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elane-in-the-shadows · 6 years

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Drabbles... #8 Shade and any of his family not Farley or Mare. :)

#8 - “Forget it. You fucking suck.”

Fade Modern AU - A NewPlace

A/N: I’m so sorry this took me so horribly long. I can’t excuse myself saying I didn’t know what to write since the basics of the story were in my mind for a while. I can only hope the long time means I made the best version of it. As this is a modern AU, there’s a lot of real lfe stuff (as in my other AUs), but please don’t take it too seriously, I don’t have reliable personal experiences in every regard ;-)

As most of my stories, my Modern AUs are related/taking place in the same story at different times. Here are the other parts:

A New Place

Growing Up

The Dinner

Roman Holiday

The Wedding

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

Shade POV

When I wake, all I seeis her face. I blink, too tired even to just move my hands and rub my eyes. Itfeels like the middle of the night.

Only the small bedside lamp fights the darkness, itsreddish sheen gentle to my senses as it reveals Diana’s widely open eyes. Shecrouches beside the bed, her hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry,” she says, because she woke me up. “Justtelling you I’m leaving for work.” She bites her lip, seeming insecure. “Andthen I’ll be at the uni, so until later … the afternoon.”

“Bye,” I whisper with a yawn.

She smiles faintly. She lingers, undecided whether tostay or go. I don’t want her to go, want to fix her with my eyes although I canbarely keep them open. I can only feel her fingers squeezing my shoulder oncemore, and her lips brushing a kiss on my temple. Then she rises and I wish tostay awake even more and to give her a real goodbye. But I barely notice herwhispered “sleep well,” and neither when she turns off the lamp and closes thedoor, leaving me behind to rest on in this cold and dim early morning.

I don’t remember what I dream afterwards, but when I’mconscious enough, I see Diana’s beautiful face, illuminated by the warm, redlight.

The secondtime I wake today, I’m hit by Diana’s absence. Theharshness of aloneness unsettles me, indeed so much I wonder where I am. Ittakes me a minute to recognize Dee’s flat. Our flat now, since I moved inyesterday. It doesn’t feel that way, like my home. When I stayed the nightbefore, it was at days when we both had the same schedule. On a free day, itmeant sleeping late, cuddling in each other’s arms, and a big and longbreakfast. If not, we woke together and left together. I thought that werecouple things to do. How wrong I was. Only now, alone here for the first time,I learn that Dee made it a welcoming place for me. Without her, I’m a fish outof water.

Between my bags and boxes, most still unpacked, andthe few things we’ve already found space for, the herness of the placespeaks to me. Her smell and phantom shape left on the bed, the book and waterbottle beside it. There’s the rack by the door, with my coat hanging ungainlynext to her bi scarf, her summer jacket and the empty space where her coat hasbeen, and a couple of clothes lying here and there. She doesn’t bother to putaway all of them, although the closet is just a meter away from them, from thebed, from the desk filled with her papers in progress. Everything is soclose to everything, the space made even tighter with the onslaught of myboxes. Separated from the “bedroom” only by an open wall, I can see the kitchencorner and its table from the bed, where some food or drink always lie readyfor a quick snack of the single inhabitant. The bathroom, invisibly on theother side of the wall, would be even worse, organized thoroughly utilitarianto see to Dee’s needs.

She left in a rush today, I remember, too fast andquiet for having cleaned much. Yet I find no stains of a breakfast at all andinadvertently, I ball my fists. Did she skip breakfast so she wouldn’t disturbmy sleep even more? Or was it a bout of morning sickness that killed herappetite? If so, it’s another thing I failed to notice. I moved in to be therefor her now that she’s pregnant, and all I feel is out of place and useless.

I let myself fall down onto the chair at the kitchentable and stare at the bread instead of eating it. I don’t know how we’llmanage. I can’t imagine how a child should grow up in this little den where Ican hardly find space for myself. I snort at the silly thought, as I didn’tgrow up a mansion either.

I promised Diana.

Yet I know the difference between wishing andbelieving and I feel anything but certainty.

While Dee’sday is scheduled with duties, I have the day off. We eventalked about this before, making it a reason for when to move in. “You canunpack and clean a bit,” she proposed, and I agreed, thinking nothing aboutstaying “home” alone for the first time. But the cleaning reminds me this isnot my home, and unpacking of how much more work and re-shelving the nextmonths – no, years – will bring.

After one bag of clothes, I give up. I grab twolecture books I’ve littered on the floor and snatch my messenger bag to getout.

I hesitate at the door, thinking what a horribleboyfriend am. I’m running away, I realize. But not really, I want tobelieve. I run to shake loose the looming dread, wishing to get one gaspingbreath outside of here. I hope.

I can’tconcentrate on the books while riding the train taking me to myhometown. My thoughts keep on revolving around that specific personal problemthat leaves no entry way for neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor Aristotle. Afterall, I know it isn’t nice to run to my family, about to tell them about its newmember without Dee present. She’s alluded to the matter before, vaguely, butnot decidedly. I let it rest in my uncertainly. Probably, she didn’t thinkabout it that much. She doesn’t have many people to tell, unlike me.

She needed some time before she told me about herfamily, but when she did, her relief in sharing her story was palpable. Almostlike she’s glad to have me as a family now.

I’ve felt proud about it, to be honest, as I suspectedshe trusted her college friend Tristan as much as me. They seem so close,having made me wonder what exactly went on between them. But as I got to knowhim better, my suspicions dissolved piece by piece. They’re friends, and godsknow she needs them, having come here to study as a foreigner. If she toldTristan her personal history, good for her. But I stick to the honour of havingbeen the first she trusted with her family’s fate.

Her mother and younger sister died in a car crash,mere months before her high school graduation. Her father wasn’t even home butoff on a military mission at the time.

His return for the funeral and to take care of thingsdidn’t improve the situation, least of all the relationship to his daughter. Hestayed with Dee until she left the house, the country, to study abroad and live with her aunt Rosa, hermother’s cousin.

Although Diana relied on family when she came here, itstill astounds me she needed to get away from her home, her family, hermemories in the first place. I’m going to all of them, at least for today, hopingto find my way. My dad’s been a soldier too, until he was gravely injured andforced into an early retirement. He still struggles with his past and his newlife, so I can imagine some of Dee’s problems with her father. I don’t pressher about contacting her father as it’s not my decision to make. I’m here tosupport her once she knows how to treat him. But I’d never be able to cut awaymy family from my life.

