#me starting/doing applications until i see cover letter and then putting them on my list with 'yes' under cover letter and giving up

[kuiinncedes]

I WILL APPLY FOR A JOB W A COVER LETTER TODAY

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

emotional abuse tw

I moved out from my moms house a few months ago and I was hoping that the abuse would end. My mom is completely unaware that she's abusive and even when several therapists suggested an unhealthy relationship between the two of us, she simply forbid me to see that therapist ever again, and at some point, to see any therapist.

She called me today and yelled at me for so many things, that are her fault, at the base.

(Not to get too deep into it) I should get money from the state two years ago, but I would've needed her signature (because back then I still lived with her). She refused so I never got anything. When I told her, she accused me of failing getting the money (though they wrote the missing signature as the official reason) and trying harder, so many times, that I just lied to her at some point and said, that I receive it now. I wrote the bureau (from which I'd get the money) that I take back my application and would go without the money, because it was just too much trouble for me, for not that much money.

For some reason, this bureau wrote me twice a year, that they needed more proof and I always wrote them an email, referring to my old email, that I never gotten anything and don't expect anything but peace and quiet. They never answered so I thought it was okay. This was always big trouble, because my mom always opens my post and would yell at me, whenever that letter came.

And today I got a letter to my old address (my moms house) and she opened it and it was said bureau, saying that I need to pay back 4 times the amount of the money that I could have, but never did, get. Because I couldn't give them enough proof I deserve it. This is much trouble for me, because of the moving I lost access to my bank account and can't show them, that I never gotten anything (this whole moving is a mess in itself) and, well, because my mom read this letter and yelled at me and I had a hard time covering my old lies because imagine what would happen if I told her I lied to her for 2 years.

And then she had the audacity to yell at me "You could've taken yourself a therapist who could help you with all of that, but now it is too late" as if she didn't forbid me to do? I am looking for a therapist, almost since the day I moved out, but waiting lists are 1 year or more.

And then (idk she apparently remembered what she hated on me, once she started yelling) she yelled at me because I always wear the same outfit (I visited her last weekend) and I shouldn't dare coming to her house with that outfit again (nothing against the outfit itself). That she'd drag me shopping soon enough, if I don't get myself something else.

And this is so fucked up, because she raised me with so much self hate towards my body, my weight, my curves, slut shaming every visible collarbone, that this is my only comfort-summer outfit by now. I can't even look into the mirror without self hate, but sure, my fault that I don't own a more diverse wardrobe.

And she did lie to me in the past, that we would drive somewhere fun and when we arrived it was a shopping mall and I was forced to spent 10 hours there, until I bought enough to satisfy her. I am afraid she'll do something like that again and I will avoid getting into her car in the near future.

You know, I feel so fucked. I feel like that shitty bureau hates me, because wtf? I always feel like everyone just waits to stab me in the back, but they really proofed it. And my mom, who yells at me as if any of this was my fault? As if I didn't do all I can just to survive and everything else is an extra? Nobody appreciates, what I do, that I go outside with all of my self hate, that I try to find a therapist, no, it is never enough, I am never good enough and it is all my fault.

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry to hear about what you've been going through. It sounds like your mom often criticizes you and fails to understand your circumstances or perspective, to say the least. It seems like your mom puts a lot of unnecessary pressure on you and discourages healthy and open discussions with her by making you feel like everything is somehow your fault.

When you've been experiencing this for a long period of time, it can be easy to internalize these messages and feel like you aren't good enough or that everything is your fault, but please remember that you are worth so much more than this and you are trying your hardest. You do not deserve to be treated this way.

It sounds like your relationship with your mom doesn't benefit you in any way. Since it seems that you're living on your own now, have you considered cutting her off? It would be a big change and may come with a complex range of feelings, but it's also worth self reflecting and asking yourself what you deserve, and if your mom's behavior aligns with that. I do also understand if the situation with the bureau is preventing this.

Please remember to practice self care during this time. You deserve to be gentle with yourself, especially after everything you've been through. If anyone has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[forestwater87]

Chapter 15: Grand Gesture

Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.

CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.

Summer 2017

“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”

She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”

She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.

She hoped.

While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”

“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.

But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.

Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.

He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”

The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.

Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”

“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.

She had one chance.

“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”

---

Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.

But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.

And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.

“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”

(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)

“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”

Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”

Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”

And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.

“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”

“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”

“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?

“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”

He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”

The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”

(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)

“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”

He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.

He didn’t think she remembered any of this.

But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.

In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).

‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’

“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”

Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”

He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”

Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.

“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.

“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.

“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”

Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.

“I trust you.”

David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.

He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.

It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.

He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”

She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”

“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.

She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.

Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”

“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.

Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.

There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.

This was worth remembering.

---

Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.

Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.

Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.

There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.

But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”

A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”

David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.

“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”

“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”

A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”

His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.

“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.

But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.

His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.

“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.

She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.

Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”

The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.

Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.

“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)

He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”

“You’re not mad?”

She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”

Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.

He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”

“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”

She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.

“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”

“But I did —”

“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.

“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”

Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”

“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”

She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.

“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”

“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”

“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”

Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”

“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”

She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.

But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.

His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”

Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”

He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”

Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”

She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”

David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”

Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”

“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”

“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”

“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”

She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”

His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”

Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.

His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”

Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.

“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.

She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”

His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”

God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”

He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.

But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.

“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)

“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”

“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”

She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.

He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.

“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”

“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.

So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”

“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”

“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”

“I really don’t.”

“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”

“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”

“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”

“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”

“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”

She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.

“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”

She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”

“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.

“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.

It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.

Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”

“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.

He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”

All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)

But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.

She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.

And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”

She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”

“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”

Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”

Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”

David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”

“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”  

“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”

“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”

Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”

“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.

(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)

“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”

A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”

It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”

“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”

He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.

Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.

“Wanna bet?”

His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.

Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.

“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”

He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”

He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.

“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”

“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.

“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.

When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.

Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”

“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”

“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”

She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.

He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.

He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —

“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”

Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”

Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --

His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”

Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”

“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”

“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”

He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”

When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”

David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”

“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”

“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”

Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”

“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”

She frowned. “Did what?”

“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”

David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”

He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.

“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.

His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”

When it came to David, she always wanted everything.

“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”

She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —

He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…

Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.

The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”

David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”

She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”

The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.

“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”

“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”

Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”

“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”

He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)

“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”

“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”

So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”

He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --

Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.

God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.

David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”

Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”

“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”

No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”

“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.

“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.

God, he was perfect.

“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”

“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.

David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”

“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.

“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”

His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”

“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”

That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.

She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”

He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --

Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.

She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”

Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.

David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.

Worth it.

[bfreelancing]

Not my monkeys, not my circus

I feel like a circus act, and it isn't even my circus.

Reaching out to companies nowadays about ANY sort of position (freelance or otherwise) is quite the ordeal.

I'm excited that I finally heard back from a company interested in what I do. BUT, what did I have to go through to get a meeting?

1 application through a job board

1 thirty minute application on the company's website

2 really long personality tests.

1 Buzzfeed quiz.

1 five minute video of me, talking about nothing except why I want the position, uploaded to YouTube (and before you ask, no, you can't see it)

1 résumé

1 ADDITIONAL cover letter on top of all the information I already filled out on why I would like to work with said company.

Oh, and a partridge in a pear tree. Just kidding.

All that, and I've received the opportunity to have a video conference with this company to, yet again, let them know why I want to work with them. I feel like everything I've done up until this point should show my commitment to the position. Honestly, the only reason I did all that work is because I kept asking, "How many other people really want to do this? How much competition could there possibly be for something like this?"

The pay rate listed is amazing. But I just spent several hours of my life campaigning for something I'm not even guaranteed to get. I would say competition for this freelance gig is low, which is why I've got an interview.

But here's the thing: ALL the applications are like this nowadays. Gone are the days of just sending in a cover letter and résumé. I miss those days. But also gone are the days of getting a phone interview if you even seem to remotely qualify for something. It's all automated. Just getting to a real person is tough.

There's too much competition and not enough resources to wade through it all.

And it's not just jobs. It's everything else too.

After writing my first post, lamenting about how my quest for my very own home was nonexistent, I decided to buckle up buttercup and start my home search.

I have a little money saved up. Not much, but a little. Enough that with all the programs out there I should be able to cover closing costs on a small house.

I started jumping through the red tape of filling out a mortgage application online with the bank where I have my accounts, but after filling out the app, I received a notification that something was wrong and to call the bank.

Turns out they have this weird thing when you're inputting dollar amounts that they have to be $5,000 off from each other. These are imaginary amounts - what house do you want and what will your loan be. There's nothing on the site that says you have to put those two amounts within a certain distance from one another.

So I called the bank. Mistake.

I received the head of their mortgaging department. He was quick to correct my mistake, and at first I was hopeful. Then he asked how much I had saved. I told him.

He was appalled.

He told me I would need AT LEAST $20,000 saved to get a house.

Let that sink in: $20,000.

FOR A FIRST TIME HOME BUYER.

I told him I was confused, because all my friends bought their houses through programs where they had to put $0 down.

He huffily informed me that this bank does NOT do those programs. He stated it was because it restricted buyers. I can read between the lines: they don't want to deal with that. Too much work.

He then had the gall to say, "Don't worry about the $20,000. YOU don't have to pay it. Get your parents to pay it. Or a rich uncle. Doesn't matter where the money comes from so long as the bank gets it. Just have your parents pay for it."

Those words are seared into my brain.

MY PARENTS?

I'm an adult. My parents don't have twenty grand just lying around to give to me for basically no reason. I'm also almost thirty years old (yes, I still have some years before thirty - I'm rounding up, but I'm close to it).

This guy was just so condescending. He didn't even really ask questions about me (like what I do or how long I was doing it for), and he said at one point, "Well, you know you have to have TWO years of tax returns in order to do this."

Sir, I have SEVEN years of tax returns. I'm not some doe-eyed kid straight out of college. I've been out here hustling for a long time.

And, you can't tell me with the pandemic and current job market that tons of kids straight out of college are getting houses.

But, I digress. I did get some information out of this rude guy, and the hoops I have to jump through to get a house are nuts.

And the hoops I have to jump through to work with companies are nuts.

When did it get like this?

But you know what, I'm not letting that stop me. I'm going to get lots of new clients AND the house I want. I just need to buckle down and prepare for a long, grueling haul to achieve those dreams.

You ready to fight the good fight with me?

[cncoaddicted]

tattoo || C.V.

𝟷/𝟹

masterlist | requests are open

"why am I doing this?" you said as soon as you entered the tattoo artist's office

"because you promised us girl" Christopher replied, pushing you from your shoulders

"now we will let this very reliable application choose who of us will do your first tattoo" Richard explained to you even though you already knew perfectly well what would happen

"can I choose the tattoo?" you tried to ask

"no" Joel replied pushing you towards the bed

"what about the place?"

"the place" Erick began creating a little hope for you

"no" he finished making you sit on the bed.

Richard started the wheel from the phone application and their names started spinning until the arrow stopped on one of them

"and the winner is Christopher" Zabdiel said

“no no no, I won't have Christopher do my first tattoo, who knows what he might do to me. no guys, I don't want to do that anymore, please” you started to tear them apart.

ever since you had consented to this madness you had hoped to read the name of Joel or Zabdiel but certainly not Christopher

"it's too late now y/n" Richard told you

"no Rich, I won't be tattooed by Christopher, with a tattoo and the place of his choice, forget it" you said getting off the bed.

the only thing that stopped you from leaving the shop was Christopher

"hey nena, I promise you I won't do anything wrong, it's your first tattoo and I want you to have a good time so relax, I won't be an asshole I promise you" he said placing his hands on your arms

slowly you nodded back to sit on the bed

"I'm sorry to tell you this way but you should take your shirt off" Christopher said again

"what? where do you want me to get the tattoo?" you asked widening your eyes

"here" he replied, passing his finger just below your right breast

"Chris" you started

"I swear I won't say and do nothing" he said, raising his hands in the air

you took off your shirt while remaining only in a bra

"y/n, you should take that off too" the tattoo artist said pointing to the bra

"and how should I do it?" you asked panicking

"you can use pieces of scotch to cover the nipples and then the hands or I have some paper that I can put around you" he started to list but you stopped him first

"the scotch is okay"

so you found yourself lying on the bed with only two pieces of scotch to cover your nipples and your hands to cover your breasts

you could feel Christopher’s breath on your skin and this just made you more agitated

"Chris" you called him

"mh" he replied without looking up

"why don't you look me in the face?" you asked confused

"because if I raised my head my gaze would go everywhere except on your face so I would prefer to avoid"

you chuckled at this answer and kept talking

"you remember that it is my first tattoo right?" you reminded him, he nodded before being reached by the shop owner who started giving him the necessary information to be able to tattoo you

"let's get started" the tattoo artist said.

you only heard the noise of the machine and a slight discomfort under your breast then stopped

"forgive me" Christopher said before touching the bottom of your breast to stretch the skin

you smiled for the fact that he had apologized even before he did it, it was certainly not something you would have imagined as a Christopher

"bro it’s beautiful" you heard from Richard

"don't open your eyes y/n, i know you want to cheat" Erick told you and you brought your hands up chuckling

"okay, here we go, I'll help you get up" Christopher said, running over your arm with his hand before reaching yours and helping you sit down

"you did a great job Chris" Joel said

"perfect, really nice but now I would like to see it" you said impatiently

Christopher helped you get out of bed and put yourself in front of the mirror

"I'm afraid" you said sighing

"open your eyes whenever you want" Christopher said to you and you could hear from his voice that he was also agitated.

you opened your eyes and noticed under your breast a four letter word and a question mark

you passed your gaze from the mirror to Christopher and then leaned over and tried to read directly from your skin.

as soon as you recognized the written word you raised your head towards him

“is it a serious question? I mean, do you really want an answer?” you asked, not having words to describe what you were feeling at that moment

"otherwise why would I never have written it to you" he replied

you looked once more at the writing

date?

"yes" you answered only

"what? really?” he asked incredulously, you turned to him with an ear to ear smile and you nodded

"yes Christopher, I agree to come on a date with you"

he took off his jacket and put it on by covering your practically naked chest

"do I have to tattoo the word kiss on the other side or can you just kiss me?" he said approaching, you continued to smile and you approached starting to kiss him with his hand firm on your bare side.

[believerindaydreams]

Does it count as a slow burn if it's been less than 15000 words I dunno anyway here be the shagging chapter.

"Arcade Gannon, you're extremely drunk."

That he's saying it aloud seems to confirm the validity of the statement. Good.

Boone looks up briefly from his compulsive scribbling. It seems backwards somehow that he's sitting here with the drink while Boone is writing, but he can't entirely think of why. Tomorrow Arcade's problem.

Tomorrow along with the hangover and scavenging for survival and getting to one of the people they're meant to be rescuing. He giggles, tenderly adjusts the angle of his new glasses. They're utterly priceless, at least until he gets back to the Old Mormon Fort and can grab one of the three pairs he's put by for emergencies.

"What are you doing?"

There is a definite moment during which Boone has decided not to answer, but then he does. "Letter for my wife."

"Oh. Uhh, sorry about her...I can't, you know, take too many more emotional shocks before falling asleep. The-" he frowns abruptly, feels at his neck to see if the collar is still there. It is. "The thing thing. Enough for one day."

Compiling a list of the variables causing him to have hit this level of coherency would take long enough he'd be sober before finishing. Never mind.

"That thing," Boone says, sharply enough to break his pencil between words. He takes out a knife and starts whittling a fresh point. "Don't ask about the thing."

"Understood." He is absolutely dying to know what science involves making targets glow, but that's not Brotherhood or Legion business and it might not even be his. Much as he wants to find out. Man has a right to secrets.

He shuts up and just watches for a while. The scratch of pencil lead. The way Boone's frowning over the letters, a hint of pink tongue at the corner of his mouth, so profoundly earnest. The slight glisten on one side of his jumpsuit, catching the light-

oh. Oh! Fuck.

"I was crying on your shoulder earlier." The whole chain of memories pops up obediently, now he's looking for it.

"Don't worry about it."

"I-", Arcade starts, and promptly stops, because he was going to say he's sorry now but that might be misconstrued as rude, and why can't he offload some of this eighteen-caret vocabulary right now except making his mouth say it sounds difficult. "So you don't mind."

"In your position I'd have beaten my brains out against a Legion tentpost ages back. You're pretty coherent for a prisoner of war."

Now isn't that rich, being told he's coherent by...why is he thinking like this? That's Enclave talk, isn't it?

He firmly shoves that whole line of thought into a box and locks it away. "I should shut up and go to sleep now."

