#i started it BEFORE february but i draw so slowly that i panicked and just finished it all today.......

[biblically-accurate-dca]

♡ happy valentine's! ♡

( og image under the cut! )

[xeaali]

Be Mine

Larissa Weems x Reader

Summary - Reader is in love with Larissa. This coming Valentine’s Day, you decide to act upon your feelings.

**Timeframe is in college, Larissa having a college romance she deserves!

** I don’t usually write, but thought I’d try? Idk. It was cute in my head haha.

As the months grew colder, your heart kept warm with the thoughts of her. February was right around the corner, you wanted to finally make your move on Larissa Weems. The girl you’ve been pining over for the past two years. You figured Valentine’s Day would be the perfect day, what woman wouldn’t find that romantic?

But what do you get for a woman who has everything? Your thing was art, you were amazing at drawing. Maybe you could make her a card, it’s the thought that counts, right?

The first week of February came around and you were panicked. Anytime you were around Larissa your heart would beat twice as hard and your mind went blank. Everyday after class you’d run to your dorm, making so many cards. This one wasn’t good enough, that one wasn’t the right color scheme. This card had to be perfect. Larissa was perfect, she deserves perfect.

Finally one evening you did it. You made the perfect card for the perfect woman. The card itself was a pale gray, with light blue and white accents. Very true to Larissa’s already existing color palette.

Once opened the card read :

My dearest Larissa,

Your eyes are as blue as the ocean, your lips red like lava. Skin as porcelain as the snow that falls from the heavens, tall as a stately sequoia.

All of your features are aligned with the earth, our world. The one shared with millions.

Yet Larissa, you are my world. A world that I do not care to share with others.

This Valentine’s Day, I am asking you a question.

Larissa Weems, will you be my girlfriend?

Yours Truly, y/n

After reading the note over and over you thought. Was this possibly too forward? Maybe? But she would appreciate the honesty. Larissa is a very just person.

You push your hesitations aside, you’ve been on the sidelines too long. You grabbed the envelope, put the card inside and sealed it.

Tomorrow was the day. February 14th. Valentine’s Day. The anxiety was getting to you, slowly eating you alive. You pushed it deep deep down. You were doing this. You were asking her out.

Before finding Larissa, you went out to town and bought white roses. Figured it would fit her aesthetic the best.

Once back on campus, you gathered your things. Card, flowers and yourself. Before leaving to find her, you looked in the mirror. You got this. The worst she can say is no. After your self reflection you left your room in search of Larissa.

It was a weekday so you know she would be getting out of her debate club meeting soon. You waited in the hallway, after no more than five minutes the club let out. Once you saw a glimpse of Larissa your face went red, realizing what you were about to do. You hid the flowers and card behind your back.

Larissa stepped out of the room. You ran up to stop her before she could walk off.

“Larissa!” You said.

“Oh y/n! Hello sweets.”

You blushed at her name for you.

You were silent for a moment, gathering the strength to do it.

“I…” You started, but lost track once you looked into her ocean blue eyes.

Snapping out of it when she smiled.

“I just wanted to give you this.” You pull the flowers and card from behind your back. Putting it between Larissa and yourself.

You felt your face turn bright red when she looked down and smiled at the gift before her.

“Yknow, since it’s Valentine’s Day and all. I figured a beautiful woman much like yourself shouldn’t go without a gift.” You smiled at your own bravery.

Larissa picked the gift from your hands, her fingers lingering against yours. She looked down at the envelope and smiled as she opened it. You watched her face closely as her eyes ran across the paper.

You gulped when her smile faded. Your anxiety was right. She hated it, she hated you. She was going to reject you. You started to prepare yourself for the sweetest rejection ever.

“Y/n…” She said with such bliss, you loved hearing your name leave her lips.

“Is this how you really feel about me?” She finished her sentence.

You look at the ground, not being able to make eye contact with her.

You took a deep breath before answering.

“Yes. I love you, Larissa.” You said, confident in your words.

After a moment of silence you felt fingertips lift your chin, meeting those beautiful blue eyes.

“I love you too, y/n” Larissa said, the phrase sounding like sweet honey dripping from her lips.

You smiled, without second thought you took her into your arms. Grabbing her by the waist. Her arms over your shoulders, she hugged you right back. After what felt like eternity, you pulled away, looking into her eyes once again. Leaving a hand still around her waist.

“So..” You said with a certain tone in your voice.

“So what?“ Larissa asked.

“The bottom of the note.” You mentioned, trying to be somewhat nonchalant about it.

“Oh! You want an answer to that?” Larissa said with a dangerously playful tone in her voice.

You stared at her a little dumbfounded, of course you wanted an answer. Granted she already professed her love back to you, but it would be nice to hear it from her.

She smiled a gorgeous smile. She leaned into you and connected her lips with yours. After a blissful moment she broke away, leaving you with a bright red kiss mark on your lips. She had no intent on removing it, nor did you.

“I would love to be your girlfriend, sweets” She said with a smile on her face.

You smiled right back. Larissa Weems is your girlfriend. Yours. You could blush at the thought.

Later in the evening, you and Larissa spent your first Valentine’s Day together as a couple. Dancing in the greenhouse, surrounded by plants that could never compare to your loves beauty. While soft music played in the background. It was perfect, truly bliss.

Your hand around her waist pulled her closer and dipped her. You leaned down and kissed her, slowly bringing her back up, not moving from her intoxicating lips. You two danced the night away.

Your Valentine’s Day with Larissa was a success.

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody - Chapter 01: Mine

Chapter 02

*I’m new to the Lukanette fandom (and fanfic writing lol), but I love this pairing. I started late on the whole “Lukanette February prompts” thing, but I’m going to try to catch up and finish this story. Any and all feedback is welcome and I hope you like this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!*

Rushing through the streets of Paris like an absolute madwoman, Marinette DuPain-Cheng began to wonder what course of events had resulted in her current panicked state. Then again, she had to admit that it was absolutely her own doing. As usual.

A few days ago, she had received a phone call from Jagged Stone’s assistant, Penny Rolling, requesting a special commission for Marinette to design an outfit for the rocker to wear to promote the release of his latest single. Completely over the moon to be asked by THE Jagged Stone to design the clothes that would be featured on TV and magazines all over the country, she hadn’t hesitated for a second to accept the job and had begun drawing design after design after design. But in her excitement – and feeling the pressure of a job of this magnitude – nothing she had come up with seemed good enough.

So after drawing non-stop and pulling one last all nighter before her initial concept meeting, Marinette had finally compiled a portfolio full of designs for Jagged to choose from. Only for her to sleep through her alarm. Again. When she had finally woken up to her phone buzzing incessantly next to her ear where she had laid her head on her desk to “rest her eyes for a minute”, she had shrieked when she realized that she only had fifteen minutes to get to her meeting. All the way across town!

She had reeled back in such a panic that she flipped her computer chair right over, leaving her dazed and confused lying on the floor on her back. She scrambled to her closet and tried to find an outfit appropriate for an up and coming designer to represent herself and her professionalism, because if there was anything that Marinette needed help with, it was trying to be “professional”.

She grabbed a pair of pale pink skinny jeans with a large black bow where the belt buckle would be, a loose pink top with black lace embellishments on the hem, and a sleek studded leather jacket. Shoving her feet into a pair of black lace ballet flats, she quickly grabbed her portfolio and dashed down her stairs, calling out a greeting to her parents on the way out.

 “Bye Maman, bye Papa! Wish me luck!”

She didn’t wait to hear their response as she made a bee-line straight for the nearest metro station.

Oh my god, Marinette, way to drop the ball! Not only am I going to be late for the biggest job I’ve ever had, but Jagged Stone is probably not going to like anything I came up with! He’s going to laugh at my designs and tell me that he’s changed his mind that he wants me to be his designer! Then I’ll never get another job because who would want to hire someone that Jagged Stone laughed at and I’ll have to work at my parents’ bakery for the rest of my life and I’ll never have my own place and I’ll never get to have a hamster named –

Marinette’s mental breakdown was abruptly interrupted when she turned a corner and slammed head-first into another person. She fell backward, landing hard on her butt as her portfolio went flying into the air, papers scattering around her.

“Aah! I am so sorry!” she scrambled to her hands and knees as she began to gather up her fallen designs. “I’m so clumsy. Please pardon me. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I-” Her apologetic ramblings were cut off when a hand covered her own, stilling her frantic movements.

“It’s okay,” a soothing voice calmly murmured above her downcast head. “There’s no harm done. Don’t get so worked up. Your sound is so chaotic right now, try to calm down.”

Marinette looked at the hand covering her own. It was masculine and strong, with black polish painting his nails and when she slowly withdrew her hand from under his, she could feel the subtle scrape of calluses on his fingertips.

Taking a deep breath, Marinette closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. And immediately began to panic once again when she realized that SHE WAS GOING TO BE LATE!!! “Thank you for your help! Once again, I’m sorry for almost tackling you while you were walking down the sidewalk, minding your own business. I really have to go. Bye!” She gathered up the rest of her drawings and rushed off, not even glancing back at the boy crouched on the sidewalk stunned by the whirlwind that had just about knocked him off his feet.

Standing back up, he adjusted the guitar resting behind his back and was about to continue on his way when he noticed a piece of paper under his boot. Leaning down to pick it up, he gasped when he saw what was on it. It was – in a word – glorious.

He gazed at the drawing with his heartbeat echoing in his ears, creating a deep baseline for the melody he suddenly heard flowing through his soul. The design he stared at was of a punk rock style outfit. It showcased a male wearing studded and ripped black jeans, untied black combat boots, and a white screen printed tee. But the focal point of the entire design was the absolutely beautiful leather jacket that the designer had made separate sketches of to emphasize the details: teal plaid lining, black lace inserts, studded cuffs and chains hanging from the shoulders. It was a work of art that had the guitarist in awe.

Did that girl draw this? He wondered. He clenched the paper in his fist as he quickly turned and tried to run after her. Reaching the end of the block, he looked up and down the street trying to find out where she had run off to. But she was gone without a trace. With a sigh, he once again looked at her design. Narrowing his eyes just a bit, he noticed in the bottom corner, three small letters, the only clue to the mystery designer’s identity. MDC.

Smiling softly to himself, he folded the paper he held and stuck it into the back pocket of his jeans. I have to find that girl. I have to find her and get her permission to make that outfit for me. She doesn’t know it yet, but she made that jacket for me. And if I have to, I’ll just have to convince her that it’s already mine.

Chapter 02

[shnuggletea]

The Kissin Booth is now open! I’ll be taking orders for kisses starting today. For my Cynophiles, Stargazers, and Bibliophiles on Patreon (Don’t freak out Subscribers, I changed the names of the tiers)! Order forms go live NOW! They close December 15th so become a Patreon and get your order in soon! 

If you want me to do an ask for free drabbles of your kiss, reblog, like, or leave a note to show me the interest in something like that. If the numbers reflect a decent show then I’ll do that as well. If you want a nice long 1,000k + fic around your kiss, you’ll have to subscribe by December 15th! 

@underwater0phelia @lavendertwilight89 @mamabearcat @nartista @nopenname22 @echobows @superpixie42 @smmahamazing @redflamesofpassion @jme-chan @cstorm86 @cicleydark-light @ruddcatha @lavaffair @kirrtash @sistasecbhere @inusgirl @obsessandfangirl @britonell @lordofthechips @mcornilliac @faolenwolf @classyhumanathletepalace @keichanz @phoenix-before-the-flame @artisticloveexpressitsall @lamuertadehambre @noyourenotreal @mitty-san @thenoammonster @little-deeluna @royaltrashpanda @sailorbabydoll92 @storyweaver2017 @malditamigs @adorabubblesblog @lilms-obsessed @petri808 @anniehcresta @fan-dumpp @itzatakahashi @utakuprincess @theschultinator @all-too-ale @little-inukag-obsessed @theseagullqueen @queenofthesquirps @inusgirl @jolinaaa00 @knowall7k @neutronstarchild @fawn-eyed-girl @eringobroke @sapphirestarxx @clearwillow @dangerouspompadour @tingaliciousky @master-ray5 @sailorsilverladybug @astraearose93 @egosolivagant @fandomartlover @sidsinning @sailorlolo​ @kagometaishostory @orientaldancegirl222

Look below to see what choices you get and image what your kiss could look like!

OTPs

Usagi x Mamoru

Makoto x Neph

Ami x Zoisite

Rei x Jad

Mina x Kun

Inukag

Sango x Miroku

Inu Parents

Tomo x Natomi

Edwin

Hak x Yona

Nalu

An ‘in the life’ kiss from one of my fics (make sure to include the name of the fic and the OTP within it you want for the kiss).

Types of Kisses:

Goodbye kisses: Lingering and hard for longer times apart. Ones that curve A’s body against B’s and cause hands to play against backs. Or short pecks, maybe not even completely on the mouth for short trips to the grocery store.

Hello kisses: After long periods apart, these can include A picking up B and spinning them around. Fingers pressing into cheeks, palms cupping necks, and breathless laughs when they finally come up for air.

Breathless kisses: A series of short pecks because they need the closeness but they also need air, so. Sometimes smiles come in between, or sometimes it’s just breath, gasping for the sole purpose of being able to kiss again.

Heated kisses: Breath huffing into mouths, angrily or passionately. Hands grabbing at clothing and pulling each other closer.

First kisses: Hesitant and nervous. Lips hover inches from each other for a few seconds before they just barely brush. It’s just a soft press, but it ignites their entire bodies. Pinkies link afterwards, still wanting to be close, and each looks down, smiling softly.

After sex kisses: Lazy, slow presses. Limbs pressed together, chests heaving. Soft murmurs about what to do for dinner later, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns. B rolling onto their back and A trailing their lips down their neck, kissing their shoulder, their chest, anywhere they can think of, memorizing B.

Morning kisses: Barely awake kisses that usually end up on jaws or cheeks because A is too tired to land it properly. B makes a sleepy sound and rolls into A, nuzzling their face into their neck, ankles hooking together, while A drapes their arms around B and they fall back asleep for a while.

Post-break up kisses: Soft and slow. Hands on each other’s arms in a way that neither can tell if the other is pushing away or pulling closer. The kiss ends with their foreheads pressed together, neither wanting it to be true that this is happening.

Christmas kisses: More smile than actual kiss. A holds mistletoe above their heads while B rolls their eyes, but pulls A down by the collar of their ugly Christmas sweater for a heated kiss. A takes B by the waist and walks forward until they are around the corner, away from the prying eyes and hoots of the rest of their friends and family.

Comforting kisses: B walks into find A sitting on the bed, shoulders shaking, cheeks wet. A looks up, face looking stricken for a moment. B is shocked, and quietly says A’s name. At this, A breaks, face crumpling, and only barely has time to reach both hands out for B before B is there, kneeling at A’s feet. B takes A’s hands first, kissing their knuckles and palms. Then B reaches up to hold A’s face, pressing soft kisses around their cheeks, their lips, murmuring “it’s okay” and “you’re alright” and “I’m here” in between.

“I thought I lost you” kisses: The breath is knocked out of both of them with the force that they collide with. Hands grip the back of t-shirts and palms are pressed up and under shirts, holding them close, feeling the warmth of their skin. Palms are pressed to cheeks, thumbs swiping away tears until their mouths collide messily, the world seeming to disappear around them.

“We can’t do this” kisses: Fists clenched, hands shoved into pockets. Brows low or brought together, jaws clenched. A feeling like a magnetic pull between them. Their foreheads pressed together, their lips brush, just barely, until B pulls away with a shaking exhale, forehead dropping into A’s neck.

“Come to bed” kisses: A has their hands on B’s neck, murmuring the phrase softly. A’s hands slide down B’s arms to their hands, lacing their fingers together and slowly starting to pull B towards their bedroom. A continues to pepper B with kisses all the while, trailing them down their jaw and neck.

