#I’m debating whether I should get orange or silver… Maybe silver actually

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Actually scratch the wobble stool; they’re too expensive. Instead, consider: yoga ball.

[holy-hyuck]

Our Maybes

It’s 3am, you can’t sleep, and Yeonjun can’t get you out of his head.

Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Swearing

link to my masterlist -> please be aware that this content is 100% mine and you are not to distribute it or take it without my consent

let me know what you think! 😊

Your eyes shut close, and open a minute after - it feels like that, at least, but the time on your phone tells you it’s been two hours. It doesn’t matter anyway because by seven you’ll feel tired again, and your 8am class won’t let you get any sleep.

It takes a minute but eventually, your eyes adjust to the dark and you stare at your door a little longer. Perhaps you could will yourself back to sleep.

Nah, who are you kidding?

Throwing the covers off, you put on your slippers and the bright orange hoodie haphazardly thrown on the floor the night before. As your feet drag across the carpeted floor, you notice how silent the house in. You can hear everything; your own thoughts, for once, the ticking of the clock, a dog barking outside, Changbin’s snoring, and...glass breaking? Someone cursing?

Who on earth is up at half-past three in the morning? Oh, right. You.

The stairs creak ever so slightly as you descent down them, praying you won’t trip in the darkness, but the floor and the walls are brighter than usual. Then, you notice the light coming from the kitchen and some shuffling, the crispiness of glass breaking underneath a heavy object.

“Fuck.” You hear someone mutter and take a peek into the room. It’s Yeonjun, still in yesterday’s clothes, hitting the plastic edge of the dustpan against the bin, emptying it out. You’re grateful you put on slippers - Yeonjun can’t sweep to save his life.

You watch him chuck the brush and the dustpan into the cupboard below the sink and close it with a slam, startling himself. You let out a giggle and he turns around, only spotting you now, leaning your hand against the wall.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He scratches the back of his neck and smiles at you sheepishly.

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” You walk up to the kitchen island and hop on the marble. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. I have a test to study for. You too?”

“Something like that,” you answer, then thank him with a nod for the glass of water he slides your way. You watch him take a sip before staring off into space.

You’ve always found Yeonjun attractive, ever since the first day of university when he helped you carry your things into your room, his hair a dark brown colour. A month later, it was silver, and before Easter, a navy blue. Now, he’s sporting a platinum blond colour, but it doesn’t really matter if he has the rainbow on his head or if he’s completely bald - his visuals are out of this world either way.

Your drop your gaze before he has a chance to catch you staring, and play with the strings on your pyjama shorts. You wrap them around your finger, then release, over and over until Yeonjun coughs and you will yourself to look up at him. He gives you a smile you can’t help but reciprocate; he has that effect on you sometimes.

“Hey, put on some shoes. I’m gonna take you somewhere,” he tells you, dropping the glass into the sink rather harshly and running to get his coat and shoes on.

“What?” You’re perplexed but don’t have time to protest, for Yeonjun is nowhere around to hear it. With a sigh, you hop off the kitchen island and do as you’re told, debating whether you should put on some pants but disregarding the idea when Yeonjun’s bright smile meets your expression, and all you can think is how much you want to make him smile like that again.

“Let’s go.” He grabs your hand, grabs his keys, and locks the door of your shared apartment behind him.

The air outside is still, and again, you can hear everything. You can feel everything. The city is asleep, but everything is so alive as you’re trudging through the small streets of your equally small town, side by side.

“I thought you had a test to study for,” you finally say.

Yeonjun releases a ghost of a laugh. It’s warm, like the air around you. “It’s only ten minutes from our house. I promise you’ll like it. Maybe it’ll help you sleep better.”

You nod, though he can’t see you because he’s looking from left to right to cross the street, grabbing your hand and making you follow him as he crosses the road. You don’t know why he looked both ways, or why he wants you to be safe - the city’s sleeping, much like you should be. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.

“Here.”

“Where is here?”

You look around, and all you see are rows of houses, lined up like dominoes. You’re standing in front of a tall gate, the blue paint old and chipping away with every harsh wind and icy winter, and it’s not long, you think, before it falls apart.

“Come on.” You watch as he climbs up the fence, the swaying of the metal making your heart skip a beat as it moves one with his body, and then he jumps off at the other end, leaving you amazed at his agility.

“I’ll catch you if you need me to.”

He motions for you to do the same, and though with hesitation, you grip the metal, surprised by its warmth, and follow his actions. He doesn’t catch you when you jump off to join him; he doesn’t have to, for you do so with ease, but you want him to. Maybe you just want an excuse for him to hold you.

You follow him up some creaky stairs, ending up on a roof of an abandoned warehouse. It’s almost entirely flat, aside from the raised edges preventing your fall, and a gradual slope in the middle, its top flat as well. It’s big enough to room one, perhaps two people.

Yeonjun’s quick to hop on the top, his long legs helping him up the slope. It’s a bizzare structure for a roof, but perhaps that’s why Yeonjun likes it so much; he can sit here and watch every sunset and sunrise, colours seeping into each other like on an abstract painting.

You don’t follow right away, opting to lean back and watch the city, but he reaches out with his leg and nudges you with it, forcing you to go up and join him. He holds your hand until you’re safely next to him, and you’re quick to jerk it away, afraid he’ll notice the sweat coating your palm. It’s his fault for making you so nervous.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He grabs your attention with his words and you nod in agreement. “You should come up here at sunset. It’s even better.”

Again, you nod and stare forward. The city shines, mimicking the stars in the sky, and it’s funny how the first thing you think of is light pollution.

You like the town the way it is; small, quiet, homely, but your heart races thinking of the wildness you could experience just the next town over, a city of life and bright lights, where the night never ends, and the sun never comes up.

Yeonjun coughs again and you wonder if he has a cold, looking at him quizzically.

“So...” He gives you a smile.

“So...” you repeat, furrowing your brows. Why is he acting so weird? “Don’t you have an exam to study for? What are we actually doing here, Yeonjun?”

“Yeah, about that...” He scratches the back of his neck, letting his legs hang over the edge, bringing his hands together. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“We’re talking.”

Your reply makes a frown appear on his face but you laugh it off, and so does he, only after a pause.

“Go on then.”

You look ahead, closing your eyes as you enjoy the gentle breeze of summer on your skin. This is what content feels like. The hot and humid weather gets to you sometimes but you love summer nights; there’s something in them that brings you back to when you were ten, careless and free, like the wind that blows in all four directions without caring what or who it stumbles upon, unable to be controlled.

Suddenly, you feel extra warmth on the skin of your left hand and look to Yeonjun’s hand holding yours. Before you have time to question the action, he speaks up.

“Listen, I-I like you. I’ve honestly liked you since I met you; you were so cute struggling with all those boxes, and then I told you should have taken a suitcase instead, like the others. You remember what you said? That you’re not like the others-”

“-that apparently I’m stupider. Yeah.” You laugh, recalling the memory. Really, you procrastinated buying a suitcase large enough to fit all your years of unhealthy hoarding, and forgot your family were taking theirs on vacation, and you couldn’t be late for your first day at university, now, could you?

“Yeah.” He sighs. “And I was so glad I decided to live on campus. And then Yeri found out about my crush and told me to confess, and I swear I was so ready until your crush on Hyunjae came out and-”

“Ugh.” You make a face and Yeonjun burst out laughing. “Don’t remind me. How could I ever have a crush on someone so self-absorbed?”

“Beats me.” His words make you laugh. After a pause, and much debating inside his head, he speaks up again, “Summer came and I thought I could let go of this crush, but we both just had to decide to come back for the summer.”

He turns you towards him, and you don’t have it in you to push away as he grabs both your hands into his, holding them in front of his chest. “I never let go of you. And I don’t really want to. Maybe I’m crazy, and this will never work out, not in a million years. But I’m also the guy who ignores all the signs of balding, like the clumps of hair after I shower, and continues dying his here like my life depends on it, and I’m still going to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

“Woah there,” you vomit out the words, an action fueled by your twisting stomach, the butterflies’ wings tangled up, unable to escape. “Shouldn’t you ask me on a date first?”

Yeonjun furrows his brows, tilting his head to the side. “Would you say yes?”

You shrug in response, teasing the boy. “I don’t know. If you make it worth my time.”

“You little-” He lunges at you, his hands slipping underneath your jumper, fingers dancing on your skin. The tickling causes your body to jerk backwards, yelling for the heavens to hear, until you’re almost falling off the edge and let out a shriek.

Yeonjun has quick reflexes, though, and catches you, holding you so close to him you feel the rise and fall of his chest. He looks from your eyes to your lips, to his hands holding your shoulders.

“Don’t tell me you planned this,” you breathe out, mixing your breath with his in the stillness of the air.

He shrugs in response, and you expect a small smile on his face, but there’s nothing, not even a trace; his expression is unreadable.

You sigh, detaching yourself from him, then shifting so it’s comfortable for you to lay your head on his chest. You feel his heartbeat - erratic and uneven - as it’s thumping against your ear, and your hands clutch his shirt. His are holding you close like you’re still slipping over the edge, and his lips sigh against your hair.

