#and hopefully not write myself into a corner and have to redo like. everything

[ptsdpizzaparty]

oh, u kno, just trying to find new ways to force myself to write out the mf gd plot arc of this thing i have been writing

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

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The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write... 

[dxmichelle]

Writing Tag Game

I was tagged by my dear lovely @kaibacorpintern!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 16!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 741,948! The majority of that is from Of Lost Swords and Shadow Magic.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Of Lost Swords and Shadow Magic: the ygo/hp crossover origin fic for my Wayward Wizardry series.

Murder Most Foul: the ygo murder mystery game fic. The silliest bit of writing I've probably ever done, spawned by late night joke sessions with @kaibacorpintern.

The Hogwarts Slice of Life: little random one-shots that fit in OLSSM's universe.

Nerdshipping Shenanigans: little random one-shots/mini-ficlets that fit in OLSSM's universe, but are all Seto/Hermione, my otp. ❤️

Lost and Found: my abandoned Person of Interest fic.

Bonus #6: Maiden with Eyes of Blue: a Seto Kaiba birthday fic that explores the tense relationship between himself and Pegasus.

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I've since fallen off replying to comments, which is sad because I was fairly decent at it. I still do occasionally and I'm sure I will pick it up again someday.

In the meantime, whether I respond to them or not, know that I read and cherish every one of them.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Oh...probably Guilt. It takes place right after Atem leaves and Yugi has many feelings.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Probably Let it Snow, the ultra-sugary Christmas Fic I wrote on a whim during an OLSSM hiatus.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? I live in the ygo/hp crossover corner of the fandoms. But the craziest one I've ever written has to be Sapphire Road, because it's not only ygo/hp, but a Wizard of Oz/Return to Oz fusion. And it's Nerdship.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not necessarily hate but I have gotten some rather...interesting comments over on FF.net. There's one guest user that keeps trying to predict when I'm going to kill off Seto, and another that kept wanting me to write nonsensical ships into OLSSM.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind? Hard no.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of. Hopefully not!

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I've co-authored jokes for a fic! Does that count?

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship? My Nerdship babies!! Seto and Hermione take up a nice roomy residence in my brain 24/7, and since I've essentially created said ship, it's a lot of fun to explore how it comes together and what the future for them would look like beyond each of their canon series.

Otherwise, I am more of a platonic shipper vs romantic in the yugioh fandom, and I have soft spots for both pride, rival, trust and peach ship!

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I really don't want to have any unfinished fic, but i know in my heart that my Person of Interest fic will never be finished.

I've also been out of sorts with Ghost in the Machine as of late, and while it's on a temporary hiatus right now so I can work on OLSSM and Murder Most Foul, I'm sure I will return to it sooner rather than later.

15. What are your writing strengths? Plotting and characterization. While I am not-so-good at sticking to my outlines, most of my fics are elaborately plot-heavy, and it is very important to me that the characters sound and act as you would normally expect them to.

Another strength is just...going. If I'm sitting down to write and the words are flowing, I can get a ton down on the page in one sitting, and it's helped break me out of funks before.

16. What are your writing weaknesses? Sticking to outlines, haha! But mostly being more of a descriptive writer. Sometimes I can tend to be very dialogue heavy, and while that's not terribly a bad thing, being more prose-y is something I am trying to work on.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I've never done it myself, but wouldn't be against it.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? ygo/hp. Surprise, surprise. Back in 2005! It was the junky, plotless version of OLSSM, and the true, original Nerdship story. It's still online in the depths of FF.net if you choose to seek out terrible writing, and follows almost every rule in the "you know you were on FF.net in 2009 if you did this..." post.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? How dare you make me play favorites among my children! Probably OLSSM only because it's such a journey for me to take something that was absolutely terrible and completely redo it! It was my first child returning to the YGO fandom after years apart and has been such a labor of love to develop. And it's the longest story I've ever tackled, and my first real attempt at ship writing. :D

And cuz I love me my crossover fics.

But Murder Most Foul is a close runner up only because unlike everything else I've written, it is not a serious fic. It's meant to be silly, and that in itself creates a new challenge to keep it lighthearted, but keep the characters intact.

Tagging @bellamy-taft, @darksidechick823, and @lafeae!

[daisiesforlacey]

clouds - chapter 4 : altostratus

Pair : Julie x Alive!Luke

Summary : After her mother’s death, Julie Molina moved away from Hollywood, across the country, to Ithaca, New York. She’s left behind her two loves in life: her best friend, Luke, and her music. There, she finds new friends and enemies, new experiences and joys, she might even find herself. Every night, Luke calls Julie to talk about the clouds. But what if Luke is hiding something?

Word Court : 4,148

Warnings : N/A (Unless you see any, if so please notify me!)

Notes : This is really just fluff!! I love Alex and Willie, absolute babies. Please please leave feedback, I love knowing my writing is appreciated!!

Masterlist

Taglist

---

Julie didn’t hate English. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She was good with words, they came naturally to her. She seemed to think in sentences, which made writing essays one of the easiest things for her to do in school. Her favorite thing to do was to write songs, and they seemed to be everywhere, in every part of literature: poems were songs without a backing track, metaphors described heartbreak and being alive and feeling free just the way lyrics do, sentences were structured with a sort of reading rhythm, a pulse. She really did enjoy English. 

It was just sometimes, English could be a bore. 

Her teacher was going on and on about the importance of how authors write their stories or tales, and yeah, Julie could get behind that. But right now, as she drew shapes with her eraser on her desk, the monologue was putting her to sleep.

She pushed her loose curls back from where they were casting a curtain over her eyes and looked across the classroom until her mind wandered far enough away to where she couldn’t hear the teacher.

Last night, Luke had seemed weird. Weirder than normal. She wasn’t used to having to pry information out of the boy, he was usually an open book. Her brow furrowed; he had seemed so reluctant to tell her about Reggie and Alex, people she had already met last year. 

And why hadn’t he told her about his family? Emily and Mitch had treated her like their own daughter, always inviting her to stay for dinner and to ‘stop by whenever, you’re no burden,’ and they treated Luke like he had hung the moon. The last thing she had heard about them was a few months ago, when Luke had ranted about how they just didn’t understand them sometimes, but Julie had figured that that was pretty normal. She pursed her lips and thought maybe it had just slipped his mind; she didn’t tell him too much about Carlos’ ghost hunting, or her father’s new photography excursions. 

But she couldn’t help but worry. She and Luke were thick as thieves, they would talk for hours, although that had been cut short as of late, about everything. What if he was hiding something big from her? What had happened to one of his parents? Julie would totally understand his aversion of the topic. 

But what if he and his friends were in trouble? What if they had gotten arrested? What if he was locked away in some juvenile institute where he only had one call a day, and he had used that to call her? What if he had tripped, or fell off of a ladder, or got hit by a car, or done something so completely Luke that he had landed himself in the ICU?

Oh god, what if he was doing drugs! Julie didn’t know if she could handle it if Luke had gone off the deep end. 

“Partners?”

Julie stopped her doodling to look up to her left at the blond. She smiled sheepishly, “Yeah, of course.”

Nick was in two of her classes, music and English, and so far, had proved to be nothing like his girlfriend. He was sweet and smart and all around helpful; he had been her tour guide on the first day of school. She just didn’t understand how someone as nice as him, could end up with such a foil of himself as Carrie. See, she did pay attention. 

“I’m not going to lie, I completely zoned out. What are we doing?” She looked down to see that she had an assignment on her desk.

Nick laughed as he explained the assignment to her, having to do with last night's reading. As they completed it, they chatted.