I doubt that’s Diana’s wish either. She misses the peopleshe’s lost and she’s grateful for Aunt Rosa. We told her about the baby a fewdays ago, when we started to prepare my move-in. While Dee just spat out thetruth after some hesitation, I hardly know what to say and Rosa hardly knewwhat to reply. But that awkwardness, the accidental eye contacts, pauses andhand-wringing, bonded us in a weird way.

Rosa’s cool, obviously, from what I’ve seen of her.She travels often due to her work, so Dee fends for herself most of the time,which gives me hope it’ll work out in the future too, when Rosa’s small housewill have not only one, but two new inhabitants. So far, Diana’s been hesitantto ask Aunt Rosa to take more rooms for herself – for us – although she doesthink we’ll need a study room for one of us to work alone without infantdisturbances. It’ll happen eventually, and this is why I’m moving in after all. Dee’s livings are easier to adapt for couple with a baby than collegedorms or a new flat.

The roads of the Stiltsare as wet as in the city, and as I walk the three kilometers to my old house,I pull up my hood against the wind and occasional raindrops. Yet rays ofsunshine break through the heavy grey clouds every now and then, giving onefalse expectations for a nicer weather. A tiny spot of warmth doesn’t drive offthe cold, or the winter settling in. Thus when I see the transporter at ourhouse, I don’t hesitate to ring the doorbell to get in.

I rue it immediately. I wasted my time not thinkingabout what to say. And while I crave just to jump into Mom’s arms, I don’tdesire to break Dee’s trust and spill out everything without her. I take a stepback like a coward, intending to re-consider my options. But before onepresents itself, the door opens, with my brother Tramy on the threshold, a mugin hand.

He smirks. “Hey, where do you come from!” he exclaimsand pulls me in. I follow without resistance. My brothers and I have ourquarrels, but I’ve missed him too much. The sight of the corridors, crammedwith our stuff, the smells of the rooms, the sounds … no, there are nosounds besides our shuffling feet.

I blink. “Is … no one here?”

“I’m here.” He laughs as we reach the kitchen. I rollmy eyes and sit down. Tramy chuckles as he refills his mug, obviously withcoffee, and raises his eyebrows suggestively when he takes the seat oppositemine. “Maybe you’ve forgotten in your fancy college life,” he says, “but it’s aweekday?”

I give him a shove although I do blush at his correctassumptions. I prompt only more chuckling. “What, it’s true,” Tramy says. “Thegirls are in school, Mom’s at work and Dad is at physio. Remember?”

I nod, blushing harder. And our oldest brother Breehas moved out, too. Yet I cross my arms obstinately and lean back. “And you?”

He takes a long sip from his mug and rises from hischair. “I should offer you a drink too, huh?”

“Like a good host?” I smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’tthink I count as a guest yet.”

He nods along and gets a coke from the fridge, andfills a glass that he shoves to me. I raise it in thanks.

“Finished the job in the neighbourhood early,” Tramyexplains. “I thought that’s the perfect chance for a good lunch at home.” Hewinks. “Don’t tell my boss.”

“You have lunch?” I ask.

“Sorry, too late.” He pats his belly and laughs whileI shake my head in jested accusation. The idea of our parents’ homemade food ismouth-watering. I down my coke instead.

“Why don’t know tell me why you’re really here?” Tramyasks, all jokes and amusement gone from his demeanour.

I freeze, startled and at loss for words, but Tramy’sseriousness doesn’t falter. It’s me who skittishly breaks eye contact to stareat my hands, knowing Tramy’s gaze remains on me. “I wanted to get some stuff,”I say with a shrug, lifting my head without looking anywhere. “I, uh, moved outof the dorm.”

“You what?!” he cries out. “Shade, you didn’t fuck up,did you? Didn’t leave college? Or got expelled? Tell me you aren’t ruining yourlife!”

“No! Tramy, please.” He’s rather morebewildered. I realize I’m again in the corner I wanted to avoid. And didn’t I‘fuck up’, in a way? “Maybe,” I concede, before a cackle overtakes me anddestroys any inklings of composure. I laugh so hard I start coughing, swallowit out, and laugh more, until my eyes tear up. So it takes me a moment tonotice Tramy’s aghast face, but even that doesn’t help me calm down quicker.The chuckles are still dying slowly as I hide my face with my hands, wiping myface.

“Don’t worry,” I manage to say eventually, “I moved inwith my girlfriend.” I lower my hands when Tramy sighs and in this second offalse relief, the words slip out, to never be taken back. “She’s pregnant.”

The following set of Tramy’s expressions are imagesfor the gods. Relief switches to shock, into disbelief and then amusement thatfreezes as it, finally, shifts into the appalled realization that I meant whatI said. He stares at me, with compassion and helplessness.

I wonder what I’ve looked like in these last seconds.I’ve no idea.

Tramy doesn’t ask more. He takes my hands, then he’sbeside me, hugging my head to his stomach, for I don’t know how long. I relaxinto is presence. He isn’t Mom or Dad, not my best friend, but he gives mesomething I need right now.

Shouldn’t Dee and I give that to one another?

The thorn of the sudden doubt cramps my heart. But I dowant this with Diana. We had it, and we’ll have it again. I won’t let stress,demands, responsibility, money, fucking life, take it from us.

“Have you thought about buying her flowers, Shade?”says Tramy, and pulls me out of my thoughts – as I pull away from him.

“What?”

He smiles. “A bouquet of flowers for congratulation.Roses – or whatever she likes. We have quite a variety at the workshop,especially for occasions … like this.” He shrugs. “Of course, I’ll give you‘uncle discount’,” he finishes with a wink.

M chair scrapes the floor as I jump up. Suddenly, Ican’t deal with teases. “Forget it, you fucking suck,” I snort, throwing up myarms and then grapping my bag to leave.

He runs after me, full of apologies. He clasps myshoulder and I turn, wanting to apology myself, to explain that Diana isn’tinto flowers. I can’t. Because Tramy’s more than sorry or concerned, he’sashamed.

“Sorry,” he says oncemore in an unsettlingly coarse voice. “I shouldn’t have … I mean, if you don’t… want …” He swallows, and I understand before he has to go on with hisstruggle for words.

“That’s not it,” I sayquickly. “That’s not it,” I repeat, quieter now, and let my head sink.

Tramy gestures to thecouch and I follow suit without resistance. Again, I sit down as he crouches infront of me, keeping silent to wait for me.

“We’ve having thebaby,” I state. He nods. “And I thought, uh, I don’t know what exactly. To askMom and Das about … stuff. Or for stuff.” I look up into Tramy’s eyes. “To behonest, I was uncertain whether to tell you all yet, without Diana. I guess, Icame without a plan.” I cackle, and I’m grateful Tramy doesn’t remark theobvious – although his creased brow speaks by itself.

