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gayphob1a · 2 years ago

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November 6th, Getting High

It’s a hard day every year. The anniversary effect, Joyce tells him. It’s been six years since the day Will went missing and set off the chain of events that changed Steve’s life forever. He wasn’t even there for that part of it, but getting to know Will, adopting him into his little troup of kids, and watching him fall silent on this day every year sets them all on edge. But this year feels different.

The anxiety is still there, and Steve thinks it always will be, but this time there are no tingles on the back of necks, no chill in the air that alights every sense into fight or fight mode (Steve is almost certain he has no flight or freeze reactions anymore). Plus, now he has Robin, and Eddie, and to the shock and awe of everyone involved, Jonathan and Nancy too. So this year, they get to celebrate.

Steve spends all day in the kitchen making Will’s favorite foods. Mac and cheese with a baked top of breadcrumbs, rotisserie chicken because Will loves the drumsticks, green bean casserole, which Steve isn’t a fan of personally, but it reminds Will of the dish Joyce makes on thanksgiving from cans they get at the foodbank, and he wants to spoil them with a version using fresh ingredients from the farmers market. There’s even a cake cooling on the counter and homemade cream cheese frosting, which Steve has had to swat Eddie’s sneaky fingers out of at least three times now. Eddie sits on the kitchen counter the whole time, keeping Steve company with a fondness in his expression that softens Steve to letting him lick the beaters he used to whip up the frosting. He’s a mess, and Steve loves him.

When evening rolls around, their apartment fills with the whole party. Even Argyle made the trip back to Hawkins to celebrate. He brings a bag of Cali weed with him, stronger shit than they can get out here, and Steve is completely fucked when it hits his bloodstream and looks at Eddie because Argyle’s weed always has a way of putting him in horny bitch mode, and Eddie with smoke streaming from his nostrils, giggling about how it makes him look like a dragon doesn’t help.

When the kids are full of food and piled up in front of the TV to watch Never Ending Story and mock Dustin mercilessly, Steve drags Eddie into their bedroom, unable to keep his hands off of him for another minute.

“Steve. Steve, oh my god.” Eddie pants as their hips roll together in a clumsy rhythm. “If you keep doing that you’re going to lose, baby boy.”

“Don’t care,” Steve pants into Eddie’s skin, intoxicated by the weed and the scent of his cheap cologne. “Just want you. Eddie… god I can’t believe I agreed to this being the word. Let me nut?”

“Fuck, okay.” And Steve can tell Eddie is just as desperate as he is after almost a week without making him cum. Eddie reaches a hand between them, cupping his hand around Steve’s cock to give him more friction to grind against, relishing in the wanton moans it draws out of him. Steve never thought the sounds of children screaming from his living room while he’s trying to get off would be a good thing, but well, he’s not exactly being quiet, and he’s dreading a lull in their shrieks that will inevitably get him caught.

He keeps moving his hips, his hands gripping at every inch of Eddie’s skin, squeezing his hip bones and digging his nails into the exposed skin of his shoulders. They keep the apartment hot just so Steve can see his boyfriend in those slutty tank tops he cuts down to his navel. And yeah, they’ve been playing, but not finishing for a full week is sending Steve teetering towards the edge faster than he expected. When Eddie’s hand flexes around him, he nearly cries, nearly cums on the spot.

But then there’s a knock at the door.

“Steve? Eddie? Are you guys okay in there?”

Will. Shit. Steve comes crashing back down to Earth in an instant. The worry in his voice is clear, and Steve is filled with guilt for worrying the kid today of all days. He reaches down and stills Eddie’s palm, giving it a squeeze in apology before opening the door a crack and leaning out to see the kid… smirking?

“We’re fine. Are you okay?” Steve adjusts himself behind the door and smacks Eddie’s shoulder for laughing silently.

“I’m fine. Eddie told me to check up on you guys when you snuck off. Do you guys… need anything?”

“No,” Steve says, shooting Eddie a glare that would make him drop dead if looks could kill. “No, we don’t need anything. We’ll be out in a minute, okay?”

“Okay.” Will says, slinking away with a look on his face that is far too knowledgeable about their escapades.

Steve closes the door quietly behind him and rounds on Eddie. “You enlisted a CHILD to keep me from coming?”

Eddie shrugs. “Sorry baby, I didn’t know you were going to actually back out. I couldn’t let you lose this early on.”

“You know I hate you, right?”

“Aw, that’s not true. You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m proud of you for telling me what you need, Stevie, and if you really want it we can end this later tonight after everyone leaves.”

There’s no debate, Steve wants it, but competition has pumped through him like ice in his veins since his very first basketball game. And, okay, maybe Eddie had a point about the build up, the anticipation, because so far the play has been like nothing he’s ever experienced before and as much as he’d love to paint Eddie’s chest in thick stripes of warm cum and play with it like a finger painting, he wants to see how this month ends more.

“No! I-I mean, it’s okay. I want to keep going, really.” Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and goes into the ensuite to calm himself down. There’s no way he would be able to walk away from Eddie’s evil smirk and he promised the kid they were done.

For now, at least.

@steddievember

#happy stranger things day!!#steddievember #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #18+ minors dni #smut adjacent #until they’re interrupted #recreational drug use

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thoughtlessdesire · 5 months ago

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LOST IN MADNESS HAS A DISCORD NOW. ☆

Yeah that's right.

I've been working on that.

For like a week.

I hate discord bots.

BUT HEYYYY IT EXISTS.

An important note under the cut but here you go!

The thing is, though, is that I'm treating this server like Lost in Madness is gonna be this huge thing. In which I made a bit of a controversial choice and I'm allowing proshippers, comshippers, and darkshippers in there.

I don't know how big LiM will be by the time I start publishing it. I don't know if this is gonna be 20 people following my little passion project or 200. And therefore, I gotta treat it not as an inside thing amongst friends but instead a proper fandom. Which means that I got over the fact that pro/com/darkshippers are gonna exist, and they may end up in LiM's space.

Call me neutral on it, if you will. I don't particularly like them but as someone who is making what is quite literally a Dead Dove do not eat piece of writing, I know it's inevitable, so fuck it. I can't police everything about how my characters are gonna be treated and, to be fair, a lot of the pairings that may end up "canon" if I go that route fall under pro/com/darkship because of the darker nature of LiM. I'd be a hypocrite to block them out of the space that I've been curating for the sake of writing and sharing an intentionally messed up thing that I wouldn't condone in real life when that's about half of their ideals right there.

So, they're allowed. Anyone is, really. I don't care what people are or are not, what they believe or what conflicts with typical fandoms you'd see nowadays, because I initially made LiM when I was a very different person, and LiM is a very different entity. What was once just your average fangan project has now turned into something deeper to me and, in all honesty, it means a lot more to me. And I don't want people to be left out of something that means a lot to me just because I may not agree with their views on things.

And, also as I have mentioned in the server I'm more than happy to help these people make their own space, that way LiM can be enjoyed by all who desire to enjoy it.

If you did read this, then you know what to expect. If you didn't then, for one you probably are reading it in the server, and not here. Or maybe you just skimmed through this as a means to get on my ass. I don't know. I don't care, to be frank. I'm not changing this about LiM's server or potential fanbase. So just move on.

Thank you for reading, if you did :)

#thoughtlessdesire #danganronpa lost in madness #lost in madness #fanganronpa #fangan #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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atoyboxfullofdrafts · 1 year ago

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“…so, that’s what happened.”

The little boy sat side by side with the older woman. She had her hands busy with something, trying to dismantle an old machine that was malfunctioning. The cat-shaped little thing had been having trouble walking around, but it didn’t seem to be a problem with the legs themselves—it was something internal. She was listening to Kosei speak while she worked on it. Unscrew this. Then, take this piece off…

“He didn’t recognize you,” She summarized, looking at the mess of wires inside of the little thing. It was a deeper issue, but it was best to keep it simple. She carefully moved a piece of metal inside, pushing the wires aside. “That’s to be expected. We told you it could happen, right? It sucks, but it is what it is.”

“…can’t we fix it?” Kosei’s voice shook. She almost felt a little sorry for being blunt about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to a kid. She was just like her brother. “Make him remember, somehow. Because… because it hurts, you know? He was seeing me, but he wasn’t… it wasn’t…”

“I don’t know if he can, kid.”

She sighed. She put down the piece of metal and the screwdriver and looked at the boy. He looked truly miserable, with his lower lip shaking, his eyes somewhere in the ground.

Sometimes things can’t be fixed, and you just have to live with that. …She knew it from experience. He was too young, too small to really get that—and she knew it must have hurt, to see someone he knew so closely and not be able to have a proper conversation with them. Hell, she didn’t know how she would feel, when that inevitably happened to her. So, she put her hand on top of his cap, pushing it further in his head and rubbing it in.

“If he doesn’t, then that’s that. We’ll still be here with you every step of the way, alright? And… well, your mom needs you, so let’s work hard and not let this keep us down, yeah? You’re a tough kid.”

She didn’t hope to completely get rid of his sorrow. Still, if she helped make him feel at least a little better, then she was already satisfied. When Kosei nodded, she pulled her hand back, turning to her project once again. “Besides, I need you to help me out with this. Shuu won’t get fixed quickly if I don’t have you cheering me on.”

That kid’s groan just made her chuckle. “Can’t we just use Shuu for scraps?”

“Oh, come on, kid, everyone loves Shuu.”

“No, you did. He’s annoying and bossy!” Kosei leaned against the table, looking closely at her hands. “He’s like Youhei if he was less rich and a robocat.”

“Youhei’s your best friend, right? So this is even better.”

“There’s only one Youhei,” That was what he said, but there was something more to that tone.

There was only one Youhei. …Just like there probably was only one of him. He was irreplaceable, in Kosei’s eyes. When she was younger, she probably would have thought the same thing about her sister, or her cousin, or even Megumi. But she was an adult, now. Sometimes people could be replaced once they were gone, but this wasn’t a conversation Kosei was ready for.

#kosei honda (li'l ultimate painter)#aiko hamasaki (former ultimate acrobat)#long post

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staceymcgillicuddy · 2 years ago

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Hi for the headcanon ask! Number 13? and man I just really appreciate your writing seriously I can’t read anything else! 💗

Thank you, friend! Sorry it took me a few days to get to this!

13) What kind of parent they would be.

This one is super interesting because I have very mixed feelings on whether or not Chrissy, especially, would actually want kids. I think Eddie is more indifferent to it, like... if it happens, cool, if it doesn't, also cool.

For the thought experiment, though, we can assume they do.

I think that Chrissy is extremely--possibly to the point of overcompensating--careful not to force anything on her child. Like, she always wants to explain the reasoning behind every decision she makes, and give the kid a lot of autonomy. Not just "you have to hold my hand in the parking lot" but "here's why holding my hand is important and why I got scared when you wandered away from me when I was putting the groceries in the trunk."

I also think she would try so hard not to push her food issues onto a child, but that it would inevitably happen in some weird ways because there's so many different angles that a kid can get fucked up around food! So many!

So, yeah, all of this coalesces into... I think she would love so, so fiercely, but also be so afraid of messing her kid up that it takes her time to feel confident as a parent, and especially as a mother, because her relationship with her own mother was so cold and withholding. She feels like she doesn't have the programming to love a child properly, and it simply takes lived experience for her to realize that she can be maternal and caring in a specifically Chrissy way, and it doesn't have to look like how anyone else parents, because it works for her and for Eddie.

As for Eddie, I weirdly think he'd be the stricter of the two. He grew up without a lot of rules or boundaries, and I feel like he thrived more with Wayne and a bit of structure. Which isn't to say Wayne was strict--Eddie was selling drugs and on his third senior year--but Wayne had expectations, and he was the first person in Eddie's life who gave him some structure.

So, yeah. Eddie wants family dinner, and he wants to hear how everyone's day was, and he wants homework done before bed. But he also wants to understand why the homework is hard, or what happened at school that made a kid sad, and to treat them like little people, rather than little projects or little accomplices.

Ultimately, I think that's what makes both Eddie and Chrissy good parents, in the end. They both had childhoods where they were used as accessories to parental ambition, and they're bound and determined that their kids will not be pawns to their own agenda.

On the less psychological side, though, I think there'd be crazy creativity in the house, and awesome games, and a lot of "yes, and"-ing the wilder suggestions that the kid(s) come up with. Like, do I see Chrissy and Eddie in Chilli and Bandit Heeler? Yes, I 100% do, and yes, I am 100% the dork who watches Bluey.

Character Headcanon Meme

#bsc diaries #cottoncandyface #hellcheer headcanons

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hazzabeeforlou · 3 years ago

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Hi, I’m Toni.

Got a slew of new followers and I’ve been almost inactive the last half a year (at least) so wanted to do an update/intro so you know who I am LOL and so my long suffering fandom besties know what the fuck’s been going on (if anyone still cares rip sorry it’s been forever)

Currently writing this from my sick bed of ear cellulitis? That I got from wearing my mask? It would literally only happen to me. Had to go to urgent care and get a butt shot of antibiotics so it didn’t, you know, spread to my bloodstream :)

Anyways I say that to say that I probably got sick in the first place because I’m incredibly run down right now. The classical music world (im a professional musician) FINALLY opened up again, and to meet gig demands I only work my pandemic retail job once a week. I have been traveling the last four weekends in a ROW, which, due to my chronic pain (which has seen SOME improvement over the last year!!) makes me super duper exhausted and I have to admit tik tok has been getting most of my brain numbing time.

Life post-happy drugs has been tough. I’ve seen improvement in the areas I wanted to, physically, but mentally god. Drugs were nice. Anywho, I’ve done a ton of witchy/ancestral connecting/herbalist kinda things the last six months, and I now have an alter and a spiritual practice that has really brought me a lot of growth and meaning. It’s hard healing from your past when you’re still living IN it… and there’s no improvement with my parents. They’re still homophobic as hell and Republican as fuck, despite screaming matches. The threats of physical violence prevent me from confronting my dad any further. I’ve kind of given up hoping they will ever change.

