#my markers reacted with it so that changed the way I coloured

[tapeworm-loser]

Growing up, Joan of Ark was always my favourite saint. Which, now makes a lot of sense

[luveline]

can i pls request a hurt/comfort eddie drabble with hugs and reassurance? maybe someone did something that’s been on their mind and upsetting them. thank you!

i love comforting eddie so much and after make up i cant help remebering how good josephs hugs look so we know eddie gives the best ones ever <3

Eddie climbs through your open bedroom window and your heart rockets, startled at his sudden intrusion.

"You really need to start closing it if you're gonna react this bad every time," he says, dropping his beat up jansport by the sill and kicking off his shoes. "Move over." 

His appearance makes you feel much less miserable than you had, though it still lingers as you push your back to the wall. You and Eddie don't fit comfortably on your twin bed but that's never stopped him from trying, crushing in by your side, his arm pressed to yours. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he says finally, lolling his head toward you. 

"Hey, Eddie." 

"What were you doing? Sleeping?" he asks. 

You nod though it's not true, turning on your side to steal back a fraction of space. Eddie has this way of drawing the truth from you and you're not sure you wanna talk about it tonight. 

"You look sad. You wanna hug?" he asks. 

And that's your plan for space gone. It would be more suspicious to say you don't, because you always want a hug from Eddie. He gives the most amazing hugs, all strong armed and caring, his hands rubbing over the plane of your back slowly like he has nowhere else he'd rather be. His hugs are so good that you could believe it; that he loves them just as much as you do. 

You nod and he sits up, arms open and reaching for you. You sit up the same, enough to wrap your arms around his ribs and back. 

"You weren't really sleeping," he says. 

"No." 

"Mm," he hums, working his face into the side of yours, his lips skipping over the shell of your ear. "What's wrong, huh? Tell me." 

"Nothing serious," you confess slowly. 

"But it is something?" And there, his hand rubbing over your back, working away the tense ache. His rings are missing. Usually you can feel their weight, their ridges as they push over your spine. 

"Not really, Eddie." 

He groans quietly, almost good-humoured. Very much, I don't believe you. He's so nice and he smells beautiful, soft and warm, his arms strong as a cage but never that cruel, and his asking, all of it makes you want to cry. 

"Not really. I'm feeling a small chance that it's something. I mean, you don't have to tell me. But I wanna know, so…" 

You're limp to his solid, mild to his fierce. He pats your back a few good times and then holds you at arm's length. 

"Do you have, like, a stomach ache?" 

"No, I'm alright. Just…" 

"Artist block?" he asks. 

Not quite. You shake your head and then change your mind, deciding that artist's block sounds less pathetic than, 'someone saw my sketchbook and rolled their eyes and I've been sad for two days'. And not normal sad. Can't eat, don't want to move, sad. 

"Yeah," you agree, smiling weakly. "Yeah." 

"I noticed…" Eddie says, standing from the bed to retrieve his backpack before returning so fast he half sits on you. "That you haven't been doing your portraits lately." He unzips his bag and pulls out a smaller bag, made from a white paper with blue writing over the sides. "And I remembered how your nice inks all ran out. So, I went out to Indianapolis," his tone shifts, like he's listing something totally boring, "all the way down to that place behind Freeman's Ice Cream with the glass storefront, and the lady was totally pissed with me for getting all this Hawkins dirt," he grins deviously, "on their nice rug." 

He passes you the bag. "Anyway. That's for you, sweetheart." 

"Eddie…" 

"Don't sound too mushy yet. I don't know if they're the right ones." 

His shift from cocky to nervous is endearing. 

You shake the bag's contents into your lap. An assortment of things fall out. A big inky pen for portraits, a refill. Two pencils with blue wood. An eraser. Four markers, four colours. 

You slide your finger over the barrel of a marker. It's a dark red.

"I know you don't use much colour," he starts. "I thought it might help. Well, I asked one of the assistants. About, like, art block. And they said to try something new.

I liked the colours. I don't know if they're useful. But. I don't know. They suit you." 

A dark red, blue, green. A buttery yellow orange. 

"Eddie, you didn't have to." 

"I kind of did. If you think about it." 

You get what he means. The same way you get him a pack of cherry twizzlers everytime you see them, or always have a hair tie on your wrist. 

You cover your face with your hands, wanting to hide how embarrassed you feel. How overcome with affection for him. 

He yanks your wrists. "What?" 

"Nothing." 

"Don't cry. Hey." He scowls at your watery eyes. "Hey, don't. What's wrong? It's only a couple of pens." 

"You don't think I'm awful?" you ask quietly. "At drawing?" 

"No. Of course I don't. I love your art." His scowl softens. "Did someone say something? I can get violent." 

"It's stupid," you say. 

He's quiet. You take the red marker in your hand, turning it over and over and over. He's kept a hold of one of your wrist, his thumb pushing into your pulse then upward, into the meat of your palm. 

"The piece you did for my last campaign? You know how fucking amazing that shit was? All in black and white but everyone could tell how emotional it was. You made it something so dimensional and gory and crazy without any colour at all." He sews your fingers together. You meet his eyes. Brown, edged in a burst of dark, long lashes. "If you can do that shit in graphite I'm genuinely scared of the stuff you could make with colour. And when I say scared I mean I'm salivating. Like a dog." 

You scrunch up your nose and squeeze his fingers. He squeezes back. 

"Not that I'm expecting a thank you, but I am." 

"Yeah?" you ask, sniffing, grinning wide enough to hurt your cheeks. 

"Yep. It involves your hands." Your eyes jump to his and his laugh is golden. "A hug, sweetheart. Why, what were you thinking?" 

"Shut up, jerk." You crawl over the art supplies, paper crinkling under your knees as you hug him tenaciously. 

He rubs your back and says, "That's better." 

[berry-messy-scribbles]

Lend me a helping hand

Pairing: Jesse Pinkman x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Jesse Pinkman attend the same class back in high school days. One day both of you become study buddies after Walt decides to pair you up to help him with chemistry. Little does he know that you two won’t pay much attention to textbooks, as a mutual crush begins to unfold.

Words: 3,131

Tags: SFW; gender-neutral reader; general fluff that turns a little angsty in the process but don’t worry it ends on a light note; reader and Jesse are younger due to this being set in his high school times.

Warnings/triggers: curse words; mentions of smoking cigarettes and drug use.

A/N: Reader’s implied favourite subject is chemistry so the plot can include Jesse’s trouble with White’s class and having him assign you as Jesse’s tutor.

“ This is my first piece ever writing Jesse so I apologise in advance if it seems out of character but we can all agree that our boy deserves more loving.” - Mod Berry

Ever since childhood, your eyes were set on an academic pursuit and it certainly didn’t change in your high school years. But the effort wasn’t just for any other subject than your beloved chemistry, which took up so much of your free time. Staying up all night to pass Mr White’s exams with flying colours wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. All those sticky notes and underlines made with fancy markers in vivid colours present in your textbook were a plain sign, that you struck to be one of the smartest if not the smartest in class. One of your classmates specifically caught your eye – no other than the troublemaker by the name of Jesse Pinkman.

After all, you've been taking the same class for over a year now so you observed all sorts of shenanigans unravel. He’s mostly known as that one kid that always has some snarky comments ready and is an absolute menace to the teacher. At first, it would be making paper planes to throw at Mr White. Gradually it evolved to him drawing caricatures of the old bald man on the whiteboard with captions such as “Sit on an Erlenmeyer flask dick”. The doodle obviously showed in detail a figure of him sitting on the described object. It led to many visits to the principal’s office. Even after all this time you barely have spoken to each other, maybe besides the occasional “Can I borrow a pen” moments.

It seems as no surprise that when this certain student known for not caring about anything really, had you assigned as his study buddy. That is why one day after class Mr White decided to pair you up as study partners.

“Y/N you surely know of Pinkman. The one that barely makes any effort? I told myself if I can’t get through to him with my lectures that maybe someone his age would. I am sure that he could use a positive influence like you.” 

He then murmurs to himself while looking outside the classroom “Maybe then he’ll make something out of himself.”

You never understood why he was so hard on Jesse, sure he wasn’t an easy student but immediately shutting him down as a hopeless case seemed too harsh for you. Either way, you decided to help him.

“Don’t worry sir. I am sure Jesse and I will get along just fine.” 

But fine was the last word you would use to describe this situation, in fact, it was one of those times when you weren’t sure how to react. On one hand, you two barely spoken to each other. On the other hand, you were eager to chat about your favourite subject. But what other thing were you supposed to talk about really? Your only similarities ended in attending the same class and that fact certainly didn’t make it any easier. However the next day you gathered as much confidence as you could when you approached him after class.

‘‘Hi, Jesse. I don’t mean to bother you but -” 

You are then interrupted midsentence by Jesse.

“Uh Hi Y/N right? Look I know what this buzzkill Mr White told you but you don’t need to do all that teaching me crap. ”

“Okay wait wait, don’t be silly now. It’s not a problem for me at all. In fact, I’m glad I can finally ramble to somebody about chemistry, haha and maybe just maybe I’ll be able to change your mind about it” you respond with a smile.

That smile certainly caught Jesse off guard by how pretty it looked on your face. He felt strange? Were you doing this out of pity for him or were you seriously this kind? He wasn’t sure but decided to continue the conversation playfully.

“Pff I’d like to see you try. Anyways Mx teacher when and where are we going to have our first study session?”

“Already with formal titles, I see. Hmm since it’s a nice day outside so would you like to have our first study session in the library? I promise I won’t make it as boring as it sounds.”

“Geez, I don’t know. Do you seriously see me as the kind of guy who regularly goes to libraries? You flatter me Y/N but I hate to break it to you the librarian is probably going to have a heart attack when she sees me.”

“Come on now I don’t think there is a “kind of person” - it is for everyone. Whether you want to admit it or not the library lady will see you just as another plain guy. Or are you scared of being called a nerd huh? you teased him.

“Whatever. So are we going or what?”

That’s how your weekly chemistry study sessions started out. In the beginning, it would be at Albuquerque’s public library, where you two spent time together. It is worth mentioning that the first time you were there the old librarian lady Judith made an embarrassing remark at the time:

“Y/N dearie it is so nice to see you again but who could that young man be? Oh are you two perhaps...”

“Study buddies. We’re study buddies! Yup, nothing more than that haha.” you quickly responded as you didn’t want to make Jesse feel uncomfortable. Hoping that he didn’t catch your face flush bright red for a moment there, you headed to the quiet area with a spare desk and quickly took out your books. 

Those study sessions over time evolved into more casual hangouts such as going to a park, café and so on. Sometimes they would also include obligatory smoke breaks or buying sweet treats for later. There was this one time when you both went out to grab some doughnuts beforehand and Jesse had to get himself the popular pink glazed doughnuts, which resulted in one of your puns:

“Ah, so your last name obliges you to buy them? Huh, Pinkman? Get it?”

“All that time spent buried in the books and it is the only pun you could come up with? Shame on you Y/N shame. To think an egghead like you would get more creative.”

“Oh shut up we’ll see how creative you’re gonna be when we will be solving tasks from the textbooks and workbooks I have.”

