boy had said. It's not okay, the boys' words repeated in his head. And Lance thought to himself, why is it not? 

xxxxxxxx 12 Years Old Lance was in 6th grade now. While all the other kids went to a regular middle school, he went to attend the Galaxy Garrison. Lance had always dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot and flying a spaceship to Mars. He got lucky enough to get into the Garrison. But, even though it was a school to prepare you to go up into Space, you still had to take the same curriculum you would normally take in a typical school. And honestly, Lance appreciated that. He needed something that grounded him to normality. He needed to be busy with work that wouldn’t be about the same thing constantly and that wouldn’t bore him to death. He had to feel like he could fit in with those that were outside of this small cramped up facility. He wanted to know about more than just Space. He wanted to endure the same struggles the people outside of the Garrison would. He didn’t want to be different. Things seemed to be going how Lance had hoped for with things being normal.

On his first day of attending the Garrison Lance had laid his eyes on this girl with shiny, short black hair and glimmering emerald eyes. His heart thumped rapidly, and suddenly he lost focus of his surroundings. This girl was cute. Lance wanted to talk to her but, the bell had rung before he could have a chance. Lance thought about what his older brother Marco had told him before he started school. He said something about him entering the age of girls and crushes and that eventually, he is going to fall for one. And being Marco, he gave him some flirting tips, and how to win a girl over. Lance didn’t think much of it at first. He thought Marco was crazy. But, then his family had chimed in and said how he must prepare. Then he thought, that maybe it wasn’t so crazy, and they were truly trying to help.

But other than his crush on Jenny, Lance had encountered bigger problems.

By that he means puberty.

And he just learned how puberty is a real bitch. Recently Lance had gone to the beach with a couple of his new friends from the Garrison. Lance had always been a social guy, he always had friends. So going out to the beach wasn’t anything new to him.

What was new to him, was this new feeling.

When his friends had hit the sand, Lance had followed behind them. They were all so eager to get in the water to cool down from the nasty heat.

He slid off his shoes and started to peel his shirt off but, something had stopped him.

Right in front of him were his friends. They were shirtless. And Lance didn’t really know why, but he started to stare. Something about seeing a bunch of guys with their shirts off and the sun hitting their skin making it glisten had set something off in Lance, and he didn’t exactly know why, other than the fact that his trunks felt really uncomfortable now.

He snapped out of his thoughts and removed his shirt while turning himself around at the same time, trying to not face the direction his friends were in. He didn’t want them to see the visible hard on going on in his shorts, so he tried to distract himself with setting up the food and towels until his boner went down.

He didn’t know why he reacted that way. He had always seen guys shirtless, what was new about it now?

Lance decided to blame it on puberty and hormones for making his body react in such a hormonal way. He felt better placing the blame on something else.

xxxxxxxx Ever since that incident at the beach, Lance dreaded the times they would have to change in the locker room. He would try not to look at other guys and became rather uncomfortable with himself yet, he found himself scared. He feared that someone would catch him staring at the other guys and that he wouldn’t recover from it fast enough. So, Lance had found a solution which was to often look at the ground and at his own shoes instead of focusing on the others. Lance was finishing up the knot of his shoelaces when he felt someone slide themselves on the bench and next to him. He stopped the movement of his fingers and looked up to see who it was. He recognized him as Tim from his algebra class. They had talked a couple of times but, not much, they usually had minimal conversations when training since they had known each other in a different class. He tried for a smile. “Hey Tim, what’s up?” Tim grinned back, but it quickly faltered as his smile had become rather uncomfortable. “Hey Lance, I just wanted to ask you about something.” “Sure, what is it?” Lance asked. Tim’s eyes looked across and he pointed at a boy with black hair and pale skin, though Lance could only see him from the back and couldn’t really tell who it was. “Doesn’t it make you kind of uncomfortable?” Lance’s eyebrows drew together as he really didn’t understand what this guy was getting at. “What would?” Tim cleared his throat and looked around awkwardly, “You know…He’s gay and he is in the boy's locker room, doesn’t it make you think he might try something?” Oh my God. Oh my god. Lance couldn’t believe he was hearing this. Hearing it on the news and seeing it in articles was one thing, but experiencing it in person made Lance sick to his stomach. How could someone be so inconsiderate and insensitive? This was exactly why Lance faced his shoes when he was in the locker room. Because of people like him. He wanted to tell the kid he is wrong for thinking that, and that he should mind his own business. But, he felt like something was preventing him, and he didn’t know what. So instead he just looked at the boy and back at Tim. “Nah, chill dude, just mind your own business and ignore him and nothing will happen.” Lance finished tying his shoes and rushed over to the track field, angry with that kid, and angry at himself for not saying how he truly felt. He didn’t know why he felt so angry. Maybe it was on behalf of that boy. However, what he did know now was that he didn’t want to deal with that bullshit. xxxxxxxx 13-14 Years Old It was that time in the school year where kids would have to strengthen their skills on argumentative essays.  All the students in Lance’s class would have to think of a topic they could argue about, then they would turn it into the teacher in a sticky note. Lance being Lance had procrastinated when he was given this assignment about two weeks ago. He was down to limited time and had to find a topic fast since it was due the following day.