“We should probably go,” you mumble, “before the sun rises and everyone notices we’re missing.”

“Let them notice. I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

You smile. “Then neither am I.”

[evalinkatrineberg]

Practice Prompt 3

There was no break in the activity when we all finally arrived at the palace. The moment the limousine parked and we all stepped out, we were ushered inside by a group of palace staff. As they hurried us through the corridors, they pointed out some of the rooms, such as the Grand Ballroom, as places we would need to know in the future, but beyond that, there was little to no conversation until we arrived at a different ballroom, where we were told makeovers would be happening.

Ah, makeovers. I had almost forgotten about that.

It had been mentioned in the weeks leading up to my arrival here. There had been a tailor from the palace who had come to my house, and measured me for my new wardrobe. He hadn’t been unkind, but it was clear from the wince on his face when he first saw me as I opened the front door for him that he believed he had his work cut out for him. Though, maybe that was because I had been wearing only athletic shorts and a sports bra when he had arrived. Not exactly the wardrobe expected of a Three, but I hadn’t been planning on leaving the house that day, so I hadn’t gotten dressed up.

While he had measured me, Lydia had given him an exhaustive list of colors that looked good on me, and those that I absolutely could not pull off. Any shades of blue were good, along with dark shades of red, and pale pinks. Black was a classic, of course. No white or silver - they washed me out. Pale yellows and dark greens were okay, but not ideal. Absolutely no purple or orange - I just couldn’t look good in those colors, according to Lydia. The tailor had just nodded, continuing to take measurements without any further indication that he had heard what my sister was saying.

I wondered if he had actually taken her advice into consideration.

“And Lady Evalin can go to station seven!”

At the sound of my name, I perked up. A young woman with long brown hair, who appeared to be running the show, pointed towards a hair station in the back right corner of the ballroom. Before I could even acknowledge that I had heard her, some of the palace staff nudged me along, their chattering lost in the din of voices that filled the room, roaring like an ocean in my ears. Was this flurry of activity what I should expect of life from here on out?

I was used to low-level chaos, sure. Life was always busy when you had a big family. This, however, was on a whole different level. It was almost as if I now had thirty-four siblings instead of just four, and we were all getting ready for the same formal event. Except, we also had to compete against each other at this formal event.

Maybe Lukas had been right, all those weeks ago. Maybe I was in way over my head. Given what had occurred yesterday, though, I was tempted to argue that he wasn’t one to talk. He was certainly in way over his head, whether he knew it or not.

“Well, who do we have here?”

The stylist standing behind the chair was a man with the palest blonde hair I had ever seen, offering me a broad smile that stretched from ear to ear as I came closer. He looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties. There were no wrinkles on his face, and there was a hint of kindness in his brown eyes.

“Evalin,” I answered as the palace staff who had walked me over gestured for me to sit down in the chair.

The stylist place an apron around my shoulders before he began to give me his spiel. “Well, Lady Evalin, first things first, we’re going to need to get some before pictures for the special makeover program they’ll be doing on the Report on Wednesday.” With that, he motioned a photographer over to us.

The photographer immediately started snapping pictures of my hair, face, and nails. I could only imagine how worse for the wear I looked. It had been a long day of travel, and after losing sleep over my fights with Proctor and Lukas the night before I had left, I was positive that the bags under my eyes had to be huge.

And I couldn’t even joke that the bags under my eyes were designer yet.

My nails, at least, looked decent. I always did my best to keep them clean and trim, though I only ever used neutral polish shades. Accidentally smudging beige polish was a lot less noticeable than smudging brighter colors like red or purple, and I was certainly no artist.

My hair was another story. I could only imagine the havoc the humidity and wind had wreaked on my curls.

After a few more shots and some polite smiles, the stylists were off, moving over to their next victim. The moment they left, the stylist came to stand in front of me, placing his hands on his hips and asking, “So, what are you thinking for your makeover?”

I let out a nervous laugh, a tad unsure of how to respond. After a split second of internal debate, I decided that honesty was the best policy. “I’ve never really been into fashion or style, so I’m a bit out of my element here.” He frowned, but I continued. “You look like you really know what you’re doing, so if it’s okay, I’d like to hear what you’re thinking.”

Success. He smiled. “Well,” he began, moving over to a cart on my right, and beginning to rustle around through some of his supplies, “I have a few ideas of where this could go. First things first, though, we’ve got to ditch the glasses.”

I blinked, frowning. Was this a ploy of some sort? “But then I won’t be able to see.”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “We’ve already had contact lenses made to your prescription.” With that, he leaned over, removing my glasses from my face and placing them on the rolling cart to my right. There was a white box with two raised bumps in his hand, though it instantly became blurry when my glasses were gone. I already missed their weight on my face.

“Lean your head back,” he instructed, a slight popping sound ensuing from the box in his hand. “I need you to keep your eyes open. This is going to feel weird at first, but you’ll get used to it. Your maids should be able to help you with getting them in and out until you get the hang of it.”

Oh, that was right. I was going to have maids.

We had never really had maids at home. Not that we couldn’t afford one, which was a fact my father often pointed out, but rather because my mother point-blank refused to hire one. She’d always insisted that our house wasn’t that big that we needed another set of hands to help with chores. She was adamant that us kids should learn how to do basic tasks, like washing dishes and doing laundry, for ourselves, anyway. I had always kind of wondered if her strong opinions on the matter had to do with her growing up in a lower caste, but I had always been too afraid to ask. The only time she did relent on letting other people outside of our family help with household tasks were in the few weeks after her father had passed away, when she had listened to my father’s wishes, and allowed a crew of cleaning ladies in to handle the vacuuming and the sweeping. I had never seen our home as shiny and sparkling as it had been those few weeks, but as soon as my mother was feeling like herself again, the cleaning crew had stopped coming, and we had been given the task of cleaning up after ourselves once again.

It was hard not to flinch as the stylist poked at my eyeball with one of his fingers, pulling the skin around my eyes back with his other hand. As soon as he had removed his hands, he said, “Good. Now blink.” I did, and he repeated the process for my other eye.

My stomach rolled as I leaned my head forward again, blinking a few times at the room around me. Something about seeing without having heavy frames on my face felt fundamentally wrong. I had been wearing glasses for nearly a decade now. It almost felt like a part of me was missing.

Stop being dramatic, I reprimanded myself. Suck it up, and get used to it.

“Now,” the stylist began, jumping into my line of vision once again, “on to your hair!”

I winced, wondering how much of my hair was just a puff ball on the back of my head at this point.

To his credit, the stylist only laughed at my reaction. “I could see this going two ways. Your hair, while primarily blonde, definitely has some red highlights in it. We could play that up, make you more of a strawberry blonde. Or, we could make you a little blonder! We could add some blonde highlights, and make your hair a little more gold in color, that way it would catch the light nicely.”

I sucked on a tooth, considering the options for a split second before making my decision. “Go for the blonde. I don’t think I have enough spunk to pull off a full head of red hair.”

“Fair enough.” He adjusted the apron around my shoulders, and then added. “We will need to chop some of this off, though.”

I could feel the color drain from my face as I asked, “How much?”

I had never in my life had short hair. What if I look horrible with it? I mean, sure, it would grow back, but not before I met the prince.

“Not too much,” he replied. “Just like, maybe up to your collarbones?”

“Won’t my hair get curlier then? Without the extra hair weighing it down?” That had always been the main reason my mother had stopped me from having my hair cut short in the past.

The stylist seemed to consider it for a moment, and then said, “We’ll cut it to just below your collarbones then, to play it safe.”

With that, he got to work, first separating my hair into different sections, and then taking smaller sections of my hair, and rubbing a brush dipped in something that looked like paint over those sections. Once that was completed, he wrapped the section in a foil, and moved on to the next one. After doing that a few times, he waved some other people over to help him.

I winced once I realized what was happening. “Sorry, I have a lot of hair!”

“That’s not your fault,” he responded, laughing.

One of the stylists he had called over to him added, “I wish I had this much hair.”

Even with the additional sets of hands, the process seemed to drag on for ages. Once they were eventually done, the stylist wheeled over a machine that looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. “This will help the color set faster,” was all he said, before turning the machine on.

The machine was hands-down the worst part of the day so far. I couldn’t tell whether the odor I was smelling was simply coming from the chemicals in my hair, or if something was burning, but whatever it was, it did nothing to help my already uneasy stomach.

As I sat there, a group of women came over, apparently to get started on my nails. The woman who seemed to be at the head of the group, a brunette with a soft face and cold hands, examined both my fingernails and my toenails before asking, “What do you think about a pale blue?”

I shrugged as best as I could with the machine over my head. “Sounds good to me!” It was a little different from my usual beige, but I could handle it.

With a nod from the brunette, the nail techs got to work, first filing my nails, then trimming my cuticles, and then, finally, applying a base coat. They had shaped my nails into more of a square shape than I was used to. Usually, at home, I just left my nails in their natural shape, which was slightly rounded at the tips. Sure, I would file them, but the shape never really changed.