But as I don’tcontinue, he swallows the words on his tongue, finding something better to ask:“What do you want, then?”

I snort. The decisivequestion. As if it didn’t chase me everywhere nowadays. “You don’t have to pityme, Tramy. I know what I’m getting into. I hope. I mean, we, Dee and I, we doour best.”

“I didn’t imply theopposite, but that’s not what I’ve asked about,” he retorts, his eyes boringinto mine. “Is it what you want? Because you don’t seem … elated.”

“I want Dee, okay?!” Isnap. “I love her, and I’m not letting her alone with it.” I gather the energyto dart one fierce glare at him before I fall back onto the couch.

“She asked me the samething, you know,” I begin. “But what should I have said? I couldn’t tell herwhat to do, and it was obvious she didn’t want an abortion. I don’t know whetherI would’ve wanted that, but …” I shrug. I lean farther back, so I face theceiling. “After a while, she told me why. She couldn’t imagine doing it. Not ingeneral, but for herself. She’s … lost too many people she loved to give up another.”

Silence. “And do youthink that’s unfair?” Tramy asks eventually, trying to tread carefully.

I jerk up anyway.“Unfair? That I support her in what concerns us both?” I shake my head. “It’sunfair it’s happening now. Unfair we couldn’t plan to have a child at our pace.Unfair that our situation is so insecure. Unfair that our child will have togrow up with this insecurity too.”

I’m afraid. So, soafraid. But I also wish to meet this new person that’s both Dee and me andsomeone entirely their own, and see them grow up. Sometimes, I dare to thinkabout how it’ll be, and not only to wonder about the problems it’ll bring. Iimagine their smiles and wobbly tries to stand, their first words and theSpanish I could teach –

“But it’s not unfairthat it exists, nor that the woman I love wants to … ah …” Heat creeps up myface. “That she wants a family with me,” I manage to conclude.

Tramy, having listenedattentively to my declaration, starts to grin like an idiot. “My little bro’sbecoming a dad,” he says. “Congratulations.”

I give him a shove. Hissmile becomes broader, and I feel my eyes starting to wet. “You could say‘thanks’,” Tramy reminds me, but instead of doing so, I fall forward andembrace him.

He returns the hug, hishands stroking my back during my sobs. I’m shocked this happens for the secondtime today, with him, but I’m not complaining. After the doubts plaguing metoday, I finally find my ground.

“Don’t tell the others,okay?” I rasp. “As I’ve said, I’m glad to have talked to you, but Dee and Ishould tell you all together. We’ll visit soon, or something.”

He pulls away to lookat me, his silly grin still plastered on his face. “Sure,” he agrees. “But canyou tell me before you come? I might get you something.”

I sigh, “Tramy …”

“No, listen. I’ll getyour girlfriend a plant, a nice little orange tree from the workshop.” Hewinks. “Then you can train to look after someone.”

“What? I don’t think –“

“And whenever Dianasees the tree, she can think of the us Barrows, welcoming her into the family.”

I’m too stunned forwords. I believe Diana will be too, if Tramy actually does it. But even so, Iknow he’s absolutely right. It’s a gesture she’ll cherish.

“That’s … cool. I mean,thanks,” I reply, awfully helpless, and wipe my face.

He accepts my gratitudewith grace.

I forgo my intention to searchthrough whatever baby utensils we might still have in attic; as the ones who’dknow, our parents and Gisa, aren’t here and Tramy has to return to his job. Inthe end, I guess I didn’t come to find some old blankets I won’t need formonths, but for something else. And I believe I’ve found it.

My brother offers tobring me to the train station with his transporter and I agree. When we arriveand I’m about to jump out of the cabin after a half-hug-handshake, Tramy pullson my sleeve. “Wait a sec,” he asks, and then we both go out to round thetransporter form different sides. Tramy rummages through the cargo area untilhe can produce a tiny bouquet of three red flowers that look like oversized daisies.

“Gerbera,” Tramyinforms me.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Well, I still think youshould give Diana a little present. It’s a treat from me, of course,” he adds.

“Okay, thanks, butactually, I didn’t go along with your bouquet idea because Dee isn’t intoflowers. At all.” He laughs. “What?!” I snap.

He pats my shoulder.“Shade, I won’t go on telling you that all women secretly love flowers becauseI know you’d only say I’m repeating florist ads, but see it like this:” Hetakes a breath and spreads his arms wide. “These are something nice andpretty,” he begins, and holds the bouquet toward me. “And before we talked, youdidn’t appear to feel nice and pretty at all.” When I frown, he adds, “nooffense, I don’t mean your face. But I’m just saying, put these in your flat,look at them, smell them, and think of today. Of anything you enjoy. Let themcheer you up for a second, okay?” He winks and hands me the flowers.Begrudgingly, I take them.

“You make adisturbingly good gardener-florist,” I admit.

He waits.

“And I’m glad of it.”

“You’re welcome,” heanswers, and we go on our ways.

Back at home, Dee’s home, I getback to settle myself in, to unpack and re-order, with more vigour than in themorning. I shove down my doubts about whether she’ll like changes in theclutter as they’re necessary. The sinking feeling remains, and it still nearpanics me to imagine a child and their things fitting in here as well. A baby, I remind myself, as in the end,we can always search for a bigger place in a few years. If we can afford one –

Still, while the weighton my heart has lightened, the prospect of thinking in years pulls me down to earth, every time again. But that isn’t abad thing. I won’t let it be.

With what I find in thekitchen, I prepare myself a late lunch, one also large enough to serve asdinner for Diana and me, once she comes home. Indeed, her absence tells me howlong this day has been. I make the best of being alone, starting with my ownpapers and homework after eating. The understanding and the words arrive fasternow with my new determination, while the sight of my phone poses a temptation totext or call Dee to feel closer to her.

I think I only refrainbecause while cleaning up, I saw she’s currently attending a lecture; thus Idon’t want to disturb her. I get back to writing.

I’ll have to learn herschedule by heart fast.

Darkness falls early thislate in the year. It doesn’t assist me in staying concentrated forever, so I’myawning for the fifth time and finally shut down my laptop when the dooropens. I sit up immediately and get up when Diana enters. She looks tired anddishevelled.

Instead of greetingher, I take her into my arms and she doesn’t hesitate for a second to leanagainst me. “I missed you,” I say softly, brushing her hair and loosening itsbraid even more by doing so.

“Missed you too,” shemumbles, before turning her head to kiss my cheek. I feel goose bumps at hertouch, while she’s wearing a thick coat that rustles at our movements.