When he arrived at his dorm room, he saw how his roommate wasn’t there. Which he was thankful for, he didn’t want any distractions. So he pulled out his laptop and began searching topics on google. It was when he came across the LGBT section that something drew him in. He looked to both sides of his room and checked the hallway to make sure no one was around. Once it was clear that no one was around, he proceeded to do his search. Doing this made Lance think back to the times he would watch YouTube videos of LGBT people. He liked learning about what they were going through and wanted to have somewhat of an understanding of what they go went through so that maybe one day if someone needed it, He could be that someone that could empathize with them. But doing this also reminded Lance of how he would have multiple tabs open to switch around in case one of his parents or siblings happened to peek at his screen. Since his family mainly knew Spanish, they couldn’t really read what he was doing. But seeing something on a screen? They probably would know what he was doing. Lance hated that he felt like he was doing something wrong, and he was ashamed of it. It’s not that Lance was afraid of his family seeing this. He knew his family was perfectly accepting of everyone. But he couldn’t help but be scared about those few family members that seemed uncomfortable of the idea. He also didn’t want to give them the wrong idea that their son could be gay when he wasn’t. Thinking back on this made Lance realize that maybe he shouldn’t do his topic on gay rights. So he exited the page and looked for a different topic. xxxxxxx Space Over the course of a couple of years, Lance had gone through the most whirlwind of emotions he had ever experienced in his life.

Finding out about aliens and about this intergalactic war was crazy. But, seeing five mechanical lions that could form into this gigantic robot killing thing was even crazier.

What had put the cherry on the top of that sundae was the fact that four other teenagers, including himself, would become the pilots, or paladins as they Alteans liked to say, of this so-called “Voltron.”

It had taken a while to get used to being in Space, and fighting off Aliens but, it wasn’t an experience he regretted.

Even though he was homesick a majority of the time, and felt pretty lost. He found out some really cool things about himself. Like how he was a great sniper, how adaptable he became to his surroundings. How he became a much better pilot after flying two lions.

Even with all the good experiences, bad ones came too.

Being without his family had made Lance really lonely. He didn’t have his Mom’s food, didn’t have his siblings to annoy him. He couldn’t play around with his nieces, be the best Uncle he promised them to be.

He just felt so empty.

His time in Space had opened a new door of insecurities and anxiety Lance had begun to feel along with confusion.

He was always confused these days.

Lance couldn’t find an explanation as to why. He spent a lot of the days in his room staring up at the ceiling, stuffing his head in a pillow, changing his position in bed from left to right trying to figure out what exactly he was feeling.

Allura was one of the leads to his confusion.

Picking up Allura from the cryo-pod she was about to fall off of was the start of a long painful journey for Lance. He thought her multi-colored electric blue eyes were gorgeous. Her chestnut skin glowed, and her light pink v marks that were on the lower corners of her eyes, but just right above her cheekbones were definitely not human. But they were out of this world for sure.

She was pretty, it wasn’t deniable. At first, this had turned into infatuation. She was a Princess, but, the more Lance got to know her, the more he started to admire how much of a brave and selfless she was. How determined she was to fight, to end this war, how she stood up for peace.

This ultimately ended in Lance falling for Allura. Something that had formed from careless flirting, and pick up lines had started to turn into feelings. And quite honestly, Lance was scared. Sure he wanted the princess to notice him, but he wasn’t ready for the emotional stress of his feelings.

Cause who was he kidding? Once Lotor came around, he saw Allura’s type. Her type was a diplomatic Prince. And Lance? He wasn’t a Prince. So from that point on, Lance had decided to try and get rid of his feelings. To focus on his missions.

To focus on his missions.

Just focus on your missions. Things will work themselves out.

This was just another thing that had piled onto his conflicting emotions. And he really didn’t know why.

It was Keith for fuck sake.

He didn’t exactly know what it was about Keith that made his brain split into two whenever he saw him or thought about him. All he knew is that it wouldn’t stop.

Back at the Garrison, Lance admired Keith.

Even though he tried to play it off as a rivalry, he just didn’t want to be one of those annoying people that would suck up and idolize. It just wasn’t his thing.

Playing things off as a rivalry, made Lance feel like he could strive harder to try and get to Keith’s level. It made him more competitive, it required more communication with Keith. Communication was what Lance wanted with Keith.

But, it’s not like he was anywhere near Keith’s level anyway.