It’s funny though, I would classify this year as the year I started to “feel” things, and of course that happened physically post the drugs, but also emotionally once I started to let myself FEEL emotions, god what a train wreck. Who knew humans could CRY so much? That emotional revelation led to the probably overdue realization that I’m likely Autistic and high masking, and have been suffering from that classic 30’s wall that “gifted girl high masking autistic children” eventually hit wherein they are no longer able to just push through and ignore. That’s been tough.

Writing has always been how I process and understand emotions, and now that I’ve started to actually FEEL them, it hasn’t become as essential to my functioning as it had been the last six or so years. I miss it, and I plan on finishing all my projects I left behind… as I’ve said many time The Garden part 3 IS coming I promise lol. But! Hopefully. And no promises. But I have the most delightful Christmas fic tucked into my head that I would love to publish this year, if I can find the time to get it on paper.

Okay as for fandom… I did a “growth thing” earlier this year and deleted all the bbygate stuff I’d been saving for the inevitable end. I just can’t anymore. All the photoshop, the blatant exploitation of it all… yeah I think the best option is just not to care. If they’re gonna drag this out for the rest of my life then I’m going to ignore the shit out of it. Speaking of ignoring, I also noped out of the H and O nonsense. God. What a MESS. I liked HH, truly, but the fave for me was Matilda. To be honest with you all, I listened until I grew naturally full of the album and I moved on with my life, it wasn’t world changing to me the way FL was. HOWEVER. FITF? Lord save me i didn’t even know it was coming out and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m fucking obsessed. I’m planning a MP. I genuinely think it’s Louis’ finest work and I can’t get enough of it. Every time I listen I like it MORE. I theorize it’s going to be a slow blooming album that smacks everyone’s expectations in the face. I’m so fucking proud of Louis. I bawled real ugly tears at Common People.

And lastly as always, I believe the boys were in love but I make no claims about their lives now. I enjoy the hints and speculation and love larrying along, but I think they’ve established these personas that are bulletproof to fan speculation these days, and I feel that’s how they truly want it. And that’s cool, won’t stop me from writing Larry because it was the truest gayest baby Star crossed lovers story out there and still makes the best fan fic.

Apologies for the novel but nice to meet you if you’re new HI I’M TRYING TO BE BACK to my old chums, and feel free as always to talk to me, my ask box is always open ❤️

#mine #personal #hiiiiii guys

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notsowrites · 4 years ago

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Untitled 3x01 Coda #2

I truly loved all the Forlex in the episode, and the Miluca scene was so soft - but hello?? RNM?? Where is my Malex? I demand to be fed. So I guess I will just have to write it my damn self.

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Alex watched as Michael's truck pulled into the junkyard, grinding to a halt next to his SUV. They hadn't spoken since he'd gotten back, and it was probably time. Especially with everything that'd happened with Forrest, the revelation about Deep Sky and his subsequent decision regarding them... it was a lot to process. He'd lit the fire pit when he's arrived, knowing it might be a while before Michael returned, and had settled into one of the chairs, enjoying the cool breeze of the night and finally allowing himself a moment to think about Forrest.

A moment to wonder if he's made the right decision, if he should have gotten on that bus. If down the line somewhere he was going to regret the path that he'd now set himself upon. He couldn't stop thinking about Kyle's advice, about the loneliness and isolation he'd be getting himself into by allowing himself to be recruited into their ranks.

Michael looked tired, that much Alex could see even through the darkness. His curls were wild, like he'd been running his hands through them for hours, his black cowboy hat nowhere to be found, and Alex wondered what he'd missed in the 12 hours since he'd been back in town.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

No, Alex thought, he wouldn't. It wasn't like they'd left in a great place either when he'd made the decision a year ago that he was going to clean up his father's mess so he could finally move on, move past everything regarding his fucked up family history.

"Didn't expect my night to end up here either," he replied, trying to sound friendly, and knowing he wasn't completely succeeding.

Michael stopped next to one of the empty chairs, taking in the lit fire, and nodded, his hands tightening on the metal of the back. "And where did you think you'd end up?"

Alex shrugged, looking away. He didn't know how much he wanted to tell Michael - did he tell him he'd been thinking he could make a good go of it with Forrest? That he almost got on a bus out of town with him?

"Have you ever heard of something called Deep Sky?"

The laugh Michael let out cut right through to Alex's core. He could feel the anger, the frustration - every bit of Michael's emotions as he dropped into the chair in front of him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Michael pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and took a generous sip, shaking his head. As Alex watched, he realized how good alcohol sounded right about now, and maybe that was what he needed to do, despite the beers he'd had at the Pony earlier with Kyle.

"Is that-"

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. "It's acetone."

After another moment, Michael stood up, tucking the flask away and pulling open the door to the trailer, disappearing inside with a slam of the metal door. Barely a moment later, it was opening again, Michael reappearing with two bottles of beer in his hand, holding one out for Alex.

"Thanks. It's been-" he sighed, realizing it was inevitable he'd be telling Michael everything that had happened to him. "It's been a night."

"You wanna talk about it?"

This was still new territory for them. Even after all the time they'd spent together uncovering the truth about Michael's mother, Alex couldn't deny his absence over the last year had probably hurt Michael. It hadn't been that they hadn't talked, hadn't had stilted, awkward phone conversations as he'd dug into Project Shepherd and his father's involvement, reporting on anything he might think Michael found useful. But talking, really opening up to one another, was still something they didn't do.

"Do you want to hear me tell you that I almost left town with Forrest?"

Michael shook his head. "But you're here."

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "I'm here."

"So what happened?" Michael immediately followed up, taking a sip of his beer.

Alex bit his lip, carefully considering his words. "There's an organization called Deep Sky - they want to recruit me. And there's a part of me - the part that has been involved in trying to figure out what Project Shepherd was doing - that wants to let them."

"But?" Michael knew him too well.

"But," Alex continued, "it would mean secrecy. It would mean cutting myself off from everyone."

"Sounds like you've already made up your mind."

"That's why I'm here, I guess," Alex realized. "I haven't. And I didn't really know - I still haven't decided."

"I'm not making that decision for you, Alex."

"I'm not-" Alex stopped, feeling himself get annoyed at Michael inferring that he was unable to make the choice himself. "I'm not asking you to."

"Then what, Alex? Why come here and tell me all of this?"

He watched as Michael finished off the beer in his hand, dropping the bottle to the ground and taking flash back out from his jacket.The words were stuck in his throat, to tell Michael that there was a part of him that wanted to do this for him. For Michael.

"This could be my chance to learn things my father never could.” He paused, knowing he had to answer Michael’s question too. “And because I still want you to know."

Silence fell between them immediately, and Alex noticed the way Michael's shoulder relaxed slightly, and he fell back against his chair.

"I came to the bus stop today," Michael said, his voice quiet, his chin tucked into his chest so he couldn't look at Alex. As if the words he was saying were something he didn't want to admit, didn't want to talk about. Alex didn't understand it - in all their years together, Michael had never held back from him. "I thought-" He cut himself off, and Alex watching him shake his head, looking away, making sure he couldn't catch Alex's gaze.

But Alex needed to know. Michael had been there? At the bus stop? Had he been so focused on Forrest that he hadn't noticed?

"I saw you," Michael continued, "-you and Forrest. So I left."

"You could have said hi."

Michael shrugged. "You looked busy."

All those years ago, when he'd left Roswell for basic as a scared and angry seventeen year old, he's been furious that Michael had gotten himself arrest and locked up. That he'd had to leave town without saying good-bye. It had been a deep hurt that had lingered for years with him, something he couldn't understand. Why had stealing hubcaps been more important?

And what could he even say to that? That Michael had shown up in that way - was he trying to right the wrong of that day more than a decade again?

But they weren't - they weren't anything anymore. Except maybe friends.

"We broke up," Alex replies instead of telling Michael he wanted him to be there at the bus stop. Instead of admitting that Michael is the only one he's ever wanted to greet him when he's returned to Roswell. Because Michael is the only person who has ever made Roswell feel like home, like he could be happy here.

"You and-"

Alex nodded. "That's how I found out about Deep Sky."

Michael glared at him, processing his words. "He was using you?"

"No!" Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Silence fell between them, the only sound crickets in the distance and the fire crackling between them in the pit. It felt nice, it felt comfortable. He wanted more of it, he wanted to do this more often.

“If I do this,” he starts, a plan devising in his mind. “I don’t want to be cut off completely. That much isolation - it can’t be good.”

Michael nodded. “So what are you going to do?”

“If they’re as desperate to recruit me as Forrest made it sound, maybe I don’t have to.” It was possible he knew, to have his own demands for his cooperation. Especially if Deep Sky was this interested in him. Perhaps he could have communication with someone, perhaps he could negotiate his won way to not be completely cut off from everyone. “I don’t want - I don’t think-”

The words stuck in his throat. Why was it so hard to say the things he wanted? He wanted Michael to be the one he told his findings to. Anything he may come across that would help him understand his own history, his people, where he came from - Alex wanted to find those answers for him.

"I meant what I said, you know," he continued, finding his voice finally. "About being friends."

"About starting over?"

Alex nods. Because that's always been their problem, hasn't it? He knows everything about Liz and Maria and Kyle from their birthdays to the favorite foods and drinks but he didn't know all those little thing about Michael. And it feels important somehow that he find them out. That he really learn who Michael is.

Because if there is one thing the past two years has shown him is it's not going to change anything between them. He's always going to love Michael.

He doesn't quite understand it, what it is about their connection that is so strong that even now, even after everything they've been through, that they're still drawn together. And maybe he can find answers with Deep Sky.

But what he does know is that he wants Michael to be the one at the bus stop waiting for him next time. Wants to know that Michael is there.

What he doesn't know is how long it may take for them to work their way back, but it's not something he plans on jumping into. Not with the fight with Forrest still so fresh.

But one day, maybe some day soon.

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #mentions of forlex #notso writes fanfic

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kikis-writing-world · 4 years ago

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Bug in the System

Summary: Reader has a complicated relationship with Nathan, living and working with him. They’ve always been nervous to bring up prescription medication, so shit hits the fan when they runs out and their mood plummets.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader that struggles with mental health.

Word Count: 2k

Rating/Warnings: Mental health - depression and anxiety are expressly mentioned and reader is in a bad low. Talk of medication and ramifications of not taking them. Mention of doctors. Brief mention of sex. Worries of the stigma around mental health. Lots of swearing because it’s Nathan. Unedited/Betaed. it’s almost fluff in Nathan’s asshole way, there’s a happy ending.

A/N: I blame @foxilayde that I’m suddenly writing for Nathan... I hated him when I watched the movie and now here we are. Idk, this idea hit me last night while trying to fall asleep and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had to write it.

You weren’t sure how to define the relationship you and Nathan had. He wasn’t your boyfriend - not only did that feel so juvenile, but also… he just wasn’t. There had never been a declaration of love between the two of you, no commitment to monogamy or even non-monogamy. The two of you lived together, worked together, slept together- it could almost be called a friends with benefits relationship, only… softer. You ate dinners together, danced around the house together, and cuddled together when watching movies. You also spent days, sometimes weeks at a time where you hardly spoke to each other when engrossed in a project. Did this form out of attraction, or emotion, or was it an inevitability when two adults - whose sexualities, attractions and availabilities lined up accordingly - lived together in isolation for an extended period of time?

In summary: there was no easy way to define what was between the two of you, and you were happy there were no other humans around to ask. You didn’t feel the need to defend what you shared, but you had no desire to try to label it either.

Despite the friendly and casual nature of whatever the relationship was, there were still things that you had yet to admit to Nathan. The dwindling supply of medications tucked safely in a make-up bag inside the drawer of your bedside table felt like a ticking time bomb. You only had so many doses remaining and it wasn’t like you could walk down to the local pharmacy for a refill. Any supplies coming to the fortress of a home had to be called in, ordered, and helicoptered to you. There was no way to do it without Nathan finding out along the way.

You watched the pills slowly empty from their plastic bottles like a reverse hourglass. Despite the effects they had on your malfunctioning brain chemistry, they never quite tampered down the anxiety you had about opening up about your mental illness, let alone to someone like Nathan.

Nathan worked hard and played harder. He strove to be the best him he could be at all times. He accepted nothing less than perfection and no matter what the relationship between you two could be defined as -coworkers, employer/employee, friends, friends with benefits, lovers - you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You avoided and avoided until inevitably, the last pill came out of the last bottle. It only got worse from there. Without the anxieties in check and the chemicals being balanced, the insecurity flared even worse. Your inner voice told you that you deserved the unhappiness flowing through you, that you should just stay in bed and give up since Nathan would kick you out of the house soon enough: he’d either get tired of your low mood, your falling productivity, or he’d discover your secret and be done with you.

He noticed. Of course he did. You stopped dancing, stopped cuddling, stopped fucking. Then you stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped leaving your room. You felt like you couldn’t get out of bed at all. You spent your time sleeping or curled up under your blankets in the dark room wishing you could sleep more. That or just disappear.

That was where Nathan found you, a month and a half after you’d run out of your meds.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” He barged into your room one morning… afternoon… you had no idea what time it was.

Nathan turned the light on and you could hear him pacing. “Are you sick? Do I need to call in a doctor? Are you even alive under there?! Hello?!”

You sighed, forcing yourself to sit up and prove you were alive, awake, and hearing him. The blankets dropped to your waist, revealing what you were sure was an absolute mess of a human. You knew what you looked like the last time you’d been brave enough to look in the mirror and you were sure it was even worse now.

Nathan cursed and you swear he nearly recoiled at the sight of you. “Are you in here dying on me or something?” He questioned.

