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imaginedisish · 5 years

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I Wanna Be Yours (Otis Milburn x Reader) (Eric Effiong x Adam Groff) (Sex Education)

A/N: Heyyy guys!!! Sorry for the wait :( Life is busy ooooff! So this is based on an anon request I got a few days ago, which was based off of the song “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys. If you haven’t heard the song, GO LISTEN TO IT!!! So before you read, lemme just say that I incorporated the lyrics of the song into the imagine, and half way through the narrator switches to Eric and Adam, so don’t get confused lololol! I’m a little worried that this imagine is super confusing, and I’m sorry if it is!!! I hope you guys enjoy hehehe! I’ve got a Bandersnatch imagine coming next so hang tight for that!

Summary: After months of separation, Eric and Adam are reunited at a school dance, which prompts Otis to tell you how he really feels. I’m so bad at summaries oh my god...

Warnings: some language, but MAJOR FLUFF!!

Word Count: 2,080+

Also HAPPY MLK DAY!!!!!! He was one cool, hardworking, intelligent, dedicated, and incredible dude!!! If you haven’t done so, go read his “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” Pleeaaassee!!

“Tonight is going to be the best night of our lives!” Eric says, swiftly gliding into the gymnasium as if it were some extravagant soiree. He spins around, extending his arms out to present the ornate decorations around you. Eric looked absolutely fabulous. He wore a vibrant blue floral tux, complete with bright purple eye makeup.

Maeve cackles loudly, snorting in the process. “Eric, it’s a school dance. The only way this is going to be the best night of our lives is if someone spikes the punch bowl.” Eric gives Maeve a look of disappointment.

“You’re insane, woman,” Eric says, extending a hand out towards Maeve that clearly says “shut up, you have no idea what you’re talking about”. Maeve retaliates with a strong and prompt middle finger. Eric steps closer to Maeve, a look of annoyance plastered on his face.

“Alright let’s keep things civil,” Otis chimes in, stepping in between Maeve and Eric, pressing a hand to each of their shoulders. You can’t help but giggle. Otis would never be able to stop a fight. He was too soft…

And far too cute, You think to yourself, smiling slightly. Otis wore a dark blue tux, his hair slicked back akin to a greaser. He really did look amazing. The sight of him made your heart beat rapidly in your chest.

Of course, he could never know that he made you feel that way. You and Otis had been friends for years, and you figured that if he knew about your crush on him, your friend group would be torn apart. You shake off your feelings, and walk out towards the dance floor.

Fluorescent Adolescent by Arctic Monkeys begins to blast throughout the gym, and your eyes light up with excitement. You loved Arctic Monkeys, and you knew Otis did too.

Alex Turner’s voice echoes, “Oh the boy’s a slag!” And the whole gym can’t help but sing along, including you, Otis, Eric and Maeve “The best you’ve ever had, the best you’ve ever had is just a memory…”

“Now who’s dancing with me?” You call out, swaying your hips from side to side, extending a hand out towards your three friends. Maeve smirks, and quickly dips from your line of sight.

“Not me,” Otis giggles, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m a terrible dancer!” He laughs and smiles widely. Eric gives Otis a slight push towards the dance floor.

“Go on, mate. Dance with her!” Eric says, pushing Otis towards you again. Otis blushes as he comes face to face with you.

Eric knew about your feelings for Otis. You had told him about a year ago, and he had remained your closest confidant ever since. Eric was so easy to talk to. He always listened and kept your secrets.

“I’m so terribly sorry if my dancing is totally and utterly embarrassing,” Otis laughs, his eyes landing on your hips and then quickly moving back up to your face. “Y-you look really b-beautiful tonight, (Y/N).”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and the corners of your mouth slowly turn up. “T-thanks Otis,” You stutter nervously. “Y-you look quite dapper yourself.”

Dapper? Why the hell would I ever say dapper? You think to yourself, silently regretting what you said.

Otis smiles widely. “Dapper?” He asks, giggling a bit, and blushing even more than he was before.

“Yes, dapper,” You say, laughing awkwardly. “You really do look handsome.” Your words are more confident now. It was true, he looked extremely handsome, and you thought he deserved to know that. Otis beams with joy at your comment.

His ocean eyes stare deeply into yours, and you can almost feel your cheeks begin to grow red.

“You used to get it in your fishnets, now you only get it in your night dress…” Alex Turner’s voice booms from the speakers as you and Otis step closer to each other. You two are centimeters apart, his nose practically brushing up against yours. “Remember when you used to be a rascal oh…”

Just as it seems as though something is about to happen between you two, the song ends and the room cheers in excitement. You and Otis part from each other, clapping along with the rest of the room.

The next song begins to play, and you recognize it immediately. The slow, languid, yet sharp percussion gives it away instantly.

“Here’s a slow song for all our couples in the room. I Wanna Be Yours, by Arctic Monkeys, mates…” The DJ trails off. Suddenly, the room feels a lot hotter, and your heart begins to race, thumping violently against your chest.

“I love this song,” You say softly, growing more and more nervous each second. “The DJ must really love Arctic Monkeys.”

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust…” Otis steps closer to you as Alex Turner’s voice resonates throughout the gym.

“Do you want t-to…” Otis chokes on his words. “D-dance? For r-real? W-with me?” He takes another step towards you, and you nod your head up and down eagerly. Otis smiles, and wraps his arms around your waist. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

You two sway side to side, your stomach filling with butterflies. This was what you had always dreamed of. It felt so perfect, so unreal.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot Eric. You try to flash him a smile, but he doesn’t see you. Instead, his eyes are glued to the gym doors. You watch as he quickly rushes out of the gym.

“Adam?” Eric whispers to himself. There was Adam, the very Adam Groff that Eric had come to fall deeply in love with, simply standing outside of the gym, arms crossed tightly against his chest. Suddenly, nothing else in the world mattered.

Eric thought he would never see Adam again. Adam had went off to military school about a year ago, and Eric hadn’t heard from him since. It killed Eric, and not a day went by that he didn’t dream of Adam holding him in his arms yet again.

Almost instinctively, Eric sprints towards the gymnasium doors, pushing them open with all the force he had inside of him.

Adam’s hands fall to his sides, and his eyes land on Eric.

“You didn’t say goodbye to me, and that isn’t bloody fair,” Eric says, slowly walking closer to Adam.

“I didn’t know I was going to leave…” Adam trails off nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” He whispers to Eric.

Adam takes another step towards Eric. He’s wearing a green tweed suit. The style was extremely unusual for Adam. He seemed to be completely put together. There wasn’t a seam that was tailored incorrectly, not a hair out of place.

“You look…” Eric pauses for a second, trying to find the right words.

“Bland?” Adam interjects, brushing a hand through his hair. “My dad wanted me to wear this disgusting suit. It was my grandfather’s suit or something like that.” Adam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“No, you look…amazing. Gorgeous, even,” Eric says confidently, closing the gap between he and Adam.

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you,” Adam whispers as a student casually walks around the two lovers. “Can we go somewhere and talk about this, in private?”

Eric shakes his head, anger quickly replacing the elated feeling in his gut as he remembers the unfortunate truth about his relationship with Adam. “No, I’m tired of hiding this. I’m tired of having to keep us a secret.” Eric’s voice is firm and commanding, something Adam wasn’t used to. Eric grabs Adam’s hand, pulling him into the gymnasium.

“What are you doing, Eric?” Adam questions as Eric pulls him into the center of the floor.

“I just wanna be yours,” the chorus of the song begins as Eric grabs Adam’s hands, intertwining his fingers with Adam’s. “I wanna be yours, Adam. Don’t you get that?”

You and Otis look over to Eric and Adam. “I thought Adam was at military school?” Otis says, perplexed. “And now they’re dancing together? I thought Eric hated Adam. What the bloody hell is going on?”

You smile lightly. Eric had told you what happened between him and Adam. He had cried to you for months about how crushed he was when Adam left. And now, they were together again.

Eric pulls apart from Adam, and runs up to the stage, grabbing the microphone from the center of the stage. He taps the top of it, checking to see if it was on. “H-hello,” Eric stutters into the microphone, his voice booming throughout the gym.

“Get off the stage, Tromboner!” Someone calls out. Eric shakes off the insult, and hops off the stage, the wireless mic still in his hand. He walks into the center of the floor, towards Adam, and the student body forms a circle around the two boys.

“Adam, I love you. I understand if this isn’t something you want, but I wanna be yours,” Eric says, his words rushed and nervous.

The lyrics, “At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean,” cuts through the tension of the gymnasium like a hot knife moving through butter, and the room falls silent, the only noise being the song in the background.

Adam takes a step towards Eric, closing the gap that once kept them apart.

“Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought…”

“I wanna be yours too, Eric,” Adam says softly, cupping Eric’s cheeks with his hands, brushing his lips against Eric’s. The whole room cheers wildly. Eric smiles into the kiss, and so does Adam.

You turn towards Otis, who’s hilariously confused. “What just happened?” Otis laughs, clearly surprised by the event that transpired. You go on to explain what had happened when the two boys were forced to be in detention with one another, as well as everything else that Eric told you had happened between them.

Otis’s eyes are wide with surprise, but he’s clearly happy for Eric and Adam. Eric was his best friend, and he wanted nothing more than for him to live his best, and most full life.

You can’t help but beam with joy as you watch Eric and Adam dance, Eric’s arms around Adam’s neck, and Adam’s arms around Eric’s waist. “I wish I had that much confidence,” You say, looking up at Otis. “You know? To tell the person you love how much they mean to you, it takes a lot."

Suddenly, Otis pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly against your lower back. Your heart flutters in your chest, and your stomach feels as though it’s doing back flips.

“T-there’s s-something I’ve wanted to tell you f-for a while…” Otis’s croaks. “And watching those two,” Otis nods towards Eric and Adam, “Has given me the confidence to tell you how I feel.”

You wrap your arms around Otis’s neck, and nod anxiously in response. “And how is it that you feel, exactly?” You question, biting your lower lip, waiting for Otis to continue.

“W-well, I’ve…”Otis trails off nervously, choking on his words. “I’ve sort of liked you…for a while now…” You smile widely, heat rushing to your cheeks. “To be completely honest, I think,” He pauses, “no, I know I’m in love with you. It’s fine if you aren’t in love with me, I just thought that you should kno-.”

You cut Otis off, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

“Shut up and kiss me back,” You giggle, your forehead pressing lightly up against Otis’s. His lips come crushing down on yours in response. Otis’s lips are warm and soft against yours, and you fear that if you pull away, your lips will turn to frost.

To your dismay, Otis takes his lips off of yours. His turquoise eyes stare deeply into your own, his arms still wrapped around your waist.

“Otis,” You whisper, a smile plastered across your face. “I’m in love with you too.”

“I just wanna be yours…” The song ends, and you close your eyes as Otis pulls you closer into his chest.

You listen to his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and you hum in pleasure, realizing that there was no more longing, no more want.

He was now yours, and you were his.

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captainsonofabitch · 5 years

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Tony meeting Peter

@kawasakikat requested Peter meeting Tony and, honestly, I wanted to write more but had to restrain myself... Maybe i’ll do a followup, who knows? Apologies for any OOC-ness :)

Tony hated press conferences with a vengeance; the lights were too bright, the reporters were rude and demanding with little respect for those they were aiming questions at, and the other members of the Avengers were absolutely useless at answering the multitudes of queries fired at them from their audience. That was why Tony was very much not looking forwards to the imminent press conference following their latest world-saving endeavour.

They were backstage, everyone decked out in their uniforms bar Tony who had simply donned his usual sneaker-suit combo - there was no way he was lugging his armour around just for the sake of some dumbass journalists. Looking over the top of his aviators, Tony sighed. Press conferences with everyone on the team present? Hellish. God, he could already see Cap stressing over the mini-debrief he had to give to begin with, a pre-prepared thing jotted down on neat flashcards courtesy of one Agent Coulson. Wanda, Vision, Nat, and Clint were standing in amiable silence beside the door to the small stage they’d be sat upon, Sam, Bucky, and Thor hovering awkwardly behind Steve as the man rehearsed. Rolling his eyes, Tony turned his attention back to Agent as their time out of the public eye drew to a close. He heard the weak sigh Cap gave as they were announced and, one by one, the Avengers filed out onto the platform they were supposed to spend the next hour and a half on.

Almost immediately, flashes started popping, voices clamouring over one another to be heard. Tony felt the familiar tightness behind his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose to block the worst of the flashes. Cap made his way to the little microphone stand and Tony tuned him out as he began to speak. It was the usual drivel; what had caused the incident (aliens…), who had instructed the Avengers to intervene (the WSC…), what damage control was in place (as much as they could afford…), and what clean-up efforts were being made (whatever Stark Industries and S.H.I.E.L.D could afford… so a lot). Tony had heard it a million times before; every time the Avengers saved the world a press conference followed suit.

The speech itself didn’t take long and all too soon Tony found himself taking Steve’s place at the microphone, sending a plastic smile at the plethora of journalists seated before him. Immediately, hands began to rise. Spotting a timid-looking man sitting near the back with his hand semi-raised, Tony pointed confidently. The man in question cleared his throat.

“You mentioned the threat was of an intergalactic nature? Do the Avengers, and by association Stark Industries, have measures in the work to prevent the number of Alien attacks in the future? This is, after all, the fourth in the last sixteen months.”

And so it began. Tony pasted on a positive demeanour and got to work answering the abundance of, either completely ignorant or simply plain rude, questions that the reporters sent their way. Occasionally, the other Avengers would pipe up, but for the most part Tony took the reigns and led the conference the way he had been doing since adolescence. By the time they were just over half-finished, he had them eating out of the palm of his hand, the more insulting reporters kicked out without hesitation whilst those respectful and with genuine enquiries remained. It was only when one reporter piped up that things got remotely interesting.

Tony had selected a woman seemingly at random, skimming the crowd to find anyone looking especially impatient. The moment he pointed to her, her polite smile turned vindictive.

“Mr. Stark, what do you have to say about the recent break-up between you and Miss Potts? Was there an incident that provoked it or did you simply grow tired of the commitment? Your track record gives the impression that your commitment issues may be to blame.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. Yes, he and Pepper had split a few months prior but until now no-one had been blasé enough to broach the topic. Blasé and straight-up rude. Before Tony could formulate an answer, another voice piped up, a snarky drawl that immediately had the man’s gaze shifting across the room till it landed on the speaker.

“How is this at all relevant to this event? As far as I was aware, this conference was held to discuss the recent attacks and the contribution the Avengers made to saving the world… again.”

The man who spoke appeared to be around about Tony’s age, dark hair pushed back from his face and striking blue eyes twinkling with mirth. His thin lips were tugged up into a smirk that made something unfamiliar curl warm and tight in Tony’s stomach. Hearing the obnoxious spluttering of the invasive reporter, Tony couldn’t contain a chuckle. The other man shifted to look up towards the stage, meeting Tony’s gaze.

“Something funny, Mister Stark? I was simply trying to keep your conference on track,” he announced, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Ah, I appreciate it, honestly. God knows somebody has to. I do so try my best but… well, you know how unpredictable people can be Mister…?”

“Hale. Peter Hale. From ‘The Beacon.’ A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, even if it did involve me defending your honour at your own event.”

Tony barked out a laugh and grinned wolfishly at Peter. Reaching up to his face, he tugged his glasses off and tucked them into the front pocket of his suit.

“The pleasure is all mine, Peter. I’ve read a few of your articles actually; I’m particularly fond of that series you do… what’s it called again? Oh, yes. I do believe you call it your ‘Weekly Review of Tony Stark’s Ass.’ The commentary on my leather pants really spoke to me.” Tony chuckled, watching the way the corners of Peter’s eyes crinkled in amusement whilst the faintest of flushes became apparent under the fluorescent glow of the lights.

“It’s well received, I assure you. The readers love it. My personal favourite, though, is my ‘Iron Man; the Real Leader of the Avengers’ segment. It’s why I’m here today actually. Gathering new material, you know how it is.”

Peter held up the clipboard in his hands and gave it a half-wave, Tony following the movement with his eyes. The man on stage nodded his head in amusement, feeling the tell-tale brush of heat creep up the back of his neck. He was familiar with the segment in question; it was his go-to reading material when the self-doubt and worthlessness came creeping in. Peter was always glowing in his reports of the advancements S.I was making, of the things Tony had been up to that the general press never really wanted to report (the hospital visits, the Make-A-Wish trips, the donations and free-of-charge appointments with Veterans and the likes), and in his adventures as Iron Man, with or without the Avengers. Many times had he made clear his opinion that Tony was the best-suited to lead their ragtag group of Superheroes, backing up every point he made with such a broad plethora of evidence that people couldn’t really argue. Peter’s segments practically had their own fan clubs, and Tony was thrilled to put a face, a personality, to the name.

“Ah, I see. Using my pain and suffering for your own selfish gain,” Tony teased. “I should have known you were too good to be true.”

“Mister Stark I assure you, your pain and suffering are the furthest thing from what I want.”

And suddenly the mood was a lot more serious. Peter’s entire being screamed sincerity and Tony found himself speechless. The duality of the reporter was astounding and it took a moment for the man to regain his voice and reply.

“It’s alright, I was just messing with you, but you knew that, right? Thanks, though. Seriously. It’s not often people in your position actually care about the person they’re reporting about.”

At that moment, Tony would swear Peter’s eyes blazed a bright blue, flashing intensely before returning to their usual state. Thinking it must simply have been a trick of the light, he smiled wanly.

“Well I am most unlike most people in my position.”

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Tony opened his mouth to respond when a pointed cough from behind him interrupted. Before he could say another word, he heard Coulson announce that ‘That’s all we’ve got time for. Thank you for your questions.’ And then he was being ushered, roughly, off of the stage. Cap was hissing in his ear but Tony didn’t pay him any attention whatsoever, trying instead to find Peter in the surging crowd of reporters. There was still so much he wanted to say, to talk with the man about. Vowing that he would find the reporter as soon as he could lose the rest of the team, Tony let himself be dragged away backstage.

#tony stark #iron man #peter hale #teen wolf #pepper potts #The Avengers #captain america #tony #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #beacon hills #drabble #Prompt Fills #prompts #send prompts #send asks #im trying lol

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werewolfdays · 5 years

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drabble - Shackled

based off of a prompt from the @whumptober2019 prompt list, Jayde talks to Nadya about the most traumatic part of her past-

My hand automatically placed itself on Nadya’s thigh when I sat back down on the couch by the fireplace. I noticed Nadya’s gaze linger on the subtle scar wrapping around my wrist from the silver shackles that were placed on me when I was captured. She would do that sometimes. Take a special interest in one of the scars that she knew I gained from my years in captivity. But she never mentioned it. Even when I felt her curiosity towards it, she usually kept quiet.