“You look beautiful” kisses: Just a soft press of lips to the temple, resting them there for a moment, then smiling down and telling them as much.

“I’ll be right back” kisses: A puts their hands on B’s shoulders from behind them, where they are sat on the couch. He leans down and around, while B turns his head a little, accepting the quick peck.

“I missed you” kisses: Long and relentless, holding their body close, arms wrapped completely around their waist. A burying their head in B’s neck and pressing kisses there too.

Angry kisses: Hard, gripping. Fists in clothes, shoving each other against walls. Fingers digging into hips. But the kisses always melt away from that. They turn into brushes of lips between shaking breaths, until they’re out of energy and are left just standing there, holding each other, fingers carding through hair.

Sad kisses: Almost not a kiss at all. Just holding onto each other tightly, A’s lips pressed to B’s temple, whispering soft words, desperately trying to provide whatever comfort they can.

In the dark kisses: The movie plays in the background, but A and B are hardly paying attention from the back row. They kiss soundlessly, long and soft, fingers locked. A’s arm is thrown behind B’s seat, wrist bent to curl their fingers into B’s hair.

Dying kisses: A holds B in their arms, panicked, crying. Murmurs of “no, no, no.” Salt on their lips from tears. Voice cracking. Holding on tightly to their shirt, their shoulder, their hand, roughly pulling them against their body, anything to try and keep them tethered to this earth. Kissing them as they die (“no. No, stay awake—“), Kissing them once more even with the life has left their body (No. God, come back. Please, come back. Please, look at me, I’m right here”).

Ways to Kiss:

breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths

moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed

kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

throwing their arms around the other person, holding them close while they kiss

hands on the other person’s back, fingertips pressing under their top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of bare skin that make them break the kiss with a gasp

lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward 

one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other 

staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck

starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion

a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss

when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead 

height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes 

kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap 

kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing 

top of head kisses 

Places Where People Kiss:

In the rain.

In a vehicle.

In the street.

On the sidewalk.

In the shower.

In the kitchen.

In the snow.

Under the stars.

In the moonlight.

By the river.

In the water.

In the bedroom.

In a bar.

At a party.

At the other’s place.

By a campfire.

Reasons to kiss:

Life or Death

Love

Celebration

Longing

Missing the other

Relief

Lust

Need

No reason at all

Admiration

Power

First Kiss

Confessing feelings

A bet

Sad or hurt feelings

First date

Remember to reblog, like, and/or leave a note if you want me to do an ask for drabble kisses for February!!

[hyggeligbirch]

Poppy Red

An EXO Fanfiction

pairing: jongin x baekhyun word count: 2 637 warnings: none

summary: Everyone knows that being twenty-three and terribly ill only means one thing.  You’ve put off finding your soulmate for a little too long.

The apartment comes cheap. Excessively cheap. But Jongin doesn’t really have room to worry about it. Excessively cheap is the only thing he can afford on the tiny savings that have brought him here.

It’s a tiny place, barely room to breathe, much less live. The bed is lofted above a small table, which presses against the chest of drawers that make up the only storage in the place. The swing of the door takes up the rest of the room; the bathroom is shared, at the end of the hall.

But he can live with that, he supposes. It’s not like he has much to his name anyway. And when he’s pulled in what little he has - thrown his blankets on the bed, set his rice cooker on the table, tucked his plants on the chest of drawers - it feels a little more like a home.

He starts work that first morning, pulling an opening shift at a friend’s shop. Only place he could find work on such short notice. It’s not as bad as he’d feared.

Sure, there are a lot of slow periods, a lot of rude customers. But Jongin likes sitting in the back with the flowers, and some of the customers are sweet.

Days come and go. He tires. He pales. Miss Sophie, who comes in every day at noon wearing a blue dress and straw hat to buy exactly three sprigs of baby’s breath, notices. She buys a little red poppy, and tucks it in his hands.

“She wants to protect you,” she says, in the way of wrinkled old women. “Let her try.”

--

Baekhyun has always been active. Sitting still just doesn’t seem to work. There’s always something to do and something to see. Normally it doesn’t cause too much trouble, this need to move. At least, not since he graduated school. He had immediately picked up a job at a local nursery, and it fits perfectly. The little kids certainly don’t mind having someone to run around with, and the teachers appreciate the time to work in peace.

He goes from work to his second job, a few hours in the evening at a little cafe, and then he usually goes out with friends. Sometimes just himself. And then he stumbles in a little before midnight, finally tired and a little bit drunk, stopping just long enough to take his shoes off before collapsing on his bed. He’s not a complete heathen, after all.

But then the third week of November rolls around and it’s like he hits a brick wall. He’s tired, like he’s never been before. He begs off of drinks to go home and read. He calls in sick to the nursery because he can’t pull himself out of bed. He figures it’s just a bug. He’ll sleep it off soon enough.

--

Nothing is appetizing, and Jongin knows it shows.  His clothes are starting to get baggy and he can count his ribs when he stands in front of the mirror.  Junmyeon stops him as he’s clocking out, the fourth Tuesday of January, and invites him to dinner.  Miss Sophie gives him cakes every Tuesday and another flower every Friday and comforting smiles the rest of the week.

But it’s not like it’s worth anything.  Food just isn’t appealing.  Still, Jongin tries.  He wakes up and makes breakfast.  He makes extra rice for his dinner and packs a large lunch.  He forces his food down until he feels sick, and then a little more. There’s still always some left.

When he was fifteen, it was just one of the magics of teenage boyhood, eating mountains of food and still managing to lose weight.

When he’s twenty-three, it’s a little more worrisome.

--

In the middle of February, Baekhyun quits the nursery, collecting hugs and crumpled drawings from dozen tiny hands.  His energy still hasn’t come back from November and it’s finally time to give in to reality.  His new job consists of sitting in a cushioned chair and answering phones for eight hours a day.  It’s honest work.  It pays the rent.

As he crashes into bed at half past eight on a Friday night, exhausted to his very bones, he realizes that he’s scared.  He’s already twenty-five.

--

(Fifth grade health courses all look the same.  An old woman wearing too much perfume walks into the classroom with gym teacher.  She takes the girls to another room, where she teaches them about the horrors of life. The boys get to stay and hear about their own growing pains from a man who survived them himself.

When the groups are brought back together, the atmosphere settles from general disgust to solemn contemplation as the projector hums to life.

“Soulmates,” the film always starts, a deep voice that booms through tinny old speakers, “are a fact of life.  Each of you has one; it is your duty to find them.”  As scenes of domestic bliss play out, it continues. “When you are with your soulmate, there will be no pain.  The world is a beautiful place when shared with your soulmate.  Everything is brighter.  The birds sing sweeter and the wind blows gentler….”  It continues, extolling the virtues of a soulmate.

There’s always one kid who raises their hand at the end of the video and asks, “What if we don’t want a soulmate?”

The adults are always aghast.  

“Soulmates,” they warn, “are necessary for life.”)

--

Jongin lives alone in an apartment that is barely big enough for himself and his forest of potted plants, and it’s his own damn fault.  The thing is, he doesn’t particularly care.

He doesn’t care because he remembers being twelve and wondering why his classmates had become obsessed with every mark on their skin, wondering if it was a message from their soulmate.

He doesn’t care because he remembers being fifteen and watching his best friend crushed by the realization that his soulmate was an empty-minded girl who could think of little more than when she could next get high.

He doesn’t care because he remembers being eighteen and finally finding the strength to voice his greatest belief.  “I don’t want a soulmate,” he had said, quietly at first and then forcefully, again and again into frozen air in the middle of the night.

And he doesn’t fucking care because he remembers making a panicked phone call at half past two in the morning, when he was twenty-three and homeless.  “If you really want to be alone so badly,” his father had said, when Jongin finally refused to pretend to care any longer, “then you can leave.  I’m not boarding suicidal idiots.”

Jongin is twenty-three and he still doesn’t want a soulmate.

His apartment is small but it’s cheap and it’s his and he’s happy with this life.

And then he wakes up on the eighteenth of February with a thick black streak across his forarm.

--

Baekhyun stares at the mark on his arm.  The marker drops to the ground as he realizes what he’s done.

He’s never seen a mark like that on his skin.  It’s a child’s game, drawing shapes on your own skin in hopes that your soulmate will respond.  He’d never done it as a child, preferring to mess around with his friends when they weren’t looking.  And no marks had ever appeared on him.

By his seventeenth birthday, he was too afraid to even try. What if he was the one person in the history of the world not to have a soulmate?

But now he’s twenty-five and so, so exhausted.  It’s worth the shot.

Soulmates are necessary, after all.

--

Jongin wears long sleeves to work the next week, terrified of the marks on his arms.  There’s a new one every day and he doesn’t know what to do.  He doesn’t want a soulmate.  He’d even gotten a lifetime of the hope that he’d gotten lucky and didn’t have one.  Now he’s not sure what to do.

Miss Sophie notices, of course, wrinkled hand seizing his wrist and pushing up his sleeve as he hands her her flowers.   “Someone’s a little antsy,” she observes.  “You should probably reply.”

He tries to pull his hand away, refusing to look her in the eye. After a moment, she lets him.

She pauses at the door, old fingers curved around the bottom of the glass vase.  “He just wants to protect you.”

Friday comes.  Miss Sophie buys exactly three sprigs of baby’s breath, and leaves.  Jongin gets no flower today.  Miss Sophie doesn’t even have to say the words; the silence as the door closes speaks them loud enough.

Let him try.

--

Monday morning brings torrents of rain and an ache in his bones, but Baekhyun is too distracted to particularly care.  He’d gotten up before dawn and stumbled blindly into the shower, cursing his stupid job.  Nothing’s strange then.  He’s exactly as pale as he’s always been, save for the black marks up and down his arms, but he knows every one of them, each straight line and careless dot.

And nothing is strange when stumbles back out, skin reddened by the far-too-hot water and the roughness of his towels.  He dresses quickly, carelessly, pulling on a pair of not-too-wrinkled pants and a shirt that’s definitely seen better days.

The only thought he has is of coffee; while the pot brews, he reheats yesterday’s dinner, hoping that maybe it’ll taste better today.

Things only get strange when he drops his fresh coffee on his almost-presentable pants.

Baekhyun scrambles out of the sodden pants, near tears because fuck that was hot.  He drops his pants on the table and stands stock-still in his briefs as his exhausted mind tries to catch up.  It clicks through slowly.  Picked up coffee pot.  Poured coffee into cup.  Wait.  Forgot cup. Poured coffee onto – and cuts off abruptly.  That is not what his thigh looks like.

--

Jongin panics.  Just a little.  Just for a day.  It takes three heartbeats after he’s scrawled three stark words – Where are you? – on his thigh for him to scramble into jeans and sweatshirt and not take them off again.  He’s twenty-three and he’s wasting away into nothing and it’s scaring him, but it scares him even more to reach out.  It feels fake.  He’d rather die alone.

But that’s not really an option.  Death goes both ways, when it comes to soulmates.  And Jongin is no murderer.

--

Where are you? Baekhyun had been asked.  He answers, immediately.  And then he asks When can we meet?

The response comes just before midnight, a hasty scrawl in a spotty blue pen.  It feels like a feather brushing just inside of his skin and there’s the most absurd urge to claw the words out of his skin.  But he doesn’t.  It’s been a long day of stressed waiting and now it’s nothing but relief.

Friday, his thigh reads.  Noon.  Outside the flower shop on 3rd.

--

It’s chilly, but not cold.  Sharp winds tear through the streets, upsetting bins and tearing away awnings.  Jongin taps his fingers anxiously on the countertop as the clock ticks on.  He can’t run.  He can’t hide.  He can’t pretend that this was all some big mistake.  He watches the world swirl by the windows and wonders absently if the window boxes will survive.

The immediate snaps back into focus with the soft jingle of the door.  Miss Sophie walks in, her low heels clacking on the floor.  She looks at him though her thick glasses.  He starts.  It must be noon.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sophie, I have to step out for a moment.” And he’ll swear his voice doesn’t crack.

She smiles at him.  “Of course, dear.” She smiles at him.  “Oh, but wait a moment.  Take this with you.”

He reaches out without even thinking, mind already a thousand steps away.

--

They say that you just know when you meet your soulmate.  They say it’s not a jolt of electricity or niggling feeling in the back of the mind, but a quiet certainty.

Baekhyun thinks it’s like looking in a mirror.

The streets are surprisingly crowded for how chilly it is, this late in February, and he’s been jostled back and forth for almost ten minutes while he’s strained to see faces.  Hoping he doesn’t miss his soulmate.  Whoever they are.

He catches a glimpse of yet another mop of black hair and the whole world slows.  Stops. The man’s two feet away from him, just stepping out of the flower shop, dressed in jeans and a pale sweater. He’s taller than Baekhyun had expected. And then he turns, casting nervously about and Baekhyun could swear he can hear the world click back into place.

Baekhyun is pale and tired and this man is dark and dangerously thin.  It still feels like he’s seeing his reflection walking towards him.

He steps forward.  Introduces himself.

--

Jongin has no words.  They’ve all been stolen away by this intense feeling of belonging.  It doesn’t seem to matter, though.  Baekhyun’s got enough words for both of them.

“Poppies are my favourite,” he says, pointing at Jongin’s hands.  “You like them, too?”

Jongin looks down, confused.  Smiles at the poppy in his hands.  “Yeah.  But this one’s for you.”  It has to be.

Baekhyun’s smile doesn’t quite clear the bags under his eyes. “So, do I get a name with the poppy, or what?”

--

Baekhyun’s thrilled at Jongin’s apartment.  Jongin never thought it was much, just small, and cramped, and horrible, but Baekhyun’s glowing.  He buries himself in the flowers, drifting his fingers over their delicate petals.  He looks blissful.  Due mostly to finding his soulmate, Jongin is sure.  

But Jongin feels like hell, because this isn’t something he’s ever wanted.  But he doesn’t want to break this moment.  Baekhyun is happy, and that feels almost like peace.

Best to ruin everything now, he figures.  It’ll only hurt more, later.

“Baekhyun,” he says, and almost chickens out, “I don’t want a soulmate.”  There’s more to say, there’s more he needs to say, but he can’t find the words.  So, he waits.

“Then what do you want?”  If Baekhyun’s hurt at all by Jongin’s words, he hides it impeccably.

“I don’t know.”

Jongin’s panicking and the room is too quiet and too loud all at once.  This is not how it’s supposed to be.  You’re supposed to want your soulmate.  You’re supposed to feel like your life is complete.  You’re supposed to want the perfect life with them, children and a marriage and holding hands as you die.  And he does he does he does, but he doesn’t. Baekhyun feels right and complete and his, but none of that is happy.

But then there’s a hand in his.  “That makes two of us.”

The world settles.  Again.  Baekhyun’s smiling and Jongin can’t help but smile back.  It’s a little ridiculous.  He’s willing to try, just to keep that smile going.

“Poppies will protect you,” he says, and what kind of idiot just says stuff like that?

Baekhyun doesn’t seem to mind, tilting his head and considering the table full of poppies with drifting fingers.  “Will they really?”

“As long as you let them try.”

--

Their apartment comes cheap.  Cheap is good.  Cheap means a plant on every surface.  Cheap means dates to local restaurants where they drink a little too much and fall into bed laughing, after.  Cheap means only two jobs between them and food still on the table and a furnace that works.

It’s not orthodox, not in the least.  There’s a fish, but no children.  There are books, but no marriage.  There’s a bedroom, but two beds.

But they’re happy and they’re healthy and nothing but themselves.

It’s all the poppies’ fault.

Ende

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Boys & Girls (Sriracha, Part 40.)

Series description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: Family life suited you both and what was better, this time it was going to work out for real.