You weren’t sure how to answer, what you could possibly say to him.

“Hello?!” He snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Is anybody in there?!”

You blinked as he crowded you, hysterics growing as you seemingly ignored him. You could tell he was close to grabbing you and shaking you, and you didn’t know if your body could handle that. As it was, your muscles had protested sitting up. Instead, you leaned over and opened your drawer, taking out the zippered make-up bag.

You tossed the pouch at him, hearing all the plastic bottles click together as it landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up, opening it carefully like he thought some sort of creature might jump out at him. His brows furrowed when he saw the bottles inside and dumped them out onto the mattress.

“Are these all empty? Fuck did you take these?” He questioned, panic rising in his voice. “Are you trying to OD on me or something? Shit.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, about to call for help.

“No.” You croaked. “Well, yeah. I took them… but… they’re my meds.” You gave in. “I’ve been taking them since I got here. I[was taking until they ran out.”

Nathan looked down at the bottles, picking one up as he read the label. “What are they for?”

“Depression mostly. Anxiety.” You shrugged, listing the simple ones.

Nathan was quiet as he read the bottles. You had no idea if he knew what any of them meant. It’s not like the labels read “Take one daily to stop the crazies!” The names, the dosages, the frequencies meant nothing to someone with no experience… but then again, Nathan wasn’t just anyone.

“How long?” He sighed, turning to sit on the edge of the bed.

You would have deflated if you didn’t already feel as low as you could go. Having assumed the worst, you weren’t surprised he couldn’t look at you.

“I was diagnosed in junior year-”

“No, I mean how long have you been without your meds?” He interrupted you, turning to stare you down.

“A month.” You shrugged. “Almost two.”

“For fucks sakes.” He grumbled, turning to his phone again and typing away.

“I’ll pack my shit. Just, give me a few days and I’ll go.” You mumbled, laying down on your side and facing away from him. You didn’t want to watch him posting for a new assistant or scheduling the pick-up or whatever he was doing. You’d wallow for a bit, probably take a nap, and then you’d pack anything here that was important. Fuck the rest. You didn’t have the energy. You didn’t care.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He asked distractedly, like he hadn’t heard you as his cogs of his brain jumped to life. He did that a lot when he was preoccupied. He would hear your voice, realize you’re talking, but not absorb the words. Sometimes he needed to ask 3 or 4 times until you gave up and texted him instead.

“I’m bringing in a doctor. You need to get checked out before you start back up on anything. You’re not supposed to go off of these without supervision. Says so right here. Black and white.” He chastised you.

You frowned, looking over your shoulder in confusion. You saw him still typing away on his phone, holding one of the empty, orange-tinted bottles in his hand. He set it down, picking up another. He took a picture, looking over the label quickly for himself before setting it back down.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending him the labels so he knows what he’s walking into. Why the fuck would you just stop taking your meds?” He sniped. “Why didn’t you get more? I fucking ask you if you need shit and you just conveniently forget your pills?”

You picked at a thread of the blanket, not wanting to watch him as he grew angrier with you. As soon as you were in good health and his conscience was clear, he’d be rid of you. You were sure of it. It was more than you’d expected to be honest.

You heard the quiet noise from his phone, indicating the email had been sent. That meant his attention wasn’t divided as he rounded back on you.

“Why won’t you answer me? It’s like fucking talking to a wall or something. If I wanted one-sided conversations, I never would have brought you up here. Why didn’t you get more?!”

You took a shuddering breath before answering. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what? That you take medication?” He scoffed in disbelief.

The room was quiet as you didn’t answer, but you could practically hear his brain processing, whirring like a computer with a squeaky exhaust fan.

“Hey, look at me.” He ordered, his voice dropping in volume to a kinder tone, but it was still not a request. It was a demand. You sat up again, looking at him stare at you with dark, angry eyes.

“When a program isn’t working, do you throw away the whole CPU or do you debug it and fucking find the fix?” He asked. You didn’t answer, assuming it was rhetorical.

“Your software is fucked, and these,” he picked up one of the bottles to hold up between you two. “These are the fix. Why the fuck would you be embarassed about shit like that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, dropping your gaze again. “You’re…” you struggled to find the words, but Nathan jumped on your train of thought frighteningly quick.

“Me?! So it’s my fault? I eat brown rice and salad and work out every day so I’m some health nut hippy who wouldn’t understand, is that it?”

He was putting words into your mouth, but he was essentially getting the point. You were scared he would reject you, mock you, think less of you.

He crawled towards you on the bed, cupping your chin a little too tight as he lifted your face. He was clearly done having you look away from him. “I’m a fucking reclusive genius who lives in the middle of ass fuck nature and only lets people come and go with a goddamn keycard! Do you not think I’m self-aware enough to realize that? A fucking prodigy, multi-millionaire by 15, CEO of the most successful technology company in history. The President calls me and I hit ignore. Do you really think I’m not self-aware enough to know we all have our own brand of fucked up?” He laughed.

“If you need these to get through it, to be my little genius-” He released your jaw to cup your face in both hands, giving it a shake. “To keep up with my shit, to live here without losing your mind at the isolation, to be my dance partner and dinner partner and movie date - then fucking take them. Would I be having to tell you this if it was for your blood pressure or a heart condition or something?!”

His phone buzzed and he released his hold on you, leaning back to read the message that had just come through.

“Doc’s gonna be here tomorrow morning. Gotta keep you hydrated until then and you should try to eat.” He summed up the message as his eyes skimmed the screen. He tucked his phone back into his pocket before slapping your blanket-covered thigh. “What are we eating tonight? Your choice.”

“I’m not hungry.” You mumbled.

“Not an option!” He declined as he stood off the bed. “What are we eating?”

You sighed, letting your head fall back as you thought. “Grilled cheese?”

“And tomato soup? Coming right up.” He leaned over to you, cupping the back of your head as he pulled you close enough to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @dinthisisthe-wayson @seasonschange-butpeopledont @kesskirata

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman imagine #Nathan Bateman drabble #Oscar Isaac Character Fanfiction #Wookietales #Nathan Bateman

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i8jisoo · 5 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 ⇉ skz with pregnant!reader

felix x reader | part six of dad!skz

↬ genre; fluff

↬ warnings; pregnancy, slight relation to sex, birth

↬ notes; this took so long lmfao i just had it sitting but i’m finishing up seungmin rnnn 🤓 i’ve been doing requests whew i just have EVERYTHING coming at once

u guys r really surprised

u two had been in a relationship for four years now so this was inevitable as u two were putting off the pressure of marriage for awhile now

“woah, i’m gonna be a dad!! does this mean u have to call me daddy now?”

0_0

u r s e n s i t i v e

felix first notices this when he gives u a kiss in the morning n ur crying like two seconds after

:((

“why are you crying??!”

“you just leave so early and i miss you!!”

felix skips the day, not rly caring he just wants to cuddle u 🥺

speaking of cuddling u two r so cuddly together now

u guys just cant get enough of each other

ur at practice less often just bc of media and he thinks the house is safer for u

so the boys come over a ton more to the dorm just bc they wanna see u and spend time with u

he is so cute, whenever he sees you he’ll instantly be on his knees to kiss your baby bump and leave u with a light kiss on ur lips

u guys go to ur scan at the beginning of the second trimester

its hush hush and ofc felix has u with the best doctor hes heard of

his hands are clammy asf, hes smiling and so dazed while he stares at the ultrasound

“look at that!! baby a and baby b!!”

felix is like,

“oh im gonna pass out”

now he gets these corny ass JOKES like

“wow lix has really GOOD swimmers!!!”

“felix knows his way around the bedroom!!!!!!!!”

poor baby jeongin :( they are POLLUTING HIS MIND

he doesnt but this boy is scared shitless now, two babies?? thats a lot to handle

he likes to shop, a lot.

for some reason everything is dog themed, puppies on everything and he’ll come home with bags of baby stuff everyday

lix is just so in love with your body

sweaters, t-shirts, hoodies, anything he owns, he 100% wants you to wear it

he might be a little excited at the thought of u in his clothes, it was usual but now u pregnant, he was a little MORE excited

abnormally this guy worships your body 100%

he loves how easily you can just unravel, to the point of tears and have u begging for him to stop

ok lemme not ill start writing shit type smut anyways chile yes lix loves u A LOT in and out of the bedroom

mmm he’ll always be brainstorming names

aeygo for the babies 🥺

tons of kisses he has plenty to go around

he acquires a new skill called cooking 😣

ur his new favorite taste tester

he’ll read books for them both

tons of research on expecting twins and what to do

“hey, okay.. so i bought a pregnancy pillow, and like, i wanna use it?”

felix has this smirk, holding the huge pillow that is supposed to be a maternity one, but he much prefers himself using it as a regular pillow

he actually goes public with this, knowing that the fans adored u after being his girlfriend for so long nd u soon became a favorite for them

some shit like ‘stays meet your new members’ 😣

this guy has a knack for painting, his newest canvas is your large baby bump, doodling little flowers n hearts or animals on it, sometimes painting characters on it or whatever it may be

u two have this rly cute vlive together which consists of him painting ur baby bump, plenty of fun while he asked stays to tell him what to draw on ur bump :v

“ooh!! a ladybug!!”

he posts the finished project in nice high quality on their official instagram, showing off the many things he had painted

the dreaded bed rest comes into play

u are now nearing seven months, which meant that u should be experiencing labor or maybe labor pains soon

he takes his paternal leave, now indulging in ice-cream and gummy bears with u, rather than working out and drinking nasty smoothies

guess who has that sympathy weight

(jk he just uses it as an excuse so he can just give up on his diet)

sleep all day

sleep all night

u two are honestly so tired for WHATEVER reason

lix is there to be a cuddle bug, pulling ur back close to his body, ur legs entwined and his hand on top of ur own that was on ur bump

its rly cute just try and picture it for a moment

u guys r trying everything to hurry and get to the end of this seemingly forever pregnancy

he’ll def buy two yoga balls instead of just one for u and he’ll bounce on them with u

who cares ab trying to hurry up y’all are having so much fun regardless of the fact u have to pee every ten minutes

u both forget the thought of it and just go with the flow

making a deal to go with the names for whomever u claimed aka baby a or baby b

i see ur guys timing to be during the summer so its miserable in ur house

its hot n stuffy

u two r just lounging n u both have popsicles, then ur just like

“oh! oh.”

it was a steady gush of fluid between ur legs and that was when the nervousness set in

u two just look at each-other in shock

“oh! we’re having a baby- um.. wow!”

he is abnormally good at keeping calm, helping u keep ur breathing steady and getting everything together

felix is a pro.

u guys r kinda chilling in the parking lot just quiet and sort of nervous that the next time ur walking out of there you both will have not one, but two babies

“i don’t know if i’m ready yet.”

felix groans, grabbing ur hand

“ur right, ur more than ready. look at us!! parents of two in at least the next twenty-four hours!!”

his hands r around u in a second to help u up and there to help u walk in

u two honestly decide to play games on ur phone to kill time

felix crawls into ur bed, seeing as how u looked extremely lonely, letting his arms and legs wrap around u n he’s just playing with ur hair

its honestly adorable

u two are really tired for whatever reason, falling asleep like this before u would be consumed in the late nights of being parents

these nurses wake u both up and are just like

“let’s see if we’re ready to meet ur babies!!”

felix is kinda scared but nonetheless he’ll grab ur hand and hold onto it with a smile

10cm woo!

if he wasn’t hyping u up before he is hyping u up right now

ur somewhat laughing and crying while in pain

yall r so weird

felix is there to wipe ur face with the wet cloth, or to give u a sip of water, rly whatever u need he is on it

poor baby just wants to be of help

“here’s baby a! it’s a girl!”

u two have at least a moment with her, taking in her small appearance, felix holding her out for u to see

abruptly cut off by baby b needing to make an appearance

“i don’t wanna do this again.”

“it’s alright, shh. we’re going to have two babies, two perfect ones. we have one little girl, let’s get ready for the next one, yeah? our two babies, you’re doing so good.”

they take away ur little girl while felix does what he already did beforehand

“here’s your second one!! we have a pair of sisters!”

u and felix are so overjoyed at this news, literally sobbing, u two r a mess

both r brought over to u, felix taking in the fact he’s a father of two girls, such small girls

ur both smiley while u kiss them n cuddle them, getting the nurse to take a picture of u two

ur obviously tired, felix emotionally worn out but having the brightest smiles on ur faces while u hold onto ur pair of newborn girls

he’s so proud, he’s the definition of a proud father

lix is holding onto one and he comes over to you, the other one cooing

“that’s it, my three girls.”

496 notes · View notes

lexosaurus · 4 years ago

Text

Pink Astronaut

This is my secret santa gift for Anectoplasm on discord! Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy!

Characters: Danny/Paulina Genre: Fluff Word Count: 4549 Summary: To Paulina's dismay, she and Danny Fenton must work together on their English final project.

Read on [ao3] [ffn]

---

It was Lancer’s fault, really.

He assigned the class a partner-project for their final presentation, but being the annoying teacher he was, he had decided it was imperative that the students were assigned to pairs of his choosing. Aka, no working with friends.

Paulina tried her best. Truly, she did. She batted her eyelashes and put on her most polite tone when she said, “Pretty please with extra whipped cream and a cherry on top, can I work with Star instead of Loser Fenton?”

But, to her utter dismay, Mr. Lancer was a brick wall. No amount of wit nor charm could change his rubric, and so Paulina relented in a very much not dramatic final sigh as she resigned herself to be Danny Fenton’s English partner for the coming weeks.

Fenton was...well, he was weird. His parents hunted ghosts, he always slept through class, he was clumsy, and Paulina knew that in middle school Fenton was just like all the other boys who saw her as nothing more than a pretty face.