"Probably," Boone agrees. He folds the letter up, tucks it in a pocket. "I'll wake you when I can't stay awake any more."

"A watch? Do we really need one?"

"I'd rather not risk it."

It's either argue or go to sleep. He falls asleep trying to decide.

***

"Wake up before I pass out."

A return to the land of the living. Not as rough as it could have been, he's drunk so much water in ecstatic indifference to lurking radiation. Rads can be cured, dehydration can't.

He returns to the sink for more and turns around to find Boone already out, small and vulnerable the way people are when they sleep. Dragging the mattresses from the cells into this kitchen had been a good idea, there's a double layer to sleep on, another to sit on.

Compared to the life he was living, sustenance on sufferance and a guard every moment, this is the lap of luxury. Even the slave collar-

he feels the harsh metal against his throat again and shudders, returning sobriety hitting hard. This is not normal. This is not a state to get used to. He deserves better than this, as does Boone.

For a moment he considers crawling right back into a bottle, but they don't have an infinite supply and besides, Boone's trusting his life here. Best keep steady hands.

Old world poetry marching through his skull. Center cannot hold. If he has to get to terms with what's been happening to him, he will fall apart right here in this kitchen.

Focus, Gannon. Focus.

Boone turns over in his sleep, emits a soft snore, and it's silly to say that does it when it's the weight of death pressing down on them, attraction formed out of raw aching need, spending the most stressful hours of his life wrapped up in concern for the life before him; and something turns over and now he's in love. Or at least lust. His body, fed and watered and rested, is absolutely desperate for release.

A jumpsuit's not ideal for this sort of activity. Arcade removes it, adjusts his position to be able to see the entryway and Boone both, the other man's body gently rising and falling with each breath. The rhythm of it is steady, reassuring, makes for a fine counterpoint to his own meditative movements.

If an enemy comes in now, his senses are on high alert. Listening, seeing, it's an acceptable risk.

Boone isn't asking for this.

Boone doesn't need to know. They're keeping enough secrets from each other, he can have one more.

The crescent-shaped scar trailing down past the ear, normally covered by the beret. Rounded curve under the ribcage, a callus on the forefinger of indeterminate origin, every small detail whispering him on as he pulls and pulls and comes-

- the whoop of pleasure as he does so, clutching the butt of the holorifle for support, is tremendously unintentional.

Boone opens one eye, fixes his squarely.

"Huh. Nice to know you're human like the rest of us."

Sitting naked and covered in cum is so far past any reasonable course of denial or explanation, truth will have to serve. "I do find you very attractive, but we seemed to have enough to deal with without me dumping that on your head."

"...how about you give me a handjob, and we'll call it quits."

There are so many more extravagant ways to show a man a good time, but- this is Craig Boone. No surprise if he likes to keep it simple.

Arcade wipes himself off, ruining the lining of a poorly made fedora in the process, and crawls over to strip his lover.

(Can you say lover, etymologically, before actually committing the act? Never mind, it's bound to be a moot point shortly.)

He struggles to get the jumpsuit off- it's tight and Boone isn't helping much, limp with exhaustion- doesn't give him much to work with here. They might not get very far.

Nevertheless, it's incumbent on him to make the attempt.

Arcade teases the soft uninterested cock into a slightly more pliable form, careful application of fingertips that have touched more than their share of yielding flesh. Back and forth, back and forth, the hold is blessedly familiar after the holorifle grip and rightly so.

Still not getting very far. He lies down, tests a quick light lick along the shaft for a sounding before putting his mouth to work.

Boone twitches beneath him, shifts his weight, like the whole world turning over just for him. "Thought you'd just do it quick, not massage and swallowing thrown in."

Arcade doesn't hurry his investigation, the gentle play of tongue and lips, before withdrawing to reply. "Do you want me to argue or get you off?"

Boone does the thing he does best and shuts up.

He does quicken the pace after that, though- manipulation here, delicate squeezing there, minimizing the exploratory touches he would quite like to linger over- and it really is much too soon, when the warm rush hits his mouth.

Normally he would swallow, but the act ends in an anti-climatic puddle of spit and less attractive flavors, drooled out into a rusted tin can. "Tastes like cloud. No offense."

"None taken." Boone does, actually, sound relaxed now. He's unconscious in seconds.

Arcade clambers back into his jumpsuit and covers Boone best he can, before picking up the holorifle to keep a proper watch this time.

Everything that's stewing between them right now, he's not even sure this will change the dynamic between them. Death is the only thing more intimate than sex.

In the Sierra Madre hell, though, it's nice to have one thing to simply feel good over.

[our-time-is-now]

May 28,2019: Not just advertising!

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.

Attention! This play includes transgender topics. For more details see our interjection.

Tuesday, 5:38 pm:

David: *he and Matteo realized earlier today that the fridge was empty and as Laura is currently spending a lot of time with her lovesick best friend, it's their turn again to cook today and provide for themselves* *so he went food shopping with Matteo who had announced that he wanted to cook something today (David would have been ok with a frozen pizza or a salad) – and they are now entering through front door downstairs* *lets Matteo pass and informs him* I'll just go check if there's any mail... *opens the mailbox and takes out two letters while Matteo is already climbing the stairs: One bill for Laura and one from the health insurance for him* *feels his heartbeat speed up, but doesn't want to get his hopes up too much – maybe it's not about the cost coverage for his mastectomy, maybe it's only advertising or just some information. And even if it was about the mastectomy, the letter could still tell him that they reject the cost coverage* *takes a deep breath and follows Matteo to the apartment door* *briefly smiles at Matteo when he steps aside so that he can unlock the door and then takes both letters and the groceries into the kitchen* *puts the letters down on the counter for now and puts the groceries on one of the chairs* *sits down on a stool and looks at Matteo questioningly* Umm... do you want to cook now, or later?

Matteo: *checks the time and shrugs* We can wait for another hour, depending on how hungry you are. *points at the bags* But we should still put away all this stuff... *grabs one of the bags and puts it down on the counter to empty it* *didn't pay attention to the letters* *turns on the radio*

David: *laughs quietly* Usually, /you're/ the one who's always hungry... *also checks the time and then nods with a grin* Okay, if you can manage to wait for another hour... *has the letter from the insurance company constantly in his mind, but doesn't feel ready yet to open it* *so takes the things Matteo is pulling out of the bags to put them away in their respective cupboards or the fridge* *grins and holds up a can of spray cream* *can't remember putting that in the bag and looks at Matteo questioningly* Felt like sandwich toast, or what is that for?

Matteo: *laughs* Yes, exactly, that's why it's smarter to eat when you want... I can always eat. *then nods* Yes, I can wait for an hour* *laughs when David shows him the spray cream* No, that was on Laura's list... but I mean, if you want to eat some more cream-cheese-toast again, we can postpone the cooking? *grins*

David: *by now has put away all the things Matteo had handed him and now goes to sit on the stool again* *tilts his head when Matteo mentions the cream-cheese-toast* Let me think for a moment... hmmm... no! *laughs* I trust your cooking skills can whip up something better than cream-and-cheese-toast! *then gets a little more serious and asks* Hmm... and what are we gonna do until we eat? Want to watch a TV-show? Or play some computer game?

Matteo: *laughs slightly* Oh yes, no-one can resist pasta alla Luigi... get ready for something... *then tilts his head to and fro* Hmmmm, a TV-show sounds good... I mean laying around on the sofa... *grins and by chance notices the letter addressed to David* Don't you wanna open that?

David: *laughs quietly at Matteo's answer and summarizes* So, laying around on the sofa, making out and having a TV-show on in the background... *imitates Matteo by also tilting his head to and fro and says* Yes, sounds good... *glances at the letter again and plans on opening it when Matteo cooks and is just about to get up from the stool when Matte mentions the letter* *picks it up without thinking about it and stares at it for a moment* *gets nervous and taps his foot* *is silent for too long* *eventually looks up at Matteo and starts stuttering confusedly several times* Yes, right, I... well... maybe... *feels silly all of a sudden* *it's probably only advertising* *shakes his head, stops and murmurs* Okay, screw it... *holds his breath while he slowly tears open the envelope*

Matteo: *grins and nods* Best plan... *is surprised when David's demeanor changes all of a sudden when he mentions the letter* Well, you don't have to... if it's a bomb threat or something... *peeks at it again but can't see who the letter is from as David is holding it in his hands again* *feels like it might be more important than he thought* Did you already apply anywhere? *right now doesn't have an idea what else it might be* *sees how David opens the letter and suddenly gets nervous himself even though he doesn't even know what it's about* *simply observes David while he slowly takes the letter out of the envelope*

David: *is too nervous to respond to the bomb-threat joke and only slightly shakes his head when Matteo asks if he has already applied somewhere* *realizes that his hands are shaking slightly when he pulls the letter out of the envelope and immediately sees that it's not advertising* *can read the subject line "application for cost coverage for a mastectomy" without having to fold the letter open and feels his heartbeat race and a strange ringing in his ears* *tries to calm down somehow... should the application be rejected he'd simply work to save the money... that would take longer, but he would do the surgery no matter what* *briefly closes his eyes and unfolds the letter* *tries to concentrate and to understand what it says* *reads it again and slowly understands* *exhales shakily and laughs quietly but at the same time feels tears of relieve come to his eyes* *rubs over his face, looks up at Matteo, beams and cries at the same time* *grabs Matteo by the sweater and pulls him toward him* *simply has to hug him now, to share his joy and relief with him and explain to him what happened but realizes that even more tears start to come when he presses his face to Matteo's shoulder* *quickly clears his throat and finally murmurs* The insurance covers of the mastectomy...

Matteo: *watches David as he reads the letter* *immediately has a lump in his throat when David somehow simultaneously laughs and cries and has no idea what's going on* *immediately steps toward David when he pulls him in and wraps his arms around him* *then hears what it's about and realizes how everything tightens in him out of joy and relief for David* *hugs him firmer and then leans back a little to kiss him* *beams at him* Wow, that's... well... congratulations! *laughs and hugs him again* Then we don't have to rob a bank, after all...

David: *tries to wipe away the tears when Matteo leans back to kiss him, but realizes that there are new ones coming and figures that it doesn't matter now* *is simply relieved* *returns Matteo's beaming look and then has to laugh when he talks about robbing a bank* At least not for the surgery... maybe only for a trip to Detroit... *returns his hug and takes a deep breath to somehow calm down* *releases the hug again and wipes the tears out of his face again* *realizes that his hands are shaking and laughs quietly again* *holds them out to Matteo and says* Some booze to calm down wouldn't be bad right now...

Matteo: *simply beams together with him and nods* Yes, for Detroit definitively... *was just about to take David's face in his hands when he holds his hands out to him* *grabs them and holds them firmly* *entwines their fingers and shakes his head* No alcohol, Mister Schreibner... now more than ever... *tilts his head slightly and looks at him* And I know you don’t like it when I say that... but I just want you to be well, okay? Optimal conditions and such...

David: *looks at their entwined fingers but can't really stop the shaking and the turmoil* *looks fake-annoyed when Matteo forbids him the alcohol* *only said that as a joke and knows that Matteo knows it as well* *then nods with a grin at Matteo's correct realization that he doesn't like when he says something on that topic and says* Well observed, Mister Florenzi! *then nods at his next words and briefly pulls Matteo's fingers to his lips to press a kiss onto them* Okay, I know! *smiles lovingly because he really does appreciate the fact that Matteo watches out for him* *still adds an explanation even though he's sure that Matteo knows it* The thing with the booze was only a joke... and a beer every now and then is also okay... *tilts his head and looks at him challengingly* Okay? *really doesn't want to discuss every single beer in the future* I'm only supposed to avoid "excessive alcohol- and drug consumption"...

Matteo: *nods slowly* Okay... from now on, I'll shut up when it's about beer... *slightly tilts his head* But only with beer... everything else I'll comment on... and I'll do research about mastectomy... and if it says anything different anywhere... *looks at him fake-warningly* I still feel bad about you smoking weed because of me, so you have to deal with me being overprotective whether you want to or not...

David: *smilingly and quietly says about the beer-topic* Very good! *then laughs and nods* Okay, do all of that... but about the mastectomy, you can simply ask me... I might have read a few tiny things about it at one point... *shakes his head and corrects him* I didn't smoke because of you, I did it to look cool in front of you... that’s called own stupidity. Just like with my binder - by the way, I have to take it off soon... you didn't know about it, so you don’t have to feel bad about it... period! *looks at him with a slight grin and raised eyebrows, as if he wouldn't accept any objections right now* *lifts one hand to his cheek and looks at him lovingly again* *quietly says* Apart from that, sometimes I gladly endure your overprotectiveness... *adds even quieter* I like it, when you watch out for me...

Matteo: *draws up his eyebrows* *You don't say... I know that you know this stuff... but I also know that you tell me that one beer is okay or that working out is okay or whatever... *laughs slightly incredulous* To be cool in front of me? *shakes his head* And you were much cooler than me to start with... *smiles a little and kisses him briefly* Good, because I won't stop it... and therefore go and get changed, I'll go and turn on the TV in the meantime...

David: *laughs when Matteo accuses him of withholding things and slightly hits him in the chest* It is! *shakes his head with a grin* Umm, no...? You were cooler than me! You were only being you! *smiles and returns the kiss* *nods fake-serious when Matteo says that he won't stop watching out for him* *is quite sure of that* *laughs at his order and gets up to go to the bathroom* *but before he goes he pulls Matteo to him, kisses and hugs him briefly but firmly because now his thoughts are back on the letter and the surgery again* *then jumps up twice from excitement and only says* I'm so happy! *then disappears into the bathroom to take off his binder and gets back into the living room relatively quickly, where Matteo is already lying sprawled on the couch and has turned on the TV* *as there is no space for him to sit, let alone lie, he simply drops down on Matteo and tries to somehow push him aside* *grumbles* Move!

Matteo: *only shakes his head when David says that he was cooler* *knows that this is one of those discussions that could go on forever, so doesn't disagree again* *laughs when he jumps twice and simply looks after him lovingly* Me too! *goes into the living room, turns on the TV and gets comfortable on the couch* *grins when David comes in and makes an umph-sound when he drops down on him* Not like this *wrestles a little with him and tries to use up even more space* *eventually, they find a position in which they can both lie on the sofa: Matteo pressed against the backrest, one arm under David's head and David half on top of him, half on the sofa with his head on Matteo's shoulder* What do you wanna watch? Continue with Friends or something else?

David: *laughs when Matteo tries to use up more space and wrestles with him and is giving his best to get some space on the sofa* *relaxes when they apparently find a position that's comfortable and doesn't actually need a series but nods at the suggestion of Friends and says a little lazily* Friends is always good... *turns the TV to Netflix and puts Friends on and then stretches briefly to put the remote back on the coffee table* *leans back again and immediately feels Matteo's arm wrap around his waist again* *reaches for his hand and intwines their fingers* *relaxes and looks to the TV where there is a scene at the cafe* *both he and Matteo are quiet for quite some time* *at some point says* By the way, I have to get up a little earlier tomorrow. I've got a doctor's appointment at 10 for my hormone injection... *simply assumes that they spend the night here because they're here already and so far, didn't really have a reason to spend their nights separated*

Matteo: *thinks that Friends is a great series to relax to as you don't always have to pay attention because you've already seen it a hundred times, anyway* *therefore, gets pulled out of his thoughts when David starts talking* *also thought that they would sleep here as they are going to eat here* Okay... *only then realizes completely what he had said* Because of the injection? *remembers David telling him about psychologists and injections and that he also read that there are different options of administering testosterone* How often do you have to do that?

David: *nods when Matteo asks about the injection* *never really thought about how much Matteo actually knows about the whole thing but thinks that Matteo will ask or do some research if he wants to know something and in the last two and a half weeks has made the experience that for Matteo a lot of things are okay, simply for the way they are* *then hears his question and starts to draw small circles on the back of Matteo's hand with this thumb* Hmm... every 3 to 4 weeks for the injections... the GP does that... and once a year for a check-up with a specialist. *waits if Matteo has any more questions or if that was all he wanted to know*

Matteo: *hums slightly and thinks about it* Every 3 to 4 weeks? For the rest of your life? *grimaces slightly and squeezes his hand* Could you also do that yourself or do you always have to go to a doctor?