A/N: And we are officially back in business with ma boi Jim. Also, greatly inspired by Jim Croce since Hopper really loved his music.

Warnings: Weepnig and whining messes on the end of the chapter.

Word count: 4K

Tagging: @nemodoren @missdictatorme @ysljordy @creedslove​ @hopperlover​

Series master list: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

Even if the things were slowly settling down, with you and Jim being definitely in the honeymoon phase again and not being engaged for some unknown reason, it still took some to make all the things right again. You needed to help Jim with making a new ID, you had quite a long scrum with the bank and authorities to even believe that Jim is really and Jim just for him to get a hold on his former conto with the money you both saved over the time. You didn't have access to the money since James was the account holder - but at the end of February, you finally were allowed to use the money and you started to look for a new home - it was incredibly awkward that you both had to live at your parents’ house no matter how many times your ma told you it’s fine.

Jim started to visit a therapist and group therapy sessions in a nearby town and so far, it was doing him justice. He felt better to know some more Vietnam veterans who've been through the same thing he was through - these men had gone through. He called his former colleague Rosario Delgado to ask her about her well being - it was almost ten years since the New York incident and she stopped sending him Christmas postcards. James was trying to get his life together; he wanted to sort everything out after almost twenty years. And he was doing good.

You proceeded to study at the university, still having your old part-time job at the bistro, being there at least three days a week. Jim’s salary of a police officer wasnt bad, not at all, but it still was a downgrade from his Chief salary. It wasn’t that you suddenly were on the edge of poverty, especially with your savings, but you felt the missing money - especially when you were looking for a flat in the downtown. But in the end, you hadn't settled down on a flat; you chose a small house which was still significantly closer to the downtown than the suburban houses.

It was nice - this wasn’t his trail or his cabin where he had already been moved in; this was the first time when you chose, paid, and started to live on a place together. This was the fresh start drawing a flat line behind the Hawkins Lab incident, behind Russia, behind both Vietnam and New York - with endless love, Jim was leaving Sara and Diane behind.

The first few weeks in the house were the best - you hadn't got any TV, any couch, not even a bed or a wardrobe. You had only one mattress on the floor where you were sleeping, a few kitchen appliances, boxed with all of your stuff, and an old gramophone. You couldn't count the running shower which was already there. When you weren't at work or school, you were painting the walls on your own since you didn't exactly have the money to pay a professional painter.

"This is supposed to be a pomelo orange? Are you sure about that? Haven't you took a different bucket on accident?" - Jim yelled at you while you were swabbing a room you decided to have a living room in. You stopped your work and swiped the sweat off your forehead, listening to Jim Croce’s Operator. You unpacked each of James’ Jim Croce vinyl records and moved it into your new place as well, usually listening to Croce while you were working.

James was looking healthier and healthier with each passing month - he gained a few pounds, you couldn't see his ribs anymore, he let his hair grow and his significant ’83 beard was back again. He was looking hot, especially in an unbuttoned shirt and a new Jim Croce shirt you ordered him for his name day - which was more than three months away, but you loved it so much that you couldn't stop yourself.

He was standing there looking at the wall, the orange paint was all over his body, but not on his shirt as he held the paint roller in his palm. Yeah, you could see what he was talking about - it was more peachy than a pomelo, but you liked it nonetheless. - "Maybe it’ll be looking better once it dries up, hm?" - You whispered and hugged him from behind slowly. You were still careful with the touches and freaking him out, but it was undeniable that it got better. Gently, you kissed his shoulder and smiled at the work he had done.

"It looks great Hopper." - You nodded with a grin. He circled his palms around yours and swayed his hips in the rhythm of the song. You did so as well. Slowly, he turned around to face you, smiling down on you. You smiled back, expecting a kiss - only to have the paint rolled all over your face. You closed your eyes and grunted angrily.

"Oh yea, I can see the pomelo color now. I think you were rite. Why don't you have more clothes in this color? It suits you." - Jim grinned before he pressed his face to yours so some of the paint pressed on his skin too.

"This was unnecessary - so now, I will angrily continue the things I was up to before you called out." - You said with fake drama in your voice, being the drama queen you always were. You had already put your arms from his hips, pulling away, when he leaned in for a kiss. You felt the paint on your tongue, which was indeed disgusting.

"It was completely necessary, in my defense, miss Y/L/N." - James yelled at you after a while. You chuckled, yelling back at him why he thinks so, continuing with cleaning up the room. - "Isn't that obvious? My girlfriend now has to take a shower before the paint settles down in her hair and since I have it on my face too, you know that does that mean." - Jim suddenly stood up the doorframe, watching you on the floor trying to clean up the fucking wooden floor.

A burst of unbelieving laughter came out of your lips as you watched him. - "This is a genius move for a dumbass like you, Hopper, I gotta say. But you'll have to play Speedball Tucker if you want to see me undressing." - You stood up and bit your lip, having Jim already walking to the gramophone.

"Why is it that this song does things to you?" - Jim asked and stopped the music to put in Life & Times by Croce. You shrugged your shoulders with a nasty smile, already unbuttoning the first buttons.

"I don't know. Maybe it’s because you hum it all the time? But play me You Don't Mess Around With Jim in the bed and I'll show you things you haven't seen yet." - Your short snort resonated through the living room as you turned around to walk to the bathroom. - "You sure will." - Jim snorted back, already throwing his shirt on the floor.

Eleven was over her heels when she came to visit Hawkins on spring break with Joyce. While Joyce was staying at your mum’s, her sons were at Wheelers’, Eleven was staying at your place in her room - it was also the only room which was finished - she had a bed there, a bookshelf for schoolbooks and comic books, a large table you bought on a flea market with a chair in the pair and you told her that she can have some posters and as many photo frames as she wants to. It still needed small touches, but it also meant one thing. It was a silent promise that soon enough, you'll be a family again.

In the end, you decided to put up some of Sara's photos. You knew it was really important Jim, but you needed to talk him down into it. You loved one of the photos from her kindergarten which you put up in the kitchen. When Joyce saw that you hung the picture up, her eyes teared up as she smiled. It also sparkled a rather interesting conversation between you and James.

"How was it like?" - You asked when you were preparing dinner. Jim was sitting at the improvised table; you still had an empty living room, hall and the master bedroom was consisting of the mattress only. He looked up from a detective novel he was reading, looking up at you.

"What? You mean seducin' you? I'm a piece of cake so you gave in pretty easily." - He grinned, having a smile from ear to ear. It was around five p.m. and Eleven was soon about to come home. Tomorrow, you had a family dinner at Enzo's in the plan - Mike was supposed to come, Aiden and Lena drove from New Orleans in the evening.

"Hold your horses. A) you're wrong because I'm a sex bomb and you were all over the place from me and b) no, I don't mean this... I mean... How was it like to have such a small baby girl?" - You answered from concentrating on having the pepper perfectly cut. Hopper closed the book, holding the page with his fingers. His eyes widened and cheeks filled when he slowly inhaled some air.

"It's somethin' you can't even describe. It's fillin' up to the bottom of your soul, you more than love every second of it. When the child hugs you, you just feel sorta warm next to your heart. You only want them to be safe and happy every day, you'd do every little thin' just to see them smile." - Hopper got out with noticeable pauses - he wasn't good with his words, but you could hear that he means every letter of what he had said.

"That sounds just... Lovely." - You sighed and let's be honest, the smile on your face was freaking James out. He was watching you without looking away. - "What would you say..." - You bit your lip and looked Jim in the eyes. Hopper's eyes widened almost unnoticeable.

"If you'd have a chance to do it again?" - You whispered and at that moment, Eleven entered the house, so panicked Hopper didn't have a chance to answer. Playfully, you rose your eyebrows happily and turned back to the pepper. - "Just think about it, yeah?"

Of course, this was about to come. You were young, your thirties were almost six years away and one day, this question was about to come his way. Kids. You never talked about having kids - you already had one. But not about really settling down to have a real family life. With small kids.

Was James even ready to try it again? Or was he simply too old to raise a kid? Or two of them? Sure, you'll soon be done with university and your parents would help you with every little thing you'd ask them, yet James couldn't forget that this was Hawkins in Indiana. This place was dangerous. Especially for James Hopper.

But you said it out loud. That you want to have kids. Sure, El was your kid, your baby girl and you'd kick ass to anyone who'd try to harm her. But there was an itsy bitsy thing - you didn't give birth to her which could do a lot. You proclaimed her as your rightful kid, you were written down in her birth certificate.

James was out of the world for both the following evening and he was even more stressed out the other day when you were supposed to go to Enzo's.

Your question had pulled some damn switch inside of him; he wasn't able to properly fall asleep the whole night thinking about the kid thingy. The only thing James could say for sure was that if you'd have a girl, she would look like an angel; because you were one. But that wasnt all.

"Are you having nightmares or what's wrong with you?" - You mumbled from somewhere under your blanket. You mostly were doing that during winter and in the early spring - only your head could be seen because your whole body was curled up under the blanket to keep you warm. You moved around a bit before Jim could register your face.

"Should somethin’ be wrong with me?" - James hummed and brought you closer to warm you up. You were as cold as ice. Carefully, you wrapped your leg around his waist, leaving out a long sigh.

"You're turning around all the time and make the mattress move. Something on your mind, Hop?" - You yawned and put your temple on his shoulder, closing your eyes again. You were smiling without realizing; just smelling him and feeling him close was making you happy. And you fell asleep again almost immediately.

Jim wanted to ask you to marry him on the family, this time, he made sure he adhered to the traditions - first, earlier that day when he was dropping El at your parents’ house before she was supposed to see Mike, he talked with your father. Both he and Molly couldn't understand why did he cancel the engagement in the first place, just to ask them.

He did the best to tell them that he's now trying to turn his life around, starting from a literal zero - he contacted his old colleagues like Rosario and Vietnam comrades, he said goodbye to Sara, bought the house with you and renovated it. James just wanted a new life and he wanted to start it in the right way with you by his side. That was what made your dad give him his blessing.

On top of that, you were controlling how much did he smoke and how much Tuinal did he take - it wasn’t meant in a bad way and James knew that - he was just fucking grateful that you took the role of his guardian angel. You couldn't be described any other way than being a guardian angel.

But if he proposes to you, then marries you... Kids were just the next step, right? When Jim finally fell asleep, it was while he held your waist and tried to think about what would it look like. James was almost forty-four years old. He would be sixty when the kid would be sixteen, sixty-four when they would be twenty. Which was horrifying and more than that. He was thirty when Sara was born which was an ideal age in his opinion. He was thirty-seven when she died. Would he be even able to be a good dad? Jim thought that he was in a fairly good condition, thanks to his police work, but a kid...  

The other evening, Jim put on his best shirt and tuxedo, looking at himself in the mirror as he was adjusting the small details - this tuxedo he had at the first family dinner in your house. Eleven peaked into the room before she entered.

She was a grown-up since the last time James had seen her - she had longer hair, she was more tanned, taller and even her face seemed to be more adult. James admired that Eleven was always an adult in some way. Ever since Jim met her, in some things, she was drastically more matured than kids her age - she knew things people her age didn't have a single idea about. Yet now it seemed that her personality had deepened even more than before.

Eleven had a nice dress on and you helped her put her hair in a messy bun. She smiled at James and checked that the door is closed.

"Are you okay?" - She asked excitedly. Right at the moment, you were in the living room with Mike and you two were chatting while drinking some lemonade you made. He was supposed to make you occupied while Eleven went to check up on Hopper.

"How can I be okay?" - Hopper said with an unnerved laugher and went to sit down on your bed. Eleven laughed as well and sat next to him; she hugged his shoulder and shook him a bit.

"Mom said yes before and she loves you. She will say yes again, I'm sure." - Eleven smiled and put her temple on Jim's shoulder, letting him kiss the back of her head. She could now speak as kids her age did. Eleven was talking fluently, without hesitation, but yes, sometimes she still thought about how to put a sentence in a certain way. - "Grandpa said yes too, he knows you two should be together."

"How did you come to that conclusion, kiddo? Hm?" - Jim chuckled at her words. He knew what Eleven was trying to tell him, but it was too adorable not to make fun of.

"I've heard that in a movie I was watching with Joyce and Will." - She smiled and at that moment, they both turned their heads to the door, hearing as you called out for them. It was time to go. Eleven got up first, giving her palm to Hopper to help him get up. - "You can do it. Its just one question."

"Geez, you're a smart one, kiddo." - Hopper chuckled, following her out of the room. You and Mike were waiting under the staircase. Even if Jim saw you before and he knew how would you look like, he was wonderstruck when he saw you in your blue dress with your hair styled masterfully.

"What were you two up to, huh?" - You asked both of them, tying up his tie again, properly this time. - "Are you having secrets again?" - You joked, making Eleven smile innocently as she stood up next to Mike and entwined her elbow with his. After taking too many photos and embarrassing the hell out of Mike, Jim laid in with his dad jokes that time, yo rode to the restaurant.

Mike on the backseat was visibly sweating. He always thought that Eleven has Hopper and you - he forgot that you have a brother and parents. If he was worried about something, it was that he won't make a good first impression. Which would embarrass him to death? Yet, you were telling the whole time that he's perfectly fine. It was strange to realize that Aiden was only six years older than them. That wasn’t too much. And you weren't much older either.

Seeing your family gather around one table was a thing that made you so happy, that smiled didn't leave your face the whole afternoon. Mike, in the end, was happy too - he and Eleven befriended your cousin Andrea who was at their age, so these three had so many to talk about and so did you, the adults sitting there. The food in Enzo’s was delicious and this time, you hadn't got any surprise which would make faint. Even the fine wine you loved so much was ordered and Jim offered that this time, he would drive home - which meant that you had nothing to be worried or angry about.

Everyone shut up when a man stood up from the chair he was sitting on and you were looking at him with awe. Your palm circled Jims as you watched your younger brother getting himself to propose to his girlfriend. Which was kinda scaring Jim, since that was his plan that evening?

The things Aiden told her were one of the sweetest you had ever head. With a contained smile, you leaned to James’ shoulder, watching Aiden getting on his knee with a face that was showing his emotions. He was lost over the heels for Lena, his heart was surely beating for her. You didn't notice your dad having intense eye contact with Jim since he was waiting for the older man to do the exact thing his son had just done.

And you asked what's wrong when Jim took a deep breath in, trying not to faint. He was stressed. He was facing stress. The last time he was doing this was behind a locked door to his office. Not in a restaurant, let alone your family being present.

"Jim, are you having a heart attack?" - You put your palms on his jaws, looking at his reddened cheeks and completely sweaty forehead. Hopper shook his head, having his eyes widening with each passing second. It was now or never situation. Naturally, everyone was extra-surprised when Hopper suddenly stood up as well and exhaled loudly.

It didn't take you too much time to figure out what's happening there. You had seen him this nervous once already and boy oh boy, here it was again. It was nice and you knew that most likely, he had encouraged himself for weeks before he was ready to get on that damn knee again.

"My dear Y/N." - He started, watching your father as if the man would tell him what should he say next - and the funniest part was that your father watched him as well in the same way. Then Jim’s palm took a hold on the back of your chair, the man leaning down a bit. The guests inside Enzo’s were nervous. One proposal was a classic, but two at once? That was extraordinary.

"I want... To... Tell you..." - Jim started slowly as he tried to get his self-confidence back. You nodded and caught his other palm to show him that he's fine. Nothing could ruin his moment. - "I love you. Very much. And that I know you hadn't got it exactly easy with me past couple of months. And neither of the people had it easy with us. It's just how it is, and I'm grateful for everything you've been willing to give me - family, a new home, the feeling of being safe, and useful. You made me see a million things I haven't seen before meeting you and I have to thank you and your family for that." - Jim looked around nervously, having you still smiling in front of him.

Joyce surely wrote this speech too. She was a mister of romantic words full of love, which wasn’t exactly Hopper’s area. He was more about showing love than telling the words yet you liked that about him. This was just Joyce’s work.