Something you began to look forward to during your week was seeing Jesse. He seemed as if he could listen to you for hours and hours. That is why you began to feel comfortable around him - like you could finally be yourself around somebody else. It can be said that he was your best hypeman by saying things such as “Yeah Science bitch!” or “Right on!” even when you explained the most mundane of things. There was this one time when you let yourself go and started ranting about your hobbies such as writing and reading books ( or whatever you like to do in your free time, he’ll be so supportive anyways ) so when you finally realised you were getting distracted you quickly added the following:

“Oh sorry I’m just used to people not caring about my special interests or  straight up finding it annoying.”

“Are you kidding? Fuck them. I’d like to get to know you more, other than the fact that you are a huge nerd. Also, I think you’d make a great teacher or something because hey you’ve managed to make me pay attention."

That response definitely warmed up your heart.

On the surface, both of you seemed like total solar opposites but maybe that’s why you two connected so well. As you often put it in your mind “positively charged objects attract negatively charged objects”. Jesse would probably groan at the thought that you had to compare your friendship to some nerdy topic. During that time, you noticed that there was so much more to Jesse than people thought. For instance, his notebook had pages that were entirely covered in drawings of figures done in a comic book art style, some of which were superheroes while the others were villains. Initially, Jesse was nervous that you found them but then all that doubt disappeared when he was smothered in positive feedback from you. You eagerly asked about their names, superpowers and origin stories and then proceeded to listen to his explanations with joy in your eyes. That alone made Jesse feel so weak around you - you were actually interested in spending time with him and in what he wanted to say ( and by god we all know how much he needs that in his life ).

Up to this point, you didn’t realise that you started to develop feelings towards Jesse, but when he didn’t show up at your usual meeting spot you immediately started to worry. It’s not as if Jesse wouldn’t let you know if something bad happened, because he had felt sick before. The significant difference is that he always called or texted when he couldn’t make it. This time however it was total silence. At first, you tried calling him, then you moved on to texting multiple messages saying “Are you alright? Did something happen?” followed by “I hope everything is okay Jesse text me whenever you can”. You weren’t sure if you were overreacting a bit, but you didn’t care – the most important thing was his well-being. Time passed and it has been a week since your last message and there was no sign of him at school either. Now you were certain that something felt off… Maybe that’s why you decided to take matters into your own hands when you visited the Pinkmans’ residence. You were more than thankful, that you remembered where it was located since Jesse never really invited you over. The only time when you two were near his house he’d quickly brush it off as if he didn’t want to attract your attention to it.  When you arrived and knocked on the door a short blonde woman opened. She was clearly confused by your presence.

“Can I help you with something? I don’t believe we have met before?” 

"Oh hi, you must be Jesse’s mother. My name is Y/N nice to meet you, I am Jesse’s friend.”

It was strange to call him that since you weren’t sure if Jesse considered you his friend, but you certainly considered him to be yours. A small shocked expression appeared on her face, however before she could say anything you continued:

You didn’t quite understand her passive-aggressive response. At the same time, she was glad that you thought about her son but also said something about being an “unusual” friend of his. What did she mean by that? Was she trying to insult you or her own son? You thought that to yourself but decided to shrug it off as there were more important things right now.

“Listen Mrs Pinkman I am so sorry to bother you but Jesse hasn’t been responding to my messages for the past week and he also wasn’t at school so I wanted to make sure that he’s okay.”

“Hmm I have to say you don’t seem like Jesse’s usual kind of “friend”, but it’s nice that you worried about him. Pleasure to meet you too.”

“Listen Jesse has been lately um I am not sure how to put it...” 

The older woman seemed at loss for words. To your surprise at that moment a taller older man came up behind Mrs Pinkman, which you suspected probably was Jesse’s father.

“Is there a problem here dear?” and then Mrs Pinkman had to assure him there was none but also had to explain why you were here in the first place. 

“Oh, you are here for Jesse huh? Well then colour me surprised, to say the least. About our son - you’ll understand what my wife wanted to tell you in a moment. How about I show you his room, then you can go ask him yourself.”

The tension in that conversation caught you off-guard. For some reason, both of them seemed angry inside but they covered it in their nice suburban behaviour.  Before you could even properly react to that exchange of words they both walked into their house, gesturing you to follow them. 

They stopped at the door, which you could only assume belonged to Jesse’s room. His father then proceeded to knock on the door while saying “Jesse you have a visitor.” and then both left you alone in awkward silence while standing outside his room.

A couple of minutes passed and then you heard a loud thud and steps of someone approaching the door. Then the door swung right open followed by:

“Uh. I didn’t want you to see me like this Y/N.” Jesse sighed.

The room looked as if a tornado came through - all his belongings scattered on the bedroom floor. From his usual baggy clothes, beanies and a used bong to boxes of frozen pizza with few slices left untouched. The air in the room was heavy and the atmosphere was even heavier when you noticed Jesse nervously looking at you in the doorframe.

You have never seen Jesse in that state before. His usual entrancing blue eyes were all red. Not only that but it appeared that even weighty eyebags began to show on his face. Jesse anxiously held his arm around you. He was so afraid that sooner or later you would witness him like this. He expected the worst to come from your mouth and was preparing himself for the harsh reality of that situation to unfold, but then he heard a quiet sob coming from you.

“I was so worried that something bad happened to you. I am so glad that you are okay you asshole!” you immediately hugged Jesse.

“But um Jesse what happened? Is there something that worried you so much, which lead to this state?” you gestured at the room and him.

Jesse was knocked-out at that moment. Out of all the reactions he suspected he would get from you a warm embrace wasn’t on that list.

“Next time check your goddamn phone you hear me? A simple “I am alive” would be great you know?” you quickly added as you let go of that hug.

“I don’t want to come off as nosy or anything but just so you know you can always talk to me. I’ll make sure to be of help to you.” you added.

Jesse was absolutely stunned at that moment. Nobody ever cared about him that much and you didn’t even judge him? You didn’t think of him less after witnessing him at his worst? After all of that, you still wanted to know what was wrong? What exactly was happening? He finally responded:

“Heh I don’t know what to say Y/N. Look for the past few days I haven’t been feeling very well. You probably met my parents - we don’t exactly get along.” before he could finish that sentence he made sure to close the door so they wouldn’t hear what he says.

“So about a week ago they found my secret stash and went fucking crazy. It wasn’t only about that oh no no no. Mrs and Mr Perfect had to bring up my shitty grades and how I will never amount to anything. Parents of the year huh? After that, the only thing I knew would make me feel good is smoke some weed and spend time alone. My buddies suggested meeting up but I wasn't feeling like it. I just felt like a burden to everyone I have ever met."

"God and the fact that this dickhead White told my parents I was a lost cause was just a cherry on top of that shitshow." he added with frustration building inside him.

Seeing Jesse in that vulnerable position made you even more motivated to comfort him. You carefully started:

"First of all you are certainly not a burden, how could you even think that for a moment? Look even if your parents are acting like assholes towards you they don't define your worth. "

"I am so sorry that your parents and White told you those awful words but if you asked me I think you are pretty great. Sure you aren't the best at certain things but you are getting better each and every single day. If it makes any real difference to you I'm rooting for you, Jesse."

"And hey just a friendly suggestion when you do succeed you can rub it in their face you know? That certainly is something to look forward to right?"

That made Jesse chuckle a bit.

"Thanks, Y/N. I am very glad that you came here."

"No problem at all. Say do you need any help with cleaning your room? And before you say you don't want to make me do your chores I don't mind and also I insist."

Even if he said no you would help him so after that you and Jesse got up to start cleaning his room and of course had some more heart-to-heart conversations while doing so. It brought you two closer than ever and you both realized that your feelings were more than friendship.

Since that day some time passed and your first study sessions came faster than expected. Jesse was so happy that he could finally spend more time with you and so were you. You took your usual path to the library and sat in an empty desk. This time you decided to start with organic chemistry, in particular, a topic revolving around saccharides. Before you could explain anything Jesse asked you:

"So today we are doing what? Saccharides? What a mouthful. Why do eggheads always come up with the most idiotic names instead of calling it oh I don't know... something anyone can say outloud?"

"Pff you can always just call them sugars you know. It is still a correct nomenclature so feel free to use that one."

"Yeah but I would rather call you sugar." he responded without a second thought.

"Wait what did you say?" you felt blood rush to your face.

Silence fell between you two. Expression or sheer shock on both of your faces. Jesse couldn't believe he said that out loud. The silence was then broken by him coughing and finally adding:

"Y/N I didn't mean to make any of this awkward I just... I just think that you are sweet."

"Well if that makes any difference I think you are cute too Pinkman." you responded and softly placed a kiss on his lips.

Truth be told that day you didn't do any of the material you had planned in advance. The only chemistry that was on your mind was between you and Jesse.

[axl-ul]

Writing Advice: Five Senses Approach

(Or how I personally write the descriptions)

INTRO

I decided to do something similar and talk a bit about my way of writing descriptions since some people told me they'd be interested in this. Plus, I thought that maybe some people could find this helpful, in case they struggle with descriptions. Again, this is how I personally go around this and you don't need to follow this post at all. Write however it suits you and in whichever way that's the most comfortable for you. As I previously mentioned, some people were curious about my personal way of dealing with this part of writing. This approach is basically 'show, don't tell' but maybe slightly different?? I don't know, I just like to do things my way and sometimes it works out. Plus, I've seen many people only mentioning the phrase and not talking much about it, which can lead 'less experienced' writers to slight confusion as in they can't do much with this information because nobody gives it much attention. Five Senses approach is what is sounds - the description is based on the scenery. NOT A PICTURE, the pictures are a still thing, scenery is what I aim for in this approach because it offers me all the feelings I want to experience and which I want to deliver in my writing. It brings the life with it, not the stillness. You wannt to relive the moment with your characters, in fact, imagine that YOU are the character in that scene, become the prt of it. Alright, now we can approach the actual 'Five Senses'.

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1. Sight

This one's the easiest. Colours play in fornt of you, they dance, they whirl, sometimes they merge together until you can barely tell them apart, instead a new creation emerges in front of you.

There's even more - the size, the shapes, the details.

You take a seat and look in front of yourself. There's an old calendar on the low table. Is the calendar new or old? Is there anything hightlighted, marked, signed? A date, for instance, or maybe a name and a telephone number under it, all written with a green marker. Or the hills behind the window by your left. Are they majestic? Or do you perhaps enjoy something more neat, something picturesque with only slight curves and nothing sharp. Nothing that would remind you of those awful knives in the kitche by the corner of your eye where a black cat used to sit.

2. Smell

This sense is often overlooked in many cases. Just try covering or pinching your nose as you begin to eat your favourite meal. Suddenly, it's not as good as it used to be, right? Smell and taste are tied to one another.

Breath in and out. What can your nose pick up? What else can you decipher? That pie on the table, a hot steam carried a sweet aroma of apples, cinnamon and sugar. Perhaps, the smell is your only source of information as you're blindfolded and locked up in the trunk in the midde of seemingly nowhere.

Fresh air runs from under the white cliff where the small pond resides. That breeze makes you squirm a bit - fish, frogs and other animals inhabit the place which gives the pond its characteristic odour. But you'e honestly happy. You stick out your chin and chest to inhale deeply, taking in every molecule of that humidity, a nice change from the dusty corners of the old room which reeks so much you can't properly sleep inside without leaving your window open for the whole night.

Again, your nose, your whole body can react to even the slight change. It can make you squirm, cringe, relax, it can make you sleepy or to burst with energy.