David: *nods at Matteo's questions and returns the squeeze* *turns around to him when he realizes that he has more questions but puts his head back on his chest and wraps an arm around his waist* Theoretically I could do it myself... but... *grins slightly* ... at the doctor's you get the injection in here... *slightly smacks Matteo's bottom and then continues* ... and you have to hit the muscle and you have to be careful not to hit the sciatic nerve which also runs there somewhere... so you probably wouldn't really be able to do that yourself... with the doctor it's faster and probably less painful... he knows the right spot... *presses his lips together for a moment and then adds* Some people also inject it themselves - then it goes into the thigh... but so far... *shrugs slightly* ... so far, I haven't really felt confident enough...

Matteo: *laughs a little when he smacks him on the bottom* *then nods again to show David that he's listening* Okay... yes, I can understand that. *but then thinks about it again and what it means to get injections your entire life* I've read that there's also a gel... wouldn't that be easier? Or is that difficult because of the dosage?

David: *has to smile a little when he realizes that Matteo really did some research but then explains* You have to apply the gel daily. I think it's really inconvenient because you also have to make sure that you always apply it at the same time and that you shouldn't shower for an hour afterwards and stuff like that. And if you're in a relationship you should... *thinks about how to explain it best and starts again* Well, you rub the testosterone directly onto your skin and it takes some time to be absorbed completely. So if you're together with a woman, for example, and you touch her, then there's the danger that she involuntarily also gets some male hormones... *grins slightly* *thinks for a moment and then adds for the sake of completeness* There are also depot injections that you only get every three months. Sometimes I consider switching to them, but it's a bigger dose that you get injected with and you can really only do that at the doctor's.

Matteo: *listens to him attentively* *didn't know about the trouble with the gel* *but then has to laugh a little* Well, luckily that wouldn't be a problem in your case... but gosh, all the things you have to consider... *hums again slightly* Well, as long as the injections aren't a bother you don't have to risk anything, right? How long does such an appointment take? Should I pick you up and we'll go have breakfast or something like that?

David: *nods to the topic of injections* *often feels a little pain the next day but has gotten used to it by now* *thinks at Matteo's question* Hmmm... well, the injection that's a matter of two, three minutes... but afterwards you're supposed to keep lying down for 10 to 15 minutes... and when it's busy I often have to wait a little... I guess I'll be finished by 10:30 or 10:45... *looks up at him and smiles slightly* Breakfast sounds good. But I can also bring back some bread rolls. *grins a little* Then you don't have to force yourself out of bed... *puts his hand on Matteo's cheek and pulls his head down slightly to give him a brief but tender kiss*

Matteo: *nods and grins* Bread rolls also sound good... I can make breakfast... *but then thinks that it will be the first time that he'll be in David's apartment without him* *doesn't know why this causes a weird tug in his stomach* *but then gets kissed and forgets it for now* Tomorrow evening Hans has scheduled flatshare-cooking and I quote "Without David and Alex, they're great, but I've had enough of happy couples”* *laughs slightly* But maybe I can come by afterwards?

David: *nods when Matteo says that he can make breakfast* *thinks it's really nice but also a little exciting and unfamiliar that they are this familiar with each other after such a short time, that being together is so natural* *grumbles when Matteo quotes Hans, but then laughs* He should go look for a partner himself! *immediately nods at Matteo's question* Sure, I'd love to... anytime! *is happy that he wants to come over afterwards* *finds the thought of having to spend the evening without Matteo somehow strange, but rationally thinks that they can't always spend their time together* *thinks briefly of what he could do tomorrow evening and spontaneously decides to do some more research on the surgery and to make some phone calls for a consultation on Friday*

Matteo: *laughs slightly* Hans doesn't want a boyfriend... too much heartache, he says... *shrugs, so as if he couldn't relate to that, at all* *finds it strange that he's not going to see David tomorrow evening and tries to figure out when the last time was that they weren't together and can't really remember* And what are you going to do tomorrow evening? I bet you could hang out with the guys if you want...

David: *also laughs about Hans and shrugs* Then maybe he does something wrong... *grins a little at Matteo's suggestion and softly strokes his cheek* *teases* Are you worried that I'll get bored without you? *smilingly shakes his head and stretches a little* No, it's okay... I mean I guess I could, but I'll just make use of the time and do some research about the surgery. I might have to wait months for an appointment, if I'm unlucky... I already did some research about surgeons, but there are only two here in Berlin. There are a few good ones near Berlin... there's one in Potsdam and I think in Halle, as well... maybe I'll read some more experience reports and call all the surgeons on Friday...

Matteo: *grins slightly and shrugs one shoulder* Maybe... but maybe I'm just projecting from me to you... *nods when he says that he wants to do some research* Doesn't have to be near Berlin, does it? I mean, if you have to stay in the hospital, the travel distance doesn't matter... then we'll just go to Hamburg or Frankfurt or Munich or wherever... the main thing is that you get the best surgeon there is.

David: *laughs quietly and murmurs* Maybe you simply know me really well and know that by now I've gotten so used to you being there that it will somehow be weird... *smiles and says* But we'll manage a few hours! *listens to him and nods at what he says about not having to bee near Berlin and travel distance* *doesn't even hear the cities Matteo lists because his brain and his heart got caught on the word "we"* *straightens a little so he can look at Matteo and clarifies* We? *once again has the feeling that his heart almost overflows with all the love for Matteo and briefly thinks that somehow he's really emotional today and could once again cry from happiness because he never would have thought that he'll find a partner who will be with him on this journey*

Matteo: *smiles and nods* I'll send photos and comments, then you're basically there... well, if Hans doesn't take my phone away. *looks at him surprised when he straightens and clarifies with him* Yes, we... *slightly shakes his head because he thinks that David would rather do this alone* Well, I know that my care is sometimes a little annoying, but I'm definitely coming with you, no matter what you say, sorry...

David: *feels his heart skip a beat when Matteo really confirms that he wants to come with him* *then realizes that Matteo misunderstood his question, briefly closes his eyes and laughs quietly* *looks at him again and shakes his head with a smile* *quietly and with a lump in his throat says* I didn't mean it like that. I’d be happy if you came with me. I just never thought that... *shakes his head, stops and starts again* For years I thought that I would have to do this on my own... *thinks for a moment, shrugs and lowers his gaze* *smiles again and quietly admits* I think that you might have been right, after all... that it's better to not be alone. *blushes slightly and gets sheepish*

Matteo: *looks at David and puts his hand on his cheek* Hey... I told you that I'm here now... *has to swallow down the lump in his throat at David's next words* *kisses him briefly* I won't leave you alone... I love you, ok? No matter what. *looks at him and thinks that it's still true to some extent, that David has no idea how great he is and how much he deserves to not be alone* *kisses him again and then grins at him slightly* *wants to lighten the mood and says* We'll get rid of those stupid tits somehow, okay?

David: *simply smiles when Matteo repeats his promise that he's here now* *back in the pool didn't really know how important that would become to him and even though it scares him a little, it's simply beautiful to know and feel that he's there* *looks at him a little incredulous when Matteo tells him that he loves him, because he finds it incredible that Matteo can tell him that without hesitation and so matter-of-factly and briefly presses his lips together when he realizes that tears start to pool in his eyes, after all* *but thinks that it's true, that he also loves Matteo and that there isn't any doubt about it* *looks at him and responds* I love you, too... everything about you... *thinks that right now it has even more meaning than it did in the pool, but that words almost aren't enough to express what he feels for Matteo* *hopes that one day he can prove it to Matteo just like Matteo is proving it to him right now* *returns his kiss and tenderly pushes the unruly hair off his forehead* *has to laugh at his next words and nods* Oh yes, please! As fast as possible! *scoots a little closer to him and kisses him a little more fiercely* *interrupts the kiss after a while and rights himself* And now I'm hungry!

Matteo: *notices the tears in David's eyes and realizes how everything in him wants to be there for him, always* *then hears for the second time that he also loves him and feels his heart skip a beat* *kisses him and laughs a little when he agrees with him* *grumbles slightly when David interrupts the kiss* *but then laughs when he calls for food* Okay... I'll accept that... *waits for David to get up from the sofa to get up himself and goes into the kitchen with him*

(next play)

[purplesurveys]

1006

(found at xxbieberburnham)

“The rest of your life”

Are you independent or dependent? Dependent as all hell. I’ll put my foot down on very certain things, but most of the time I prefer hearing input or suggestions from people I trust. I definitely think it’s something I still have to work on because I know I’ll have to be mostly independent at some point.

If you could put your life into a category, where would it go? I feel like this would be easier to answer if you gave a list of categories. I don’t know what kind of insight you’re looking for.

How many animals do you have? I have two, but I call them pets.

Are you popular? Idk and I don’t care. All I know is I don’t actively seek to be so.

What time were you born? 9:11 in the evening.

Have you had any candy this week? Yeah, I had a gummy worm this morning. Mom bought a box of Halloween-themed sweets and there were cupcakes had gummy worms on them alongside marshmallows designed to look like a tombstone.

Are you more afraid of tornadoes or hurricanes? Hurricanes are terrifying, but I’m used to them. We don’t get tornadoes at all so I’ll not only be unprepared for those, but would definitely be more afraid of them too.

Do you like those nerd glasses? Sure, I still think they’re cute and look good on people but I never called them nerd glasses lol. Mine are kinda shaped like one.

Have you ever been in a fist fight? Nah, I’d be wiped out pretty fast.

What color is your house? A light shade of beige.

When was the last time you saw a rainbow? More than a year ago, I’m sure. It was during our ride back home from a journalism workshop, which if I remember correctly was all the way in Cavite. Goddamn we traveled a lot for those workshops.

Have you ever ate a crayon? I’ve never bitten off a piece but I’m not ruling out at least licking.

Ever rode in a helicopter? Nope. Would love to.

Do you like rabbits? Sure.

Do you like mushrooms? For the most part I don’t even think they taste like anything, so I never really had a problem with mushrooms.

“It’s like you step into the room and just press play”

What was the last movie you cried at? That Thing Called Tadhana. I had watched it five years ago after my first breakup; I got to go to Sagada shortly after that breakup, so that movie was actually very therapeutic for me at the time because it allowed me to release my feelings the way Mace did, also in Sagada. Now I’m stuck at home and can’t travel and that movie just hurt too much to finish.

What ice cream flavor best describes your personality? I don’t really...pair ice cream flavors with types of personalities.

Would you rather work for a small or large company? Large, because I feel like I’d be challenged more in those and thus learn more. Also it just looks nicer on resumés, if I’m being honest. Smaller companies are ok too but I prefer those that already have a rep for churning excellent results and having a good track record for workplace culture, like the company I’m currently working with.

Where's your favorite place to buy clothes? Ukays. I used to not like them, but my mom and sister did a great job reeling me in and making me see the appeal.

How many languages do you speak? Two.

What was the worst movie you've ever seen? Me Before You was such a waste of my time. Predictable, cheesy, and typical asshole-guy-softens-up-over-time-oh-and-just-as-you-start-to-root-for-him-we’re-gonna-kill-him-off. But idk, I was with friends who were into movies like those and I wanted to support them, so I went along to watch.

What video game have you played the most? Cumulatively, pretty sure it’s Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

What was your favorite TV show as a child? I was a Nickelodeon girl and Spongebob, Fairly OddParents, and My Life as a Teenage Robot were my top 3, with Jimmy Neutron closely trailing at #4. I loved Disney shows too but wasn’t really able to appreciate them as much until I got a little older and could understand their humor better.

What's your favorite sport? My answer won’t change - if it counts, pro wrestling. If it doesn’t, my next favorite is table tennis.

If you were given a brand new yacht, what would you name it? Nothing creative is coming to me at the moment.

Do you believe there’s life on other planets? Yes. Maybe not the ones in our solar system, but those out in the distant universe for sure.

What was the worst place you ever traveled to? Can’t say I’ve truly disliked a particular place we’ve been to. I will say that Chinese people have a...culture that I’m not used to, and I did not enjoy touring with a bunch of them during my cruise. They had buffet habits that I would consider unhygienic, they would sit at the same table my mom and I were eating at if there were available seats(??????? imagine if I just sat beside you at a diner while you’re having lunch?), and apparently it’s acceptable for them to actually look you in the eyes and point directly at you if they’re talking about you with other people. It was honestly a lot to put up with for six days, and the only reason I didn’t lose my temper was because my dad works in the ship and I didn’t want to cause him any trouble.

What is one thing you’re really bad at? Making art.

Do you believe in angels? No. I like referring to my grandpa as my guardian angel, but I don’t actually believe in angels.

Would you rather be a famous actor or musician? I know I’m awful at either, but I’d much rather act.

“where have you been all my life?”

If you could have invented one thing, what would it have been? It’d be cool to come up with something that ends up being widely popular and/or beneficial to society, but do it accidentally; like how popsicles came to be. Imagine building a legacy from your own oopsie lmao sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

What's your favorite exercise workout? I don’t do workouts.

What's your favorite thing to do? Wow, very straightforward. Hmm these days I’m slowly inching back to wrestling, so I’ve been watching compilations and documentaries and doing some catching-up here and there. Lately I’d say that’s my favorite thing to do, but that can always change.

What did you do for your 17th birthday? Gab and I went to Pinto and she brought me to Filio after. Then I got back home to see what Athenna had done to my room while I was out, which was to cover the floor with balloons and the walls with printed photos of Zayn Malik.

Does your local Wal Mart have benches in them to rest? First, we’ll need to have local Wal-Mart stores here.

Was your favorite stuffed animal really a teddy bear growing up? I never liked stuffed animals, so I didn’t even have a teddy bear.

If your house was haunted, what would you do? Not fuck with the ghosts/spirits.

Are you crazy in love currently? Not crazily, but in love.

Are you good at swimming? I can tread and do several strokes, but I also tend to panic so I think that eliminates the concept of me being a good swimmer.

What's worse: Slow internet or slow walkers? Slow internet. I can get around slow walkers; but unless I have mobile data, slow internet is out of my control for the most part.

What is the rudest thing a guy has ever done to you? I can’t pick between whistling at me, catcalling me, lunging at me, or flirtatiously harass me in front of his friends while I was minding my goddamn business carrying a goddamn box of cake at the mall. Yeah, not a very big fan of men.

Do you sleep with the sheets tucked in or out? Out.

What do you do to fall asleep faster? Put on a YouTube video and let autoplay take over.

Do you carry a bottle of water wherever you go? Yeah I used to, until I lost it.

Ae you afraid that one day you might get cancer? The fear of the possibility is there, but it’s not predominantly in our family history and so I’m more afraid of other issues I have a higher chance of getting, like high blood pressure.

“Letters to Juliet”

Are you a fast or slow walker? Fast if I’m running errands, slow-ish if I’m out for leisure.

Do you usually have to wear a belt with your pants? No.

Does it bother you when people's underwear hangs out? Kinda. Even more when their crack decides to show up too.

Are you usually the person to try new things with your hair? No, I am one of the last people in line when it comes to that.

When's your birthday? April 21st.

Do you own a bobble-head toy? Nopes.

What color was the towel you used to dry off with today after a shower? Turquoise.

Has anyone ever walked you home? I’ve had someone drive me home. Walking isn’t really applicable here.

Have you ever liked someone and they were taken? That’s never happened to me.

When was the last time you went fishing? In my past life, maybe.

True or false: You've read the book Lord of the Flies? False.

Have you heard of the band Yellowcard? Yes.

Have you ever seen the show Teen Wolf? I’ve seen an episode and oh my god it was so boring.

Do you have any quotes, lyrics etc on your walls? I used to until my mom took it down while I was in school. I made it myself, so it stung.

Are you a fan of Star Wars? No.

“Our parents never let us cross the street, but we did it anyway”

Has anyone ever told you that you have nice hair? Whenever it was actually nice, yeah. It was never my best feature though.

What brand of camera do you own? I have...an iPhone, if it counts, ha. My old DSLR was a Nikon.

Is there something you're not looking forward to? The next day. Having to go through rounds of anxiety is not enjoyable.

Have you ever read the book Thirteen Reasons Why? Have not read the book nor seen the show, but have read enough of the premise to know I am not a fan.

Do you wear white pants? Sure, I have a pair of white jeans that I absolutely love.

When was the last time you were really angry? Yesterday. My sister and I were ordering KFC from a food delivery app and no driver was taking it because drivers in that company are notoriously picky bitches about their destinations. They kept canceling our orders and at some point I had enough and proposed that we just get Pizza Hut, this time straight from the Pizza Hut website, which has always worked out for us before. So Pizza Hut confirms the order, calls me up and says the ETA, so far so good. Around 15 minutes later the doorbell rings and it’s...KFC? With our original orders? Apparently that stupid ass app took our order anyway after repeatedly canceling it, and I never got one fucking notification that our order was received. Tried to cancel Pizza Hut but they said they had already started making the pizzas, so in the end we had to pay for both meals. I had never been so angry.