And that annoyed her to her core. She was a human, damn it! She had her own wishes and dreams and goals in life. Although she wasn’t vocal about it, she wanted to be a journalist when she was older. The kind that made it to shows like 60 Minutes, reporting on amazing stories from all around the world. She wanted to travel, she wanted to meet people, and she wanted to be the best at it.

She was still a long way off from that now though. First, she needed to survive through this stupid English project with that weird nerd who had gone through a not-so-secret crush on her before.

Though, when she looked his way now, Fenton didn’t look all too thrilled to be partnered with her either.

She would have called it odd, but that had been their dynamic for a little over a year now. She guessed that Fenton finally got the hint and dropped his love struck puppy act. Maybe he and Sam had finally confessed their undying love to each other.

It was probably for the best.

Fenton made no move towards her, instead choosing to stare dully into his notebook.

Paulina rolled her eyes and slid from her chair. She strode over to his desk, throwing a hand on her waist and looking down at him with an expression she knew would yield no arguments. “Alright, my house or yours?”

“Huh?” Fenton said, recognizing a little too late that she was there.

“For the project? The one we were just assigned? Hello, Earth to Commander Fenton! My house or yours today?”

“Today?” Fenton blinked. “You wanna start today?”

Paulina narrowed her eyes. “Why, got something better to do?”

“Well—it’s just—”

“I’ll come over at four. I’ll be at cheer practice till then. If you want anything from Starbucks, just text me before then. I know Manson has my number, you can get it from her.”

She left him sitting dumbly in his chair. No one was getting in the way of her and that A, especially not some nerd who couldn’t even bother to care about school.

But, to Paulina’s surprise, Fenton actually opened the door for her when she showed up to his house that afternoon. Half of her expected him to blow her off, just ghost her and leave her to do all the work. And yet, he brought her into his kitchen, got out his notebook, and got right to work.

It was unnerving to see him so studious. She remembered Fenton as a nerd in middle school, but everyone knew about the absolute nose-dive his grades took once he got to high school. It wasn’t exactly a secret, what with him skipping class every other day.

The duo parted ways with a promise to meet up again over the weekend. Again, to Paulina’s pleasant surprise, he actually texted her to confirm their plans. And when Paulina stepped into the Starbucks that Saturday afternoon, Danny was already sitting at a table waiting for her, his notebook out and the project rubric between his fingers.

This much good luck was sure to run out, but Paulina just hoped that Fenton could last another few weeks before he inevitably dropped the ball.

Except, that never happened. Each time they set up plans to work on their presentation, Fenton would show up, he would focus on the work, and they’d part ways with plans to reconvene later. It was uncanny. It was so unlike everything Paulina had come to know of Fenton through these months.

And Paulina wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was who Fenton really was.

Under all those disciplinary actions, the dropped beakers, the tardies, the unfinished assignments and failed grades, if this was hidden underneath.

So then that begged the question: why didn’t he show this side of himself more? Why was he failing if he was clearly capable of doing the work?

And so Paulina sat there, just a week before they were set to give their presentation, scrutinizing Fenton’s features as he recited a passage from the book they were analyzing. She noted the bags under his eyes, the bruise on his cheek, the way his face seemed to tighten every time he coughed.

He had arrived a few minutes late that day, and she remembered how he entered the classroom, his gate just a little too stiff to be natural.

Someone had hurt Fenton, Paulina realized. Someone had beat him up.

For reasons she didn’t know, hot anger flashed over her. Someone beat up Danny, a kid who was clumsy and could be a bit slow on the uptake, but someone who Paulina had come to understand was a rather kind and gentle classmate.

Yet someone didn’t care.

So the next day, maybe she stormed up to Dash a little too aggressively to demand, “What the hell did you do to Fenton?”

There was Dash, right on queue with his cocky laugh and a, “That nerd had it coming to him!”

“Are you kidding me?” Paulina yelled. “A week before our English final presentation and you punch Fenton across the face? Are you stupid?”

Dash’s smile dropped instantly, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Paulina, I didn’t—”

“You know how much this class matters to me, Dash! You know I wanna move up to honors next year! I can’t do that if you’re giving my English partner a goddamn concussion while we’re preparing to present!”

“Paulina!” Dash grabbed her arm.

“No!” Paulina ripped her arm away. “Don’t touch me, and don’t fucking sabotage—”

“I didn’t beat Fenton up!” Dash shouted.

Paulina’s eyes narrowed.

Dash held his hands up in a surrender. “I swear I didn’t beat him up. Ask Kwan if you don’t believe me. Honestly, I haven’t touched him in months. The��the coach told me that if I did well in school this year, I’d probably get recruited to college. I didn’t want to risk Fenton messing that up. I swear!”

Paulina stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to crack. But Dash’s panicked face held.

“Whatever.” She whipped around. “Tell your stupid friends to keep their hands off my project partner.”

“Consider it done!”

Paulina stormed off, ignoring the wide stares from her peers and the whispers of, “Did she just defend Fenton?”

She tried to block them out. They weren’t important. Her grades were important, her future was important, but those idiots? No, they meant nothing to her.

That afternoon, Danny was early. He was sitting there in the empty classroom when Paulina walked in, his head down to his paper, and didn’t even look up when Paulina gave her cheerful, “Hello!”

Well...that was weird. Sure, a few weeks ago, Danny mostly ignored her cheerful greetings in favor of getting ahead on the project, but Paulina liked to think that a mutual respect, or—god forbid—a friendship had been forming between the duo.

“Oof, cold shoulder? So not your speed, Danny,” Paulina said, plopping down to her seat.

Danny tensed, “I...uh, sorry. I’m tired.”

“Sheesh, alright.” Paulina slid her notebook out. “So we were working on the symbolism slide of the powerpoint, right?”

“Yeah,” Danny passed his notebook over to her. “I started parsing through the book at lunch today and found some good passages. Take a look.”

Paulina went to study the paper, but something else caught her eye.

Something on his arm.

Something that looked like a burn.

“Danny?” Paulina stared wide-eyed at the space of molten skin between his sleeve and hand. “What the hell happened to your arm?”

“Oh, I—” Danny slipped his arm under the desk. “I, uh, sorry. You see—”

“Whoa!” Paulina only caught a glance of his face before he ducked down again, but that split-second was enough. “What the hell? What happened to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paulina saw red. “Oh, that idiot! I’m gonna kill him!”

Danny looked up, the multicolored patchwork of skin on his face finally fully visible to Paulina. “Kill who?”

“Oh, look at you! That asshole!”

Fenton winced. “Am I...am I missing something here?”

“I’m gonna kill Dash!”

“...Dash?”

“I told him this morning to keep his hands off you! I made that asshole promise to me, and I told him to pass the message along to his stupid friends too!”

Something in Danny’s expression softened. “You told off Dash?”

“Well of course I did!” Paulina said hotily. “You’re my project partner! What kind of person would I be if I let you get hurt?”

“Oh well…” A smile quirked on Danny’s lips. “Thanks for that, but it wasn’t Dash.”

“Well then who was it? I’ll kill them.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“You’re right, death would be too generous. I’ll just destroy their reputation instead!”

A bemused look overtook Danny’s face. “Yeah, I have no doubt you would.”

“Tell me right now, Fenton. Tell me who did this and I’ll make them pay. You won’t have to worry about them ever again once I’m finished with them.”

“Oh, I…” The smile fell from Danny’s lips. “It wasn’t anyone. I just...fell.”

“You what?” Paulina’s voice rose in disbelief.

“Yeah, you know how clumsy I am.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He laughed awkwardly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I just—you know. I was walking in the hall, fell down some stairs, hit the stair rail at the bottom. Just typical weirdo Fenton stuff! Nothing you need to destroy anyone over.”

“Don’t play with me. You didn’t fall.”

“I did fall though! It was...yeah, you know how it is. I was walking and talking at the same time and just slipped and fell! Ah, stupid Fenton, am I right? Just always...falling.”

Paulina’s glare was hollow. “How dumb do you think I am, Danny?”

Danny froze, his rambling stuttering off into a tense silence. “What?”

“I said—” Paulina rose from her chair. “—just how dumb do you think I am?”

“Uh, sorry. I’m sorry. Look, I think we may have gotten on the wrong topic here.”

“No!” Paulina slammed her hand down on Fenton’s notebook. “This little tirade? This sham you’ve been pulling for the past two years? It’s bullshit, Danny, and you know it.”

“I don’t—I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do know! You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Paulina hissed. “We’ve been working together for weeks now, and you think you can just sit here and say you fell? To me?”

“Well, sue me, Paulina!” Danny snapped. “Why do you even care, anyways? We’re not exactly friends.”

“Because you’re my project partner! Your grade is my grade, idiot!”

“Gee, I’m glad you only care about people when it affects your grade.” Danny shoved his notebook into his bag. “What an amazing quality to have.”

Paulina stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “That’s not true!”

Danny ignored her reaction, instead choosing to angrily zip up his backpack. “In case you haven’t noticed, your boyfriend’s been beating me up since we were five. I’m not sure why you’ve decided to care now, but if you want something to be mad at, maybe try being mad at the years of shit I’ve taken from you and your friends.”

Paulina stood there seething as Danny pushed past her and stocked off into the hallway, slamming the classroom door shut behind him.

There was the Fenton she’d come to know in high school, this was the Fenton she remembered. The one who avoided questions, who put himself down to avoid suspicion, who left in the middle of class without saying anything, who no one could rely on.

But, perhaps more now than ever, Paulina could see just how much of a sham this whole act was.

Just how much he was using this face to protect himself.

But from what? From who?

Paulina tried not to dwell too much on the bruises, especially since they were gone the next day and didn’t reappear for the rest of the week. Of course, Dash swore up and down that he had nothing to do with Fenton’s appearance, and Paulina believed him. Dash could be a bit bullheaded, but he was still one of her closest friends.

For the remaining week they had to put their presentation together, Danny kept to himself, and so did Paulina. Whatever semblance of a friendship they’d built had disintegrated, and both parties seemed content to let it fall.

It made sense, logically speaking. Paulina was popular, Fenton wasn’t. Paulina was an extrovert, Fenton was an introvert. Paulina thrived in attention, Fenton shied away from it. They were like oil and water, a friendship just wasn’t possible.

The presentation day came, and the two spoke with confidence that could only have come from weeks of preparation. Paulina couldn’t help but glow under Mr. Lancer’s impressed nod. Their high marks from the project were enough to fulfill Paulina’s recommendation to the honors English course for the next fall.

And then the school year came to a close and finally, after months of hard work, they could finally relax.

But not before they celebrated first.

One of Dash’s good friends, Dale, had taken it upon himself to host the massive end of the school year party for the rising junior class at Casper High that year. His parents, being the weird sort of chill parents they were, offered up their lake house with the promise that there would be no drinking and driving.

The teens were ecstatic.

Everyone—everyone—went to the party. Jocks, nerds, band geeks, theatre kids, every clique was represented at the lake house. And why wouldn’t they come? It was the end of the school year celebration! A time to rejoice in having survived another round of homework, tests, quizzes, and essays.

It was also a time where Paulina was once again reminded that yes, the theatre kids could in fact go shot-to-shot with the football team.

Fenton was there with his little group, but Paulina paid them no mind. This wasn’t the time to be worried about him, nor was it the time to feel any sort of guilt at the way their budding friendship just collapsed. She had her friends, why add another?

And it was just preposterous to imply that she missed Fenton.

Because she didn’t.

And yet, when the night was drawing to a close, Paulina somehow managed to find herself down by the lake where a skinny, black haired teen was sitting alone.

She stood behind him, unsure if she wanted to initiate contact. He’d made it clear from their last argument that he still held years of resentment towards her and her friends, and Paulina knew from experience that all that resentment couldn’t go away in one alcohol-filled night.

She turned to walk away, but something stopped her. Before she could question what she was doing or why, she found herself sitting down on the damp grass next to him.

“What are you doing out here?” Paulina asked.

“Oh, uh, hey Paulina! Fancy seeing you here.” Danny gave her a small wave.

“You too.” Paulina stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back on her hands. “Some party, right?”

“Yeah, Dale was really nice to host this.”

“He’s a great guy. His parents too.”

“I bet.” Danny said. “How are your friends holding up?”

“Well, let’s see. Star just spent a half hour trying to convince me that aliens exist, and Dale’s currently comforting Kwan who saw a video of a puppy rescue on the side of the road and started crying, so I’d say they’re holding up pretty well.”

Danny guffawed. “No way!”

“I swear!” Paulina laughed. “This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened either. I swear, every other time we drink, Kwan always ends up in a corner somewhere watching animal videos on his phone and crying at how precious the animals are and ‘please, Paulina, can’t we just adopt one?’ He’s gonna be the death of me one of these days.”

Danny giggled, his laugh light and airy. Paulina watched him, amazed that they were able to just start talking again as if their fight had never happened.

“So what about you?” she asked. “What happened to your clan?”

“Sam had to drive Tucker home. He got too overconfident in pong.”

She snorted. “Dash is the same. He’s always like, ‘one more round, I’m gonna crush it this time’ and then twenty minutes later I find him asleep in a bathtub or something.”

“Dash drunk sleeping in a bathtub? Oh, that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

“I can assure you that photos exist.”

“The perfect blackmail.” Fenton shot her a grin. “Remind me to get one of Tucker next time he does something stupid.”

“And what makes you think you won’t be right there on the floor with him?” Paulina sassed.

“Hah! You’re probably right!” His smile fell, and he looked at her questioningly. “Hey, will your boyfriend be okay with you out here with me?”

“Oh, Dash? He’s...actually not my boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Danny jolted upright. He spun around to face her. “But I thought—”

“Yeah, everyone does. But we’re not dating.”

“Then why don’t you say something? Squash all the rumors?”