After the second coat of polish had been applied, the first stylist I had met came back, powering off the machine and unwrapping one of the foils on the top of my head. Pleased with what he saw, he rolled the machine away and began pulling out the rest of the foils. As he began to wash my hair, the nail techs finished up, instructing me not to let my fingers or toes rub up against anything, lest the polish smudge. I nodded, thanking them as they wandered off to the next girl. I liked the color they had chosen. It reminded me of the snow we sometimes got around Christmas time, when my paternal grandparents would come to visit. My father often joked that they must bring the snow with them, because without fail, the first snow of the season always occurred when they visited.

The stylist rubbed my wet hair with a towel quickly, and then set it down. I could hear the clattering of the scissors before he even asked, “Ready?”

“Yes.” My voice was little more than a breathless whisper as I closed my eyes, bracing for the snipping sound I knew I was about to hear. It came not a moment sooner than I had expected it to.

The first cut was the hardest. After that, the rest of his cuts were smaller, more precise - like he was just evening out what he had already done. My head felt a little lighter, a little less weighed down, but I wasn’t entirely sure how much of that sensation was real, and how much of it I was just making up in my own mind.

As he continued, another woman approached, carrying a box full of what I could only imagine was makeup. Besides clothes, makeup was the only thing I hadn’t received yet, that I could think of. “Hello,” she said in way of greeting, setting her box down on the very edge of the rolling cart to my right. “I’m here to do your makeup.” She didn’t even look at me until her box was opened, revealing more makeup than I had seen in one spot in my entire life.

I had thought that my mother had a lot of makeup. She had half a bathroom drawer dedicated to her beauty supplies.

I was, apparently, wrong.

I should be used to being wrong, at this point.

The woman came closer, looking at my face like she was looking through a microscope. She moved from one side to the other, tapping a finger against her cheek as she did so. Every now and then she would offer a comment along the lines of, “You have nice eyebrows,” or, “Clear skin, that’s good!” I felt like a lab rat or a zoo animal, trapped in a cage that was really of my own making.

When she stepped away, she began to offer her professional recommendation. “I say we play up the eyes - maybe eyelash extensions? Definitely a red lip. I’m going to lay off on the foundation, let your freckles shine through, but I do want to add a bit of contour and blush. We’ve got to play up the diva image a little.”

I frowned. “People think I’m a diva?” I was almost kind of surprised, and a bit disappointed in myself, at how sad my voice sounded. I really shouldn’t care what other people think. If the last twenty-four hours had proven anything, it was that. Yet, some core part of me didn’t want people to think that I was a diva. Was I a diva? I didn’t think so. At the very least, I sure hoped that I wasn’t.

The makeup artist laughed, pulling some powders and brushes out of her box. “I don’t think many people know what to think. The picture they showed on the Report - of you in the car - that screamed diva. It was like a glamour shot! Your background information, though, doesn’t scream diva. I, personally, wouldn’t go looking for divas in the bio department of any university.”

I nodded, attempting to process what she had just told me. People thought that the picture of me that flashed on the screen during the Report was a glamour shot? I hadn’t even really liked the picture! I didn’t think it really looked like many of the photos I had taken in the past. Regardless, if people were expecting me to be a diva, I was afraid they were going to be sorely disappointed.

After about half an hour of silence, save for comments such as, “Close your eyes,” and, “Open your lips,” she was done. Around that time, the stylist finished with my hair as well, fluffing it up a bit in his hands before pointing me in the direction of a rack of clothing. I thanked him and made my way over there, where I was greeted by another stylist, who asked me to pick a dress and shoes, and informed me that what I was seeing were only my day dresses, and that my evening gowns were already in my room.

I blanched at that. The wardrobe in front of me was already so extensive - I had never owned this many nice gowns in my life, even coming from a pretty well-off family. I walked along the rack slowly, running my fingers over the different materials of each of the dresses, waiting for one to hit me.

There. A pale blue dress caught my eye. Within a few minutes, I found a pair of beige heels to go with it, and quickly changed out of my old clothes and in to the dress. As soon as that was done, I was ushered over to a couch, where I was informed I would be having after photos taken while I waited to be asked a few questions. The process moved fairly quickly, and within moments, it was my turn for the questions. The woman conducting the interview assured me that this was in no way the official interview we’d be doing on the Report in the near future, but rather for the makeover special they would be airing soon.

“So, Evalin Berg, yes?” There was a hint of ice in the interviewer’s voice, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. The look she was fixing me with was almost identical to the one Proctor had given me throughout the majority of our conversation yesterday.

I did my best to ignore it. “Yes, that’s me!” A nervous laugh escaped my lips, and I fidgeted in my seat, wringing my hands in my lap.

“Tell us about your makeover!”

I smiled, trying to figure out where to begin. “Well, the stylist cut my hair a bit shorter, and added some blonde highlights. They also painted my nails the same color as my dress, though I wasn’t planning on that.” I laughed again, moving one hand and holding it forward a bit, so the camera could see.

“And what a lovely dress that is!” The interviewer’s smile was so forced it hurt my face just to look at it.

“Thank you!” I beamed. “It’s so much softer than I thought it would be!”

“How has the rest of your experience been so far?”

I forced myself to smile, even though the complete change in topic threw me for a little bit of a loop. “Exciting, for the most part. It’s been very cool to meet the other girls. They’re all so talented and accomplished. I can’t wait to finally get to meet the prince, though!”

“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Speaking of the other girls, is there anyone in particular you’re worried about, competition-wise?”

I gave a close-lipped smile in return. “It’s hard to say, at the moment, because I haven’t gotten to meet everybody yet, and in the end, it really depends on what the prince is looking for, doesn’t it? We’re all so different - there’s bound to be any number of things that could make one of us stand out in his eyes.”

“That’s very true,” the interviewer responded with a wry laugh. “Well, that will be all. Thank you for your time.”

I stood up. “Thank you.”

With that, I walked over to another couch, where a few other girls were milling about. Apparently, I was one of the first girls done with the makeover process, and the palace staff wanted to wait for a few more girls to finish before leading us to our rooms. I had to wonder how that could be the case, considering my hair alone had to have taken a couple of hours to finish.

I was glad to be off my feet again, though. The last twenty-four hours had left me exhausted both mentally and physically. Maybe I’d be able to take a nap before dinner. That would be nice. At the very least, it might help reduce the bags beneath my eyes. I hoped they didn’t stand out too much in the pictures they had taken today.

I sighed quietly to myself. This was the first long day in a series of long days, and it was high time I get used to it. I was made of tougher stuff than this. If I could make it through four hour long organic chemistry labs, then I could make it through a simple makeover, for crying out loud! I just needed to get my head back in the game - back into the palace, not in Carolina.

This would be my home for the indefinite future, and I’d better get used to it.

[doublenuzlocke]

Entry #3: Explosions in the Desert

((aka does this even count as an AU I just moved them to a different Pokemon game ;;;;;

but also I am a sucker for adding Colosseum onto everything can you tell that I really, REALLY want to rewrite the whole game ;;;; ))

  “We’ve been stranded here for days and it’s your fault!”

  “How is it my fault that you got bored and decided to gamble all our travel funds away and then get banned from the casino?”

  Gold rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who wanted to visit Pyrite in the first place.”

  “We couldn’t go straight from Phenac to Agate, it’s too far!”

  Kotone huffed at him and he could see that he wasn’t about to win this argument. He let out an aggravated breath and stepped down. “Fine. I’m gonna go see if we can find some help.”

  “Don’t go out by yourself, this place is dangerous!”

  Kotone still looked angry, but her concern shone through. Gold pulled the two Poke Balls off his belt and held them up for her to see. For emphasis. “I’m not alone, Kotone.”

  She looked torn for a moment, debating whether or not to allow him to leave. In the end, she flipped open her ‘gear and turned away. “Don’t go too far, I’m calling up Norman so he can come get us.”

  “Not that asshole.” Gold shuddered at the thought of his dad arriving to scold him for his inconsiderate recklessness. Not to mention how angry his mom was gonna be when she found out. He cringed and left their hotel room. “Ugh, this really sucks.”

  Even if he pulled out Chocobo or Mom to complain to, they’d just agree with Kotone that he’d been the one being an ass here. Well, that Casino was the one who’d cheated him, first! He’d noticed their underhanded tactics and lying, telling him he’d lost when he’d clearly won, but they seemed to have the city’s police in the palm of their hands and had him thrown out for his troubles.

  Sulking, Gold wandered the dirty city’s battle square, ready for a fight to release some steam. He caught sight of a duo with a Whismur and a Lotad battling a Chaser girl with a Dustox and an Oddish. That didn’t seem entirely fair. Still, the Chaser managed to take out the duo’s Lotad and one of them sent out a Makuhita next.

  The moment the Makuhita came into sight, Gold froze. It seemed wrong somehow, surrounded by a dark aura and drained of colour. Without any issues, it beat both the opponent Pokemon, then turned on its partner.

  The duo quickly withdrew their Pokemon (the Whismur and the Makuhita), then collected their prize money. And Gold should’ve known better. He should’ve listened to Kotone and returned right back to her. But the warning bells in his head were going off too loudly for his common sense to kick in and he approached the duo, determination in his steps.