“Your guitar solo yesterday was pretty killer,” Julie winced, she was yet again picking up more traits of Luke’s, “Did you write that yourself?,”

“Thanks! Yep, I tried to make it Brian May-esque with a hint of Jeremy Spencer. I don’t know if that had translated, though.”

To be honest, Julie didn’t know either. She knew some names here and there, she certainly knew Brian May, but this was more Luke’s territory. And even if she did, she wasn’t exactly paying close attention to it. So she played it safe.

“I think you definitely achieved the vibe you wanted.” Julie scribbled down an answer. She knew he wouldn’t bring up her lack of a performance.

Nick hummed, changing the subject, “You go to the park a lot.” Her eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened. “Oh, um, not to be creepy or anying. Although that really did sound creepy, it’s not like I watch you or where you go. I barely notice you! I mean, no, not like that, well I mean I do notice you, we have classes together. We’re talking, we work on projects, but I guess you know that.” He hadn’t looked up from his paper, if anything, his shoulder seemed to shrink in on themselves. 

“What I meant to say is that I have workouts out there sometimes, and you always seem to be there.” He ran a hand over his face before shooting her a lopsided grin. 

Julie huffed, “Yeah I like to look at the sky a lot. Or sometimes I just go there to clear my head.” She sent a sideways glance his way, she had never heard him rant like that, “Are you okay?”

“For sure. Me? Tip-top shape.” He nodded before flicking his hair back. 

While she didn’t particularly like small talk, yet she somehow felt obligated to continue, “How’s practice been going?”

Nick launched into a full fledged word dump of phrases she didn’t know the meanings of, and didn’t want to interrupt to ask. He became enthusiastically animated, forgetting his work and talking with his hands, seeming to bounce out of the seat. His face shone like the sun in the dreary classroom as he went on to talk about strategies and game plays and how they would win this year's championship if only so and so would tighten up here. She didn’t comprehend half of what he was saying, but she couldn’t help but listen. 

She wondered if that’s what she looked like talking about music.

---

Julie sat down at the piano bench with a sigh. Mrs. Harrison, thankfully, had let her redo her piano piece today, which would hopefully save her spot in the music program. Her class stared at her with disinterest, she knew that they didn’t expect anything, but she was ready to prove them wrong. She had copied down Luke’s song onto sheet music and had set it on the piano, then looked to Flynn. She shot her an ear splitting grin and a rigid thumbs up.

Julie could do this.

She played the opening chords of the song, hearing a few gasps from her classmates. Julie moved her hands up, then down, down, down, then back up. The chord progression was nothing revolutionary, but for her, it was everything. This was Luke’s song. She could see Nick smiling from the corner of her eye. 

“‘Sometimes I think, I’m falling down. I wanna cry, I’m calling out, for one more try to come alive.’” Her voice was strong, and had yet to fail her. Julie had worked on the song before the school day with Flynn’s support. She could feel a smile carving onto her face.

“‘And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home. Fight through the dark and find the spark.” She could feel pure joy fill her soul, “‘Life is a risk, but I will take it, close my eyes and jump. Together, I think that we can make it. C’mon let’s run!’”

Julie threw her head back, “‘And rise, through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever. And rise, through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever.” These were Luke’s lyrics, about the two of them, about their friendship. She could almost hear him singing along with her. 

Julie could hear Carrie whisper to Nick, “Is this really happening?”

Nick nodded, not taking his eyes off of Julie, “Just go with it.”

“‘In times that I doubted myself, I felt like I needed somе help, stuck in my head with nothing left. I feel somеthing around me now, so unclear, lifting me out. I found the ground I'm marching on!’” Julie nodded her head along with her fingers running across the keys. Luke had been there for her through all of this; her mother’s death, her moving away, her finding new friends. This was their song. 

As she finished playing, she didn’t register what was happening. She stood up and Flynn raced to tackle her in a hug. Her class clapped politely, but she could hear Nick over them all. Maybe she shouldn’t have played such a song like that in front of all of her classmates, but she couldn’t take it back now. Anyway, it seemed like she had done a pretty good job.

Mrs. Harrison set a hand on her shoulder, “That was wonderful! I’m so glad that you have decided to share that with us, what a song!” She spoke in a quieter tone only for Julie to hear, “I’ll email your father later.”

At lunch, Flynn showed her the video that she had taken. It was grainy and a backpack was covering half of the screen, but you could hear her voice ring out. She had Flynn send it to her, to which she then texted it to Luke.

“That was Luke’s song?” Flynn screeched. “All about you two; your friendship, you supporting each other? Where can I order friends like that, because it’s not on Amazon!”

Julie blushed, “Luke and I used to write songs all of the time. And, hey! I’m your supporting friend! You didn’t even have to order me, I was delivered from L.A just for you.”

“True, true. You also have unparalleled math skills.”

“Try telling that to Pythagoras.” 

Julie almost choked on her chicken nuggets as Nick walked over to their table, having to go out of his way to get to their part of the cafeteria. Carrie and the rest of her friends had yet to show up, and Nick had already set his lunch box at his own table. He slid into the seat across from Flynn and Julie. 

“That was amazing! Your performance in music class! If you have a talent like that, why haven’t you used it beforehand!” He unknowingly echoed Luke’s words.

Julie tried to act casual and shrugged stiffly, “I don’t know. It just hasn’t been the right time.” That wasn’t completely a lie. 

“You have to perform at the dance! Literally, you belong on stage. That was pure magic.” Nick’s eyes were wide in disbelief and he had a stunned smile on his face.

Julie froze, “Oh, I don’t know, that was only in front of the other kids in music class-”

“That’s perfect!” Flynn cut Julie off, “You have to!”

Julie gave Flynn the most withering glare she could muster, “I don’t think I’ll be able to come up with a whole set in two weeks. Although, thanks for thinking so. Anyway, they probably already have a band booked and everything.”

Nick shook his head, “Nope, they were just going to get the computer teacher to jerry rig a playlist, or at least that’s what I overheard. And Dirty Candi will also be performing, so I’m sure Carrie wouldn’t mind sharing the stage for a song or two.”

Julie and Flynn shared a glance. There was no way that Carrie would do such a thing. 

But Julie nodded, knowing that she definitely wouldn’t play at the dance, “I’ll think about it.”

---

Alex had had a pretty rough day so far. He had woken up late for school, smashing his hand on his alarm in frustration. The sky was way too light for him to have not slept in. When he saw the time, he quickly moved to put on clothes, hopping into his shorts as he ran to his bathroom to brush his teeth. His hair was a wreck, his eyes were bloodshot, and he had dried drool on his cheek, but before he could fix anything, he heard Reggie’s blaring car horn and a muffled shout.

“Alex! Your friends are here!” His mother yelled from the kitchen. 

He grabbed his jean jacket and an apple from the kitchen, before kissing his mom on the cheek and dashing out the door. He got into the passenger's seat of the blue Honda Civic, taking a bite.

“Wow, you look absolutely terrible.” Reggie said with a low whistle.

Luke punched his shoulder from the back seat, but then ruefully nodded. “You’re not exactly prime Alex right now.”

He glared at the two of them, grumbling around his apple.

Reggie raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off of the road because he was a safe driver, thank you very much. “What was that?”

“I said, at least my bad days look better than you guys’ good days.”