“You never ask.”

She blinked up at me in confusion, “Ask what?”

“You know what I mean.” I said gently.

A moment of silence passed. Nadya stared down at my scar again, reaching out to brush her thumb over it. “I didn’t think it was something I should bring up.”

“But you want to know.” I responded in understanding.

The warmth of her brown eyes settled back on me. “Not bad enough to put you through the pain of remembering.”

I grabbed her hand to play with her fingers, “You can always ask me whatever you want, you know that.” A small crooked smile flashed across my face, “Plus, I heard somewhere that talking about things can sometimes maybe help.”

Nadya smiled briefly too, but then she went into quiet thought for a minute. I watched her contemplate exactly what question she wanted to ask with a mixture of dread and anticipation. I rarely talk about being held captive, figuring my scars were enough of an explanation. Nadya made me feel safe though. She is the only person that I haven’t given boundaries to on the subject. I didn’t feel the need to. Even with that amount of freedom I gave to her, she hasn’t abused it, which just made me love her more.

“What…” Nadya hesitated like she didn’t believe me, “What was it like?”

My eyes wandered around the Den. What little guests there were didn’t seem to care about us or what we were talking about. Toby didn’t even glance in our direction from the bar. Not like I expected anyone to be listening anyway, but I suddenly felt exposed. I took a moment to focus on Nadya’s hand holding mine to ground me. Since I had just told her she could ask, I felt obligated to follow through, but it suddenly made me feel trapped. Then I realized Nadya would never force me to talk about this. If I said the word, she would drop it. No questions asked. No judgement. That reassurance gave me the final push I needed to speak.

“Well, at first it wasn’t so bad if I’m being honest. I mean, I did watch my dad get murdered and I was beaten and taken away from my mom and my home.” Recalling the events was met with some resistance. As soon as my mom and I were taken, I was resigned to our fate. The only light of hope I had was the knowledge that Skye was safe. “But they waited until I was fully recovered. They politely asked questions about my experience as a werewolf and took basic tests. I guess I was a rare find, being a purebred adolescent werewolf. It almost felt like I was getting a physical at the doctor’s. But I was pissed. I didn’t give them shit if I could help it. All I wanted was to see my mom.”

“You were sixteen?” Nadya asked.

“Mhm,” I nodded, “One of them- maybe a scientist, I’m not sure- sat me down and tried to convince me that their work was good. That they were trying to advance medicine and improve the world. She spoke to me like I was a child, telling me that we could work together and that I could be a hero.” I scoffed, wishing that I had bashed that woman’s face in, “Obviously, I didn’t buy into her shit. I think that meeting was my last chance to cooperate, because things changed after that. They put me in a solitary confinement cell and took me out a few times a week to perform tests.”

I heard Nadya’s heart rate begin to pick up, dreading the details as much as I did.

“It started off pretty tame. They would take tons of samples, blood, saliva, that sort of thing. Then they wanted to watch me turn. I must’ve held back a shift for months just to spite them. Ironically, that’s where I learned a lot of my control. Each full moon was horrible. It felt like my blood was going to boil and my skull was going to burst, but I still held it back. So they tried to force a turn.” Nadya’s breath hitched at my emphasis of force, “They tried everything from electric shocks to adrenaline shots. Pretty sure that almost killed me a couple times... I’m not sure what did it though, I just knew that one day it became too much, so I let them have their win.”

I started to worry that I was painting too horrific of a picture, but Nadya didn’t object. Maybe she felt like she needed to hear it. A voice in the back of my head told me to stop. She doesn’t need to know this. It’s hurting her as much as it did you. It told me. The look of pained determination on her face silently urged me to continue. She can handle it. I thought back.

“They tested the limits of my durability, sometimes pushing me to the brink of death to monitor my healing. Also trying out silver, wolfsbane, and anything else that was mentioned in folklore to see how that affected me and my shifting or healing.” I only realized after I broke out that those were mostly weapons tests against my kind, but I didn’t mention that, “Sometimes they would drag me out of my cell and put me under and I would wake up back in my bed however long later with no idea of what they did to me. Just a new scar somewhere.”

Broken memories came back to me. Somewhat detached. Like all of this happened to someone else. The rage and fear that had rooted itself so deep within me during those years wanted to manifest, but it was like I couldn’t muster it. I just felt cold.

“After a while, all the days just… blended together. I couldn’t tell you if it was day or night, there was just these goddamn fluorescent lights on twenty-four seven. And that wasn’t even the most maddening part, because they only asked questions in the beginning. The rest of the time I was there, barely anyone spoke to me. No matter how much I cursed them out- how much I begged. Though, they were feeling nice one day and decided to let me know that my mom didn’t survive the experiments.”

My jaw clenched bitterly, finally feeling the primal rage that I knew was inside me all the time. Sometimes lying dormant, patiently waiting for the right time to be unleashed. And just like that... it faded away to the cold again.

“They all became blank faces with blank stares. That just made it seem even less real. Like I was screaming at faceless people in a nightmare. I didn’t even know how long I was in there until I got out.”

Three years. I still remember how shocked I was when I picked up my first newspaper. Three years had somehow felt like a lifetime. Or more accurately, an endless black pit where time didn’t exist.

“That place, it’s…” I stammered, unsure of how to go about describing it, “I wasn’t alive. And I wasn’t dead either. I was something in between, floating in someplace in between.”

A stillness settled between us when I was finished. My heart was beating slowly, but each thump felt like a kick to the chest. I finally turned to see tears falling freely down Nadya’s cheeks. That in turn made me notice my own. My hand came up in time to catch a tear in its descent, and I pulled it back to stare at the moisture on the tip of my finger in bewilderment. I felt mostly nothing while recounting my horrors, yet my body still reacted. It knew what we should be feeling, but my subconscious was kind enough to spare me. Until now, that is. When I looked to Nadya again, she seemed to notice my internal struggle.

“Let’s get out of here.” She said, wiping her tears off on her sleeve and standing up.

I got up to follow her, her hand fitting perfectly in mine as she pulled me along. Just focus on her. Nadya led me towards the fire pits outside. My breath immediately turned to mist in the freezing night air. The cold was actually a much needed slap to the face. I took a few deep breaths, letting go of Nadya’s hand to lean on the icy railing overlooking the lake that was illuminated by moonlight. She stood beside me and her hand came to rest on my back, moving in soothing circles to settle my mind.

“You were looking a little pale.” Nadya said, keeping up the pace of her light massage, “Thought some fresh air might help.”

An iron grip on the railing turned my knuckles white, but with each breath, my vice loosened. “Is, uh, is that what you were hoping to hear?” I chuckled in a poor attempt at humor.

I regretted it when Nadya’s hand stopped. Thankfully it only lasted a second because her arm went lower to wrap around my waist and lean into me. “Well, I was hoping that it wasn’t as bad as I imagined. Foolish, I know.” Her gaze fell, but only so she could run an index finger along my strained knuckles, “Especially since it ended up being worse.”

“It was years ago.” I said like it made it any better. Like time negated all of the trauma when it clearly didn’t. No matter how many times I tried to convince myself it did.

“You’re right,” Nadya shifted to take my hand in both of hers, purposefully tracing the scar she was studying earlier, “But I still see it every day. All over you. And I heard it in your voice even before you told me. You know what else I see?” the way Nadya cradled my hand against her chest put me in some sort of trance as I hung onto every word she spoke. “I see just how strong you are. Jay, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I’ve always seen that.”

“You think way too highly of me.” I told her with a bashful smile.

“It’s the truth.” She insisted. Her own playful smile lit up her beautiful face, “I want to be as strong as you when I grow up.”

The laugh I released was such a welcome sensation, pulling me away from the lingering darkness, “You already are.” My arms wrapped around Nadya’s body and she nuzzled her head into my neck. The tip of her nose was already freezing and caused my body to flinch slightly at the shock of feeling it against my skin. “You’re so cold.”

“And you’re so warm.” Nadya remarked, slipping her hands under my shirt, which weren’t as cold as her nose, but still made me tense up until they warmed.

“You guys like freezing your asses off?” I heard Toby say and turned to see him coming towards us with two steaming cups of what smelled like tea in his hands.

“At least once a week so a new one can grow in.” Nadya joked, accepting the cup he handed to her.

Toby shook his head at her in amusement and handed me the other one that was spiked with whiskey. I smelled it from ten feet away. He must’ve sensed that I needed it and I took it gratefully, saying my thanks with a purposeful nod.

“Alright, well I don’t need to grow a new ass, so see you guys later.” Toby quipped and went to go back inside. He hesitated by the door and called, “Try not to stay out too long.”

“We’ll be inside in a few minutes.” I reassured him. He nodded in relief, seemingly satisfied that whatever I was going through wasn’t bad enough to freeze myself to death, and went back to the Den.

I took a long sip of my tea, savoring all the flavors of the various herbs mixing with the alcohol. Letting the hot liquid fill my insides with a warm embrace to relax me. Nadya rested her head on my shoulder while she held her cup in her grasp like a hand warmer. I took in her scent for a few minutes too. It reminded me of the very tea she was drinking, mixed autumn spices that paired perfectly with the cold weather. The kind of scent that made you want to curl up by a fire in your favorite blanket.

“You know, you’ll never have to go back to that place.” She said calmly, “I won’t let anyone take you back there. I promise.”

My smile warmed me as much as she did. “I believe you.”

#ocs #original characters #original writing #original story #whumptober2019 #no.9 #My writing #Jayde #Nadya #Jayde pov

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letshargroovetonight · 5 years

Note

Made up fic title 'Fluorescent adolescent' or (if you think that one is a bit stupid) 'do me a favour'

ohhh for fluorescent adolescent - they move to a big city together after steve graduates and though it’s a little tough out their on their own for the first few months, they begin to thrive. a year ago, steve never would’ve imagined that he’d be spending his remaining time as a teenager living with billy hundreds of miles away from hawkins. in the city, there’s something new to do every night, always another place to explore & steve’s glad he’s doing it all with billy. it ends with them puttering around outside a bar late at night, under a sign that turns flashes on and off everything few seconds, billy’s face lightening and darkening in turn.

AND

‘do me a favour’ gives me slice of life vibezzzz. like just a daily look at how the boys go about their lives and do small things here and there for each other to show how much they care.

#harringrove #both ideas are warming my heart #Anonymous #words

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newstfionline · 6 years

Text

I Took ‘Adulting Classes’ for Millennials

Andrew Zaleski, CityLab, Oct 29, 2018

On the eve of my wife’s 30th birthday--a milestone I, too, will soon hit--she posed a troubling question: Are we adults yet?

We certainly feel that way: We hold our own jobs, pay our own rent, cover our own bills, drive our own cars. Our credit is in order. But we don’t yet own a house and have no children--two markers commonly associated with fully-fledged adulthood (and two markers that both our sets of parents had reached well before they turned 30). And there are other gaps in our maturity: I don’t buy napkins or know how to golf; up until last year, I didn’t know how to change the oil in my car’s engine. Thankfully, last year we managed to throw a dinner party, our first, without burning the pork roast.

A vague anxiety over these known-unknowns is something of a generational hallmark. A Monday-morning scroll through the social media feed of the average 20-something might turn up a handful of friends sharing memes of dogs--looking bewildered, exasperated, or both--unironically captioned with something like: “Don’t make me adult today.”

Yes, Millennials have killed yet another thing. In this case, it’s something so fundamental that it may have seemed unkillable, but apparently isn’t: knowing how to be an adult.

Younger people need not look far on the internet to find popular condemnation from card-carrying grown-ups about our many shortcomings. We are, we are often told, simpering, self-indulgent, immune-to-difficulty know-nothings, overgrown toddlers who commute on children’s toys and demand cucumber water in our workplaces. But in our own social circles, such constructive criticism can be harder to find. Young urbanites tend to pack themselves into specific neighborhoods, cities, and living situations that have relatively fewer older residents. In such communities, knowledge on how to Seamless a meal to the doorstep is a dime a dozen, but first-hand experience in snaking a drain, cooking a meal for four, or operating a manual transmission comes at more of a premium. (To say nothing of the fact that a third of Americans between 18 and 34 are living with their parents.)

Luckily, the rough road to adulthood can be paved with adulting classes. The Adulting Collective, a startup venture out of Portland, Maine, made a big splash about two years ago after national news outlets reported on its in-person events. In its short lifespan, the Collective has offered up lessons, either guided or via online video, in such varied life skills as bike safety, holiday gift-giving for the cash-strapped, putting together a monthly budget, opening a bottle of wine without a corkscrew, and assembling a weekly nutritional plan. Their target audience: “emerging adults,” the massive 93-million-strong demographic group composed of people in their 20s and early 30s.

There are similarly structured programs across the country. At the Brooklyn Brainery, for example, you can take classes on how to run a good meeting or what Seinfeld teaches us about love. Take an online course with the Society of Grownups, sponsored by the insurance company Mass Mutual, and topics will include budgeting and how to deal with student-loan debt.

The sheer banality of many of these courses is their salient quality. They’re teaching stuff that people neither look forward to nor seem to enjoy, but implicitly recognize as part of being a grown-up: paying bills, setting a budget, calling the car insurance company, looking after your health. The joyless, quotidian chores of post-adolescence.

“Adulting is something nobody prepares you for, but you know it when it happens. It’s the unglorified part of being on your own,” says Rebekah Fitzsimmons, assistant director of the writing and communication program at Georgia Tech who taught a class on adulting in the 21st century in 2016.

In a bygone era, the ordinariness traditionally associated with growing the hell up was something few noticed--in the first half of the 20th century, 20-somethings were too busy trying not to die of the Spanish Flu or fighting Hitler to worry too much about what life skills they were failing to develop. That has now been replaced by public displays of what it means to be a self-sufficient human being, Fitzsimmons says. At the intersection of these two competing truths is the cottage industry of adulting, one nurtured by Instagram hashtags and built around how-to classes for hapless Millennials.

Born in 1989, I am a card-carrying member of the oft-derided demographic. How hapless am I? To find out, I signed up for the two action challenges the Adulting Collective offered last fall: one on nutrition and another focused on monthly budgeting. Via email, I received instructions for each of these week-long courses, which had me tackling a new skill or task each day.

When I hit 30, I intend to complete emerging adulthood fully equipped for whatever comes next.

First lesson: Hydrate! Never would I have thought the amount of water I consumed would be a point of instruction. But it turns out that young adults are notoriously poor judges of this particular basic biological need. The crash course in nutrition from the Adulting Collective that arrived in my inbox last fall was titled “Detox Before You Retox,” and it heavily emphasized hangover avoidance. Billed as a way to prepare yourself “before the next happy hour,” the instructions contained multiple steps broken down over five days. Step one: Get your basics in order, like eating your veggies, exercising, and drinking more water.

So one evening I stood in the harsh glow of my kitchen’s overhead fluorescent lighting--pitcher at the ready, glass on the countertop--applying myself to my first adulting lesson. On my smartphone I made a quick calculation: my weight, divided by 2.2, multiplied by my age, divided by 28.3, divided once more by eight. The answer: eight. More precisely, I needed to drink 7.56 cups of water to hit my proper daily intake.

This was only one of the big takeaways I received. I also learned that a morning drink of lemon water and cayenne pepper mixed with said water can help boost my metabolism, apparently. Like the unnecessarily complex hydration formula above, some of this material had the effect of making a heretofore uncomplicated thing more daunting. It was months later it finally dawned on me that a simple Google search could yield a far simpler answer for the number of glasses of water I ought to drink every day.

How did it come to this? Did previous generations have so much trouble mastering the basics?

“In an ideal world, we would all be followed around by this combination of our grandmother and Merlin who would lovingly teach us how to do each and every thing in the world,” says Kelly Williams Brown, author of the 2013 book Adulting: How to Become a Grown-up in 535 Easy(ish) Steps. “In the absence of that, it can be nice to have resources.”

Brown’s book seems to be largely responsible for the meteoric rise of the gerund form of the word (which was short-listed by Oxford Dictionaries as the word of the year in 2016). A revised edition of Adulting was published in March. The adulting industry itself is newer. Rachel Weinstein co-founded the Adulting School (now Collective) with Katie Brunelle in fall 2016. (Brunelle has since left the business.)

A professional therapist, Weinstein would sometimes encounter younger clients who spoke about the idiosyncrasies of grown-up life with a feeling of self-conscious shame. Being overwhelmed about how to manage money or clean out their kitchen pantry were things they felt they had to hide. “I just saw a lot of my clients struggle with life, trying to be competent in skills that we’re not necessarily taught. People had this sense of internal embarrassment,” she says.

To Weinstein, this seemed like a golden business opportunity. As a group, 26-year-olds are the single biggest age cohort in the U.S., followed by people who are 25, 27, and 24. Yet unlike previous generations, the young people of today are slower to reach the milestones usually associated with adulthood: living independently, forming their own households, having children, and getting married. “Today’s young people,” as the U.S. Census Bureau reported last year, “look different from prior generations in almost every regard.”

Tempting as it might be to identify the price of avocados as the culprit in this stunted generational progress, there may be other reasons to explain the shift. A research report released in the spring by Freddie Mac cited weak wage growth and the rapid rise of both housing costs and average expenditures as some of the principal reasons. “A popular meme, ‘adulting is hard,’ provides a humorous take on the challenges faced by young adults,” the authors wrote. “Like a lot of good comedy, the phrase has a tinge of cruelty.”

The typical adulting student is someone whose childhood was tech-dependent and activity-rich, the sort of high-achiever kid told to get good grades.

Geography plays a role, too: Millennials tend to choose to live in the centers of high-cost cities, and their earning power hasn’t kept pace with housing costs. Since 2000, the median home price in the U.S. has risen by a quarter, from $210,000 to $270,000, while the per capita real income for young adults has risen by only 1 percent during that same period. Throw those myriad factors together, and you have some of the explanation for why 20-somethings are renting for longer periods of time than they once did, as well as why marriage and fertility rates have dropped. Appropriately, Freddie Mac’s report was titled, “Why Is Adulting Getting Harder?”

But if you go further back, delaying the markers of adulthood does have historical precedent, says Holly Swyers, an anthropology professor at Lake Forest College. She recently completed a project examining adulthood in America from the Civil War to the present day. For much of the period Swyers studied, many Americans over 18 followed roughly the same trajectory as modern Millennials do: They spent their 20s figuring out life and establishing themselves financially. The script didn’t flip until the 1950s and 1960s, when the markers that defined crossing over into the world of adulthood came to mean marrying and having children.

“Marrying when you’re 20, having kids by 21, and being established is a little bit freakish in American history,” she says.

So if those Americans of yore managed to (eventually) attain maturity without the aid of online courses, why can’t Millennials?