She’s out of itquickly, tossing it and her bag aside in a motion so natural she must’ve doneso hundreds of times. Her fingers play with mine as she leads me to the bed tolay down. I rush to slide my laptop away. She groans as she let herself sinkinto the bed. “You didn’t have to stop working because I’m home,” she says.

“I did already. I’mjust making space.” When she raises her eyebrows, I add, “oh come on, we are still adjusting to living together.”

“We are,” she admits,smiling faintly. “But honestly, I’m too tired to work on it tonight.” She yawnsin demonstration, although it makes me worry a bit. Dee’s so energetic most ofthe time, is it the pregnancy that tires her? And if not directly, shouldn’tshe be careful not to exhaust herself either way? But I don’t tell her so.“Surely you’re hungry?” I ask instead.

“Later,” she mumbles,“give me a moment.”

I do. She splays on thebed she’s still used to sleep alone in on most nights, looking peacefulhalf-dozing and as gorgeous as when she laughs or argues.

I find a space tolounge beside her, stroking her thigh where I can feel the pulse of her blood.Has her pulse changed now that her body nurtures someone else, too?

Dee isn’t a thin woman.At a random meeting, a person would think nothing of the roundness of her bellyyet. But I know it’s new, the first sign she’s starting to show. It’s humbling,really, to glimpse our child come into existence.

I rest my head next tothe curve of her waist. As she isn’t fully sleeping, I’m not surprised when herhand finds its way to my head and begins to play with my hair.

“Sorry I didn’t reply,”she says eventually.

“Hmm?”

“When you texted. Ishould’ve replied.”

“No matter.”

“No – ” She gets up alittle, and so do I, slightly confused. “I know I implied I had no time tospare, but I did – well.” She blushes and her other hand moves closer to her,brushing her belly. I don’t think she notices. “I made an appointment with anobstetrician next Wednesday. I believe you’re free then?”

She appears genuinelyuncertain. I nod to relieve her. I’ll make time if anything gets in the way.

“Good. I thought it’sabout time, to find out if the little one’s alright.” She bites her lip and inthat moment, her composure shifts. “I’m afraid, you know. Really afraid. Idon’t want anything to happen to it. And also …” She hesitates, lowering herhead as her hand takes mine and holds tight.

“I just hope it’shealthy. If it wasn’t … if it was sick, I’d have no idea how we’d manage. Ourbudget’s tight. Probably will get only tighter after the birth. It’ll be sohard, Shade, and if we had to care for a sick child, nothing will – ” shestops, wiping her eyes. I inch closer to her, to embrace and calm her, althoughI fear the same. And I can’t promise her worries away.

“I’m so afraid, Shade,all the time. It’ll only get worse.”

“I know,” I utter,taking her other hand as well, squeezing and kissing it. I meet her eyes. “Iknow,” I repeat in a coarse voice. “I’m afraid too. And I’m grateful you speakabout it. We can’t pretend everything will be alright, can we?” She blinkswildly as a tear rolls down her cheek. I pull her closer still and she sagsagainst my chest. I don’t let go for a long time, rubbing her back and, finallymumbling some reassuring nonsense. The words aren’t the point. I’m here, withher, and I won’t leave, even though – or because – I might cry myself.

“Now I am hungry,” Dee says with asniff as we disentangle.

“Good.” I smile at herand start to get up. “I hope you like – “

“Shade?” She hasn’t letgo of my hand and her blue eyes staring at me tether me similarly. “Would youlike to know …”

“What?”

“You know …” She rollsher eyes.

“What?”

She snorts. “When we goto the ob/gyn, would you like to know if it’s a girl or a boy?” her playfulexpression vanishes as sudden as it came. Likely because my face fell.

“No,” I answer.

“That’s determined.”She lifts an eyebrow.

I sit down in front ofher and cup her face with my hands. “Dee, don’t you think that’s oneinformation we really don’t need yet?”

“Well …”

“And if theobstetrician is wrong? That would be worse. Not that the kid won’t know best intheir time…”

“Sure,” she agrees, andshifts onto her knees to kiss me on the mouth, her fingers soon on my cheek, myneck, my hair. Not that I can keep my hands off her. I love the feel of herwaist, the soft flesh above her hips contrasted by her strong back muscles.“I’m proud of you, Shade Barrow,” she whispers between kisses. “You make mebelieve we won’t be awful parents.

I laugh against herlips. “Ditto. And if worst comes to worst, I have a great family for help.”

@inopinion @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @sarcasm-and-procrastination @redqueenfandom @clarafarleybarrow @elliemarchetti @eurydicel @marecalrandomstuff @a-scarletguard-member @selenbean-beany @choosemarecal @bookworm0123 @dansilvery @gisabarrovv

#red queen #red queen fanfiction #red queen fan fiction #shade barrow #mare barrow #victoria aveyard #diana farley #shade x farley #fade modern au #clara farley-barrow #clara farley #tramy barrow #red queen one-shots #a new place #baby fan fiction #request #ask #inopinion

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harryandhislips-blog · 5 years

Text

art teacher - harry styles

in which, harry is your art teacher.

an uncompleted story.

- MASTERLIST -

CHAPTER ONE

It wasn't until about 7 am after you've jumped out of bed, realizing that you had snoozed your alarm perhaps five times in order to only have ten minutes left to get ready. running to the bathroom to spit out your toothpaste while you buttoned up your shirt was a skill you developed since high school, even though you were quite the organized student, you still slipped off at times.

"emma!" you hear your mom screaming from downstairs, making you speed up and stuff as many textbooks as you can in your bag without even reading the titles- hoping that you magically grabbed the right ones. putting your hair in an awfully made low ponytail, you rushed your body down the stairs, almost tripping twice.

" good god, emma! you stayed up drawing again haven't you?" your mother came closer to you, tugging some hairs behind your ears and propping up the collar of your school uniform. you didn't reply to her and instead, you stayed silent, really not in the mood to argue at this point of time.

your mother was already in the car, honking it as you grabbed your sneakers and ran to the back seat, opening the door and getting in. your mother looked back as she back the car out of the driveway, periodically looking at you with her eyebrows knitted together.

you slightly scuff under your breath as you put on your shoes one by one, making your fingers sting slightly from how fast you did it.

you sighed to yourself as you threw your body back to the car seat, as your mum started rambling about you being late. annoyed, you sat in silence watching out of the car window.

"did you hear what i said young lady??" your mom suddenly said, bringing your attention to her. "you can't keep doing this to yourself, do you hear me?" she said, making eye contact with your threw the car mirror.