Luke let out a hearty laugh, “Sure, like you didn’t just find out how to dress yourself.” Alex had had a… difficult time figuring out what his personal style was. As they moved out of middle school and into high school, everyone seemed to find their signature thing except for him: Luke barely knew what sleeves were, and Reggie wouldn’t be caught dead out of his leather jacket-flannel combo. Alex had tried a few different things but nothing seemed to feel like him. After a few years, he decidedly settled on a few signature items; a pale pink hoodie, a denim jacket, and his fanny pack, which carried around his EpiPen and inhaler along with a few first aid supplies. He quickly found out that Luke’s sudden growth spurt over the summer before junior year came with it’s fair share of clumsiness. 

Alex went to reach for his fanny pack before realizing that he forgot it at his house. “We have to turn around. I left my fanny pack at home.”

Reggie tapped his finger on the steering wheel, “If we do we’ll be late. Again.” He shot a look through his mirror at Luke who gave a timid smile. 

“Please,” Alex whined, drawing out the ‘e,’ “I’ll go pick up a pizza for practice if we do! I promise.”

Reggie mulled it over in his head before swinging a uey, “Fine. But you better not get pineapple on it. That shit’s nasty.”

“It is not!” Luke placed a hand over his heart as if he was Caesar on the Ides of March. “Pineapple on pizza is a gift!”

“No! What’s a gift is my country songs, especially Home is Where My Horse Is. Pineapple is unnecessary and an unholy offense.”

“Puh-leeze, your country songs are the unholy offenses! Don’t even try it!”

Alex just rolled his eyes at them.

Now, Alex was walking downtown to pick up said pizza; half ham and pineapple, half pepperoni. The pizza shop was only a few minutes from his house, and yeah, he could’ve borrowed Reggie’s car, but he needed to clear his head. Twilight was setting in like a blanket over the world. Or at least, his part of the world. There was a slight chill in the air as he gripped his fanny pack slung across his chest with two hands.

The day just kept getting worse. He had failed a Physics test, even after Reggie had helped him study. He spilt chili from his hot dog on his hoodie, leading him to steal one of Luke’s extra shirts he kept in the car, surprisingly one with sleeves. He then proceeded to choke on that same hotdog in front of the whole cafeteria, forcing Luke to perform the Heimlich. And after all of that, his hair still wasn’t even remotely tamed, sticking up in every direction. 

His terrible day wasn’t helped by being crashed into. 

He fell to the ground with a yelp, and so did the skateboarder. The wind was knocked out of him as he tumbled and coughed, before standing up.

“Aw man, you dinged my board.” The other boy said, inspecting his skateboard. 

Alex couldn’t believe him and scoffed. The nerve on some people. “I dinged your board? Dude, you ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-”

The skateboarder took off his helmet to reveal locks of soft looking brown hair. Time seemed to slow down, or maybe stop, Alex couldn’t be sure. What he was sure about was that he was one of the most handsome people he had ever seen. He had high cheekbones and warm looking brown eyes and the softest looking lips. Alex was going to hyperventilate if he would ever remember to breathe. 

He swallowed as the boy's eyes softened, “Hey, sorry I ran into you. I thought you could hear me coming.”

Alex let out a nervous laugh, “Yeah, sometimes I just get wrapped up in my head.”

They stared at each other, and he was sure that the skater’s eyes traced him up and down as he stuck his hand out, “I’m, uh, I’m Willie.”

Alex grabbed his hand to shake. Could a handshake really be that attractive? “Oh, uh, Alex.”

“So, um, what brings you to downtown, man? You sightseeing?” Willie gestured up to the brick buildings lining the street.

Alex nodded before letting out a humorless chuckle, “Yeah, actually I was having a minor crisis. I came to pick up a pizza for my friends, but my day has not been too great. I was just trying to clear my head before you tried to crack it open.” He wanted to facepalm, his attempt at small talk was abominable. And why the hell was he telling a complete stranger all of this information? For all he knew, Willie could be a secret spy looking to murder him in a back alley for some reason unbeknownst to him. 

Willie laughed, his eyes crinkling, “I did pancake you, huh?” Alex nodded at the ground, before he heard his laugh die. “Uh sorry, minor crisis?”

“I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, literally. And my day hasn’t gotten any better, it’s just been mishap after mishap. Shouldn’t we catch a break?”

Willie tilted his head, “Who’s we?”

“Oh, uh, me and my band mates. We all seem to have the worst luck in the world.” Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “Yeah, I almost died eating a hotdog.”

“Woah! No way! Weirdly,” Willie gave him a lopsided smile, “Mozart died eating a hotdog.”

Alex nodded, “Wow, that’s actually comforting. Thank you.” He smiled at Willie, “Hey do you mind if I ask you to tag along to come pick up this pizza? I mean, if you’re busy then obviously don’t, or like, if you have someplace to be. But I mean it’s almost dinner, and you can have some of it, I mean I didn’t pay for it, as long as you like ham and pineapple, because only one of my bandmates like it-”

“Yeah, totally. I don’t have anything on my schedule.” Willie smiled, and Alex knew then that his day had gotten exponentially better.

---

“I love my family, I really do, but I’m so glad that I can come over to your house.” Flynn had flopped on Julie's made up bed, scrolling on her phone, as Julie finished up her homework at her desk. “Like three screaming brothers? No thanks.”

Julie nodded as her phone dinged, “Well you’re always welcome here, you know Dad loves having someone to rant to about his photography.” She checked the message, it was from Luke.

Luke : You killed it! Stabbed-it-in-the-heart killed it! Knew you would :D

Julie rolled her eyes and shot him back a message.

Julie : Thanks for the song! I won’t be able to talk today, Flynn’s spending the night and I don’t want to be rude :(

The three little dots showed up, then disappeared. She frowned. It’s not like they haven’t missed a call before, so she sent him another text.

Julie : Maybe we could facetime and write some songs tomorrow???

When she didn’t get a response she set her phone down and finished the English assignment from earlier. When she finished, she pulled up their favorite show on her laptop, then joined Flynn on her bed. “I thought we could catch up, I missed Sunday’s episode.”

Flynn’s eyes bugged out of her head, as she whipped her neck so hard Julie thought she had gotten whiplash. “You missed it? Oh my god! You know I’m not one for spoilers, but shit went down. Like seriously. You’re going to blow a fuse. We are totally watching it.”

And they did. And Flynn was right. Shit did go down. And Julie totally blew a fuse. Turns out, her favorite ghost boy band characters had gotten themselves trapped in a deal with some other evil ghost: either they play at his club forever or they disappear from existence. It was a lot more emotional baggage than Flynn and Julie had signed up for when they first started watching, but now they were hooked.

“Oh my god, that was such a cliffhanger. How could they do that?” Julie wailed as she threaded her fingers through her hair. “They deserve so much better than this cruel world!”

Flynn nodded solemnly, “And we have to wait until Sunday to see what happens next. Life just isn’t fair.”

Julie hadn’t noticed Luke had texted her back until she got up to use the restroom.

Luke : Ok

Julie scoffed. The response was totally unlike Luke. No, it was totally like Luke when he was in a bad mood that he knew, deep down, was just him being overdramatic. She rolled her eyes and she knew she shouldn’t take it personally, but it still stung. They had told each other everything, even something as menial as a bad day. Whatever, his bad mood wasn’t going to stop her from having a fun night with her friends.

Her father called from downstairs for the two girls to come and eat dinner, and as she raced downstairs, she could smell the microwaved spaghetti. 

They made their way to the set dinner table, before they prayed and dug in.

“I think we’re being haunted.” Carlos started. 

Flynn rolled her eyes, “Nobody has died in this house or mine. It’s nothing like Kira and her Hologram Band.”

Carlos wagged his piece of garlic bread at her, “No, we’re definitely being haunted. By a ghost chef who never got to achieve his dream of making the best French Dip in the world. I have definitive proof.”

“Oh really? And where is this proof?”