Maybe we really are uniquely ignorant. That’s the thesis that GOP senator and Gen Xer Ben Sasse presents in his book The Vanishing American Adult. He writes that younger Americans have willfully embraced “perpetual adolescence.” Some of this is our fault, evidently: staring at our smartphones for hours on end has obliterated our attention spans. Yet Sasse also places blame at the feet of his own generation for its “reluctance to expose young people to the demands of real work.”

Weinstein, however, offers another explanation. She attributes the acute modern need for additional grow-up instruction to class and demographics. Her typical adulting student is probably someone whose childhood was tech-dependent and activity-rich, the sort of high-achiever kid who was repeatedly told to bring home good grades in order to get into a good college. “Whatever folks are really being pressured for college prep, they’re just not getting as much time and exposure at home hanging out with their family, learning how to unclog the kitchen sink, or hang a picture on the wall,” she says.

Lots of those over-scheduled and test-prepped teens of the aughts also missed out on erstwhile educational staples like home economics and shop classes, where high-school kids once learned how to darn a sock or hold a hammer; many schools began mothballing these mandatory courses in the 1990s. As a result, legions of American high-school graduates are being unleashed on the world without any basic skills. Some higher-education institutions, such as New Jersey’s Drew University, have stepped in to offer “Adulting 101” classes in things like beginner car care for their undergraduates.

The Adulting Collective doesn’t rely solely on Weinstein’s expertise for its courses, although it appears that designing an adulting curriculum is just as much of a challenge as growing up. Right now, the website contains some short posts and links to videos explaining a few skills, which is a deviation from the original idea to enlist instructors to offer online lessons. According to Weinstein, the new plan heading into 2019 is to build out a membership program that involves action challenges similar to the nutrition course I took part in. “One of the things I’ve learned as a therapist is a lot of times a little bit of accountability to somebody helps us achieve goals and get tasks done,” she says.

To Swyers, what’s extraordinary in Adulting Ed isn’t the curriculum itself, which is a pretty standard mix of self-improvement and personal finance tips. It’s the notion of branding such lessons under the “adulting” rubric. After all, classes geared toward grown-ups and their skills are all over the place. Visit any big-box hardware store and chances are there’s some sort of hands-on workshop taking place, for example. “If somebody is willing to be taught, for instance, basic kitchen skills--which people pay for all the time--they don’t call it an ‘adulting collective.’ They call it a cooking class,” Swyers says.

The difference, says Weinstein, is that the way younger adults are expected to grow older and assume our place in the world has dramatically changed: “I don’t think it’s a ‘hapless Millennial’ kind of thing at all. I just think there are things that are harder about the world today.”

Case in point: The spiraling costs of higher education. Those emerging adults are entering the workforce with massive student loans to pay off; no wonder some days all they can manage to do is Instagram bewildered-dog memes. “I have clients graduating from school with over $100,000 dollars worth of debt,” she says. “When you’re paying a mortgage’s worth of school debt every month, you’re probably going to need a little help stashing some money away in an emergency fund.”

Indeed, the most useful takeaways from my own brush with the adulting industry involved money management. Last fall’s challenge on budgeting included a chart for itemizing monthly breakdowns of expenses: so many dollars toward utilities, housing, food, clothing, and so on. After six months of following the chart I completed during the challenge, I managed to save up a sizable emergency fund of eight months’ worth of expenses--not bad for a freelance writer who graduated college with $250 to his name, and well worth the $5 I paid for the course itself.

The class was theirs. But the experience was all mine. And with my savings in order, I was freed up to stash excess cash in an additional account my wife and I hold to save for a future home down payment. With a house on the horizon, we’ve recently turned our attention to the prospect of having children sooner rather than later.

#adulting #adulting classes

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literallytoogaytofunction · 3 months

Text

"I don't think that's how you use the slider-"

✨ Wolfstar as that one photo of Bowie and Ronson ✨

✧₊⁺

(close-ups and full ((half-arsed)) background under cut)

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beadonovans · 6 years

Photo

talk about dumbass bitch energy...now posting from the correct blog, its ya girl LARA with nobody’s favorite trash baby BEA. she’s a lot. so i’ll keep this short and just say she’s the worst and leave it at that.

( BENEDETTA GARGARI, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ) i hear that BEATRICE DONOVAN has a link to CRASHING CORNERS. rumor has it, the TWENTY-ONE year old is RYAN DONOVAN’S SISTER. her life is sure to change now that the band’s fame is rising. she is said to be FUN-LOVING but also UNAMBITIOUS. i wonder how they’ll handle it ?

— ☁ HISTORY

you are the SECOND child, which is to say the baby. which is to say, a reason to stay TOGETHER. you had a mission, a quest assigned to you without your consent from the moment you were born. you were set up for failure, so FAILURE shadows you for the rest of your life.

you’re a normal kid with BEAUTIFUL green eyes ( which no one forgets to point out ). nothing else about you stands out. there’s no other reason for anyone to look your way.

your BROTHER is a bright boy and a fast talker who’s words bounce off the walls of his mouth and out of his lips in an melody you can’t quite understand, but enjoy listening to.

perhaps because of this, it’s your brother gets all the ATTENTION. good or bad, it’s his. you’re just a girl who lives in the shadows and blindspots. you don’t mind too much.

you’re EIGHT when your failure is confirmed. your parents SEPARATE. you leave your childhood home with your brother and mother. having failed your mission, you realize not WORTH much more. you’re always on the sidelines, so you make the best of it.

you have the ability to slip in and out of focus; no one is EVER watching you too closely. you always find ways to entertain YOURSELF. you learn that you can do WHATEVER you want.

you’re an AVERAGE kid at school. always come in the middle of the pack. you never excel, but your shortcomings are never a cause for concern. not even your failure is spectacular.

as a TEENAGER, you learn how to touch people, and let them TOUCH you. you learn that boys will LOOK with their fingertips on your skin and your green eyes SHINE once more. teenage boys can marvel at you. you mistake EYES for hands, windows, mirrors.

the boys at school all know your NAME. you’re almost proud of that.

you finish high school EMPTY handed. even your friends are TEMPORARY. you don’t even take a stab at UNIVERSITY, and it doesn’t matter. no one expected you to.

as you GROW, men continue to curl themselves into a question mark around you. you BELIEVE yourself the answer.

your BROTHER leaves your hometown. leaves the country. you look at him with STARS in your eyes, and think he’s just fucking COOL.

you work odd jobs here and there. you live with your MOM who still doesn’t think much of you. you find a few MEN who think you’re just oh so PRETTY. they give you cash to buy yourself something NICE.

LOS ANGELES calls to you with the banging of drums and electric guitars, you follow your brother, because his friends are cool. you VISIT as much as you can, familiarizing yourself with the city of ANGELS. you have FUN with his friends, his band and everyone that surrounds him.

LA equals fun, and parties, and music, and everything you’ve always reached for. so you move. you pack up everything. you land in LA. you’re here to stay.

— ☁ PERSONALITY

❝ i destroy myself repeatedly then wonder why i’m the way i am. ❞

ZODIAC SIGN: scorpio ( october 29th ) PERSONALITY TYPE: esfp – the entertainer ENNEAGRAM: type 7 – the epicure TEMPERAMENT: choleric HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral PRIMARY VICE: sloth PRIMARY VIRTUE: n/a ELEMENT: earth MORE STATS HERE !!

ok so let me tell you about my trash daughter beatrice. let’s start with this:

that single text tells you pretty much everything about bea.

i’m not gonna beat around the bush, finding positive traits for bea was a struggle. other than being generally fun to be around, kinda funny sometimes, and kinda resourceful, she doesn’t have a lot going for her.

she’s loud, obnoxious, not very smart, capable of fucking her way in and out of any mess. she’s lazy, unmotivated, unambitious, irresponsible, reckless, tactless, selfish, and i could definitely keep going. she’s an unapologetic disaster who’s coming to la to steal her brother’s cool friends, flash a few bands and score free tickets and backstage passes.

she’s a trainwreck. she’s trashy. she’s messy. if the song tik tok were a person, it would be beatrice donovan.

she functions on survival mode 24/7, she only does what she’s required to do to survive. not really a passionate person. she’d save herself above anyone else ( except ryan ). she doesn’t like relying on other people, except she kinda does because she has sugar daddies in la and in england who pretty much paid for her move to los angeles. still. she did get those sugar daddies on her own. i guess.

she doesn’t care about anyone but herself and ryan. and she doesn’t even care that much about herself. she’ll put herself in dangerous situations all the time, because she lives for that sort of thrill.

she’s extremely apathetic, just kind of coasting through life. just here to have a good time. at least that’s what’s written about her in the bathroom stalls at the satellite.

she smokes like a chimney and drinks pbr like it’s water.

currently crashing on ryan’s couch, but she’s ready to start looking for a job, and her own place.

— ☁ EXTRAS

here’s a bonus picture of bea in her natural habitat:

— ☁ CONNECTIONS

your character and bea dated for a pretty long time, at least by her standards. they both fell pretty hard for each other, enough to power through the distance every time she went back to england. eventually bea’s self-destructive tendencies kicked in, and she ended things in the worst possible way [ taken: orion / harley’s 2nd character ]

your character can’t stand bea. for whatever reason, they abhor bea. they think she’s obnoxious, annoying, and gross. bea knows, and just doesn’t care, and won’t waste any opportunity to make this person feel even more uncomfortable around her [ open 0/1 ]

your character is, just like bea, at a crossroads at their life. for one reason or another, they need a place to live. just like bea. already friends through the la music scene, they’ve decided to find a place together [ taken: macy rhyes ]

your character kind of has a crush on bea ( for whatever reason ), but she has no idea [ open 0/1 ]

your character and bea are just good friends. she doesn’t have a lot of friendships who are purely platonic, so bea values this friendship very much, even if she doesn’t say it [ open 0/1 ]

your character cares enough about bea to help her get her shit together. they’re a positive influence in her life. sometimes they can take on a role of savior because, well, bea’s a disaster who sometimes can’t stand on her own two feet [ taken 0/1 ]

your character and bea haven’t slept together yet ( shocker ), but whenever they’re in the same room everyone can feel the sexual tension. for now, they’re just enjoying flirting incessantly [ taken: ben odell ]

your character and bea work together ( or will, eventually, once she gets a job ) [ open 0/?? ]

your character and bea hooked up once, or more than once, or they still hook up every once in a while [ open 0/?? ]

your character and bea dated for a few months, but ended things before she moved to la. they always had fun together, and despite having a bit of unfinished business, they still enjoy each other’s company. they still sleep together sometimes, but they’re not together anymore [ taken: knox kennedy ]

your character is an artist bea’s been a fan of for a while. she went to a show once, while she was visiting ryan, and found her way backstage, as she always does, where she made a friend for life [ taken: isis ]

literally anything else you can think of, i’m open to any and all connections !!!

#scene:intro

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insomniac-arrest · 6 years

Text

Point A to Point B

genre: slice of life, growing up, wlw, original

words: 10k

summary: ---“I’ve seen the movies.” I say loudly, putting my hands above my head as I lay in the grass. “You’ve seen the movies,” she flops down next to me.

“I’ve heard the songs!” “You’ve heard the songs.” “Will you stop that?” “No.” “I’ve done the research!”

“You googled ‘hot tiddy’ twenty eight times a week.” “Lord save me,” I look up at the bright sky and try to ignore her, “how does someone get from point A to point B? How does anyone get a girlfriend!”----

A girl over the summer of her junior year tries to answer the age-old question that philosophers have been working on for generations: how does a girl get a girlfriend?

The Girl in the Pets World

The song ‘Your Body is a Wonderland’ by John Mayer was playing over the loudspeakers as I creep down the fish food aisle. My shoes squeak across the clean linoleum floors and the sterile blinding fluorescents blare from overhead. My hand grazes over the colorful fish food labels one at a time, blue, yellow, pink, ultra pink.

I was feeling a little like fish food myself at the at moment, small and chewed up, but maybe that was just the drama addict in me.

A little girl in blue corduroys and pink sneakers looks up at the speakers as the lyrics ‘And if you want love we'll make it, Swim in a deep sea of blankets’ plays. I hope she’s thinking about blanket forts or something when he says the last part.

I’m not, I’m looking at the front cash registers and sweating, I was never very good at keeping my body temperature at a normal person rate. I sweat in meat lockers, I sweat at hockey games, I sweat in the basement of the school during nap time when I was five. And I sweat getting in line at the Pet’s World for the cash register.

My mom said all the sweating was from my various allergies, but once I found out ‘allergic to earwax’ wasn’t a real thing I stopped taking my mom’s word on a lot of things. Though most dogs still made me sneeze, I was trying to ignore that and hope it goes away.

I held Chubs favorite TetraFin Goldfish flakes in my moist hands and look up the ceiling where two industrial fans swung round and round. Whump whump whump.

My eyes follow them lazily and hear a loud squawk from the bird section a few paces away and try not to flinch.

‘You frustrate me, I know you're mine all mine all mine, but you look so good it hurts sometimes ’

I hear the song croon on along with the whump whump whump of the industrial fans overhead.

“Next!” I try not to freeze, or swallow my tongue, or sweat through all of my clothes in 2.3 seconds like some sort of ooze monster.

I ooze forward anyway on my human slug legs and push the fish flakes across the counter, a girl with short swishing blue hair takes the item and presses it across the scanner. Her fingers were long, piano-player long, with three rings on each hand. Not enough rings to be obnoxious, but enough to knock some teeth out if she punched a man.

I’m imagining her punching a man now and I’m sweating.

“Hey,” I wipe my palms down on my jeans, trying to resist digging my teeth into my cheek.

She pushes her strands of deep blue hair back and glances up, “hey.” She presses some buttons on her register, she might as well be pressing magic buttons on a wizard wand to me.

“How are you today?” Her voice is low, deep like a purring car engine or bass guitar, formal as it was bored.

“Pretty good.” I stop myself from trying to get something more out, ‘start out small’ I remind myself.

She glances up. “Your total is $4.55.” “Oh,” I riffle around through my pockets, trying to figure out if I brought my wallet or dignity or that notebook I wrote lines down in. “Here.” I place a five down on the counter and she nods, “pretty hot out there today.” “Yeah,” I gulp and swallow thickly, “nice to be out of school.” She snorts, her round delicate features in motion for a second, “you can say that again.” She hands me back 45 cents in change and I take it with just a mild little nod. “Did you want a bag?” “Nah,” I turn around, a dime falling out of my hand as I grab for the fish flakes and go to bolt. Chubs didn’t even need any more flakes yet, I’m running anyway.

“Next!” Her voice calls out and I wonder if she knew my name. If I was just ‘some random fish flakes girl’ to her and she was Mari S. to me. Mariana Santiago, and I was dying.

I’m out the door.

--------

I’m gasping for breath and feeling my nerves jitter up and down like a jukebox. The cool shadow of the building pets my cheek and I feel like falling over.

I hear snickering off to my left, I’m almost gagging on my own tongue, “Ugh!” I rake my hands through my chin-length brown hair and spin around in circles. I’m on the side of the building now, where the large windows can’t see and only a few cars pass by, the sidewalk chafes on my naked knees as I crash down.

“Okay,” a voice calls out to me, “so I take it you proposed on one knee and she said yes.” I don’t even look up, “shut up Dana.”

I feel someone kick my ankle as I keel over dramatically (for the drama addict in me).

“She spun you around and you kissed against the sunset.” I tilt my eyes up to scowl at my best friend, Dana Kim. “Yeah. Then we made out against the doggy daycare display and the people in the fifth aisle clapped.” “Hey, I think it’d be cool to lose your v-card up against the doggy daycare sign…” Dana’s eyes mist over, “like some innocents lost imagery or some shit.” I roll over on my side and consider flopping my way over to the highway on my stomach. Girls met other girls in hospitals, right?

“How do people do this?!” I throw my hands in the air and shake my fist at God.

“You know,” Dana cracked her ankle as she took a squat next to me, “Bars, bus stops, aquariums, Christianmingle.com…” “How do gay people do this?” I correct myself, “we know that she’s gay, right? We say her tinder profile. There was a girl holding hands with girl emoji.” “Dude, her facebook page is a rainbow flag background,” Dana flicks me gently.

I blink up at her, “Maybe she just likes rainbows?” Dana rolls her eyes, “get up.” She puts her hand out toward me and I grab it, she hauls me up with an exaggerated groan. “God, the weight of your bullshit is giving me arm muscles.” “Pfft,” I punch the side of her arm once, “like you could get muscles if you wanted to.” Dana flexed her thin pale noodle arms, “I’m butch.” I pat her back sympathetically, “my brother asked me who that sad twink was the other day before I told him you just got a haircut.” Dana made an abject face at me and stuffs her glasses higher up on her nose, “Tell Robbie I’m gonna kick his fucking ass.” I laugh, “let’s go. My mom still thinks I’m applying for jobs.” “Aren’t you?” I shrug, “a type of one.” She laughs and pat me on the back again, “girls like girls with money you know” I look up at the sky and I feel my hair tickle the back of my neck, “do girls like girls?” “I’m gonna kick your ass,” she grins, “start walking hot stuff, we’ll go over where you went wrong.” I jump down from the curb and start walking toward the brown on brown suburbs in the distance, “I said ‘hey’ and followed up with a sad confused gay telepathy look.” “What did I tell you about gay telepathy?” We cross through the parking lot, “it doesn’t actually work if you aren’t already bitten by the radioactive ghost of Freddie Mercury yet.” I yank at my stray hairs and want to flop over again, “nothing works.” “Maybe asking her out works?”

“Don’t be daft,” I sniff loudly with a teasing grin and she shakes her head. We jump down from the curb and start meandering along the scruffy uneven road. I look up at the bright, cloudless pale blue sky. As blue as it got in Hobbs New Mexico.

I let out a long puff of air as I let the summer of my junior year soak into me like an old rag, I sigh, “what if I go to college without ever having kissed a girl?” Dana adjusted her glasses and stuffed her hands in her pocket, “I dunno, be like every other gay girl out there Feli? Lesbianism is like a social yield sign. Everything takes a little longer my friend.” I look over my shoulder and give a sad smile, “thanks.” Dana shrugs, “that’s for me too. It’s not like blue-haired Miss Mari is my type, but I could use a girlfriend as well. Like, yesterday.” “You’ve already had a girlfriend,” I say with a scowl, “save some for the rest of us.” “Uh,” Dana scuffs her foot on the ground, “that was at band camp, which doesn’t count, because everyone is gay there and now she lives in Massachusetts.” I wrinkle my nose, “gross.” “I know,” she nods, “and we barely held hands. She was super shy, and like, we just fumbled around that first kiss like idiots.” We start walking up a grassy hill as we approach Peach street and turn toward the dead and yellowing patches of foliage up at the top.