  “Hey, nice battle.” He grinned and waved, greeting them with his best faux friendliness act. The two warily turned their attention to him and he continued, going directly for the kill. “Must be easy to beat up some unsuspecting chumps with an illegal Pokemon like that.”

  The two of them hesitated before the one with the orange Mohawk spoke up. “What’re you talking about, ‘illegal Pokemon’? How could such a thing exist?”

  “I dunno.” Gold shrugged, keeping up his act of friendly innocence. “You tell me why your Makuhita there was weirdly dark and powerful enough to take down a Pokemon it should be ineffective against.”

  The two shared a look, then brandished their Poke Balls at him. “Those are fighting words if I ever heard any. Don’t you agree, Trudly?”

  “I’d say you’re right there, Folly.” The other sneered and they sent out their Pokemon, the Whismur and dark Makuhita. “Let’s demonstrate why you don’t come 'round here asking too many questions.”

  Gold smirked, confident that Chocobo and Mom could handle these losers. The Makuhita, though, charged right towards him. He didn’t get a chance to even send his team out. It punched him right in the gut and the shock, along with the impact, knocked him out immediately.

//

  Crys hated sand.

  She hated sand, the heat, and the general lawlessness of the land.

  But complaining about Orre wasn’t about to help her get a plane ticket outta there, so she had to keep fighting and living in spite of all that she hated.

  If she just continued playing along with Snagem, then she could make enough for the gas to get to Agate. As long as they believed she was a loyal scientist, then she could plan out her betrayal without any of them being the wiser.

  Maybe in another life she could’ve studied Shadow Pokemon more, researched into why Orre had no wild Pokemon when other regions’ deserts could support their wildlife, done something useful with her life. As it was, she could only bide her time until she could make her escape.

  Luckily, she wasn’t the only voice of discontent amongst the ranks. Another grunt, Silver, was also itching to blow the joint (though he was a fantastic actor, keeping his stony expression as he discussed a plan to bomb the place with her) and agreed to work with her to cause a ruckus in exchange for getting out. It’d taken zero convincing on her part, which was fine and dandy since he was a valuable addition to her plan with his knowledge on explosives.

  They blew the place up, stole the snag machine, and never looked back. If they hadn’t needed to stop for gas at the old train pit stop, they might’ve gone straight to Unova. Maybe further. Crys was just so glad to finally be out.

//

  While Crys handled filling up the bike, Silver decided to check out the small establishment. The news was all ready reporting on their coup of the blown Snagem base, but Silver ignored it in favour of ordering some waters for him and Crys. Two of the patrons, however, stood and rushed out after the report ended. Might’ve been two lowly grunts, who cared? Silver paid the nice bartender, then left to rejoin Crys.

  “That was Trudly and Folly.” She remarked as soon as he was within speaking distance. He grimaced, prompting her to continue and please explain why that should’ve mattered to him at all. “They had a sack in the back of their vehicle. I thought maybe they’d stolen some Pokemon, but it was too big to be just a stash of Poke Balls.”

  Again, Silver regarded her with his very unamused stare. “And why would that be our concern?”

  “Silver, they might’ve kidnapped someone.” She frowned at him. “We should really try to stop them.”

  She had such a lawful mentality. He often wondered how Snagem had managed to keep her for so long. He also wasn’t willing to try to talk her out of this. It was her bike, after all. With a heavy sigh, he hopped into the sidecar. “They’ll be heading to Phenac.”

  She relaxed in relief, then climbed onto the bike proper to start it up. “Right. Let’s see if we can stop them before they reach the 'mayor’.”

  The bike’s engine roared to life and they took off, out into the open desert. Silver pulled his goggles on as she flicked her visor down over her eyes. He’d heard from a terrified scientist that she’d been the one closest to the explosion when they’d been trying to create the first snagging device prototype, but it never seemed to stop her. Now she wore the fruits of that experiment, the smaller and portable model, on her arm.

  Learning about her had been useful at the time, but they’d soon go on their separate ways. Silver needn’t worry over any potential weaknesses her scar might cause her. He didn’t have to worry over her figuring out his own weaknesses, either.

  They arrived at Phenac after a couple of hours and found Trudly and Folly, the two inept idiots, attempting to carry the burlap sack that clearly held a human body inside through the main plaza. Silver almost didn’t want to intervene, curious as to how far they’d make it before they were captured by the authorities. However, Crys had all ready leapt up to confront them, so Silver begrudgingly followed suit.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Crys shouted at them.

  They jumped, fumbling and dropping their body in a sack as a consequence. A muffled groan of pain came from it and Silver was almost impressed. How two failures like them could’ve managed to actually kidnap a human being was a fortuitous amount of bullshit he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Trudly held up his hands, pleading. “What? Whaddaya want with us? We’re busy, that’s what.”

  “Yeah, we’re busy.” Folly added in, crouching to attempt to gather the sack back up. “We’ve got a real catch here and the Mayor asked us to–”

  “Shut up!”

  Trudly hissed and Folly did, in fact, shut up. Unfortunately for them, that’s when the sack started shouting. “Help! Get me outta here! Murderers!”

  Folly shook the sack roughly. “We ain’t murderers, we’re kidnappers! Get it right!”

  Trudly smacked the back of Folly’s head. “You idiot!” He glanced up at Crys and Silver, then around the plaza. The noise was drawing a crowd. Trudly growled and yanked Folly to his feet. “We gotta ditch, else Mirror B’s gonna make us sit through another punishment concert. He’ll be hearing about you from us, Crys!”

  After hurling a last (and laughably ineffective) threat, Trudly dragged Folly off, out of the city’s entrance. Crys went to give chase, then stopped herself. She let out a tired exhale and approached the sack, motioning for Silver to follow her. “You all right in there?”

  “Unless a bruised gut and some probably cracked ribs count as 'fine’, then nope, not at all, thanks.”

  Both Crys and Silver were taken aback by the response, having not expected one. Crys tugged at the knot keeping the sack tied shut and, reluctantly, Silver knelt down to help. She spoke with conviction, if a bit distracted by the task at hand. “Once we get you out of there, we’ll take you to the Centre here so you can get more help. That sound good?”

  “Sure, yeah, as long as it’s not here, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  They got the knot untied and carefully removed the bag to reveal a guy, probably around their age, with black hair and dried blood around his mouth. Crys winced at the sight. “They got you good. Need some help or are you okay to stand on your own?”

  “I think I can do it myself.” The guy tested his legs, gritting his teeth with every movement. They really needed to get this guy to a Centre. He managed to stand, holding an arm to his stomach, and grinned half-heartedly at them. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Gold, nice to meet'cha.”

  Crys softened and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Crys. And this is Silver. Careful, now.”

  She directed Gold towards the PokeCentre, which was thankfully not too far away. It was also nice that she’d introduced Silver for him, as if she’d known he wasn’t about to do it himself. This seemed dangerous, but it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. If they’d simply left, they’d draw even more attention, after all. Silver rolled his eyes, but followed after them. It’d at least be interesting to hear this Gold’s explanation on how this even happened.

[nyaacatboy]

Pets and Thomas Sanders(no real animals included)

This is a fic that I wrote a while ago and never got around to to posting until now but was really fun to write, and I’m pretty proud of it, so here! It’s based off of this post:

Shout out to @rose-is-in-the-void, @fandomsandanythingelse and @jace-is-trash for inspiring this. And to @iaminmultiplefandoms for reading it and giving me feedback. 

SOME MORE INFO:

Told from Roman’s perspective

About 1k words so don’t read it on the toilet but don’t clear your afternoon either

Written before moving on pt. 2 so just assume the kittens are magical non-allergenic kittens. 

No trigger warnings(that I can think of) but tell me if there’s anything I should tag it as!

NOW YOU GET TO READ MY FIC: Through some evil spell or whatnot, the other sides would probably decide to start this tale with the kittens. Despite the other incredibly important parts of the tale, any of the others would start with the infantile cats. Logan said that it was because they were the “focus point of the story” and something about “beginning in the middle.” I, on the other hand, am in no way or shape Logan, or any of the other Sides. So I will begin(at the beginning, where a tale should be started) this story by telling you that Mr. Freak Out Boy tends to get himself quite worked up at times. By “at times,” I mean pretty much every week or so. Whether it’s over laundry or friends or career or a spider threatening Patton, he usually ends up sobbing on the floor or staring off into space rambling while upon a surface that is not meant to be sat on. It tends to happen more on Thursdays, but the reasons for why it’s that particular day of the week are for another time and another side. The side being Logan, because he’s a nerd like that. I’m getting off-topic, and I still need to tell you the whole story.

Now, a few days ago, Virgil got into one of his little fits again. It was probably over Thomas’s update schedule or something-I was actually trying on some makeup while he was doing the whole dramatic monologue, so I don’t know the exact details. Excellent dramatic monologue, as far as I could tell, by the way. That boy has potential. But I turned away from my beauty products when Patton came in and started doing his fatherly comforting thing because I’m making an effort to help Cumulonimbus Cloud feel more welcome. I believe I had a dramatic Disney quote to offer, but Verge eventually got beyond the state of sadness where a Disney quote is applicable. And at that point of panic, it also meant that Patton used some of the tricks up his sleeve.