" yes mom, i heard you." you quietly mumbled. this wasn't the first neither it was the second time this has happened.

after what seemed like hours, the car finally pulled into the drop off point of the school. it seemed awfully unusual to see the parking lot and the front of the school this empty; there weren't any guys bouncing basketballs, seventh-graders standing in small groups and gossiping, there weren't a wave of flooding cars, and instead, it was quiet and the lot was only filled with a few parked ones.

you sighed, checking your phone for the day, thursday. you mentally cursed as you realized that you were late to your favorite class, art class. now picking up your phase, you run through the halls, almost tripping a couple of times.

you stopped yourself before going into the class to catch your breath, after all, walking into class while you were panting so loudly that it was obvious that you were running would be a bit embarrassing.

finally, taking a deep breath you pushed through the door, walking into the art studio, making the room fill with silence as everyone glanced at the door and to you. trying your hardest not to look at anyone straight in their eyes, you made your way to your normal table

to your relief though, a couple of minutes passed before the room filled with noises again; people talking over each other, paintbrushes tapping against the glass cups, cabinet doors closing with bangs, and chairs scooting roughly against the floor.

you settled your bag down and made your way to the teacher, mr. styles, who was sitting on his chair at his desk comfortably with his arms crossed and his legs spread while he was watching his students doing their tasks. moments later, his gaze fixed onto you as you came closer to his desk.

you still remember the first-ever lesson that he taught to your class. he wasn't dressed fancy, instead he just wore tight, plain black pants with a matching dull belt, a plain dark blue shirt with a black tie. the class was silent as he introduced himself, telling everyone his background. when that was over, he asked everyone to introduce themselves- cracking up jokes there and then that made the class slightly giggle.

both of your eyes still on each other, " why are you late today, emma? " he spoke, not intending to sound harsh in any way. "I woke up late, I'm sorry" you mumbled quickly as you knitted your hands together in front of you out of the nervousness. you hated being late, you were almost always on time except for days like this.

" it's alright by me, but you know I'll have to write it into the records," he said raising his eyebrows a bit for reassurance. he was perhaps the nicest teacher at your school, everyone loved him- he barely gave out any detention unless it was completely necessary and he never shouted at his students, and actually cared for them, unlike other teachers.

" yeah, i know, sorry " you said again, watching him as he was sat in that same exact position from when you first came up to him. " why did you wake up late? " he spoke suddenly, his voice in a slight joking manner as he raised his eyebrows once again, slightly tilting his head as he waited for a response.

you looked up slightly, embarrassed by the real reason you've been up again. by the look of his face though, he knows the right answer, because at this point it has happened over a thousand times. you both are fully aware that he's just teasing you about it, teasing you about drawing till you fall asleep at your desk a couple hours before school starts.

" i was studying.." you reply jokingly back, knowing that he knows you far too much to understand your sarcasm. " you're saying that you weren't drawing till 5 am again? " he says, smiling a little at this point since he is finding this extremely hilarious.

you're not even entirely sure how this became an inside joke between you two, perhaps it was the times you would come into school with the back of your right hand smudged with led marks. or maybe perhaps it was the obvious times you'd come in with your sketchbook filled with new drawings that he eventually saw.

his hands gently run to the keyboard of his computer as he waits for you to answer the question, his eyebrows now knotted together as he inspects whatever the email has said that was on his screen. "perhaps." you mumble, rolling your eyes a bit.

" right, get s'much work done before the bell, but don't worry you can come in at lunch," he mumbles looking at you before once again gazing off to the computer screen, moments later you hear him typing something.

this was your cue to leave, and so you did, turning around you started walking towards your desk. "and, uh, emma?" you turn around to his eyes still on the screen. "yeah?" you reply a bit louder because of the distance you've created between you two. his gaze finally meets yours before he looks a bit lower than your collar, pointing at it briefly "don't forget your tie next time." he simply mumbles, giving you a little nod before going back to typing something. biting the inside of your cheek you nodded, while you finally walked away.

for the rest of the class, you sat silently at your desk, working on your chalk project that was due this week. it had you stressed out to your bones, since of how much you envied chalk because of how hard it was to work with.

groaning in annoyance, you laid your head down onto the desk, closing your eyes deciding to rest for a bit. instead, though, you accidentally drift off and fall asleep; your cheek laid softly on the piece of paper covered with colorful chalk.

10:23

the light nudging on your shoulder slowly wakes you up, you slowly come to your senses to realize whats going on. mr. styles is standing next to your sitting body, his fingertips still lightly attached to your shoulder.

" morning break just ended " he softly mumbles, realizing that you're fully awake now, he walks up to the cabins where he keeps all of his paints and grabs a stack of paper, lightly tapping them against the hard surface, aligning them.

"oh- um, im so sorry- um" you mumbled, your body was still half asleep so you had to think twice as hard in order to cooperate. standing from your chair, you started stuffing your pencil case into your bag. you observed the table as you realized that someone has already put the chalks away, only leaving your artwork behind.

" didn't know emma was such a heavy sleeper " he chuckles as he speaks, walking over to his desk now. you zipped your bag throwing it over your shoulder as you plugged a few strands of hair behind your ear.

"im surprised too, always thought that i was a light sleeper," you say softly, your voice was groggy and your throat was sore- how long did was i asleep for?

“look, you still have a few days before your chalk project is due, so just concentrate on this one, alright? no one likes working with chalk, except, of course, julian beever." he says, both of you chuckling at the art preference.

" can i come in at lunch? " you ask, your voice so groggy that you have to clear it before it gets worse. " yes, of course, but i wont be here, so you'll be here on your own." he says and he places the pieces of paper that he was straightening earlier into a folder.

" thank you " you say before you see him simply nodding, now putting away the packed folder to one of his shelves. you shoot him a smile that he unfortunately doesn't see, since he has now turned his back to you in order to reach the very top shelf. It puts you in an uncomfortable situation- am i supposed to leave? It felt rude to just leave like this without saying anything so you stood there, watching him and waiting for him to finish.

the hem of his shirts lifts perhaps a little too high, while his pants are down below his torso- for you to see the clear out vision of the grey wristband of the calvin klein briefs. this catches you with sudden shock as you look down quickly, pretending like you did not just see the start of his fucking boxers.

letting out a little sigh, he finally returned to his prior position and turned around giving you a tiny glance before going over and taking another closer to his desk again. " y'know, emma, you have to stop giving your sleep time away to draw, as much as you like it- it's unhealthy " he says bluntly, still not looking at you as he was going to the cabin and grabbing another stack of paper.

you said nothing and instead stayed silent, guilt running over you. " i know. " you softly mumbled before looking down to the floor again not wanting to accidentally meet his eyes.