Have you ever made a 3 pointer in a basketball game? Hah, of course not. I’ve barely made one of those free throws that are worth one point.

Do you think you look better with your hair up or down? I’ve gotten more compliments whenever it’s up, so that must look better on me even if I personally don’t necessarily agree.

Do you warm up before you hardcore exercise? I don’t exercise, but isn’t warming up recommended anyway?

Do you want a pair of Converse shoes? Not really; I suppose they’re alright. It’s not my favorite brand in the world, but I wouldn’t turn down a free pair either.

Are you more of a studs or hoops type of person when it comes to earrings? Hoooooooooops for days.

How many shirts do you have of your favorite band? Just one. I’m not a band shirt person.

Turn on the TV. What channel are you on? There’s no TV in this room.

Have you ever wore a tie before? Yeah, as a kid my mom sometimes made me wear neckties. They made me SO uncomfortable I was having internal breakdowns about being seen in public. I was 7 years old. Neckties to me were a boy thing and I felt 0% boy; and so it gave me such serious dysphoria. It’s like making a boy wear a pink tutu even if he’s already visibly distressed. Whenever I told my mom I felt uncomfortable, she would just tell me it “looks good.” Jesus Christ. Why did no one ever drag my mom to a parenting seminar? Did no one seriously see the signs???

What did you have for breakfast this morning? Garlic rice, bacon strips, and glazed ham.

“For the Krusty Krab”

Are you good at art? Of course not.

How many times have you read your favorite book? I don’t have one.

Name one thing that you really hate. Raisins, on their own and incorporated in a dish.

Have you ever tried walking on stilts? I haven’t.

Is there a war that you find interesting? Eh, not really. So many of historical accounts are bombarded with war narratives as it is, and I’ve just never really found disputes or tensions among countries to be the most interesting part about history. Plus women were mostly absent, and that makes it even more boring.

Would you rather live in the city or country? City.

Do you think $7 is too much for a movie ticket? Not always. $7 or ₱350 is actually pretty reasonable if you wanna see a movie at an upscale mall; people who watch movies in places like that shouldn’t be complaining about movie tickets that cost that much. But all movie theaters are the same anyway - pitch black, freezing, comfy chairs - so I just go to midscale malls where tickets would be like a hundred bucks cheaper since it’s gonna give me the same experience anyway.

Would you like to be a newscast person? For a long time I thought I wanted to be one because that’s what my entire family was rooting me to become. Eventually I realized reading from a teleprompter, interviewing guests, and asking questions to reporters is not a career I want.

Do you like word searches, coloring or crosswords better? Word searches, then coloring, then crosswords.

Close your eyes and press a random key on the keyboard. U.

How many William’s do you know? I don’t think I know anyone. It’s too foreign-sounding a name.

What time did you wake up this morning? I woke up at around 6 AM, but I fell back asleep immediately and woke up again around 30 minutes later.

Do you enjoy crutches? ...No? That seems a little insensitive for people who actually need them.

What's better: Snapple or Arizona tea? Arizona. It’s because I’ve never had the Snapple one, but tbh Arizona is already pretty delicious anyway.

Make a word out of the word: Dinosaur. Round.

“she said I love this song, I’ve heard it before”

When you were younger, did you play with legos? Yes. I was never a creative kid, but I liked playing with them anyway.

Do you like Trix cereal? It was only my absolute favorite cereal as a kid, no biggie.

Do you get nervous easily? Ugh, yes. My parents asked me to get water containers from our local water station last Saturday and I literally had to allot like two hours to brace myself and make a script in my head. I constantly rehearse shit nearly every time I have to go out of the house.

How long is your Facebook password? I’m not sharing that.

Do you like the movie Mean Girls? No, I didn’t find it funny the first time and that made me uninterested in giving it a second chance.

How do you want your wedding to be? Big, grand. Lots of friends, lots of food. Not Catholic/Christian.

Have you seen the movie or show Catfish? Nope.

Do you hate it when you arrive to something early? Not usually. Being early is my goal in most situations, unless I’m headed to like a party.

Have you ever been on Omegle? A few times as a teenager.

Are you still in love with one of your exes? Yes. It’s not going away for a while.

Do you think it's attractive when guys wear beanies? I don’t necessarily seek out men with beanies lol but I don’t think it looks bad on them either.

What's something that makes you feel shy in public? Unfamiliar situations.

Do you like the shows on MTV? No.

If you could go back and relive one day, what day? That last Friday I was in school before the lockdown happened. If I knew what the next eight months were going to look like, I would’ve stayed much longer in school, dragged my friends out to drink, blew my money on food, had more fun basically.

What's one word you hate to be called? Exhausting. Like being told I’m exhausting to be with. How does that not hurt?

[linyi-is-dreaming]

The Drop Of A Tear - 07

BTS V x Y/N (Reader)

Summary:  Tae meets a woman who is very manipulative. Before he even notices anything, she got him around his finger. He decides to leave his wife Y/N and his four kids to start a new life with the new woman. This perfect house of cards that he had just started to build, starts to unfold as she starts to show her true face. Piece by piece it makes him feel sick. Tae notices his wrong doing as his house of cards start to fall apart.  Regret and hate towards himself makes him wish to turn things around. Will he be able to safe his house of cards and to get back what he once threw away? Is Y/N able to forgive?

CHAPTER 07

Y/N feels as all there would be a string around her neck which is starting to get tighter with each breath. It is hard enough to not have a job anymore but to not have a home, a save place for her kids, makes her wonder what a bad mother she must have had become for her kids. It hurts her to confess to herself that she seems to be failing in life. What could be the next bad thing that could happen, she wonders. Y/N truly thought she went through the worst, when she heard the words about a divorce coming straight from Tae’s mouth. How shall she explain to her kids that they will move again and how shall she explain that it is not theirs nor her own fault? To whom shall she turn to when she already feels as she is overusing her friends? As the questions go repeatedly through her mind, she notices that she has troubles to breath normally. Y/N tries to focus on her breathing to calm herself down. She might never have had a panic attack, but this right here, feels as she is going through a light stage of a panic attack. Her arm sleeves are already wet from the tears which she tries to wipe off her face continuously. When her eyes wander back to the letter in her hand, she still cannot believe what her landlord wrote. It had become hard enough to read the letter again since her hands started to shake so strongly. As the fear of being homeless starts to consume her as well, she starts to sob even harder.

Nervously, she walks back into the kitchen to get her mobile phone. She hoped that she will be able to have a calm conversation with her landlord. Maybe, if her landlord will be as kind as usual and accepts her explanation, she could stay a little longer. If she is lucky, her landlord might be open for any plan which could give her a few days to find a new place. Even if she still has got to go, maybe her landlord could show some humanity and give her at least more time even if it is just a day or two. To calm herself even more, she takes a glass from the shelf and fills it with cold milk. “Damn it!”, Y/N yells as she spills the milk onto the kitchen counter. Without even thinking, her hand moves automatically to the kitchen towel to clean up the mess. Once everything has been cleaned, she takes a big sip from her glass before she grabs her phone. Three deep breaths are all she needs to strengthen up to call her landlord. While she is searching for the landlord’s number in her phone, her eyes are still moving along the kitchen counter towards the letter. Apparently, a few tears dropped onto the letter, but thankfully the letter is still readable.  

At her first attempt, it rings for a long time, but her landlord does not pick up the phone. At her second attempt, it rings again, and no one is picking up again. Y/N decides to wait for five minutes before she will try to call again. As she tries again, her call goes straight to the voicemail. As she tries it one more time, her phone call goes straight to the voicemail again. Even though the voice in her head is telling her that she will not get through to her landlord, she tries it again a few times. But no matter how many times she tries to get her landlord on the phone, it ends up unsuccessfully. “How depressed must I look like?”, she asks herself as she thinks about another solution. If her landlord directs her phone calls straight to voicemail, she doubts that she has any chance to stay a few days longer. Her eyes wander to the clock as she places the letter on the coffee table in the living room. Namjoon said that he would bring Y/N’s kids back to her house during the afternoon and as it is already afternoon, he will be here soon. She is grateful that Namjoon and his wife offered to take care of her kids today. His wife said she would understand, if she needs a little silence in the house when she tries to write job applications. To have them as her friends, turned out to be very helpful. Since she met them, she knew that she could rely on their words. Not once, did they say ‘no’ if she needed help. Especially, the last few months, in which she doubted that her friends will stay around. Her friends have proven to her times and times again that she can rely on them. As she has nothing to give in return, she keeps wondering for how long this friendship will remain if it goes on like it does now. Y/N tries it one last time before her kids could be coming home at any minute. It rings and rings, but her landlord does not pick up. “What am I supposed to do?”, Y/N asks herself as the fear of ending up without a roof above her kids' head becomes stronger. “I cannot do that... I should not...”, she repeats multiple times as her finger moves above Tae’s phone number. Her finger keeps moving above his number whilst she makes a list in her mind about the good and the bad things that could happen, if she would call him. “But, maybe he can...” Y/N sighs deeply as she is doubting herself again. “Argh!”, she screams as she locks her phone screen. Her arm moves up quickly but she stops her movement in the midair. The scream was a loud one and that is all it takes to let go of a little bit of her frustration. Preferably, she would like to throw the phone far away from her, but thankfully she is able to find the strength to avoid herself from doing so. If somebody would tell her that a year can change so much, she would have not believed it. She is getting lost in her thoughts as she goes through all the bad things that had happened. The longer she thinks about those moments, the longer she keeps walking around in the living room. Y/N stops to walk as she sees a car pulling up on her driveway. It does not take two looks from Y/N for her to know, the kids are home. Quickly, she runs upstairs to check her face in the mirror before she practices a nice fake smile. She splashes the cold water onto her face every time the fake smile does not look good enough. As she does not hear the motor of the car no longer, she decides to dry her face and to put some makeup on to cover up the redness.

“Hello Y/N! I brought you your kids back. Sorry for walking in without ringing the doorbell but your kids opened the door quicker than I can speak.”, Namjoon says loudly. “I guess you missed them as well.”, he says as he places the youngest one on the floor who immediately walks towards the couch. As Namjoon follows him, he sees a letter on the coffee table. Curiously if it might be from Tae, he picks it up. Before he starts to read the letter, he looks quickly towards the kitchen and towards the stairs. He knows he should not be this nosy but something inside of him just made him grab the letter. “I should not be doing this...”, he scolds himself quietly. Namjoon might be a quick reader, but he is not fast enough this time. Just before he could read the full letter, he hears how Y/N’s older son is talking to Y/N on the top of the staircase. Namjoon moves quickly to put the letter back before he turns his attention back to the little boy who seems to fall asleep right there on the couch. “Are you falling asleep, little one?”

“Not just him, my older boy just told me that he is going straight to bed. You must have spent the whole day in the park.”, Y/N comments as she walks up to him. “Hey first of all.”, she greets Namjoon as she hugs him. “And hello to my kids who do not even come running up into my arms?”, she wonders as she looks at her kids.

“Well, they ran a lot. They played a lot too until they asked to go home.”

“Thank you for taking care of them. I was able to write fifteen job applications at least whilst you were taking care of them. I hope one of them will finally be my new job.” Namjoon pets her shoulder before she removes herself from him.

“No one called back yet?”

“No one did. Not a single phone call... I just checked my mails once more, but I also got no answers yet. I guess four kids are a no go for the most companies...”

“There is still the option to get an office job at Big Hit, you know... Not like I want to pressure you to take that job, but it would be something... It could be a start.”

“I know, Namjoon. I will take it as my last possibility though.”, she answers before she turns to her kids. “You all look so tired. Did you play that much today?”

“I ran all day. Not just with my siblings, but Auntie hunted us through the park.”, her oldest daughter explains to her.

“Auntie hunted you through the park?”

“Yes! We played hide and seek, and she was so fast... I just want to sleep.”, her younger daughter explains as she rubs her eyes.  

“But you should shower first. As it is already late, do you want dinner or some beverage?”

“Y/N, I hope it is okay that we took them to a small family restaurant of my wife’s brother.”, Namjoon wonders as the kids start to run upstairs.

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”, she says slightly bewildered. “Did my little bear eat something as well?”, she asks as she starts to cuddle her youngest. Her son only nods as he points at the staircase.  

“Oh, yes he did! I almost thought he would not stop eating at all.”, Namjoon jokes.

“Yeah, my son has a good appetite.” Her son keeps pointing at the staircase as he looks at something that seem to have caught his eye. “You want to go to your sister?”, Y/N wonders as she looks into the direction in which he keeps pointing at.

“Yes.”, her son answers as he gets off the couch and towards the stairs. Before Y/N can say anything, she watches her oldest child walking downstairs to take her son by the hand to help him to go upstairs.

“He can sleep in my bed.”, she states as she looks at her mom.

“I think it would be better, if he would sleep in his own.”, Y/N adds.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed?”, she asks her brother who nods as soon as she asked him. “It is okay, mom. I prefer to keep him close. I know he should sleep alone but he just looks like a doll when he is asleep.” Y/N tries to tell her once again, that it would be better if he would sleep on his own, but her daughter picked him up quickly to run upstairs with him. The reaction of her daughter makes her and Namjoon laugh.  

“I know I should not laugh, but that was cute, wasn’t it?”, she asks Namjoon as her eyes land on the letter. Casually, she walks towards the letter to pick it up before Namjoon could see it. Namjoon realizes fast that she tries to hide the letter from him. Somehow, he will bring it up. He just does not know how yet.

“She does not seem so tired. Does she look tired to you? She is still able to run.”, Y/N jokes as she rests her hands on her hips.

“What is that?”, Namjoon asks as she puts the letter on the bookshelf.

“The letter? Nothing spectacular.”, she answers as she walks towards the kitchen. Namjoon knows it is wrong, but he walks to the bookshelf to read it. This time to read it fully. Y/N does not notice what Namjoon is doing as she puts the cooled down cookies into the cookie jar.

“Y/N, I know it is none of my business but”, Namjoon shows the letter to Y/N. Without looking at her longer than a few seconds, he already knows that she feels uncomfortable right away. Her eyes show, he should have not seen it. “When did you receive this letter?” The worries in his voice are clearly to hear. His eyes are scanning her face as he steps in front of her. When he hands her the letter, she fakes a smile.

“Nothing to think about. I will find a solution.”, Y/N says as she takes the letter from his hand.

“Y/N, I know it is not my place to say anything. I have absolutely nothing to say in your life but what are you going to do about it? Do you have a backup plan?”

“I do not know what you are talking about…”, Y/N lies as she places the mug with a milk stain on it in the kitchen sink.  

“I am asking you as a friend. And as a friend I am asking you again, when did you get the letter?” Her fake smile drops as she notices that he will not let go this easily. Namjoon sees how she struggles to talk about it. Her chest shows the deep breaths that she is taking as she licks her lips nervously.

“Today.”, she sighs. “I will find a solution though!” Namjoon sighs deeply as he looks to the ground for a moment.

“I should have not encouraged you, to leave Jimin’s holiday house...”

“No, I did not leave because you encouraged me. I left because Jimin wanted to sell it.”, Y/N lies. She tries her best to make him feel less guilty even though he is right. Y/N thought about leaving that said house but Jimin meant she could stay until she finds the right house but instead, she rented the next good place she found on the internet from which she is about to move out from next week. For a moment, Y/N and Namjoon stand there in silence until Y/N fills two glasses of water. She hands one to Namjoon who takes it from her as she takes a seat at her dining table. “Honestly, I do not know what to do... I do not know how to explain it to the kids...”

“You can move into my house. My wife will be okay with it and we can help you finding something for you.”

“Thank you but I will find something else. You and your wife, your members and their wives... You are already helping me so much. I cannot thank you enough for what you did for me. There is no way to say such a big ‘thank you’ to every single one of you.”

“I know, you think you are a burden but that is not a case. We are a family. Even after your divorce from Tae, we are still a family who do help each other.”

“You said that since I got engaged to Tae.”

“And I mean it. Look, I will talk to my wife-”  

“Namjoon, do not take it personal, but I do not want anybody else to know about this. Please.” Namjoon nods as he places the glass on his lips to take a sip. Just as he is about to drink the water, he puts back down as he sits down in front of her.  

“How will you find a place to stay this quickly?”  

“Maybe I will check out a motel or something like that...”  

“Not to step on your toes, but with which money?”  

“I know I do not have a lot but-”    

“In a week? Y/N. Please, put the stubbornness to the side and think about it.”  