To preface, Patton’s usual tricks are beloved albums that calm down the Nightmare Before Emo, a sickeningly cute stuffed animal, or a calming book. This time, however, he brought out the metaphorical “big guns.” As in kittens. Cute, disgusting, hapless, shedding, vulnerable balls of fur with limited sentience that for whatever reason made Virgil happier than a rousing ballad or a Shakespeare play. They were a waste of imagination, and I was convinced that I could do far better. So I went for the big one. The pet of pets. The animal army that people only dream of but rarely have the power to create. I had that power, so I put it to the best use I possibly could.

I retreated to my room after Dad did his comforting thing, glitter still dashed across my eyelids, and focused my imaginative and creative power into one spot on my floor. My brow furrowed in concentration as I conjured a mental image of the adorable pet that I wanted, and when my imagination’s reserves were exhausted in such a way that my very form was becoming transparent and wavering, I looked at what I had created. They were perfect, all of them. Gorgeous, and fit for a prince such as I.

A cluster of twenty or so dragons sat before me on my rug, in varying shades and hues. All were beautiful, and I could not wait to show them off to the others. What was not to like about them? There was a cute purple one that matched our hair that I named Maisie, a orange one with yellow streaks I named Ophelia, the all-silver beast called Ki that was already larger than the others, a plain brown but oh so adorable dragon that I chose to gift the name of Olivia, a rainbow sparkling dragon that I named Thomas II, and so many others who I still need to name. I also need to get Logan to make name cards. Wait, he’s mad at me, he won’t make name cards.

Anyways, I showed them to all of the other, less important, Sides. I expected applause, lavishments of praise, some roses, maybe even some chanting of “encore.” Instead I got silence.

Then they erupted into chaos.

“Creatures that breathe fire!! Are you maybe going a little insane?” “Why the fu-”a cow mooed”-did you think that was a good idea? They’re so distracting.” (Patton: “Sorry, that is my new ringtone, kiddo.”) “I have papers  in here, you know. Papers that can easily be set fire by one of these flourescent animals!” “They-they’re scaring the kittens!!! Poor babies, dada’s got you, it’s okay, it’s okay…” “Get away from my hoodie, I SAID AWAY and don’t dig your little claws into my new boots or I will-” “It would be impossible to fireproof everything, what the heck were you thinking? Why does my life have to include an egotistical prince?”

Basically, they were not appropriately awed by my beautiful little creations. After a good deal of debate, it was decided that they had to stay in my room and not get out ever. Logan put up an intricate locking system on my door, grumbling about “overactive imaginations” the whole time. I was somewhat sad that they had to be cooped up in such a small space, but then I made them a cute little dragon playground and they felt a lot better.

I was not the last to join the trend of creating new pets. Logan, for all his grumbling and belittling, got a giant squid that glares at me evilly whenever I even bring up sushi or my dragons. Twenty One Freakouts made himself an army of really angsty birds. Somehow he managed to create an angsty peacock, which is a remarkable feat in and of itself. Peacocks are regal, noble creatures that are not appropriately suited for anger and resentment, so making one quote unquote, “angsty” is quite an accomplishment. They follow him everywhere, and even though they steal Patton’s snacks, exactly no one has forced him to confine them to his room. Double standards, I say.

Well, there you have it. The tale of how pets came to be a huge issue within Thomas Sanders without him actually owning any to begin with.

THE END

[artificialqueens]

Love Is A Losing Game - Chapter 2 - Trixya - Kitten

A/N: Two updates in less than a month, I’m on a roll! 

Thank you for all the lovely notes, it honestly means the world! Trigger warning in the tags

Hi Alex!

“Me and my head high, and my tears dry, get on without my guy…” Back to Black - Amy Winehouse

“Trixie please just listen to me for a second, please.” This was the most uncomfortable Trixie had ever seen Katya. Stood in the middle of the store, wringing her hands and tugging at the black skater skirt that sat just above her knees, it almost softened the stony glare Trixie shot in her direction.

Fury rose like burning bile in Trixies throat “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t drag you out this fucking store by your hair.” Katyas lip started to tremble at the threat, clearly the meeting wasn’t going exactly as she’d planned.

“Because I know you need answers.”  

Katya wasn’t wrong. She needed to know how she could just leave without a trace. She needed to know why she didn’t come and talk to her first. She needed to know why she’d lied about loving her. She needed to know what was so wrong with her that she drove the only person she’d ever felt true love for away. But answers could wait. The anger she felt for the woman stood before her was nothing compared to the anger she had for herself, because Trixie knew, after all this time, Katya just had to click her fingers and she’d come running back.

“I need…” Trixie finally looked away from Katyas face and took what felt like her first breath since she’d seen her. “I need you to get out of my shop Katya. You’re usually so fucking good at leaving, so do me a favour and fuck off once again.”  

Meeting Katyas eyes again, Trixie saw her wipe away a stray tear that had fallen down her porcelain cheek. “Okay, okay I’m going.” Reaching into her oversized purse, Katya closed the distance between them to press a red business card on the counter. “I know you won’t call, but my number is on the back if you change your mind. I’m sorry for coming here Trix.”  

The younger woman stayed silent as she watched Katya leave, surprised that her glare didn’t turn her to stone as she went. “Fuck.” Trixie sat on the stool behind the counter and buried her head in her hands, focusing only on her warm breath heating up her hands. Looking at the card before her through parted fingers, Trixie couldn’t decide whether to burn it, shred it or save it.

FIRST MEETING – SIX YEARS AGO

“It’s just a summer job. It’s just a summer job.” Over and over Trixie chanted to herself as she categorised the “HEAVY METAL!!!” Section of Peaches Records & Tapes. It wasn’t a bad job for a college student to have, it paid well enough to cover the rent on her small apartment, the work wasn’t hard, the boss was nice enough, and it worked well around her music course. Its only downfall was its customers, or lack of.  

Trixie was almost shocked at the sound of the bell chiming, signalling another person coming in to browse without buying anything. Glancing up to see the strangest woman she’d possibly ever seen, Trixie put on her best customer service voice to disguise her intrigue. “Hi I’m Trixie, can I help you find anything today?”

“Oh! Hi! Wow, Trixie! Really? That’s such a cool name! It’s almost as weird as mine!” Trixie raised her eyebrows in shock at the speed the woman spoke, but couldn’t help but giggle at the blinding smile she gave her. She had one of the most oddly beautiful faces, in one of the ugliest outfits Trixie had ever seen. She’d paired a neon green graffiti print jacket with an orange mesh t-shirt, giving a glimpse at the black lace bra she wore underneath it. Her toned legs were a saving grace, clad in black skinny jeans, and her petite height was helped with some hideous gold pumps. Her hair sat just below her sharp jawline, which she continued to scrunch some volume into as she smiled at Trixie.  

“Yeah! Well it’s actually Tracy but nobody has called me that since I was born. What’s your name?”  

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova. Odd name for someone from Boston, right? But people have just called me Katya, since birth. You can call me anything you want Trixie.” The wheeze that left Katya sounded more like an asthma attack than a laugh, but it was infectious, and Trixie found herself laughing along. There was nothing that particularly funny about what she’d just said, but more the energy that Katya exuded was infectious.  

“That’s a lot of letters to remember for one name. Well, Katya, is there anything I can help you with today?”  

“Shit, yes! That’s what I’m doing here, right. Look at me, one conversation with a pretty girl and I forget the world exists around me.” Trixie blushed at her comment, her cheeks turning the same colour as the pink gingham dress she wore. It might have been slightly “Brady Bunch” but it was hot in the city, and Trixie couldn’t find a pair of shorts that were work length appropriate. “I’m looking for your foreign language section. I’m trying to find something Russian, maybe connect to my roots a little more than just a name.”

Katya didn’t walk out of the store with a CD filled with Russian pop songs like she’d hoped, but she did walk out with Trixies number.  

PRESENT DAY.

“I can’t believe you called.”

“Neither can I. But you were right, I need answers.” Trixies tone had softened considerably since they had last spoken, but the tension between the pair was painful. “I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“No, no don’t worry. Do you want to talk now, or maybe we could meet up soon?” She sounded like a kid on fucking Christmas morning.  

“Can I come over? I know it’s late but there’s not a chance I’m sleeping tonight, and I’d prefer to see your face as you explain everything to me.”  

“Oh. Of course you can, I couldn’t sleep well either. I live on Cherry Lane.” Katya sparked her third cigarette in a row and looked around her messy apartment. Art supplies cluttered her large dining table and a large canvass stood against a wall, drying amongst completed works.  

“You live on Cherry Lane? As in two blocks away from me Cherry Lane? How long have you lived there Kat?”  

Katya stayed silent for a moment, contemplating lying. “Two years.”

“Two years? Two years you lived this close and I never saw you?” Trixies stomach twisted at the thought of the person she wanted to see more than anything being so close for so long, just out of reach. “Right. Well, I’ll be there in 20.”

___________________________

Trixie stood outside Katyas door for a solid five minutes before knocking, debating whether or not to walk away now and forget that she’s ever walked back into her life. But the masochist in her couldn’t miss the chance to spend time with her, even after all this time, Trixie still needed to be near Katya.