"And for that, I would be honored," - Was the part where he got on his knees finally and this time, it felt like a proposal for a wedding. Not some Hopper’s ’I would be up for marriage if you want to’. This looked like a real ’Do you want to spend the rest of your life by my side?’, which brought happy tears to your eyes. - "If you'd like to become my wife and have me by your side until the day we both get old and wrinkly."

That was maybe the best Hopper could get out of himself, but let's be honest, it left you a whining and nodding mess, since you couldn't say a single word at that moment. The last thing you remembered clearly from that evening was when Hopper gently picked you up from the ground when you had the ring on, weeping here and there as well.

[britt2ney]

Give Yourself A Timeout

When a child misbehaves, a common response to that behavior is to put the child in a timeout. Why is this a good solution? Two reasons: it stops the action and encourages self-reflection with the hope of breaking unacceptable behavior habits and thought patterns.

With that said, our virtual identities are misbehaving. Habitually. People have conditioned themselves into thinking that it is acceptable behavior to call names, be judgmental, argumentative, condescending, and alienating towards anyone they want to - all from behind the safety and complacency of their computer screens. People also think it is perfectly fine to saturate their minds with perpetual fear, worry, and anxiety-inducing input from external influences. We spend hours and hours looking at our devices daily (just ask Siri) and we’re doing very little to balance that influence without even questioning the damage it is causing or the patterns it is conditioning us with.

This is a call to action for immediate cessation, reevaluation, and reformation of behavior. You are not blameless from the choices you make, even if they are things you would never do in a face to face setting. You would discipline your child if they bullied another child in front of you. Now, it’s time to bring that disciple inward.

Your online avatar needs a timeout.

Take Back Ownership

It began innocently enough. Your friends and family encouraged you to create an account online on various platforms to stay close and share your lives virtually. It became easier to connect in this way, so much so that we slowly began doing less connective activities like spending time together in person, talking on the phone, printing photographs, having hard and heartfelt discussions eye-to-eye, etc. Social media has very gently trained us to connect in the most disconnected manner we’ve ever experienced as a species; and the problem is, most of us don’t even stop to look at who we’ve become, both individually and collectively. We’re so caught up in this routine behavior that we don’t stop to ask if it’s benefitting anyone, including ourselves.

So ask yourself: is what I focus on everyday online helping anyone? Is it helping my family? Is it bringing people together or pushing people apart? What is my role in this and how can I do better? Take a hard look at your custom designed emoji’s face. Is this the kind of person you would invite into the lives of those you love? Are they contributing to a better society?

I’m not blaming you for how you got here. But the time has come for us all to take individual responsibility for the choices we are allowing that are harmful to us. And to own it.

The Courage to Admit Defeat

We failed. All of us did. We were presented with a scenario none of us anticipated: a highly contagious virus coupled with a media campaign of fear and isolation. And what did we do? We forgot everything we’ve learned about taking care of ourselves and our mental health and abandoned all reason in exchange for fear and hate.

I had the virus back in February. It was awful. Here were my symptoms: it started with a sore throat. By the evening of day 1, I had a fever of 104 and I was visibly shaking. By day 3, I could hardly breathe. On a normal day, I can probably count to 10 on an inhale. I was down to a count of 2. That’s so scary for someone who has always had strong lungs. But instead of panicking, I slowed down my breathing and calmed myself down until I was able to be rational. Then I went to the hospital. Since it was February, the only test for the virus was “Have you been out of the country lately?” to which the answer was no. So I was diagnosed with flu-like symptoms, given an inhaler, and a prescription for cough syrup. For an entire week, I had daily temps around 101 and evening temps of 103-104. I slept all day and I lost 11 lbs by the end of the week. I also had migraines every day for that first week. By week two, the fevers were done but I had developed tinnitus in my right ear (which I still have even now) and I had lost my sense of taste and smell (which lasted for almost two weeks). I was perpetually exhausted and had to use the inhaler for about a month before my lung capacity returned to normal.

I know firsthand that the virus is no joke. I also know that if I had panicked, I would have started hyperventilating and would have been hospitalized. I know this. I felt the panic, but I chose not to give into it. And this is my point: whether you’ve had the virus or not, you have the choice to let fear into your heart or to decide to overcome it. We have survived many hardships as a species and it is as though the survival instinct within is dissipating from our collective psyche. We are forgetting that we are fighters and that we are social creatures. And we are forgetting this because we are no longer behaving as civilized and social humans.

You’ve been sick before. Everyone has. What’s the usual protocol? Rest, Vitamin C, Vitamin D, hot soup, etc. And the next time you get sick, you don’t get sick as bad because you taught your body how to work with and learn from the illness. This virus is no different, it’s just really unpleasant. And I feel very strongly that if we did not have the internet, cable tv, etc. on loop telling us to be afraid, less people would be dying from this. If you don’t want to take my word for it, don’t also take your newsfeed’s word or the media’s word for it either. Draw your own conclusions.

The real threat to your health is not the virus. It’s the fear. And we just proved to ourselves that we lost the battle to fear by how we’ve behaved. And though the war for your mind rages on, it is not over while you still breathe. Accept that you lost this first battle. But now acknowledge the war for what it is and choose new weapons to fight back with. How do we combat fear? With love and connectedness.

Choose an Authentic Path

There’s a reason I sign all of my blogs with “Always, Brittney”. That is a reminder, that through all triumphs and hardships, I push myself to be a consistent influence for those around me. I choose to not give in when it’s easy, to not let the indifference of others jade me, and to stay true to who I am. So here is my request, from a space of authenticity: please come back to who you are. Stop being and behaving as your phone and tv and computer tell you to be. Stop fighting and trolling online when you know this has never been who you are in person. Stop allowing yourself to be less than who you really are at heart. Start embodying the courage of our ancestors. Bring love and light back into the lives of others. Choose to spread hope and wisdom. Do not give up on us. But perhaps, give up on your online identity. Or at the very least, clean it up. Take a few weeks off of social media and spend some time with the inner dialogue of your mind. And once you’ve sat in your timeout long enough, join us once again as a positive influence for the collective mind that we share together. You’re an adult. The only one who can discipline your thoughts and actions is you.

Always, Brittney

[winterune]

A Leap of Faith

A Persona 5 Fanfiction

Day 5 of Daybreakers 2020 event by @p5daybreak Character: Ann Takamaki - Prompt: Origin

Word count: 1905

A/N: I am so sorry if this is late! Probably not the best and I may need to reread and edit this for AO3 but I wanted to write something for the event :)

~*~*~*~*~

You’ll be a good girl, OK, Ann?

That was what her parents had said when they first left her alone in that empty house with only a caretaker as a company. She was 13. They had only just moved there several months ago when her parents’ work brought them back to Japan. For some reason, they had decided to leave her there while they held their vibrant fashion shows all around the world.

So you don’t have to keep transferring schools.

They had never really asked her. Maybe, she preferred transferring schools to staying in a place that didn’t want her.

You have Sayoko here, and your father’s family.

But Sayoko was not her parents and her father’s family was not in Tokyo. Was it really so hard to understand?

And maybe, after you finish high school, you can join us again.

Why couldn’t she join them now?!

Ann had sat there with them, in their new living room, when her mother first told her of their plans. She hadn’t asked to come. She had just nodded like the good girl she was, because she knew how important her parents’ works were for them. She had often come to those fashion shows, visited them in their studios or sets. She loved seeing her parents work. So she had nodded and waved at them from the door when they had been about to leave for the airport. And maybe, those were tears she had seen in her mother’s eyes, but she hadn’t been sure. Still, she smiled because she hadn’t wanted her mother to worry, because, really, how hard could it be?

Sayoko stayed by Ann’s side, even as the taxi had turned around the corner and gone out of sight; even as Ann stayed there, hand still halfway up in the air, staring at the horizon. A tiny pang slowly crept into her heart. Maybe… Maybe she should have said something.

“Ann-sama,” was Sayoko’s quiet voice, bringing Ann back to her senses. She walked back inside while Sayoko closed the door.

***

How hard could it be?

Yes, that had been what she had thought when her parents first left her, and she had truly believed it. It wasn’t like she had never been left alone before. Her parents’ work took most of their time away from her and Ann had grown accustomed to coming home to an empty house and eating take-outs by herself. Her life at school had mostly been all right, though there was that tiny fact that people tended to avoid her. She didn’t really under why. Whenever she tried to talk to them, she would often see forced smiles and nods and slowly, they would leave. She would hear snippets of conversations that interested her, or she would find a manga or video game that she was into, but none of the kids at school ever let her into their circle.

And then, the rumors started—of herself stealing someone else’s boyfriend.

It had come to her as a shock when she found her shoe locker filled with trash to the brim, slurs and other sorts of profanities written and drawn on her desk.

“Who did this?” she had asked, but no one came forward.

Was it because of the love confession she had received one afternoon? Sometime after school a week ago, a boy had asked her to come to the spot behind the gym. An upperclassman she had never known before waited for her and asked her to be his girlfriend. Of course she refused. She didn’t know him, let alone liked him. Why would she accept such a thing?

But apparently, the guy was famous and had his own group of secret admirers at school. They called her one day to that same spot behind the gym, and shoved her against the wall.

“You think you’re some hotshot just because you have the looks and lived abroad?” the leader of the pack said.

“I never said I was,” Ann countered at the girl, another upperclassman she had never known before.

That earned her a slap. It was the first time she had ever been slapped and, in all honestly, Ann was shocked. Her cheek stung when she tried to touch it and tears sprang to her eyes.

The girl moved her face closer to Ann that Ann could see the contemptuous look on her face. “An outsider like you should know,” she quietly said, “that this is our turf and you’re gonna have to play by our rules.” Ann glared at her from the corner of her eyes and the girl sneered. “Keep having that attitude and see where it leads you, bitch.”

They left, before dousing her completely with cold and dirty water, their fading laughter grating her ears. Ann bit her lip and told her not to cry. It’s all right, she told herself. This’ll pass. Her only respite was that she had PE lessons that day and had brought her gym clothes along.

***

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, and the seasons changed from winter to spring and Ann found herself in a new school year with cherry blossoms blooming all around. Ann stood in front of the bathroom mirror one day, staring at the natural blond hair she had come to hate. The hair dye stood just a few inches away. Would everyone accept her if her hair was black and her eyes brown?

She had grabbed the bottle and poised it over her head, but…she just couldn’t do it. Not when her parents had always said how much they loved it. What would they say if they came home and found their daughter’s hair short and black? Ann dropped the hair dye and fell to her knees. She hated herself—hated herself to be so weak, to have let what people said get to her. Why did she have to change herself to conform to other people’s wishes? Why did she have to let them win?

As though she knew that Ann needed to hear her voice, her mother called that night. Her room was dark, her curtains closed. She hadn’t felt like eating dinner and so had locked herself up in her room for the rest of the evening. But then her smart phone rang and her mother’s name appeared. Longing to hear her voice overpowered any sort of stupid reasoning Ann had come up with not to answer the call, so she picked it up, and put the phone to her ear. The sound of her mother’s voice immediately made her want to cry.

They talked about anything and everything—simple, mundane things, like school and the house and life altogether. Then her mother asked about Sayoko, and Sayoko was the best. Ann meant that. Her caretaker was a quiet presence in the house who gave her any sort of solid ground to stand. When Ann went home soaked to the bone that February, she hadn’t asked anything—hadn’t berated her nor scolded her. She had probably only let out a quiet gasp, before ushering her inside and preparing her a long, warm bath. And she had stayed beside her as Ann cried to her shoulder.

Her parents were in France for some fashion show to be held on June. Ann could hear distant voices talking in French. Her mother had to still be at work now.

When are you coming home, she wanted to ask, even though she knew her parents had just come to Japan that spring break. Can I come with you? I want to come with you.

There was a long pause, but when her mother spoke next, Ann stopped breathing.

“Is everything all right, Ann?”

How did she know? She wasn’t supposed to know. Ann had carefully kept any emotion from seeping into her voice, but somehow, her mother just asked her the question she had wanted to hear.

Ann felt a lump in her throat as her heart crushed under invisible weight. She started crying, a quiet thing at first that turned to hiccups and uncontrollable sobs. Her mother panicked and was calling her name over and over again. No, baby. Baby, what’s wrong? Ann, talk to me, honey. But Ann shook her head, as she tried to regain her voice because her crying wouldn’t stop.

“I’ll finish work soon,” her mother said. “Then I’ll take the earliest flight to Japan—”

“No, mom,” Ann finally croaked. “I’m fine. I’m all right. I just—” She racked her brain for some reason she could use, “—I burned my hand when I was helping Sayoko cook dinner.” It was a lame excuse, and her mother probably didn’t buy it. “I’m all right, really. Don’t…don’t leave your work just for my sake.”

Her mother didn’t buy it, as she had thought, but she still played along. She promised Ann that after her work in France was done, she would go back to Japan and be with her.

***

Some more time passed and it was a week before summer vacation started. Ann had learned to ignore the slurs and whispers directed at her, learned to plug her ear when she needed to, learned to look down at her feet when she walked, learned to not look people in the eye. If she made her presence small enough, people might leave her be. That was, until an art class one afternoon, when she was drawing by herself in a corner where no one would bother her. A voice behind her startled her.

“Takamaki-san.” It was one of the girls in class, her black hair tied back, her eyebrows drawn as she stared at Ann’s drawing. Shiho Suzui, she thought her name was. They were supposed to draw the objects displayed at the front of the class—a simple plate of fruits on a table.

“What?” Ann said, drawing up her guards.

“Oh, uh, nothing, just that…” Shiho paused, glancing briefly at Ann. “Your drawing sucks.”

Ann was stunned. She should have been furious and mortified at being told bluntly like that in the middle of class, but it was the first time anyone had ever struck a conversation with her that didn’t involve any sarcasm or personal insults. After getting past her initial surprise, Ann found herself laughing, then caught herself before the teacher heard her and covered her mouth with a hand.

Shiho stared at her incredulously, which made Ann want to laugh even more.

“Sorry, just that, you’re the first person who’s ever said that.”

Shiho snorted a laughter. “Seriously?”

Well, no one had ever really paid attention to her drawing before. Ann shrugged.

“Good thing you know that now then,” she went on. “Can’t see you ever getting a good grade in art.”

“Trust me, I never.”

The two girls snickered quietly.

She was a quiet girl who didn’t stand out very much, and she was smiling at her—a genuine smile, not those sneers or smirks she had gotten used to. And she had offered Ann a normal conversation. Maybe it was all right. Maybe Ann could take that leap of faith.

She smiled and said, “You can just call me Ann, Suzui-san.”

And she waited, with bated breath, for that sneer to appear. But it didn’t. What she found instead was a familiar smile, sincere, with a hint of a giggle underneath. “And you can call me Shiho, Ann.”

~ END ~

[byebyebyler]

A Stupid Fight - Byler

They were in the middle of a stupid fight. They both wanted to forget about it as soon as it had started, but instead, it ended with Will slamming the door to their apartment as hard as his small body could manage.

Mike sighed, running a hand through his wild curls. He looked blankly at the pieces of paper in front of him, scribbled with ideas that his mind formulated in the middle of long nights, making him jolt wide awake and wake Will in the process.

Will.

“It was supposed to be good news,” Mike mumbled to himself, “Not the start of a fucking argument.”

Mike had gotten an offer that he couldn’t pass up. The couple’s comic series has been pitched to be turned into a full blown Hollywood series of movies. He was super excited about it, and he was especially excited to tell Will since it was both of theirs, Will being the illustrator.

He was hoping Will would be as happy as he was. Obviously nothing was set in stone, but he wanted to answer the movie company as quickly as possible to ensure it could still happen.