“There is always something… I just got to keep my eyes open.”, she says as she ignores his words. When Namjoon's phone unexpectedly rings, he picks up immediately.  

“Hey! I just brought kids back to Y/N." Y/N notices a change in Namjoon's face as he gets up to take a few steps away from the table. "What’s going on? No, you are speaking like you are about to have a heart attack. Is everything alright? Who fell off the tree? Is he alright? Thank god! How badly does his arm hurt? Well, I do not know either. I never had a child that broke his arm. Okay, I am coming home to drive you into the hospital. I will hurry. Love you too.”, Namjoon says as he hangs up. He takes a big sip from the glass as he turns to back to her. “Y/N, I have to go.”

“Is he alright? Did he hurt himself?”

“We will see. At least he is not feeling dizzy.” Y/N does not need long until she knows about which child of his he must be talking about.

“Instead of damaging things like you, he destroys himself, huh?”, Y/N says to lift up the mood.

“Yes, that is true. I will need a special insurance for him. Especially now, when everybody starts to call him Namjoon junior...”, Namjoon laughs. “If you find anything, call me up. Okay?”

“Namjoon, thank you but-”

“Hell no, I will not accept it. I respect your pride and your stubbornness but as a friend, I think it is my place to remind you that we are more than willing to help you. I know you think about your kids, but they do not need to know that you must move.”

“What do you have on your mind?”

“You could tell them that it is only for now whilst you take care of-”

“You mean I should lie to them?”

“Not lie but stretch the truth.”, Namjoon explains as he walks towards the front door.

“Your wife does the explaining at your home, doesn’t she?”, she questions as she follows him to the door.

“Is it so obvious?”

“Yes, it is.”, Y/N answers as a laugh leaves her lips. As they arrive at the front door, she hugs him. “You are a great friend but maybe I should look up the possibilities and maybe make a Bangtan-Wives-Hangout…”

“Sounds good. I will let her know about your idea.”

“Greet her from me!”

“I will.”, he tells her as she opens the door. “Call me if you have to look at other houses or if you have any idea.”

“Do not think so much about it, Namjoon! I will find a solution.”

“Yeah. You always do.”, Namjoon says as he assures her with a smile. “But you know...”

“Go home and get your kid checked.”, she tells him as she waves her goodbye. Namjoon nods with a smile as he walks towards his car. Her mind circles between calling Tae or to call anybody else. If Tae would take the kids, she would be alright to sleep in a car, but her daughter would not play along. The costs to stay in a motel is not very low and it might be too expensive in the end. Depressed about the situation, she walks upstairs to see if her kids are already asleep. In the first room, she finds her older son sleeping by himself. In the next room she finds the other kids. Her daughters lie on the side of the bed as their little brother lies between them. Y/N wishes to have her phone with her, but as she does not have the phone with her, she takes a picture with her eyes for her heart. To see her kids like that is just too adorable to just walk away right away. For a moment she feels lucky to call those kids hers, but she also wonders for how long it will be this peaceful.

💧💧💧

It is already pass ten pm as Hoseok and Jimin decide to take a break from practice to check their phones. Sweaty and out of breath both start to check their phones. “Aww. My child texted me that my wife is baking. I hope it will be a chocolate cake...”, Hoseok tells Jimin as a smile crosses his face. “I even had a dream about eating chocolate cake the other night.” Jimin might be smiling back but the worries grow on his face when he notices that Namjoon texted and called him without him recognizing it.

“Missed call by Namjoon?”, Jimin wonders as he looks at Hoseok. “Did he call you too?”

“No, he did not call me. Call him back.” Jimin nods as he dials Namjoon’s number. “Put him on loudspeaker.”

“Hey Jimin.”, Namjoon says. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”, Jimin wonders as he exchanges looks with Hoseok.

“It is about Y/N... I will make it short. She is losing her home.”

“What are you talking about? Tae paid the bills for her.”

“Tae paid? Wait, Tae paid her rent?”

“He took the bills from the kitchen counter with him when he drove her to the hospital. He paid for all the bills which she did not pay for... Did I not tell you?”

“I would not be able to recall if you did.”

“Sorry. So, why does she lose her house? The bills are paid.”

“Her landlord is selling the house. Y/N has one week to move out.”

“One week? That is way too short to find a place.”, Hoseok comments.

“Hoseok? You are there too?”

“Yes, I am here too.”

“Please tell me, that Tae did not hear what I just said. Just say that he is not with you guys...”

“Do not worry, he is not here.”, Jimin explains. “Yoongi took Tae to his house.”

“Good, good. Uhm, listen. Does any of you know any house in which she could stay? Do you know any apartment or anybody who has an empty space that we could give to her?”

“I sold that one apartment a few weeks ago... I do not have any other place left. Hoseok? Do you?”

“I can only offer to let her stay in my house, but we know how she will react.”, Hoseok says.

“I offered her to stay at my house, but she denied it... I do not believe that she will accept yours.”

“What about Jungkook though?”, Jimin wonders. “Jungkook lives alone and I think that is something she might consider.”

“Huh? Jimin, what are you suggesting?”

“I said what about Jungkook? She would feel less guilty as we all know that she barely denies him anything...”

“I am still stuck in the hospital. Can somebody drive to Jungkook and talk with him?”

“Yes, I could drive to his place.”, Jimin answers. “But why are you in the hospital?”

“Well, I guess, my son broke his arm.”

“I do not need to ask which kid of yours as there is only one candidate to who something like that could be happening to, but I will ask one question. How?”

“He fell off a tree.”

“Is he alright though? I mean, except of his arm.”, Hoseok asks.

“Yeah, he obviously is. I mean, I just figured out that I will scold him at home for cursing in a public institution.”

“Such a good boy.”, Hoseok jokes as he throws a look at Jimin. “Alright, take care and call me if you cannot come tomorrow.”

“I will. Bye!”

“Bye!”, Hoseok and Jimin say in unison. Jimin tries to call Jungkook but his phone seems to be turned off as he lands directly on the voicemail.  

“Weird. I went directly to his voice mail.”, Jimin tells Hoseok as he writes a message to Jungkook.

“Did he say that he is on a date or something? Maybe he just turned it off to be left alone.”, Hoseok comments as he collects his stuff that is spread around the room.

“Oh please. As he wouldn’t want anybody else than Y/N...”, Jimin sighs.

“Wait, Jungkook likes Y/N? When did that happen?”

“Did you not notice anything? Did you not notice any little change between them?”

“I did but I thought that he behaves like that because of her and Tae’s divorce. I also believed that he would come to me and tell me about it.”

“Keep sleeping.”, Jimin adds as he takes his bag. “I am going to drive to Jungkook. Do you want to come along?”

“If you do not mind, I will rather drive home.” Jimin nods as he grabs his backpack.

“See you tomorrow then.”, Jimin says as he waves his arm as he walks out of the room. Hoseok waves back even though he wonders if Jimin was trying to mess with him or if he meant what he said about Jungkook liking Y/N. And even if it would be true, what about Tae then, Hoseok wonders. What if Tae would figure that out, Hoseok asks himself.

💧💧💧

Jungkook replays a track on his computer repeatedly as he listens to the lyrics that he had just written. No matter how many times he reads them, somehow, they are not good enough. Annoyed by the slow process, he takes his headphones off before he picks up his phone. “Damn! I forgot to charge it.” Just in the moment as he takes the charger out of his bag, he hears his doorbell. He places the charger and his phone on the table before he opens the door. “Jimin! Are you missing me already?”, Jungkook questions as he opens the door.

“Me? No. I never miss you.”

“Why are you here then? I thought you have some extra practice with Hoseok?”

“That is cut short. Uhm, can I come in...?” It takes a second, until Jungkook realizes that they are still talking through an open door. He nods quickly as he makes some space for Jimin to walk inside.

“Sure. Come in.”

“Thank you.” Jimin takes off his shoes as he collects his thoughts to why he is here again. “I think we should talk in the living room. There is something I need to talk with you about...”

“Such important news?”, Jungkook jokes as he walks ahead to the living room. “Do you want some water to drink? I put some in the fridge an hour ago.”

“Yes, please.” Jimin watches Jungkook as he rubs his palms on his laps. “I think it is time for you to clean up your apartment a little...”

“Here you are.”, Jungkook states as he hands him the water bottle. “it looks a little messy, but I will clean up later.”

“Of course...”

“So, what’s up? What made you drive to my place?”

“Namjoon dropped Y/N’s kids off at her place and he informed me about something. Which brings me to you.”

“They were at his house today?”

“You sound confused. Is something weird about it?”

“No, I just thought they will be at Hoseok’s house today…”

“No, Namjoon must have thought it would be a good idea to let the boys come together and to enjoy having some girls in their house.”

“His wife is still thinking about having a daughter, huh?”

“I do not know. I was told that she just likes to cheer them up and to dress them up…” Jimin claps in his hands loudly. “I am not here to talk about his wife nor him.” Jimin shakes his head as he looks at his hands while he takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”, Jungkook says suspiciously. “You sound worried. Did the agency call you?”

“Did you do something as stupid or as close as stupid as Tae did?”, Jimin wonders. “Oh, please tell me that it is not case!”

“I did nothing, but I am concerned about the nervousness in your voice.”

“Okay. Listen closely. Y/N is about to lose her home in a week.” As soon as Jimin spoke, Jungkook looks at him immediately. “Want to help me to make a plan?”

“She will have to leave the house in a week?”, Jungkook questions as he sits up.

“In exact a week.” Jungkook brushes his fingers through his hair as he takes a deep breath.

“Shit.”, Jungkook curses as he looks worriedly towards the door. “What does she want to do? Does she even know what she wants to do?”, he wonders as he looks back at him.

“She does not know anything yet. She is trying to figure things out. Namjoon suggested to her to move into his home. I guess you know the answer...”

“She said no?”

“She said no to him...” Jimin presses his lips together while he points at Jungkook. “But I bet she would move in with you.”

“Huh?” Jimin’s thoughts irritate Jungkook even though he already thought about asking her to move in. It would be a lie if he would say he never thought about how it must be to have Y/N living with him. How the mornings might look like or what it would be like to have her with the kids with him. Jimin waits for a few more seconds as Jungkook does not answer him. He notices that Jungkook is drifting off with his thoughts. Therefore, he clears his throat as loud as he can.

“That is all you got to say?”

“What makes you think she will not say no to me?”

“You two have a good chemistry since you two became friends. She trusts you and you have no one else living here. She would not think to be such a big disturbance.”, Jimin explains as he leans back. “Maybe you can figure out your feelings for her.”

“Is that why you are coming up with me?”

“It was Namjoon’s idea and I think he is right.”, Jimin lies. “You even said it yourself that you like to have the kids around. You said that you want to help her whenever she would need help. Well, she needs help now.” Jungkook seems to be torn between helping her and hiding his feelings for her. “Do you still want to help her?”

“Yes. I mean yes, I do like to have them around, but what am I supposed to do with my feelings for her? I cannot hide my feelings for twenty-four-seven and longer.”

“You hid them so far and she will be way to concerned about finding a new place... I do not think that she will notice a thing.”

“Even if she notices nothing, what if I do not want her to leave anymore?” Jimin leans forward to make eye contact with Jungkook. When Jungkook looks back at him, Jimin leans even further to Jungkook.

“Well, then you will finally know that you really care more about her or if she is truly just a friend to you.” Jungkook took a moment to let Jimin’s word sink in. Maybe he would be right and it would help him understand what he truly feels but it also could be one huge mistake.

“I am not sure what I am supposed to do. I want to help her, but I do not know if I can handle it. I’d take the kids anytime, but”, Jungkook stops himself as he looks away from Jimin for a second. “what if she does not feel the same way and she notices that I do. Will it not destroy the friendship I had built with her?”

“That is something you must figure out for yourself. You need to know if you should rather close this chapter with love or continue it whilst you wonder if she is truly the one for you.” Jungkook sighs as he crosses his arms. “Look, she is looking for a job, but it does not seem like she is very successful with it. It won’t be for long just until she can support herself again.”

“I do not know if it would be a good idea…”

“I do not mean to pressure you. Just think about it. Maybe you will even find another solution who knows.”

“I know it is just-” Jungkook stops to speak as his phone lights up. "Huh?”

“Is Y/N calling?”, Jimin wonders.

“Uhm, no.”

“Tae?”

“Uh uh.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Y/N’s princess.”, Jungkook answers before he picks up. “Hey.”  

“Put it on loudspeaker!”, Jimin commands but all he gets back as a response is Jungkook’s head shake from side to side.  “Loudspeaker!”, Jimin repeats.

“Shall I come over tomorrow with a strawberry cake? Yes, the one from the shop near your school. So, it is settled, I will bring you some tomorrow. No, I think you should go to bed and we will talk tomorrow. Does your mother know that you are calling me? Just what I thought, sleep well. Bye!” Jungkook looks at his phone for a little while with a little smile on his face while Jimin keeps watching him. Patiently, Jimin crosses his arms as he waits for Jungkook to look up at him.

“Could it be that you have just decided for something?” Jimin wonders as he tries to understand the look on Jungkook’s face.

“You mean besides bringing some cake to her house?”

“Okay, spill the tea. What is on your mind?”

“I told you about a change, right?”

“Which change? You are afraid to tell her why you are truly helping her, and you will change that and finally tell her why your heart is this heavy?”

“No. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? I only wonder who the dramatic one of us is...”, Jimin states as he drinks his water. “Was just a thought of mine.”

“I think I will be able to hold myself back. I have a solution.”, Jungkook tells him as he plays with his water bottle.

[batwynn]

Suicide Bones

Sterek drabble about being overwhelemed to the point of breaking, and the ‘Maybe We Can Make It Out.’ 

Trigger warnings: Suicidal thoughts/ actions, depression, anxiety, ADHD/ADD, death, body horror.  His mother sometimes said he was a the wrong size skeleton inside his flesh suit, to which his father warned that ‘this is going to shape his sense of humor in weird ways.’ He was right, obviously, but so was she. 

Stiles never fits in his skin. 

He‘a too long, too weird, too wild. He jumps from too high, digs in the dirt, sings too loudly, and knows entirely too much about everything before he was ten years old. Sometimes, late at night when his brain refuses to shut up, he bends his knees as far as he can just to watch his skin stretch over his bones. Sometimes he wants it to rip open, so he could be free. To be fully himself, and not feel smothered all the time. But it doesn’t, and he goes back to listing the elements of the periodic table until he falls asleep.

It isn’t until his mom is buried deep in the dirt he used to play in that he realizes there is one sure-fire way he can escape the flesh. One absolute in life that could solve all his misfit problems. The only issue is that he has people that need him to stay. They need his bones encased in skin and muscle, tendons and fat. They need his bad singing voice, and his endless curiosity. It keeps his dad going, it keeps Scott safe, it keeps his teachers happy, it makes the barista smile, it keeps his neighbor’s garden watered. 

So grit your teeth and stay, Stiles. Ignore the growing pains and all the wrong, wrong, wrong. 

He throws himself into helping. He pushes his face right into the snarling, rabid face of death and smirks. Stiles fights his instincts every day, to force that stupid fight or flight to land firmly on fight every time. Every time. He can’t back down, he can’t stop. He has to help. That’s his purpose. That’s who he is: Ill-fitted bones and sarcastic remarks. But, god, he will fucking help you. 

He will, and he does. 

He thinks he does? 

“I don’t need your help, Stiles!” 

“I think you do, wolf-boy,” he sneers, flicking the map stretched across the table in front of them. Derek outright snarls, which means he’s either about to give in or throw Stiles out on his ass. 

“I know you have some sort of issue with your self-worth,” Derek begins, voice not at all soft. 

Stiles narrows his eyes, daring him to continue. “It’s funny how this didn’t come up when you needed me to use mountain ash.” 

 “Because that’s when you were useful!” 

Stiles rolls his eyes back as well as his head. The ceiling is dark and stained with old factory grease. He wonders, for a brief second, why Derek resides in these kinds of places. They’re like prisons, where he’s guarding himself. 

“I can help you find Erica and Boyd,” he says at last, drawing his attention back to Derek. “I know this town better than anyone.” 

Derek‘s voice grows quiet, “my family founded this town.” 

“And a lot has changed since then. I know it how it is now.” 

Whatever fight was in him seems to fade to the usual rumbling discontent that’s always present as Derek looks over the map again. See, this is why Stiles volunteered to help him find them. He doesn’t even like Isaac, Erica went mean, Boyd barely acknowledged him, and he and Derek have a very low tolerance for one another. But right now, Derek’s stupidly pretty eyes are looking at buildings he doesn’t know and new streets, and showing how hopeless he’s really feeling. Derek doesn’t think they’ll find them. 