“Hey Trix.” Katya answered the door in an oversized white wife beater with “PARTY” scrawled across it in black cursive text. Her overly tanned legs were on show in a tiny pair of cotton pyjama shorts, and Trixie had to force herself to look away. Her skin looked softer than she’d remembered it.  

“Hello.” Giving a tight smile, she stepped past Katya into her living room. Everything about it was very… Katya. Rich green coated the walls, with various tapestries and her own art work filling the larger spaces. The vibrant red sofa clashed terribly, but that didn’t matter in Katyas world. Trixie glanced briefly at the family photos that sat on her mantle, a stupid photo of her and her siblings as kids pulling funny faces, one of her and her Mom together on her childhood homes back porch, a few photos with friends. One particular photo stood out.  

In a silver frame sat a photo of Trixies own group of friends, well, Trixie and Katyas old shared group of friends, before Katya left. Kim, Pearl, Violet, Justin, Max, Katya and herself all huddled together in one tight group, posing with wild grins for the photo. Katyas hand sat comfortably on Trixies thigh, and Trixies face was turned slightly towards Katya. She remembered that day well, and knew that the grin was for Katya really.

“Sit down, do you want a drink of anything?” Katya stood in the doorway awkwardly, looking at Trixie take in her apartment.

Trixie shrugged off her yellow raincoat and sighed. “No thank you. Sit down Kat.”

The small sofa left them no choice but to sit next to each other, but Trixie made sure that there was the most possible space in between them. She was here for answers, not to look at Katyas fucking tanned legs.  

Looking Trixie in the eye for the first time since she arrived, Katya wanted to cry. She could see the exhaustion and pain in her eyes, and they hadn’t even started their conversation yet. She would take back the past four years in a heartbeat if it meant that Trixies eyes would never look so sad again.  

“Well?”  

“Well. I don’t really know where to start Trixie.” Katya worried her bottom lip as she saw the defensive mask slip back on to Trixies face.

“How about you start with why you left me, and then we’ll go from there.”  

Clearing her throat, Katya started on what she knew would be a hard night of explaining herself. “Honestly? I was so scared.”

Trixie tried to keep her face neutral as she listened. “Of what?”

“Of ruining you Trixie. Please don’t ever doubt that I loved you, because I truly did. I think realising that made me realise I had to leave. You were 20, Trix. A whole life ahead of you. I have so much shit that follows me everywhere, I couldn’t weigh you down with that.” Katya looked Trixie dead in the eye, pleading with her to understand her reasoning.

“How can you say you loved me, when you just left like that?” Gritting her teeth as her voice cracked, Trixie allowed the memory of that day to come flooding back.

“I thought it would be kinder to just go. I knew you wouldn’t take that for an answer and I knew you’d try and fix me, I didn’t want you to waste any more time on a fuck up like me.”

“Well I’ll tell you what Katya, should I tell you what happened when you left? Tell me if this is a better use of my time. Kim had to move in with me for a month, after she found me passed out on my bathroom floor after taking a bottle of sleeping tablets. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t shower. I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I just slept all day and waited for you to walk through my door. Is that a better use of my time Katya?” Trixie hadn’t realised her hands were shaking until Katya took hold of them. Her skin felt like fire against her own, like something magical that shouldn’t be touched.

Katyas eyes streamed with tears as she listened to the consequences of her actions. “Why would you do something like that? Oh my god Trixie.” She picked up Trixies hand and pressed her lips to her clenched fist, half expecting Trixie to snatch her hand away.  "I have never been worth something like that. Have never and will never be worth your life. What made you do that?“

"I loved you Kat.”  

Pressing a final kiss to Trixies hand, she looked up at the other girl with red eyes. “I am so so sorry Trixie. That word doesn’t even feel big enough. I can’t ever expect you to forgive me but can w-”

She could call it impulse? A mistake maybe. Or pretend it was part of a clever plan of revenge on Katya, but Trixie would be lying. Because in all honest truth, she didn’t know what went through her mind when she pressed her lips against Katyas.

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teaser: I NEVER by Laura Hopper!

We are so excited to share another excerpt of an @hmhteen title with you today! Next up is I NEVER, a debut novel inspired by Judy Blume’s classic coming-of-age (and kind of scandalous!) novel about first loves, friendship, and yes, your first time. 

Janey King’s priorities used to be clear: track, school, friends, and family. But when seventeen-year-old Janey learns that her seemingly happy parents are getting divorced, her world starts to shift. Back at school, Luke Hallstrom, an adorable senior, pursues Janey, and she realizes that she has two new priorities to consider: love and sex. 

Read the first two chapters of I NEVER below!

***

CHAPTER ONE

HAPPY  FREAKIN’  NEW YEAR.

Did they really think this was a good time to do this?

Really? Here we are in beautiful Cabo San Lucas, where I’m enjoying a much-needed break from the stress that junior year of high school brings. At our supposedly celebratory New Year’s Eve dinner, they drop the bomb.“Separating.”“Splitting up.”We all know those are euphemisms for the dreaded D word.They promise it’s amicable, whatever that means. They say they’ve drifted apart and don’t want to grow old without that spark.

I’m speechless,but maybe not shocked.I guess I thought they were happy in a best-friends kind of way. Not sure I gave it much thought, really. They get along fine, but it’s not like they stare lovingly at each other across the din- ner table, or sneak little kisses as they pass each other in the hallway. But, are there actually couples in their forties who have been married for more than twenty years who are crazy in love? Do they really expect rainbows and but- terflies this late in the game? Isn’t that for teenagers? Not that I’ve had the whole magical experience myself. I’m seventeen and still haven’t delved into that part of my life. Yes, I know plenty of seventeen-year-olds are dating,  are having sex, are maybe even in love. It really hasn’t occurred to me that I might be missing out on something. I don’t think of myself as a late bloomer; I just haven’t felt ready for all that. Maybe it’s because there’s no one I’ve met who seems worth the trouble: missing time with friends, figuring out how to add a boyfriend to an already very busy schedule. He’d have to be exceptional, and I haven’t met anyone exceptional at La Jolla High.Yet.

I just think sex should mean something. After all, it’s my body, the one body I have, which has to last forever. Why would I let someone have that kind of access with- out being pretty important in the scheme of things? I don’t want to let someone get that close to me only to have that person ultimately mean nothing in my life. I think too much.

I walk with my mom and dad from the hotel restaurant through the lobby. My parents each hold one of my hands like I’m tiny and they’re going to say “one, two, three, wheeee” and whisk me high into the air.

The lobby of the hotel is decorated with twinkly hol- iday lights and streamers. Noisemakers overflow from buckets strategically placed on tables and credenzas. Other hotel guests are dressed festively for the occasion. Some guys are in suits and ties, others in Hawaiian shirts. Many women wear short, sexy dresses, probably purchased for the sole purpose of ringing in the NewYear. I feel slightly underdressed in my blue jeans and flip-flops. The sound of champagne corks popping resonates through the air at regular intervals.

In the dimly lit piano bar, an old guy with dyed black hair and sunglasses sits at a baby grand piano. Next to him, a woman stands at the microphone in a super-tight red dress that clashes with her orange lipstick. They perform classic songs that are probably too old-fashioned even for my parents. My dad snags a tall table with three stools, and within seconds, a waiter with a cardboard top hat arrives and asks what we’d like to drink. My parents order champagne and I ask for a Sprite. I know my mom will give me a sip of her champagne and it will tickle my nose and taste bitter, but at least I’ll have the all-important New Year’s Eve beverage.

Their words are still ricocheting in my head. Divorce. I’m a statistic. Last year, on the debate team, we argued the topic Should divorce be made even easier to obtain, or are there social and moral reasons to discourage it? I was assigned the opposition side, which means I had to take the position that people should have to work harder at their marriages before getting divorced. I remember standing at the podium, shoulders back, chin up, stating confidently,“It is far less damaging for children to live in an imperfect, yet stable and secure, household than to suffer the disintegration of the only family they know.” That’s me now, insecure and unstable. Incidentally, my team won that round of the debate.

When the orange lips start singing “Fly Me to the Moon,” my dad takes my mom’s hand and pulls her up to dance. They hold each other close, smiling and whispering in each other’s ears. And yet, they’re getting divorced. I’m so confused.

 CHAPTER TWO

Again I feel like a little girl, wedged between my mom and dad in our coach seats in row twenty-one on Aeromexico. My dad’s a pilot, and he gets really good deals on airline tickets. I’m still waiting for the day we get to fly first class. I’ve got my phone in my lap and Coldplay blasting through my earbuds, making it impossible for me to engage in conversa- tion.We haven’t even left the gate, but I think it’s important to establish the tone of the journey home so that my parents don’t get any ideas about a two-hour heart-to- heart reminding me that we’re still a family and they love me so very much, blah blah blah.

I am glad to be heading home and getting back into the routine of school, friends, debate, and track team. I begin to wonder, slightly fearfully, how things are going to change. I’m not so big on change. I tend to stick with friends and hobbies. I don’t take big fashion risks. I’ve had the same all-one-length hair to the middle of my back since I was ten. I realize, sitting on the runway, that I haven’t yet made a New Year’s resolution. Maybe I should have a better attitude about change. I resolve to embrace new things, take more chances. Then I muse about whether anyone sticks to their New Year’s resolu- tions. Probably not.