“Oh yeah, the first kiss you described as the ‘most magical touch of the first world order created by the heavens themselves’.” “I did not phrase it like that,” she says indignantly. “I called it the breathtaking flowering of my adolescence.” “Jesus,” I shake my head, “And then three months later at Macy’s party you said that it sucked.”

She frowns slightly and then shrugs, “that’s sometimes how it be.” She shudders, “It was just super, dry.” She wrinkles her nose, “and light.” I groan and flop down next to Our Spot, the place next to the rusted broken down truck that somehow got on Deadman’s Hill and never left. “I can’t believe even you can’t get a good gf in this economy.” “Even me?” She grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment,.”

“Dan,” I say slowly, “I don’t know where I’m going wrong.” “Well, let’s start,” she takes a deep breath in but I stop her.

“I’ve seen the movies.” “Okay, you’ve seen the movies,” she flops down next to me.

“I’ve heard the songs.” “You’ve heard the songs.” “Will you stop that?” “No.” “I’ve done the research!”

“You googled ‘hot tiddy’ twenty eight times a week.” “Lord save me,” I look up at the bright sky and try to ignore her, “how does a girl get from point A to point B? How does anyone get a girlfriend.” We both glance over at each other, a heart beat passing between us like a whispered curse word. She moves her shoulders up and down loosely, “hell if I know.” We go back to look up at the limpid blue sky.

-----------

“Did you find work?” My mom was rearranging her herbs cabinet.

I lean on the doorframe and watch her frizzy brown hair get caught in her shirt collar, “getting there.” I say slowly. “I’m thinking Barnes and Nobles.” She glances up slightly and puts her oregano next to her sage grass, “your aunt messaged me last week that leo’s were going to have a month of wealth.” It was probably too bad in my mom’s universe that I never felt like a leo, “sure, send aunt Maude my love.” I say flatly and drum my hands on the countertop.

“And to watch out for bad smells!” My mom hoots, “that’s why I’m making sure our spices are in order.” “Good mom.” I turn toward the door, thinking better about having come in there in the first place. “Tell your brother to turn his video game down too, you know how I hate those gun noises,” she moves the sage grass next to the mint leaves.

“I will,” I sigh heavily, “and mom,” I glance at her, she manages to crane her neck over as she messes with her stray hair caught in her collar. I sigh again, “Nevermind.” “Have you fed your fish?” I nod, “Chubs is… good.” She nods, “that fish is lucky, you know he is. I got him from Todd.” Todd was our previous next door neighbor who sold weed to my mom (for medicinal reasons, naturally), he gave his betta fish to us before he left. He had two, the other one's name was Ganja.

I crossed my fingers, “I’ve been feeling luckier already.” “And take your cloves!” She says hotly, “I’ve seen you buying more kleenexes.” I roll my eyes and turn toward the basement, “I know mom!”

I haven’t taken my cloves in months, but I had started eating gluten against in April and felt better than ever, so there was that. Gluten, of course, was one of my many allergies on my moms ‘Felicity List.’

I hated her Felicity List.

I end up going down the next hallway, completely failing in asking my mom the one question I wanted to know: how did you meet dad. How did he meet you- and then how does anyone meet girls? How do you do love without a proper script for it.

I end up just knocking on my brother’s door, “turn it down!” I holler, “your call of duty is making mom’s aura black or whatever.” “Fuck off, dump-truck.” I scoff to myself, my brother was at the age where he discovered that he had something to say, and it suddenly didn’t have to be good things. Or even decent things.

“Robbie, Dana says she’s gonna kick your ass and I’m tempted to let her.” I just hear a series of yelling and gunshots on the other side, “wear headphones you brat!”

“Like I have to listen to someone who leaves their bloody panties o-” “I’m coming on in!” I rattle the door. “And I’m telling mom if your essential oils are in the trash again.”

“Fine, fine!” He says shrilly, “I’m putting headphones in.” He mumbles something rude after that but I just shake my head and move on, I had a game plan to continue to make.

I knock before entering the basement and coming down the stairs two at a time, “that was a bust!”

Dana was sitting in our beanbag chair looking at her phone, “I suppose ‘I told you so’ wouldn’t help?” “You haven’t told me anything in the eleven years we have known each other,” I wag a finger at her and she sticks out her bottom lip.

“How’s the moodboard of love going?” She jutts her chin out toward my open notebook, I blow air out of my nose. “It’s mood is ‘bored’.”

“Ooh, good wordplay.” “Ugh.” I turn over to flop into my own bean bag chair next to hers. “Love is fake and being gay is…” I frown, “hard.” “Haven’t you heard? The het-ys will also say being straight is hard too.” She doesn’t look up from her phone.

I cover my eyes with my hands, “any insta news?” “Mari hasn’t posted anything since the 911 post about her finding a new top from that consignment store,” Dana nudges me with her foot, “but Paula from phys ed is starting a girls rugby team and posting about it, and it’s,” she lifts her eyebrows, “kinda hot.”

I sit up straight, “is she…?” “Still dating Patrick Ludwig or whatever, but my point still stands.” I tutt and click my tongue, “a good one fallen.” Dana laughs and a turn over on my stomach, “what’s the other game plan?” Dana puts her legs in the air, “research.” She winks, “there’s this episode on Netflix that’s supposed to be hot.” “That we haven’t-” “That we haven’t seen.” I put my finger in the air, “play it then!”

“Say no more.”

We turn on ‘Vegan Cinderella’ about two girls and no story plot.

Of course, the two leads get in one glance at each other and then get together. No one ever really tells you how you skip from noticing each other to straight up crawling all over one another. There is no in between.

I try to take notes.

------

It was a lazy summer, a bright one, slow, there were a lot of things I was trying to piece together and tear apart again. Mainly, why I was in Pet’s World, standing in the fish food aisle. It was like reliving a bad dream I kept having.

They were playing ‘Call me Maybe’ like some sort of summer throwback to two years ago and I was feeling resentful.

I had Dana in my ear, I clear my throat and whisper, “okay, repeat to me again what you want me to say.” Dana clears her throat, “well hey there sugar lips-” “Nope.” She lowers her voice, “Why don’t you bring some candy over to daddy.” “So unhelpful.” “That’s what I said my first time,” she said from outside, I could almost see her smirking at me from there.

“You did not,” I say indignantly, “you gestured and stuttered and maybe flashed her once, that’s the true story.” “You’re right. Please flash Mari S for me, like full on vag and/or areola.”

“I hate you.” “Muah,” she blows a kiss my way and I shake my head.

“This is why we aren’t dating.” “Gross. I’ve known you too long for that, that’s like kissing your cousin.” “Also gross.” “You need to fly little bird!” Dana yells into the speaker, “spread your wings and take your clothes off in a public Pet’s World. Full areola. Maybe a little ass, all of your thighs.” “I’m just going to ask her if they have any job applications.” “Boooo-” I hang up on her.

My breaths come out harsh and uneven, I prop myself up anyway and ignore the hamsters in the next aisle giving me the side eye from their cages. I had a girl to figure out how to date.

I walk up to the cash register, it was eleven in the morning so the store was particularly empty and I was feeling particularly bold after chugging one and a half Dr. Pepppers. I wasn’t allowed sugar or caffeine as a child so it tended to have a more profound effect.

Mari seemed to be glancing down at what I assumed was her phone, I was looking out at nothing as my eyes unfocused in a sort of last resort defense mechanism. I force myself to plant my feet in front of her cash register.

It takes her a moment to look up and it takes me a longer, much more uncomfortable moment to say anything. She was looking at my empty item-less hands.

“Do you like working here?” I ask in a monotone. A beat passes where her painted eyebrow arches, I fumble the ball in midair. “I mean, I’m looking for a job is all.” ‘Is all’ is still a cute phrase, right?

Mari leaned down over the counter and stuck her tongue out slightly, “honestly? Love the animals, but customer service will fucking drag your soul out through your ass.” I gulp, “so I’ve heard.” I rack my head for sentences, or words, or singular intelligent sounds. My phone buzzes as Dana must be watching me from the outside. I wipe my hands down, “but the animals, right? Sounds fun.” I offer weakly.

Mari gives a half-smile, “it’s pretty chill, I get 20% off dog food, so I guess it almost works.” I grin, “what kind of dog do you have?” Mari raises her eyebrows even further, “a lab.”

“Cool!”

Another beat drops and the silence drags on a little bit as I try to come up with something like a sleeveless magician. Mari taps her nails down and tilts her head to the side, “his name is Bruce Lee, like the actor since my mom was super into martial arts after she got freaked at a store robbery. It wasn’t even her store.” I take a deep breath in and my heart sort of soars, “that’s cool. Bruce Lee? I love dogs.” Was this working? It felt like it was working. “Yeah,” Mari gives a half-smile, “they’re the reason I work here at all.” She shakes her head, “honestly, I could just leave the people out altogether.” I laugh and it almost doesn’t turn into a snort, “tell me about.” Mari grins again and looks me up and down, I almost explode. “Did you need that job ap?” I shrug, “I’m still deciding.” Hard to get, hard to get.

“Well,” she huffs and looks up at the ceiling, “it might be nice to have someone who isn’t obsessed with the bachelor to work here.” I could have bounced on the soles of my feet, “you got me pegged. I don’t even like roses.” I was supposedly allergic to them. She just clicks her tongue with a slight laugh and takes something out, “go for it then.” She hands me the job application. I nod and run out of words in my word orchid to grab from, I take the piece of paper and turn around instead. “Thanks then.

“Sure.”

My eyes dart back and forth and then I bite my lip, turning slightly, “See you then.” “Definitely,” she waves, I wonder if this is flirting.

I practically run back outside as I try to chew on what this all means, my shoes skid across the exit like they’re going to burn up and a run around the corner of the building to bend down and tear at my hair. “Mppmph!” I squat down on the ground where no one can see me. “Mmmph!” I hear someone skipping up from the left.

“How was it? How’d it go?” Dana circles around me enthusiastically as she approaches, “did you do the dog-sign-virginity thing?” I throw my hands in the air and make another strangled sound, “mmph!”

“And she’s a winner!” Dana goes to high-five me and then ends up laughing. “I can’t believe you done it. Or something I take it.”

“Ah!” I let out something that was almost a whoop, “she said ‘definitely!’” I turn around in circles, “she thinks it’d be cool if I worked there!”

“You’re going to get married,” Dana clapped her hands and I ignore her.

I almost fall down on the pavement right there, “to Deadman’s truck!” I point to our hill, “we have to tell me how I to actually get a job.”

Dana laughs and then covers her mouth, “I can’t believe you wouldn’t get a job to help me buy a car together, but oh, Mari Santiago is hot enough for it.” “So hot!”

“Let’s go then,” she pushes me back to my feet, “play by play girl, play by play.”

I’m walking around in circles, “she has a dog!”

“No duh.” “He does martial arts!”

“Slow down there.” We walk to our hill and I can’t stop talking, one step at a time, one little step at a time.

-------

I didn’t know what to do with Mariana Santiago. She was there, toned and surly and goth gf material one moment, and then super surly and unreadable the next.

I really did need fish flakes for Chubs the next day (my brother tipped over a whole bottle of it the night before) and Mari doesn’t even look at me as I walk by. She’s outside leaning on the wall. It seemed to be her break, she was holding a cigarette and inhaling deeply, I hold my breath.

“Hey,” I don’t know what to do with my hands at that moment, or what I’m doing at all.

She barely looks up, “oh hey.” She looks back down at her phone.

“I applied for the job.” She takes a look time to respond, “good.” She takes a drag, “Brian has been complaining like one of the broken parrots about being short-staffed.” I bite my lip, “think I’ll get it then?” Her eyes flick up and down, I wish I wasn’t wearing my loose Bob Ross tank top that day, “you’re breathing, aren’t you?” I shrink a little at that but try to grin, “last time I checked.” She shrugs, no laugh, “You’ll do fine.”

I wait for something more, but Mari looked like she was several miles away and not at all walking. I start to turn away, “well… bye. See you in the store, maybe.” She waves with her lit hand and then is typing something, “break a leg.” Point A to Point B was a confusing little road that went up back and around, Mari Santiago, queen of the goths, apparently had a lot of detours.

-----------

Day One: Two Words

Our shifts don’t line up the first day, I accidentally ring something up three times and get softly chewed out by an old lady.

My hair is a mess, I sneeze five times when an extra hairy mop-dog walks in. I try to discreetly take a white allergy pill I got from a friend while a teen boy with a sweater vest judges me. I drop an entire bag of seeds I was scanning, but luckily it doesn’t break open.

I stutter, a lot. And my perspirant only lasts for half the day before my sweating is back, but of course, I do see her at the end.

She comes in, shaking her chin-length wavy blue hair and her black boots clunking on the employee room floor. I barely have time to look up. “You survive?” She asks dryly with her lips twitching. I could have whimpered.

It was one of her smiley days, where her dimples almost appeared, I end up just nodding mutely before shrugging my bag on my shoulder and turning.

I remember to skedaddle on out of there, I needed to play hard to get, I needed to mostly fix my hair and change my shirt.

-----------

Day Two: 13 Words

We discuss the fact, again, that Mari’s boss loves the bachelor, and she hates it. “It’s the worst thing to happen to love since the Twilight series.” I don’t really know what to say to that, so I try to channel my inner Dana, “hets, amiright?” I don’t mention my brief Twilight phase.

Her eyelids are blue that day, iridescent blue to match her bangs. “Okay?” I’m not sure she understood what I meant, it’s then rush-time on Saturday with puppy training hour going on in the back of the store. I get slobbered on and ask to change registers when my eyes get as red as a fire hydrant.

I didn’t mention on my resume that I had any allergies, mostly because I was hoping all of them were fake instead of just most of them. My mom picks me up that day and I don’t let Mari see me sneak into her car with my nose leaking like a faucet.

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

Day three: five sentences

My feet hurt, my head hurts, my back hurt, but mostly my feet hurt.

Eight hours, eight hours of standing and staring and I finally understood the phrase ‘counting down the seconds.’ Sure, something like social studies class was bad, but that was just fifty minutes.

This was four hours straight with a couple breaks thrown in, I think I might start to lose my mind by closing time that night. The store was dead quiet, the shadows growing on the walls and the pain growing in the soles of my feet, I always did have weak ankles.

I shift from side to side, rueing my ungrateful body and counting the number of squawks were coming from the bird section. Mari was standing a few registers away, but she hadn’t said anything that night, I hadn’t been feeling ‘me’ enough to start anything yet.

But I hear something, “hey.” I turn jerkily at her voice, my eyes going wide, “hey.” I barely look at her.

“How you holding up?”

I chew on something for a long minute before catching her eye, “my feet hurt like I stepped on a series of legos at a gynos office.” She laughed, a real life where her teeth showed in a goofy way, “oh man, definitely.” I grin, “I think they may soon fall off.” She shakes her head, she taps on her own converse, “insoles.” She says, “insolves my friend.” I nod with my face going a little hot, “are those new shoes?” Her dimples show a little bit, “nah, but,” she bounces her eyebrows up and down, “I did just spray paint them..”

I told her about my feet and it’s the longest conversation we ever had.

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

It was 11am on a Saturday and I was lying on bed going through my nail polish, I owned three, and one of them was sealed shut. I feel someone throwing a kleenex in my direction.

“Okay,” Dana calls over, “but tell me if she really has a soul jar in her room of the spirits of our classmates she’s cursed.” I roll my eyes at Dana as she swirls around in my my black office chair I got from a yard sale. I push my glitter blue nail polish away, “She’s not like that.” “At least confirm to me that she’s a wiccan, like, I’m 69% sure she is since she keeps posting hand-drawn summoning circles on instagram,” she hums, “but you never know these days.” “We haven’t got there yet,” I pause as I try to recollect all the details I had gathered from work, the recon mission of a life so far. “She spray-painted her converse recently.” Dana spun another two times in a circle, “black or purple?” “Black, also,” I go to swat at her, “get that look off your face.” Dana kept going, only pausing to poke my with her sock, “what face?” She kept holding her mouth like it had a crooked secret.

“The judgy face,” I wrinkle my nose, “I know she’s not your type.” She puts a hand over her heart, “when have I ever judged anyone? Ever?” I get up from the bed and start to walk over, “When have you have ever judged anyone?” I put my hands on my hips. “Strike you down now?”

Dana puts another hand up, like a girl scout taking a pledge, “strike me down now.” I grin and take another step forward, “and the Lord has spoken!” I flop down on her lap forcefully and spread my limbs out. “Oof,” Dana pretend gags as I sit on top of her.

Dana tries to push me off, “you are waaaay too bony for this Feli,” she tries to grab me around the waist and I flail my arms around with a laugh, she dodges my elbow. “You’re gonna take my eye out!”

“Oh, and she never judges,” I poke her and sit more firmly down, “she takes her punishment like a saint.” “Sainthood is a given,” she makes a stoic face and I laugh. “You may strike me down,” she starts spinning, “but can you hold on?” She pushes off the wall and the chair wobbles. “Dammit, Dan!” I grab the chair’s arms and we start going around and around in rapid circles. “I’m allergic to motion!”

“I know! Along with oats and milk and glutton and dogs and earwax, woo!”

I start to jab her with my elbows and we’re cackling and probably disturbing the neighbors when my phone buzzes, an actual buzz that almost made me jump out of my skin.

“Woah!” I fall halfway out of Dana’s lap as she slows to a halt.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” I hold a hand over my mouth, “motion sickness?” “Look at that!”

I go to read the notification and my eyes go huge. I had a new follower on my instagram. “No.” My mouth falls open, “no!” “Someone’s on the smash-cash train, beep beep,” she makes a train noise and a scramble over to the discarded iphone 6.

“What does this mean?!” I look at the fact that ‘shoelaceslace’ had followed me back on instagram. My mouth was still open, “what does this mean?!” I feel someone push on my shoulder roughly, “it means your on course for SS Macktown, occupation goth lipstick stains, hot damn!” “Shut up,” I push on her back, “never speak again. I’m having a crisis.” “Lactose crisis level or like, still failing social studies crisis?” I start gnawing on my bottom lip and then a flop down on the bed, “does she like me?” “Does she not like you?” I kick my legs up and down and then roll back and forth on the bed, “well she doesn’t hate me!”

Dana laughs and calls me an idiot, “nobody’s gonna dislike you. You’re like, only 2/3s dislikable at any given moment.” “Dan,” I say shrilly, “I need to post something cute.” “Post about your favorite punk band.” “Something cuter.” “Post about your huuuuge crush, the one who works at a pets store and likes MCR.” I throw her a pointed look, “what?” She pushes her bangs back, “it’s the direct route!” I sigh, loudly. I was good at the dramatic. “Fine.” I try to find the best picture of me from my trip to Albuque, “point B here I come!”