“On my iPad.” Carlos made the move to get up from his seat.

“Mijo, eat your salad.” Ray said, then turned to the girl, “How was your day Flynn?”

“Pretty good, Mr.Molina. Julie performed that song that she was working on this morning, and let me tell you, it was amazing!” Flynn gushed.

“I saw the email. I’m glad that we don’t have to go through the options of choosing another elective for you. What were the options? Hospitality and Tourism and Marketing?”

“Yeah, nothing I am remotely interested in.” Julie picked the tomatoes out of her salad. “I think Mrs.Harrison and the class really liked the song, or at least my friends did.”

Flynn nodded, “Especially Nick.”:

Julie paled and fought the urge to elbow her friend. She looked down at her lap.

Carlos’ eyebrows shot up, “Lacrosse Nick?”

Flynn looked skeptical, “...Yes? How do you know about Lacrosse Nick? Floppy hair? Dating a demon?”

“Yeah, he’s an assistant coach for my baseball team. Something about community service and all of that. There’s another Nick on my team, but we call that one Lacrosse Nick. Because, well, that’s all that he talks about.” Carlos explained.

“Yes, it does make you wonder why he doesn’t coach a Lacrosse team, but nevertheless. Julie, how was your day?”

Julie looked up at her father, “About the same. I guess there's a dance in a couple weeks and I was wondering if I could go with Flynn.” She didn’t dare mention the part of her playing. She didn’t want her father as well and Flynn to egg her on. She wasn’t ready to go onstage, by herself, in front of the entire school.

“Of course, as long as it’s alright with her parents.” 

Flynn nodded, responding with a mouthful of spaghetti, making Ray cringe, “Yep, as long as I babysit the next day, they’re totally cool with it.” Flynn looked to Julie, but said nothing of playing the dance. 

--

Taglist: @siennanoelle01, @ scootermccall, @roses-and-ponds-and-bowties​ 

[humansofhds]

Edwin Alanís-García, MTS ’19

“Ever since I was little I did nothing but read, and I always think, what’s the point of acquiring knowledge if you’re not going to share it and exchange it or try to dissect it with the help of others.”

Edwin is an MTS ‘19 candidate studying philosophy and religion and a writer of poetry and fiction.

Learning to Know

I’m from a small town about an hour-and-a-half outside of Chicago. It’s part of the suburbs, but it is on the edge, so it's very rural. The road leading up to my parents' house is just off the interstate and it's mostly surrounded by cornfields and soybean fields and farm houses. It’s a small and not very diverse town. Population of about 5,000. When we were growing up it was predominately white—about 99 percent white. Our family was part of the other one percent. But we were all working class, that was the one thing in common.

Both of my parents are from rural Mexico. My dad first came to the U.S. as a kid, as a migrant farm worker, and then as a young man living in New York he learned how to weld. In Mexico my mom worked as a receptionist and as a cashier at a grocery store. My dad's training led him to become a union pipe fitter/welder. It was a grueling and dangerous job, but it was extraordinarily well-paying for an immigrant. That's what enabled our family to live very comfortably.

In coming here, I think my family was trying to leave their old world behind. And it wasn't a bad world they were leaving, at least in comparison to small-town Illinois. But one side effect was that it was very isolating to be in America. Our household is like taking a slice out of rural Northern Mexico and dropping it in the middle of small-town Illinois. We couldn't assimilate well, which I'm rather grateful for despite its drawbacks. There's a trope in many immigrant narratives that the first generation kid has trouble learning English. For me it was the opposite.

I started to teach myself how to read when I was around three years old. No one thought there was anything strange about it. It wasn’t until recently that I realized it was unusual. It eventually became one of the many reasons I've always felt like an outsider. One of my most important memories from elementary school was being asked to sit in the corner during recess because I was the only kid who did our first writing assignment correctly. The teacher had to redo the lesson for everyone else. It wasn’t a punishment, but it sure felt like it.

Even the way I speak, when I tell people where I’m from, they say they can’t hear a Chicago accent. I think it has to do with the way I acquired language, which was mostly through an old dictionary and an encyclopedia set my parents got from a grocery store. There was nothing else to do in our town, so I just stayed inside and read. Evidently that did something—for better and for worse.

Leaving Home

As an undergrad I studied philosophy and psychology. I probably would have been better suited for English, which was surprisingly one of my least favorite subjects in school, along with math. I was definitely more interested in the sciences, especially biology and astronomy. It’s kind of painful to say, but coming to literature wasn’t really my dream, but it feels like where I was rightfully placed. I didn't view language as what I was passionate about and loved. I think my success with it was more a product of a weird background and a disordered mind.

After undergrad I did a few years of grad school in philosophy, but after that I didn’t really know where to go. Job opportunities in my hometown were very bleak. They're still bleak. People kept telling me that I should apply to MFA programs in writing, so I applied and got in to a few schools. I was totally shocked. That moment was the beginning of the biggest shift in my life. Where I went to undergrad was a campus literally surrounded by cornfields. Then suddenly I was living in Brooklyn and going to school in Manhattan.

Emerging from the subway for the first time, I had never seen anything like it—so many people. I have bad anxiety in big groups, so it took a while but eventually I got used to it. Culturally, though, the biggest adjustment was class. The cost of living in New York is astronomical. While I was studying there, maybe 150 students passed through our program and out of those students only about 3-4, including myself, came from a working class or low income background. It was the first time ever in my life I met people who said that they had gone to Ivy League schools for undergrad. I always thought that was something that only happened on TV or in books. I had to learn that there was nothing mythical about it.

Cambridge is the quintessential college town, and I feel very at ease here. Growing up, my world was a dictionary and an encyclopedia set, and now I have access to the world’s largest university library system. I can socialize and have a nightlife if I want, and be socially active, or I can keep to myself and camp out in the library if I need to. It feels like I have more options here to go my own way.

Getting to HDS

There are three things that led me here. The first was my general interest in philosophy, especially epistemology of religion. Ever since I was little I never had faith. I went to church but I didn’t understand why we were going to church. It felt like religion was one of the rare domains in which it's explicitly acceptable to believe in something against the evidence. This isn’t to say that reason and argumentation are not used to defend religion, especially with philosophers like Aquinas and especially with contemporary analytic philosophers of religion like Alvin Plantinga. They give well-reasoned arguments for religious belief. Even though I don’t agree with them, it's interesting to hear their approach because I'm more in line with that tradition. But what I am fascinated by are the traditions that don’t follow that path, that say there is something other than just evidence and reason, like experience and faith. Views like pragmatism and fideism. I'm not really on board with these views, but I think they say something important about the nature of belief. Not just religious belief, but belief in general.

What brought me here on a more personal level happened when I was doing research for my MFA thesis. I was researching the city of Monterrey in Northern Mexico, the region where most of my family is from, when I found out that the first European colonial settlers there were conversos, or Sephardic Jews who had converted to Christianity. I knew nothing about this history and no one in my family knew about it, either. I wanted to learn more about this vein of Jewish history because after DNA testing it was confirmed that my family has a significant percentage of Sephardic ancestry. So, part of what I am here to study is this hidden history of people navigating multiple worlds: There’s the Jewish thread that's been partially erased throughout history, and the indigenous thread which has been replaced by the more romanticized Aztec/Mayan civilizations, which don't actually seem to be causally connected to the indigenous tribes that existed along the borders. There's a lost story here, and I'm hoping to find out more about it and hopefully write about it.