3. Hearing

Same as the smell. Something in the distance that you can't quite see. What does it sound like? Does it pleasantly ring? Or would you rather cut off your own ear just to make the sound stop? What about the music - are you truly precise or you're a rather tone-deaf person?

Hearing can be affected by various things. Somebody's ears are much sharper, some people are completely deaf.

The sound can be a ringing laughter, a horrifying screech, a subtle nimble in the air barely noticeable and it's only by the sheer luck that you happened to hear it.

Noises and voices do not always come from the great distance. Maybe only a cat happens to purr in your lap and right beside you your friend begins to hum an unknown melody.

Describe what you/your character can hear and what are the effects. It can make your hair on your nape stand up or it makes you want to dance the whole night through.

4. Taste

As I meantioned before, smell and taste are a great pair. Anyone's put various things on their tongue before, from simple yet delicious food to toys in th kindergarden to tasting that guts-twisting dentist tools on your last visit.

There's still (somehow) information going around that people recognise the four tastes. That is not true. We are capable of recognising four basic taste - sour, bitter, sweet, salty and umami (the 'meaty' taste which 'deepens' other flavours). Nowadays, there are even studies which talk about even the 6th taste, which is the taste of fat or greasy.

Let's put this together, then. Something's on your tongue - would you say it's so dry that you need a glass of water? Is the thing even edible? Is it soft? Are your teeth going to break soon? Is it something you've never had before causing you to hesitate to properly describe it to your friends? Or do you only assume what it may taste like since you can only watch from afar? Would it make you vomit or you'd gladly accept the thrill of trying out something new?

5. Touch

I reserved the sense of touch as the last one on this list but it's no less important than the previous ones.

You can talk about the quality, the softness or the hardness, you can rant about the temperature of the object, of the weather. Sure, in the winter, the snow-covered city is cold and lifeless but inside your cosy little flat, you're perfectly warm and the dog's soft fur tickles you and serves like a fine pillow that it's making your eyes shut.

Hugs, kicks, spits, pecks, handshake, gestures - does it make you flinch, cry out in pain? Would you like for the person to embrace you once more? Why? Don't talk about the feeling, talk about the process of feeling it. The clothes rustles against your skin, it tickles you so much you want to scratch your back but ultimately decide not to becase of how welcome you feel from the cool hands around your back, a perfect contrast to the outside's hell-like temperature.

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After reading through the list, go, sit for a while and imagine the scene in your head, perceive it carefully as everything slowly unfolds in front of your eyes. At first, you see something. Ask yourself what it looks like, whether it's dangerous or not. Now, you can hear something, you even picked up the smell - proceed it inside and think further. What are the effects so far? Do you wish to continue in your search? Be curious and wonder what the corners of your eyes can discover. Whether it's edible or not, if not why, would you get poisoned from it, how do you know? At last, you can surely grasp onto something or someone. Is it a comfortable feeling, a detail that can easily soothe you or you yank your hand and legs in response since your body begins to twitch? Lastly you don't need to describe every single of the five senses. Usually, you should pick those who struck you as the most interesting. For instance, the blanket might be just an ordinary blanket, nothing that would catch your eye but it smells terribly. It stinks so much you need to cover your nose. Don't lose your time and space and resaurces with talking about the everyday colour, focus on the thing that caught your attention. Remember, the description is not a picture, it's the process you're a part of. It's the experience you want to share.

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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @rubywrite @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51

[designthinkingblog]

The design thinking process was one that I was very unfamiliar with at the beginning of this course. The 5 integral steps of the design thinking process: empathise, define, ideate, prototype and test are terms that I had never considered in terms of solving issues. At the beginning of our journey in designing a product to solve one of the wicked issues in the world, we were granted a deeper understanding in how these 5 steps can result in new ways of thinking. We were tasked with the challenge to “generate new ideas, collaborate toward a common goal. Produce a prototype and market your concept” (Lecture slides, 2022) Along with the class discussions and lectures, many of the course readings deepened my understanding of just what design thinking is, and why it is so important in so many disciplines across the university.

 “Design Thinking is a process for solving complex, open-ended problems that don’t have a “right”

 answer. It’s not simply a way of thinking about objects or “the way something looks”. Design 

Thinking is a critical process that was refined 20 years ago by Tim Brown, David Kelley and the

 team at IDEO” (Thomas, 2022)

After we formed our groups for this assessment, we were tasked with the issue of deciding which wicked problem we wished to conquer. After some debate, our group landed on the global issue of nicotine addiction, specifically vaping and e-cigarettes. 

With the numbers of those consuming these products consistently rising, we decided it was a worthy cause for our group to attack. Especially since the majority of users are in our age demographic, it is an issue that directly affects us and our peers. This wicked problem aligns with the 3.a and 3.5 of the United Nations Problems.

3.a Strengthen the implementation of the World Health Organisation Framework Convention on Tobacco Control in all countries, as appropriate

3.5. Strengthen the prevention and treatment of substance abuse, including narcotic drug abuse and harmful use of alcohol

Thus began the task of developing the means in which we would use to attempt solving the crisis of vaping among the youth of Australia, in which we eventually landed on the broad concept of creating a petition that reached for legislative change in regards to the laws surrounding selling and buying vapes and e cigarettes in Australia.

“Petitions also provide a focal point for individuals and groups attempting to organise campaigns on various issues—for example, public meetings are sometimes organised around the signing of petitions.” (Parliament of Australia, 2022)

Petitions are one of the most cost effective and efficient ways of enforcing change among a population, and an accumulation of signatures has resulted in legislative change within Australia many times before.

The process of brainstorming was supported by the supplementation of butchers paper and numerous

Coloured markers to allow us to visualise our ideas and concepts in a much more vivid and creative manner. One of the design thinking methods in which I found to be extremely beneficial was that of mapping out the user's journey. This task allowed us to further specify our idea and determine ways in which we could make our product as engaging as possible to our target demographic. We approached this by determining personas within our users, the optimist and the pessimist, along with what the user says, does, thinks and feels. We enacted these personas, imagining they had come across a poster, social media ad or heard via word of mouth about our petition and determined how we thought they would react. One of the most important tools in creating a product that will attack an issue in a new, creative way is considering the impact it has on the consumers of the product. “The other half of design is understanding people, their activities, expectations and habits.” (Tonkinwise, 2016)

I was extremely happy with the group in which I was placed for this semester, we all got along quite well and I never felt that anyone was doing too much or not enough towards the completion of the assessment. All ideas and suggestions were taken on in a constructive and supportive manner, and I believe without every person present in our group we would not have completed this semester as happy with our product as we did. My main role in the group was to develop the Public Relations aspects of the product, this included collaborating with the poster design, developing a website and mock up merch that would spread awareness and assistance with PR videos. Along with writing chunks of the script for presentation

Empathise as a step itself seems rather self explanatory when considering the 5 design thinking steps, it means to understand and relate to the user and the issue and begin to consider a practical and creative way in which we can attempt to solve the issue. One of the issues I really enjoyed reading and learning more about through course readings was that of sustainability. “Only a fraction of the resources we use ‘circulate’ within the global economy – for reuse or recycling. Instead, humans have created ‘dumping grounds’ for spent resources: the oceans for plastic, the atmosphere for greenhouse gases and the soil for fertiliser or municipal waste.” (liedtke, 2018)

The define stage of the design thinking stage was quite a quick one for our group. Through desk research on the statistics and harmful effects of e-cigarettes and vapes, the surveying of our target demographic and developing an understanding of the current rules and government regulations surrounding the topic. We were ready to develop a product and aligning campaign that filled the niche missing, which is a campaign that targets our specific demographic. Ensuring this was in a way that provides support in the journey of quitting, as vaping is highly addictive.

Then comes ideate, we now understand our issue, have developed an idea of the patterns of our users. We initially began with the sole concept of a petition to change the legislation regarding vaping in Australia. However, after our first presentation and insightful tutor feedback, we realised that this isn’t its own ‘product.’ This is when we landed upon the concept of the PPM (Or puffs per month) card, which would be a government regulated answer to slowing down and eventually stopping vaping in Australia. By getting a card you are entitled to a determined amount of vapes per month, which would slowly decrease. The cards would need to be shown in order to purchase, and only registered retailers would be eligible to sell.

Prototype

We designed mock up posters in which we plan to hang in hot spots for our target demographic, including both university campuses and popular clubs and pubs. Testing our PPM card would not be possible until we had much larger resources, however we conducted surveys among peers who both partake and abstain from vaping to further understand the general public consensus in regards to vaping, and how those who do vape would react to the advertisements we suggest. “Design research is a critical step in creating the best user experience. It helps you understand your customers’ behavior and turn it into actionable insights to improve your design.” (Esposito, 2018) Our research eventually led to the development of the PPM card, further attesting to the importance of design research.

[sparklingchim]

Hopping onto the lwh-baby-discourse, what was oc’s reaction to the first times jk called her baby

maybe like this? :

You scrunch your nose, puffing annoyed.

"What's the matter?" Jungkook asks, immediately picking up on your frustration.

"What do you have for number four?"

Jungkook scans his sheet, which is completely inscribed with numbers and his handwriting. He flips back a few pages when he doesn't find what he's looking for.

"You're that far already?" you say, eyes wide.

"Yeah, well, I'm not highlighting and underlining every single thing with some pastel marker," he answers.

"But see how manageable my homework looks now? Definitely better than your illegible scribbles." You steal a sheet from him and scribble a little heart with your rose coloured marker on the corner. He's so to this by now. Every time Jungkook and you do your homework together, there are little doodles of you on almost every one of his sheets. "Looks cute, right?"

He hums mindlessly, sparing your little drawing only a brief look. "Here," Jungkook says, holding a paper in front of you. "For number four I've got eight."

You take his paper to examine how he solved the problem and Jungkook continues doing the math homework.

Your brows furrow when you're done comparing his way of solving the problem to yours. You don't understand what he has calculated to get that result.

You huff, eyes aimlessly wandering over the few people that are sitting in the library, doing either homework or studying for a test.

Somehow your gaze stops at Jungkook and you watch him from the side, his brows drawn together in deep concentration as he moves his wrist swiftly to fill the blank space with letters and numbers.

He looks so pretty, you think, when he has his attention completely focused on one thing. Even if it's as boring as math homework, Jungkook is able to become fully invested in it.

"What's wrong?" he asks without looking at you.

"I don't understand how you solved this," you talk in a a pout, voice quiet.

Once Jungkook puts his pen down and looks up from his homework, his knitted eyebrows ease and a tender expression fills his face.

"Baby," he says ever so gently. A little smile forms on his lips as he takes in your sulkiness.

Your soft features that were twisted into frustration changes into perplexity. Your eyes widen the slightest bit and Jungkook thinks you've never looked this adorable before.

"W-what?" you ask hesitantly, unsure of how to react to the new pet name. Though you can't deny the rush of excitement running through you.

"You look like a baby. Helpless and vulnerable." He chuckles lightly when he sees stubbornness settling on your face, you're pout only growing bigger.

"I don't look like a baby," you sulk. "Just, help me...please?" You push your sheet to him, sliding it over the paper he was just doing his homework on.

"Sure." He picks up the pen again and pulls your chair closer to his.

Before he starts explaining, he turns to you and squishes your mouth with his fingers digging into your cheeks.

You utter a sound of complaint, pushing his arm away.