" i have history in ten minutes, i have to go, sorry, again." you quietly spoke while you eyed the clock on the opposite wall, from the side of your vision you could still see him walk over to his desk. hearing the familiar thud of paper, you looked to where it came from- immediately meeting your gaze with his. his hands were on his waist now and he looked rather concentrated while looking at you- " perhaps, history with mr. loft?" he asked- moving his hands and crossing them on his chest while he waited for you to answer. you nodded, watching him as he went a little further than his desk into the back room. after a couple of thuds- he came out with a tie in his hand.

" you know how mad it drives him when someone forgets a part of their uniform," he says, reaching out his hand for you to take it. "since when are you a tie dealer?" you say, gently grabbing it from his hand before putting it threw your head, around your neck.

" since high school " he says, raising his eyebrows. both of you chuckled at his statement.

11:30

history class passed in seconds, mainly because your thoughts wandered off- thinking of all of the ideas you could use for your final chalk project. and of course, your art teacher. you didn't let it get to you in any way at all, but you did find him attractive in some point of mind.

you were let out of the class for lunch five minutes early so the halls were still awfully empty which was a big relief to you. after throwing some of your books into your locker, you made your way into the cafeteria.

you sat at your normal table, setting your bag underneath as you pulled out some snacks and your sketchbook. the bell finally rang, making you squint your face from the sudden loud noise filling your ears.

not long later, jaeden joined you. you two were friends since kindergarten, but drifted apart afterwards towards high school. this school year though, you became close again, since you two both had b lunches.

" hey " he said, taking off his bag as he grabbed your attention making you lift your head up from your sketchbook. " hey " you said, chuckling, because of how weird it sounded coming from your mouth full of chips. " you coming to the football game tonight? " he said, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of the fact that he's on the team.

" you know i'm not a fan of sports" you said, closing your sketchbook to pay full attention to him. " yeah, i know, emma. but it's not like im asking you to play" he obnoxiously ran a hand through his hair.

jaeden might seem like the typical dick guy at this point, but he's actually quite not. apart from being on the football team, he was into drama and literature he was nothing like the typical jock-who-only-has-two-braincells-and-screams-in-the-hallway stereotype at all- and that's what you found quite fascinating about him. he wasn't a player either. his whole life he had only had two girlfriends and both of the relationships lasted longer than a year.

" just come for me, yeah? " he says, trying to give you a puppy look. " i might " you say, rolling your eyes as you gave in. his smile faded as you started to pack your stuff back into your bag, after seeing that it was already been ten minutes since lunch started.

" you're going to the art room again, aren't you?" jaeden said, teasing you as he took another bite of his chicken. "kind of have no choice" you said, no swinging the backpack over your shoulder. " have fucking fun" he said, sighing.

you walked into the completely silent and dark room. With your hands in front of you, you somehow found a light switch, quickly turning on the lights before making your way to your usual table.

grabbing everything you need, except aprons. for some reason- they weren't where they usually were (on the small set of racks beneath the sink). so you had no other options but to work without it, and probably get your uniform dirty.

with a deep sigh, you started working on your piece again, trying your hardest not to make a mess onto your shirt.

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ball-jointed-dragon · 6 years

Text

I need to get this off my chest

For those who do not wish to look at my personal problems, please scroll on. These thoughts actually become very personal and deep for me.

For most of my life, I’ve been, and still am, a rather angry person. I get mad at things easily, and it takes me a while to let things go or simply forget about things that make me sick to my stomach.

Going through elementary was easy, because back then, all anyone cared about was the playground, who you were gonna sit with, etch etch.

I never had a problem with this. I was that kid with one friend and books who sat on the bench and read. However, there is one vivid memory from elementary about that one friend.

I’ll say her name was Penny. Penny was my friend. Hell, she let me come over to her house. She was the best. But the others didn’t like me. I got angry, I hit, I yelled, and many other things. So, they decided that if they couldn’t hurt me, they would hurt Penny...

One recess, everyone surrounded Penny. What they did still pisses me off because I know it was because of me.

They all, at once, screamed. Think about it. 15-20 kids, screaming at the top of their lungs, not too far from you. It was awful. It was deafening, almost.

I went to the teacher and told, but they did nothing. They probably thought I was trying to use my ‘privaleges’ that I ‘had’ cause I was the kid with a huge scar on her forehead, I was the poor baby who got ran over AND drowned.

They paid me no mind.

Not too soon after, I had to leave. I had to go see my dad, who was in Montana, because that was what the divorce papers said.

I don’t remember a lot there. I do remember being alone, and preferring it that way. I remember still being angry, being manipulated by my sisters, and slowly starting to pick up bad habits.

I stopped going outside because what was the point? I stopped playing with others because they only wanted to hang out with one or more of my siblings, not me. I stopped participating in games because I felt like I was jamming myself into a place I didn’t belong.

I turned to art during this time. I was shit at it, but I started taking it seriously. I showed the teachers, and they pushed me to keep going. I also turned to writing, and started getting positive feedback from the readers.

But my home life was still bad. My dad was lazy and angry. He only wanted to play video games and would yell at us if we did anything he seemed bad. He made it hard for me to get a simple book that was 50 cents while my sisters could get pants for over $15.

My own father encouraged me to steal. At first, it was a card for Mother’s Day. He claimed that it cost less than a dollar to make, but here we were, being charged over a dollar for it.

The next time was a bigger thing. I had money from my grandmother, and I didn’t have enough for a cross necklace, something I wanted during a time when I felt that I needed to get closer to god (it didn’t work out btw). He encouraged me to reach in and grab it, then walked off, starting to take it off the thing.

I said I didn’t wanna steal it, I didn’t wanna be like him, going to jail for something that was avoided. My sister even offered to help buy it.

My dad decided to slap me in the Walmart.

Apparently it was the best way.

He put the necklace back and I cried quietly for the rest of our trip.

There were many other factors. My five other siblings could turn abusive. I had to share a small bed with my two sisters while my step siblings got their own room or had a bunk bed for the two others (there were two sisters and a brother, hence the bunk bed for one and single room for another).

My stepbrother threw fits and his mother would yell at him and send him to the corner. We hopped from house to house. I was in some bad relationships, extremely unhealthy ones.

I had a breakdown once, and I got grounded for it because my stepsister called my dad while I sat screaming, holding my head and throwing things.

He claimed that it was unnecessary.

I came out as bi and he said that I only thought that because of anime women. He didn’t take my art seriously and simply called it ‘anime’.

My siblings and I were mass-grounded, and my dad would never come up with an end date, leading to months of being grounded.