“You’re gonna message her?” I throw her a blank look, “no.” I say shrewdly, “I’m gonna very very slowly crawl into a date through my picture of me holding a butterfly in a pavilion.” “Boo.” I try to mentally get on that train again.

-------

Sunlight hit the back of my neck and I felt a sizzling under my skin, my work bag hangs over my shoulder with my cellphone, lunch, and water bottle. I tap my foot angrily on the carpet and my mom looks me over.

I was standing outside my kitchen with my arms crossed over my chest, my left eyebrow was twitching and the floor smells like mildew and peppermint. “I have to.” My mom’s back was turned to me and I could hear the noise of my brother’s gun game from a room over, a distant ‘pew pew’ that was even starting to grate on my nerves.

My mom started to pick up a scented rag, “and what?” She frowns at me over her shoulder, “what am I going to do with all that wasted time?” I roll my eyes, “I never said I was actually going to the spiritualist. It’s a Sunday! I have work.”

“Felicity Laura Munez it is already booked.” She was balling up the rag in her hand. “I never said I would go!” My mom slits her eyes at me and I wouldn’t be surprised if she started hissing to ward off the negative energy around us. “Sometimes it feels like you just aren’t trying.” She says it lowly, it was worse than a hiss.

“At what?” I say dryly, not meeting her eye.

She puts her palms up, “at our relationship! I asked you to reschedule for this last week.” “For the last time,” I stomp my foot, “I’m not sick, I don’t want to go to this spiritualist.”

My mom puts a hand through her wild gray-brown hair, “then what about all the lethargy? You almost flunked freshman year, and you know you were eating so much bread that year.” I rolls my eyes, “I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

My mom put her hand out, “it’s just for an hour-” “You wanted me to get a job,” I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and feel a little cool. “I’m going to go to my job.”

“Felicity!”

I turn hotly on heels and scurry out before I lose my nerve or let my mom finish her next sentence about considering all the mood swings I had from last year. It had to be that red meat I ate, didn’t it?

I’m still scowling and red in the face by the time I walk to the Pet’s World, my head is spinning and I can feel my insides prickling. “She always has to insert herself, always has to make a thing out of everything,” I start muttering to myself as I made my way into the back of the store.

I had the same shift as Mari that day and she seems to see me coming in, my phone is buzzing.

“No mom,” I picked it up furiously and start speaking, “I don’t want to do this right now, just go by yourself, that’s what you usually do.” She lets out another string of words about meridians and not doing crew for the school play this year if I don’t get myself together before then, I end up hanging up. I angrily punch in just as another pair of shoes come up next to me. They were spray painted black.

“Hey,” I jump, realizing that Mari is standing right next to me. She looks me over steadily, “you good?” She points to the phone I am almost crushing in my fingers. I nod slowly, “my mom’s just being… out there.” She snorts, “I can tell.” She puts her hand out and my skin tingles as she brushes my elbow. “Need to blow off steam?” She offers slowly, “I’m going to go to this place after work with some friends.” “Oh,” my eyes go wide, “Oh!”

I suddenly had a lot to thank my mom for, and yet nothing at all.

Mari nods, “I get it.” She sniffs, “My mom pisses me off all the time, plus,” she grins. “I saw you like PBR.” I remember the joke post I made a year ago of a beer can.

I nod again.

-----------

I had two hours between when my shift ended and when I was supposed to be over at Mari’s, my heart was still racing. “Dana!” I called out from my closet, “tell me what to wear again.” “Nothing.” “No, the other thing.” “Hello Mr. President outfit.” She wasn’t looking up as she seemed to be trying to send twelve text messages all at once. I was on crew, and Dana apparently needed to update everyone on the theatre group chat about me. And my new love life.

“Uuugh,” I start to groan, “I need to look cool. Actually cool.”

Dana throws me a thumbs up, “you’re getting there.” I groan again and walk around in circles, “Okay,” I take a deep breath and gesture down, “black jeans.”

“Check,” Dana was nodding languidly as she typed.

“Blue ripped t-shirt.” “Sure?” “Just sure?” I almost tear the rest of the shirt off.

Dana jammed her phone in her back pocket and walked over, “your gonna do fine Feli,” she straightens her overly large sweater, “this is obvs going somewhere.” I cover my eyes, “straight to hell.” “Only if you sweet talk her just right!” She cheers and I walk around in another circle.

“I’m not cool,” I groan, “not like her. This can’t work.” Dana rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, “I think you’re cool.” I pause and glance over to her, “really?” I adjust the straps on my shirt.

“Well,” she scratches her neck, “Okay, technically I think being cool is overrated. But we’ll stick with the first version if that’s what’ll make you feel better.” “Oh-ho-ho,” I whimper and go drag myself to my bed. “This is why being gay is so hard. Only one in five of us is at all cool.” Dana shakes her head, “being gay makes you cool!” I frown at her deeply, “gimme some examples for me though. Do I even have funny stories?” Dana Kim stroked her chin thoughtfully before putting her hands in the air, “you refused to get into my grannie’s pool for the first five years I knew you because you said you were allergic to chlorine.” “Yes. Hilarious.” “And when you finally went in you did a cannonball! And threw up chips into the pool noodle, that was great.” I almost flip her off, “So I’m retiring at the ripe old age of 17. From life.” “Don’t be melodramatic,” she comes over next to me, “I thought it was a hilarious. We were super buddy best friends after that.” I let out a deep breath and glance over at her, “you think the word ‘weiner-dong’ shouted out in math class is funny.” She snickers, “I do.” I go to grab for my coat, “Mari doesn’t. She barely thought Finding Nemo was funny when we watched it in IB Spanish last year.” “That’s because she’s laaaaaa-” “Don’t say it.” Dana blows air out of her nose, “I know we, the gays, don’t have a lot of options-” “Don’t say it.” “But just be yourself Feli,” We both sit up and she puts her head on my shoulder, “it won’t be worth it if you aren’t.” I look up at the lazily spinning ceiling phone and go to grab my phone, “I’m wearing my combat boots.” Dana just snorts.

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

So I was at a party. A real party, a party party, with music and people and drinks with words I couldn’t pronounce on them. And I was suddenly very very aware I was alone there.

There was a thumping bass coming in through the floorboards and a whole slew of people I didn’t know standing on either side of me. The house was a rundown place I had to take the bus to from Wadsworth street and apparently owned by someone’s older brother.

There weren’t that many people there yet, but I was too busy counting the carpet hairs to really appreciate that. Dana had waved goodbye to me at the bus, wishing me all the luck in the world and seeing me off. I suddenly desperately wanted to hide behind her as she blew a raspberry to ‘lighten the mood’ at rundown parties like this.

I stare at my shoelaces again.

“Hey,” I hear a voice call, “hey, Felicity.” I feel the ice in my gut melt and I see Mari waving at me from an armchair across the room, thank God. I had been let in earlier with a couple people, but they said they didn’t know where Mari was, I creep over slowly.

“Hey there,” I put on a small smile, “thought I came to the wrong place.” She just shakes her head, she’s looking dimply and light for that night. “Nah,” she brushes her hair aside, “this is Jason’s place, he says we can hang here whenever.” “Nice,” I try to seem smooth and take a seat on the couch next to her. I search the air for a moment, “I’m glad we can hang outside of work. Less people asking me where flea collars are here.”

Mari gives an unknowable smile, she nods. “Have a drink.” She hands me an open beer and I try not to make a face at it. “You seem cool,” my heart soars as she hands it over, “better than anyone else Pet’s World at least.” I exhale and stifle my red face by throwing back the beer, it tastes like warm dirt. I shrug when I look back up, “A job is a job.” “Oh my God, yeah,” she rubs her nose, “my mom went on and on about how I had to do something this summer, like, come on. She’s lucky I don’t just drop out of school itself already.” “Right?” I try to sound sympathetic, the silver bracelets clang on Mari’s wrist, I can’t stop watching her mouth move. “One more year though.” I do a cheers with her with her our open cans.

Mari clinks with mine, “I hope.” She shakes her head, “I would just run away with my dog if I could.” I sit up straight and smile, “Bruce Lee?” I offer shyly, “where would you take him?” “Anywhere,” she wrinkled her nose, “dogs are better than people, I could take him anywhere and be alone and it would be better.” “Yeah,” I nod, but I’m shifting back and forth in place. I didn’t know what to ask her, did she like theatre? Did she like Skyrim? Books about outer space? She didn’t like people apparently.

“What about you,” she turns to me slowly, “where would you go?” I search my head, “New York?” That sounded neutral.

Mari takes another sip of her drink, “right on.” She nods, “what’s there?” I put my head on my shoulder and try to look nonchalant, “broadway and less hay fever.” I joke.

Mari lifts her eyebrows, “I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” she looks me over, “is that what all the sniffling was about?” I freeze, she had noticed.

I gulp dryly, “grass seeds here,” I gesture around in the air, “it totally fucking sucks at work.” She eyes me, “I bet.” My skin crawls and I wished I could bring up something we both liked, something that wasn’t hay fever. “My mom is totally lame about it though.” Mari’s eyes focus on me.

“What, she tell you it’s all in your head?” Mari’s lips were curling up, I had a feeling there was a story though.

“No, she makes me take like, fifteen supplements a day, and most of them aren’t even FDA approved,” I feel the rant start bubbling up out of me, “and I swear, one of them gave me awful cramps for a week.” “Supplements?” She looks me over curiously and I wish I hadn’t mentioned cramps.

I shift on the lumpy couch, “like, uh, cloves and herbs. It’s hippie-” “Oh man, I wish my mom bought me more herbs. I have to do all my wicca shopping offline, and that was before she took away my credit card.” My heart sank, something was feeling off in my gut, I take another huge sip of my bear and try to disappear into the heavy beat of the bass.

I wasn’t feeling very cool.

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

“Because he’s a jolly good fellow, because he’s a jolly good fellow, oh!” I was clapping my hands and singing along with everyone else, my head was fuzzy. There was something stuck on my jeans but I hadn’t bothered to take it off yet.

Someone was whooping and there was a bottle on a table, I felt like I was in some 80s movie where the cheesy pop ballad was playing that showed I was having ‘fun.’ I wasn’t sure what I was having, but I hadn’t thought about what I was saying for at least an hour now.

“Woo, good song mate.” Someone clapped the person who’s turn it just was, having been tasked to sing any song he liked for two minutes straight. He gave them a thumbs up after his very drawn-out birthday song.

There were cards spread out on the table and I was leaning Mari’s shoulder as my thoughts spun round and round. She was texting on her phone and someone was pointing.

“Mari’s turn, Mari’s turn!”

“I’m busy.” She waves her hand in the hair and I’m giggling into nothing.

“We should get a dog… and put it in a hat,” I’m mumbling, which I’m grateful for when I remember this moment hours later.

“Have her do it then,” someone jostled my shoulder. “You’re Mari’s friend, right?” I just nod unthinkingly, it was nice not to think. “I’m Feli-Felicity.” “Spin the bottle girl!” Someone puts my hand on a large brown bottle and I look around to everyone.

“As long as I don’t get the joker,” we were playing ‘cards spin the bottle,’ whatever card the bottle landed on you have to do. Ace was chug a bear, king was kiss someone, queen was order someone else around for the night (if they got a 2). Joker was act an embarrassing moment from your life.

I give the brown bottle a mighty spin. Someone whispered from beside me, “Get this kid some water.” Someone hands me a water, which I chug as we all watch the head of the bottle go around and around. I watch it steadily as I try to catch Mari’s eye again, she isn’t looking up.

“There it goes!” My eyes snap back into focus and the lip of the bottle slows one inch at a time, my eyes go wide, it hovers to a dead stop.

Someone claps me on the shoulder, “Woo! That’s the seven.” I lick my lips again, “what’s the seven again?” I look both directions, someone snickers.

“That’s seven minutes in heaven sweetie.”

My eyes go a little wide, “oh.” “Mari,” one of the older boys slaps Mari’s back, “Mari, take your little gayling to the closet.”

“What?” She blinks up, her pretty brown eyes framed by purple eyeshadow that day. Someone points down to the bottle and she makes a slight face, she glances back to me and I feel myself go pale.

She observes me for a moment and then takes my arm, “I guess I’m the chosen one.” She smiles a little bit and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

I stumble up and try to follow her to where someone was holding open a closet door and people were making woof whistles.

“Seven minutes,” someone cheered and held up their phone watch. I’m not looking at them, I’m looking at the back of Mari Santiago’s neck where her little dark neck hairs mixed with the blue ones.

I shiver, “you don’t have to-” The closet door swings shut just behind us and I try to find myself among the mess of impulses and sudden realizations. Is this how you get from point A to point B? Is this how you get a girl.

We both sit down at once and I open and close my mouth a for a second, “you don’t have to do anything.” I say wetly as I swallow.

Her eyes shine a little in the dark. “Duh.” She takes out her phone again, she’s not looking at me.

I struggle for something, for something. “You go to the play last year?” I almost want to bring up that the light effects were all me.

She just shakes her head, “nah.” My stomach sinks and I realize something that I didn’t want to say. I look down at my hands and flex my fingers back and forth.

Mari blows air of her mouth and I look up, “but, look.” “What?” I say too loudly for the cramped space.

“You’re actually pretty cute.” My mouth is open, but nothing comes out, she leans forward and flicks the hair off her forehead, “the crush is kinda cute.” I hold my breath for a long second and before I can protest that it I hoped I wasn’t too obvious, it all gets cut off. “Let’s play, they all want us to.”

She reaches over and I feel a soft press of lips against lips, an electric feel of a kiss in the dark, at a party with something buzzing through my system. I close my eyes and wait.

And wait.

Something swirls and chugs and sinks in me like the titanic, my face falls and the rest of me crumples from the inside out. I had done everything right, I had got the job, I had done the lines, I had gone to the party.

I went to the closet.

If I was with Dana I would make a joke that it was pretty ironica I was having my first gay kiss in a closet, but she wasn’t here. Instead, I had a grey empty feeling in the depths of my gut sinking in, no fireworks, no world-shattering touch.

Just, wet lips, cracked skin, the taste of mushy cigarettes and bad perfume. I try to lean into and tell myself this is what I wanted. But she tasted like smoke and something bitter.

I close my eyes and kiss a little harder, waiting, waiting, for it. I push her toward the wall and try again.

And then I hear a timer outside, “that’s it!” Someone calls, “come out love birds.” I look down at my hands again and Mari laughs, “woo,” she wipes her lips, “you’re kinda fierce,” she laughs again and I realize it’s because I pushed her back.

My first kiss was in a closet at someone’s house I didn’t know in a closet with a girl I had very very little in common with.

We crawl out of the closet and people laugh as I rub my eyes in the new light and Mari wipes her mouth. “Well that was something.” I start to stumble as I reach for my phone, “hey,” I wave, “I totally didn’t notice it was almost two.” Mari lifted her eyebrows, “was I that bad?” I laugh, “no.” I try to grin, “you were great.” I wink and she seems to preen at that, though I didn’t know how to tell her like it was nothing like I wanted. “But I think it sobered me up enough to realize that I’m super late.” “Well,” she turns around, “do you what you need to do.” I take some heavy steps to the door, “yeah… I’ll have to see at work.” My eyes are unfocused.

She’s shrugging and picking up her drink again, “see you around.” I nod and purse my lips as I fumble for my jacket and someone hands me a water bottle as I head for the door. In retrospect I wonder why no one called me an uber or asked if I’d be alright, I start walking home alone.

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

I’m sitting on a hill, the scratchy yellow grass under my ass and the faintest hint of the sun on the horizon, just a little golden light kissing the lip of the earth in the distance. I have two discarded water bottles next to me and I am staring blurrily out into the cityscape.

A clunky little yellow car passes in the distance and I wipe at my eyes again. The breeze felt barely there that day and something aches all over, especially in my chest.

I probably shouldn’t have walked home for an hour and a half, I probably shouldn’t have gone to sit on this hill, I probably shouldn’t have let my phone die after sending just one text. Another black car passes in the distance and hear the squeak of tires.

I lay my head on my arms and feel a dull pounding in the back of my skull, it was just one of those days. I feel my eyes droop down and only pause when I hear more soft footsteps.

“Feli?” I don’t react, I just clutch my dead phone in my hands a little harder. Dana wheels her bike up behind me and places it in the grass next to us.

“That bad, huh?”

I glance up ever so slightly, she was still wearing her striped pajama pants and a sweater from the college her sister when to, plus an ancient dodgers baseball cap. I slump to the side and put an arm over my eyes.

“I guess we’re even,” I say hoarsely, my voice feeling raw and delicate. “What’s that,” she nudges me with her foot.

“Now both of our first kisses sucked.” “Lord Feli,” she reaches down for me, “you look like a mess, up you go.” I groan at the hand placed in front of my face, “I’m still not feeling so hot.” “I know, I brought you water, an aspirin, and mouthwash.” That gets me slowly teetering to my feet. “Sometimes you are a good friend.” “Always!” She defends with slight laugh, “plus I want the juicy trainwreck details.” “It wasn’t a trainwreck,” I take the aspirin from her and chug it down. She grumbles something about ‘getting drunk for the first time without her.’ “It was…” I fade off and sigh heavily instead.

“Come on,” she takes my arm, “let’s get in the back of Deadman’s dead truck.” I stop in place and try to take the mouthwash from her instead, “I thought we both agreed that thing was haunted.” Dana adjusts her backward baseball cap, “then let’s go make friends with a ghost. It’s a night for firsts.” “Day,” I correct and start swishing around mouthwash for a minute.

Dana messages her temples, “in the truck. In the truck.” She chants and I make an exaggerated slumping motion before following her to the back of the once blue vehicle.

We climb into the truck bed and the thing creaks and heaves at us as we settle in among the vines and rust that decorated the inside. I wipe my hands down when we end leaning on the sides and staring at each other.

“It’s private now,” She leans forward, “tell me what’s up.”

I look off to the side, letting my headache pound softly and my heart sink. “There’s like four gay girls at our school.” “I guess,” she says slowly, “I’m still waiting one like, five of them to come out. You’ve seen the way Patsy looks at me.” “No, I mean,” I push my bangs back, “there’s only like five percent of the whole entire population that’s girls that like girls.” I frown deeply, “and how many of those are we actually compatible with? That actually live near us?” I feel my eyes welling up.

Dana reaches over, she takes my hand and squeezes it firmly, “Come on Fel,” she says softly, “look at it positively, I know you’re a romantic deep down, I’ve read your blog.” I feel the water started leaking out, I wipe at it angrily, “I’m just saying!” I rub my eyes down ruthlessly, “the odds aren’t even in our favor.” Dana’s face squished up into something indescribable, “I don’t think it’s good to think about.”