"You're so cute," Jungkook smiles, scrunching his nose at you.

"And you're fucking annoying."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Want to try to solve this problem without my help?" He places his fingers on the paper, pretending to push it back in front of you.

You grab his wrist. "No, please." With pleading eyes you're looking up at him. "Explain it to me please?"

He grins smugly at your obedience. "I guess I have to since you're such a dummy for not being able to solve this easy problem."

The yelp that bubbles from Jungkook's lips after you smack him on the back of the head earns you both a stern look from the librarian.

[lebrookestore]

tape 5: play

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x reader

Themes: angst, ex! au, college-ish au, small town au. It goes back and forth a lot

Warnings: heavy angst, bittersweet ending, swearing, its very sad, chenle is a jerk

Wc: 6k

Playlist: 2 kids by Taemin, Gone by Rosé, Instagram by Dean, I still do by Why Don’t We, Believed by Lauv

Taglist: @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @chicksung @1-800-seo @blueprint-han @jenosslut @cupidluvstarrz @kkakkdugi @sweetlyjaem @vera-liscious @leetaeyonglover @kunrengui @unknown5tar @kisshim @intokook @mrkcore @coco-riki

Summary: A year after your boyfriend moved away, you find yourself sitting in your room with five tapes, earphones, a cassette player and what you hoped, and feared, was closure.

Authors Note: hello! this fic was supposed to be a small blurb but then i got inspired and lo and behold its a full fledged fic! I can’t believe I wrote this in two days sdfjfjkfjk. Feedback would be very much appreciated for this, since I’ve never written anything like this before ;-;

Midtown, almost got a place out of midtown, Instead I took a plane out of this town, And missed out on us 

~

It was a sunny Saturday morning, as you pulled into your driveway, coming back from the store. 

Parking the car and getting the bags, you walked up to the door, knocking it and waiting. You were met with your mother’s smiling face as she took one of the bags of groceries from you.

You lived in a small sleepy town, and attended the college there as well, which meant you still stayed with your parents. You were fine with that, you liked living there, and you could forgo the stress and anxiety of having to re adjust to a new place.

This was your home. It always had been.

Of course, you had been on holidays to other places, you had visited the other town, but when it came to it, you had always found yourself back where you started. There was no other place for you, there never would be.

It was the truth, but it held something bitter.

Then again, you had enough going on already, with being in your freshman year, straight out of high school, college life was very different. You had been to a total of two parties so far, courtesy of your best friend— Lia— dragging you with her. 

You had enjoyed them, but it wasn’t something you would voluntarily participate in again.

The workload was something that had definitely changed, bogged down with mandatory lectures and assignments, tests popping up like a bad smell, you had more than enough to occupy you.

“Something has arrived for you!” Your mother said, almost excitedly, “It’s on the table.”

You helped her put away the groceries, walking to your living room, eyes falling on the package sitting on the table. It was somewhat shabbily wrapped, with tape haphazardly stuck on it to keep it together, and a tag pasted on the top.

Picking it up, you pass it from your right hand to your left, feeling its weight, reading the little tag. It held your address, your name and another name you hadn’t seen in almost a year.

Your mind ran at a hundred miles per minute, wondering why it was here, why his name was on it. It made no sense to you.

“Darling? Are you okay?”

Your mothers voice snapped out of your reverie, nodding slowly, “I’ll be in my room, finishing off a project”, you said carefully, trying not to show any sort of emotion as you climbed up the stairs of your house, two at a time, making sure not to drop the package.

Closing the door, you place it on your bed, reading over the tag again, a bitter taste filling your mouth. A name you hadn’t thought of in a year coming back now. It was so random, so absolutely unnecessary.

You curled your fingers around the messy brown paper, tearing it open as your mind reeled. The crackling sound filled the silence as the contents of it make itself known to you.

A shoebox.

It’s dusty, a dark blue colour with a line of red running at its side. There were two holes on either end, lined with metal piping and you could just about make out the nike symbol on the top. You brushed your hand over it, the dust coming off easily and sticking to your fingers.

Why would he send you this?

His name sticks out on the tag like a sore thumb, reminding you of what you lost, mocking you. Always content with where you are, hmm? His voice comes back, as clear as day. It’s as if he’s standing there, giving you his chesire cat grin as he spoke the words.

Zhong Chenle.

Lifting the lid off the box, you’re thrown into confusion. A cassette player, a pair of earphones, and five tapes. Picking up the player, you smile briefly at the dramatic set up. He could’ve called you, or sent a message, so why did he take the pains of sending you something as old and unnecessary as this?

Then again, it had been a year since he stopped picking up your calls, since you stopped trying to call him.  A year since all contact had been cut off, as if he had never existed in the first place.

Sometimes you wondered if Chenle had been a hallucination. An imaginary friend.

Friend.

The questions filter in. Why? It had been a year, so why had he sent you this now? You had finally told yourself you were over it, that you didn’t need an answer, but somehow as soon as you did that, you found yourself sitting in your room on your bed with what could be it.

The tapes were numbered in permanent marker in his messy handwriting, from one to five, indicating the order in which they were to be listened to in. You picked up the first, slotting it in the player and waiting.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for.

You pressed play. There was crackling, but only for a moment, until  it went silent. Maybe this was all a mistake, maybe this wasn’t even happening. Maybe-

i] tape 1: you deserve to hate me

Hey

His voice cut through your spiraling thoughts as you froze in place. He sounded the same as you last heard him, a little muffled due to the recording but the same. At the same time he sounded like a stranger. There was silence for a moment again, before he spoke up.

This is stupid isn’t it?

You felt the urge to answer, but your mouth went dry. It had been so, so long, and even though you had adequate time to get over him, it suddenly felt as if you were treading unfamiliar territory once again. 

I-I don’t know why I’m doing this. I think it’s because I feel so horrible, I need an outlet. I guess speaking it into existence and recording it makes is my outlet. Making it all real.

But that’s fucking terrifying.

You don’t think you’re following, confused once again. 

Y/n

You hear him take a deep breath right after your name, and it sends a chill down your spine, hearing him say your name once again. You had almost forgotten how it sounded.

I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this, or listen to it. If you don’t I’ll actually be glad. You don’t deserve to, I’ve been a jerk to you. I’m sorry. I hope you hate me, I definitely deserve it.

I’m moving in two months.

The realization hits you, this had been recorded a year ago as well, two months before he left without a word or warning. It was old, he was here when he recorded it.

You didn’t quiet know how you felt, not yet anyways.

And you won’t know until I’m gone.

I’m moving to Korea, and I refuse to tell you, even if it makes me the bad guy, even if it feels worse, because that’s my dream. 

I got signed by a record label after sending them that demo I did —remember it? We both went to the studio together, you listening outside as I sang. You were right by my side, all the time.

Except now when I record this, except when I leave. 

I refuse to tell you, because the moment I do I know it’ll be real, realer than it is now as I say it. I don’t want to see the look on your face when I say I’m going, I know it’ll make me want to stay, but I don’t want to stay.

You knew exactly what he was talking about, you could recollect that day clearly. There was a small studio a little outside the town. That day, he had booked it for two hours to record a demo, his singing mentor with him and you tagging along.

It had always been like that, the two of you against the world, until, of course he left.

I physically can’t stay, I hate it here Y/n. It’s not for me, I want to get out, that had always been the plan. I want to get out and be free, I want to achieve my dreams. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe I don’t deserve a minute more of your time, but I want it all.

That’s why I’m not going to tell you —so I can have it all, at least until I don’t have you.

But you, you don’t deserve this, do you? Of course you don’t, but I suppose you’re the one with the shitty luck, you’re the one who ended up with me and now I’m going to hurt you. 

He laughs a dry, breathy laugh. It was half hearted, as if he was trying to get himself to believe the situation was funny. 

It’s not your fault I-fuck I’m sorry.

You heard a click and the tape died off, he had stopped recording there. The first tape was finished, and honestly, you didn’t know how to react. One part of you wanted to feel nothing, you wanted to put the player and the five tapes back into the box and send them away, or lock them in your closet to never find them again.

But the other part of you wanted to know more. You wanted to know how he felt, what went through his mind during that time. You wanted to know just how you lost Chenle, the first boy you ever loved.

Suddenly you felt overwhelmed, vulnerable almost. It was as if someone had opened up an old wound and left it open.

You got to your feet abruptly, pulling the earphones from your ears and dropping them on your bed, taking a step away and blinking rapidly. You couldn’t get caught up in the past, you couldn’t put yourself through that again.

But it was hard when the past was in your present.

Wasted, and all of my regret, I can taste it, If I had a time-machine, I would take it, And make it back to us

~

That night you couldn’t sleep.

The box sat on your desk, right next to your laptop, staring at you. You turned around on your bed, looking the other way, only to be met with the white of the walls.

You never liked the colour white.

It was too plain, too open for interpretation. It never had a solid answer. You liked stability, you wanted something permanent. You were the type of person that needed that reassurance.

Perhaps that’s why you were happy where you were, you didn’t find the appeal in starting over, because that meant nothing was certain. You stayed where you were because everything was already laid out for you.

It was like a colouring book in your little town, the lines all set out, everything drawn for you. Change meant you had to sketch everything from scratch. What if you messed up?

Needless to say, it was a good thing you weren’t an art major.

“This is ridiculous”, you whispered to yourself, sighing at the fact that you were now talking to yourself. You rolled over so that you were lying on your back, staring at the ceiling. The glow in the dark stars shone with their dull green light. You remember the day you had put them up, with Chenle.

You shared a lot of memories with him.

“Fucking hell”, you hissed, sitting up, swinging your legs off the edge of your bed and walking to your desk, sitting on the chair. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you picked up the second tape, inserting it in the player and putting the earphones on, waiting for it to begin.

ii] tape 2: milk before cereal

I know I’m making some terrible decisions, I really do, but if there’s one thing I stand by, its the fact that milk definitely goes before the cereal.

Why am I talking about this?

Well, because today you came over, Y/n, you came over and the two of us were watching a movie, and in the middle of it, you decided you wanted to have cereal, specifically frosted flakes.

So what do we do? We have cereal because I can’t say no to you. You’re welcome by the way, honestly, I deserve the boyfriend of the year award.

A moment of silence.

No I don’t. I really don’t.

You bit your lower lip, shutting your eyes. It was the way he switched, the way his demeanor changes so suddenly that made you want to scream. Sometimes it felt like he was telling a story, one you knew and loved.

Only for the next moment to bring you down to reality, reminding you that all stories don't have happy endings.

Anyways, we got the cereal and you objected when I put the milk first, saying that it was wrong, but how? In what way? Here me out Y/n, I shall tell you why I’m right, even If I’m not actually talking to you.

You couldn’t help but scoff at this, shaking your head at Chenle. He had always had a flair for being dramatic in the littlest ways possible. It was endearing.

Putting the cereal first means it sits in the milk for longer! If you put the cereal last, you can have it crunchy! Isn’t that ten times better? Unless you’re one of the devils spawn and like soggy cereal. If so I’m hypothetically breaking up with you right here right now.

Ah...bad wording. I keep forgetting I have to break up with you. I don’t want to, is that selfish?

You deserve the truth, if only I was strong enough to give it to you. Staying silent is so much easier.

It’s not lying, not completely anyways. I’m not lying if I don’t tell you at all. I suppose it’s a half truth then, with the truth hidden in plain sight. 