They could pick up their entire life and shift it across the country. It was an exciting new stage of Mike’s life, and he wanted to share all of it with Will.

Will, on the other hand, wasn’t leaping at the idea. Living even in New York City, it was too far away from Indiana for Will. He was very family oriented and liked visiting his mother and Hopper over breaks from work and holidays. Mike totally understood that, but he couldn’t and didn’t want to move without Will.

“We’ll still see them on holidays and stuff! We can call!” Mike had assured him enthusiastically, smiling widely at his boyfriend.

“Mike, it’s not that easy. My mom needs me to be close, she doesn’t want anything to happen like... before,” Will whispered the last word, reluctantly looking up at Mike’s worried eyes.

“Will, I’ll be with you every single day. Nothing will happen, alright?” Mike promised him softly, holding Will’s hand to comfort him. Mike pressed a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away to smile gently at Will. “Think of it: we could buy an actual house, that’d be awesome. It’ll be way better than this shitty apartment, and we can maybe get a cute dog or something. We’ll have a office to share, you can have a place for all your fancy art things-“

“Mike, what if I don’t want that?” Will said so quietly that Mike could hardly hear him.

“I get that you don’t wanna move, Will, but I don’t wanna-“

“No. What I mean is... what if I don’t want this huge Hollywood success. It’s our work together, I don’t want our names or work to be associated with a horrible movie. Then, horrible sequels too.”

Mike furrowed his eyes, looking at Will with confusion on his face. “I’m sure we’ll have a say in everything concerning the movie-“

“How much say? Will we see the script, will we not? Will we be able to have a say in costumes, outfits, or sets? Will they even fucking let us because we’re together?” Will asked, his voice shaking but getting louder with every question.

“Will,” Mike said, trying to calm him down with a soft voice. “Things are better in California, you know. There’s always gonna be people like that in life-“

Will scoffed, shaking his head. “So, you’re just telling me to accept that?!” He challenged Mike with a look of disbelief on his face. “Really? After everything I’ve been through- after everything we’ve been through?”

Will went over to the kitchen, grabbing his jacket violently off of the counter. He put it on quickly, looking utterly frustrated and upset. “You know what, Mike? I’m sorry I have to ruin your big Hollywood dreams, but I can see the reality in some of these things. I’m not gonna work with anyone who thinks that our relationship is gross or disgusting so much so that they don’t want us to be involved in making our work become a reality.” He reaches the door, watching Mike stay put near the couch. “I’m gonna go take a walk,” he finally said, slamming the door before Mike could respond.

-

Mike shook his head, playing out the previous events on a loop in his mind. He felt horrible. He felt guilty that he hadn’t listened to Will the way a boyfriend of years should’ve. He sighed again, lifting himself off of the couch.

He knew Will needed space, and he wanted to give him that, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how things ended.

He walked over to their shared office, smiling at the rough sketches along with finished pieces scattered all over Will’s desk. Mike could list thousands of good qualities of Will’s but neatness wasn’t one of them.

Mike opened his own desk’s drawer that they had named the Drawer of Everything Needed at Some Point when they had first moved into their apartment. He smiled, picking up the small velvet box he kept hidden in there. He had bought it on a whim one day several months ago. A simple silver band that he knew would suit Will. He had only glanced at it a few times since purchasing it, but this time it was the most meaningful.

He was waiting for the right moment. But, as his thumbs stroked the velvet material of the box, he was fearing it would never come. Especially not after the way this fight left them.

Sighing, Mike shoved the box far back into the drawer like he had done so many months ago.

Will, instead of being cuddled up close to Mike, was out in the brisk cold air of Central Park. Him and Mike didn’t live too far away from the park, but it seemed miles away that February night.

He was stuck in his thoughts. He didn’t want to be disagreeable, but he wanted to ensure that moving across the country would be worth it. Will wanted a say in everything, he wanted a say since he was the one who designed Mike’s characters. He felt like that was only necessary.

But, he also felt that if the actors or people working on the movie figured out him and Mike were together, it would destroy everything. The comics wouldn’t sell, the movie would be gone, everything would shatter.

“A gay comic book writer and his boyfriend who draws the pictures,” Will mumbled to himself, kicking some slushy snow into the street.

Once in the park, he sat on one of the benches. It was freezing cold, and that only made Will miss Mike more. Mike was basically a human furnace, heat radiated off of him.

After contemplating the long walk back to their apartment, Will waved down a taxi which brought him to his building a lot faster than he wanted to be. I should’ve walked. What if Mike’s upset? I basically crushed his dreams, should I walk around the block until midnight? I could do that...

He generously paid the taxi driver, wondering if the man could be bribed into driving Will to Jersey. Maybe Indiana if he was up for it. Anything to avoid Mike’s hurt gaze that Will worried about the entire cab ride. Too soon, the taxi was gone, and Will was left to either freeze his ass off outside or go inside and possibly be broken up with Mike.

He hoped for the best, that Mike would just be mad for the night, and ran up the stairs. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, and instead took the stairs two at a time.

He reached the apartment quickly, digging into his pocket for the keys. After moments of panicking, Will found them and slowly unlocked the door.

All of the lights were still on, and Mike was sitting on the couch. His head turned when the door opened, and he couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Will,” Mike said, walking over to the door to stand in front of his boyfriend. “You’re freezing.” His smile melted into a frown, taking his jacket quickly.

“I love you,” Will told him, smiling and happy that he wasn’t upset. “I’m sorry,” he said once Mike had him wrapped tightly in a hug. “I’m sorry. I totally overreacted. I should be happy that your work is possibly going to be a movie. That’s amazing.”

Mike stepped back and leaned down to kiss Will. “It’s /our/ work. You worked as hard as me on your famous drawings-“

“I’m not famous,” Will quickly corrected him, ducking his head as a blush formed on his cheeks. “I love you, dork.”

“I love you more,” Mike responded, holding onto Will’s hand while trying unsuccessfully to hang up Will’s jacket in their closet. After failing multiple times, he threw it onto the counter, Will rolling his eyes at him. “And, I’m not mad, if anything I wasn’t listening to what you were saying. I’m sorry about that, and I should’ve asked all of the questions you had. They’re important. They’re important to you, that makes them important to me.”

Mike continued on, walking them over to the couch. “And, honestly,” he sunk into the couch cushion, smiling as Will instinctively curled up into his side, “they should be important to me nonetheless. I never want to put you in a situation where either of us could be hurt in that way. And, obviously I want my boyfriend on set at all times. I want to be able to hold his hand while we watch actors mess up lines all day long. Besides, you’re the creative genius behind all of the illustrations, so you especially should be the one watching from behind the camera.”

Will interlaced their fingers together, squeezing Mike’s hand. “I don’t want you to be hurt either. Or us. Or the movie because of some anti-gay writers or producers or directors trying to keep everything from us.”

“I’ll call them first thing tomorrow. Everything will be figured out for us I’m sure. If that’s what you want... you know, if you wanna go to California.”

Will shot him an uneasy glance, relaxing as he felt Mike’s hand squeeze his. “I’m still not sure about that... I don’t mean to be like that — all disagreeable and stuff — but I’m sorry-“

Mike pressed a kiss against the top of Will’s head. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. I wasn’t listening, and we both know I do that a lot. I’ll ask about relocating the filming locations, how about that?”

Will smiled, wrapping an arm tighter around Mike’s torso. “And, we can always get a dog here in our shitty apartment, right?”

Mike laughed into Will’s hair, nodding along to his words. “Yup, our shitty little apartment.”

[two-creepy-nerds]

Howl

By: Byron

11:54PM

Dogs barking. There are dogs barking outside my apartment that keep catching the attention of my cat. They aren’t directly outside, but in the homes of nearby neighbors. If they were outside my door, my cat would become way more aggressive. She’s already very territorial of our place, so just seeing another cat outside will get her in a rowdy mood.

She’s not wrong for feeling concerned. The dogs in this area never barked this often before. It’s even worse than that though. Every night this happens there comes a news report soon after about a break in for one of the houses. The house’s door would be broken into violently, leaving the door almost destroyed and off its hinges. Scratches would be found on numerous surfaces inside the homes and faint hints of blood would remain, but none of the occupants could ever be found afterwards. Nothing would be left, but teeth.

Every time this happened the news confirmed through dental records that the teeth belonged to the owners of each home.

It’s happening again tonight. It’s like a goddamn ritual. Dogs barking, my cat on the defense and my scared ass needing to vent here. I can’t fucking take these nights anymore. The police are trying to put more patrol routes through this area of the town since it’s been consistent with this spot only, but considering that hasn't stopped it either we might as well be treating this as a major threat to the community.

Grab your pitchforks! Light your torches! Load up into the school gymnasium with all of your guns and wait for this mother fucker to come out and empty a shit ton of lead into him or it or-

Good god, I’m going overboard. I’m panicking. This isn’t helping. I need to play some games. Take this off my mind.

2:10AM

My cat is freaking the fuck out! She’s hissing at the window, so there’s something definitely out there! I can’t build up the nerve to go see what it is. All I can do is type my feelings and I feel so damn hopeless.

God dammit! She’s practically yelling at the thing! The dogs are barking so loud now it’s becoming deafening! Like they’re not even outside anymore!

I’m gonna take a look.

4:50AM

I’m typing from my phone in this journal now, sitting in the bathtub. I’m just waiting it out until the sunlight finally comes. There’s a rectangular window at the top of my showers wall which I’m using to judge when the light comes through. It’s just barely there.

I’m not gonna lie that I’m lying here in my own piss. The thing that my cat got so angry at was almost too dark to make out when I parted the blinds. Every street lamp was shut off outside and the only thing I could actually see the first time I laid eyes upon this creature were two small, yellow orbs. Those were its hungry eyes and when I decided to shine my phone light on it, the electricity in my apartment blacked out.

There was nothing there outside the window and suddenly all the dogs stopped barking. I tried to grasp my cat purely for comfort, but as soon as I felt her fur I knew something was wrong. It was like every hair on her body was sticking straight up.

A dog's howl quietly started, being joined by others and quickly raising in volume to that of an angry pack of wolves. My cat began to meow in a low, concerned tone before something started to bang on my front door! It kept banging repeatedly and my cat started to yowl as I ran into this bathroom just by remembering the layout and locked the door.

I now realized I locked her out. She was locked out there the whole time. Good god. But I never heard her yelp or make any other distressing noise when that yowl slowly went down in volume as I waited here and the dogs just got louder. It was ridiculous how deafening it got, but nothing compared to when my apartment's front door was broken through and soon the bathroom door was receiving the same treatment.

It took way less time for this one to get knocked down and as soon as the door swung and hit the sink with a bang, the howling stopped. I heard breathing and then light taps like nails against a hardwood floor. Then a sucking noise.

I pulled back the bathtub's curtain just a little bit and tried to focus on what was in here. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the form of a wolf. A very frail, almost sickly looking wolf with something hanging down from its mouth.

Now it took me a second to really make out what it was because it was just so odd. The wolf wasn’t bent down in any way, but it was lapping up- no, sucking at something on the floor with it like it was some straw like appendage. I finally just had to cope with it and assume that that was its tongue. And I’m pretty sure it was lapping at where I first wet myself. I know I don’t need to get more detailed than that.

After the wolf finished drinking, its tongue retracted back into its body with a wet smacking sound and made its way out the door.

This all happened in less than half an hour. I’ve been here for a little more than two hours and I’m terrified, I miss my cat and I’m sticky and I just want to be over with this.

It’s five now. It was hard to type this out, but I was able to draw it out until then. The light is getting a bit brighter. It’s just becoming dusk, I’m sure of it.

Oh my god. My cat! She’s meowing! I need to see her!

Last entry from February 9th

From the Greenford Tribune, February 12th

Today we had a break in happen to yet another unfortunate resident of Greenford. According to police reports we were able to get, the MO seems to be the same as the previous break ins leaving the inside of the home ravaged and the owner missing. A missing persons report will be going out when more information is gathered on the resident. The only other details that could be given were the discovery of a cat that seemed to be unharmed and was very social with everyone at the scene.

[quarterfromcanon]

Habits

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 25 - Pet Name [3,599 words]

“Wanna get high and help me name my starfish?”

Valencia lifted her eyebrows. The sight of Heather on the doorstep toting an aquarium and a backpack full of recreational materials was not what she’d expected to find outside her apartment that night. However, after the recent decrease in communication between them, the surprise was far from unwelcome. “Hello to you, too.” She stepped aside to allow her friend to pass.

Heather carefully set her new sea creature atop the kitchen counter, under the cabinets. She gauged the distance from there to the living room and nodded to herself. “She’ll be safe here,” Heather elucidated upon noticing Valencia’s quizzical response.

“I should preface by saying I don’t smoke pot. Or anything else, for that matter.” Valencia returned to the couch. She turned off the TV and tossed aside several throw pillows to make room for a second occupant.

Her unexpected guest took the vacant spot and put her book bag on the floor. “I can teach you,” Heather volunteered as she withdrew the supplies from their hiding places.

Valencia glanced at her stack of rented DVDs beside an empty takeout box. Meanwhile, Heather rummaged through unseen contents and grumbled about the stash slipping all the way to the bottom. Valencia watched her for a moment - hair falling over her cheek, biceps still bearing indents from the heavy fish tank, a faint trace of spilled water across her shirt - and reached a conclusion. She rearranged the clutter on her coffee table. “All right. I wasn’t really doing anything tonight anyway.”

“That’s the spirit,” Heather remarked dryly. She produced a purple lighter, papers, cardboard, glue, and the sought-after Ziploc bag. “Before we get started, do you have cucumbers?”

Valencia blanched. “One, I think. Why?”

“It’s good for the dry mouth effect,” Heather explained. “That and water. But we need to prep ahead of time because you do not wanna be wielding a sharp knife when you’re on this stuff.”

“Got it. I’ll take care of those and you can finish setting up here.” Valencia departed for the kitchen, feeling strangely observed by the starfish in the corner. She sliced enough cucumber to cover a plate and put the rest of the produce back in her fridge. Once a water bottle was tucked under each arm, she shuffled to the living room with the dish balanced on her palm. Valencia positioned one drink on each end of the table. She set the plate in the center.

Heather held a finished product and the lighter in her hands. She sparked a small flame, touched the fire to the end of the paper, and twiddled the joint in circles between her thumb and forefinger. Heather talked Valencia through the breathing counts by likening it to yoga. Then she detailed the best inhalation technique for drawing the hit into her lungs. 

Valencia worked to commit the advice to memory despite mounting uncertainty. She gave Heather’s demonstration full attention and tried to duplicate it once the second toke was offered to her. The sputtering aftermath seemed unavoidable, but it could’ve been worse without the tutorial.

“Why do you have a starfish?” Valencia asked once the cough subsided. 

“Marine Biology. She’s basically the biggest part of my grade for the next three months.”

“Important starfish.” Valencia flexed her fingers. Her brow furrowed at the subtle numbness in her extremities.

“Yeah. We get to refer to them by name in our reports, so I’m trying to figure out something that’s, like, academically serious but still reflects her personality.” Heather contemplated the tank from a distance. “Oh, right, I almost forgot.” She fumbled with a different compartment of her bag and tossed Valencia a hefty paperback. 

Valencia missed the catch. The purchase whacked the corner of the couch, causing it to ricochet into her lap. “What’s this?”

“I thought it might give us a place to start.” Heather twisted the cap off her water and chugged.

Valencia held the book away from her face. Her eyes went slightly crossed at the number emblazoned across the front. “One million... No, wait, damn it. Not that many zeroes. One hundred thousand baby names? Holy crap! Heather, I don’t think people consider this many options for their human children.”

“They do according to the store where I bought our mid-high munchies.”

Valencia tried to whistle but couldn’t accomplish the sound. She gave up the effort and shook her head instead. “We’re going to be here a while.”