Paulina averted her gaze back onto the lake. It was a gorgeous night. Stars speckled the sky in a spectacular display, illuminating the Milky Way behind them. Amity Park was too industrious to see the galaxy, and Paulina couldn’t help but marvel at its sight.

It was gorgeous. Vast. It seemed to never end. She remembered reading somewhere that the Milky Way could only be seen if there was no moon out.

Luck must have been on her side that night.

“Unless...you don’t want to.” Danny’s voice dawned a tone of realization. “But why?”

“I got tired of it all,” she admitted, her honesty surprising herself. “Guys only wanted to talk to me because they thought if they were nice enough, I would get in their pants or something. I got accused of friendzoning more people than not. Honestly, it was so annoying. I felt everyone saw me as some stupid object. So when the rumors started going around this year that Dash and I were dating, and a lot of guys in our grade started backing off, I just...didn’t fight it. I thought maybe finally everyone would see me as a person. Maybe people would take me seriously.” Her gaze dropped. “I don’t know if it worked, but at least now people don’t see me as some sort of prize so much anymore.”

Danny was silent for a moment, and Paulina immediately regretted her admission. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening her lips, but she doubted Fenton of all people cared. They weren’t even friends.

One side of her wanted to get up and leave, go back to her friends inside the house, but the other side of her was too embarrassed to move.

“That makes sense, honestly,” Danny finally responded.

A wave of relief washed over her.

“And I’m sorry that there was a time where I couldn’t see past your looks too. I was young, but that’s still not an excuse.” He shifted. “I’ve had some...things happen the past year, and they’ve really taught me a lot about judging a book by its cover.”

“What kinds of things?” Paulina said, hoping her voice didn’t betray too much curiosity.

There went that hand behind his neck again. He was nervous, Paulina noted.

“Oh! Uh...it’s a long story, but I just wanted to say that I understand. I get what it feels like to be judged based on surface-level stuff. I mean, Paulina, you’re really smart. I don’t know if I told you this, but I’m really glad we ended up partners on that English project. I would have been so screwed with anyone else.”

“Thanks, Danny,” she said, trying to fight the blush that she knew was tinting her cheeks. “I’m sorry for being nosy at the end there. I didn’t mean to corner you like that. It was really stupid of me to pry when you obviously didn’t feel like talking.”

“No!” he exclaimed “No, don’t apologize! I was just being sensitive. Honestly, I knew I looked like shit.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Look, I didn’t fall obviously. I wasn’t trying to play you, I just panicked. But...I’m okay now, really.”

He looked at her, and Paulina noted how his blue eyes seemed to dance under the light of the stars. How he sat up straighter, his shoulders rolled back and head held high. How yes he was thin, but not scrawny like he was back in freshman year of high school. He seemed toned, lithe, almost like a gymnast.

Danny had definitely grown up in the past two years, but then again, so had she.

“I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m also glad I got to be your English partner too,” she said.

They sat by the lake watching the stars until the chill of the crisp spring air began to set in Paulina’s bones. She left Danny in favor of the warm house, but not without saying, “I’ll text you sometime.”

The summer came, and the ever so slightly intoxicated promise to hang out slipped Paulina’s mind. After all, she had months of sleep to catch up on.

Fortunately for her, Danny remembered.

It was a silly text, a meme about Shakespear. Paulina responded with the appropriate emojis, and tried to convince herself that the smile she wore was due to the funny image, and had nothing to do with the boy who sent it.

And a week later, he sent another one. This time, Paulina asked to grab a coffee with him. Catch up.

To her surprise, Danny agreed. They met up at the Starbucks and what Paulina thought would only be a quick catch-up session turned into a three hour long hangout.

Despite his awkward demeanor, Danny was rather talkative. Especially when the topic revolved around space. Apparently, he wanted to work for NASA someday. He said it came from a childhood dream of becoming an astronaut, but overtime his interests shifted into rocket design and engineering. It helped that—according to Danny—his dad had built the equivalent of an ecto-rocket in his basement.

Paulina confessed that she wanted to work for 60 Minutes someday as a journalist. She dreamed of traveling around the world, collecting stories and meeting people. She explained that as a kid, she used to have to travel around the world for her dad’s work before he finally settled in Amity Park. And although she’d been living in Amity for years now, a part of her still missed those days where she was constantly exposed to new countries, languages, and cultures.

Danny listened attentively, reacting at the appropriate times and pressing for questions whenever she would trail off. Even though he had a reputation of never paying attention to teachers, he seemed to genuinely enjoy listening to her.

Eventually they parted ways, but they promised to hang out again.

And again they did.

And again.

Again.

There were some topics that Danny seemed to skirt around, such as why he sometimes would show up bruised, or why he seemed to struggle to stay in class despite his dreams of working for a prestigious agency like NASA.

But Paulina was willing to ignore those demons because she liked Danny, and she didn’t want to say anything that would push him away. And, despite their differences, he seemed to like her back.

Summer drifted to fall, the leaves started to turn, and soon it was too cold to hangout outside.

Which was how they found themselves here, in Danny’s room, laying on Danny’s floor watching Youtube videos, their math homework long since abandoned beside them.

It was a nerdy video, one about bizarre planets that existed in space. One that Paulina would never have watched on her own, but Danny seemed positively riveted at.

His eyes were bright and attentive, and every so often he’d point to the screen and go, “Look!” as if Paulina wasn’t watching the same video.

It was...adorable.

His excitement rivaled a child on Christmas. And as interesting as the video was to watch, Danny was even more so.

The video ended, but Paulina hardly noticed. All she could see was the grin on Danny’s lips, the freckles dotting his cheeks, the way his hair sat on his head like a soft cloud.

“So? What did you think?” Danny asked.

“Cute,” Paulina responded. “You’re cute.”

Danny blinked, his mouth turning to a little “o” shape as red tinged his cheeks. He started to stutter, to try to brush Paulina off, but she held onto his shoulder and said, “Danny, I think you’re cute.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes wide. “I think you’re cute too.”

Paulina closed the gap between them, closing her eyes. His lips felt soft against hers, and her heart fluttered in her chest. Her hands trailed up to his hair, and she curled her fingers through his soft hair.

He was gentle, as if he were afraid to hurt her, and his skin felt cool against her own. Secretly, Paulina had always loved that about Danny, the fact that his body temperature seemed to run lower than normal. And now she could cherish this all to herself.

Danny’s hand wrapped around her back, gently pressing her closer. His touch was electric, and Paulina could have melted right there. She pressed further against him, deepening the kiss.

They stayed in each other’s arms, enjoying the moment for just a few moments longer before Danny pulled back. He looked at her, his eyes sparkling, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

There were some things Paulina didn’t understand about Danny. There were some things he was still closed off about, things he didn’t want to speak about. And eventually, Paulina would bring those things up, she would get answers. Eventually, she would uncover all the secrets, all the layers to the enigma that made up Danny Fenton.

But right now?

Right now she was just going to enjoy the moment.

#danny phantom #pink astronaut #fluff #romance #phicc #my writing #paulina #secret santa

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gallavictorious · 4 years ago

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love your metas, so can i get your thoughts? i've always felt that personality wise, fiona/ lip are alike, and then ian/ debbie are alike. fiona/ lip are smart but often lost in what they want out of life/ what path to take. they both self sabotage and spiral in response to that. s4/ s9 fiona and s6/ s7 lip had similar arcs. they seem to need to receive romantic "love"/ validation, more than to give it, and can be selfish in that. but they are very giving when it comes to their family. [1/2]

[2/2] so anyways, whereas ian/ debbie very much want to give "love" as much as they want to get it, to the point that they always let any awful person who demands it, have it. kash/ ned/ caleb/ trevor/ matt/ derek/ the s10 2 ladies/ etc were all like that. (mickey being the 1 exception ofc!) they can be manipulated and therefore taken advantage of. but they work hard and take pride in that and know what they want (rotc/ emt and babysitting/ welding). but debs is selfish obviously, and ian isn't

Hiya nonnie! That's some very interesting thoughts right there, and a few I hadn't considered before! Let’s see...

I think you make a great point about Fiona and Lip both being smart but lacking a clear idea of how to translate that into a sustainable lifestyle, and they certainly do have a tendency to self-sabotage. In fairness, fairly often it's things outside of their control that derail them – which I think is a very good illustration of how much harder it is to ”make it” when you come from that sort of background. Even when they aregiven opportunities and try to capitalize on them, there's so very little margain for error; everything is always just one small step from collapsing, there's always something going on with their family that they need to deal with, and when things do go wrong, they mostly lack the resources (mental and financial) to respond in a good way. Their coping mechanisms are maladaptive as all hell, that's for sure, courtesy of their fucked-up upbringing. But yeah, quite apart from all that, I think Lip and Fiona have a habit to fuck things up for themselves by not doing great with stability in general. Rob's an asshole but not entirely wrong when he calls Fiona a chaos junkie, and Lip's issues with authority and alcohol don't exactly make things easier for him.

Additionally, I think that while Lip and Fiona are both capable of hard work – and for a long time they certainly work their assess off to take care of their younger siblings – they also have a tendency to look for quick fixes and easy outs? They're problem solvers and quick thinkers, and they had to be, to deal with the mess Frank and Monica have made of their lives, but I'd argue that this survival tactic has developed into a somewhat problematic predispotion to eschew slowly, steadily working their way towards a goal in favour of leaping on ”smart” deals and opportunities. Which isn't always bad, of course, but it has caused them a fair share of problems; consider, for instance, Fiona and her real estate escapades in season 9 and Lip's highly questionable choices in season 11. (I just watched 11x07 again and GOD do I want kick him in the nuts. I love Lip, but grow the fuck up, man. Tami is a bloody saint for being as patient with him as she is.)

In contrast, Ian and Debbie have a crazy strong work-ethic and are highly goal-oriented. They fix their eyes on the prize and they fucking go for it, putting in the hours and the work without hesitation or complaint. They are far less likely to look for short-cuts or screw themselves over because they get bored with the monotomy. That doesn't mean their path to success is a straight one, of course; Ian's bipolar has wreaked some proper havoc for him, and though she's succeed in both having a kid and a job she trained for, Debbie's narcissm is keeping her from developing the strong bonds (familial and romantic) that she so desperately craves. I think the difference between Ian and Debbie here is that Ian is genuinely looking for a partnership and a real connection (to such a degree that it sometimes leads him into highly unfortunate relationships) whereas Debbie thinks she wants that but isn't prepared to actually be vulnerable and perceptive to the other person's needs to such a degree that a real partnership becomes possible. She never, I feel, actually sees and knows her partners for who they are; she projects onto them her idea of what they should be like, and responds to that, not to them. It hasn't ended well, so far.

And I have to say that while Trevor (of whom I'm fond in spite of his flaws, so you'll find no hate for him on this blog) and (especially) Caleb have their issue I don't think it's fair to compare them to Kash and Ned. As for Matt and Derek, they may not be perfect, but I'd argue that Debbie treated them far worse than they did her. I mean, she did rape both of them. (Out of youthful ignorance, sure: it's still sexual assault. I do find it very interesting and quite encouraging that she obviously recognizes her own guilt in season 11.) By and large, Debbie has treated her partners worse than they have treated her, which is certainly not true of Ian. (Which doesn't mean Ian's a saint. Boy's got plenty of flaws, and he doesn't always treat his lovers perfectly – the cheating comes to mind – but in general he doesn't treat them badly at all; as you say, he is more likely to allow himself to be treated badly by them.)

Circling back to Lip and Fiona, I think you have a point in them craving the way their partners make them feel, but being less interested in having a partner to build a life with, if that makes sense? They aren't really looking for someone to share their lives and struggles with (which might be the resulf of them being used to having no one but each other to rely on for most of their lives); they want that high of being in love and in lust, and when things get a bit too steady and boring, they get restless. Jimmy was, admittedly, a big support for Fiona for a while, but it was quite one-sided: always on her terms. Lip might be coming around on that with Tami, though – possibly because she's assertive enough to push back against him and not let him get bored. Also, Lip (and Fiona) has shown himself to be far more devoted to kids in his care than to his partners, so I'm sure Freddie's existence is a major factor in him sticking it out with Tami even when things are hard. (Not to suggest he doesn't love Tami; I think that she's by far the best match for him on the show.) At the end of the day, I think that Lip and Fiona would enjoy someone properly at their side and in their corner – they just need to understand that that's something they can have, and that for it to work, they need to be in their partner's corner too. As I said, Lip might be on the way, though his unwillingness to solve problems together with Tami is worrisome; who knows what Fiona's up to in Florida; Ian's already got it, and as for Debbie... she knows she wants it, but not how to achieve it. For her, I think, the answer might be to reassess how important having a partner really is to her; does she truly want it, with all the compromises it inevitably entails? Then again, she's young yet; we were, I think, none of us very good at relationships at 20, and Debbie (and her siblings) has had a rougher go of it than most. She has time to learn.

This took... forever, nonnie, so I do hope you see this!. :o Can't say I expect my scattered and tentative musings to have been worth the wait, but I ended up having a lot of fun thinking about this, so here's to you finding something of value in there. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me! <3 And as always, if anyone else wants to chime in you're more than welcome to; my ideas on this aren't very fixed, so I'd love to hear other or additional perspectives.

#the prize for being the Gallagher Least Bad at Relationships is getting to marry one mickey milkovich #congratulations to our worthy winner ian #no wonder he fought so hard for it... 😏#and oh would you look at that!#i answered an ask!#i am very excited about this!#so sorry for the wait nonnie this ask had me thinking a lot so i loved it #lip gallagher #fiona gallagher #debbie gallagher #ian gallagher #meta #asks #my stuff

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purplelurkinghini · 4 years ago

Text

Narcissus by the Pond

0. PROLOGUE

Under the cut is the prologue to yet another multi-chapter mess I am planning to write. What is different about this one is the narrator: Edward Nygma himself. Another aspect of this piece that sets it apart from the rest of my writing is its epistolary form. That’s right, baby! First-person POV!