The final moment that led me here, that pushed me to studying religion and philosophy, was a craft of fiction class at NYU taught by Zadie Smith. Zadie assigned me to give a presentation on Kafka and Kierkegaard; as soon as I started rereading those authors, I realized that I wanted to return to philosophy, but through the study of religion and literature. Zadie was very supportive and encouraging in my decision to come to HDS, as was Chuck Wachtel, my mentor and advisor at NYU. I wouldn't be here without their support.

Bearing Witness

I didn’t think there was anything ethical about the literary world until I had the opportunity to take a poetry workshop with Jorie Graham last semester. The workshop was amazing, and completely changed my outlook on art and language and really everything. I'm slowly getting over my discomfort in regarding myself as poet. I would've quit writing if not for that workshop. I'm now starting to see writing as a moral activity.

I think my most worthwhile poems aren’t the ones that I purposefully sit down to write; they just sort of come. And often it’s through this emotionally charged rant. My workshop saw it as bearing witness. I was pointing out a classed segment of society—the literary world. There's this willful ignorance that's led to the unfortunate political situation that we’re in now, and the fact that I’m even referring to the situation now is in itself problematic because most of the problems that are being discussed now have always been issues. For example, years ago I wrote a novella that took place in an ICE facility near Brownsville, Texas. In the story, the facility was in a gutted former Walmart that had no walls, only chain link fences, and all the prisoners were children. Then two years later ICE actually built this facility.

I don’t think there’s anything supernatural about this story. To me, it's all just about paying attention and seeing certain patterns and adopting an absurdist sensibility. But this led me to realize that if there's a pattern in society that I'm picking up on, then perhaps writing about it becomes a moral imperative. That’s kind of how I see writing poetry and fiction. I'm fascinated with this element of prophecy in fiction. And apocalypse. Jorie stressed that apocalypse actually means an unveiling. Not just an end to things, but a revealing of truths.

I never did anything with the novella because it was actually really bad. My classmates and instructor were phenomenal, but I was too immature of a writer at the time. Now people keep telling me that if I went back to it, rewrote it, it would get published. But that’s just because it’s timely. I don’t know if I feel comfortable doing that. I don’t want to give this false impression that illusions of representation, and bearing witness to the suffering of others, and simply pointing out injustice—that this all somehow absolves writers and publishers from the evils of society. And I think if the publishing world wasn't interested in this topic back then, in a few years it probably won’t be interested in it anymore. But the problem isn't going anywhere. If that’s the case then maybe we have a moral obligation, especially being in a position of privilege, to always and consistently be critical of ourselves and the powers that be, no matter who they are. The suffering that exists on their watch is ultimately suffering that exists on our behalf. We are all complicit in that.

Returning to Society

I would like to apply to PhD programs and see how that pans out. In any case, I would love to teach. That’s one thing that I discovered at NYU—that I love teaching. It doesn’t matter if it’s at a university or a high school. I'd like to mentor young writers. Shout out to the young artists and translators at Still Waters in a Storm in Bushwick, Brooklyn. They taught me how to be a better listener and to pay better attention to the world. That's probably the most important skill for a writer.  

Ever since I was little I did nothing but read, and I always think, what’s the point of acquiring knowledge if you’re not going to share it and exchange it or try to dissect it with the help of others? It reminds me of the prologue to Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra, where Zarathustra says that he's meditated alone for so many years that his mind has grown heavy from his thoughts. He needs to return to society to share them. Can't just hide in the library anymore.

Interview and photos by Anaïs Garvanian

[kaitkerrigan]

HOW TO RETURN HOME - The Millennial Problem

I really pushed myself into a corner this weekend when I promised a teacher that I’d write about “How to Return Home”. Most of you don’t know the history of this song, which is a pandora’s box. 

I’ve long been planning to write a post about THE FRESHMAN EXPERIMENT. At the time of conception, this is how we defined it: 

living musical ['liv[ng] 'myü-zi-k&l]

a musical based on the lives of living people

a musical existing in real time

a musical created on the internet by the award-winning writing team Kerrigan and Lowdermilk based on the lives of two young bloggers as they share the story of their freshman years of college 

I’ll leave it at that for now and come back to this in depth in another post. 

ChristineCoke, the handle of one of the freshman writers, was an incredible voice. She wrote these earnest and beautiful posts that flowed into some of my favorite songs that we’ve ever written:  Last Week’s Alcohol My Heart Is Split (and you guessed it) How to Return Home. 

It’s funny how memory works. I had created a fiction about exactly what we got from ChristineCoke when she first wrote about going back to her home for Thanksgiving break, but I just went back to our website archive and found this (and everything else you’re about to dig into): 

I pulled my luggage into a house that is exactly how I’d left it - dirty and empty with a silence that gently hummed in my ears. There was no one to greet me so I ran up the stairs calling out the names of my siblings and mothers. More silence and peeling wallpaper.

And this is how I wanted to return home. My barefeet sliding along the wood floors as my cat criss crosses her way through my legs. To sit on my bed and wrap myself up in the thin blanket that could barely warm me during the winter months. Slowly, I came back into a place that I hadn’t truly thought about until I was five minutes away.

Eventually my brothers and sisters came filtering in and our home had a pulse again. Then Mamajay came and I ran to her before she had time to open the door.

I had a three minute fight with my brother today. It feels great to be here.

A couple weeks after this first post, Brian posted this - with audio that I can’t find: 

hey it’s brian. so i wrote this thing while i was home for thanksgiving and didn’t have a chance to post it until now. i played it for kait at some point and she was pretty underwhemed - possibly for good reason. the lyrics aren’t great, and they depart a lot from what CC was talking about. but this is emotionally what spoke to me, and i think the music might be interesting. (sidebar: lots of time kait and i start out with a song that i write music and lyrics to and then she swoops in and redoes the lyric) So these may be dummy lyric, and i may also just start from scratch musically on something else. Particularly because while I was home for t-giving my sister and i listened to a lot of dashboard confessional. so in addition to a) being a song fragment and b) not very good, this is also potentially c) a little too much like a dashboard song. wow. yea. but i definitely think there’s something to be done w/ the phrase “How To Return Home.” And this is certainly something…

“I’m pulling my luggage into a house that is dirty and empty A house that is just how I’d left it Dirty and empty and silent. A silence that’s gently humming in my ears. And I’m waiting for you to come rush down the stairs. I’m calling, I’m waiting, I’m watching the driveway. Hoping that something is still the same. I’m calling, I’m calling your name.

I guess I’m learning How long I’ve been gone I guess I’d forgotten I miss these walls Now I’m relearning everything All about silence And how to return home”

Brian says I was underwhelmed but it was a long time ago, so I don’t actually remember. Isn’t it weird to imagine the songs that never were? I bet that my response was more to the music than to the lyric. As he said, I often would change the lyrics anyway. I do remember both of us really struggling over how to use the hook. How do you put “how to return home” into a sentence. It sounds like a recipe title, not a song hook. I remember really arguing over how it could function in the song. 

Anyway, the next significant step was Brian again and this wasn’t until February (so I bet we had some off-line conversations): 

Okay, so here’s a new version of How To Return Home I’m trying, music first. There’s a PDF and a terrible scratch vocal of me singing. Not sure how much this will mean to anyone, but hopefully Kait will write some lyrics - and then the whole thing will mean a bit more!Happy February everybody…

He posted music that is EXACTLY the music that makes up the verse and chorus of the song now. That is magic to me. It’s one thing to piece together the perfect words, but to somehow knit together the language of a melody into something iconic and memorable - and in one go? How do you do that??? 