Despite their constant bickering, Lance liked hanging out with Keith. He liked being around him. Even though he would always say otherwise, he truly thinks Keith could be a good friend of his.

And once Lance had tried to throw away that whole rivalry bullshit and tried to be more open to Keith. Well to say the least.

He left.

And Lance didn’t know why, but when Keith brought up about the Blade of Marmora missions, Lance couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss and guilt.

When he told Keith he was going to miss him. It took him by surprise, but he knew that he somehow meant it. In this weird way, he really was going to miss making fun of Keith.

He was going to miss his impulsiveness.

His bravery.

Fighting alongside him.

His stupid voice.

His stupid mullet.

Lance couldn’t really pinpoint why he felt like this. Why he felt a void when Keith left. Why he felt so isolated and lonelier than usual with him missing. Why he felt this ache in his chest and why all the energy was sucked out of him. Why he felt so giddy whenever he heard updates about Keith from Kolivan, and how upset he got when the call would end. Why everytime he thought of Keith, guilt washed over him as he wished he could have made more out of the time they had together.

Lance only started to figure out the why’s when Keith first came back to the team. He felt so elated, so happy, so relieved to see him. Yeah Keith pushed him aside, and it hurt, but he knew there was a mission they had to focus on.

And having Keith back had made Lance feel more focused on his missions than he did prior. He didn’t feel that void anymore. His Team Leader needed him to be his right hand. He felt, completed again.

He completely figured it out after the events of the game show. Bob was an asshole but, that thing he said about Keith, he didn’t realize how much he really meant it.

He’s our leader, plus he’s half-Galra, so I think he’s, like, the future.

He was being careless at that moment, but coming to the big realization now, felt like a bucket of ice cold water was poured over him.

Those voices had started to come back again. Those voices that had haunted him since he was a kid was starting to swallow him up again. He had just gotten rid of them, and now they’re back. And it terrified Lance.

How would he get them out now?

He looked at his surroundings. He was in the Red Lion’s cockpit. No one was there. All he could hear was Space.

He was going back home.

Why were these thoughts coming back now? Why when he was supposed to be happy about finally going home?

Why was he feeling this way?

He grabbed his pillow and silently cried. Trying to get them out of his head like he always did.

xxxxxxxx Present

Fighting the war with how he felt wasn’t easy. But, he somehow managed to pull through and make it out alive. He was finally home, he was with his family. He can be free from all trauma. He can now live his life on Earth as a normal individual.

Except the voices didn’t stop.

Every day, Lance would see Keith at the Garrison and aboard the Atlas. Every day, those stupid thoughts would drive him crazy.

Multiple times, he had been poked by one of his friends that had tried to jar him out of what seemed like a never-ending tunnel of taunting voices.

He had enough.

Lance knew exactly who he should go to. He knew that this person would try to make some sense out of his complex feelings.

That’s why he was going to Shiro.

xxxxxxxx

Lance had felt anxious, to say the least, standing in front of Shiro’s doorway. He would bring his hand up on the door then immediately bring it back down. He paced around, trying to find the courage to just knock, until he finally said, fuck it. Before he could second-guess it any other, he knocked on the door. The door opened and Shiro’s silver eyes widened in surprise. His white hair was disheveled and Lance could see those permanent bags that had formed from all the stress and PTSD he had to endure all these years. But somehow, Shiro was able to maintain a welcoming smile.“Lance? What brings you here?” Lance looked at him nervously but gave him an awkward smile. “Hey Shiro, I hope you’re doing good and that you aren’t busy. I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?” Shiro’s eyebrows quirked up but he still welcomed Lance inside. Lance sat down on the couch while Shiro went over to his freestanding hot-cold water and filled two paper cups up. Shiro then set it down on the counter and sat down on the seat across from Lance and took a sip. “So, what did you want to talk about?” Lance felt every nerve flare up. He suddenly felt his leg bob up and down, but he tried not to concentrate on it. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, and tried to level his breathing.

Why was this so hard? He came here for help, and now he suddenly can’t speak. “Lance?” Shiro looked at him worriedly. He placed his hand on Lance’s and Lance became hyper-aware of the touch. Like it was the only thing grounding him at this second.

“I’m sorry for acting weird,” Lance started. “I just don’t know how to really say this.”

Shiro removed his hand and he folded them, nodding in understanding. “So how about we start with this. If what you want to tell me is really hard to say, then try to describe it in another sense.”

Lance thought for a moment, then he knew how he could say it.

“Ever since I was a kid, I had always grown up confused. I thought as I got older, that maybe I wouldn’t really feel confused anymore. That maybe, one day everything would make sense.” Lance fiddled around with his hands nervously and took another breath. “But everything has always just gotten even more confusing, and I really just feel frustrated, it’s driving me nuts Shiro. Why can’t it stop?”