If you’ve seen >> this << post floating around, this is indeed me actually putting that second prompt to use.

Enjoy!

Dear ▚▛▙▙

I found a cat toy while cleaning out my closet today. It was that ashy plush mouse stuffed with dried nepeta cataria which you spent money on instead of saving up for your student loans. If he were still here, he’d be rolling around on the floor in some vivid dream in which he was a lion and it was a gazelle. And, if you were still here, I would’ve asked you to stay.

The day you got that tabby’s claws into me was the day you checked into work late. Frank, our project manager and your internship supervisor, had to drop his showman act and instill in you the fear all WayneTech employees are motivated by. After you offered your excuses and exchanged glances with the floor, you were free to enter the kitchen to heat up the coffees that you went out of your way to fetch for us each morning.

My daily routine, which you’ve played no small role in forming during your short stay with us, was disrupted by the absence of caffeine in my bloodstream. I remember my Rubik’s cube and how I crammed a corner into my palm, squeezing down on the still unscrambled sides. I would call it an ‘absentminded’ action, but we both know that would be an incorrect assessment. My mind is never not present, even as it wanders. For this reason, when you finally came out of the kitchen, I couldn’t not wonder what happened to your sweatshirt. It must’ve been soaked in rainwater, I concluded, and that was the reason you removed it. Or, rather, that was the excuse you used as you removed it. After all, your sneakers were soggy, but you couldn't exactly walk barefoot all over a corporate. Even so, there you were, in a far too small t-shirt which was too tight around your torso and too short to cover your stomach, walking around the office with your brewed bribes.

“Here you go, Jim” you placed the foam cup right in front of his face to get him to notice you. I’d argue that that slip of skin that was eye level to him was enough to get that scatterbrain's attention. He must’ve made a joke, or attempted to, because you laughed louder than anyone should around him.

“Cory,” you sauntered over to him. “I asked the barista for two tablespoons and a half this time.” Sure, he might’ve taken his glasses off before taste-testing it, but his lenses were fogged-up before the lid came off. You felt the most confidence around Cory, the least confident one in our team. While no line of code was too complex for him, women were a mystery he had yet to solve. You see, I haven’t failed to notice you making the most physical contact with him, brushing your hand against his as a means of disarming him.

After he served you a stuttered smile, you moved on to Paul who was pretending to be preoccupied with his screen. He’d been watching you since you walked out of the kitchen, yet still acted surprised when you showed up next to him. You didn’t mean to disturb him, of course, so you tip-toed around his desk, silently setting the cup on a coaster. He thanked you without taking his eyes off of his work, but took the time to watch you walk away as soon as you turned away from him.

"I'm sorry, Ed," you pouted as you placed the coffee on top of a stack of papers. "I know like to have your coffee before 8, but the storm hit while I was in the shop and the whole street took cover in there-"

"Slow down," I released the Rubik’s cube, flexing my fingers. "I'm not your supervisor. It’s not my forgiveness you need."

"Well, no, but I actually want your forgiveness," you covered your mouth in a coquettish display. "I mean-"

“Like I said,” I brush off the blush creeping up on my cheeks. "There's no use for that." Fetching the foam cup, I take a sip of the scolding beverage and brave through it. “There's no use to ask the barista to write our full names either. This calligraphy exercise cost you a scolding from Frank.”

“Actually,” you pulled the hem of your shirt down which only uncovered more of your cleavage instead of hiding your stomach. “I wrote your name myself.”

I stroked the surface of the cup right across the script. Again, I can’t call this action ‘absentminded’ either, but my mind had wandered off again. That lovely lettering was yours and so was the green marker, so you must’ve scavenged your backpack for it on a crowded morning train. You also must’ve taken your time steadying your hand for each stroke, each dot. E. Nygma. You also must’ve cleaned up the cup as it inevitably spilled and steadied your tongue for each stroke, each lick. Maybe you ever sampled the coffee yourself, the taste of cherry Chapstick staining the rim.

“Well,” you interrupted my intrusive thoughts. “Jim’s showing me the new user interface, so-”

“Of course,” I dismissed you and my daydreams.

“Talk to you later.��

Yes, that was the day the cat got his claws into me. It was after I’d drained the drink, and found myself restless still, that I made my way into the kitchen for another one. That is when I spotted you in the corner, cradling the sweatshirt you discarded earlier. At the sound of my steps, you straightened your back, but you didn’t turn your torso towards me.

“Hey, Ed,” you smiled and it was a painful sight because I couldn’t ignore the panic I ignited in your eyes. “Lunchtime already?”

“What are you doing?”

“Umm, trying to dry my shirt?”

The closer I got, the more gregarious you grew. You asked about what I’d like to eat, what the guys would like to eat, if I’d like to order out. You didn’t stop until I asked it of you.

“What are you hiding from me?”

Before you could bellow out something long enough to cover the sound, I heard it.

“Did your hoodie just meow?”

It was only then that you turned, facing me fully. “Please don’t tell Frank, but this is the reason I was running late.” Two pairs of eyes were pleading with me. One belonged to you and they were begging. The other belonged to an orange ball of fur and they were unblinking.

You were holding a bottle cap filled with water up to its meowing maw, so you must’ve been attempting to keep the animal hydrated, even after rescuing it from the streets in the middle of a storm. You bought kitten kibbles on your way to WayneTech and that had eaten ten minutes of your time and cost you a scolding from Frank.

“I couldn’t just leave Eddie to drown in a ditch somewhere.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” you let it sink its little teeth into your skin as it held a single finger close with two whole paws. They feel like needles, I should know, but you carried on cooing the pincushion. “He reminds me of another green-eyed ginger. Maybe you know him.”

Yes, you remember now, don’t you? That was the moment Eddie sunk his claws into me, and I do mean it literally. He released your finger only to get his paws trapped into my button-up. I also mean it figuratively, as I swore to keep your secret the very next second. And, once you were by my side, shadowing me as I was coding like you wanted to since your first day of internship, you made me swear to keep him. How could I not? Your dorm had a ‘no pets’ policy and you had named him after me.

The two of us had time to get acquainted after you left for your evening classes. I fed him the kibbles and was careful not to get caught. And, because I wouldn't be using it that day anyway, I replaced your sweatshirt with my gym towel. While it smelled like a sad, soaked kitten, whatever fruity fragrance you were using had yet to fade from the fabric. That evening I drove straight home as soon as I left WayneTech, skipping my daily workout. My daily routine, as I’ve mentioned, had been modified by you.

“We don't even need to potty train him,” you giggled when you saw Eddie digging through the brand new litter box I had ordered. It had been waiting for me by the front entrance along with the delivery guy and yourself.

You got into a cab before even texting me, asking for an address only after the driver started the clock. I expected that stupid stunt from the likes of Jim, not you.

“He's a clever boy,” I smiled when I saw you were still wearing the green button-up shirt I asked you to exchange that shrunken t-shirt of yours with. “Like his namesake.”

You kneeled before the kitten and produced the plush mouse I'd only seen Eddie play with once. “Did the shampoo arrive? He should be high enough to not scratch our eyes out now.”

After rolling around on the rug with a bag full of catnip, he seemed blissed out enough for a bath. And, after only scratching you twice as you held him for me to scrub his ginger fur ever so gently, we got him all dried and drained. Those green eyes were barely opened as he looked up at us from the cat bed he was supposed to grow into and the sweatshirt he had grown fond of.

“Now we know he hates all water,” you said through gritted teeth as I sanitized your shaking hands. Your fingers were as fidgety as Cory's, yet I doubt his skin was ever that soft. “Not just the rain.”

“I bet he'd hate flees more,” I caressed your knuckles after bandaging the bloody bits.

“I hate the rain, too,” your eyes were downcast, much like earlier that morning, seemingly searching my sheets for something. “I never knew Frank could be so-”

“Terrifying?”

“Mean,” your giggle wasn't as gleeful as I'd grown used to. “I thought he was going to fire me right then and there.”

“He wouldn't,” I squeezed down on the shadows of your hands as they were snatched away from me. Then, I leaned in close and almost brushed your love with my lips as they moved: “He will let the anxiety that comes with that uncertainty eat you alive first.”

“See, now you're being mean,” you laughed, finally looking up at me.

“Me? Never,” I said, satisfied with myself. You were laughing - actually laughing - because of me.

When the dryer dinged, I was confident in leaving you in my bedroom with a smile on your face. After all, I was the one who brought you in there and I was the one who brought that out of you. Once I've collected your clothes, I returned to find you had already removed my button-up and was drying up the rest of your skin with one of my towels. You were turned only half the way, so you must've perceived me in your periphery. Paul pulled the same thing earlier today. Still, you sounded surprised as you covered the side of your breasts I bet you wanted me to see.

"Forgive me,” I turned around, but, unlike you, I did it all the way. “Here you are,” I stretched my arm behind me to hand you the bra and t-shirt.

“Thank you.” It was only after your bomber jacket was zipped to your chin that I dared to look at you directly. Your sweatshirt was Eddie's now, so you covered up with what you had. “For everything.”

“Let me drive you to your dorm.”

"You've already done enough," you pulled out your phone as I walked you to the door. “I'll just call another cab. Eddie needs you here. You need to wear him out, or he'll wear you out tonight.”

“Cats are crepuscular creatures,” I assure you. “Not nocturnal. I'm sure he'll fall asleep before I even turn in for the night.”

Yes, I was sure he'd fall. However, Eddie was so convinced. And, sure enough, there he was, meowing in my face at midnight.

My mistake was letting him get his claws into me. You see, I couldn't bear waking that little bastard up. Not when he looked so small in the middle of your sweatshirt, in the middle of his bed. He finally had a dry place to dream in and I couldn't take that away from him, so I let him sink his claws into me that much deeper.

And yours, as well.

After chasing him with my hand atop of my covers and letting him swat at the finger-spider, he was ready for bed. My bed. Yes, his green eyes were drooping when he surrendered to sleep. It just so happened that he did it on the left side of my bed. And I, not willing to risk another rude awakening, placed him atop of the pillow. Then, ever so silently, I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. It was on my way back that I stumbled upon it: your sweatshirt.

I recall calling it off the floor and taking it with me to bed. For Eddie, of course. He loved that sweatshirt, as I'm sure you know. However, as I placed it on his pillow, I caught a whiff of it. It smelled like rainwater, pet shampoo, Eddie, and you. It was your sweat and deodorant, sweet and soapy, just as I had smelled it on my shirt before tossing it in the laundry basket and I couldn't smell it on the left side of my bed.

As I closed my eyes, I saw you. You were walking around the office, their wandering eyes watching you. You pass my desk and I am drenched in your scent. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Your sweatshirt is drenched, so you discard it. Your t-shirt is too tight, so I can see the dip of your belly button and the swell of your breasts. Though I am convinced you had a bra to cover them, my mind wanders. It wanders about the color of your nipples and it paints a picture of them peeking through the flimsy fabric.

And, as my mind wanders further, that flimsy fabric is pulled down, your hands wriggling at the hem of it. That's when those peeks pop out along with the rest. All of a sudden, you're soaking. Sweet. Soapy. You even try to hide this from me, crossing your arms over your chest. I capture your hands, soft skin, and fidgeting fingers, and wrestle with them. Oh, how easily you surrendered to me, sighing in defeat. I lock your arms behind your back with one hand and squeeze your tit like a stress toy. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I had to taste it.

When my tongue touched the tip, you pushed against it, filling my mouth with your flesh. You wanted this. That nipple is as sharp as a needle, but it melts in the heat of my mouth. You wanted this. After your tit is slick with my saliva and the peak is all puffy, I gather the other one in my grip and repeat. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

You wanted this and you told me as much. You said it loud enough for the others to hear. You wanted this. You wanted me. And, as if I haven't done enough, as if I haven't given you enough, I gave you all of me. Clearing the desk, cube, keypad, computer, and all, I slam you atop the surface. I had to pull down your pants for you, but your legs part all on their own. As for your panties, well, they all but dissolved under the duress. You attempt to hide from me again, tightening your thighs together. And, again, you surrender to me all too easily. After all, you want me. Your pussy? As I parted your legs and pushed your knees up to your chest, I saw how much she wanted me. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

However, I was not in a hurry. No matter how hot were your insides and how cold the chills were down my spine, I still took my sweet, soapy, soaking time. I set myself loose, my length slapping against your ass once it sprang free. You shivered, your back arching like a bow and your hands treading through your tangled hair. You wanted me. I took my time, sandwiching my shaft between your pussy lips, sliding across the slick and even wearing your labia as a hood atop its head for a maddening moment. It was only when you began begging, mewling to be mated that I gave myself to you. I crammed my cock inside of your cunt and went in so deep, I felt your heartbeat as your inner walls collapsed around me.

Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I fucked you into a fever, your skin as slick as your insides and your mouth leaking as much saliva as your pussy was spilling precum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Soon, it would've been spilling cum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. When I did come, however, it was in my fist and not between your lips.

As I opened my eyes, you disappeared. There was nothing there to greet me but the strike of the street lights slashing the darkness across the ceiling. Your sweetness had been replaced with my saltiness. It was indeed soapy and soaking, but it wasn’t you. Then, for the second time that night, I slipped out of bed and snuck into the bathroom.

The day you got cat’s claws into my shirt was the day you sunk your own under my skin. After that day, we shared a secret. I never told Frank about Eddie, but Eddie never told you about what I did in the dark. His glowing green eyes didn’t judge me, but they never let me forget. After you left without a notice, ginning up your internship, changing your phone number and never surrendering your real name, I couldn’t face them anymore. His eyes never let me forget, so I rehomed him.

I found your Gotham U sweatshirt while cleaning out my closet today. The name you gave WayneTech is nowhere to be found in their student records. Your name can’t be found in any police records either. Your real name, however, I am sure will uncover quite the mystery.