*click*

Lying. That’s what he did, even though he spent the last few minutes of the tape trying to justify it, he lied. He trampled all over your heart without a single warning.

You had trusted Chenle, having known him since you were thirteen. He had completely destroyed that trust. Something like that couldn’t be fixed so easily, not even if he had sent you these tapes.

Then again, you didn’t know why he sent them.

You retreated to your bed, turning away from the tapes, the words and memories they held, facing white once again.

You had met Chenle when the two of you were thirteen, in eight grade math. The boy was failing the class, and one day you found him sitting early morning in class, with his head in his hands as he groaned over some sort of equation.

You had offered to help, and the smile he gave was the brightest one you had ever seen, he was practically grinning from ear to ear. That was the beginning of your friendship, and the two of you were inseperable.

Ninth grade it was confirmed that the two of you were best friends, sitting together, complaining about teachers together, going places together so your parents didn’t need to tag along.

In your last year of high school the two of you started dating, and when you had told your parents, they were ecstatic, confessing they had always thought the two of you would end up together.

He was always there for you, every time you needed him. You could give him a call and he would be outside your door. If you were feeling insecure or scared, he was always there to hype you up.

You had been best friends before, you were lovers then, and it was amazing. You loved everything about being with Chenle. You loved everything about him, from his toothy grin to his obnoxiously loud laugh.

You loved the way his eyes sparkled when he had an idea (which, for the most part, were absolutely terrible. Needless to say the two of you got in trouble a lot), when he sang for you when you stayed over, the way he would always make sure you were never cold.

You loved him.

It was written in the stars, you were meant to be, it was the perfect combination. Chenle was the right person for you- the perfect person.

A year later you woke up with him gone, no texts, no warnings. He had just gone, leaving you alone.

Right person, wrong time.

Monday came around sooner than you thought it would, the weekend passing in a blur as you walked out of your first class, spotting Lia leaning against the wall outside your class, scrolling through something on her phone.

She was an exchange student, not originally from your town, but had fit right in. Sometimes you wished you could be like that.

“Oh! You’re out! Listen, there’s a party on Friday and you’re coming with me”, she stated. It wasn’t a request, it was a fact, you were to go with her. In her own words, ‘if I didn’t exist you’d probably have no social life.’

To be fair, she wasn’t wrong.

You nodded defeatedly, walking with her down the hallway, “I assume you want to go because of the cute new guy?”

She glared, but didn’t refute your accusation, “His name is Mark”, she said, “And that is none of your business.”

You snickered, “Oh it so is, you like him don’t you? Is this going to be another one of your crushes?”

Lia was notorious for having a new crush almost every week, being a very flighty person, her mind changed before you could even say her name. This was a bit of a problem, considering you went to her for advice a lot.

Her indecisive nature was not the best for that.

She rolled her eyes at this, “He’s cute, why not? Wonder if I can get him to dance with me at the party. You’re going to be my hype woman-”

“And the sober buddy?”

Lia ignored that.

“Also there’s this new singer”, she said, handing you one of her earbuds, “apparently he came from here!”

Taking one of the earbuds, you were hit with a familiar voice. It sounded amazing honestly, catchy, everything a song needed, but it was the voice that hit you. You didn’t even need to ask Lia for the singer, swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing at her phone, which confirmed your suspicions.

Filling with some sort of dread, your hands immediately went to hold your hand, specifically the bottom where the cassette player and the tapes were. You had been carrying them around with you, as if scared they would disappear if you left them alone.

“Isn’t he good?”

You nodded, not daring to answer as you bit your lower lip, “Hey Lili, I need to use the washroom so see ya later”, you said, handing her the earbud and taking off in the other direction, pushing open the doors to the washroom and getting into one of the stalls.

You had stalled listening to the next tape all Sunday, you didn’t even know why, but hearing him sing, that fact that he had actually made it, it struck something in you. You wanted to feel proud of him, but all you felt was bitter.

Was it a coincidence that this new singer had come out- Chenle himself- right when you received the tapes?

Pushing the top of the toilet down, you took a seat, taking the player out and plugging in, you pressed play for the third tape, waiting for it to begin playing.

tape iii] ill miss our dates

Remember when we went for that field trip? Ninth grade? We sat in the back of the bus together avoiding the stares of our teachers when they told us to sit down?

Then they pulled us apart? Yeah, mean fuckers.

Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about, I just felt like reminiscing for a sec there, but today we went of a date! Well, I mean we got ice cream and then went to the park, but hey, it was fun.

You smiled. He had always jumped from one topic to another without any meaning to either. Sometimes it was a frustrating habit, (you had been on the receiving end of these useless conversations several times, which ended with you glaring at him exasperatedly), but for the most part, extremely comical.

I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss you. Your little smile — have I ever told you just how pretty your smile is? Your eyes light up and crinkle at the sides and its something I don’t think I’ll ever forget, even when I’m gone. 

You clutched the cassette player, marveling at the irony. He was talking about your smile, but why did you want to cry?

It’s a month left now, and I want to make the most of it. Tomorrow I’m taking you to the amusement part and then next week I’m surprising you with dinner. I guess doing things for you —for us — makes me feel better, like I’m compensating.

You deserve the world Y/n, and I want to see that world while you’re happy where you are.

You don’t deserve having to deal with me.

*click*

Your eyes burned, because you remembered each of those events. You had been so happy, so overjoyed at them. They burned with tears because there it was again, that reminder that you were destined to be stuck right where you were, because you were that idiot who was content.

But if someone, anyone, asked you at that very moment if you were happy, the answer would’ve been an outright no.

1 YEAR AGO

~

“Hey Chenle?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you want to leave?”

The boy thought about this for a second, before smiling wistfully, “Don’t you want to know how it is outside home?”

“But everything I need is here.”

Your eyes held a question, you were genuinely baffled by his reasoning, the way he was so stuck of getting out. You studied your bewildered expression, shaking his head. “You’re lucky”, he said finally, “You know exactly what you want.”

“Of course I don’t, but I know what I need Chenle, and that’s all around me.”

He shook away his other thoughts, “Hey maybe we’ll go exploring the world together some day. 

You blinked, “You want me there with you?”

He nodded, grinning widely, “I want to take you along, Imagine, it’ll be fucking awesome, and hey this time there will be no teachers to separate us. We can even stand in the bus-if we’re taking a bus, that it.”

You laughed, “Maybe”, you mused, looking back down at your phone, “While I don’t exactly see the appeal, it would be fun to be with you.”

Chenle’s smile faltered, but he didn’t let it fall completely, wrapping his arms around you and sighing, closing his eyes and whispering something just loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe.”

Why did it feel this way?

Chenle was right- you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to feel this way at all. It had been a year, so why did it affect you?

Why was it all happening at once?

You clicked your tongue, eyeing the player with contempt. You felt pathetic for being curious, for still feeling so attached to old news. It wasn’t as if it was going to change anything, so why?

Why did you still want to know?

Curiosity killed the cat. You wondered if knowing would somehow kill you.

No one was at home currently, so you sat in the living room on your couch. The items you were trying so hard to ignore were sitting on the small table in front of the couch, as if waiting for you to pick them up once again.

You wondered if you should tell Lia and ask her opinion about the situation. She may not be that helpful, but hell, she could help you burn the tapes if worse came to worse.

Sometimes you wished you had never met Chenle, that your history with him could be erased from your memories. You wished it never existed because fuck, it still hurt.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and pressed play.

tape iv] firsts with you

Do you remember our first kiss?

We were eighteen, in my room, playing Jenga. That was a year ago, oh god, I can’t even imagine, how has it been a year? You were wearing one of my shirts and jeans, your hair was in a ponytail. The two of us were sitting on the carpet on my floor.

You had successfully gotten one of the wooden pieces out of a risky area of the tower, but then it was my turn, it feel to the ground, destroyed.

I blamed you, and you laughed, and our banter continued. We argued and at one point I started tickling you to get you to shut up, because honestly-Jesus Christ Y/n you’re fucking stubborn.

Anyways I ended up on top of you and the two of us were laughing. You looked so pretty, hair messily scattered around your face as you attempted to get out of my hold. 

I leaned down and kissed you.

Your throat closed up as he spoke. Your eyes stung and you raked your hand through your hair, biting down on your lower lip. The way he was speaking about it, as if he would do anything to go back, it struck something in you.

Because if you had the chance, you would go back as well.

You tasted like that strawberry chapstick you liked to wear. I could tell you were surprised, because you didn’t kiss me back for a good two seconds  —which, by the way sent me into a panic for a moment there.

But then you kissed me, and fuck, it was like everything had stopped. I couldn’t think for a second, it was like the world had started spinning around me, and the only thing that was keeping me grounded, was you.

Was it supposed to hurt like this?

You sucked in a sharp breath, fingers fisted the material of your shirt as you tried keeping your composure. You didn’t want to cry, but he was making it so, so hard for you. 

You remembered how it felt when he kissed you, you were legitimately so confused, was he really kissing you? Your best friend, the boy you had loved quietly for so long, kissing you?

Chenle was your first kiss, and it was the most perfect first kiss you could have ever asked for, even if you were on the floor, with random Jenga blocks scattered around the two of you.

The smile you gave me after I pulled away, I wish I could remember it forever. It was goofy as you burst into giggles, and asked me, “What was that for?”

I blinked in surprise, wondering how you seemed so normal, when for me everything had changed. I had kissed my best friend, the one girl I care the most about.

I must have looked like a tomato oh god.

Instead of waiting for my to answer, you sat up, pulling me into another kiss. This time it was me who was unprepared. The kiss was messy, it had no structure or plan, but I realized in that moment, that I really liked kissing you, and I wanted to do it more often.

You became my girlfriend.

The wistful tone he was using was starting to affect you. You had loved Chenle, almost too much. You could almost feel that nostalgic happiness you felt that day when he kissed you for the first time, the disbelief and joy that wrapped around the two of you. 

A wave of sadness followed that nostalgia.

Our first date was so fucking awkward. We were at that little cafe you loved, you ordered a cheesecake and I got a smoothie, and then we sat in silence for a good five minutes.

It really shouldn’t have been that painful, considering we knew everything about each other already, then again that might be why it was awkward, I had nothing to ask you about.

So naturally I brought up school and that started it, the two of us complaining about the amount of assignments we had, and Mrs. Choi’s annoying squeaky voice- I swear to god that woman took a second for each word.

But I digress.

Slowly our conversation felt normal again, it was just us, eating cheesecake and drinking smoothies, together.

That wave of sadness crashed down upon you like a tsunami, trying to snuff you out. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, you were struggling to keep yourself together. You were struggling to stay afloat, you had lost any leverage you had that was holding you up.

You couldn’t fight the waves.

My flight is in two hours. It’s four in the morning and we’re about to walk through the door and get to the airport, but I wanted to talk to you once again, even if we’re not really talking.

I’m pathetic.

You’re sleeping, in your bed at your home, you don’t know I’m going because I’m the coward that refused to tell you the truth. I’ll be gone by the time you wake up and then you’ll know.

You’ll know how much of a waste of time I was.

And then you were angry.

You were angry because he had no right to just come back into your life like this, no fucking right to make you cry. He wasn’t even here, but somehow he had managed to make you fall apart just with his words, with his voice.

He had no right to tear your world apart, the little composure you had standing. You had finally accepted the fact that he was gone, you had moved on, and even tried to forget.