Heather plucked up two slices of cucumber. She pressed one against Valencia’s palm. “We’ve got time.”

Valencia followed the unspoken command and sampled the serving. She grabbed Heather’s wrist. “This tastes like rain.”

Heather snorted. “What?”

“Try it.” 

Heather complied and her eyes widened. “It does.”

They consumed a few more before Valencia’s elbow bumped the book and she remembered their intended task. “Oh shoot. We were supposed to be finding a name for your little buddy.” Her forehead creased as she attempted to concentrate. “What kind of name?”

“Maybe we could start with real stars?”

“The celebrity kind or wish-upon-a?”

Heather cackled but held up two fingers. “That one.” She leaned against the pile of throw pillows. “Polaris. Vega. Mira.”

“The Sun,” Valencia added tentatively.

“Also true.”

“How about the word for star in other languages?”

“What would that be in Spanish?”

“Estrella.”

Heather leaned forward until she could see her starfish in the water. “Estrella,” she repeated, dragging out the final vowel. “I kinda dig that.” 

“We have a keeper?”

“I think so.”

Valencia pouted at the tome under her hand, still unopened. “Well, that was easy.” She chucked it away. The thunk of impact when the book slid to the bathroom door made them giggle.

They readjusted on the couch until they were angled toward one another, legs overlapped at the ankle. 

“You know, before you showed up tonight, I kind of wondered if maybe you were mad at me,” Valencia admitted.

Heather reached for the joint where it rested at the edge of their shared plate. “Why would I be upset with you?”

Valencia frowned. “I don’t know. We haven’t been hanging out lately, and I guess I got worried. I haven’t seen you since Rebecca and I came back from investigating Anna.”

“Things got kinda busy after that.” Heather exhaled slowly. “Speaking of getting busy, how was that barfly rando you left with? Rebecca was all pouty you turned her down for Friday Night Lights to get laid. Because, y’know, priorities.”

“We didn’t really do anything.”

“He passed out before things got to that point? The guy was pretty far gone already.”

“No, he was conscious when I saw him last.” Valencia sighed and lolled her head to the side. “I panicked and ditched him in the parking lot.”

Heather traced the design on the nearest pillow. Her head bobbed almost imperceptibly with every rise and fall of the stitching, as if she were experiencing each crest and valley like a winding road. “Why’s that?”

“I didn’t know how to go through it.” Heather gave her a dubious look and they both laughed. Valencia rolled her eyes. “Well, okay, I knew how, but I’ve never had a one-night stand in my life. He was all over me under the lamppost and it was like I was out of my body thinking, ‘What am I going to do? Invite this not-so-sexy stranger back to my place and pray he’s not a murderer?’ I don’t even remember what excuse I made. I just bolted and shouted something over my shoulder. Locked my car doors and sped off.”

Heather stifled a snicker with a fist against her mouth. “Wow. That was a next level hard pass.”

Valencia hid behind her fingers, wincing. “I know. I feel bad but, at the same time, I don’t regret it.” She lowered her arms and twitched her shoulders. “So Josh has some hot new girlfriend and I’m still single. Who gives a shit? Let her put up with the sports clutter all over the house and his annoying nostalgia for his mom’s Bagel Bites.” Valencia paused with a wistful expression. “Oh, but those do sound good right now.”

Heather plunged a hand into her backpack and produced a recognizable red box with a yellow label.

Valencia’s jaw dropped. “You’re a genius.”

They went to the stove and arranged the treats on a pan. Valencia set the oven to preheat then hopped onto the counter with her legs dangling over the ledge. Heather visited her pet. “Hey, Estrella, how’re you doing over here? V, check it out. I think she kinda moved a little. She answered when I called her.” 

Valencia beamed and tapped her shoes against the lower level cabinets. “I’m glad she likes it.”

“Since you picked the name, it feels like that makes you an honorary part of this.” Heather slid her fingertips across the cool glass. “Like a godmother or something.”

“Except we didn’t have to immerse her in water for the christening. She’s already there.” 

“Maybe, for ocean life, you’re supposed to lift them to the sky? Sorta like Simba.”

“I’m not reaching in there.” Valencia shook her head emphatically until dizziness made her stop. “Let’s just pretend we did.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Heather bent low to drape her arms along the counter in front of the tank. She folded both hands beneath her face and stared at the grains of sand. 

Valencia studied Heather with heightened sensory detail. The soft, even sound of her breath reached Valencia’s ears as if there were only centimeters between them. She became convinced it might be possible to count Heather’s eyelashes from afar. Everything was so bold and focused when she looked closely -- the small mole visible beyond the opening in Heather’s deep-cut tank top and another on her neck, the subtle indentation in her chin, the slope of her nose, the piercing through her perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and the way the light bounced off the water to dance across her skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Valencia mumbled.

Heather turned to her with a smile. “And you’re high as fuck.”

Valencia considered the current perch she occupied and gulped. Her muddled thoughts latched onto a more literal interpretation of the word ‘high.’ She became suddenly anxious. “I don’t know if I can get down from here.”

Heather moved to stand before Valencia. She braced her knees and extended her arms. “On three?”

Valencia jumped off without warning. Heather yelped when Valencia’s feet landed on hers, but she steadied her companion with a firm grip regardless. “I didn’t count,” she croaked.

“Sorry.” Valencia pulled away slightly to look into Heather’s eyes, but not far enough to break the hold.

Beep.

Heather dropped both hands to her sides. “Oven’s ready.”

Valencia blinked and nodded. She slid the pan onto the metal rack and closed the door. Then she settled cross-legged on the laminate to stare through the foggy glass at their food.

Heather laughed. “Dude, you’ve gotta set the timer first.” She punched in the appropriate number of minutes and offered to help Valencia rise from the floor. “C’mon, let’s wait in the living room.”

Valencia accepted Heather’s assistance but felt a strange pang when her friend’s fingers released hers once more.

They flopped on the couch. Heather flailed as the stacked throw pillows came tumbling down over her head. “Your furniture is attacking me.”

Valencia guffawed but angled forward to rescue Heather from the onslaught. They batted half the square cushions in various directions until only the ones supporting Heather’s spine remained. Valencia took in the mess and her lower lip protruded. “Wait, I didn’t leave any for me to lean on.” 

Heather shifted to the left and patted the empty space beside her. “Just share mine. This thing is like a gigantic bench. We can both fit next to each other.”

Valencia snuggled into place. “Okay.” She rested on her side and hummed contentedly. Her arm wound across Heather’s middle. “You’re so warm. The last person who was on this couch with me was Josh.” Valencia stuck out her tongue. “I’m so much happier with my girl. You and Rebecca are way better company.”

Heather tensed. The bridge of her nose scrunched and her eyelids clamped shut. “V, I have something I’ve got to tell you. But I think you should take another hit first.”

Valencia made a grabby gesture in the air. Heather responded to the silent request and fetched the joint for her. Valencia took a drag with remarkably improved technique and only minor throat clearing. She passed it back to Heather, who indulged in another toke before freeing her hands again. “So, what did you want to say?” Valencia prompted.

Heather grimaced. “Okay, so, you know Anna?”

Valencia’s mouth turned down at one corner. “Unfortunately. What about her?”

“She’s gone.”

“She died?”

“No, no.” Heather waved the misunderstanding aside. “She broke up with him.”

“Oh.” Valencia’s eyebrows rose. “So Josh will finally have to figure out how to be on his own. It’s about damn time.”

Heather took a deep breath. “Not quite.”

“He’s already with someone new? That is so typical.” Valencia scoffed and folded her arms.

Heather met her gaze. Her features were etched with sympathy. “Valencia, it isn’t someone new.”

Valencia struggled to comprehend what that meant. She had to speak the thought process aloud just to make sense of it. “Somebody old? An ex. But Josh only has two of those and he’s not with me so...” The realization washed over her with painful understanding. “Rebecca?”

Heather inclined her head in confirmation.

“But we connected,” Valencia protested feebly. “We refreshed. We healed.”

“I know.”

Valencia pushed her fingertips against her temples. The truth kept slipping in and out of her grasp, a devastating déjà vu she instinctively fought to reject. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Heather sank deeper into the couch. “Rebecca was staying with Paula right after she kicked Scott out, and I got this text about Josh going over there to find her.”

“He ran right from one woman to another. Again.” Valencia’s lip curled.

“That’s what I tried to tell her when I texted back.” Heather tugged off her beanie and clenched it in her fist. “But you know how that goes. You try to stop Rebecca doing a thing and she doubles down. They’ve started going out in public and I didn’t want you to see without knowing ahead of time...” Heather draped her palm over Valencia’s left wrist. “I’m so sorry, V.”

It took additional effort due to her dulled sense of touch, but Valencia found Heather’s hand with her right and clasped. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. No one else showed up at my door to be honest, but you’re here.”

Heather studied the place where their skin met in silence, but there was still intense guilt and regret behind her eyes.

Valencia let her forehead fall against Heather’s arm. She felt Heather’s chin rest near her scalp. “I’m really lucky to have you,” Valencia murmured.

“Same here.”

Beep.

Heather’s laugh escaped on a tremulous exhale. “Oh, shit. The bagels.”

Valencia returned to the kitchen. Heather moved from the couch to the chair where she could monitor snack-related proceedings. Valencia opened the oven and squinted as heat spilled from the interior.

“Don’t forget you need those glove thingies,” Heather cautioned.

“Good call.” Valencia pulled the handle of a nearby drawer and found her floral pair of oven mitts. She moved the tray over the burners then leaned her hip against the counter while she waited for everything to cool. “Heather, what am I going to do?”

“... Eat the Bagel Bites?”

“No. I mean, yes, I am, because they look and smell like a dream. But the Rebecca and Josh thing.” Valencia wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I’ve only got enough room in my head for one thought at a time -- like how I’m pretty sure I can hear the cheese sliding down that far left bagel right now -- but tomorrow’s going to be different. I can’t stay high indefinitely to avoid this.”

Heather nodded. “I think you’ve gotta let yourself feel your feelings. If you wake up sad, have a good cry. If you wake up pissed, go kickboxing or something and let all that aggression out. They’re gonna want your forgiveness, but you don’t have to give that to them until you’re ready. They need to respect your emotional right to cope in whatever way works best. Both of them hurt you, and they don’t get to dictate the self-care required to recover from that.” She looked down at where she was sitting and smiled. “I’m like textbook armchair psychologist right now, literally and figuratively.”

Valencia’s lips twitched. She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Heather tilted her head to the side and her eyebrows quirked. “Okay. That is a feeling. Not any of the ones I was expecting, but like, do your thing.”

“It’s not that,” Valencia clarified as she gasped for oxygen. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“Heather Davis. HD. Your initials are the same as High Definition.” The amusement overtook her again. Valencia whimpered at the resultant sting behind her rib cage. She ran her wrist under both eyelids while Heather chuckled appreciatively. “I’m sorry; the weed is just making that weirdly funny to me for some reason. But I think I have your new contact name for my phone.”

“It’s perfect. Go for it.”

Valencia tried to access her back pocket and ended up patting her jeans in confusion. “Wait, I can’t find it.”

“That’s because you’ve still got your Minnie Mouse hands on.”

“My...?” Valencia held out her arms and realized she still wore her patterned oven mitts. “Oh! Crap. Hang on, how do I take this one off when my fingers are stuck in the other one?”

Heather wheezed. “Don’t worry. I’ll come help you, you confused cartoon character.”

She walked over to catch hold of the troublesome material. “Pull.”

Valencia wrenched her hands free and gave an excited shout. “Yay, they’re back!”

Heather patted Valencia’s shoulder. “I think they were there the whole time.”

“Probably.” Valencia gasped, making Heather jump. “Hey, do you know where we should eat these bagels? Under the dining room table.”

Heather’s eyebrows drew closer together. “Don’t people usually put their food on top of the table?”

“Doesn’t matter. This will be better. Trust me.” Valencia wandered off with the pan in both hands. 

Heather stood still for a minute while she tried to trace the logic behind the suggestion. Ultimately, she shrugged and followed Valencia’s lead. She passed through the living room, grabbed the two water bottles along the way, and sidestepped the Venetian screen. Valencia was already there, dragging two living room pillows and a thin blanket alongside her as she crawled out of sight. 

“It’ll be like a fort,” Valencia reasoned. “Just us against the rest of the world. Only you, me, and modified food starch allowed.”

Heather shook her head affectionately. “Stoned you is basically a junk food craving third grader. I love it.”

Valencia’s face poked into view. “If you’re cootie-free and you know the password, you can join me.”

“Is the password ‘pizza,’ by any chance?”

“Duh. Get down here before I polish them all off myself.”

Heather ducked past the surrounding chairs, back bent to keep her head from bashing against the table. “You’re right; this is so much more comfortable.”

Valencia put a Bagel Bite against Heather’s lips. “Why be full of sarcasm when you can be full of mozzarella?”

“You have a point.” Heather caught the bagel between her teeth and groaned. 

“Good, huh?”

Heather popped the remainder into her mouth and held two thumbs up. “Best three dollars and ninety-seven cents I’ve ever spent.” She tossed Valencia a water bottle and they drank.

Conversation fell by the wayside as they ate across the rows of mini pizzas. By the time they got down to the last few, they were both stretched out on their sides with one elbow propped against their respective pillows. Valencia finished her final bagel and shifted to a reclined position. “This table fort might have to double as a cave. I think I could hibernate from now to spring.”

Heather stowed the empty pan atop a chair, clearing the path for them to get more comfortable. “Sign me the fuck up. Home Base and Miss Douche can figure out how to get by without me until, like, at least mid-March.” She hugged the throw pillow and settled on her stomach. Valencia fanned the blanket over their legs. “So it’s cool if I crash here?” Heather checked, eyelids fluttering closed despite her best efforts to prevent them from doing so.

“Of course.” Valencia got situated with one hand flung above her head. Her natural sleeping position accidentally brought their arms into contact again. She debated moving a few inches to allow more room between them for sleep. However, since Heather didn’t seem to mind their proximity and Valencia found the nearness comforting, she let it go.

A few minutes ticked by without a single noise, save for their relaxed breathing. Valencia was on the brink of dozing, but she licked her lips and tried to express one last sentiment. It traveled through the stillness in a whisper. “Heather?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for trying to protect me.”

Heather drowsily rolled to the side, bumping against Valencia in a slow motion body-check before returning to her spot. “No problem. Everyone needs someone in their corner, right? You can count on me.”

[aileendaly-blog]

Maps upon Maps

I sat at a table a small TV running in the background. It was some infomercial about solving some problem I didn’t need solving. The rest of the large house was silent, the occasional wood creek could be heard, but other than that silent. It was almost suffocating. That was why whenever I sat by myself in this kitchen I turned the TV on and just let it run. The only light sources in the room were the TV and the small lamp over the table where I sat. The lamp gave off an orange coloring, soaking the room in it. Except of course the TV that was a stark contrast to the rest of the lighting shouting at me with angry LED’s.

The table was covered in papers. Papers upon papers of my fathers work, I was still trying to make sense of it to no avail. On one there would be a map that would make sense as one building then on the back of it there would be a note explaining the map of what could have been an entirely different place. My father had been a strange man but he was sane, so none of this made much sense. Still, here I sit pouring hours of my time into making notes attempting to figure out what the heck all of this meant. I stared at the pages of writing and drawings until it made my head swim.

Then there was a knock on the door. I can’t remember the last time someone knocked on my door.

I shook off the sleep and glanced at the clock on the wall. Jesus its 6 am already. No wonder I’m so tired. I quickly try to straighten my outfit before opening the door. On the other side is...well I can’t tell who it is quite yet, my eyes are panicking at the sudden exposure. As soon as they calmED THE FRICK DOWN I could see who it was. It was Elias. I tried to put on my most winning smile but at this point it probably looked like a grimace.