Yours,

E. NYGMA

#Edward Nygma #Riddler #Edward Nygma x Reader #Riddler x Reader #It is Not Safe For Work #Riddler x You #Edward Nygma x You

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taexual · 5 years ago

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i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (6)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst + maybe jealous!kook 👀

words: 3.2k

chapter six

You stayed in the whole day on Sunday – which was nothing new since you had three classes to prepare for on Monday, not to mention a possible encounter with Jungkook to brace yourself for – so, going out the next morning, even if it was 8:30 AM, felt surprisingly refreshing. After not talking to anyone besides your roommate the whole day yesterday, it felt unexpectedly nice to make some small-talk with other people.

You got coffee at the local coffee shop before heading to your first class and were surprised to feel your stomach fill with disappointment when the class started and Jungkook didn’t show up. Although, truth be told, you weren’t sure if he was even taking this class at all. Knowing his weekend habits, taking a 9 AM class on a Monday morning seemed like a sure-fire plan for failing. And, honestly, you shouldn’t have cared about his whereabouts anyway. But you did as you found yourself looking for him in every class you went to that day, nearly forgetting your plans to meet up with Namjoon in the afternoon.

You ended up not seeing Jungkook today, after all – good! – and you returned to your dorm, feeling somehow let down – bad! – and annoyed. Grateful for the plans you’d made with Namjoon, you mentally cursed yourself for getting attached to people so easily, and headed to the kitchen for a quick snack before you prepared the work space.

You had already cleared your desk, found the movie you’d promised to show Namjoon, and even started to read one of the books for the project, when your phone buzzed.

Thinking it was your partner for Sociology letting you know he was on his way over, you were in no hurry to pull back from the chapter you’d just started. But as soon as you teared your eyes away from the book and checked the screen of your phone, a bolt of electricity struck you.

It was Jungkook calling you.

You figured that the two of you must have had a similar thought process because you’d wanted to call him as well, but – contrary to him, by the looks of it – you ended up choosing to stay away. All of your restraint would have backfired if you’d seen him in class today – you were sure of it – but you chose not to dwell on that right now. You focused on your success instead; you’d avoided him for almost two days now – what’s another two years, right?

However, as you stared at his name on the screen of your phone, you really wanted to answer the call. You wanted to hear his voice.

And yet, you could already imagine the conversation you were going to have.

Apologizing wasn’t something that was difficult for you. You could have easily told him that you’d overreacted when you’d last seen him. But an apology would have brought closure, and closure would bring another attempt at a friendship that would eventually end – just like it did before.

The end seemed inevitable. You’d be heartbroken for another seven years – okay, maybe not heartbroken, but it would definitely sting for many more years to come, just as it had before – while he’d be fine, playing shows with his best friends and getting drunk every weekend.

So, choosing to suffer and not give in to your impulses – because it was supposed to save you a lot of pain in the long run – you did not pick up his call. Just a few days of talking to him had already messed you up enough, who knew how strong of a hold he’d establish on you if you allowed him into your life again? You had to learn from your past mistakes and stop putting him first.

The call ended almost as soon as you decided not to answer and you felt yourself release a shaky breath that you’d been holding as your phone vibrated restlessly.

You’d persevered this time. Maybe you’d manage to keep this up all the way to graduation – “Do you still plan everything out in advance?” Jungkook’s voice asked in your head, – but, just in case you couldn’t, you turned the vibration on your phone off and placed it—screen-down—on your desk.

Several minutes later, Namjoon finally arrived with a tentative knock on the door of your room – he wasn’t sure if he got the number right – and the two of you immediately got to work, setting a plan for your project and looking through the books you’d picked up at the library a few days ago.

“We have far too many articles we can use as references,” Namjoon said, thirty minutes into your work session. He had glasses on but he’s been looking down at the desk for so long, they had slipped to the very tip of his nose. “Maybe we should focus on the newest ones?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, getting fidgety after sitting still for so long. “Not going to lie, though, this topic is starting to seem less and less interesting with every new monograph I open.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he said with a sigh as he brought his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to take a break? We got through four books already, that’s progress.”

You leaned back in your chair, relieved to hear this suggestion and Namjoon laughed, understanding your answer without hearing you say it.

“We could, uh, watch the movie now if you’d like,” you said then. “Hopefully it’ll inspire us to keep working.”

He doubted a horror movie could inspire you to keep reading the unnecessarily complicated books about the connection between humans, but he’d been looking forward to watching it and, therefore, could not say no. Not to mention, you looked too tired to keep working and he felt bad.

“Alright, sure,” he said, “it’ll be a good distraction. It’s been a long day today anyway.”

“It really has,” you agreed and turned your laptop to face yourself, “I’ll set it up and—”

“Oh!” he gasped suddenly, sitting up straight and startling you. “I was going to bring popcorn! I forgot. I came here right from my last class.”

The thought was really sweet – because you didn’t ask him to bring anything – and it got you to smile.

“That’s okay,” you said and then remembered, “actually, there’s a convenience store across the street, I could go get it.”

“I’ll do it,” Namjoon said, his determination bringing him out of his chair and into your hallway before you could react. “I’m the guest here, after all! And I shamelessly came without anything.”

He was now calling out to you from the other room as he put his shoes on, so you stood up and walked to the threshold of the bedroom.

“Well, to be fair, as the host, I should have been the one to provide the popcorn,” you pointed out but Namjoon was already halfway out the door.

He chuckled at this, fixing his glasses again as he grabbed his backpack, double-checking if the wallet was there.

“It looks like we’re both still learning the proper etiquette,” he said with a good-natured smile. “I’ll get the popcorn. You set up the movie.”

He assigned jobs for you and himself again – it was something he seemed to do a lot as you’d noticed in class – but you found that you didn’t mind his bossy nature. It was nice to be around someone who knew what had to be done and didn’t waste any time with the pleasantries, telling the people around him what they had to do point-blank.

“Yes, sir,” you said and Namjoon considered apologizing for ordering you around but when he lifted his eyes to meet yours, he saw a humorous smile on your lips.

With a small--relieved--chuckle, he nodded one last time and promised to be right back before exiting your dorm and walking down the hall for the elevator.

Left alone, you automatically reached for your phone and only remembered why you’d placed it screen-down when you saw the three missed calls from Jungkook. Apparently, he’d called you twice more after you didn’t pick up.

Inhaling sharply you—pointlessly—tried to convince yourself that your heart had started to beat faster because it was just bored after having been still for so long – yeah, right – and not because Jungkook was fighting for this harder than you’d expected him to.

Then, suddenly, there came a knock on your door.

Confused, you put your phone down and headed back into the hallway of your dorm. If Namjoon forgot something, he could have just entered since the door was unlocked anyway, but he must have been too well-mannered to enter someone else’s house without an invitation—

It wasn’t Namjoon.

“Hi,” Jungkook said when you opened the door. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and he lowered his eyes as soon as he saw your face, but not soon enough. You still caught the sight of a bloody gnash running down his left cheekbone.

“Jungkook—what—” you started to say but then ended up stumbling over your own thoughts as you weren’t sure what to ask him first – why he was here, or why he was bleeding. “What happened?”

“Hmm?” he appeared to have been expecting a different question. “Oh—nothing.”

It was clearly not nothing as the boy in front of you purposefully turned his whole body so he could hide the injured part of his face without raising any suspicions – which rose all the suspicions as he stood with his body unnaturally twisted towards the wall next to your door.

“Were you in a fight?” you asked, even though the answer was loud and obvious, and literally right there on his face.

“No—well, yeah, but it’s not serious,” he said, refusing to look at you still. He didn’t come here to stare at the floor but he – like a dense idiot that he sometimes was – did not expect you to ask him about the wound. “It’s just—I wasn’t in the mood and someone provoked me. It’s stupid.”

Stupid or not, he got hurt again even before his injuries from the drunken car accident had time to heal. You craved to know the reasons why he kept putting himself into these sort of situations but you weren’t going to ask; you couldn’t – not after your last conversation.

“You’re bleeding,” you pointed out the obvious.

“I know. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine but your heart was beating too fast and you couldn’t focus on one thing at a time. Finally, you asked him the one question he’d prepared himself for.

“What are you doing here?”

Jungkook raised his eyes to yours and explained very simply, “you didn’t answer my call.”

He said it as if the line of actions leading up from you, not answering his call, to him, showing up on your doorstep, was straight, natural, and absolutely understandable.

You didn’t know what to say to that – it was a comment about as obvious as the “you’re bleeding” one that you’d made just a second ago – but since you were exchanging observations instead of offering explanations, you leaned against the door-frame with your shoulder and crossed your arms over your chest, ready to keep going.

“Right,” you said. “You weren’t in class today.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nodded and, finally, provided an explanation – however poor it was – for (some of) his actions, “I wasn’t—I didn’t feel like coming.”

You weren’t in a position to question him about this further. And even if you were, he probably wouldn’t have answered you anyway – his defensive stance made that very clear.

“I see,” you said. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said again – it was the only word he seemed to have no problems with – and then added after a moment’s hesitation, “I know it’s not a good enough reason but—”

You cut him off, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d have thought he flinched as he watched your eyes for a lingering moment and then took half a step back. “No, I’m just—”

“Like you said,” you reminded him then, your crossed arms suddenly threatening, “it’s none of my business.”

Jungkook swallowed, his jaw clenched. “”I’m—uh, about what I said… I—”

“Jungkook,” you said and the sound of his name coming from your lips – even under such uncomfortable circumstances – sounded pleasant to his ears. “You… you probably shouldn’t have come.”

You were pushing him away. For the first time in your life, you were standing up to him and Jungkook – with a bruised sense of self-worth and a chest that throbbed with pain much worse than the wound on his cheek – couldn’t help but feel a little scared. You weren’t relenting to him. You weren’t letting him have his way.

Seven years have ensured you learned from your past mistakes.

And that was why Jungkook did not—could not—walk away from your door. He had to prove himself to you now – he’s never had to do that to anyone who wasn’t his father before. And in this particular moment, proving his worth to his father seemed much easier than proving it to you.

“I know that,” he said, now wary that the damage he’d done to your friendship may have been irreversible. “I just didn’t like the way our last conversation ended. I said some things I shouldn’t have said.”

You sighed. “I—no, look. It was me who started it. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that so out of the blue.”

“No, don’t. You had every right to do that. It was—”

“Jungkook,” you said again and if you weren’t going to stop saying his name, he felt like he might have to get his hands out of his pockets and touch you because this was starting to become a torture. “Even though we could have been more mature and just talked about it, you were right when you said that it wasn’t my business to worry about you. It really isn’t.”

He swallowed, a sparkle of fire flickering in his eyes. “No, it’s—”

“No,” you cut him off one last time because you knew something was going to stop you from doing it again: either you wouldn’t manage to open your mouth or he’d throw you against the wall to stop you from talking in some different way because, God knew, Jungkook sure looked like he was seconds away from doing just that. “It’s probably not a good idea for us to—”

“Oh,” a surprised gasp was suddenly heard down the hall. Automatically, both of you turned your heads to look.

Namjoon was coming out of the elevator a few feet down, several bags of popcorn kernels in his hands. He looked confused and even a little embarrassed to have spoken aloud, but his flustered state did not come close to match yours.

“Namjoon,” you said, clearing your throat.

“Namjoon?” Jungkook repeated through clenched teeth, his eyes focused on the unfamiliar guy in front of him. He’d never seen him before but Namjoon had no trouble recognizing the vocalist of Parental Advisory glaring at him.

All of a sudden, Jungkook had switched from agitation and turned to pure irritation – how dare this other guy interrupt you two? – that was quickly replaced by fury – how dare this other guy be your acquaintance that was, obviously, on his way to your dorm? – and you felt the need to do some damage control.

You swore you felt less uncomfortable on the very first date you’d ever gone to – the guy tried to kiss you and bumped his forehead into yours so hard, you thought he gave you both concussions – and, up until this moment, that has been one of the few memories that still made you cringe to this day. This was going to beat it for sure, though.

As you watched Namjoon and Jungkook eye each other warily – and, in Namjoon’s case, awkwardly because he wasn’t sure what exactly he’d just walked into – you wished the earth would swallow you whole because you didn’t know what to say to them – you weren’t dating either of them, so what was there to say, really? – let alone what to do now.

Slamming the door and barricading yourself inside of your room started to seem appealing.

“We’re doing a project together,” you ended up saying, your eyes on Jungkook, even though, objectively, you knew you didn’t owe him an explanation.

And yet, as Jungkook refused to look away from Namjoon, you began to fear that getting into two fights in the span of a few hours, wouldn’t be something that Jungkook was above of. And Namjoon – who was, honestly, just an outsider caught in the middle of something you couldn’t understand yourself – didn’t deserve to get punched simply for getting the popcorn too quickly.

“Yeah,” Namjoon spoke. He felt like he had to say something – you’d have disagreed, convinced that the wrong word from him could have provoked Jungkook to act irrationally – because, reading your body language, he could tell that you were having a conflict with yourself. “We have a project due—”

“You were right,” Jungkook suddenly turned to look at you, his eyes narrow and fierce. You swallowed but didn’t get to say anything back because he added, “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“You—”

If his words didn’t shut you up, then the fact that, as soon as he said them, he turned around on his heels and walked right past Namjoon and towards the staircase certainly did.

Blinking in surprise at his abrupt departure – although, maybe you should have been grateful that he left instead of starting a fist-fight – you glanced at Namjoon who was clumsily making his way towards you.

“I feel like I’ve made the situation a lot worse by opening my mouth,” he said timidly, “or, actually, maybe I made it worse when I got off the elevator. I’m sorry.”

“It’s—no,” you shook your head, moving to a side so he could come in. “It was already bad before you got here.”