But here he was, making sure you could never forget.

You hated how selfish he was, how absolutely fucking oblivious. He had no clue, not even one as to how you felt when he just disappeared from your life, as if he never existed. He had broken you and here he was, breaking you again.

With trembling hands, you stopped the tape from playing any further, angry tears making their way down your face as you flung the player across the room. You had no intention of listening any further, you didn’t want to, you didn’t care.

Closure hurt more than him leaving.

You buried your head in your hands, letting yourself fall apart, but just this once.

tape iv] continued [unheard]

I’m sorry Y/n. I’m so fucking sorry. 

You don’t have to believe me, because I’m leaving anyways, so I suppose that cancels out my apologies huh? I’m the worst person you ever met. I’m not stopping, I’m not going to leave you a text.

Because I don’t want to hurt you anymore.

I’ll be gone before we could ever be.

Should’ve believed in us, while we existed, cuz now the whole things fucked, and just a figment of my imagination

~

Time heals all hurt, and reminders bring them back, cutting through your skin like a knife, making you bleed.

A week later, you found yourself sitting in your favorite cafe, the same cafe Chenle talked about in the last tape. You ordered a cheesecake and a smoothie, inserting the fifth and final tape into the player.

The last time you did this, you were left hurt and distraught, promising yourself you would never go back to listen to him again. You had put the shoebox in your closet, hiding it behind your clothes that hung from the rack.

Yet here you were.

You didn’t bother finishing the fourth tape, you didn’t see the need to. 

This tape, you observed, was newer looking, with less scratches on the plastic, even the marker on the side looked more recent, a little rushed if you went into detail. 

The cheesecake and drink arrived, and you took a bite, pressing play.

tape v] play

Hey.

He sounded a little different too, older perhaps. His voice was smoother, but he sounded unsure of himself. It sounded as if he was trying to figure out how to approach the topic. He was being cautious.

It’s been a while. I...I don’t know why I’m doing this. There’s no point- you’re not even here. I found these stupid tapes yesterday in my dorm when I was cleaning out and gave them a listen.

Silence.

I envy you, Y/n. I wish I was like you, happy wherever I was. But I’m not, and I probably caused you great unhappiness while trying to search for my own- but I was happy with you, so happy it was ridiculous.

I sabotaged that.

You sighed, realizing you felt nothing. You were tired of crying over Chenle, you were done doing that. Instead you felt empty, like you had been tired out, like it didn’t matter anymore. At this point you were to get it over with, to finish it off on  clean ending note.

My song comes out next week, and it’ll be done. I’ve made it Y/n, I’ve gotten to where I wanted to be, the place I had worked so hard to get to. I’ve sacrificed so much for this and it’s all been worth it- except one thing.

I don’t expect you to listen to my song, I just wanted to tell you. I..I hope you’re proud of me. Even if I was a jerk, I hope you can be proud, at least a little bit, because then I’ll have finally made it.

I miss you.

The same words are at the tip of your tongue, I miss you, I miss you so fucking much, but they never came out. They didn’t have to, it would be useless. He would never hear them.

Instead, you swallowed them back down.

And even though I made fun of you for staying home, I hope you’re happy like I am, I hope we’ll meet again one day. If we do I challenge you to a game of Jenga, loser buys the winner ice cream.

I-fuck this is the hardest part- but I hope you’ve moved on. One of us has to.

*click*

You don’t take the tape out of the player, you don’t touch it at all. You feel oddly calm as you take another bite of your cheesecake, savoring the strawberry reserve that it came with it. You could almost imagine yourself at eighteen again sitting opposite your new boyfriend.

You missed it, the memories that came along with it. That was it, you missed the feelings you had.

But you were okay. You would be okay right where you were, because that’s where you belonged. It hurt, yeah, but it had hurt back then as well. Now it was just a dull ache, all that was left was regret.

Regret that it didn’t work out, regret over unspoken words and unnecessary pain.

A familiar song filled the cafe as you smiled somewhat sadly, leaning back in your seat and closing your eyes.

“I’m proud of you Chenle”, you whispered, “Because you did what I couldn’t”

You left the cafe a little later, with the cassettes in your bag, an empty plate and the smoothie sitting on the table, untouched. After all, that smoothie wasn’t for you.

There was nothing to wait for anymore. You had loved and you had lost, Chenle was a stranger with your secrets and a familiar voice and that was it. 

You had forgiven him a long time ago, even without him being deserving of it. Now with all the loose ends being tied up, it felt like you could finally let go of him, you could finally move on.

And forget.

[bold-writing]

The One Withg Whiskey Eyes || 11 || Chained and Free

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse, violence, Panic Attacks.

Words: 3600+

Previous || Next

~11~

Her cheeks hurt. Never in her life had Iris smiled for so long that her cheek muscles actually ached and prompted her to rub them to alleviate the soreness. But sitting across from BT as he regaled stories of some of the things he’d gotten into over the years had her nearly hyperventilating. He seemed to have one goal in mind, and that was to make her laugh as much as he could before they needed to part ways. “Barry wasn’t happy, I nearly broke my nose that time,” he went on, explaining when he was trying to do something called parkour and had misjudged a distance between two stone pillars.

 “I can’t even imagine how much that must have hurt,” Iris stuttered out with a hand over her mouth to hide the fact that she hadn’t been able to swallow her bite of pizza because of her laughing.

 “Exactly why I never tried it again,” he agreed with her off-hand as he lifted his glass of coke in a mock-cheer. Iris, still smiling, did the same before taking a careful sip to finally swallow the bite of pizza that had been caught in her cheek while laughing. “Didn’t stop me from working out, though.”

“I at least hope you’re more careful now,” she added on, lifting her slice up to bite into the crust, the last of the slice that remained.

 BT leaned back in his seat and clapped his hand over his heart. “I am. Scouts honour.”

 Iris discretely raised an eyebrow as she swallowed her bite. “Were any of you actually in the scouts?” she pondered, to which BT just offered a crooked grin and a wink as he dropped his hand and picked up another slice of their pizza. Iris knew that she wasn’t going to be able to eat anymore after this slice, having only the appetite for two, but BT was already half-way through his forth as she wiped the grease from her fingers.

 “No wonder you’re so skinny, you don’t eat anything!” BT pointed out once he’d polished off his piece, wiping of his hands as well.

 Iris just shrugged her boney shoulders. She’d never really eaten a lot, even before she ran away from home. It was just how she was built; a small amount of food kept her well-fed and energized for enough time to go by before she ate again. Kevin’s body was large enough and the alters kept it in good shape, so they probably needed to eat a lot more to keep their physique.

 “Just the way I am,” she answered. “It makes it much easier when I need to get groceries, since a small amount last me for about two weeks when I’m careful. If you all buy groceries the same way Luke does, it’s a wonder you can afford it.”

 BT snorted at the mention of the other man. “Luke’s got no clue what he’s doing when it’s his turn to do the shopping. This guy will just remember things that everyone’s had in the past and buy whatever comes to mind; usually means he’s just getting a bunch of junk. I’m pretty sure he spent over a hundred dollars in the snack aisle alone, and forgot to get things like bread, or fruit.”

 Iris grinned as she thought back to the amount of junkfood that was in his cart; however, she had also spotted a couple of healthier foods, like a bag of apples and some bananas. “Well, you guys are the ones who make him go.”

 BT let out a groan of complaint as his head dropped back to land on the wall behind his seat—he was too tall for it to hit the cushioned back to their seats. “Don’t remind me. And we never learn, either. We always think he’ll remember better from the last time, but we’re wrong.”

 Shaking her head, Iris couldn’t believe the normalcy that came about when bringing up another one of the personalities in Kevin’s body. It was easy to forget that they all shared a body; the way they acted and spoke about one another made it truly seem like they were all individual people, living their everyday lives separately yet in the same home. She never would have been able to guess that this was what it would be like to meet someone with D.I.D, let alone for it to be her soulmates.

 Before they could continue the conversation, one of the younger guys that worked there came up to their table, noticing that they had stopped eating the pizza from where he had taken over behind the counter. “Hey, you guys want a to-go box for the rest of that?” he asked with a nod to the remaining half of their pizza.

 “Yea, could you divide it into two for us?” BT asked before Iris had a chance to speak, causing her to straighten in surprise. She didn’t even get a chance to protest before BT pointed at her in silent warning, mirth colouring his features. “No, you’re taking half.”

 Pursing her lips and holding his stare, she only lasted for two seconds before huffing and leaning back in surrender. The worker chuckled before he collected the pan from the table and took it behind the counter to box up for them. “You eat more than me; I didn’t need half of it.”

 “What kind of gentleman would I be?” he retorted with a smirk.

 “Well, you did pay for the entire thing,” Iris pointed out, but BT just waved his hand as though to push the comment aside. So far, she hadn’t won a single thing when it came to their mini-arguments. She had a strong feeling that the score wasn’t to change any time soon. “Thank you, BT. Dinner was amazing; I hadn’t had pizza in a while and this was perfect.”

 BT’s expression softened as he gazed into the gentleness of her eyes, knowing how dangerous it could be to get lost in them. “Any time, doll. And I mean that.”

 Their food was brought back in take-away containers, like mini-pizza boxes, and the two stood up to leave. Iris pulled her coat back on, preparing to head back out into the chill of the day, especially now that it had gotten later and most likely cooler. “You got work again tomorrow?” BT asked as he took the two boxes while she pulled on her gloves.

 “Yea, another morning shift,” she answered, some of the fatigue entering her tone. “Hopefully a dull day, after this morning,” she added on a moment later, smiling to him as they made their way in the direction of the exit. BT made sure to wave at the man behind the counter, shouting a farewell and receiving one in return. “What about you? Work tomorrow?”

 “Yea, Barry’s got a meeting or something so all the luck to him,” he answered easily, having no problem referring to the other alter like it was an everyday occurrence. Although, she supposed that for them it would be.

 Iris stuck close to BT as they made their way back in the direction of her apartment, passing her work and all of the other people making their way home for the evening. The conversation between them was light, keeping away from any topics that may dampen the mood from the evening. She deliberately kept away from mentioning work as often as possible, since she noticed it caused him to tense and glare briefly ahead every time he thought about what had happened at her work. He, in turn, avoided bringing up topics pertaining to family and growing up with soulmarks. She didn’t outwardly react when such things came up, but he could see it in her eyes that it was drawing dark memories to the surface.

 Neither wanted the other to have anything but pleasant thoughts, enjoying the remainder of their time together.

 “Thank you for dinner,” Iris began with a smile as they approached her building. “And for…everything else.”

 BT’s expression softened as he stopped just shy of her building’s front entrance. He wanted so badly for the evening to continue, but they both had responsibilities that they couldn’t just forget or put aside. “You’ve made my life worth it, doll. Especially when I get to see that smile.” His admission brought a luminous flush to her cheeks, prompting her to duct her head in embarrassment. “Now, now, none of that.”

 Shaking her head and trying to relieve the heat in her face, Iris inhaled deeply and stepped forward with whatever courage was left in her. Wrapping her arms tightly around BT’s middle, the man was frozen in surprise as she gave him a tight hug, the first touch that she had initiated since they’d met. “Goodnight, BT.”

 Finally moving, BT returned her embrace and pulled her in even closer as one of his hands stroked along the back of her head. Her hair was soft to the touch, like silk beneath his hand. “’Night, Doll. Sleep well.”