Other passengers are making their way down the aisle, carrying absurdly huge suitcases that they’re going to try to cram into the overhead bins. People are sporting sunburns and wearing silver jewelry they probably bought from salesmen on the beach after extensive bartering. Everyone looks relaxed following their peaceful vacations, yet stressed about the hassle of a day of travel.

The flight attendant announces over the loudspeaker that we all must find our seats so we can push back from the gate. I look up to see which selfish travelers are still having trouble getting themselves settled and I look right into the eyes of Luke Hallstrom. Not just Luke Hallstrom, but Luke Hallstrom with a golden tan.

Luke is a senior at La Jolla High School. I know him because he’s also on the track team. I’d probably know him anyway because he’s tall and handsome and athletic and it’s virtually impossible not to know Luke Hallstrom. Luke is always surrounded by other athletic, popular guys and at least one beautiful girl. It seems that whenever he’s walking around school, he always has his big strong arm draped over a girl who looks incredibly happy to be wrapped in that arm. Most girls at my school would feel lucky to take that walk down the school hallway, tucked in close to Luke. As much as I can appreciate his handsome face and impeccable hair, I have never had a crush on Luke. The only crush I’ve ever really had was when I was a freshman and Tyler Stone lent me his umbrella.

Tyler was a junior at the time, and he was the editor of the school paper. I read his articles religiously, thinking he was wise and witty and clearly destined for greatness. One afternoon, I was waiting in the rain for my mom to pick me up, and Tyler was driving out of the student parking lot. He stopped in front of me, leaned out the window, and handed me his black compact umbrella. No words were exchanged. I was immediately smitten. I remember plotting and planning with my friends about the ideal time and place to return it, and the exact words to say when I handed it to him. Days later, as I approached him at his locker, reminding myself of the clever speech I had rehearsed many times, all I managed to say was “Uh, thanks” while I handed over the umbrella I had taken such good care of. He looked at me like he had no recollection of our previous interaction, the same one I had played over and over in my head. The umbrella seemed to jog his memory enough for him to say,“Oh, yeah, you bet.”That was it. My crush lasted the rest of the year.We never spoke again.

Now here I am staring right at Luke Hallstrom. He’s staring back. I can practically see the gears turning in his head. He’s sure that I look familiar, but he can’t quite place how he knows me. Were we staying at the same hotel in Mexico? Do I go to his school? Did we hook up? He has probably hooked up with so many girls that he can eas- ily forget who’s on that list.Then he seems to remember how we know each other, and he smiles. His tan makes his teeth look really white. I smile back. He takes his seat in the row directly in front of me and all I see of him is the top of his head with its curly brown hair. Chris Mar- tin sings in my ears “Life goes on, it gets so heavy.”

An hour into the flight, I remain in my seat, eyes closed, blocking out the rest of the world by focusing on the music emanating from my phone. “Wherever I Go,” one of my favorite songs by OneRepublic, comes on. I turn up the volume ever so slightly, drowning out the hum of the airplane.

“No easy love could ever make me feel the same. Make me feel the same.” Something — I don’t know what; perhaps a sense that I am being stared at — makes me open my eyes. Sure enough, Luke Hallstrom has turned around in his seat and is looking right at me. He smiles in a way that makes me paranoid. Do I have something on my face? And then it dawns on me. I take the earbud out of my left ear and turn to my mom.

“Was I singing out loud?” I ask. “Yes, you were,” she answers.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” I ask, totally annoyed that she would let me embarrass myself that way.

“You weren’t bothering anyone,” she says, as though my singing out loud is quite possibly the cutest thing she’s ever heard.

There is no way I’m going to school on Monday. Luke Hallstrom just heard me singing. And not just singing, but singing about obsession. Between that and the divorce, this has been the worst trip in the history of family vacations.

As soon as we land at the airport in San Diego, and my phone finally has a signal, I text Brett.

I’ll be home in forty-five minutes. Meet me there. I have news.

Thank goodness for reliable, dependable Brett, who texts back within seconds.

Good or bad? Vanilla or chocolate? Bad. Chocolate.

Even though my house in San Diego is only about a thousand miles from our hotel in Cabo, it feels like I’ve traveled a far greater distance since NewYear’s Eve, which was only two days ago. It’s so nice to be in the back seat of the taxi, seeing the familiar neighborhood streets, the shopping malls, the minivans.The cab pulls up in front of our house and I am relieved to see Brett leaning against his RAV4, holding two frozen chocolate concoctions, complete with whipped cream and purple straws.Ahh, it’s good to be back in the USA.

Brett and I have been friends since the second grade. We’ve been doing homework together since we were learning our math facts. He’s the only friend I have who went to the same elementary school, middle school, and now high school.We know each other’s parents, each oth- er’s social media passwords, and, clearly, each other’s favor- ite coffee drinks.

Some people at school don’t understand my friendship with Brett. They assume we like like each other because we hang out so much. Neither Brett nor I has ever been in a real relationship. Even though Brett also says he doesn’t care about having a girlfriend, I can tell he’s lying. Our friend Danielle has a boyfriend, and they’re always making out at school or holding hands at the lunch tables, and, every once in a while, I catch Brett staring longingly at them. He’s had a few dates and has hooked up with a couple of girls, which is a lot more than I’ve done, but he seems to envy the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. He’d be a good boyfriend because he’s loyal and generous, and he’s not super busy with sports like a lot of other eleventh-grade boys. He’d be ready, willing, and able to make out at school and hold hands at the lunch tables.

Brett and I take our beverages to the backyard and sit by the fire pit.

“Janey, what’s the big news? Did you find a hot Latin lover in Cabo?” He doesn’t waste much time.

“Hardly.” Checking to make sure the doors are closed and we have privacy, I tell him about my parents’ pending split. Brett’s jaw drops. He gives me a big hug that I didn’t realize I needed until this very minute.The floodgates open and tears pour down my face. Brett lets me cry. It takes a long time before I can get myself together. Just as I take a huge breath, indicating that I’m back on track, my mom pops her head out the back door.

“You kids all right? Need some snacks?”

“All good, Mrs. King, thanks.” Brett handles it, knowing I may still have a rocky crying voice.

As soon as the door shuts, we share a look and burst out laughing. Why is it that so many things a parent says are wrong, weird, or extremely annoying? On the other hand, even though they often bug me to death, the thought of my parents not being together, as parents should be, is making me so sad. I guess I’m caught somewhere between needing them desperately and needing my independence even more.

 ***

Never have we ever been more excited about a book before! (Okay, that might not be true, but we’re still pretty excited.) 

Pre-order I NEVER today at the links below:

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-MillionHudson IndieBound Powell’s

[skillwiththequill]

answer all 150. do it. i fuckin dare ya

....

.......

This took me over an hour. I hope you’re happy.

1. Who was the last person you held hands with? Probably my niece, Eliza. She is turning 2 soon and is HECKIN ADORABLE.

2. Are you outgoing or shy? Depends on the situation. If I am comfortable then I am outgoing, if I am stressed or uncertain I am shy.

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? Solomon, the boy I like

4. Are you easy to get along with? Maybe? I dunno. I can be pleasant, but sometimes I don’t give a crap whether people like me or not and I’m just unabashedly myself.

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? I think both the people I like would take care of me. One would do it better than the other, but they are both really nice people. I feel like the one who would take care of me better would probably insist on a serious conversation afterwards though, because we are LDS and drinking isn’t really a thing we are allowed to do. Yeah...

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? People who care about things a lot. People who are snarky. People who listen to me. People who like to make me smile.

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? And ruin my almost 22 year streak? Not a chance, bruh.

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? Definitely not a boy named Solomon. Actually I have been thinking about my brother a lot lately, he is going through some stuff right now. That isn’t a fun crush-type response though. Sorry.

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? Not nearly as much as it used to. It depends on the people I’m with obviously, but I feel less weird about it than I used to.

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? Marissa.

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?” Kk. Let us know when you get home, okay?”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? The World is Wide Enough, Emma Dear (by a friend, you won’t know it), Breathe... I dunno. I don’t listen to a lot of music.

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? Lots. Right now it is all split endy though, which makes me feel super self conscious because split endy hair insta-tangled.

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? Yes?

15. What good thing happened this summer? I got to spend a month with my niece and the polar bear at the zoo liked her a lot.

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? ....never been kissed. Sorry to disappoint

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? Given the vastness of the universe, probably. Intelligent life? Given the vastness of the universe......probably?

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? Not really. I should Facebook message him actually, I heard he just started at my school

19. Do you like bubble baths? Yeah. Gotta have a book or an audiobook though. I can’t handle being alone with my thoughts that long.

20. Do you like your neighbors? I have a downstairs neighbor I like a lot and there is a girl in my building that I absolutely ADORE. In general though, I don’t know my neighbors.

21. What are you bad habits? When I feel insecure my knee-jerk reactions are usually pretty manipulatory. I don’t like that about myself.