My dad twisted the image of my mom into this irresponsible, evil, vile woman who would treat me worse, and that I would be better off here.

I started feeling like I was pathetic, a loser. The feelings only grew stronger.

My dad did a lot of good things, but there are other things I can’t forgive him for. I’m sure I’ll remember more as I go along.

I moved back with my mom for a bit, about a year, and things... I dunno.

I couldn’t tell if things were good or bad because I was so tired at this point.

I was overweight, I was eating unhealthily and I still do. I didn’t do any exercise and I was angry and going through puberty -or at least the start of it-. I became the overweight, antisocial kid who had anger issues and drew on her worksheets and got good grades.

I sat at a table and made friends with the people there. We even had a club. The club didn’t last for long.

I once ran for something and I surprised people by getting popular people to sign the thing.

I shelved books and was in a play. A kid came up to me while I was working and asked for a book recommendation, so I gave him a book to read and sent him off. He came back later to say that he was glad he asked me.

Despite all these good things, I was starting to hit a bad patch of school. One I couldn’t avoid- there was a bully.

He loved to target me. He was bigger than me, and he wore glasses, and looked like he was overweight and blushing all the time.

I think he was higher up grade-wise, and he might’ve been the ‘loser’ of that group. So seeing me, he decided he’d hate me.

There was a rumor that started in my middle school in the 7th grade that I was a devil child. I was evil, and angry, and I said morbid things that I thought were cool and funny. Not only that, I called myself ‘snow’. God, I cringe so bad.

This bully started calling me that every time he saw me. Five days a week, every time we had a break between classes. He always called me that.

I hated it, but I already told the teachers, and what could they do?

There was once, however, that he got caught in-action. We shared a PE class. The locker rooms were on the far sides of the place, so I came from one way, and he came from another.

I sat down first and had all my things laid out nice.... only for him to kick my things, throwing one of my boots across the room and forcing me to go get it.

Of course I cried - I was a kid who was fed up.

The teacher yelled at him and forced him to do something- I can’t remember.

During the few last days of school, I passed by this kid on my way to shop class. Having had a bad day, I heard him say devil child. That damned nickname...

I turned and screeched at him to stop before bursting into tears, going to my desk and crying.

A few kids comforted me; but I was so angry and tired that I told them my version of the truth:

No one cared about me until I was crying.

I still think it’s true.

I go back to dads, meet my ex boyfriend, and of course I have a problem.

By this point, I’ve written a story that was being well responded to. In middle school, we had these tablets, and I managed to get into my email. I saw a review in PE class and I was so happy that I started telling the boys nearby that they’d never make a story as good as mine.

One of them spoke up,”I can. Once upon a time, you died. The end.”

I... I was pretty crushed. I started crying and I shut up. I moved back, dead set on staying at my high school for the entirety of it.

Freshman year. It was... I can’t say. It was such a jumble of anger and being sent to the principals office. I was given detentions and suspensions. I had a few friends.

One of these friends was... super strange. She was clingy, she was far too touchy-feely and she was unpleasant. I stayed the night at her house- it was trashed, and she.... did stuff.... while I was in the room.

She held my hand even if I didn’t care, and she jumped up onto me while we were in the pool. It got to the point where my family thought she and I were together.

We stopped being friends, I even started avoiding her. I feel a bit bad, but she later told me her boyfriend wanted to marry her and get her pregnant and sent her sex toys, and smelled bad, so I think I dodged a bullet (sorry if that seems rude).

I got attacked by a girl in the lunch line cause I accidentally touched her butt and she freaked.

Kids avoided me because they knew me. I sat alone. Then, I found this lovely lady. She was my friend. She let me tag along, was my partner in class stuff, and introduced me to a friend I’ll call Ami.

She... she moved away, that same year. She had a lot of family issues and I wish her the best.

Sophomore year is a year I spent talking to Ami and in turn Amis friends. We were content, but these boys... and these girls... I had issues with a lot of people. I didn’t know how to shut my mouth and blew up at people if they bothered to say a negative thing about me.

There was a time where I was playing a game. This game plays classical music as you play it, and the setting was as low as it could go before I couldn’t hear it anymore.

One girl took issue with it and complained, even though she played music louder before. We argued; I went to the office and told them what happened, and I ended up being suspended for not wanting to give my phone over.

Thankfully, it was a couple of days before a vacation, and I got good after, so.

I dealt with a lot of people who would fight with me (I probably started a lot of them), and I dealt with self esteem issues because, in my mind, I was overweight, ugly, and I couldn’t shut my mouth for five seconds. Everything had to be memememenememene.

I felt that my friends weren’t my friends, that I was just butting in, ruining everything. I’ve been told that someone didn’t wanna be friends with me because I was so rude and I started fights.

Junior year.....

I can’t remember a lot. I remember some.

I remember laughing a lot more. I remember smiling.

But bad beats good..

You see, I’m still overweight, look ugly, and have no real redeeming qualities. I’m super negative about myself, and while I try to be nice to the people I call my friends, I feel as if I’m driving them away.

I still have anger issues that I’m working on. I lost a job because of these issues (actually I just picked up a boy and gave him to his mother and she complained, so))

I argue with freshman boys because they’re pains in the asses who think they’re better than everyone. I was in a cooking class with these boys, and I fucking hated them.

They had a big soap bottle and yet they felt the need to take everyone else’s soap bottles. I got defensive over the things in my kitchen, and they started mimicking me. One even made a poster saying ‘stay out of my kitchen’ and hung it up on my cupboards.

We used brown sugar one day. After cleaning up, I walked off. The teacher came over and said that my kitchen wasn’t clean. I was confused.

Then I saw what she meant.

My clean kitchen, was now covered in brown sugar.

The boys took a handful of brown sugar and just threw it..

They stole other things from our kitchen and mimicked me all the time.

I once wore a Jacksepticeye shirt, and they started saying that ‘Jacksepticeye is gay’ and that he was ‘cancer’.

I told the teacher. The experience made me feel sick to my stomach and made me want To scream because they decided to pick apart something they didn’t know because I wore a shirt of it.

I admit- I was rude and angry and cross with them st times, but the level of things they did...

In this same class, you’re supposed to have four people in a kitchen.

I started out with four people in my group. Then two. The. Three (one was the girl I stopped being friends with). Finally, I was alone. No one wanted to cook with me.

So I made everything myself. I worked better alone, that’s what I always said.

It didn’t stop the pain and loneliness.

Another class I took was for childcare.

Despite being as hardworking as I could and trying to be good at the class, the teacher didn’t like me. I knew it was because I was rude to the other kids at times. I also once had a bad year with her previously.