“Okay,” Derek says at last.  In his heart, Stiles believes they will. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s helping. His bones, though. They already ache with the loss. 

Stiles scrunches up his nose, and points to a potential area on the map. He’s ignoring his bones, for now. 

“Okay.” 

*

It’s not when Scott hurts him—not the first time, no, but the worst time—that he realizes things have changed. It’s not when Derek-STUPID–Hale has another plan fall through that would have worked if he had just listened to Stiles. It’s not when some other creature is riding his bones and damaging him and everyone around him for fun. No, it’s not even when an awful lot of his friends die. It’s much later, when they save that stupid stump, save Scott, save the town, save everyone they can. It’s not until Derek leaves and comes back all soft-looking, and god his anger issues weren’t as hot as he thought because that fucking sweater—

It’s then that he realizes that everyone has grown up from needing him. Scott’s doing his own thing now, and hasn’t called for Stiles to go over his homework or love letter or help deal with a monster in months. His dad has been dating, actually dating, and isn’t home as often as he used to be. He doesn’t call up to check on Stiles twice a day, or demand Stiles give him an idea of his whereabouts as often as he used to. His teachers—well, they (mostly) know he’ll be fine in college. He went through hell and still got A’s. The neighbor moved during the first wave of wolfy-like problems. That barista, well, she was killed two years ago. One of the ones they couldn’t save. 

And Derek? He’s so much better. Really, he’s better. He went out and healed, and now he’s building something for himself in the town his family founded and died in like it’s just fine and normal and—

Stiles stretches, feels his scars ache. His bones pop and protest inside him. Soon now. Soon, he promises them. 

Because no one needs him anymore, and he’s built up a value based on that need. Now it’s all useless facts at one am and tired—so tired—promises to himself to find a vocation where all that he is will be applicable. Where he can weather the aches and misshapen bones because it will be worth it, again. But there’s nothing. College seems pointless, busy work and knowledge he’s already long since devoured. A job—where? He’s such a mess he doesn’t trust himself to cook at home anymore, never mind providing food or service to other people. Will he break down and cry at the first rude customer? Will he hallucinate his way through a shift at Home Depot? When will they notice? When will they see that he’s a skeleton of what he used to be? 

When will they see he isn’t a person anymore? 

Soon, he mutters to his bones. Soon.

*

“Have you talked to anyone?” Is the first thing he says when he finds Stiles sitting on the stump with a bottle of whiskey stolen from his dad’s dusty liquor cabinet. 

Derek, looking settled and grounded in ways Stiles hasn’t seen since he was nine or ten years old. Those few times he ran into the younger Hales in town before most of them died. Derek, his eyes actually honest on the first try instead of the second, third, or fourth.  

Honestly worried. 

“Talk to who?” Stiles slurs, cracking an easy smile that sends pain all the way through him. 

“Someone,” Derek replies as he sits down next to him. “Anyone.” 

“Why should I? Why?” 

Derek stares at him without answering. Stiles wants to push his face closer, jut his jaw out and fight. 

“Why, Derek?” He challenges, not looking away. 

“Because... it helped me,” he says, sounding sure and steady. “Because I was just pushing myself through whatever shitty thing happened next and never looking back unless I needed the anger to fuel me.” 

Stiles lets out a shaky breath and looks away. He can’t say anything now, not like that. 

“It’s not easy, either,” Derek continues, calmer than Stiles has ever heard him. “I clammed up a lot; lashed out even more. I hated everything and everyone more and more until I wanted to kill random strangers I saw on the street with no provocation.” 

Stiles raises a brow to himself, because yeah, that’s a bit different than the Derek who kind of died to save everyone more than a few times. But maybe not so different than how he’s feeling right now. Derek lets out a huff of a laugh, and Stiles feels something hard and bitter inside him start to melt. Just a little. 

“More than that, though, I just wanted to die. I wanted god or whoever to kill me already, and stop pushing me to do it myself. Put the blood on their hands for once, not mine.” 

Stiles pulls his lower lip between his teeth and bites down. He’s not going to talk. He won’t. 

“But it never happened. And stupid shit keeps happening, but...” Derek trails off for a moment, “But I can handle it a little better now. I can drop my mom’s favorite cup and it sucks—it still sucks—but it’s not the last straw anymore. It doesn’t make me want to claw my throat out, or scream until I lose my voice.” 

Stiles hiccups quietly and tries to cover it up by taking a swig from the bottle. He refuses to look at the asshole opening up next to him. He can’t do this, he’s too tired. He can’t open up again and spend the time, and effort, and love it takes to matter to someone and be dropped like he’s nothing. Not again. Please, not again. 

“I’m not telling you this because I think we’re exactly the same,” Derek continues, sounding less solid and more sad now. “I know we’ve lived different lives and lost in different ways. It’s going to be different no matter what, I’ve found out.” 

“Why?” Stiles croaks out. 

“You know why.” 

Stiles glares into the surrounding trees and hates himself a little bit more for rising to the bait. Of course he fucking knows why, but it doesn’t matter. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters out loud. “None of it does.” 

“Why not?” Derek asks quietly. 

Stiles gestures broadly to their surroundings, to the giant stump they’re sitting on, to himself. He can’t find the words, really, to sum up everything that’s led him here. There’s too much bad, and not enough good. Too much bad, too fast and too often. Too much everything. 

“That’s not an answer,” Derek says, and Stiles finally turns to glare at him. 

“Not everything is so fucking literal,” he snaps. 

Derek shrugs it off. “Sometimes it is.” 

“Then tell me what makes it worth it, okay? Tell me why dropping my mom’s favorite cup after most of her stuff got destroyed is shitty, but it’s fine,” he spits, his insides burning. “I should just be fine about all this shit and smile through it.” 

Derek shakes his head, and says, “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” 

“Then what?” 

“You don’t have to smile, Stiles. You don’t have to be fine. You can be upset and hurting, or angry... I’m still angry, you know?” Derek smiles ruefully and looks away again. “but I needed to talk about it all to realize what was external and what was internal. I didn’t even think about what I could fix versus what I couldn’t. I didn’t know there even was stuff I could fix.” 

Stiles keeps glaring, but that hard part of him is melting out his eyes and nose now. He hates that. He hates crying because it doesn’t do anything for him. It never did any good. 

Derek doesn’t seem to mind that he’s dribbling all over himself now, or that he’s still not opening up. Stiles doesn’t know what that means, or what he’s supposed to do now. 

“Find a therapist,” Derek says, turning back to him with a soft smile. “And remember not to feel guilty for unloading on them. They’re being paid for that.”

  “I d-don’t know if I can afford that,” Stiles chokes out, half laughing, half crying. What a fucking mess. 

“I could cover it?” Derek offers tentatively, almost as if he knows Stiles will refuse. 

But. 

But maybe he won’t. Not this time. Not when he’s this close to cutting his awkward, aching bones out to be free. 

“O-okay,” he sniffles, wiping his nose on the end of his sleeve. “I’m t-tired, though.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says, and reaches a hand out. Stiles takes it. He doesn’t know what else to do. “Yeah, I know. Put some of that weight on someone else for a little while. See if it helps.” 

Stiles looks at their hands, linked there between them like that’s normal and fine. “What if it doesn’t?” 

“Then we come back here and brainstorm some more.” 

Stiles watches at Derek’s thumb brushes over his hand. It should probably be huge, but for now it’s just fine. “Y-yeah?” 

“It’s what we’re good at,” Derek replies. He smiles at him. “Okay?” 

Stiles hesitates. His bones say he won’t make it. They’ll end up here again, messier and more misshaped. But he’s tired and someone is finally noticing. Someone is looking and seeing that he’s being crushed under  the weight of everything. His heart, though. His heart says maybe. Maybe. Maybe. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” *

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Call: 1-800-273-8255

Or  Text HELLO to 741741 for the crisis text line. 

[cheesecaketyrant]

Eventually a knock came to the door of her office with the head mech of security entering the office known as Ironhide, a war veteran and a good friend. They haven't talked much ever since Chromia's arrest, Windblade's former body guard but she still remains to be her best friend. The City speaker turned around to see the red mech allow himself into her office before she walked back into the office herself. "Ironhide? What is it, can I help you with anything?" The caminus city speaker asks, taking two steps towards him.

Ironhide, however did not know how to exactly ask her this question but then again it's something he wishes. "Listen, I've been watching ships fly from here to the capital city of Kaon. Now, I'm not sure what it is you're doing but you do know that Kaon is not only a capital city here on Cybertron but it's THE Decepticon capital." Ironhide mentioned to her. He felt uneasy with the rebuilding of that city, however he's only approaching the ruler of Cybertron about this because of the dark history that city holds.

The femme acknowledged his words, her servo grabbing his and holding it softly. "Ironhide, my only intention is to rebuild cities. Capital cities so, that maybe more of your people will come home instead of continuing to roam the galaxy. I am aware of what that city meant to the Decepticon's, but we can't continue to let the past ruin the future. Do you trust me, Ironhide?" Windblade let go of his servo before walking to the wall of the office, pressing her servo against it for it only to open up and cart of a sweet energon beverage that wasn't alcoholic.

"I trust you, Windblade, I just feel uneasy about this. Look, I have to go here. I'll be back tomorrow to continue talking about this." After his words, the war veteran left her office. Windblade didn't say anything when he left, instead, she sighed heavily before grabbing her drink and sipping the sweetened energon beverage.

------

After a while, the Seeker was downing his sixth drink of the night. Intoxicated, heavily- he had his helm resting on the table, his wings flat against his back struts. The server had been long ago told him that this was his last. Lifting up his helm, Starscream staggered out of the chair he once was occupying.

By now, the bar was close to empty accordingly it had been a few hours ago. Starscream didn't bother to pay his tab, as he exited out of the building heading out to an Inn he had visited earlier during the day.

Once he had reached the Inn, and into his own quarters, the Seeker plopped onto the birthbed. The puck was still clutched in his hand, it was a gift- the first gift that anyone had given him. He made a mental note to make sure to give thanks, closing his optics, Starscream drifted into a deep statis slumber.

------

A few hours later Windblade was tiding up in the office, putting whatever work she had out up in the drawers of her desk. She locked both the balcony door, and office doors before entering the room behind her office. The femme seen a recharge slab calling her name for the night. Yawning she stepped towards it, flattened her wings out before gently laying against the bed only to close her optics and power down for the night as the slab started to recharge her circuits and wiring, giving her energy for tomorrow morning.

Come morning, the sun slowly rising over the horizon the city speaker awoke from her slab, getting her morning stretch on before getting out of bed to start the day off. But who could start the day off without a hot cup of caffeined energon? Windblade surely couldn't as the femme pressed the button on the device that sat on the counter next to her birthbed. A cup underneath a hole that eventually shot out a steamy stream of caffeined energon.

------

If it wasn't for the rays of sunshine that had woken up Starscream, it would be his internal clock that would have done it. The high grade had run its course, sitting up Starscream had scowled at the window with much loathing. Though it might as well be a good time to make his presence know, through the window, not from where he was residing- was the establishment Windblade was in.

Throwing his peds off the edge of the slab of the birthbed, Starscream stood. With only a few strides of steps, the Seeker took a very much needed intake, the air filled his vents, then as soon as it came he had vented out.

His nerves were high, but Starscream pushed that filling down, now wasn't the time to have second thoughts. Opening the door, the former ruler of Cybertron; Ex-Con second in command, left the building.

------

The second her hot caffeined Energon beverage had finished brewing she grabbed the handle of the cup, holding it with both servos as she placed her metal lips on the rim of the mug. Taking a sip she let the hot substance sit in her intake for a moment before swallowing it and feeling it move down to her fuel tank she closed her optics feeling her circuits and wires warm up slowly. The femme made her way into the office, allowing the air to squeeze through the vents on her wings and seen four to seven data pads on her desk that contained tons of paper work for her to get through today.

She opened the metal shutters that covered the window to let some beautiful sun light beam into her office. She took one look at Metroplex city, inhaling and exhaling softly before turning to her desk and taking a seat. Windblade grabbed the seven data pads, checking to see if any of them were just filled with letters, or mail from the civilians on the streets and would you happen to know there is one data pad containing the contents she is looking for.

Opening it up she sourced through letters marked important by those who sent it. She read one about the police force, again. She read another that contained a list of workers that sent in applications to get a job here in the Citadel. "Huh, never usually this many people looking to work here-" She didn't seem to find it suspicious but it was strange that all of sudden there is ten different bots looking to work here.

------

Grabbing the second data pad, Windblade, found herself scrolling through the first bits of paper work today surrounding the rebuilding of Kaon. She sighed heavily, knowing that she wouldn't able to complete the listings that it requests for her to sign over towards the construction. The femme rubbed the back of her helm before receiving a call from the main office downstairs to alert the delegate that those who submitted applications were right outside the front doors. She didn't answer but instead kept her gaze on the cellular device, biting onto her lower lip component before she used one digit and pressed the white button. "I'll be down there in a moment, open the doors to them and tell them to wait where they are." She moved her digit away only to stand up from her desk and straighten out her posture. Windblade straightened out her wings before keeping them in the air to show others she is in a happy mood but really she's just hiding her true feeling's.

Delegate Windblade, made her towards the elevator that took her down to the hallways that she soon entered after exiting the elevator on the first floor. The femme's pedes stepped across the floor, heading towards the crowd of ten bots looking to work, however she wouldn't know that a certain someone else is in the crowd.

The crowd had three femmes and seven mechs waiting to get their tour but first, their dear leader must greet them first. All of them held data pads with their ID and other information. Finally coming around the corner she seen this crowd chatting with each other, getting to know one another. "How could there be this many positions open here at the citadel?" She quietly mumbled to herself. The delegate cleared her throat, raising both servos in the air to get their attention. "Everyone, everyone be quiet! Windblade is here-" A mech shouted as all of them lowered their voices before going silent in respect for the camien city speaker.

Her servo covered her intake after she let out a fake cough, her optics trailing to the crowd from the floor she stood on. "Th-Thank you all for coming here and submitting your applications. My name is Windblade, which I'm sure most of you know by this point other wise you wouldn't be here." She joked, a few of them giggled to it and went quiet minutes after to let her continue speaking. "I just wanted to come down here and see all the new faces I'll be looking at around the citadel! You all have a purpose, but sadly I will not be the one giving you all the tour. Once again thank you all for coming and I can't wait to see you all among the workers here!" The delegate wondered her optics through the crowd seeing who all is here until she detected a familiar figure in the back, a familiar.. face. She seen him, she seen the seeker! The femme wasn't sure, rubbing her optics to look back he was gone. The femme turned herself around, going to the elevator and moving her digit towards the button panel. She pressed the office button, gazing at those buttons on the panel.

Moments later she found herself at her desk as her mind now focused on the seeker whom she released from jail several months ago. "No, he couldn't have been-.. but then that would mean... I know what I saw!" She shouted to herself. Her processer had two different sides on the mech, one side happy to see him whole the other side felt suspicious, curious, and some frustration.

------

As soon as Windblade had appeared, and started to speak, Starscream had the sudden feeling of fleeing. Not that he was afraid of the femme, but more of confronting the Delegate for help.

It wasn't easy in the beginning, the first week of his release, he had escaped the capital. He transformed and zoomed out in his alternative embodiment. For the few weeks, he had kicked up a storm. Never really being on his own, without surviving in the Decepticons faction.

A cold chill ran through his back strut. Looking up, as she had made a joke, the others laughed. Starscream fidget with his digits, not too much to cause a distraction for those who were around him, but enough to put the seeker at ease.

His wings laid flat, was he really this nervous to talk?

Was he even sure that he REALLY wanted to go through this? Like a plant back on earth, Starscream was rooted where he stood.

In those weeks, on his own- he had cried. Not for his actions, but for what he has done. Beating himself up for the fact he had lost what he believed what he had wanted. If he hadn't gone and confessed to everything- and Bumblebee wasn't there when had been released.

It made Starscream frightened, despite the fact he KNEW it was part of his conscious prosser system to form to cope with his self-consciousness.

At the end of her speech, he had let out a release of a vent he hadn't noticed he'd taken. He had called out Windblade's name but didn't get any response than a turn of a helm. She walked away.

Dropping both of his servos to his side, balling them out into fist. He had felt betrayed. After all, wasn't she supposed to be happy into seeing his return? With his wings trembling in hostility. Wasn't she the one that saw potential in him? Scoffing, he had turned around, defeated.