 Drawing back from one another, Iris peeked up at him through her eyelashes, the ghost of a smile still on her lips, before she turned to head inside with her half of their leftovers. BT remained where he was standing, watching her through the glass window of the door as she turned to the stairwell. Casting one more glance in his direction, he immediately lifted his hand to wave. Her smile bloomed full again as she waved in answer before ducking quickly into the stairwell and out of sight.

 BT smiled to himself while turning back the way they’d come, heading toward the zoo. “Oh, we’re in trouble now,” he muttered to himself, thinking of their little soulmate.

 Iris was smiling her entire trip up the stairs, her mood having improved drastically since that morning. BT did an amazing job of taking the edge off of her fear, leaving her feeling safe even after an altercation that was advancing into the physical. Cheeks aching from smiling so long, the taste of pizza still on her tongue and the memory of BT’s warmth as she hugged him goodnight were all too good to forget or dampen her mood.

 Until she arrived at her apartment.

 Stopping short at her door, Iris’s face paled at a piece of paper taped to her door. Keep them covered.

 She knew that writing. It was her father’s writing; messy and thick, in permanent marker with significant pressure behind the writing utensil. Glancing quickly down the hall in fright, there was no one else out of their homes. Even though she knew she was alone, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and Iris quickly ripped the paper from the door, leaving behind the tape and a tiny tear from the page. Darting into her apartment through the minimal space she allowed it to open, the frightened woman immediately turned and began sliding locks into place.

 It took significantly longer than usual, her hands shaking terribly and causing her fingers to fumble with the thin locks.

 She could hear the shake of her breath through the pounding of her heart; any other outside sound was blocked out. Stepping away after the last lock slid into place, Iris turned to examine her apartment. The rush of blood made it difficult, however, as the edge of her vision blackened and blurred.

 Her legs gave out as she approached her bed, leaving her knees to hit the floor with a slam that ricocheted up her bones. She barely felt the pain, however, as her hands slammed against the bed in a desperate attempt to catch herself. Throat tight and lungs burning like they were filled with acid, Iris could feel the terrifying chill beginning to spread up to her cheeks as she struggled against her own body’s reaction.

 Breathe. I can’t breathe.

 From her knees to her hip, Iris’s fisted hands tugged her comforter from the bed as she fell, trying desperately to keep herself up in some way. It was useless. Her overactive breathing was taking control, the panic from years and years of memories and fear, all coming back, became too much. Too much. The crinkle of paper from the note still clutched in her hand penetrated her senses, barely audible through the rush of blood and air, but just enough.

 Keep them covered.

 Her marks. She’d been careless. At ease with her soulmates, she’d become careless and let herself relax enough to not worry. To not fear. It was the fear that had gotten her this far; fears had kept her safe all these years.

 Her back hit the floor as her heavy, hyperactive breaths became distraught wheezes. One hand gripping the paper tight enough to rip and tear it, the other gripping the blanket for some kind of desperate leverage, then Iris’s vision faded out completely.

 BT stopped in the middle of the street, an odd discomfort starting in his chest. He didn’t see the man with angry, whiskey eyes as he marched passed from the direction of his soulmate’s apartment.

 Iris whimpered as her father tightened her scarf around her neck to a dangerous degree; she could feel the uncomfortable press against her trachea that caused her breaths to wheeze suddenly. “How many times have I told you? Huh? Keep this damn thing on, or wear the turtlenecks we gave you!”

 “I…I’m sorry. I was hot,” Iris tried to explain, her voice small and pained as she looked down at the floor beneath her father’s leather shoes.

 “Shut up,” he snapped, preventing her from going any further. “You think I care? I don’t. If those damn words hadn’t appeared, you wouldn’t have to do this now would you?”

 She knew not to speak against her father, it would end badly, but the words left before her young mind thought the action through, “I don’t control them, I didn’t make it happen.”

 It didn’t take more than a split second for her to regret ever opening her mouth—she should have stayed silent; she’d known to stay silent but for some stupid reason she’d spoken anyway. In the next instant, her father’s hand flew across her cheek with such force that she was turned and thrown backward, colliding with the doorframe to the dining room. Her eyebrow split upon impact with the corner of the wood as blood welled to the surface instantly. It was hot against her skin, like someone was pouring hot syrup down her face.

 The feeling was frighteningly familiar by that point.

 “Howard!” her mother shrieked, spotting the blood as Iris dazedly sat on the floor with tears burning in her eyes. A smear of blood on the pristine white of the doorframe marked where her head had struck. “You idiot. How are we going to explain that!” her mother demanded, marching over to Iris and grabbing her upper arm roughly to pull her up from the floor. She didn’t care if she caused bruises. Her arms could be covered, those bruises could be hidden.

 Her cheek and eyebrow could not.

 “Fucking brat was talking back. You know I won’t stand for any of her bullshit!”

 Iris was manhandled less than pleasantly in the direction of the bathroom, her mother still shouting at her father. She had school the next day, and she had already been called in sick too many times for people not to begin to suspect. The physical pain was terrible; her head was throbbing and her eye burned where some blood had gotten into it from the split in her brow—she could feel it beginning to swell around the cut. She could already feel her cheek swelling and it was obvious to her that a bruise was soon to form as well.

 The internal pain, the emotion pain, was worse. Her parents did not care one bit that their daughter was bruised and bleeding; they were worried about getting caught as the cause for her injuries. She was a hated freak in her family, meant to be barely seen, never heard, and surely never remembered.

 She had no friends to go to, no family that cared, and no soulmates to match the many marks littering her body.

 The pounding in her head was one of the first things that she noticed. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry, with her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her world spun like she’d been drinking for hours. The second thing she noticed was the shriek of her phone’s ring, distant and muffled against her spinning senses. The phone remained where she had left it in her bag, which was sitting just next to her front door.

 Opening her eyes slowly, and painfully, Iris winced at the seemingly booming volume of her phone. Having been lying on the floor, her back ached and she knew that her knees were going to be bruised from the earlier impact. Even though her breathing and blood-pressure seemed to have evened out once she’d fallen unconscious, Iris could feel her heart beginning to speed in her chest once more. The fear was coming back, gripping her like a monster determined to drag her into the darkness.

 Rolling slowly onto her side, Iris flinched at the crumple of paper still in her palm. Chucking the ruined note away from her as though it was aflame, she turned her attention to her discarded bag. Digging into the pockets, she produced her phone only a moment too late as the ringing finally ceased. The caller’s identification was still across the screen, however, and Iris swallowed thickly at the ‘unknown name, unknown number’ that glared back at her.

 She didn’t receive random calls from those who weren’t on her contacts. It wasn’t something that she did. And even though she’d given her number to Barry, she’d only kept in contact with him and the other alters via email. Curling onto her side and tiredly drawing her knees up into her chest, Iris released a shuddering breath while attempting to keep herself from having a repeat attack.

 Her father had been in her building.

 Somehow, without her noticing, he’d been lurking around her like a shadow and had seen her expose her marks. Most likely, he now knew she’d met her soulmates—or in his mind, one of her soulmates. It wasn’t likely that he’d realized her soulmate was a sufferer of D.I.D, and therefore combined all twenty-three into one physical body.

 A buzz from her phone had her looking down at the device in her hand. The icon for a voicemail was at the top of the screen, setting her heart into immediate overdrive. She did not want to press it. She did not want to know who was calling. Yet, in the same instant, she desperately wished that if she listened to the message it might prove that it was just a wrong number, or a marketer trying to get her money.

 Drawing herself slowly into a sitting position while she pulled her comforter around herself—even still wearing her coat and gloves—for warmth and childish reassurance, Iris tapped the icon to open her voicemail.

 Entering her passcode and listening to the faint tone that came before a robotic female voice, declaring one new message, Iris tapped on the screen again to listen.

 “Keep them covered. Don’t make me tell you again.”

 Gasping in near pain as the phone fell from her hand, Iris leaned back against her heavily as her eyes immediately burned with tears of fear and pain. “I can’t do this again,” she sobbed to herself, hands immediately clawing into her hair. The scars her body bore had made her strong, that was the truth, but there was nothing else in this world that she feared more than her parents.

 Especially her father.

 Near the end of living with them, she’d been getting big enough that she could push back against her mother. She could slap her hands away, run before she caught up. Her father, on the other hand, would always be too big for her. He could grab her by one arm and lift her clear off her feet. He’d done it before, throwing her around like she was nothing more than a ragdoll.

 “I can’t,” she sobbed, curling in on herself more tightly. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

 I can’t, I’m so sorry but I can’t.

 Her words to Barry were a haunting memory now, and she hated remembering that she had said that to him. However, it was a dark, glaring window into her mind most of the time.

 To think she could be happy. Finding her first soulmate, with two more to follow, she’d thought that the pain of her life was in the past. It had been a serious error on her part to think that she’d be able to just be happy, to finally have the life she used to dream about as a child. Those dreams were what inspired her to run away in the first place. And the torment of living on the streets, her parents nowhere in sight, had given her enough time to think that she was free.

 She didn’t know how long they’d been aware of her, how long they’d known exactly where she was, but it terrified Iris to think that all along, while she’d been under the assumption that her parents were one of the few frights she didn’t need to worry about, they’d been right there.

 Her nightmares were coming back. Her monsters were emerging from the shadows right when she’d begun to let her guards down.

 She didn’t notice the email icon the popped up on her phones screen, taking over where the voicemail notification had been.

Previous || Next

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter four.

wc: 3,109. original publish date: october 7, 2020. 

JFK starts the car forty-five minutes later. He turns the key in the ignition cautiously, silently begging the car not to make too much noise. Van Gogh is asleep in the passenger's seat. The car whirrs to life and Kennedy doesn't rev the engine this time. He turns to Van Gogh and smiles slightly. He realises for the first time that the boy is wearing his old junior varsity cross-country jacket.

***

Van Gogh wakes up some time later. He stretches before opening his eyes. He rubs the sleep out of them as they adjust to the darkness. The cool outside air seeps in through the windows and suddenly he wishes he'd brought gloves. Gogh plunges his balled fists into the pockets of Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket. The boy inhales deeply through his nose as he takes in the scenery, seeing nothing but pine trees lining the outstretch of the quiet highway in front of them. There are no cars in sight. No buildings or houses or rest stops. There are a few white markers shoved into the ground next to the road, but most of them are bent or broken -- probably from swerving cars crushing them out of shape.

"Where are we?" He asks in his small voice, foggy sleep still tugging at his throat.

JFK turns his head ever so slightly, as if to make sure his best friend is really awake and he's not just hearing things. Satisfied with the reality of the boy, he nods toward the built-in GPS screen. "One hundred three miles outside of Exclamation!," he replies.

Van Gogh furrows his brow at the machine. "Yeah, but I mean where."

"I just told you."

Gogh gives up and sits back in his seat. He opens his mouth to nag Kennedy about turning on the seat heater, but the button is already illuminated. He smiles to himself.

"How long have you been driving?" He asks a couple minutes later, his eyelids weighing down again.

Kennedy scrunches up his nose. "Over an hour."

"I was asleep the whole time?"

JFK nods in affirmation. Van Gogh stares at his side profile, his eyes tracing his pointy nose and thin lips. His gel is wearing off, causing his brown hair to flop around his ears and the top of his head a little bit. Kennedy blinks slowly, and Gogh does the same, almost in solidarity.