Namjoon hesitated outside of your door, not daring to enter. “Are you and him—?”

“No,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear the word that was coming. “We just—we have some unresolved issues, clearly, but we’re—we’re not—”

“I really am sorry if I interrupted,” he said, noticing how much you struggled with the word-that-must-not-be-said.

“It’s okay,” you told him with what you thought was a small smile – but, really, your lips just barely twitched – and Namjoon finally – albeit uncertainly – entered your room. “There wasn’t anything to interrupt. He was about to leave anyway.”

But even though you’d said this, Namjoon wasn’t entirely convinced and apologized several more times throughout the movie. You kept telling him that it was fine – because it really was – but, about thirty minutes into Hereditary, you were no longer really listening to what he was saying, and it wasn’t because you were too into the movie.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the look in Jungkook’s eyes as he walked away. It was the same look as the one you’d seen right before he drunkenly climbed behind the wheel of a car that night at the party.

keep reading | masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts angst #fanfiction #jungkook au #bts au #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #college au #bts college au #jungkook college au

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elucere · 4 years ago

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Sad Late August Quarantine Thoughts 2.0

Last year, I wrote this. Basically my thoughts on how I felt in my life up to that point and what quarantine had illuminated. It felt cathartic then, so hopefully it’ll feel cathartic now. A part of that probably had to do with the fact that the last part was complete bullshit, but we’ll get into that later.

At nearly the slightest inconvenience now, I’ll say “I’m at my limit”. Technically, that isn’t really true because if I was really at my limit, at the next inconvenience I would completely lose it. But no, I’m just simply reminding myself that while I’m constantly met with a series of unfortunate events, I haven’t broken down yet. I might feel like I’m there, but I’m not. I’m just at my limit. Things are bad, but they aren’t the worst they could be yet. So keep in mind, I am very much at my limit as I’m writing this.

Last year I talked about my struggles with my job. Yeah, I got fired in February. It was not pretty either. I knew I wasn’t doing well performance wise, and they invited me into a zoom call that they said was a project meeting a week before my year anniversary and fired me. My supervisor (or I guess, ex-supervisor) cried on call. I didn’t cry until afterwards. It was an entire year of me trying to get better, him promising that it’ll come with time, and then getting sacked because “we didn’t see improvements”. Really, really fucking sucked. And it messed with me for a long time because I kept replaying those last few weeks, trying to decipher what I could’ve done differently to prove my worth and keep my position. There was a lot. I felt really guilty.

I think the worst part is that I got a performance warning in December and realized at that point I’d become so apathetic about my job that I needed professional help. I’d been trying to go to therapy for a long time, but it never panned out. My mom forbade it when I was in high school, it was practically impossible to get an appointment at my college’s mental health facility unless you were considered a threat to yourself and others (which I most certainly did not want on my record), and after school life happened so fast with the pandemic and the fact that I live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my mom and my brother with very little privacy. Even now that I’ve convinced my mom that therapy is okay, actually, she still highly disproves and sees it as some sort of psychological failing on my part. Which is. Sure. Whatever. Why not.The reason I did not enroll in therapy that December is actually because my dad lost his job and with it, his health insurance, and with that, my health insurance. That means I had to enroll in a health plan through my employment, which became an unanticipatedly long process. I actually got my new-but-useless health insurance card in the mail a few days after I got fired. They actually fired me on the last day of the month, so my benefits wouldn’t extend beyond that month. That’s a bit of fun irony.

To quite a few of my friends, this story solidified the idea that insurance=therapy. As soon as I got insurance again, I’d be able to finally get some help. This was a couple of people’s first response to me when I got hired again (yay, I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore but I’m also afraid that I’ll just inevitably be fired again so I don’t let myself have the victory). I know my friends only want the best for me, and I can’t expect them be able to emotionally support me like a professional, but I’m afraid that they think that therapy will be some sort of magical fix of sorts. I don’t mean in the sense of just getting better mentally, but I think being a tolerable person. I know that sounds like I’m just being self-depreciating, but let me explain.

A few years ago I was at dinner with one of my friends. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but she goes “name three things you actually like” because I was probably being negative or something. I said a few things and whatever, but that comment stuck with me for a long time. I thought it was especially poignant or something. Am I so unhappy all the time because I fixate on things I don’t like? It could be connected to the attitude of social media to be outwardly negative. Casual wisdom, you know.

Well, that was the fact until I was out with that same friend and we visited Barnes and Noble. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading this year and got more involved in the book community, so I have many Opinions. Some are good, some are bad, some are just me being annoying. After an hour of browsing the shelves, we drive home. I start talking about a series I really like in the car and she goes “It’s nice to hear you talk about a book you actually like.” Which kind of stunned me because I had just did a lot of talking about books I liked. How happy I was that kids were still reading Rangers Apprentice, going out of my way to see how many Brandon Sanderson books I could find in the Adult Fantasy section, and more reminiscing in the Young Adult section about books I liked recently or as a teen. The truth is, I talk about stuff I like all the time to people who will listen. Ask me about my favorite books! My favorite movies! My favorite musicals! I promise I will not shut up. It’s one of the few things I have that lift my spirits when I talk about it, I just don’t get the opportunity to much because it’s hard to find people who want to listen.

The thing is, I’m naturally a critical person, I think. I love tearing things apart, in good and bad ways. I also love gossip. I’m an okay gossip, but I know at this point that I’m a good critic. I’m really good at identifying faults and commenting them on an insightful or constructive way. I edit a lot of my friends’ writings for this reason. I don’t find that to be anything negative, it’s just something that’s interesting to me. Basically what I’m saying is, what if it’s not mental illness and I’m just annoying and I’ll not be able to meet the expectations of other people’s idea of progress for me and I’ll be a disappointment. I’m kind of tearing up while typing that out while listening bopping to Disturbia by Rihanna but this is the third time I’ve been on the verge of crying today so yaknow maybe it is just mental illness.At this point, I can either talk about criticism in relation to the particular way I dish it, or I could talk about how I want to receive it. I think the former will take less time to elaborate, so I’ll start with that.

I mention last year how I got an unpaid gig as a critic for DiscussingFilm. Embarrassing at times, I joke with my friends that “DiscussingFilm Writer” is a slur, but it’s cool at times as well. I got a press pass to go to Sundance and gorged on an entire family sized bag of peanut M&Ms while I watched like 14 movies in one weekend. I’m trying to say positive things about this until I start ragging to prove that I’m not an overwhelmingly negative person, but I don’t think that’s working well. Whatever. The point is, if I didn’t like it I would quit, but if I did quit it wouldn’t be because I didn’t like it. It would because there was an…event. I had quite a falling out with one of the higher-ups that run the site and in response my work has taken a hit. I won’t go into too much detail, but I don’t get assigned anticipated releases anymore. My work is often delayed going out and, in turn, I feel less motivated to turn in my work on time. And then on top of that, it’s rarely promoted. I have examples on top of examples, but this stupid thing is getting long enough. To summarize the DiscussingFilm situation, I feel like shit. I have one of the lowest view counts on the site. I’m told that my work is good and it’s valued, but not enough to get reposted, I guess! Why bother. And also because the person I do not work well with is quite up in the food chain, I’ll never see a promotion. I wanted to become an editor so bad (I do editing on the side for my friends and enjoy it), but now it will never ever happen. I don’t have the opportunity to prove myself, it’s just completely off the table by nature of leadership. Ass. Complete ass. I’m doing quite a bit of work for DiscussingFilm including creating the standard for the Instagram, making graphics for the Instagram, performing interviews and writing reviews for the site, and co-hosting a DiscussingFilm branded podcast, and I will never see neither a dime for my work or recognition in any meaningful or significant way. I don’t have a say in anything, and I feel like an insignificant cog whose opinion does not mean much.

I still get insecure with my reviews, but not as much anyways. Sure, I can’t compare to the great writers at trades who do this for a living and have been doing so for years. But, I am better than a lot of writers at my level. Sometimes I try pitching to other publications, but so far I’ve only been met with rejection. It kinda stings to know that my work is not worth enough to be paid for, but I’m kinda over it. I still pitch. I try my best. That’s the thing about me, I just keep going. Rejection hurts like a bitch, but whatever. I don’t want to quit just yet, so I guess I won’t. There isn’t anyone in my corner who’s actively spurring me to keep going, I’ve just decided that I’ll get paid for my work one day and so now I will.This connects with the criticism I want to receive which unfortunately very much is not of the nonfiction variety. Ew I fucking hate talking about this but I need to get it off my chest.

After I got fired, I was slipping into quite a bit of a depression. I started a podcast at this time with my friend to try and prevent that, but I knew that I probably needed another project. I wasn’t watching movies anymore, DiscussingFilm was not publishing my shit, and all I was doing all day was reading (which I don’t anymore, I’m in a slump and it’s definitely connected to the idea I have in the next sentence). So I had the brilliant idea of “hey, I could do that. I could write a book. I should do it to do it.”You see, this has not been my only attempt at writing a proper book. I tried when I was 13, I tried when I was 15 and into online literate roleplay, I tried when I was 18 by doing NaNoWriMo in college (also, I was actually more depressed then). I also tried to get into a short story class in college that you had to submit a story to get into and didn’t even make it on the waitlist. Nothing stuck. But hey, I was unemployed and I came up with a funny premise that I wasn’t too attached to, so why not?

The book is not funny. It was supposed to, but it’s changed a lot. I’m very comfortable writing in camp. It’s difficult because I know sometimes I have my moments, but often I don’t. I also chose to write it in a genre I’m not super familiar with (Young Adult contemporary, I read Young Adult and Adult fiction primarily). I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the things I thought would come easily did not come easily. I have a lot of male friends, so I could certainly write the male characters as real people, right? Right? I’m funny, so the humor would come across well, right? Did I anticipate that after years of pretty much only analyzing films critically I’d subconsciously structure my story using dialogue-driven storytelling similar to a screenplay? No! Not at all, actually! This journey of self-discovery has been ass at every corner!

I recognize that first drafts are shit and authors hate their writing, but also I’m built different, your honor. By 15k words in, I realized I needed an outside perspective. I hated my own writing and I was afraid none of the characters were coming off right. I needed feedback, and I still do. But I hate being perceived. As long as no one reads my writing, they think that I know what I’m talking about and value my opinion on their writing, but once they figure out I’m just an Imposter then it’s game over. They’ll lose respect for me. Logically, I know this isn’t how this works, but I feel physically nauseous whenever someone reads my writing.

Anyways, back to my much-needed criticism. To make a long story short involving several English teacher that caused me to quit pursuing writing altogether in my formative years and decide to switch to a STEM track, I have very little tangible self-awareness of my own writing and how to improve it. I need the outside feedback, or at least I did. I’m 60k words into my first draft now and I’m cripplingly self aware of all my errors, but it feels too little too late. 60k words are a lot of words, and it feels not great knowing that most of them are trash. I really needed this kind of feedback earlier in the process so I could make tweaks early on. I know that writing is like a muscle and you need to work it out and practice to get stronger, but fuck man, FUCK. 60k words is a LOT of words. And I still need people to read it and give me feedback and I’m literally willingly asking people to read shit. It’s so humiliating. I guess I’m just at a point where I wish I could look at it and find something of value in what I’ve written.

I see other authors and I get so jealous. At their confidence, at their lyricism, their mastery of the art, their enthusiasm for their story, their love of their characters. I don’t have that. I’m not even talking about imposter’s syndrome. I know what that feels like. This is something else. I just wish I was the kind of person who could openly be creative without wanting to die. I’m 100% sure if I could be enthusiastic about the story I want to tell, the entire thing would be better. It’s crazy how I noticed that I’m not writing any metaphors into realizing that’s directly connected with my inability to be vulnerable and that I’m detaching myself from my work. That, and the fact that I’m fucking shite at writing metaphors apparently.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t have a writer group of friends and very little people to talk about this with, none of which are like… enthusiastic. It’s not their fault. I attract people into my life who are very much like me. They’re supportive and wonderful but I need someone who’d be excited to talk to me about it. I just feel like such a huge burden all the time. Everytime I bring it up I feel terrible, but it’s occupying so much of my brain space and I have no outlet. But also, getting that group of friends would require me to be vulnerable online and be willing to share what I have so far which I might actually throw up.I think it’s very fun that “crying and throwing up” has become a saying on Twitter considering that I’ve counted a countless amount of times this year and thrown up from stress four times since last November. It might also be connected to coffee consumption, but if that’s true I’m ready to off myself because coffee is one of my few joys. Honestly, it’s probably a mix of both. I’m very healthy, very much okay.

I don’t know. Last year, I ended my little essay on a hopeful note. Here’s the thing, this may seem like very much just stream of consciousness bullshit but there is quite a bit of structuring I do and omissions I make. I didn’t talk about my struggles reconnecting with people and subsequently taking their irregular replies, because there’s a lot to get into there. There’s a lot I could’ve talked about, but no room. There’s a very specific flow, and I feel like any story, it needs a conclusion. So last year, through tears, I wrote a hopeful ending. It was as much for me as it was to the people reading it. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in it for me to conclude in the same fashion this time around.

The truth is, I need to feel okay. I need to feel like I’m good at something, anything, and be recognized for it.

Life is suffering and I’m just constantly going through the motions. I promise you, this stupid thing is 3k words and the second I’m done I’ll go back to working on my b**k even though today I literally started crying thinking about how shit it is. I’m just a tenacious individual. I persist. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m done with being genuinely hopeful, but there’s nothing to do but keep moving. I don’t know if my writing will get better or if I’ll ever get published or if this story is worth it. I don’t fucking know anything and I feel like shit. But what else am I going to do? I’ve been holding onto this hope that I’ll feel better about things for just so long and it hasn’t happened. But I’m not giving up lmao I’m just working with what I have. I am at my limit.

#mine #bean spews

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