Walking on the street in broad daylight, mechs and femmes started to whisper about the Seeker being back.

He ignored them, he ignored the conspiracy assumptions that was said about him.

Defeated, at the courage, he had built up. It felt as if Megatron, had given him a good old fashioned beating.

He recalled, that at some point he became numb to the pain.

Was she, disappointed in him; did he failed her? His mind was reverting back to before he had become the 'Chosen One'. Before the war ended, when he was 'Starscream, Air commander, Second in command.' He felt more alone then the day of his creation.

Taking the puck out of his subspace, he felt it was more of a mockery. Telling him that he could NEVER be the mech he was supposed to be.

But- he couldn't find himself to toss it out. So, he clung onto it; a reminder that even a fragment of his own happiness was a joke to Primus himself.

The only happiness that he will get would be from himself to himself and for himself.

------

This conclude Chapter Two, the playlist will eventually be updated-

There was some struggle on my end.

Please do leave feedback! This may end up becoming a spin-off for TAAO.

The next chapter will be posted when there is more. Starting to get emotional? Maybe...

Thank you once again, to my dear @idw-windblade for everything!

Please do leave comments...and let us know what you think.

This is an rp format, the dashes represent different povs.

Please leave any hate mail at the door...

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Epilogue

Last year, the day after Thanksgiving on vacation in London, I went on a Jack the Ripper tour, thinking it would be a fun, goofy adventure, but instead it planted the seeds for the first time I ever made plot work on purpose.  This has been so much fun and I’m so grateful for how involved so many of you lovely people has been, it has made something that I took on with a lot of personal rigor doable.  

Ao3

“You were short on rent.  Again,” Snotlout leans against the doorframe of Hiccup and Astrid’s shared bedroom, arms crossed, and Astrid rolls her eyes, pausing halfway through trying to tie Hiccup’s tie to answer him. 

“No, I’m not, I told you I’m not paying for half of your NFL package.” 

“You watch it too!”  He insists and she pats Hiccup on the chest, wordlessly assuring him that she’ll be back focused on his nervous expression soon. 

“That’s because you sit on the remote,” she reminds him, “I’m not paying for it.”

“You look like an adult,” Snotlout changes the subject, gesturing to Hiccup’s new khakis and dress shirt under a borrowed blazer.  The tie is proving more difficult, but she’ll figure it out.  “Where’d you get the jacket?” 

“Astrid,” he says, voice pinched as he adjusts the sleeves, looking over her shoulder into the mirror she’d salvaged from her apartment that’s still propped against her bookcase, which is stocked with the overflow that wouldn’t fit in the office when they combined libraries.  He touches his hair and a piece at the back pops straight out. 

“Why did Astrid have a men’s blazer?”  Snotlout laughs, “unless it’s a woman’s—”

“Tuff and I are the same size, ok?”  She glares at him, “shut the door on your way out.  Please.”  She adds the last word to make it happen faster, even if her voice isn’t polite enough to let it carry any weight. 

“Quickie before the interview—”

“Shut the door.”  She smiles, patronizing and not letting it reach her eyes, “or you’ll see something you don’t want to see.” 

“Guess it’s my last chance to say good luck,” Snotlout directs that at Hiccup, “you’re going to kill it—”

“Snotlout!”  Astrid takes a pillow off of the bed and throws it at him, hitting him squarely in the face, “shut the damn door!” 

“I’m keeping the pillow until I get the twenty bucks,” Snotlout waves the pillow that he barely caught in the air before shutting the door, mouthing ‘good luck’ at Hiccup through the gap. 

“Then I’ll buy a new pillow,” Astrid doesn’t care if he heard her last dig and she refocuses on Hiccup, adjusting the untied tie under his collar, “he’s right, you’re going to do great.” 

He smiles, cheeks tight under the beard that’s thankfully finally filling out, especially since he decided he’s determined to keep it during his job search.  She gets his motive and is frankly a little jealous that he can stop shaving and suddenly he won’t look like the suspect whose picture spent weeks all over the news while she’s stuck with a baseball cap and a glare to not look like the student temporarily presumed missing in association with the same case.  He’s lucky that it’s starting to look good, official, aging him a few years in a way that makes his green eyes more vulnerable as he catches her hands, tugging them away from the tie she’s been tangling more than knotting. 

“I look like I’m wearing a costume,” he gestures at himself and she tilts his chin down to force eye contact. 

“Aren’t you?”  She points at the top hat hanging on the side post of the headboard with her chin, “you aren’t exactly in your natural state.” 

“I knew I should have rented a tux,” he jokes, voice shaky along its edges, almost fluttering, “gone full white tie with the hat and a monocle.” 

“Maybe I’d have better luck tying a white tie.” 

“It’s fine,” he pulls the tie off entirely, throwing it on the bed and running a frustrated hand through the hair they just got done trying to comb.  He instantly looks more like himself and she sighs, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. 

“You’re right, it’s the historical society, not a bank.” 

“Yeah, at least a bank would have to google my name to learn about that time I was framed for murder, I’m sure everyone at the historical society was following the case independently.”  He laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed, face in his hands.  “Thousands of blogs and websites and comment threads with advice about how to dress for an interview and how to introduce yourself, but there’s not a single Buzzfeed list about how to conduct yourself after being wrongly and publicly accused of serial murder?  That seems like an irresponsible knowledge gap.” 

“Maybe you can write something up,” she sits down next to him, wishing there was something real she could do to help.  “Look, Hiccup, they wouldn’t have scheduled an interview if they didn’t think you could do the job.” 

“Or maybe they just want gory details,” he says before groaning, sitting up straight and squinting his eyes shut for a second, “you’re right.  I know you’re right.  Somehow filling in the non-existent work experience on my resume with claims that I’m a self-starter and quick-learner made them call me.” 

“I think it had more to do with the cover letter,” she rolls her eyes, out of gentle reminders after a week of his mounting anxiety, “I don’t think most applicants make a case for a building to be declared historically significant before they’ve even been interviewed.” 

“Gruff’s should be preserved,” he insists, “especially since Tuff took out the drop ceiling and found that art deco pressed tin—”

“Hiccup.” 

“And not only is it one of the last authentic speakeasies we have left, since they tore down the building on third, and even there the drug store using the space tiled over the original wallpaper—”

She kisses him to cut him off, laughing and wrapping her arms around his neck when he keeps trying to make his point, mumbling about hidden cabinets against her lips.  It takes a minute, but he relaxes with a sigh, hand sliding to her lower back to pull her closer, thumb dragging slow and sweet against her spine.  His muffled sound of disappointment when she tries to pull back keeps her there another second, dropping two soft pecks on his lips before anchoring him with her hands on his cheeks and looking seriously into his eyes. 

“Save it for your interview, ok?” 

“Save the kissing for my interview?”  He grins, lopsided and relaxed, at least momentarily.  “I thought I was moving on from my sordid past, prostituting myself in the alleys for a few bucks.” 

“Save your lectures on old buildings for your interview,” she kisses his forehead and stands up, offering him her hand and pulling him to his feet, “I can’t think of any audience more primed to hear them than the Berk Historical Society.” 

“You know, Tuff did manage to turn a profit this month,” Hiccup’s eyes flicker unsure, “bartending is a viable trade, it’s going to be around as long as people numb their feelings with alcohol.” 

“But historically significant buildings won’t if someone doesn’t start advocating for their wallpaper,” she reminds him why the job appealed to him in the first place and he sighs. 

“And if they just want to talk about Grimborn?”  He refers to the original killer but points to recent memory with his tone and she thinks for a second before picking up the hat and offering it to him. 

“Give them a tour.   Prove that you know more about this city than anyone else.” 

“I don’t need the hat to do that,” he sets it on her head with that crooked smile, “plus, it just makes me think about you now and I don’t need the extra distraction.” 

“You should probably get going,” she checks the time, pushing him gently towards the door before he can invent any other reasons to delay. 

“Right,” he leaves the room and she pauses to put the hat back on its unofficial headboard hook before following.  Hiccup is standing in the middle of the living room with the TV remote in hand, paused mid-step to watch something. 

“…recent events, it was decided that the apartment complex at 324 Harbor Road would be converted into low income housing, however when renovation began in the second-floor apartment where Grimmel Grisly’s last murder recently occurred, a possible clue to a much more famous murder at the location was discovered.” 

Hiccup looks at her, eyebrows raised as the anchor continues. 

“…possible forensic evidence found at the Elizabeth Smith crime scene could potentially reveal the true identity of Berk’s most famous outlaw, Viggo Grimborn, The Harbor Street Killer.  We have an expert here to discuss the—”

The TV screen turns black and Hiccup tosses the remote onto the couch, where it bounces off of a throw pillow and onto the floor. 

“You don’t want to watch that?”  She cocks her head, his suddenly self-assured, almost peaceful smile catching her off guard. 

“I like the mystery,” he repeats the words that infuriated her when a nuisance from another era stood in a courtyard and shouted them.  “So, I’ve got to go convince a room full of architecture nerds that I’d really love to help them save some of the old buildings that Berk has left, especially if they pay me.  Wish me luck.” 

“You don’t need it,” she insists, “you’re going to do great.  I love you.” 

He stands up a little straighter when she says it, like he always does, and she believes her own assurance even more. 

“Cool, I’ll call you when I’m done.”  He points at the TV and whispers, conspiratorial tone lighter than she would have expected, “don’t go solving Grimborn without me, ok?” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

[funkymbtifiction]

What is Ti like for an ENTP? How thorough are they when gathering information? Since their inferior is Si, I thought that might make them not as detail-oriented when it comes to knowing how things work. Also, how do Te and Ti differ when it comes to wanting things to be done efficiently?

ENTP Mod. - To answer your question, Introverted Thinking (Ti) is an auxiliary function for the ENTP. As such, it serves the dominant function. The dominant function, Extraverted Intuition (Ne) is how we process the world and abstractly take in information looking for patterns and make seamless associations between seemingly unconnected ideas. The job of Ti is to act as a filter and help the ENTP in the decision making process. Ti looks to what is logical, within the context of the internal frameworks the ENTP has created in their mind palace. Arguably the concept of the mind palace itself is very Ti. Ti amasses blocks of information, which fit together and creates interlinking structures to better remember and learn. When we pick up a subject, we learn it conceptually and then take it apart to examine it from all angles to see if it makes sense. With high Ti (such as in IxTPs and ExTPs), it gathers sufficient information to experiment and create criteria to critique for logical consistency of an idea, is able to rapidly discard and build their understanding anew while low Ti will try to find rationalization, and not know when to give up or how to redefine, refine those ideas. The problem with Ti however is that while it is logical and precise, it can be incongruent with external reality. So you could have an ENTP who is brilliant but struggles because they fail to grasp the Te criteria on which the world functions, especially in professional environments. This is why you will find most high Ti users getting comfortable in academia. There they can theorize, develop their ideas independently without succumbing to certain pressures like targets and bottom lines. The more an ENTP works on developing a sound internal logical system, the better it is for them because ultimately the internal logical frameworks arre subjective unlike Te which is objective and in adherence to certain external parameters. If you consider NeTi to be a funnel since its approach is convergent, then Ti is the narrow stem, through which ideas must pass and be examined critically, assessed for logical consistency and precision. For example, while writing a story I tend to take a big theme or an idea and then break it down into multiple points each of which has to have a precise and discernible logical connection between. Or while learning, I take in a bunch of information and create specialized blocks of knowledge which are then fused together to create Lego-like structures which are then labelled, sorted and put away into boxes. High Ti is adept at compartmentalizing. Ti wants everything to fit in a clean and precise way. As opposed to the example below, for us it is far more important to understand the why and how, rather than to just get it done. That is why it can be so bothersome when something is technically done, but there is a missing piece of information. Be it Sherlock stabbing envelopes in frustration while trying to work out the sequence of events or yours truly while struggling to find a missing Enneagram fix. It is not just essential that we know something, we must know WHY.

From what I understand of it, Ti spends a significant amount of time learning how something works and then figures out how to “hack” it – at least for high Ti types. An ISTP may spend a long time figuring out the components of a computer program but they then automatically know how one works and can make the program do whatever they want it to do. So it’s more important that the Ti “understand” the nuances to get things to work, whereas the Te cares less about understanding and more about application – if the program does what it’s supposed to do, who cares HOW it works, as long as it WORKS. And if it doesn’t work, and a little tinkering with it can’t fix it and/or fixing it would take longer than the time allotted for the project, it goes in the trash and the Te buys one that DOES work. Broken toaster? I looked it up, tried all the things people suggested, nothing worked. Into the dumpster it goes.

The other day, a friend had me over to help her format her book and deal with some online stuff she wanted done but was too intimidated to do herself. She was stressed and in over her head, and I could see why – she was trying to do too many things at once, she had no sense of organization for any of it, and had questions about 25 different (unrelated) things… so I brought her into an enforced calm by prioritizing her projects and forcing her to stick to just one thing all the way through to the end, and then moving on to the next chore.

She sometimes wanted to understand HOW that was working but I reminded her the end result is what matters most – she asked me to come over and do / fix these things for her, not explain how they work to her. If she wants to know that, she can Google it. The goal is to format her book for online publication. Each time she started asking me about book covers and text and how to upload something online, I reminded her that we were formatting her book. We would handle that later. She still sends me frantic text messages worrying about doing things down the line, and I remind her tactfully that “This is not something you need to think about right now. You have to do these three things FIRST, before you will reach that step. Thinking ahead like that is distracting you from what you are supposed to be doing right now, which is finishing editing the book.”

I’ll use my writing as an example of streamlining for efficiency. First, I set a deadline: I want this rough draft done in three months. Then, because later I will want to document my rewriting / redrafting process closely in order to hit my targeted word limit range (about 95,000 words and 16 chapters), and because I write chapters in sections from the POV of five different characters – each time I finish a chapter, I write down the POV characters in order – for later use and so I can refer to them when starting the next chapter (I don’t like to pick up with a character I just left off with or have the same “order” per chapter; good writing needs variations – not 6 paragraphs in a row that start with the same letter, and not 6 chapters in a row that have the same character order). When I get finished, I print out this list and as I edit, I mark off each chapter and update the polished end word count for each character’s section, as well as the total word count per chapter (to keep them roughly the same length and because I like to make lists ;). Marking them off each day, and seeing my progress, keeps me motivated to make my next deadline. I usually beat it by at least 4 weeks.

My father likes me to get involved in his building and improvement projects because my Te looks at something and figures out in what order it needs to be done. You can’t nail up that, until you’ve done this. This beam supports that, so we should do this first. Measuring and cutting all the boards at once saves time. Repetition is the fastest way to get things done. Use it.

For me, the goal is always to finish.

That’s why I don’t spend 8 or 16 years writing one novel. That would drive me insane, the lack of significant progress. That is why I do not work on 6 novels at once. Scattered focus does not yield quick results. There is nothing slow and steady about my process. It’s like a freight train. People do not always like that about me but they cannot deny the project gets DONE.

- ENFP Mod

[feminarrie]

under the same moon - one

a/n: we are back with the first chapter, friends! the chapter is just a tad over 2.7k and a whole lot of fluff. 

please let me know what you think and if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 

banner credit ⇢ @booksncoffee

Hanna’s hips ache with every step that she takes into her shared two bedroom apartment. A telltale sign that the fatigue and jet lag have begun to take up their extended residency in her bones. Another yawn escapes her as she sets her luggage next to her bedroom door. She’ll get to unpacking later, she tells herself. A short nap is much higher on her list of priorities for the day.

She doesn’t even bother to change out of her clothes. Simply tugs her black leggings down her legs, kicking them off with her left foot and leaving them to pool somewhere near her laundry basket. There’s no need to remove her bra after having decided to go without it beneath her oversized hoodie. The plain forest green hoodie had been the best and cleanest choice for the long plane ride home.

After pushing her throw blanket to the side of her queen bed, Hanna is kneeing her way up the length of it before dropping the upper half of her body to the mattress. The blankets smell like the laundry detergent used to wash them and the vanilla reed defuser that sits on her bedside table. And it has Hanna’s eyes drooping the moment her head hits the pillow, long mahogany hair fanning around her.

She’s nearly asleep after just a few seconds, but manages to muster up enough energy to retrieve her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt. Setting an alarm to get up is the responsible thing to do even though the mere thought of waking up sets Hanna’s lower lip into a pout. But, with classes starting in almost two weeks and a fifteen page paper due for her interim course, she doesn’t exactly have time to waste. 