“Hey,” Elias smiles looking a lot more chipper than me, “I just came to give you this,” he holds out a small cake.

“Whhhhyyy?” I mumble out moving out of his way so he could come in. He shuffles in behind me still holding the cake.

Once inside he raises an eyebrow, “Do you know what day it is?”

I glance at the wall as if it’s going to give me the answer, “Ummmm February?”

A groan, “What day in February?”

“Saturday?”

Another groan, “Sky, seriously what is the last time you actually slept?”

I start making my way toward the kitchen and Elias follows, “Ummm I don’t know.”

He lets out a sigh, he’s probably about to lecture me, “Sky look, I came here because it ’s your birthday and you forgot all about it. It’s February 21st. You need sleep.” Elias sets down the small cake on the counter in the kitchen.

I smile grimly plopping down in one of the chairs at the table, “Oh that’s all,”

Elias looks genuinely concerned when he sits down opposite of me, “Sky, Skylar, Sky, I have known you for 17 years, you can talk to me. I know losing your dad has been hard but you can’t just close everyone else out,”

“No that’s not it. I could care less that that old man is dead. I just need to figure this out,” I gesture to the papers scattering the table, “He knew something and I want to know what it was. So I need to figure this out,”

Elias slowly moves to the seat next to mine and sifts through some of the papers, “What language even is this?”

I sigh and lay my head on the table, “I don’t know, I googled it first and no one knew then I brought it to four historians and none of them knew what it was either,”

I hear him look through some more papers, “Sky, I think you need some time with a friend,”

I slowly bring my head up from the table and look at him. He’s moved over to the cake on the counter. I watch him grab some plates and put a slice on each piece, “Where're your candles?” Elias asks opening a few cupboards I’m about to answer before he sees them, “Nevermind,”  

Soon he brings over the two pieces of cake but one has a lit candle in it he sits next to me and puts them on the table, “Okay so you are going to blow out that candle, let me wish you a happy birthday, and then you are going to go take a nap,” he smiles, “you look like a zombie,”

I smile softly, “Okay fine but you can’t sing the actual birthday song, we aren’t five anymore,”

He chuckles a little, “Okay, okay, just like pretend to make a wish and blow out the candle,”

So I do. I close my eyes. I don’t wish for anything in particular, then I blow out the candle.

“Happy birthday,” Elias says cheerfully.

“Yaaay,” I say weakly, “finally 22,”

“Now go to sleep,” Elias quickly stands, grabs me, and throws me over his shoulder.

I reach for the cake on the table, “Buuuut the cake,”

He chuckles and I can feel his chest shake. He continues walking and heads up the stairs to my bedroom. I stop struggling and just lay limp staring at his back. Soon I hear a door open and I am tossed on a bed.

“Sleep,”

And I do. I sleep for the first time in what feels like forever.   

[hypotheticalother]

it's gonna be okay, baby

Hey, you.

I think the last time I wrote anything to you, about you, I was 19, and I thought your name was S. I didn't know yet how right I was, at least for a while - I can't figure out how to access a version of that post that shows the datestamp (oh, tumblr) but it was clearly in February, and we didn't admit we were in love and start dating until March 5th. But we managed it, somehow. For the first time ever, it worked out. That's probably why I quit posting on this blog around then.

For two years, she was you, and I was so happy. I was posting on main today how I think the best time in my life so far, mental health-wise, was when I was with her. For the time when it was working, anyway, cause of course eventually it stopped working so well, our lives went in different direction, so we went our separate ways. I don't really miss her - there's no need to. We're still friends, though we've continued to diverge and definitely wouldn't work now the way we did then. Still, it was good. I learned so much, grew so much, gained so many of those experiences I spent all that time writing to you lamenting not having had. Having sex. Being loved. Feeling at home and okay in my body, at least for a while.

It's funny reading back my old letters to you - journal entries, basically - and seeing how much I feel like I've come full circle since then. A lot of things have changed. Half the people in those letters are getting misgendered when I read them now, including sort of me. I've spent a lot of time with my therapist talking about how mad I was at that version of myself, for a long time, for not realizing she was queer sooner - if the affection and compassion I feel for my younger self, reading back, is any indication, I think we were successful at moving me past that - so it's interesting to look back and remember it wasn't as much of a snap realization as it feels like in hindsight. It feels so obvious now, and it's honestly kind of funny to read some passages that could be straight (ha) out of an encyclopedia entry on compulsory heterosexuality.

but back then, I had thought I was straight and was slowly but surely figuring out I wasn't, even as I was lonely and longing to be loved but unable to find it or feel it yet. now I'm lonely and longing to be loved and unable to find it or feel it lately, and back at the questioning drawing board a little as I work out gender and whether I might actually like men after all, after years of firmly believing I don't, just in a gay way that it feels completely impossible to practically achieve in the body I live in. but I still love women in a gay way, in the body I have, and maybe that's enough, cause it's not like there's anything I can do to change that. not in the exact way I want. which is how I felt about everyone, when I was 19 and hadn't experienced being loved and desired while fat at all yet! maybe it's all obvious egg behavior from the outside looking in. maybe I'll read this back in another 6 years and say oh honey, how wrong you were. let's manifest that, maybe. I don't know.

there've been a lot of people in between who weren't you. no more sexual experience, frustratingly - that 20 years of pent-up sexual frustration I mentioned in one of those letters is now 25 years, minus, like, maybe 2 weeks' worth of total days (I can't remember how many times S and I had sex, I didn't keep track past that wonderful week in Michigan when I was 21 and got eaten out daily), of sexual frustration, so I look forward to figuring that out with you - but at least thanks to a different S (definitely not you, but very hot) I know there would have been if not for the pandemic. let's not talk about the pandemic. I don't want to talk about the pandemic. I kind of think I won't be able to find you, or the next version of you, anyway, until after it's over, and I also kind of think it will never end, because that's how it feels right now, so here I am again writing to you crying alone in my room instead of doing homework. at least it's a room to myself with a queen-size bed now. if I do find you, we'll have enough space.

there was K (who shared my pre-high school name, if not the formal one). we went on three dates, she was the second person I ever kissed, I was maybe going to go hang out at her apartment one night but she panicked and cancelled and at the time I didn't fully understand what was going on but now I think she assumed hanging out at someone's apartment definitely meant sex and she just wasn't ready for that commitment and you know, that's fine. she was cool. veering a little close to queer twin dating, not to mention the name thing, but she was great. she moved to New York, and as far as I know, didn't experiment with communism - but almost certainly went down on a girl, since she got into a relationship with one within months of moving there. I don't know if they're still together, but I'm happy for her. the timing just wasn't right.

there was C. I can't talk about C right now, or maybe ever. I'm so happy for her that she's so happy with the nice transmasc guy she's living with and their cats. timing is such a motherfucker. alexa play the one that got away by katy perry. I could have said anything, ever, but I didn't, because I was moving away. god I just don't know. they're moving here right as I'm leaving. that's probably for the best. fuck timing. I miss her so much.

there was N. we only made it two dates before we both bailed on each other and blamed it on being too busy, though I'll never know if that really was it. it's fine. never kissed her. she kissed my cheek. didn't really think she was probably you, but she was cool, and maybe if I hadn't been an overwhelmed mess adjusting to law school she could have been.

there was S, the second. I was never going to fall in love with her, we weren't enough alike, not on the same wavelength - I haven't found anyone since the first (well, second) S who felt like we were on the same wavelength at all, and maybe the fallout is now I know that's the problem, and it's what I'm looking for, and I'll know it when I feel it, I just can't find you. the next you. I don't know that I believe in there only being one you anymore, but I want to find the version of you that I'll be willing to put in the work to keep that way, and you'll be willing to love me like that back. point is, S was not you. but we were on the same wavelength when it came to sex for once - I wanted it, I think she wanted it too (she said she did), we just couldn't make it work out. because of the pandemic, which we're not talking about. the 20s and my 20s had better be even more roaring than the last, is all I'm saying. we're all pretty much fucked, no matter what S (the very first, one of those people getting misgendered in the old entries, sorry S, we didn't know then) says; I'm open to being pleasantly surprised, of course, but I feel like I know enough to know the broad outline of what's coming and I just want to get fucked really good by someone other than me before it all gets too fucked up. I don't know if that'll be you. wish it could've been S. we did make out in my car for like 2 hours, so at least there was that, and talked through the logistics of meeting up to spend just one night together, maybe, until we ran into too many roadblocks. again with the timing.

most recently, there was E. I'm still mad at her - she's clearly not you, because I'm old enough and tired enough now not to give someone with that many hardline opinions about mundane things that differ that deeply from mine 2 years of my life, let alone more than a month. I adore cats even though I'm allergic and someone aggressively hating them is a huge red flag to me, and my favorite food revolves around onions, and I don't actually think it's cute to joke that by the fourth date, someone should be willing to change their name for you because it reminds them of their ex. but I'm mad because I did like her, even if we aren't compatible, and I got to know her over that month - we texted almost every day, which is maybe why I let it carry on for a while, cause it was like that with S too; wonderful fun over text, then always rougher around the edges face to face - and then when I said I wasn't interested in dating but would like to be friends, she never replied. ghosted me. she's older than me, even though I guess in dating years she's kind of younger - since she didn't start dating until 22 or 23, as I recall. but for fuck's sake, if you were American you wouldn't be on your parents' health insurance anymore. you could at least have the maturity, the decency to respond to a very polite breakup text, at a stage of the relationship where it's reasonable to break up that way (especially in, again, the pandemic), from someone who goes to grad school on the same campus as you, even if we're thankfully at opposite corners. I hate her and also I keep wanting to text her Twilight memes now that she's finally watched them all and there's nothing I can do about it because she made this choice, not me, and I can take a fucking hint.

I just wish I'd found you by now. maybe picking this up again is me trying to manifest that a little, since the last time I wrote angstily in my online sadness diary here, one autumn, I had found a version of you by spring. but now I think my problem is I feel like I don't understand how. people talk about knowing right away, and I guess maybe I did too, with S, I just didn't know that was what it was yet - I remember thinking, that winter, that it was strange and confusing to have met this person and have bonded so fast but to not know how to fit her into the scheme of my life, because all my real friends were people I'd spent at least a year and mostly many bonding with before we all moved to different places, but here she was. and there you were, for a while. so maybe when I know, I will know. but I don't think I'm going to know any time soon, cause now I'm in a stage of education where most people who aren't fucking unbearable are already happily partnered.

and you know, I'd say I hope I find you again soon, but - there's that bitch timing again, because this time, by summer, the plan is I'm moving away. so I think I just need to be patient, and plan to work harder at finding you where I land. but - *little women saoirse ronan voice* I am so lonely.

I can't really relate to almost any of Katie Gavin's songs, and I think that's healthy for me, in the big picture. but I sure do read back those things I wrote to you when I was - not a kid, but definitely not as much of an adult as I am now - and the one thing I think is,

it's gonna be okay, baby. it's gonna be okay.

Love,

Me.

[crowned-ladybug]

The Fear of Losing

Finally got around to writing the second half of this request! I’ve had the synopsis down for a while now, but not the energy to write it, and tbh I’m still not the happiest with it. I hate it when I can’t get the specific images out of my head and into words.

Second Chance AU, set (way) after “Back to Back”

Prompt: “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.”

Characters: Jackie, Marvin

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: injury, blood, fire. Jackie and Marvin are dating.

This is bad. Oh, fuck, this is really bad.

Jackie is on the ground, trying to push himself up with one hand while the other clutches his side, blood seeping through between his fingers and staining his bright red suit a deep crimson. Marvin is panicking. Their attackers are long gone and they both thought they were fine, victorious even, up until Jackie had collapsed, grasping at his side. Marvin is shaking, both with adrenaline and cold, because it's a February night and they've both been outside for way too long.

Marvin's feet stumble as he makes his way to Jackie and crouches next to him. "Come on," he breathes, wrapping an arm around the other's back, preparing to help him up. "Let's go home, it's...it's going to be okay, I'll fix you up in no time," he forces some cheerfulness into his voice and Jackie smiles at him.

Suddenly there's noise coming from the end of the alleyway, getting louder and louder. People shouting, talking over each other, swarming as a curious crowd forms and the blood runs cold in Marvin's veins. He can feel Jackie leaning against him more, but he doesn't know if it's an attempt at comfort or a sign of him getting weaker by the second.

He takes a shaky breath, tries to ignore the shouts before it gets too much and he breaks down. Jackie needs him now, he can't give in to his own fears. He prepares to teleport the both of them, but the shouting won't cease and his focus is drawn away again.

"It's him again!" "The magician!" "It's the magician!" "You leave our hero alone, you scum!" "Get away from him!"

Marvin takes another deep breath and counts silently, preparing his magic. One...two...He chokes when his cape is yanked from behind, straining against his throat. His hands immediately fly up to unbuckle it and free himself. He twists in his panic, trying to get away, and he can feel Jackie falling away from him. There's people all around him, shouting, grabbing and pulling at him. They're yanking him away from Jackie, screaming at him that how dare he hurt their hero, what a monster he is, he's going to pay now. He screams in pain and fear as soon as he can breathe again even just for a moment, Jackie's name coming to his lips without thinking. He writhes, swinging left and right in blind fear though he doesn't want to hurt these people, crying and screaming. What are they talking about, he would never hurt Jackie, he loves him, they're a team, what do these people want from him? He needs to get back to Jackie, protect him, bring him home.

He finally frees himself, every inch of his skin burning with scratches and scrapes. He scrambles back to Jackie, stumbling over his own feet and falling to his knees next to him, and the people scatter from around them in fear of what he might do. Jackie looks at him through half-lidded eyes, relieved. He's in so much pain, he's losing blood fast and can barely move from dizziness, but he's still so intent on making sure Marvin is safe.

Shaking, eyes flickering between Jackie and the crowd, Marvin draws Jackie against his chest and holds him tight. He just wants to get out of here and bring Jackie to safety.

"Get back!" Marvin screams at the people gathered around them and the few who had tried to get closer immediately back away. Marvin eyes the crowd like a cornered beast, ready to attack any second to save himself and the one he loves. He holds Jackie tighter and one of his hands finds the wound on his side and presses down on it because Jackie is too weak to do it himself anymore. He hates the feeling of blood against his hands like he hates how shaky and small Jackie's breaths are, but he doesn't budge. He yells again when someone makes a move towards him. The people look scared, but this once Marvin doesn't care, not as long as it keeps them at bay.

He must seem like a monster, ready to destroy without remorse if approached, but Jackie knows he's terrified. He can feel his chest heaving, he sees the wild look in his eyes and knows that had it not been for Jackie’s injury, Marvin would have bolted and ran long ago.

"Hey...hey, Marvin," Jackie rasps, and he hates that he might not be able to soothe Marvin, not when things are like this. Marvin's head snaps to look at him, eyes wide, and he looks so scared. Jackie raises a hand, the one that isn't covered in blood, and holds onto his arm. "It's okay, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me."

Marvin shakes his head and he wishes he could smile. Instead he's just blinking back tears. "I'm the one protecting you, I'm supposed to be saying that," his voice chokes up and he bites his lower lip, but his eyes remain on Jackie and he seems to forget about the crowd, and Jackie considers that a success.

"It's okay, we're gonna be okay," Jackie tries to gather all strength he still can into his voice and hopes he sounds reassuring enough. He needs Marvin to believe him.

Marvin's shoulders shake and the tears spill from his eyes. He lowers his head and pulls Jackie closer, and he's trying his best not to start full on sobbing, but it's hard. "Jackie..." he whimpers, helpless and scared, and Jackie hushes him gently.

"I'm here, it's okay," he moves his hand from Marvin's arm to his head, smoothing his hair back gently. He's glad Marvin is focusing on him and only him now, because he needs him to calm down enough to get both of them home. Marvin leans into his touch and he would hold Jackie's hand if he weren't trying to stop his bleeding. Jackie runs his hand through his hair again, pulling the loose strands back from his mask, humming quietly. "I'm here."