22. Where would you like to travel? Top 3 are New Zealand, Germany, and London.

23. Do you have trust issues? yeah

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? My favorite parts of the day are when I’m cooking. I don’t really have a fave routine though.

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? The part that I’m uncomfortable with that affects my daily life is my upper arms. They don’t look good and I can’t wear a few shirts because they either show too much of them or the sleeve gets super stretched and gross looking. Overall least favorite part is probably my tummy though.

26. What do you do when you wake up? Go back to sleep or read stuff on my phone.

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? Not really. I like my skin tone. I am a little paler than I usually like right now because I don’t go outside anymore, but it isn’t something I would wish to instantly happen.

28. Who are you most comfortable around? Marissa. Maybe Bethany.

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? Never had a relationship, can’t exactly have an ex.

30. Do you ever want to get married? Yeah.

31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail? Yup.

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? I don’t think I would feel comfortable with a threesome or no strings attatched sex, so I am gonna pass on this one.

33. Spell your name with your chin. azlkytszsxza wedastghgewrfsdtyoln

34. Do you play sports? What sports? Naw.

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? I reject the premise of this question. TV is a very specific mode of entertainment and music is super broad. Does “music” mean listening to an audio file or does it mean I can’t sing or play the piano or go to a concert? As it is, the two options are not in the same category and I refuse to play along with this insanity.

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? yyuuuuuuup.

37. What do you say during awkward silences? CAW

38. Describe your dream girl/guy? Cares a lot about people and things. Snarky. Likes to make me smile and entertains my bad jokes. Holds me. Sorry y’all, I can’t give a physical description really.

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? bookstores. grocery stores.

40. What do you want to do after high school? um. Go to college. Already there, bruh. If we translate this to college, I’d say work in DC and then become Toby Ziegler.

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? I think they should be offered a second chance, but that second chance may not look the way they expect. They deserve an opportunity, but they have to earn trust.

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? I’m in my head and I probably shouldn’t be there. It means you should give me a way to get out of whatever situation I am in and take me to a private place and ask if I am okay.

43. Do you smile at strangers? Sometimes. Usually it is the White People smile/grimace/nod thing.

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? Where in outer space? If I get to go to another planet, I pick that. If I am just gonna chill in emptiness that is cool and all, but I would probably prefer DEEP bottom of the ocean. More to see.

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? work. Class. books. friends.

46. What are you paranoid about? nobody likes me and they all just tolerate me because they pity me and I don’t have any actual friends.

47. Have you ever been high? I’ve been in a plane, does that count? One time at the dentist I got pretty loopy from nitrous.

48. Have you ever been drunk? no

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? yes

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? maroon

51. Ever wished you were someone else? frequently

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? do I have to pick one thing? If I can’t get a whole new me, I wish I could cut down a lot on the self doubt.

53. Favourite makeup brand? I don’t wear makeup really.

54. Favourite store? half-price books. Or Winco.

55. Favourite blog? I’m going to change this question to favorite twitter and answer LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA’S

56. Favourite colour? Yellow

57. Favourite food? depends on what I am craving. Rught now probably asparagus.

58. Last thing you ate? lefotver lasagna and a side salad

59. First thing you ate this morning? ...a bit of leftover lasagna while I was toasting oats for a quick granola to put on my yogurt.

60. Ever won a competition? For what? yeah a lot. Singing, speaking, debate, and Academic Decathlon in general. Plus random crap like indexing competitions and a lord of the rings trivia competition.

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? heh. heh. I started a doctor who club in my high school without permission and put up a couple posters at which point I got in-school suspension for graffiti.

62. Been arrested? For what? no, Got pulled over one time because the inspection on my dad’s car was overdue and I was driving it to work.

63. Ever been in love? ...not reciprocated romantic love. 

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? I’ll let you know

65. Are you hungry right now? naw, had some leftover lasagna.

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? some of them more than some of them. I have about 5 favorite people in the world and 2 of them are tumblr friends.

67. Facebook or Twitter? ugh. I don’t actually use twitter, I go to a few specific feeds and read those. So probably facebook, even though I hate facebook.

68. Twitter or Tumblr? Tujmblr

69. Are you watching tv right now? no, I am answering questions. When I finish I will probably continue watching Speechless.

70. Names of your bestfriends? okay so does this have to be reciprocated best friend-ships? Because a lot of people are more important to me than I am to them and I don’t know if they count.

71. Craving something? What? I want some water right now.

72. What colour are your towels? light green. Close to that teal-y shade that everyone and their mom loves right now.

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?1. Sometimes 2.

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Yeah, a teddy bear named Jamison.

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? 2. Back home I have a stuffed kitten named Silver. My older brothers used to torture her to make me cry.

75. Favourite animal? if dead pets count, my cat Pantouf. If not, a lynx

76. What colour is your underwear? beige

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? depends on the selection. I like me some burnt almond fudge though.

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? Black, with a dark grey sweater over it.

80. What colour pants? medium dark jeans

81. Favourite tv show? the show I am watching right now is Orange is the New Black. My favorite TV show is The West Wing still.

82. Favourite movie? I dunno. I like the prestige. Right now I want to watch Finding Dory.

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? haven’t seen the second

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? haven’t seen 21 Jump Street

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? idk, it has been a while. The gay guy.

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? The Starfish

87. First person you talked to today? I woke up for 20 seconds to say bye to my roommate, but I went back to sleep. So probably my coworker who called to ask how to fix a printer.

88. Last person you talked to today? Angie, my downstairs neighbor.

89. Name a person you hate? Trump

90. Name a person you love? Marissa

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? yes

92. In a fight with someone? never been in a physical fight that was not for training in Tae Kwon Do

93. How many sweatpants do you have? 1 pair of sweatpants and 1 pair of yoga pants.

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? 3 hoodies, 3 sweaters. Only 1 sweater that I wear over other things though.

95. Last movie you watched? I Am Not a Serial Killer. Y’all should watch it, it is on Netflix.

96. Favourite actress? Kate McKinnon

97. Favourite actor? I guess probably still David Tennant, though I haven’t watched anything with him in it for months.

98. Do you tan a lot? I mean, I tan easily. I don’t ever go somewhere with the purpose of tanning though. It just happens when I am at the beach or I am walking or whatever.

99. Have any pets? none at school, 2 cats and a dog at home.

100. How are you feeling? thirsty

101. Do you type fast? eh. Not really. Faster than I used to, but most people under the age of 40 can probably blow me out of the water.

102. Do you regret anything from your past? yeah

103. Can you spell well? yeah

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? a lot

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? I grew up by the beach. All the time.

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? I doubt it.

107. Have you ever been on a horse? yes. One time it didn’t end well, the second time it was fine.

108. What should you be doing? I should probably go to the bathroom. Idk, it is Friday before a 3 day weekend. I don’t have a lot pressing on me rn.

109. Is something irritating you right now? fearmongering about GMOs

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? yup

111. Do you have trust issues? wasn’t this already a question? IT TOTALLY WAS. #3.

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? Probably my roommate Makenna. Last semester was rough.

113. What was your childhood nickname? My mother came up with a lot of inane nicknames for me. I’ll share “Wyssie”

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? yup, lots. I am outside it now.

115. Do you play the Wii? When I am home.

116. Are you listening to music right now? I can half hear the music my roommate is playing in her room.

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? It aight.

118. Do you like Chinese food? Depends on where it is from and whether there is congealed pig blood in it.

119. Favourite book? The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

120. Are you afraid of the dark? Not really.

121. Are you mean?  I don’t try to be. I probably come off that way dometimes though. Or rather, I come off as insensitive/self-centered sometimes. I wish I could stop that.

122. Is cheating ever okay? no.

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? I’ve never legitimately tried and I don’t see myself trying.

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? no

125. Do you believe in true love? yeah

126. Are you currently bored? no

127. What makes you happy? people. Being not me.

128. Would you change your name? my name is fine.

129. What your zodiac sign? Aquarius

130. Do you like subway? I worked there for 2 years and I still like it. Except for the cold cut combo. Don’t get the cold cut combo, it is disgusting.

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? Think about it a lot and potentially go out on a date with them. Idk. I don’t currently have a male best friend.

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? okay this one is a repeat too. What is with this noise.

133. Favourite lyrics right now? teach me how to say goodbye

134. Can you count to one million? why? I mean I theorhetically can, I doubt I would have the patience though.

135. Dumbest lie you ever told? I bet I told some idiotic ones when I was little. Don’t remember them.

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? yes. Usually closed, but I don’t care if they are open.

137. How tall are you? 5′7″

138. Curly or Straight hair? wavy

139. Brunette or Blonde? Brunette

140. Summer or Winter? Late Fall

141. Night or Day? night

142. Favourite month? December

143. Are you a vegetarian? no

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? dark

145. Tea or Coffee? tea made from things that are not tea leaves.

146. Was today a good day? it was aight.

147. Mars or Snickers? never had a mars bar

148. What’s your favourite quote? The stigma will last as long as our silence.

149. Do you believe in ghosts? I think I believe in spirits, but I don’t believe they come visit us

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? There’s nothing rich folks love more/than going downtown and slummin’ it with the poor (hamilton: the revolution)