“I am thinking about it!” I mope back, “I’m thinking about how much I thought I liked Mariana Santiago and the fact that she’s just like… a super different person than me.” “What did you expect?” “Daaaaan,” I whine, “not helping.” She scoots closer to me and weaves our fingers together, “maybe that’s just how it is, maybe it’ll just be a little hard for us.” She holds my hand tightly, “but it’s not like it’s over. It’s not like… we can’t try again. That we can’t just look around us.” I raise my eyebrows and peer over to her, “look around us?” She shrugs loosely and doesn’t meet my eye, “if you think it’s not gonna work, then it’s not gonna work, you have to believe that it can happen Fel. Aren’t you supposed to be the positive one out of us?” I start to hum deeply, “and aren’t you the silly one of us?” I ask softly and she scratches her chin.

“We’re all a lot of things,” Our eyes meet hesitantly, she sprouts a grin, “and it sounds like you just had a really really bad first kiss.” I slump over, “and now I work at Pet’s World with her.”

Dana laughs with her hand over her mouth, “that is kinda funny.” “It’s kinda sad,” I hang my head, “I’m never gonna find love. Like, ever. I’ll go to college a virgin, and leave that way too probably. Maybe I’m not even gay?” “Ugh,” Dana pokes me, “sad Felicity is the worst.” She pokes me again, “she doesn’t even listen.” I lift my head and our eyes meet again, I see Dana searching for something there. “But I’m also the stupid one so what do I know.”

I lean toward her, “can I be the stupid one too?” She grins softly and I join her, “oh, you can definitely be the dumbest.” “I guess, I just have to,” I blink a couple times, “look around me.”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it, she bites her lip before almost stuttering, “Only if you want to…” Dana blushes delicately and I feel her squirm next to me, I feel my lips turn up. “I’m sure. What were you always saying? I just have to try.” We both stare at each other for a very long minute.

Something creaks in the truck, it moves me. I lift her hand up to my lips, kissing the knuckles there gently and I feel something I didn’t know existed squiggle in my gut. I wait for her to lift her chin again and then I keep leaning forward.

“Dan,” I say slowly, “only if you want to.”

We pressed forward and Dana gasped gently as I kissed her, small and perfect across the lips and I feel a tingle go through something deep inside of me.

It was a little dry and off center, but my heart had picked up this time, it melted and oozed and maybe I was sweating a little bit too much. But I feel it, the electric slide, the commercial in my heart that was advertising the maranga.

The little pinwheel that kept going around and around in my head that jammed and stopped, I kissed her, and the whole thing froze. The sunrises in my mouth and the fireworks shoot off as our lips move against each other.

We part for a moment before coming back together more firmly and harsh, she takes my face in between her hands and we come together like that for a long long moment.

She only snickers once into my mouth, “you, not gay?” She lifts her eyes with a snort, “ridiculous.” I bite my lip and look her in the eye, “Actually,” I say, “totally straight,” I kiss her bottom lip, “but I’m sure you could convert me.” She takes my hand, “I’ll do what I can.” She scoots closer, “We could call it a summer camp even.”

I look her up and down, “I always heard everyone at band camp was gay.” She wraps her arms around my neck and hoods her eyes, “we’ll have to make music then.” I push on her shoulder as I laugh and shake my head, “don’t be a dork.” “Make me!” We come together once more with the sun our back and rust on my jeans, but there’s something sweet and melting inside of me, rising at the same time. I kiss her, and I somehow make it from all the way behind the finish line to the start.

There were so many more points to reach.

#wlw #sapphic #girls love #femslash February #original story #original writing #slice of life #humor

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soft-sarcasm · 6 years

Text

lee jihoon: be gentle.

Pairing: lee jihoon x reader

Summary: you know when someone is turning to you, who all but lives and breathes self-deprecation, for tips on self-care that something has gone tremendously wrong.

Genre: fluff, that’s about it.

Word count: 1.3+k.

a/n: just a quick little thing that I got the idea for in the shower and it just kind of spun from there. I hope you still like it.

You had worked near tirelessly to create the level of calm that now radiated from your perfectly tiny apartment, every inch saturated with as much peace and tranquillity that you could muster. You had scented candles placed in various spot throughout the living room which would be your main place of habitation for your chosen night of indulgence, their flames licking at the air that had been artificially warmed by the heater you had only recently gotten fixed after spending one too many nights with chattering teeth. Overhead lights had been turned off in favour of the two yellow-bulb lamps that cast the entire room in a much friendlier, golden glow compared to the harsh fluorescents. The cup of tea you had made only moments ago sat on the coffee table, small tendrils of steam twirling away from the beige liquid that had now been forgotten as you halted halfway through the motion of lowering yourself down on the soft of your couch. Paused like the newest episode of your favourite show that blinked at you from the screen of your laptop, eyes wide as you stared at the door that had just finished resounding a knock.

Your night was meant to be a one detached from reality and instead focused on recentering yourself, a moment of quiet on the backdrop of the hellish week of schoolwork you had only this afternoon completed. Your days had been clogged with 9+ hours hunched in uncomfortable library chairs and consuming nothing but machine coffee that’s acidic taste was only made manageable by the caffeine content. Finally, this nigh, one that could be written off as yet another meaningless Wednesday night by others, was your reward. A moment of clarity where you could finally come up to breathe, one that was meant to be undisturbed thanks to the multiple precautions you had taken such as silencing your phone and leaving it back in your room. And yet, there was a knock and your feet were moving on instinct towards the door.

Socks padding soundlessly against tiles as you scampered to press yourself up against the door to better peak through the tunnel of vision that sat embedded in the wood. There, short enough that you had to direct your gaze down slightly, bundled under a shroud of black winter clothing including a black mask to match was one of your closest friends; Lee Jihoon and you instantly yanked open the door.

You had known Lee Jihoon for almost as long as you had known yourself. Growing alongside each other like intertwined vines in the sunshine of adolescence. You had moved to Seoul before him and had only rekindled your relationship once he joined the bustle of the city a few years later, you had been rather dependant on each other ever since. Yet there were few instances during the years that you had known Jihoon for him to ever be in quite a state. Of course there were the nights of self-doubt where he fled the dorm in search of your shoe box of an apartment to vent his concerns over the pressure of being the man behind the songs of Seventeen and so while this wasn’t the first night you had found his form on your doorstep asking to be let in.

You blinked at him in confusion, allowing him to sidestep you without a word as he was all but vibrating due to the cold and you quickly closed the door behind him. You stared at his back for a moment, sending a question look to his back as he continued to move wordlessly around your apartment, shrugging off his coat and removing his shoes, leaving you to follow as he made his way to your living room.

“Jihoon,” You said, voice dripping with caution as you assessed his drooped form that slumped into the plush of your sofa in such a depressive state that one would have thought he would have rather been there for hours rather than few moments. “What’s up?”

He remained silent, his only movement being that of removing his dark beanie to reveal a mass of soft, slightly mused black hair that framed a face saturated with exhaustion. “I just- just don’t know how to do.”

You instantly moved to join him on the couch, slipping your only slightly warmer hand into his near frozen one, thumb grazing over knuckles as you hunched his head down. “Do what?”

“You know, that, thing.” He clarified though it was vaguer than ever as his despair was now edged with exasperation. “This whole ‘self-care’ thing, how do you do it?”

“Me,” You spluttered his question one of the most absurd things you had ever been asked. You had never viewed yourself as someone who took time for ‘self-care,’ of course you had a few routines that may be counted as moments of self-indulgence. Expensive conditioner that called to be left in for 20 minutes, bath-bombs that you sparingly used only every other month, some lavish face care products that you slathered on yourself in an attempt to be a functioning member of society. But there were all superficial to combat the amount of internal torture you often put yourself through thanks to your ever thriving anxiety. In conclusion, you were not the one Jihoon should be bringing his question to. “I don’t do anything.”

“Yes you do!” Jihoon objected, meeting your eyes for the first time. “Look at you with your mood lighting and scented candles and your constant sense of self-worth. How do you do it? Tell me your secret.”

Now that he was finally meeting your gaze, you realised what Jihoon truly wanted; he just wanted a sense of calm, a sense of peace if only for a moment in that constantly whirling held of his. And you empathised, oh you did, you also find it impossibly hard to shut off and Jihoon knew that, so for Jihoon to know that and still look to you for the answer, you could only imagine the turmoil going o within that skull of his.

“Jihoon,” You said after a moment, watching as the golden glow illuminated his worn features, soft brown eyes that you knew so thoroughly looking at you with nothing but desperation. “There’s no book or six-step programme, you just have to- be gentle with yourself.”

He groaned, dropping his head down into his hands, “Great and how am I meant to go about doing that?”

“Truthfully, it doesn’t always happen.” You admitted, hand circling a soothing circle into his back in attempts to release the tension that clenched his shoulders. “There’s no way one can go without some moments of self-doubt and self-hatred; it’s just a part of being human. But we have to try at least, to give ourselves those moments where we don’t berate ourselves and instead just let ourselves calm down, relax without reservation or guilt just, don’t be so harsh on yourself all the time.”

Jihoon seemed to digest your words for a moment, breathing it in like to sandalwood scent of the nearest candle, lifting his head up. “Why are you so good at saying, well- things?”

“I’m a writer, it’s my thing.” You shrugged, a small chuckle following your words.

He scoffed, now focusing on your intertwined fingers, “I’m a writer and I never say the right things.”

“That’s not true,” You soothed, humming as you took him in. “You just have a special way of wording things.”

“So how would I, in my special way of saying things, say thank you to someone I with forever be indebted to for putting up with my self-loathing ass?” He questioned, nudging your leg with own as you met his gaze.

“I think,” You mused, lips twisting up into a content smile. “You know what to say.”

Suddenly Jihoon was pressing his mouth to yours and your smile bloomed into a fully fledged grin as you let out a content sigh once Jihoon pulled back to rest his forehead against your own, “I love you.”

“I love you too, now love yourself as well okay?”

#seventeen scenarios #woozi scenarios #seventeen fluff #jihoon scenarios #kpop scenarios #woozi #seventeen #kpop #seventeen smut

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thedelineator-blog · 6 years

Text

we sat in a room alone - my mom and i - waiting for someone to come back with paperwork. the room contained a desk with a chair behind it, and two other chairs against the wall where we sat. i stared at my zebra print duffel bag on the floor, enveloped in an angry fog as my mom reassured me that everything would be alright.

we had been in one of these rooms a few weeks prior, after my therapist had recommended to my mom that i stay at a psychiatric hospital for a while, until i didn’t feel like killing myself anymore. they needed to “evaluate” me - to see if i was fucked up enough to qualify to stay in an inpatient program. i remember filling out some questionnaire that asked your run of the mill “are you depressed?” questions. in the room next door, someone who i assume was a patient there was meeting with his mother. we listened as he screamed at her and the employees, and at one point threw something against the wall. i remember laughing to myself as he demanded a coke, and then when someone brought him one he screamed that he wanted diet. my mom seemed disturbed by this and we left. she told me she couldn’t live with the thought of leaving me there alone.

but there we were. she was leaving me there alone.

the night before, my dad had walked into the kitchen as i was slicing into my left arm with a knife meant for filleting a fish. it was a half assed attempt at committing suicide and a full assed cry for help. in the weeks prior i had cut my left arm with a wide variety of objects - a key, a shard of glass, a pair of scissors, a thumbtack - and had worn long sleeves until my therapist told my parents about my cutting and i was forced to show them my arm. in my mind i was punishing myself for being sad and acting crazy. i wanted to see my own blood to prove to myself that i was alive and this was real. i had become fixated on blood - to the point where i had made a plan to lock myself in the bathroom and slit my wrists and watch the blood flow out of me until i died.

in a moment of impulse - and after finding where my parents had hidden the knives - i settled for a quick slice to the forearm while standing in the kitchen.

the lady with the paperwork came back in and we filled out all of the forms. she went through my bag which contained clothes, underwear, shampoo and conditioner, a coloring book and some crayons. she made me pull the strings out of a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and told me i could either cut the wire out of one of my bras or send it back home with my mom. she explained that the program i was going to be in was point based and that i would start with zero but could work my way up with good behavior and earn privileges back - some of the privileges included washing my hair with the shampoo and conditioner i brought, and using the coloring book and crayons that i brought. washing my hair seemed like a basic privilege and human right to me.

after going through all of my things and patting me down to make sure i wasn’t smuggling in anything “contraband” i said goodbye to my mom. and was lead through a door and down a hallway to the ward where i would be staying for an indefinite amount of time.

looking back now - 7 years later - i know it must have broken my mom’s heart to have to leave me there. at the time i was angry. i had never felt more alone and alienated than i had for the past 2 months. it seemed like no one understood me and quite frankly, i didn’t understand myself either. i spent days in bed doing nothing but sobbing while staring at the wall, and was met with only anger and confusion from my mom, who probably had no idea what to do or how to help me. i understand now that i didn’t go to the hospital because my family was trying to get rid of me - rather they didn’t know how else to help me and protect me from myself.

it was night time when i got to the hospital. i was led down a hall to a door where you had to get “buzzed” in, which seemed very jail-like. the hallway was lit with fluorescent lights which were mostly turned off. the lady showed me my room, which was next to a bunch of other rooms in what they called a “pod”. a “pod” had a common area with a tv, tables and chairs, a bathroom and four connected rooms, each with two twin beds. i didn’t have a roommate, which i was thankful for. she led me into another “pod” where a bunch of girls who looked a lot younger than me were watching a movie about gladiators, which i had seen with my ex boyfriend in theaters. i sat down without speaking to anyone - probably looking like an angry bitch - and colored a coloring page that was on the table.

because i was 17, i was still considered an adolescent and was kept in the adolescent ward. there were probably 9 other girls there, ranging from the ages of 11-15, with me being the oldest. there were also 2 pods for small children and 2 pods for adolescent boys. there was a really nice black male nurse sitting in the room with us as we watched the movie he saw me silently sitting alone and talked to me without asking any questions and taught me how to make a macrame friendship bracelet out of string. i appreciated this about him because i had made some sort of promise to myself in my head that i wasn’t going to talk to anyone about why i was there. during my two week stay at the hospital, making friendship bracelets was my preferred activity and something that i continued to do after leaving the hospital as a hobby.

i don’t remember names of the girls who were also staying there, but i’ll describe the ones that i remember.

probably the first girl to talk to me, and the only one that i considered a friend while i was there was skinny and 14 years old. i later learned that she was bulimic and had wanted to be my friend because she thought i had an eating disorder too. one day at lunch she talked about how she wanted to be just like me. one of the other girls told me that she meant she wanted to be my size and had assumed i was there because i was anorexic. it made me feel weird and disgusting to be idolized in that way.

the first girl that anyone gossiped to me about was chubby and probably also around 14. she had long mousy brown hair and was typically quiet, despite having short outbursts of anger, in a random and disturbing manner. when i arrived she had a cast on her arm, which someone told me she had broken after punching a mirror, and had also been the only person they had witnessed to be sedated after an outburst of anger.

another girl had short dark hair and looked like the type of girl to have a ghetto boyfriend. i think she even had a tattoo. she seemed like a bully to me and also had anger and behavioral issues. she looked like she was 15ish but i vaguely remember being shocked that she was actually younger.

there was another girl with a broken arm - a 12 year old sweet looking blonde girl who had been abused by her father and taken into custody by CPS.

another girl was waiting to be placed in foster care. she was also around 12, chubby and mexican. she was funny and was one of the only people there that could make me laugh. she had been part of a gang that her older brothers were in. i think her name was lana. the day that i left, she gave me a coloring sheet with her name and phone number on it that i think i still have somewhere.

there were other girls too, but these are the ones who stuck in my mind the most. after seven years a lot of the details have faded away, while others seem to stand out. there are some times where i wonder what happened to all of those girls, especially the ones who were waiting to go to foster homes. some of them had been there for over a month already, and had previously stayed in other hospitals in texas. they didn’t seem to have a lot of problems, but rather were stuck there as the state tried to figure out what to do with them.

my first night in the hospital i remember laying alone in my cold room and crying. i wasn’t allowed my usual nightly dose of temazepam to knock me out, because i was supposed to talk to a psychiatrist the next day who would prescribe me a brand new drug cocktail. i felt abandoned and strangely guilty for being so fucked up that my parents felt like i needed to be hospitalized. i realized that all i wanted to do was be with my family and my heart ached thinking of how i didn’t know when i would see them again.

life in the hospital revolved around schedules and routine. we woke up really early, around 7, and sat with a nurse in the pod who would take our vital signs and give us all our assigned drug cocktails. then we walked together to the cafeteria to eat breakfast, which was the only meal of the day that i looked forward to eating. in the cafeteria we were assigned to sit with certain people at certain tables. after breakfast, go back to the pod and have “quiet time” which for me mostly consisted of coloring with markers on coloring sheets that always seemed to have the same pictures. sunflowers, a mandala design, a character from a children’s show, an elephant. we weren’t allowed to make friendship bracelets, or even have the ones we had made previously, when the male black nurse who helped with them wasn’t there. he worked at night. when i asked why we weren’t allowed to keep our bracelets, someone told me it was because we might try to choke ourselves with them, which i thought was funny.

after breakfast some of the girls did school work, something i had been excluded from after “medically withdrawing” from school a month or so earlier because i was so depressed.

then lunch. there was one little boy that ate lunch with us, probably around 6 years old, who i still think about periodically. he was schizophrenic, or in some state of psychosis, which in itself was already sad enough. he was so far removed from reality. he seemed to have hallucinations that never ceased, and spent the entirety of lunch wandering around the cafeteria, following something visible only to him. he was constantly being herded around by a nurse, or by one of us during lunch, and didn’t seem to care much about interacting with other people. he sometimes would burst into tears in a moment of confusion and scream for his mom. i heard that his family came to visit him on every visiting day, but he frequently felt confused about where he was and what was going on. i hope he is okay.

after lunch - group therapy - which i absolutely despised. and then an hour of time spent outside. then dinner, more “quiet time”, the distribution of the drugs, and finally sleep.

my drug cocktail - thoughtfully and carefully chosen by a guy named “dr. parrot” - consisted of 50mg of pristiq, an antidepressant, in the morning and 25mg of seroquel at night to knock me out. i had briefly had insomnia, staying up for days at a time, and after being prescribed temazepam i would take it whenever i wanted to sleep, sometimes multiple times a day. even though i no longer had trouble sleeping, dr. parrot was happy to add another sleeping pill to my cocktail, and never questioned whether i really needed it or not.

according to google, pristiq - generic name desvenlafaxine - is a serotonin reuptake inhibitor used to treat major depressive disorder. side effects include increased suicidal thoughts and behaviors, elevated blood pressure and activation of mania, to name a few.

seroquel - generic name quetiapine - is an anti-psychotic drug that is supposed to balance out the neurotransmitters in your brain. it’s typically prescribed to people with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major depressive disorder, and in my case - insomnia. side effects include drowsiness, headache, dizziness, and upset stomach.