It's going so well. Marvin seems to have completely forgotten about the people still around them and Jackie is about to ask him to bring the two of them home when everything goes downhill again. Jackie catches movement out of the corner of his eye, people foolishly trying to approach again, damn them. Of course Marvin notices too. His body goes rigid, muscles tensing in renewed panic.

"I said go away! Get back!" Marvin screams again, but his voice is much higher now and it breaks from the strain. Tears are running down his cheeks freely and he shakes in blind terror. Jackie knows the people are trying to help, to get to the two of them to calm Marvin down and take Jackie to the hospital, but Marvin doesn't. He holds onto Jackie for dear life, scared that they will hurt him again, tear Jackie away from him and hurt him more. His shrieks mix with sobs and as he orders the crowd to stay back again the alley fills with a new, orange light.

Oh shit.

There's fires lighting in the middle of the concrete, on top of frozen piles of snow and against the cracked brick walls. Marvin is too scared to control his magic any longer and so it works on its own out of instinct, because Marvin desperately wants to protect himself and Jackie, and for these people to finally leave.

There's more screaming, people shrieking in fear and shock as they scramble back from the fire. The flames grow higher and higher, and they're probably much hotter than regular fire, and they illuminate everything with a flickering, orange light that is in no way cosy or friendly. It makes Marvin look even more terrified, eyes wide and the fire painting deep shadows onto his face.

"Marvin!" Jackie tries to shout but he's too weak, and his voice is barely anything over the screaming of the crowd and the roaring flames. He has to stop this, now, before things get even more out of hand. He pushes himself up more, and the pain that comes with the movement is almost too much, but he clenches his teeth and does it away. Marvin stares at him in horror, but Jackie doesn't waver. He reaches up his clean hand again and grabs the back of Marvin's neck, pressing their foreheads together and forcing Marvin to focus on him, only him. "It's okay," he breathes, staring deep into Marvin's eyes. He still looks just as terrified, but his gaze softens and he lets out a small sob. "Shh, shh...it's okay."

"I'm not...I'm not going to let them take you," Marvin cries, voice choking up. "I'm not losing you."

"You won't," Jackie promises, and he slowly starts rubbing his thumb against the back of Marvin's neck. "We're gonna be okay, no one's going to hurt us. We're going to be okay."

Marvin keeps crying and whimpering, but he doesn't say anything anymore. He just holds Jackie close, eyes locked on his, and slowly, really slowly he calms down. No one tries to approach them again and Jackie is glad for that. He keeps talking, tells Marvin a hundred times over that they're going to be okay, that no one is going to separate them and that he loves Marvin so, so much. He traces small circles into the back of Marvin's neck, and Marvin just listens, and slowly the fire around them dies down. The alley returns to its regular shady lack of lighting and what remains of the crowd still keeps its distance.

"There, there," Jackie whispers, though he's still getting weaker and dizzier as time goes on. His eyes flicker to the side for just a moment to check for anyone approaching, but Marvin catches on, though he doesn't look away from Jackie for a second.

"I don't...I don't wanna let them..."

"It's okay," Jackie tries for a small smile and he has no idea how he accomplishes it. "You can take us home now."

Marvin nods, biting his lip. He pulls Jackie against himself in a proper hug as gently as he can, one hand holding the back of his head. Jackie lays his head on Marvin's shoulder and closes his eyes tiredly. For a second he can't breathe, but when he opens his eyes again he's home.

Marvin lays Jackie on his bed carefully and frees him of his suit. He sits on the ground next to the bed, his cape and mask discarded carelessly around him. The wound on Jackie's side is ugly, a cut that turned into a tear halfway through, and it's still bleeding. Marvin tries his best to heal it.

He knows healing magic, of course he does. He's been fending for himself pretty much all his life and he's had plenty of chances to experiment. He's got more scars than he can count.

He places his hand on Jackie's side, ignoring the warm, sticky blood that coats his palm and he concentrates. He doesn't exactly know how he does it, he just knows he does. His fingertips tingle with his magic and he tries to keep his breathing even – it's much easier now that he's not surrounded by a hostile crowd that seems so want to take Jackie from him no matter what.

Jackie just won't shut up. For someone who's injured and bleeding out, he seems to have an awful lot of nothings to say. "Tomorrow I'm making pancakes for lunch. I think we both deserve it," he muses, nonchalant as if he was just sitting in the living room with Marvin, talking over some uninteresting show on the TV. Marvin gives him a scolding look and Jackie grins. "What?"

"Shut up," Marvin shakes his head fondly. He's not smiling, he's not quite there yet, but he's easing up and Jackie can tell.

"Because I'm right?" he adjusts his shoulder to get a little more comfortable. "Please tell me we still have chocolate syrup."

Marvin tries to focus on his work, though it's getting harder and harder with his energy fading and Jackie talking. "I don't know. It might have run out last time."

"Oh bother."

"Would you stop talking and concentrate on not dying instead?" Marvin's eyes don't leave the wound under his hands and his voice holds no edge. He's trying to keep up with the lighter atmosphere, but he can't quite get it right yet. He's still too jumpy.

"I'm not dying. You saved me," Jackie’s voice is softer than before, and Marvin knows that he's looking at him now.

Marvin still doesn't look up. "Shut up," he mumbles, and they both know he doesn't mean it.

"You've already said that and did it work? Nah," Jackie teases. Marvin curses his humour that refuses to acknowledge life-threatening situations.

"You're the worst," Marvin rolls his eyes, but there's the faintest trace of a smile near the corner of his mouth. He straightens himself and leans to the side, and he plants a small kiss onto Jackie's lips. Jackie smiles like the big dork he is, but he humours Marvin and stays silent for a while after that.

Marvin works on healing the wound until he's shaking with exhaustion. He sits back on his calves and hold his head in his hands for a moment, because he's spread himself too thin again and he's dizzy. He wants to keep working still, because he's not done yet, he wants to make sure Jackie is okay even if it means he's going to pass out for a whole day.

But he doesn't. Jackie is proud of him for it, because it's a hard thing to learn and Marvin is still not good at accepting his limits.

Marvin gently traces the skin around the cut. It's closed up now, a dark red line with the skin around it swollen and tainted pink, no need for bandages. "It's going to take a little more for me to fully heal it up and make the scar disappear," he sighs. He looks up at Jackie apologetically. "But in a couple days you should be good as new."

"That's alright, take your time," Jackie hums, and he takes Marvin's hand that's laid over his side and keeps it there. Marvin can feel his stomach fall and rise as he breathes. "Thank you. You should get some rest now though."

Marvin nods and watches his hand against Jackie's skin for a moment longer before he retracts it and makes to get up. Jackie watches as he walks over to the wardrobe and gets out a shirt for Jackie to sleep in before even thinking about fetching his own things from the floor.

"Yeah, don't you dare think I'm letting you sleep on the couch tonight," Jackie says as he pulls the shirt down over his torso. "I mean, if you'd want to stay here instead, that is."

Marvin looks down and fumbles with his hands a little before responding, voice quiet. "Okay...thank you."

They curl up facing each other, and Marvin's hand keeps wandering back towards the cut on Jackie's side until Jackie intertwines their fingers and presses Marvin's hand to his heart instead. They're both exhausted beyond belief, but neither of them feel like they can fall asleep just yet. There's still too much adrenaline in their veins, too much pain and fear.

So they talk.

They talk about how much they want to protect each other, and Jackie cries when Marvin tells him that he's all he has and that if there was a way for him to make sure Jackie is never hurt again, he'd do it. He doesn't stop crying until Marvin kisses him and says that it's okay, they're going to be okay because things always get better, they just have to wait it out. They talk about all the magic Marvin still wants to learn, the ideas he has to try out and how much he's looking forward to it. They talk about whether they have everything to make pancakes tomorrow or if they will need to go shopping before that. As their fright wears off their topics get more a more mundane and quiet, just like how they settle back into their daily routine after fighting crime every time.

Jackie falls asleep first, still holding onto Marvin's hand and smiling softly. Marvin kisses his forehead as he watches him drift off. He stays awake a little longer, instinctively guarding Jackie in his sleep, but his exhaustion wins in the end and he's asleep before he knows it. He doesn't have any nightmares that night, somehow.

[keiraelaine]

2017

This year I learned the compassion and caring that I’ve always felt shame for lacking. I learned how to listen and show up when someone tells me how they feel and I’m working out the kinks with making caring space for myself in relationships. I learned that I am worthy and I found love and I learned that I need to care about myself in order to take care of myself. I started learning how to do that. Long long post below. 

January: I flew into Green Bay like someone who doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation. I ignored the signs. Or, I worried that I was too anxious, and that it wouldn’t work because I couldn’t just trust a person. I was out of theory though, and I felt like I could breathe easier than I had in a year. Benson stopped me in the hall, surprised. Jan. 20 sucked. Landlord continued to not do his job. In coding, I felt like I was actually learning a cool thing. I spoke to no one. AfAm Writers seating was straight up segregated and we were intimidating. I learned more about the world at BGH than I did anywhere else. I suppose I felt shame, but I was away from the con. I couldn’t make myself care about getting out of bed. The voice search was frustrating, because no other students really showed up. 

February: I learned what I want to do with my life from a candidate. I had a reason to make myself get up in the morning. I offered crumbs because that’s what I did best, ask for nothing and feel anxious. We had one good night. People suggested walking away. I scared myself by not drawing a line and allowing some major bullshit. I should have known because every white girl I’ve been with couldn’t ignore me in public if she tried. My new friends showed me what respect looked like. In coding, my attendance and attention faltered. One night, I threw my phone. An apartment opened up and it seemed perfect. It took weeks for me to figure out he and we were going to stay unhealthy. I felt ignored and unimportant. My writing in AfAm was exemplary. My friend got really, really hurt by a shitty boy. I got hurt by a shitty boy too. I felt shame.

March: The coding project loomed just in time for me to realize I knew nothing about Java. The random girl in my class who I worked with made me laugh from my belly. The boy in our group was MIA and sexist. Cue the hardest project of my life with a partner who was brown but not a lesbian. I kept wanting to give up. I slowly figured out I thought and was afraid to think she was cute. My friends tried playing matchmaker. ACDA was magic and disappointing and educational all at once. I came back and made some quip about morning finals, and I gave back shit that wasn’t mine. I moved! I observed girl choir and thought it was impossible. I got a biopsy and was not dying. I passed coding barely, and AfAm with flying colors. I was nervous about history and about scenes, and anxious about the boundary I drew, but it turns out the Ignore Boring Girls in Public game continued regardless of how I tried to communicate. Some people I thought were friends knew and decided to not have my back. I decided to kiss the girl I wanted to kiss instead of waiting for some bullshit that would never not hurt. 

April: After kissing the girl I wanted to kiss, who was brown and not a lesbian and also cannot do Java, I went to the library with her, and then to breakfast, and then to a movie, and then back to bed! Beethoven haunted me. History started good and so did Race and Ethnicity, but RE went downhill fast. It was more 101 than I could even consider sitting through. They put me in with an orchestra and I sang well. I figured out that anxiety was now a loud, disruptive thing that I had to deal with every day of my life because of the shit I picked up from useless boys and men, especially theory. I apologized too much. I loved my new apartment. I was afraid to like this girl, but I pulled a Torres and UHauled faster than I thought proper. We said things to each other that were honest and caring at the same time, and kissed in my office.I stopped being afraid. Kadihjia left and I felt lost and angry and resentful. Spring scenes were fun!

May: Spring scenes continued to be fun because I barely had to speak to the directors, and thank god. They made me a witch with a knife and put me in white make-up. Choir became insufferable. I wanted to be in Cantala. I thought about dropping RE. I thought about dropping everything but singing and poems. Melissa gave me the tools for an excellent imitation poem and continued to trust me for reasons I can’t fathom still. I made friends with the Academy! They and Julie grew my brain bigger than I thought possible. I felt angry all the time. Every day. I learned jaw tension and migraines. I learned my recital rep. I wrote good program notes, and my mom came to visit. I didn’t weep this time. I sang very well. My people were there. My girlfriend was there, because that’s who she was. I looked elegant. Campus went to shit. My friends got hurt. I felt afraid.

June: I shaved the side of my head and rebleached the blonde bit and we three got tattoos and had a sleepover. My friend group kind of went to shit and I decided to not have friend groups anymore. I took an incomplete in history and then passed that shit like nobody’s business. I was so proud of myself. I worked an office job that seemed totally fine before it started sucking my soul out. Anger ran my life. Reunion weekend was a time for singing and remembering and confusion, but mostly a time for singing. I grew to resent the people I worked with. I missed my girlfriend but I trusted her, and missing someone you trust is a whole different game. I tried out veganism and yoga and both were good. Gaycation!

August: I scheduled box braids and tried bullet journaling and I got box braids and I felt Real. I felt ready and real and beautiful and worthy and loved. Except at work which continued to be bullshit. I worried about theory, but I knew I could at least try with a new professor. Still angry always. I felt like I could spend a good long time with my girlfriend. 

September: I thought all my classes would be exciting except theory. Turns out, a good teacher and an excellent therapist make theory perfectly good, and a teacher who doesn’t care to decolonize the classroom can make interesting content insufferably boring. I felt angry and anxious and safe. Facilities fired me. I had the worst panic attack of my life about my refund, and I felt angry at a white woman I typically trust more than most folks. PEDAL hit the group running. 

October: It was affecting me that half the queer Black women at school left. Anger abound. I was ready to slap some smiles off white girls’ faces. I was ready to schedule an actual fight with Richard. I was ready to drop Sonja’s class. My homework was getting done but I couldn’t say anything to a professor without also saying sorry. I did jack in my independent study. I thought about I wanted a Black Studies MA. 

November: Melissa convinced me about MFAs. I figured out that all I could do was give the best presentation in the class I wanted to drop. I took my hair out and panicked about it. I realized I needed to shave it off, so I did. Nothing I have ever done is as freeing as that I figured out that some white middle class women love technicality more than anything else. I learned that I can’t yet glare a shit-eating grin off a white face. I learned that I have trouble listening to my own needs, again. I learned that I’m allowed to work on it, that I’m allowed to feel overwhelmed and need to be comforted and held. I wanted to go home. We planned Costa Rica. I shaved all my hair off.

December: Straightness was a weight on my chest. I passed every single class. I got an A in music theory. I earned the grade of ‘A’ in MUTH 252. It felt unbelievable, like a miracle but also like a birthday, like a matter of course. I missed Rebecca. I had a massive breakdown about grad school. Melissa showed up for that anxiety. Girl choir was indescribable. I had a short quarter-life crisis about music education. I sank into a week-long lesbian unrequited shame melancholy and wrote some poems and asked for help and pulled myself out of it. I got into a professional choral ensemble. I applied to Cave Canem. We moved. I fell in love with our new house. We made a plan to go home to the sun after school lets out. I fought with my brothers and I broke down crying in the car and I ate real Mexican food and I apologized and made up with my brothers and I jumped in a cold pool and I worried about the future. On Christmas, I was Black for the first time. I had a panic attack about coming back. I had another panic attack about coming back. Anxiety sat like bile in my throat the entire time I was in the air. I came back and spent time with a really wonderful human, and I cleaned and reorganized everything, and I ate cookies, and now I feel like I can do this next six months, even though it’s so much bullshit. I realized that I need to make small changes this year that will give me ease in small ways. Lotion, swimming, sleeping, water. I graduate June 10. 

Resolutions:

Say no to things that distract me from my goals. 

Swim often. 

Learn to cook a few things!

Make some money. 

Fix my nails. 

Read one whole book for pleasure every month. 

Keep the apartment and garage clean. 

Do laundry on a schedule.

Do mornings on a schedule. 

Work more on apologizing.