Then the writing started to pick up speed. A week later also in February I posted this: 

Here are the lyrics to at least the first draft of the beginning of “How to Return Home”:

Your bare feet sliding on the old wooden floorboards, Home at last and silent but still you’re shaken, like walking into a museum, somehow out of time. It’s all the same except the girl in the hallway, Where she’s been and who she will ripen into, Your childhood’s on the other side of a gulf to damn wide to climb.

Take silent breath. Hold in the change. Tell yourself you still live here. It’s the only way you’ll get through this holiday. Count the hours. Pick some flowers. Make a nice bouquet.

Clearly, the dumby lyrics come at the end, but I’m still not sure about the entire chorus. I’m kind of thinking that it probably changes based on whatever happens at the end of the chorus. Plus, it has to work throughout the song, right Bri? This probably doesn’t change each time since it’s such a pop chorus. Perhaps 2 lines change - the “it’s the only way to get through…” which I would assume will change too. And I’m pretty sold that we want something more like “get through this day” with the three notes on day.

Anyway, this is where the song is at currently. Updates to arrive throughout the weekend. I think I’ll have the whole thing done by Sunday or Monday at the latest.

You guys, this is where you get to see our baby pictures - or my baby pictures. I vlogged this lyric in 2008, so quite literally ten years ago. Kudos for me for not giving a good goddamn about my hair or anything. This was before the days of vloggers really. We were early adopters to be sure and so I had little awareness of the idea that looking presentable might be, er, helpful to our cause. 

Oh my god, did you watch it? Those pre-mac days were rough, let me tell you.  We definitely hadn’t figured out how to use the hook yet. A week or two off-line, where we inevitably went back and forth on that hook (and the occasional pop-misaccent of “how to REturn home” which gave me agitas). But here comes another draft on March 1st in a post called “HOW TO REVISE”: 

I feel pretty good about this one. I’m not going to sing it for you today - unless I miraculously learn how to play the guitar (doubtful). My changed lines are in italics.

Before you read on, I feel like I need to say something about perfect rhymes. I’ve been thinking about them a lot because this song both begs for them and also eschews them if they aren’t precisely what you mean. So I’ve definitely struck a bit of a deal with them - borrowing from pop, country, folk, and musical theater to figure out what to do where. But as I thought about these things and did my research, I’ve come to the conclusion that perfect rhymes are having a resurgence. Surprising, I know. Nothing ever seemed more lame or unlikely until lyrics became virtually unmemorizable and rap reclaimed rhyme’s significance. In addition to the rappers (too many to mention but Eminem and Blackalicious still being among some of my favorites for clever - without sacrificing meaning for the sake of - rhyme), the popularity of Fiona Apple, Regina Spektor, and new to my itunes line up Vampire Weekend (thanks Rachel Lowdermilk!) all mark a significant upswing in real rhyming’s trendiness. Of course, none of these writers act like hall monitors on the subject. We musical theater writers still have that all to ourselves - remarkably we act like narcs about it whether pro or con.

Now, back to the previously scheduled reveal of new lyrics! I think this is really fun to sing Brian’s melody. We will, of course, test drive sometime this week.

How to Return Home

Your bare feet sliding on the old wooden floorboards, Home just as you left it but still you’re shaken, like walking into a museum somehow out of time. It’s all the same except the girl in the hallway, Where she’s been and who she will ripen into, Your childhood’s on the other side of a sprawling divide… too wide.

Take silent breath. Hold in the change. Tell yourself you still live here. Take your bags upstairs.  It’s the only way you’ll get through today. Count the hours. Take a shower. Wash yourself away.

The house is pulsing with an alien heartbeat, Was it always here but you never listened? It’s calling you to be the girl that you were way back then… again.

Take a silent breath. Hold in the change. Tell yourself you still live here. Take your bags upstairs. Put away your clothes, take it nice and slow.

Be their daughter. Nothing’s harder when nobody knows

How to return home, and how to survive, There’s no written guidelines. How to go back, How to show up and unpack. How to show up.

How to grow up. How to take a breath. Take a silent breath. Hold in the change. Tell yourself you still live here. Take your bags upstairs. You still share a name

But you’re not the same. You don’t fight now. You don’t hide now. It’s a whole new way of how to return home.* How to return home. How to return home.

Your bare feet sliding on the old wooden floorboards, home just as you left it but still you’re shaken.

*I originally had “It’s a whole new game. How to return home.” Which I’m pretty sure I don’t like but sometimes I get something right and then go straight past it. This adds a pick up before the “how” but I think the meaning is much better and it’s a little less played out / more unexpected and leads to a better conclusion for the song.  The only other thing that I tried and rejected is replacing “Take a shower. Wash yourself away.” with “Only hours. Teach yourself to pray.”

Thoughts?

It’s nice and rare when you get a resounding yes to the thing you made. How sweet to have that back and forth captured in the comments: 

BRIAN: wow that’s gorgeous. i’ll write more, and probably sing it back to everyone either later tonight or tomorrow morning. amazing work, kait. KAIT: Maybe tomorrow after the cap thing? I’ll bring my camera. Maybe they’ll let us steal a piano for a bit? BRIAN: since we had plans for natalie weiss to make a recording for us anyway, want to ask her to do this? later this week? and yes, let’s record tomorrow. this thing f-ing rocks. KAIT: Maybe. Let’s mull it over as we sing through it today.

Oh, Brian and Kait, you so-n-sos. Always so on brand. Kait ever cautiously low-key, Brian so deeply enthusiastic and raring to go. 

Do you care about any of this? All of this is about how a song got written, not about how it landed itself as a center piece of THE BAD YEARS. What is THE BAD YEARS? A song cycle? An immersive house party? Both? What does that have to do with the alien heartbeat of this house and ChristineCoke? 

Everything. “How To Return Home” found its way into a song cycle we made called TALES FROM THE BAD YEARS, which was the brainchild of a conversation that we had with a licensing company that wanted us to make something commercial that could go directly to licensing. Would that not have been lovely? It didn’t pan out. But the idea that we hit - to write a show about the people around us - the generation of millennials who would never fulfill their parents’ American Dream, did pan out and evolve. 

“How To Return Home” was always one of the songs that felt like a linchpin to these songs and as we built it out, it became something that parents of millennials would hear and grab us by the arm and say “Thank you for telling me what my daughter is going through. She just moved back in after college.” We realized that in writing something a bit broader than just about coming home for Thanksgiving break, we were writing about the larger lack of employment after college, the depression of a generation who didn’t have the opportunities that they assumed they’d have. We leaned into this. 

When we had the opportunity to take TALES FROM THE BAD YEARS and turn it into an immersive house party, this song was both beguiling and bewildering. It does not take place at a house party. But the sensation of being at your family’s home in the center of a party can be beautifully transfixing. The song became a centerpiece for Rachel’s arc. 

Rachel was an optimistic and ambitious millennial who’s surprised to discover that the world wasn’t waiting for her. She is one of the youngest at the party and she is just beginning to realize that she’s going to have to claw her way into the world rather than have it handed to her. In more recent drafts, the house has actually become more and more of a character. The history of the house is also oppressive. This is a place where some bad things happened and it’s going to be destroyed. But right now, Rachel is facing her own nostalgia smashed up against the glass of her reality. 

Ultimately, “How to Return Home” is about the simple sensation of walking into a house after having grown up there and feeling like the whole place is smaller, different. The fun house affect of your reality having outgrown your childhood cocoon. I moved around a lot. I haven’t been back to a single place that I grew up except my grandmother’s house. Every time I walk in, I’m struck by how low the ceilings are, how small the kitchen is, how narrow that backyard that contained my fantasies is. Once upon a time, my whole world could fit inside that kitchen. I remember a graduation party (something that I also can barely believe ever happened  - my grandmother entertaining) and sliding past adults through the back door to get to the refrigerator. But even as I say that, my memory is wavering. She remodeled her kitchen a few years ago and moved the back stairs and I have to consciously conjure that old set up. My memory has transformed to adjust to her new layout. I remember a couch that was long and s shaped in her music room. The room is so small. Where exactly did it go? Memory is so slippery but the visceral feelings you have when you return to a site of your childhood - especially the dark looming ones - is not. It’s immediate and pulsing and both familiar and alien at once. 