“Why can’t what stop Lance?”

He shook his head in frustration, “These feelings! This confusion I just never know what’s real, or why I always feel so confused. Why are my feelings so twisted? I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Shiro stood up and sat by Lance, placing his arm on his shoulder. “What type of feelings are we talking about here?”

Lance looked down at the floor. “Romantic I guess?”

“For Allura?” Shiro questioned.

Lance felt himself shrink. “No..”

This seemed to surprise Shiro, “Well is it Pidge-”

“What if it's for a guy?” Lance said cutting him off.

“Oh Lance,” Shiro said. “If you have feelings for a guy, then that’s okay. You want advice on how to act around a guy or-”

“No, Shiro, I-” Lance threw his hands exasperated not really knowing how to say it. “This isn’t normal for me Shiro, me feeling this way for guys. It’s just not- I don’t know.”

For a moment it was quiet and Lance could only hear the sound of footsteps from outside Shiro’s dorm. Shiro didn’t speak for a while like he didn’t know what to say. But then he cleared his throat.

“Are you afraid of your feelings?” he asked.

Lance looked up at him to meet his eyes, but then he looked down again, not finding the strength to keep a hold of the eye contact.

“Yeah,” he said. Though it was barely a whisper.

“How come?”

Lance stood up, finding himself not able to sit around anymore and he paced around the room frantically. “Because I’ve always liked girls Shiro. Liking a guy, it’s just weird. Like, why do I have to like guys? Why couldn’t I just bury these thoughts down any longer? Why can’t I keep them away? Why me Shiro?” Lance sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Do you have anything against gays or-”

“No!” Lance squeaked. “Absolutely not! Sorry if I gave off that impression, trust me, I’m not. I’ve always been accepting of others and have supported those rights and literally thrive off of how happy people are when they are in love, with whoever it is. I just, I don’t know okay?”

Shiro grabbed his cup again, “So about these voices, I think you should tell me more about them. What do they say?”

Lance sat back down in the chair Shiro was previously sitting on. “Well, I’ve had these voices since I was a kid, though why they come? I don’t have a clue. They literally like to mess around with me. I actually think I’m going insane a majority of the time.”

Shiro set his cup down. “What do they say?”

“They tell me I’m gay or something, or that I like guys. And I always try to reassure myself that I don’t, that it is just my hormones, that I actually don’t like guys. And they do go away, but they always seem to come back, and now its stronger than ever.”

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You want to hear my honest opinion?”

“Please..” Lance pleaded.

“Lance, I think you’re in denial. I’d say you’re bisexual, but you don’t want to accept it for some reason.”

Lance felt a knot in his throat, and a heavy weight on his chest. He felt tears starting to sting his eyes and he felt so closed up. “That’s the answer I was afraid of.”

“Why?” Shiro asked.

A tear fell out and Lance wiped it away. “Don’t you see Shiro? How people get treated for being different? Just because of who they love? I don’t want to be one of those people Shiro.”

“Lance..” Shiro began. “You know sexuality isn’t a choice right?”

“Of course.” he sniffled.

“Then why do you think you can choose what happens to you in life? You don’t control it. You never can. The same way you can’t help what happens to you in life is the same way you can’t help how you feel over someone. It’s not choice, it's a part of you.”

Lance tried to look up and instantly regretted it. The tears he had been fighting back had spilled over and started to sob. He cried and cried until he felt strong arms embrace him.

“Why can’t I just accept myself Shiro?” he choked on his sobs. “Why can’t I be happy with who I am and be accepting of my feelings. The world isn’t so bad now, why can’t I just be myself? I never thought I would have to go through this but-” more sobs. “I-I just feel so alone, and I’m tired of fighting with my brain, I can’t ever win.”

Shiro rubbed circles on Lance’s back and kept a hold of his embrace. “Shh, Lance, you aren’t alone. I understand why this can be hard for you, you’ve been scared your whole life of being different. But, being different is a beautiful thing,” he said. “I think life would work out better for you if you just learned to accept things and stopped fighting your brain. You can’t help who you are, and really? You just need to let yourself feel for once.”

Let yourself feel.

Lance didn’t think he could cry any more than he already has, but he was wrong.

He suddenly remembered why he considered Shiro his hero when he was younger. Shiro owned up to who he was every day. He wasn’t afraid to love who had been Adam back then publically, and he didn’t let anyone get in his way. He lived his by every day, spreading love. Something Lance thought he would never have the strength to do if he was in Shiro’s shoes.

He latched onto Shiro, afraid to let go of what seemed so safe. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Shiro patted his back. There was silence but, it wasn’t awkward. It was needed. Then Shiro pulled back and placed both of his hands on Lance’s shoulders.

“So if you don’t mind,” he said making Lance’s eyebrow go up in question. “Who’s this guy that’s changing things for you?”