i had looked forward to talking with the psychiatrist. since arriving at the hospital i had not had a moment of “therapy”, which in my mind consisted of crying while word vomiting about all of my bad feelings to someone with a degree that makes them qualified to listen to me. instead, a couple of days after i had arrived at the hospital, i was ushered into a tiny office where a balding middle aged man waited for me. he talked to me for maybe five minutes, and then prescribed to me my magical drug cocktail, which i was to start taking as soon as possible.

i thought that this was complete and utter bullshit. instead of talking about how i wanted to die, i was given some drugs that were supposed to be the magical cure to everything. i complained to a nurse about it, who told me i could talk to my “case worker”, a young 20-something really attractive guy who visited the hospital in a sporadic and seemingly unplanned manner a couple times a week.

as a part of my daily routine, i was also allowed to make one phone call a day, which i always used to call my parents. i cried to them over the phone and begged them to either come get me or bring me warmer socks when they visited. (they brought me socks). I was also allowed to shower, which i avoided for as long as possible because the showers were cold most of the time, and the shitty shampoo (no conditioner) i was given made my ass-length, super thick hair a tangled rat’s nest.

the first couple days at the hospital were nothing to write home about. i made a conscious effort to not talk to anyone, colored coloring pages and listlessly did as i was told. we were all given journals that we didn’t have to show anyone and were supposed to write about our feelings in during group therapy. the first couple of days i sat in a corner and wrote “forever” over and over and over again with a red marker in reference to the beatles’ song “i will” and the fact that at the time i was still committed to loving my ex boyfriend forever.

after i had been there a couple of days i experienced something that until that point, i had thought only happened in movies. it sounds ridiculous and made up, but i promise it really happened.

i refer to what happened next only as “the incident”.

some of the girls had grown close to each other, forming what i felt was a “fucked up psychiatric clique”. i kept my distance from them because i hate cliques, and also because i really didn’t care about making friends in a mental hospital. i would eavesdrop on their conversations, most of which were about how fucked up this place was (yeah) and how it felt like a prison (agreed) and how they were going to figure out a way to escape (not likely). i thought it was kind of hilarious that they thought they could just...escape. there was no access to doors that lead outside, and you either needed a key, or to be “buzzed in” to enter a different part of the hospital.

there was one girl who was best friends with the aforementioned dark haired girl who looked like the type to have a ghetto boyfriend. she seemed to be the mastermind of this ambitious scheme to liberate us girls from unflattering fluorescent lighting and drug cocktails. she thrived off of being a self proclaimed bad girl, and had bragged about using drugs on a couple of occasions during group therapy even though she was probably only 15. she and the dark haired girl were actively kept away from each other during meals and even some other times, i think because they always seemed to be working up some sort of elaborate scheme, or just being bitches while together in general.

one night i was sitting at a table in a pod by myself, probably coloring or watching whatever movie was playing for the thousandth time on the TV. all of the sudden there was some sort of commotion, and i looked out of the glass window of the pod towards the nurse’s station and saw a girl tackle a nurse to the ground like a deranged homeless woman on PCP. other girls from the “clique” were also running around trying to attack nurses.

people were screaming, everyone was rushing around. nurses were getting attacked. i sat in my place and watched in disbelief, i couldn’t believe these dumbasses thought this would actually work. i watched as one of the boys - whose pod was visible from where i was sitting - tried to open one of the doors that led to a hallway outside while everyone was distracted. more people came running, nurses from the adult and children’s ward i presume, and started restraining the girls and tackling them to the ground.

a nurse came into the door of my pod ad started grilling me, asking me if i was in on this. she took me to the pod next door, where the dark haired girl was having an absolute breakdown, and locked the door. i still to this day don’t understand why she locked me in there with someone who was on an angry rampage. i sat in a plastic chair in the corner and watched as the dark haired girl threw chairs around the room and screamed at me. she probably said some things along the lines of “why won’t you say anything bitch!” and “don’t you want to get out of here?!”

at this point i was truly terrified and started to cry, which she yelled at me for also. i didn’t understand why i had been locked in this room with this crazy girl and in that moment all i wanted to do was take my sweet, sweet seroquel and sleep. she contiued to tear about the room in a really manic and destructive manner while chaos continued outside the door. at one point she ripped the thermostat partly out of the wall and threw a chair in my general direction.

someone finally came in and got me out of there and led me back to my pod. they had finally gotten things under control and i watched as they restrained each girl who was involved and sedated them with a huge needle in the hallway outside of the pods. probably around five or six of the girls had been involved, and i believe some of the other girls had been released recently so there were only a couple of us who didn’t get sedated.

i remember being kind of traumatized that night, i definitely cried for a while and talked to a nurse, who seemed uncharacteristically calm about what had happened. at one point i went into the bathroom and found a circular orange pill with something stamped into it on the ground in front of the toilet. i gave it to the nurses at the nurse’s station, took my seroquel and went to sleep.

looking back now, i’m pretty sure that the pill i found on the ground was ecstasy or something similar. the girl who was the ringleader of the scheme had spent longer than normal in the bathroom before all of the craziness went down, and i vaguely remember a nurse making her come out of the bathroom after a while. i’m not sure how she would have gotten drugs into the hospital, but it’s definitely possible. it’s completely possible that it was an ecstasy fueled dream of freedom, which when carried out went terribly wrong.

after that night, the heavily sedated group of girls slept in the hallway for an entire day, and after they woke were placed on some sort of “house arrest” and not allowed to leave their pod, even for meals.

the incident made me withdraw even more into myself, and i sobbed on the phone to my mom the next day begging her to please get me out of there. i felt as if being there wasn’t helping me at all. sure, i was no longer able to hurt myself, but i felt totally alienated, forgotten about and now a bit traumatized.

i told a nurse that i wanted to leave, and i was under the impression that because i was 17, i could leave whenever i wanted. i think i had this confused with the age of consent (which is 17 in texas) and she told me that i was not allowed to leave until the psychiatrist released me. i thought - and still think - that this is complete and utter bullshit. the doctor who talks to me for a couple of minutes a day and did nothing but prescribe drugs to me is the only one who has a say in how much my mental health has improved. this made absolutely no sense to me then, nor does it now.

in the following days, i continued to follow the routine. my parents came to visit me and i told them about the incident, which they probably found hard to believe. they told me they would try to get me out, but later on the phone gave me the same news that the nurse had - it was all in the hands of the doctor.

because i had been compliant, had followed the rules and participated in group therapy and written in my journal - though if they had looked they would know that at that point, i had filled almost the entire thing with just one word - i gained enough points to use my own shampoo and conditioner. this was an absolute luxury and some of the girls expressed their jealousy to me. most refused to follow the point system and continued to use the shitty shampoo the hospital supplied for their entire stay.

while i was there, i worried a lot about what was going on in the world outside. about my friends, who i had only told i was going away for a while. about my brother, who was 11. i wondered if my parents had told him what was going on and where i was. i later learned that they gave him the same explanation i gave my friends - i just had to go away. i worried about my cat oliver and bout my ex boyfriend, who probably had no idea where i was and wouldn’t care anyways.

i thought about school and what everyone thought about me not being there. or if they even noticed that i was gone. as i had spiraled deeper into depression in the previous months, school had become impossible for me. with my depression i had also gained social anxiety, and felt increasingly alienated and misunderstood by everyone at school. the girls i sat with at lunch didn’t understand why i was suddenly so sad and angry, and for reasons that i don’t remember had asked me not to sit with them anymore. i began eating my lunch either in the bathroom or in the theatre prop closet, most of the time listening to “breathe” by telepopmusik and crying. at some point, i just stopped going to school and instead would go to a treehouse in the woods and lay there for a couple of hours before going home, taking sleeping pills and going to sleep. eventually my parents gave up and let me stop going, but i went to work with my mom every day so i didn’t have the opportunity to do anything crazy.

i began seeing a therapist after my mom seemed to become scared of me and said she felt that i needed help. i decided that i hated the therapist after our first session, when she told me that i needed to write my ex boyfriend’s name on a piece of paper and burn it, as if that was some sort of magical secret for letting go. i hated the therapist even more when she recommended inpatient treatment after i had only been seeing her for a month. though, i will admit i was quite out of it - bordering on psychosis - and remember telling her once about how i would stare at the carpet at school until i started to hallucinate.

a couple days after the incident, a new girl was admitted to the hospital and introduced to our pod. she was small and skinny, with a bleached pixie cut. she was really talkative and immediately tried to make friends with everyone. this initially made me suspicious of her, and i didn’t perceive her willingness to talk as friendly, rather it felt conniving.

my suspicions turned out to be right when she approached me one day while we were outside. she took off her shoe, produced a medium sized safety pin and handed it to me. she explained that she had given one to all of the girls so that they could cut themselves if they wanted to. she had been wearing a bracelet with all of the safety pins on it when she was admitted, and by some miracle no one had noticed.

this interaction struck me as really weird and crazy, and i later learned in group therapy that this girl was truly and utterly fucked up. she was eager to talk about why she was there, and cheerfully explained that she wanted to kill her mother and her dog, but was brought here before she could carry it out.

i told a nurse about the safety pins (yeah i’m a snitch, but it was fucked up) and she was placed on “house arrest” for a couple days.

her bad karma for handing out safety pins like candy to a bunch of mentally ill girls came back to her when, on my last day there, she broke her arm while playing red rover with everyone outside as i watched in shock.

by the time my last couple of days at the hospital rolled around, i was talking more. i would frequently stand at the nurse’s station with the girl who was bulimic as we held ice cubes in our hands until they melted. we watched a bunch of dumb movies, one of which was heavyweights, and another a documentary about 9/11. i didn’t understand why a psychiatric hospital owned a movie about 9/11, let alone why they were showing it to a bunch of adolescent girls. i remember saying “why are you making us watch this?” about 10 minutes into the movie.

they also had a wii, but the only game we could play was “just dance!” and we played the shit out of it. i especially liked it because i didn’t feel self conscious around the girls, and we all had fun being stupid and playing together. that and making the macrame bracelets are the best memories i have of my stay there.

the last day or two that i was there, i finally revealed in group therapy that i was there because i had tried to kill myself. i talked about how my boyfriend dumped me and i completely lost it, feeling depressed for the first time in my life and having no idea how to deal with it. most of them seemed surprised, as the majority of them thought i had an eating disorder, and said that i didn’t seem “that messed up”. the nurse who led the group therapy asked me questions about my boyfriend, which i found annoying. but it felt good to stop being silent and finally talk.

i don’t really remember why i got released exactly - but i finally got to leave. i remember some of the girls acted sad that i was leaving, which struck me because i didn’t think any of them cared about me that much. lana gave me a coloring page with her phone number, which made me feel sad to leave for a split second. i got to take all my bracelets home with me and still have a collection of hospital stuff - my bracelets, hospital bracelet, my numerous coloring book pages, lana’s coloring book page.

the hospital’s conclusion about me was that i had major depressive disorder with attachment issues and an intense fear of rejection. (duh)

on the ride home with my mom she asked if i felt like being there helped me and i said that i felt traumatized. i commented about how i felt like i had just gotten out of jail and everything seemed weird, even though i had only been gone for two weeks.

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gilliansanderson · 7 years

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If Ever There Is Tomorrow; Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this took forever, I had to physically beat the words out of the muses mouth for this, I tell you. Next one should be up quicker I swear. Anyway, tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

[Chapter 1] [AO3]

2. Where The Wild Things Are

Fall 1971

The once green leaves have fallen and turned to rust. They rustle softly in the breeze, accompanying a symphony of cicadas as they mourn the end of summer. Mulder is ten years old today, and in typical Mulder fashion, had decided the only just way to celebrate hitting double digits was a trip to the gloomy forest. Dusk seeps in like the tide; Home-time has long since passed, but Mulder has a flashlight and a story to tell.

“Once,” he begins, voice dramatically hushed. Perched on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree, his young audience leans in, eager to catch his words. “In these very woods, lived a very old, very bad man. He lived in the very tops of the trees and from up there he could the whole world. He lived on rats and owls and, occasionally, lost little girls,”

The mid-October wind picks up forcefully, a chilling wail punctuating his words, the small group shivers and huddles ever closer. “One day there was this girl, she was nearly seven years old and had long brown hair, her parents were worried, because she went away one night and never came home, so they went looking in these woods all night, but when they finally found her she was dead, in a nest of bones on the top of the highest tree and the man had chewed her face right off…”

“Stop it, Fox! You’re scaring Samantha,”

Samantha had grown visibly pale. Scully, snapped out of her trance, puts a comforting arm around her, “Don’t worry,” she whispers in the other girl’s ear, “It’s only pretend,”

Mulder’s inner circle consisted of his sister, his best friend, and his best friend’s sister, who though quite fond of Mulder was even fonder of Samantha, with her braid-able hair and a mutual love for Barbie dolls which Dana, despite her greatest efforts, had never come to share. So it comes as no surprise when Melissa jumps to her defence.

“I think I’ll take her home, Danes,” she tells them, rising to her feet and dusting off her floral skirt.

“Aw, c’mon Missy, don’t be a killjoy,” Scully groans, but Samantha stands and throws her an apologetic smile, “It’s okay Dana, I’m kinda tired anyway,”

“Don’t stay out too late or mom will freak,” Melissa says with the proud authority only an older sibling could possess, before tugging the younger girl gently behind her, until the warm glow of her lantern fades into the distance and plunges the forest into black once again.

“Well, what do we do now?” Scully huffs. “Have I told you the one about the Jersey Devil, Scully?”

She rolls her eyes towards the moon. “Only like a billion times,”

“How about hide and seek?” he concedes, “Or are you afraid of the bad man too?”

They glance up at the twisted treetops concealing the glittering night, no monster in sight. “I’ll play with you, Mulder,” Scully smirks and quickly turns, “But you have to find me first!” she calls behind her as she darts off through the trees.

Mulder shuts his eyes and counts to ten.

Fall 1978

Dana hovers nervously on the fringe of the cafeteria, a plastic tray filled with questionable mac and cheese and neon green Jell-O held in an iron grip, for which she is quickly losing her appetite. This is the part she despises. catching people’s eyes, pretending to be interested, to be interesting, trying in vain to explain where she came from; everywhere and nowhere. She hates feigning a confidence which she so desperately lacked.

Dana’s tendency to overthink was new and overpowering. Somewhere along the way, in some school locker room or some sleepover where she was just a pity invite, she had lost the invulnerability of childhood, and let insecurity seep under her skin with every whisper and sideways glance, at every failed attempt to infiltrate friendships which had already been forged in the fires of early adolescence.

Her code-breaking docs squeak on the linoleum floor, she is painfully aware that she’s beginning to attract attention. She feels too small and too large all at once, somehow taking up too much space, yet not nearly enough.

That’s when she feels the hand on her back.

“Scully,” he all but whispers, “Can we talk?”

She trips over air as she recoils. Macaroni becomes airborne, half the room turns to stare. Dana’s face matches the ketchup splattered on the floor. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” She seethes. She had been avoiding him like the plague since she ran out of the principal’s office, thinking she’d be doing them both a favor by avoiding confrontation.

“Scully, I’m sorry, I just…” Mulder stammers, his gaze intense, mournful, nervous. What right did he have to be nervous? Anger overrides anxiety as years of dormant resentment bubbles to the surface and erupts like a volcano.

“Don’t call me that. You have no right to call me that, you can’t talk to me as if you know me, like we’re still friends. Friends write, Mulder! Friends talk to each other, friends acknowledge each other’s existence! I don’t care what you have to say, it’s too late for this, Mulder, I don’t want to talk to you or Samantha or anyone…”

She’s cut off by someone grabbing her wrist, pulling her roughly away from Mulder’s wounded expression, from the hundreds of eyes trained on the scene before them and into the girl’s dingy bathroom.

“Missy, I was handling it,”

“You weren’t handling shit, Dana. Fuck.” Her sister curses as she bolts the door and cracks open the window. “Why did you have to go and make a scene? It’s been hard enough on him already,”

Dana catches sight of herself in the mirror and quickly looks away. She already hates her features, they’re worse when twisted with rage. “Hard enough on him? What the fuck, Missy, who’s side are you on?”

Melissa sighs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, putting one shakily to her mouth, “I knew I should have just told you,”

Dana is momentarily stunned. Her mom had made them promise that they would never smoke when her grandfather passed away, after years of sucking on cigars turned his blackened lungs to ash. She’d already broken that promise several times, but she hadn’t thought that her sister ever would, and for some reason, this fills her with unease.

“Told me what?” Her fingers fumble to strike the match, but she finally sparks a flame. After a long moment of silence, she speaks. “Dad made me swear not to tell you” Smoke billows from her lips, curling and dancing under the fluorescent light, poisoning the air with her poison words. “Samantha was taken, Dana. She was kidnapped, I guess, a few months after we left Massachusetts,”

The walls constrict and the world turns on its side. All Dana could focus on was the tears trailing down her sister’s cheeks, leaving track marks in her rouge, as the things she was telling her registered in her brain. “I guess they thought… How do you even explain that shit to an eight-year-old? What if we had stayed a bit longer? you practically lived there and…”

Dana remembers how to breathe around the same time she remembers how to speak. Oxygen feels like fire in her lungs, her fury burns in her throat. “And what?” she rasps, “What? you think it could have been me?”

“Dana, don’t…” her sister pleads.

“How could you even think to keep something like that from me? She was my friend too, Missy. Mulder was my friend and…”

Mulder. Shit.

Dana bursts out of the bathroom, throughout the crowded dining hall, conversations stall. Mulder is already gone.

Fall 1993

As a child, Scully had a recurring dream of being stuck in a museum overnight, the exhibits would come alive and start to speak. The Smithsonian at this moment was dead, as she stares at the Neanderthals behind the darkened glass, Darwin’s apes learning to walk, she wonders what they would say.

Nature had never come naturally to her. While it felt like practically all her friends were getting married, getting pregnant, getting mortgages, all she was getting was older. And then there’s Mulder.

She feels his lingering presence long before his reflection appears the glass.

“You always did have a knack for running away,” his voice echoes throughout the empty room, life amongst the ruins of the ancient and extinct.

“You’re one to talk, Mulder,” she bites back, feels him flinch, and immediately wants to stuff the words back in her mouth

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant,”

This was something they were still getting used to. Their dynamic was all new, yet all too familiar, a battle of wits in an instant turn into a hesitant dance. They compliment and contradict each other to the point that it was maddening. There had always been something about this man, and the boy he used to be, which sparked an insatiable curiosity, a hunger for the extraordinary, one that could never be satisfied by homily divorcees or besotted superiors to her eternal frustration.

“Are you going to let me look at that?” she softly breaks the silence, nodding to the fresh wound on Mulder’s ribs, which he was gingerly palming through his blazer.