The question of how to return home is really a question of how to hold onto your slippery sense of self when you’re just discovering who you are and I think the answer (or at least the answer that we landed on in this song) is mindfulness - mindfully telling yourself to breath, to hold in the things you know to be true about yourself in spite of all of the old neural pathways that are lighting up with triggers. 

[creativeashproductions]

Dearest // Jughead Smut

Summary: Jughead and Reader have been dating secretly for a while. They spend so much time together with both contributing to the Blue and Gold. Betty however has shifted her feelings from Archie to Jughead and that causes Reader to relapse but Jughead helps to show that he loved only the reader.

Characters: Jughead x Reader, Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews, Kevin Keller, and Veronica Lodge

Words: 3146

Disclaimer: I do not own Riverdale or the characters. Please read with caution, look at the warnings please.

Warnings: Swearing, self-doubt, self-harm, angst, fluff and SMUT

Author: Caitsy.

A/N: I struggled with the self harm in this so I’m pretty sure this is the last and only time I will write about self harm. I took a long time to write that scene and I’m sitting here nearly hyperventilating from the urge. If you do self-harm please get help. PLEASE!

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Jughead Jones was an observant person when it came to Riverdale because he was an aspiring author and with his crime novel he was even more. Jughead and you were a couple that recently got together and the relationship was amazing to be honest. It was natural and easy with him from going from friends to more. You had maybe been together a month or so and keeping it low-key because it was new and special.

You shared everything but one minor detail was kept from him on your part since it was in the past and you didn’t want to hurt him. He meant the world to you but you didn’t want to bring up that you were recovering from a bad addiction. You no longer gave in as you began to do photography when Jughead joined the Blue and Gold; you joined at his request to do images.

Betty had been in the corner on the phone as Jughead got to his feet pressing a kiss to you cheek muttering about grabbing lunch for both of you. You smiled.

“Can you get me a water?” You asked him.

“Sure. I’ll be back in ten minutes, keep my spot warm.” Jughead said backing out of the room.

The silence was comfortable as you went through your photos to find one that fit that article Jughead was writing at the moment. You were humming as you smiled passing the recently success of a picture you had taken with Jughead. You were going to print a copy for him since he loved it so much.

“Y/N?” Betty asked coming to lean on your desk that was against Jughead’s.

“Yeah?” You questioned.

“Do you thi-”

“Y/N! I got your water, some friend and some edible chicken nuggets” Jughead said placing one tray in front of you and setting his down beside you, “Have you chosen an image?”

“Yeah!” You grinned turning your attention to your boyfriend, “I really think this one fits the tone you’re going for.”

He nodded while picking up his food and shoving it nearly whole into his mouth in typical Jug fashion. For a skinny guy he sure could pack food away quickly and you found it kind of hot to be honest. Well to be fair to found everything about Jughead hot.

“Hey Jughead?” Betty asked leaning against he desk with an apple in hand, “Can I get your help after school?”

“Uh…I’m free for about an hour. Y/N and I have pictures to get. Some didn’t come out the way we wanted.” Jughead said inconspicuously winking at you. He wanted to redo some pictures of the two of you together.

“That works for me.” Betty smiled, “I have to go talk to Ronnie but I’ll be back in a while.”

Jughead pushed himself closer to you so he could press another kiss to your cheek leaving a strange condiment on your cheek. You wrinkled your nose and pushed him off so you could wipe it off your cheek.

“Jughead! That’s disgusting!” You laughed as he cheekily smiled at you. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as you watched him.

You could easily see yourself a decade from now possibly and hopefully married to him. You had always loved him and he felt the same about you and you wanted a long happy life with him. You both quickly ate before he began to finish the article while you quickly did the rest of your history homework.

The rest of the day was a breeze so when it came to Jughead helping Betty you quickly went to use the bathroom. There was no point in you leaving so Jughead had asked you to wait for him and you were more than okay with that. Jughead was still talking to a teacher while you had bumped into Betty in the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” You asked as Betty gulped applying a light pink lipgloss. She took in a deep breath as she turned to face you.

“I’m just nervous. Last time I revealed my feelings I was rejected and I really don’t want that to happen again.” Betty sighed, “I really like this guy and I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You were confused as to how this related to Jughead but you quickly hugged her by muttering encouraging words. She waited for you as you used the bathroom and washed your hands. You squeezed her shoulder as you both came into the room where Jughead was. You moved to gather your things when you heard Betty.

“Jughead can I talk to you?”

“Of course. What did you want to talk about?” Jughead asked.

Betty turned to you with a pleading look, still confused you walked out of the room but not too far so you could hear. You heard another shaky breath before your heart shattered at the words coming from Betty.

“I…I really like you. I know it’s weird since I was in love with your best friend but not anymore! Working with you on the paper has opened my eyes that I want to be more.” Betty admitted. The silence killed you and the itchiness developed on your wrists as the inability to breath came upon you.

You released a small sob before tearing off down the hall not bothering to pick up the notebook that had slapped on the ground. You couldn’t breath and didn’t even notice when you bumped into Archie but you kept on running. You had to get away, go to your place and sob.

You slammed your front door opened itching your wrist as you ran out the back door and into the hidden playhouse turned personal hangout. You slammed the door shut and scrambled to the lose floorboard where a treasure rested underneath. You pulled it up quickly not feeling the splinter in your hand.

You ripped your sweater off revealing the scars on both wrists that nobody had ever seen before. You held the blade against your wrist and cried. Betty knew about your feelings for Jughead and didn’t respect that she should back the fuck off. While sure she didn’t know you were dating him but that’s inexcusable to betray her.

The blade sank into your skin as you slowly dragged it too involved in the act to noticed the door was open. You sighed in relief only wincing when your tears fell onto the open wound. You flinched when the blade was smacked out of your hand and arms wrapped around you. That didn’t stop you from trying to shove the person away to grab another one.

“Y/N! Oh my god.” The voice exclaimed grabbing your sweater to push it against the wound. You looked up to see a panicking Jughead.

Your secret was out as Jughead’s gaze looked at both of your wrists where a kaleidoscope of scars were. All shapes, sizes and angles were painted on both wrists with some faded and some weren’t.

“W-why?” Jughead whispered through a mass of brimming tears, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You sobbed feeling utter shame at the relapse because you had worked so hard to keep away from the addiction. Jughead wrapped his arms around you causing you to look over his shoulder where Archie was standing.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, “I-I couldn’t stop myself.”

“How long?”

“I can’t remember how long I did it but I hadn’t done this for nine months.” You mumbled closing your eyes, “I just…Betty knew that I like you for so long and it’s a real bitch move. A Cheryl move to betray me like that. We’ve been dating a short per-”

“Sh…I love you. You know that more than anyone else and nothing is going to take me away from you.” Jughead said kissing the side of your neck.

“Really Betty?” You heard the annoyed voice of Kevin in the yard, “She literally told you that she loved him and you decided to go for it?”

“I didn’t know…I wasn’t thinking…” Betty trailed off, “I just he was smiling so much when I was around and he was joking more. He was different-”

“Betty he’s only like that with Y/N.” Archie said as he looked over at you. Jughead had shifted you the bed that was against the wall, “We should give them some space.”