One day, we needed to group together. I didn’t want to, but she forced me to get into a group.

She claimed I was being antisocial (later she said I was intimidated by the other students) on purpose. It got to the point where a different teacher demanded to know why I chose that day to be antisocial.

There was another day where we had baby food. We tasted some, liked it, and some people called dibs. I didn’t know that the fan had already had a dibs, so I was eating it. Suddenly, the teacher called to attention that the can I held was CLEARLY not mine.

We argued with each other. A girl said I should have been listening and I snapped that she needed to shut her mouth.

I ended up sulking in my chair. I bought a replacement later on (68 cents apparently gets people’s panties in a twist).

The final class I wanna talk about is my PE class. The teacher then had a student learning to be a teacher. She got to host games for a day, and chose a game that she said I could be in a box area for.

Well, a boy threw the ball as hard as he could at me from a few feet away and slammed it into my face. It hurt. I told the teacher/student, but she made everyone to the plank and tried to change the rules. I kept giving her comments, which she said she didn’t want, and I told her she’d get them anyway.

These boys... I HATE.

They could be a step away, and they’d STILL throw the ball as hard as they could! They yelled insults, threw in people’s general direction, and just.. ugh.

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wonderfulworldofwinchester · 7 years

Text

It isn't all bad...

Characters: Sam X Reader A/N: Thank you @danskusmile for sending this idea! It was fun to explore the possiblities. Still writing on a phone due to issues with my laptop so pardon the grammar errors and if any words contain random letters. Feel free to send ideas or requests :) Summary: Short reader is dating Sam, and thinks about all the things the height difference causes. Warnings: a smidge of Language, everyday struggles of being short, short jokes? Idk it's late. I'm tired haha You had your whole life to get used to being 'the short one'. It was no walk in the park, but you got by, kept pushing on anyway. It was the only way you knew. Even things as simple as shopping were a challenge. If you found something in your size, you almost always had to deal with a woman behind the counter that had a snarky comment to make, usually along the lines of "for you or your daughter". And almost everytime, you had to fight the urge to deck her, right then and there. Although if anything you had seen in the past had anything to say about it, people's reactions would be less scared or offended, and more 'aw so cute. It didn't matter that you could take out any number of peoples' worst nightmares, to look at, you were just cute, not threatening. More times than you cared to admit, you were mistaken for a child, which helped you get around certain things when hunting, but was really no fun when trying to pick up guys. The list just goes on and on. Can,t reach stuff, can't see over a fence, always getting lost in a crowd, and blah blah blah. The point is, you got used to it. You learned how to mostly get around those struggles. Until one day, you get a whole new set. You met one, Mr. Sam Winchester. Up til now, you knew you were short, but never just how short. His gigantic frame made you feel like a small child. You figured surely that was the reason Crowley called him Moose. After all he was about as big as one. You worked cases with the Winchesters for a while before you started dating Sam. Those cases were always fun, but some local yocal always had remark like 'wow he makes you look even shorter." Or "she makes you look reallyyy tall!" Yea thanks there paco, like we couldn't notice without you pointing it out. You always got pretty peeved when that sort of thing happened, and Sam found it to absolutely adorable when you did. He faound almost everything about you to be adorable. The day he knew he was done for, when he knew he had truly fallen for you, was the day a local cop pushed you just a little too far. The stupid asshole basically told you that you had no business in the line of work, that you couldn't handle it. That it would be best for you to just stand there and look cute while the adults do the talking. Let's just say that ended well for him. In a matter of seconds you had a man twice your size on the ground trying to tap out. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" You smirked as you let him go. A couple weeks after that, you and Sam started dating. That's when you realized that you had a new set of issues to handle. The guys you dated before had always beenbtaller than you, but no where near as tall as Sam. You had some adjusting to do. Over the course of dating Sam over the past few months, you became well acquainted with these struggles. You had a little inventory of them in fact. You could never keep up when walking with him. Constantly reminding him of you significantly shorter legs. You practically had to jog to keep up. One Sam step was like alteast 3 of yours. And you could forget going on a run with him. You can't do surprise kisses and all that cute shit, occasionally he is sitting and it makes it easier, but other than that, it was pretty much impossible. Well, kissing in general was quite a spectacle. Sam was stuck in some sort of half sqaut and you looked like a demented ballerina. Needless to say your favorite place was in the bunker was the stairs, where you could try eliminate some of the height difference. Hugging wasn't much less awkward. They were pretty much dad hugs. You looked like a little kid. There was no getting yoir arms around his neck, so there you guys were. Arms around his waist, and he was pretty much hugging your head. He also had a really bad habit of not holding things at a reasonable height when trying to show you something regarding a case. The words 'sam I can't see anything' were a regualr part of your vocab. Many time you wonder if you should just elbow him in the stomach to bring it down a notch. Don't even get you started on the unbelieveablt struggle that is eye contact. You could almost swear your head was tilted so far back that one movement of your eyes and you could be looking at the floor behind you. You paid a small price everytime you tried to maintain eye contact while he was standing, a kink in your neck for a little while. He was always either hiding stuff up high or just accidentally putting thinhs away on shelves that you couldn't reach, especially the food he gets on supply runs. It was a pain in the ass when you had to find something to climb on and risk breaking your neck, or wait for him to come home so he can get it for you. One of the hardest things was not being able to where his clothes. His shirts you could kind do, but you usually ended up looking less sexy, and more like a homeless hot mess. His sleep pants and sweats were out of the question, that is unless you wanted to break any number of bones when you tripped and fell flat on your face. His longs legs created peoblems all on their own. He took up all the legroom under the diner tables. You had to move the seat up feet, not inches when you drove a car after him. And it was down right comical to see him try to fit in your little car. You have to admit that even though you looked like a child compared to him and you were often mistaken for his little sister, it wasn't all bad. It still had it's perks. He always made you feel safe, always. His size alone, scared off any creeps. He was a shield from them, monsters, and even the sun. His height combined with your lack there of, meant you had a walking talking, shade tree. You never lost him in a crowd. Yes, while the hugs and kisses are sometimes awkward, they were also sweet. Afteall, you loved the forehead kisses. And as for the hugs, you had the best seat in the house to hear his heartbeat, which always made you feel safe, warm, and loved. You had your own personal assistant to reach things you couldn't. And well he was your excuse to not workout. You always say that it was double duty; walking with him was your cardio. You may not be able to just throw on his clothes like other girls, but you did learn a trick or two from magazines and youtube. They taught you how to make a cute sweetheart neckline dress out of his flannels and dress shirts. Which he found very sexy. So yea dating Sam came with its fair share of struggle, but it isn't all bad.

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