“You just wanna see me with my shirt off,” he grunts, “You shouldn’t abuse your medical license for personal reasons, Scully,”

“It only seems fair after Bellefleur,” She allows her self a smirk

“You have some recently un-repressed memories you want to discuss?” He laughs humorlessly, their banter turning dry as it comes back to Samantha, as it would always come back to Samantha. Scully remembers listening to his regression tapes, seeing her picture in that file, how her heart hit the floor. The doe-eyed girl in a nightdress, the girl who had cried when other kids scraped their knees or stepped on ants. Scully can see the Samantha-shaped hole her absence left behind his eyes, and she can’t blame him at all. She gives up the attempt to lighten the mood and cuts to the chase.

“I know you believe she’s out there Mulder, I want to believe she’s alright too, but…“ she chooses her words carefully, “But I don’t want to see you keep getting hurt,”

The silence is deafening, she starts to think that the wax figures might break the silence before Mulder does, but then he hooks his fingers gently around hers and anchoring her gaze to his. “I just… need to find out, Scully,” he murmurs, “Even if that means doing it on my own,”

Scully studies Darwin’s early men and thinks of how far they’ve evolved, how far they still have to go. Maybe subconsciously she feels she owes it to the girl she once was or the girl she once knew, but she feels herself being drawn in deeper down the rabbit hole, drawn back to him. She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand, answering his unspoken question.

“You won’t be alone,”

#If Ever There Is Tomorrow #txf fanfic #msr fic #fictober #Anyway I kinda hate this #its sloppy and tonally inconsistent but at least its DONE #todayinfic #my stuff

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connormurphyobsessed · 7 years

Text

Dreams- Connor Murphy x Reader w/ smut

A/N: Hello everyone! This is a piece of writing I’m pretty proud of, but as always please give me feedback! I’m sorry I haven’t been posting as much, I’ve been going through some stuff but I feel a lot better. Love you all!-Ella Requested: Yes, or at least some Connor smut was Words: basically 4k Warnings: Suicide talk, swearing, mild smut Summary: Connor and reader meet at a treatment center and bond

Whatever the usual way of meeting somebody you love is, how you two met wasn’t it. Fluorescent lighting, and feet covered by thin socks is how you met with the tracking of every move. You ended up there in the usual way, and so did he, so maybe that’s the small bit of normal you two share. “Greenway’s Premier Adolescent Treatment Center.” That’s where you met him. You were both in for swallowing a deadly, but obviously not deadly enough amount of pills. This is the place where you go after your 72 hour hold is up and your doctors won’t send you home. Saying it was any better than those 72 hours would be a bold faced lie, or really just for the first few days. Everything you did was tracked, or at least in the unit you were in, “The Intensive Watch Unit”. The secluded residential treatment center housed and treated teens with a variety of problems, some even a year into their stay, while others left after a month. You were in the unit for those who weren’t trusted to be in the more stable units. Just like at the hospital your shoes were taken and replaced with rough socks, your body was scanned for any old or new marks, and you were asked any and every question imaginable.

Two weeks. That’s how long you’ve been on the now dubbed “suicide floor,” a floor for those who can’t go to the bathroom alone because you might kill yourself instead of peeing. The routine of it all slowly settled in for you. Wake up. Make bed. Eat. Meds. Shower. Group therapy. Art therapy and it goes on and on. You liked the routine that had come about for you; it was comforting to know that at 11am you would draw, and that the same nurses would help you with your worksheet from group. Your doctor even told you that he believed that in another week or two, if you kept on track you would move to the ‘not so suicidal floor’. Well, he called it the “The Learning Unit.” You wouldn’t admit it, but you were proud that soon you could move up a level after seeing people spend only two or three nights in the unit. On the other hand you didn’t admit much. You stuffed and stuffed everything you felt until, BAM, you were swallowing as many pills as you could find until you woke up in the hospital, sobbing how you were mad for not killing yourself better. Looking back you thought that sounded like an oxymoron. Perfectionist at its finest, or lowest depending on your point of view.

When somebody new enters the “death please come knocking unit,” you don’t meet them until lunch time. Everybody who arrives at the center is escorted by parents, or guardians, at 7am sharp. They are toured while everyone is in therapy and then meet one on one with a doctor while someone else talks to whoever brought them. Then at the end of lunch they are brought in and introduced with enough time to makes small talk before entering another group therapy session. New people usually arrived once a week and it usually excited people, but it didn’t for you. Why get excited that someone else is also kind of fucked up in some way?

The day he showed up was like every day you’d been at Greenway. Everyone sat at a round table together that was in the middle of the unit floor. Your whole unit was basically one giant room with doors to other rooms for therapy, staff, bunks, and some that were locked. You remembered from your tour that other floors had dining rooms, and was open, but where you were wasn’t that.

He was brought in by a nurse, and everyone turned to look. He was tall and sort of lanky, but seemed strong. His light brown hair was behind his ears, and the look on his face reminded you of a pug trying to seem like a wolf. He sat down a few seats away from you next to a boy, Shane, who had arrived two days earlier.

“So what’s your name?” girlssomeone asked taking a bite of a cookie.

“Connor,” he spoke. His voice was stronger than you imagined. The other person took a response to their question to allow them to go on and on about some TV show you had never watched.

After lunch came group therapy, again. Connor followed behind the ten people on the unit, including yourself, into a room with chairs in a circle and inspiring posters on the wall. “Welcome to group everyone. For those who can’t remember, my name is Ms. Lowe and I run group therapy for all of you during the afternoon.” Ms. Lowe was nice, but tough when she needed to be. Everyone meets her since she conducts the interview you go through before entering the unit. “Y/n,” at the sound of your name your head snapped in the direction of Ms. Lowe, “Since you have been here longer than most, would you mind showing our new member, Connor, how we start every group?” “Okay, well I’m y/n and I’m here for trying to kill myself. I have been on this unit for two and a half weeks, and my goal for today is to talk more openly.” For the rest of the group you allowed yourself to zone into a place of dreams. You imagined everything that life would be if you weren’t the way you were, and everything life could offer for someone like you if you were happier. At school you weren’t the popular person, but you were nice and people liked you. You had boyfriends, and first times of everything you would expect for someone in high school, but somehow you felt like you were dying.

Quiet time was an hour a day where you could nap, talk to people, play games, but everybody napped. It seemed like an unwritten rule that everybody would climb into their bed that felt like a rock and try to sleep. You usually followed that, but sometimes you would sit on the seats in the common area and read. The variety of books was depressing, which was ironic for the unit, so you had your parents bring you books from home. When you brought yourself to the seats you were painfully aware that you weren’t alone. Connor, the new guy was sitting on the couch. New people on the unit usually annoyed you. They were so closed off, even more than you, or they were played into the depression like a lifetime movie. You like honesty, or being blunt about it all, what was the point of trying to hide any of it? “Hey,” the voice of Connor brought you from the rant that was playing in your mind. “Oh, hey,” you said sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and letting the variety of books fall into the space between you. His eyes grew wide looking at all the books. “I can move them if you want” “It’s fine. How did you get all these? The books here are all shit,” he said pointing to the bookshelf. The declaration from Connor made you laugh. The noise was a surprise to both of you. “What do you mean? You don’t like ‘How to stop sadness’? Come on, that’s a masterpiece.” “Totally. That’s on my top ten favorite books of all time.” This time Connor let out a small chuckle. “You can borrow one of my books. I have way too many. When I asked my parents to bring me enough books to last my time in ‘Suicide daycare’ I didn’t expect this many. I guess that shows how much they believe in me.” “Suicide daycare?” “You know, we’re on the unit where they make sure we don’t kill ourselves. Suicide daycare.” “Honest. I like that.” “Thanks, I’ll be here all week, or more, you never know.”

Connor wasn’t as bad as you thought, hell he was probably your favorite out of the other patients. He was actually nice and didn’t try to dig into you to find everything wrong with you. Instead you started reading next to each other and would partner up during projects. For Sunday’s group you all had to find a partner and talk about your hopes and dreams. Seems simple enough, right? You and Connor partnered and sat in the corner of the room on the floor facing each other. You had partially been checked out of groups for a while since tomorrow you got to move to the level up. Finally you would get to have some freedom and would get to shower in privacy. “So y/n what are your hopes and dreams,” Connor said smirking. Connor would also get to move up a level. He had actually been going along with the program well and had an undeniable strength. “Ha-ha Connor,” you spoke with sarcasm dripping from your voice, “You first if you want to know all my innermost hopes and dreams.” “Real talk, or not?” he said. This had become something between you. “Let’s go with real talk for once.” “I want to make it out of here soon and graduate. I have no fucking idea what I’ll do after that, but leaving here and making it through high school seems like a good place to start.” These words didn’t surprise you; Connor had something pushing him inside. In group once he said that he was going to try to live for his mom. She had sat by his hospital bed and begged him to try, saying if he died part of her would. Maybe she started him on this, but you thought somewhere inside he wanted to live, even if it was almost nothing, part of him did. “Your turn y/n,” Connor said. “I don’t know if I have any. I don’t mean that in the way of I can’t picture a future, because I can, but it doesn’t seem like something to dream of. Why jinx the fact that for the moment I can picture life. Now that’s a miracle, so I’ll just sit with the fact that I’m okay with living.” “How do you manage to even make that seem dark?” “I learned from the best. I mean you taught me so why not put it to use.” “Hey! I didn’t teach you that, if anything you just speak like Edgar fucking Allen Poe.” “I didn’t know fucking part of his name,” you said smiling. A grin spread across Connor’s face, something that might have seemed unnatural at first, but now it fit perfectly.

Moving day. Well you were moving from ‘If you kill yourself here your parents will be so pissed’, to ‘Okay so they aren’t as depressed unit’. This unit wasn’t just one giant room with smaller rooms, but two floors, with 20 teens. There was a cafeteria, a school room, and all the nurses and doctors didn’t watch you as intensely. You would be on these floors for the rest of your stay, but you could move up levels, and earn rewards. When you arrived you were handed a schedule. Damn this place did know you. You only had two hours of school a day, then a bunch of therapy, and free time where you could join in on activities that were optional, or just hang out. Still you weren’t allowed to have shoes yet. You would have to move up a level. Connor on the other hand was allowed to have shoes. That made you annoyed and made Connor laugh.

With all of this new free time you and Connor got to hang out more. You spent your afternoons reading and talking. Sometimes he would read to you short stories that he wrote and you would draw for him. When there was group family therapy you heard stories about how he was horribly mean, but he seemed so different than that. Of course medicine and the right therapy will do that, but sometimes he would get mad. He would yell when he didn’t feel heard, but it didn’t freak you out. Better yelling than pushing it all down inside of you like you had done. The more time you spent with him the more you felt. He saw you and you saw him. Friday night is when the nurses would put on a movie in the large common room. Almost everyone would gather around and would eat popcorn. Sometimes they would play multiple movies and everyone would get candy. You and Connor had always enjoyed those nights, but that days therapy had been intense for him so he retreated to his room. There was a strict rule that you couldn’t enter someone else’s room, but Connor seemed to need somebody. The movie was playing and everyone was concentrated on that so you made your way to the boy’s wing. You knocked on the door quietly. “I told you I’m fine Nurse Roman. I just need some alone time. I promise I’ll come down for the second movie,” Connor said, exasperation coming through. “Actually it’s me, y/n,” there was silence and then the door opened. “What are you doing here? You aren’t allowed to be in this wing,” he said looking around the hallway. “It seemed like you needed someone, so I’m here. Besides, when have you ever been one to shy away from breaking the rules?” A slight smile broke through his furrowed brows. “What the hell, come in.” With that you walked into the room. The room held three beds and looked just like the girl's wing. “So are you doing okay?” “I don’t know how I’ll do when I’m out of here. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. Maybe I should just make it very clear to them that I can’t go home anytime soon.” “Don’t say that. You’ll do amazing whenever they say you can go home.” “I know, but I don’t think I should go now.” “They haven’t offered it yet and at least you’ll get to chill with me for a while if you want to stay after they do,” you spoke nervously laughing. “You’ll go home soon.” “I don’t think so. I haven’t ever truly talked emotions with them. That’s step one.” “We’ll be depressed buddies,” he said. “Buddies?” “Or not,” he huffed he lips turning into a frown. “Don’t frown Connor, it makes you look emo.” This comment got a laugh from him. His eyes filled with something you could only call happiness as he let himself laugh. “I guess we aren’t really buddies,” he said, now causing a frown to form on your face. Seeing this he spoke up. “What I mean is we’re too close to be buddies. We’re not friends or some shit, we’re just more.” You watched him say this and he seemed to truly mean it. He looked like what he said was the truth, like he cared for you. You thought this while you both stood in the middle of the room. He was watching you, having no idea what was going on in your mind. You took a step closer to him. Confusion was now clearly evident on his face. “More,” you whispered. You were sure he didn’t mean it like that, but he was there, and he cared for you and you cared for him. He was better than he could realize and he felt like home when your hands accidently brushed against each other, so you brought your lips to his. It could either be a disaster or it could make something more than you could hope or dream for. Your hands reached for his neck as you let yourself feel his warmth. “More,” he whispered back breaking your lips apart. His eyes seemed to search for what brought this, but he didn’t care in the moment. Swiftly he pulled you close again. Your lips slowly melded together, your mouths open and burning, your bodies pressed against one another. Your hands found his hair and his arms firmly pulled your waist as close as possible. There was no space between you with your hips against him. Where you were and everything that had ever happened seemed irrelevant. All you knew is that you needed every part of him, and for him to know that every part of him was magnificent. The feeling overwhelmed you and the clothes that covered each of you felt to be keeping you apart. You tore at your shirt and Connor yanked his own off. His lips attached to your neck and down to your collarbone where he nipped at the skin. “More,” you managed to say as you pushed him onto his bed. Connor reached to unclasp your bra, but struggled against the clasps. “What the hell kind of bra is that?” you laughed heartily at his annoyance as you moved to unclasp it yourself. Connor immediately pulled you back to him as you stumbled over your feet and landed on the bed. Connor took this as an opportunity to climb over you. His lips once again went to your body. His lips traveled to your breasts and he placed wet sloppy kisses along the sides. You pulled him up to your face as you then started unbuttoning his pants. A groan escaped from Connor’s lips as you finally pulled them off of him along with his boxers. Your jeans and underwear were soon being pulled off of your body as Connor entered you. The feeling of his body on top of yours and him moving within you outweighed any fear of the future in the moment. In those moments you were one with every rushed movement of hips, whippers, and digging nails.

You stayed in each other’s arms, a layer of sweat on each of you, until you each got up, giggling trying to put your clothes back on. You walked to the common room together and sat on the couch next to one another, fingers intertwined in the dark as you watched the movie. Your fingers brushed over your lips where not long ago Connor was. You slept that night hoping for an ending with him that would make even a Disney princess blush.

The next morning you went on with class, which you and Connor didn’t have together, and individual therapy. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the night before, and when you did you felt your face flush thinking of the feeling of him. You brought your lunch to the small library where you and Connor ate. Of course you didn’t know how things would be between you, but you had trust that it would be okay. “Hey,” Connor said as he entered the almost empty room. His face was bright and beaming, more than you had ever seen. You could feel your stomach turn. “Hey,” you said smiling. “I have the best fucking news,” he spoke quickly, sitting next to you. “You are going to meet the Rock? Because I could support that,” you teased. Connor rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t falter. “No you dipshit! I get to go home!” the words that tumbled out of his mouth with that bright smile stopped you. The smile on your face frozen, your heart stopping. “What?” you said, the strain in your voice evident, but Connor was so excited he went right past it. “You know how I was all freaked out?” you nodded, your face going from strained smile to blank. “Well that’s because they told me I could go home in a few days and I was scared. They said I’m expressing myself, I’m not suicidal, I’ve been moving up on levels, I’m better with my family, and I think I agree now.” “Wait, you knew yesterday?” you interrupted. “Yes, but that’s not the point. After we-you know- I figured that if I can do that, or at least talk to you about my feelings and shit, I can make it out there.” “You knew yesterday?” “I already said that y/n. Isn’t this great?” Connor said smiling at you with those eyes that made you want him in the first place. “You knew, didn’t tell me and then slept with me,” you a little louder. “Come on y/n. It wasn’t like that-” “No, it’s exactly like that. Was it a joke to you?” “Now you’re being fucking stupid y/n” “Stupid!” you fumed. The look on Connor’s face went from happy to angry. Why weren’t you being supportive and happy for him? “Come on y/n! I didn’t mean it like that. Why aren’t you happy for me? Isn’t this what we talked about. This was one of my dreams! I’m doing it, my dream!” “Happy for you? I’m not happy, I’m angry! How could you fuck me knowing you were going to be leaving?” “Everyone leaves here y/n! This place isn’t a future, you know that!” “You could have told me last night before we slept together! You should have told me before I made you my dream!” You were crying now, but you were wiping the tears away as fast as they came. “Your dream? Now that’s fucking stupid. I won’t be your dream. We slept together. It was amazing, but we both know that we can’t build a future off of each other. We have to build a future off of ourselves.” Connor’s anger was apparent, but he looked at the tears on your face and all he wanted to do was hold you. Of course he wished that you could be something together, but you can’t when you need to take of yourself. “What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t make a future?” you said, almost to silent to hear. Of course you were mad, but not at him. You put all of your hopes and dreams on others, but all they could do was let you down even if they didn’t mean to. “You can do it,” he said softly, walking closer to you. “How do you know?” “If I tell you, you’ll never know that you can do it yourself.” You were now close enough to kiss him, but instead you just looked at him. “You’ll do great out there in the real world,” you said “I know.” “We shouldn’t talk once you and I get out.” “I know.” “It would be too tempting and then I wouldn’t be able to focus on me.” “I know.” “Wherever you are when you’re out of here, think of me sometimes.” “I will.”

That was the last conversation you had with him before he left. Of course you thought of him, and you were allowed to, but you didn’t let it consume you. You thought of him a lot at first, but then you spent your time thinking of how to get better.

You spent another two months at the center. It was hell there for a long time, but then it wasn’t. When you went home the house felt different, it was the home of a girl who viewed herself as already gone. When you entered you viewed yourself as a girl who had come back.

Now you were in your second year of college and were transferring. It didn’t feel scary, but felt amazing.

Three weeks into the new semester and you felt like you belonged. You sat in one of the courtyards eating lunch and reading a book when you were pulled from your thoughts by a voice from behind you.

“Y/n, looks like my dreams are coming true,” you could hear the smile in the voice you knew so well.

“Connor?”

#deh #Connor Murphy x Reader #dear evan hansen #evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen x reader #deh x reader #deh imagine #connor murphy #connor murphy imagine #dear evan hansen imagine #Smut #angst #zoe murphy #jared kleinman

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