“But-”

“Betty come on.” Veronica said pulling her behind her. Betty was once more heartbroken over a boy.

Jughead was crying for the first time in front of you and it was breaking your heart incredibly bad. You were both on the bed holding each other as you both calmed down by the presence of the other person. You felt his hand moving on your back as he hummed in your ear.

“I love you.” Jughead whispered, “I love everything about you and I’m going to get cliche.”

“You hated cliches.” You giggled smiling when his chest rumbled with laugher.

“I do but I can always make an exception for you. I love you and I want you to come to me when the pain gets too much.” Jughead said, “No matter what whether we’re in a fight or things have caused us to separate for while you can always come to me.”

“I love you.” You whispered back.

Jughead pulled back to press a kiss to you forehead before his lips grazed over your right temple down to your jaw. He trailed his lips to the other side of your jaw before pressing a lingering kiss to your left temple. He slowly moved back to press a deep lingering kiss on your mouth. When he did he lit a fire inside you and he knew it when your hand shoved its way under his beanie.

“I love all your imperfections, not flaws. You don’t have flaws in my eyes and I’m an artist.” Jug teased you trailing his one hand down to your hip so he could push you onto your back. He hovered over you, “If I had to choose one thing to do before I died…I would choose to be with you until I died.”

You sniffled as his genuine words hit home where you thought you were unworthy to be his girlfriend. His fingers pushed back hair from where it was on your shoulder so he could nip at your neck just where he found your sweet spot.

“Mhm.” You moaned as you were lifted so he could tug your shirt off. His hands caressed your body stroking at the scars before he pressed deep kisses to keep wrist keeping his eyes on yours.

“Can I show how much I love you. How much I desire you and want you to be beautiful.”

“Jug…I’m not Betty or Veronica.” You admitted.

“I know. In a crowd of Bettys and Veronicas I would find them, Archie would but my eyes would find the gorgeous photography on the sidelines creating masterpiece images of that crowd.” Jughead whispered, “I prefer my girl who laughs at the popular crowd. I love how when Reggie calls me Wednesday Addams you make this cute little giggle before telling me-”

“You’re not a Wednesday…you’re more like the Morticia to my Gomez.” You finished smiling up at him.

“That was the moment I knew I loved you.” Jughead whispered as you pulled his shirt over his head.

“I knew I loved you when you said we’d be the Addams family of Riverdale and needed a Wednesday Addams.” You giggled sighing as Jug’s hand released your bra clasp.

“Do you want to practice for when we’re living the dark life?” Jug said sucking on your collarbone.

“Hmm. May take a while to perfect but I’m game.” You giggled when Jughead slowly pushed your leggings down and off the small bed. You gasped when his finger ghosted across the hemline of your panties.

His fingers dipped in to brush against your skin before he moved himself down your body nipping at the skin. Only stopping to momentarily lavish your breasts as his hand held you down by the hip. You sucked in a breath when his mouth trailed down to bite your hip and licking it to sooth the beautiful pain. You squirmed when his teeth dragged your panties down your legs and that made you even more wet.

“That was fucking hot.” You breathed blinking at him.

“It’s about to get even more hot.” Jughead smirked as he buried his mouth in your heat.

You gasped as his tongue dipped into you before twirling around your clit but the perfect amount of pressure. You wiggled as his finger moved to rub your clit causing you to gasp in absolute euphoria. It was only when his mouth and finger changed spots and your clit was sucked for a second did white explode behind your eyelids.

“Jughead! Holy…” You screamed arching off the bed. You settled back down into the sheets as Jughead crawled back up to you.

“I love you when you smile. When you take a picture, when you take one of me thinking I don’t see it. I love when you sing off key for fun and how you put yourself into a position to make everyone happy. I love that you managed to coerce the mayor into letting you and I have one last night at the drive in.” Jughead whispered hovering over you, “I love the colour of your eyes and the nervous movement of pushing your hair behind your ear. I love how you’ll paint your nails only to pick it off by the end of the day.”

“Jug-” You began as his thumb brushed against your cheek.

“I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve around me and how you always have a comeback to my sarcasm. I love how you managed to slap some sense into Archie and how you helped him get his mind off Grundy by helping him with a song.” Jughead continued, “I love the blush you get when I catch you staring at me. I love how you refuse to interrupt my writing and I love how you’ve supported my dream and I love you endlessly, unconditionally and deeply without regret.”

You were crying at the end of the sentence and smiled when his nose brushed against your temple. His fingers removing the tears from your cheeks.

“I love your stretch marks, your freckles, and your scars. I swear I will throw my hat out willingly before I give up on you.”

You roughly pulled him into a bruising kiss to thank him for his words and love he bestowed upon you. You couldn't believe how much you loved this boy but he was your present and future.

You pushed him onto his back as you unzipped his jeans and dragged them down his legs bringing his boxers down with them. You bit your lip feeling a blush go up your entire body as you took in the form of your boyfriend from his sinful smile to the lean stomach and the gift he had been hiding in his jeans the entire time.

“No. I’m making you feeling gorgeous.” Jughead said pushing you back under him so he could pull you leg around his hip.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his cock pressed against your stomach. He moaned deeply as he pulled back with panic in his eyes. You frowned before you caught on, so you reached back down into the floor where a stash was. Your brother always had condoms stocked in the playhouse, sheds and all the rooms in the house. He was weird like that.

“John keeps them everywhere. He’s a manwhore.” You chuckled as Jughead graciously took it in his hand and raised it to your lips so you could rip it.

“Are you sure about this?” Jughead whispered as he rolled the condom onto his length. You nodded, “I need you to say it.”

“Yes. There isn’t any other one I would want to do this with. I love and trust you.” You whispered feeling his fingers at your entrance coaxing another orgasm out of you, “Oh wow!”

While you were coming down from that one he slowly began to push inside you taking a few seconds each push to allow both of you to get used to the feeling. You were both breathing when he was sunk down into you to the hilt. Nodding your head to him he slowly pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in at a slow sensual pace.

You gasped when he hit that one spot with a harder thrust but never speeding up. Your hands were interlocked while the other used the bed as leverage. You leaned up nipping underside of his jaw where he loved the attention. His hips stuttered as you did so before he regained his force.

You gasped arching up as his one hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. You clenched around him as you fell over the cliff with the mixture of thrusts, his fingers against your clit and his lips connected on your sweet spot.

“OH MY GOD! JUGHEAD!” You screamed slamming up into his body as he quivered falling over the edge of the intensity of your orgasm.

He collapse next to you breathing heavily as he looked over to your dazed self. You couldn’t see or hear anything for few beats until you heard him chuckle. He was cheekily smirking at you pushing his hand over your cheek bone to bring you into a slow kiss.

“I love you.”

“For the three orgasms I just gave you…I would hope so.” He teased, “I do see us together in the future.”

“I do too.”

“I um…have an option if you want.” Jughead said, “I know you’re embarrassed and ashamed of your scars since you’ve never showed your arms…we could design a tattoo and get them covered up. Only if you want.”

“I’d really like that.” You admitted rubbing your arms.

“We’ll do that when we’re out of that shit hole school.” Jughead smiled, “I want to set the record straight. I love you and only you. I have only liked you my entire life since I was in third grade. I’ve never noticed Betty in the way she believed because it’s hard to notice someone when your eyes are glued on someone else.”

Jughead only got up to remove the used condom and grabbing a cloth from a drawer to wipe both of you down. He gave you his shirt before tugging on his boxers along with handing your bra over. You both curled up not wanting to end this little world until you absolutely had to.

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