After checking that the clock read exactly noon, she sets an alarm to go off in two and a half hours. Perhaps she will wake up groggy and annoyed, but she has an inkling that waking up at any point will leave her just the same. Hanna tosses the device on her bedside table and not even five minutes later is she snoring beneath the quilted fabric of her comforter. 

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Hanna wakes up to a wash of light purples and reds that paint her white walls a muted version of the colors. She can feel a stiffness in her neck as she shifts to her back on the bed and her face scrunches up with the discomfort. Hanna already knows that she has slept well past her alarm, but she can’t bring herself to care. She feels far too well rested and surely that can’t be a bad thing. If anything, it should make her much more productive. 

She pushes herself to sit up, pressing her back to pillows and leaning her head against the wall behind her. Her hand rises to cup the junction between her throat and neck, rolling her neck to relieve the tension. The other hand reaches for the phone that has shifted toward the edge of the table with the vibrations that accompanied her alarm. 

After turning off the do not disturb feature, her phone is flooded with notifications. She checks her voicemail first, seeing two separate calls from her mother and father. 

“Hi, Hanna. I’m glad you are home. Please give your mother and I a call when you’ve settled back in. Love you, kiddo.” 

“Iha. Call me when you are able to. I love you.”

They are both simple messages, but it has been more than two weeks since Hanna had heard the voice of her parents. Her mother’s silvery tone fills her with warmth and her dad’s sparks a yearning to be home that, in reality, always resides just below the surface. She holds off on calling them back, though. She hardly thinks that calling them at 5:36am on a Saturday is a good idea. Instead, she figures calling them after she has unpacked and begun settling back in would be much better.

She continues to look through her notifications. She reads through missed text messages from the group chat she has with Imogen, Tyler, and Sonam. It is an assortment of half finished thoughts, capital letters, and promises to go out the first week they are all back. (Hanna misses them something fierce. She absolutely cannot wait until Imogen returns to their shared apartment and Tyler and Sonam essentially move themselves in alongside her). 

Hanna types out a quick message to let them know she may or may not have slept for over twelve hours before switching to her social media accounts. Twitter has hardly anything new to offer after she had spent the better part of the flight scrolling through it, but Instagram is littered with likes and comments on her most recent picture. 

She scrolls through the notifications, reading each comment and liking the few that are from friends. There are even a few direct messages that have gone stale in her inbox after having been sent more than a week ago. But, there is one that was sent shortly after she had posted a picture of her arrival at LAX. 

niallhoran: you left so soon ! wish i would’ve known. i could’ve shown you the real sights to see in london. 

niallhoran: sorry if that sounded creepy at all, didn’t mean it if it did !! 

Hanna laughs quietly to herself at Niall’s messages. She hardly thinks that he sounded creepy, but she is not above engaging in some light teasing. 

hannarey: might’ve been a little more than creepy

hannarey: lmao i'm kidding! sorry i didn’t let you know when you dropped me off. i would’ve liked that. 

She doesn’t really expect a response right away, but her phone vibrates with a message only a few moments later. 

niallhoran: shit, sorry! but, would’ve liked to have gotten to know you better.

And Hanna doesn’t know it, but Niall is nibbling at his lower lip as he types out each message. She makes him more nervous than he can even describe and it’s almost embarrassing. Especially when Liam comes in, hair wild after his lie-in and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, asking him why he looks so pensive. (Really, Liam asks why he looks so constipated). 

“Remember those two American girls that we had over?” Niall asks, glancing away from his phone for the first time.

“Hanna and Ira, yeah.” Liam nods as he moves to make himself a cup of tea, raising his mug as if to ask Niall if he would like his own.

Niall nods silently before continuing, “I was thinking about asking Hanna ‘round, but she’s back in the states, I guess.” 

The disappointment that sticks to every syllable is impossible to miss. Niall had felt that they had hit it off pretty well while Ira and Liam slept. He learned quite a bit about her love for literature and how she sometimes worried that working in the field would diminish her passion for it. She supplemented those vulnerable moments with retellings of fun nights out with her core group of friends. 

And Niall had been just as forthcoming with his own stories. He had told her of the year that he had taken off to travel around Europe because he had never left Ireland before then. He even allowed himself to delve into the insecurities that still plague him despite the fact that he has been offered more than one position as a producer following graduation. 

“Oh,” Liam doesn’t sound all that bothered, but he knows that the pair had grown closer in the few hours that they had known each other. “Did you at least manage to get her Instagram or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I messaged her just a little bit ago.” Niall says, glancing back to his phone to see that Hanna had messaged him back.

hannarey: sorry! could message me on whatsapp or whatever, if you’ve got it. 

hannarey: look who’s being creepy now. oops. 

A broad smile tugs at the corner of Niall’s lips when he reads it. He sends her a short message with his information for the app. His thumb hovers over the screen as he contemplates sending her his contact information for Skype. The screen name is typed out, but the digit circles momentarily. He squeezes his eyes shut after an internal pep talk and presses send. Thinks that it would be a bummer if she is put off by it, but he figures that it is the worst thing that could happen. 

hannarey: a little forward, aren’t we? kidding, i’ll add you in just a second!

True to her word, Niall receives a notification from Hanna a few minutes later. He receives another one shortly thereafter, but it comes from WhatsApp. He accepts both before typing out a greeting on the latter application. 

“Then it’s going well, I take it?” Liam chortles, having come back into the living room to offer Niall his cup of tea. 

“Thanks,” Niall says, typing a message with one hand and accepting the hot mug with the other. “Mhm. She asked me for my contact information.” 

He hopes, at the very least, that Hanna’s forwardness is indicative of their mutual enjoyment of each other’s company. Especially because Niall has never once connected with someone as quickly as he had with her. She emanated a warmth and sense of reprieve from the demands of everyday life. Even with five and a half thousand miles between them, the feeling envelopes Niall. And that has to mean something. 

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Hours later, Hanna and Niall have maintained fairly consistent conversations. They are only ever interrupted by Hanna’s unpacking, a long call with her parents, and Niall’s short trip to do some food shopping. It was easy to fall in and out of conversation with one another. Neither bothered by periods of absences, but equally as thrilled to see a message light up their respective phones. 

However, Niall’s eyelids begin to droop as the time easily slides toward a quarter past one in the morning. He is already beneath the deep gray and navy blue duvet cover on his bed, his head cradled by two flat pillows that sit one on top of the other. His bedside lamp and the dull glow of his phone are the only things to illuminate the room. 

He almost feels too tired to continue talking with Hanna despite the fact that their conversation has strayed far away from anything interesting. Hanna is only telling him about her plans to stay in for the remainder of the night. He could practically see the pout on her face when she had grumbled about being bored without the company of her friends. And the conversation hadn’t moved much further than that. Partially due to the short responses on Niall’s behalf, his body finally fatiguing after fighting off his exhaustion for the last few hours. 

But, Niall really doesn't want to stop messaging Hanna. Even with his thoughts becoming incoherent and thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he attempts to configure an appropriate response. And he knows sleep is far more important than staying up late to talk to some girl over five thousand miles away. But, he has an inkling that Hanna isn’t just some girl. 

Especially when she is the one offering to video chat with him, if he’s comfortable with doing so, after he had insisted he was exhausted but would fight it a little longer just to keep talking. 

Niall is greeted by a cream colored wall adorned with various different types of framed artwork. Hanna is nowhere to be seen, but he can hear a faint rustling from somewhere beyond the view of the camera. 

“Thought I would be talking to you and not the wall.” Niall begins, voice thick and heavy with sleep. 

“Sorry! I’m just grabbing a snack from the kitchen!” Hanna’s pops up behind a wall that sits to the left of the screen. 

She raises her hand in a wave before being obscured once more. Niall is grateful for the moment to collect himself. It had only been a few days since he had seen Hanna for the first time and during that time, she had been done-up for a night out. Now, she appears to be in a pair of black sweatpants rolled at the top to keep them from falling even further down her small frame. The gap between the top of her sweats and the end of a tank top is hard to miss, the sliver of tanned skin hard to miss when it contrasted so starkly against the all black outfit.

Hanna emerges from the kitchen after flicking the light switch off and she settles herself in front of her laptop. A bowl of cereal sits in the palm of one of her hands while she tilts the lid of her computer down to put her in center view. 

“Hi,” she greets Niall with a smile. “Sorry, I just haven’t really eaten much today.”

Niall rolls over to his side, tucking his free arm between his pillows and extending the other to hold his phone further out. 

“No worries. Thought you said you went shopping earlier, though?” His brows furrow in confusion as he recalls a piece of their conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, I did. But, s’just the corner store at the end of my street.” Hanna speaks around a mouthful of cereal. “Too jet lagged to go anywhere else.” 

Niall nods in response. He is only capable of imagining what it would be like to spend ten or so hours traveling across the globe. He’s never really stepped foot outside of Europe, unless you count the trip to Disney World that he took with his parents when he was only two years old. Obviously, he has absolutely no recollection of the long flight over the Atlantic, but he is sure that it was worse for his parents than it was for him. 

“Can’t blame you there. What are you planning to do now?” he asks, a yawn following shortly after. 

“I’ll probably outline the rest of my paper. That way I have it finished before my roommate moves back in.” She pauses, “You should head to bed, though. You sound like you’re ready to drop.”

Niall shakes his head, “I’m not that tired.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Hanna giggles, bringing her legs up to sit criss-crossed. “You sound like you did a few days ago. And I know you were exhausted then.” 

Niall can feel a slight swell in his chest at her words. The simple fact that she had observed so much about him within the few short hours they had gotten to know one another made him soft, if he’s honest. It downright would’ve turned him into a puddle, if that were physically possible. 

“Please, Niall. Get yourself some sleep.” She says, stern chocolate brown eyes staring him down through the screen. “You can even call me again tomorrow night, if you’d like. Can’t promise I’ll be any more enthralling than I am right now, though.”

Niall knuckles at his eyes, heaving a sigh as he does so. He misses the way Hanna scrunches up her nose at the sight. Niall is just so cute and her attraction only strengthens as she gets to see small glimpses into his life.

Niall would much rather spend the entire night talking with Hanna, but the possibility of just hearing her voice again tomorrow is enough for him to justify going to sleep. He doesn’t voice that, though. At least, not in so many words.

“I’d like that.” He mumbles, ocean blue eyes concealed as his eyelids become even heavier. “Just call whenever you’re free, yeah? Liam and I will be ‘round all day tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll do that.” Her giggled response lands on Niall’s ears, albeit distorted, it still pulls the corners of his lips into a tired smile.

“Goodnight, Hanna.” Niall yawns, opening his eyes only to narrow them at the bright screen.

“Goodnight, Niall. I hope you sleep well.”

And he does. In fact, Niall is convinced that it is the best sleep he has gotten in weeks. Eight hours spent without a dream or nightmare to challenge the suddenly beautiful reality he was living in.

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[expatesque]

Second year internships have already opened, due to some personal shit I haven't really been able to prep, but I'd like to have ideally applied to all 18 on my list within three weeks (but I'm starting uni soon and have not got a functional cover letter to work with yet lol). Please help me get my ass in gear!!

1. Set realistic expectations and adjust them flexibly. We can’t always be the best versions of ourselves, shit comes up, it’s fine. 18 jobs in 3 weeks sounds ambitious to me, and the danger with being overly ambitious is that you get off track and overwhelmed and do worse than you would if you’d planned more realistically. 

So let’s try instead for: spending X amount of time writing/editing my cover letter by Wednesday night. Compiling a spreadsheet showing the application process for the jobs by next Friday (I recommend creating a sheet which has all the questions you need to answer for the applications + what would be required as next steps because (1) it helps avoid surprises later on, and (2) you’ll start to see overlaps – Question 3 for Y company is basically the same as Question 1 for Z company so you can write one answer for both). Applying for 3 jobs (your top 3 maybe, or 3 with rolling interviews vs a deadline) by mid next week. Etc. 

Essentially what I’m saying is (a) aim for time spent, at least in the beginning because you can control that generally more than you can control outcome focused goals and (b) break your goal into manageable chunks so that if you start having to push things back, you’re not faced with an overwhelming gaping maw. 

2. Just sit down and bang out a cover letter (with the why Z company section blank or in very wide outline). I’ve got an example here which is fairly flexible, feel free to use that as a starting point. Writing your cover letter will make the rest of the application process so much easier – I recommend making a big set of notes/brain dump for each section of the cover letter (why you want to do X job, why you would be good at it, what skills and experience do you have, etc). You can whittle that brain dump into a nice cover letter, but keep the raw notes too as they can form the basis for all kinds of questions you get asked in applications. Just sit down, expect to spend like at least 6 solid hours of work on it, put it away for at least a night, print it, read it fresh. Ideally, have a counselor or advisor look over it – at the very least, have a pal read it for grammar, spelling, and clarity. 

3. Prioritize your applications. I’m not sure why you want to get these done in the next 3 weeks – that’s fine if you need to for some reason, but I really recommend going to the employer presentations at your uni. Something essential for any grad job is the ‘why X company’ section of the cover letter/additional application question. Keep in mind that grad recruitment is generally dumb, they don’t know what they’re doing, and they have too many applications for too few interviews. Whittling people down on the ‘why X company’ section is really easy because it’s something you basically get ‘right’ or wrong. If you go to employer presentations, you can see what they stress about their company, and it becomes really easy to get that question ‘right.’ So unless there’s a good reason, I would try to find out more about the timing of campus visits and make your deadlines match up with those (so company X comes in on Monday and company Y is in on Wed, aim to have both done by Friday 5pm). 

If you have to knock them all out asap for some reason and can’t wait, prioritize. Do your most important/favorite jobs first, spend a good amount of time on making them really your best work. You will get fatigue throughout this process, so doing the most important ones while you’re fresh is a good call. Also note rolling vs fixed deadlines – some companies will have the job close on whatever date and they only start looking at applications on that date. In that case, no need to stress about timing as long as you get it in on time, it won’t affect your chances. For jobs that interview on a rolling basis, however, it matters that you get your application in sooner rather than later purely because spots fill up. So once you’ve got your list in priority order, just start working down. I recommend setting up shop in a cafe and deciding that you won’t leave until you’ve finished X number of applications. Applications are a bitch, so blitzing them in chunks is really my preferred method. 

That’s pretty much what I’ve got – set realistic goals, prioritize, and just sit down and do it. Good luck! Let me know if you haven any other questions. 

[dixie78]

How to get your dream task at a Start-up

Have you ever wanted to work for a startup?Have you ever questioned where you 'd discover a task at a startup?If you addressed yes to these questions, then this post is for you. I had a strong desire to work for a start-up however I had no concept how to get any traction. I discovered a terrific, free service, that led to me landing my remote role working for a Silicon Valley startup.

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Enables people to invest in start-ups

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This post is centered around the tasks part of the site's mission.How it works

, to get to AngelList you go to angel.co. Once you arrive you'll need to register.

You can begin basic( Facebook or email signup), however if you really want to pursue a job on this platform you'll ultimately want to go through the actions to finish your profile, which will end up resembling your LinkedIn profile.Now I want to share my preferred aspects of discovering a task on the website.

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. As a former monetary analyst, I knew that some employers calling me were seeking to pay me $60k per year, while others wanted to pay well above$100k. AngelList eliminates this confusion. As you can see from this screenshot, you can quickly see the salary and equity variety for any provided job. Just as a referral point,

my posting was for$ 50k- $90k and 0.10 %-0.5% equity and I maxed out both of those ranges. Naturally, that is anecdotal, however it made me positive that companies aren't listing high wages to get you in the door, only to low-ball you at the end. It's up to you to prove that you are worth the upper variety, and then they'll pay up.Exposure to up-and-coming, cutting-edge companies A number of these companies have awesome visions and objectives, much of them have already raised millions in venture capital to assist them to continue to grow. If you have an interest in brand-new software application,

blockchain, sustainability, and lots of other disruptive markets, you can discover them on AngelList.I like the concept of knowing that I'm not just making a paycheck, but I'm making a distinction, bringing real value, to a disruptive business that is resolving big real-world issues.Simple Application As soon as you discover a position you have an interest in, it's basic to apply.

You will have produced your profile in advance (employment history, education, expert credentials, profile photo, and resume), so the real application is really short.As you can see from the image above the only thing you need to include is basically a Cover Letter, which is topped at 1000 characters. When you apply to a few positions, you'll have a refined Cover Letter that you can use, in those cases the only thing you'll require to customize will be

the first sentence or more specifying why you're thrilled to work for that company.Now go discover your start-up job!Hopefully, this article was handy if you've been looking for methods to discover a function with a startup company. Add a comment if this article helps you to land your dream job at a start-up.