"Are you tired?"

JFK shakes his head, but he's squinting.

"You're tired," Gogh decides. He's only met with a shrug.

"Let me drive," he tries daringly.

Suddenly, Kennedy is miraculously alert. He straightens his back and he opens his eyes up fully. "You can't drive, Van Gogh. You don't know how."

Van Gogh shrugs, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "You could teach me."

The car fills up with silence again, but it's a different kind than when Van Gogh was asleep and JFK was lost in his own head.

Van Gogh tilts the face of his digital wristwatch upwards to read the time. "It's 11:30, Kennedy."

"Is it?" He asks absently.

"We should stop somewhere. We could both sleep."

"I don't even know where we are," JFK protests.

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "You're the one who said we didn't need a plan."

Kennedy nods, his motions sticking with the rebuff of tiredness. "I haven't seen any signs for miles. Think we should just get off somewhere?"

Van Gogh shrugs agreeably. "I don't see why not."

JFK pulls down his turn signal and the car hums with melodic clicks as he changes lanes. He slows down the vehicle each time he passes over the dotted white lines even though they have the highway all to themselves. He follows the rules when he's alone -- Van Gogh can't help but think that's something he was never supposed to know.

Kennedy exits the highway seamlessly, and stops the car at the intersection. The traffic light is glowing red even though all the other lanes are empty. Van Gogh always thought there was some sort of censor in the road that knew when cars were pulled up to the lines, waiting to be dictated through the intersection. He wonders when he'd started thinking that, who'd told him, if it was true. He pulls the cuffs of Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket over his hands and brings his knees to his chest, balling himself up in the warmth of the seat heater. Even with no snow on the ground, the town of God-Knows-Where is having as harsh of an April as Exclamation! is.

The town looks just like every common roadside stop -- clean sidewalks, towering lampposts with chipping paint, empty convenience store parking lots sprinkled with litter, barren gas stations lit by buzzing yellow lights. In the dead of night, the whole world freezes and the town looks like a photograph on a gift shop postcard. Van Gogh wishes he'd packed his camera so he could capture it in all its drowsily nostalgic glory.

Finally the traffic light glows green and Kennedy turns left, driving the car into the centre of town. There's a park with chemically green grass, visible even under the moonlight alone. In the middle of the lawn is a white statue that seems to be made of marble.

"That's just cement," Van Gogh says.

"Hm?"

He points out the window. "That statue. It's supposed to look like marble but it's not actually."

JFK nods, and then smiles. "That's kinda dumb."

Van Gogh smiles in return and sneaks a glance at the boy. "Yeah, it is."  

With a controlled turn of the steering wheel, the car glides blissfully around the park. Kennedy continues to drive, but slower than the speed limit. Van Gogh, balled up and shaking from the cold, still manages to stare out the window at the sleepy neighbourhood, wrapped in a blanket of the night. Some of the houses have their porch lights on. Some have cars parked in the driveway, others on the street. All of the houses look the same, and it reminds Van Gogh of his own neighbourhood, only posher. The houses are two stories and their porches are made out of poured concrete rather than splintering wood. The doors have brass knockers and the windows are French, full of panes and feminine glass. Van Gogh wouldn't mind living in a photocopied world if it was at least a picturesque one.

"Do you think there'll be a motel in this town?" JFK asks, penetrating Gogh's quiet bewilderment.

He turns his attention away from the window and onto the driver. "Probably not a motel, but maybe some small family-owned inn."

"I don't see one."

"That's because you're in the residential part of the town," Van Gogh scoffs, the magic of the anemoia wearing off. "It'll probably be back where the gas station and stuff was."

When Kennedy turns toward Van Gogh, he looks almost disappointed.

"You wanna look at the houses some more, Gogh?"

Gogh shakes his head, but the movement is mechanical. His eyelids drop and he has to blink fast to keep himself alert.

Kennedy sighs in serenity rather than exasperation and pulls into the driveway of one of the cookie-cutter houses to make a three-point turn. He reverses the direction of the car with ease and continues through the town, driving slowly enough to quiet the noise of the engine but quickly enough to get Van Gogh into a bed before he can fall asleep in the car.

The inn is small and the parking lot is empty of all cars. Unlike the convenience store parking lot, this one is clean, and the bushes along the sidewalk and the edge of the lot are perfectly manicured. JFK pulls into the spot closest to the long, wooden stairs leading up to the porch. The building looks almost like a house from the outside, only longer,  like a mansion made of common shingles and dusty edges.

The sign doesn't have a full or vacant indicator on it, but Kennedy guesses it's the latter due to the nature of the parking lot. He reaches over and rests a hand on Van Gogh's shoulder gently. Van Gogh blinks and looks up at him, his eyes wide with innocence. Kennedy smiles softly. "I found an inn."

Van Gogh unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door. JFK does the same on his side of the vehicle and they walk up the stairs together. The wooden porch groans under their weight and Van Gogh steps the rest of the way across it quickly, a nagging thought in the back of his mind telling him it'll break if they don't get off of it soon.

JFK pushes through the door of the inn first and holds it for Van Gogh. He huddles close to the taller boy as he walks, his stomach somersaulting with each step he takes. The inside of the inn is dimly lit and furnished with consonant floral wallpaper, every wall a different pattern and colour. The lobby itself isn't very large: room just enough for a fireplace decorated with pictures of past tenants on one wall, a congregation of chairs and a game table set in front of it; a wide, dark hallway across from it, where Van Gogh can just barely make out the white railing of a grand staircase; a tall bookshelf exploding with leather bound novels, complete with shiny gold lettering snaking down the spines on the third wall; and on the fourth, a bored woman collapsed against a desk, a clunky old computer in front of her and a stack of travel guides by her elbow. She's tall, lean, and pale, with short magenta hair and a face full of piercings. In this light, she looks like Joan of Arc -- but Van Gogh knows she's back at home in Exclamation!, probably spending her Friday night sulking.

The girl doesn't react even as JFK steps up to the desk. He leans against it, batting his lashes at her in his overly flirtatious nature. Van Gogh rolls his eyes and walks up next to his friend to ring the bell, stomping his heel down on it.

"Hi there. What can I do for you?" The girl drones in a monotonous voice.

"We'd like a room," Gogh says before JFK can make a snarky comment.

"Great. How many beds?" She asks, still in her flat tone.

Van Gogh can see Kennedy turn toward him to consult out of the corner of his eye, but impulsively answers the girl before he can talk to JFK. "Two."

The girl sucks on one of her snake bites as she punches the keys on the slow computer. Van Gogh watches her intently now, wondering if this is one of her anxious habits. She seems to fidget with her piercing the way JFK chews gum.

"You look like my friend," Van Gogh blurts suddenly, not sure why he felt the need to tell her, or why he referred to Joan of Arc as his "friend". He's talked to her once or twice on the teen crisis hotline (which Kennedy could never know about), and she's JFK's friend, but Van Gogh doesn't have time to think about making friends. John F. Kennedy is enough for him.

"Oh, yeah?" The girl replies absently.

Van Gogh doesn't say anything more. JFK's smile fades.

"Okay, here you are," she says, pulling a key off one of the nails stuck into the wall behind her and handing it to Kennedy. "Room one-oh-four."

"You have one hundred four rooms in this place?" Gogh asks.

The girl shrugs. "Probably not. I think the rooms start in the triple digits."

"That's dumb," Kennedy replies, and Van Gogh wonders if he'd said it himself since he'd opened his mouth.

Thankfully, the girl -- secretary? -- doesn't take offence. "Yeah, I think so too. But I guess there's more ring to the three-digit numbers than anything else."

"How much?" Kennedy asks, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his letterman jacket.

"How many nights?"

"One," Van Gogh says before he or Kennedy can think.

"Like twenty-six dollars? I don't know. No one ever stays here."

"What town are we in, anyway?" JFK asks, swiping his card through the machine.

"Blackbox."

"Well, I'd say that's why no one ever stays here," Van Gogh retorts.

The girl's eyes narrow. "Why? Where are you two from?" She scrutinises the boys.

"Exclamation!," Kennedy replies.

"With an exclamation point on the end," Gogh admits.

The girl laughs. "Oh man, and you're criticising this town?"

Both boys stare at her blankly. She rolls her eyes and pulls a travel guide out from the stack next to her. She fishes a pen out of one of the drawers on her side of the desk and bites the cap off with her teeth. She holds the plastic piece in her mouth as she scribbles something down. When she's finished, she sets the pen on the desk and takes the cap out from her teeth before covering the pen with it and throwing it back into the drawer. She flips around the guide so it faces Kennedy and Gogh.

"This is Marshtown," she says, pointing at a circled spot on the map with her finger.

"Is there a marsh there?" Van Gogh asks. "It's a lazy name either way."

The girl takes a moment to think, sucking on her snake bite again. "I think so. But it might've gotten its name because it's foggy there all the time -- like, all the time. There's no ocean to blow a breeze over or anything. I think it's just like that. But anyway, you should check it out. Think this place is creepy?"

Both Kennedy and Van Gogh nod without looking at each other.

The girl smirks, and continues. "If you want a real kick, go there. I've been there with my boyfriend a few times."

"Oh, we're not-" the boys start to explain at the same time, their cheeks glowing pink and their temperatures rising.

The secretary girl smirks again. "Whatever. It'd still be fun to go."

Kennedy pulls his card out of the reader as it beeps. To the girl, he says, "thanks." He turns to Van Gogh, handing him the door key. "Go find our room. I'll go get our bags from the car."

Van Gogh opens his mouth to protest, but Kennedy is looking at him with his intense stare again. He decides to let it go. He nods, mumbles a quick "thank you" to the secretary, and heads toward the grand staircase. He shudders as he walks through the darkness, the cold suddenly burrowing deeper than it did when he was outside. He pulls Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket more tightly around him.

He climbs the staircase, the wood hard beneath his Keds. Van Gogh trails his hand along the railing as he walks, steadying himself as he observes all the gold-framed paintings hung along the wall. They're all oil-painted people he's never seen before -- very much different from Exclamation!, where he's met the clone of all the people in the paintings. These faces look respectable, but common, like they're only made to seem like they're important. Van Gogh exhales. Maybe it would be nicer here, where he isn't constantly reminded of how he'll never be the man whose DNA he shares.

Eventually, Gogh makes it to the top of the stairs and pries his interest away from the paintings. There's a sign tacked to the wall directly in front of him: rooms one hundred through one hundred fifty to his left, rooms one hundred fifty-one through two hundred on his right. He turns left and walks almost all the way to the end of the hall, turning to open the door marked one hundred four. The key slides into the lock easily, but the door takes an extra push to open.

Inside is the same hideously mismatched wallpaper as the lobby and atrociously unclean carpet as the hallways. There are two queen beds side by side with their headboards against the wall to the left of the door. Where the wallpaper peels, Van Gogh can tell that the room itself is painted a mossy green, which clashes with the already clashing patterned duvet covers on the beds. There's one window shielded by sheer white curtains and an old white space heater beneath the windowsill. There's no desk, but there's a stone fireplace on the wall across from the beds. Thankfully, there are no framed pictures of past tenants. Van Gogh couldn't sleep with them watching him.

The boy steps all the way into the room and closes the door behind him. In the space behind the door is another door. He pushes it open. It leads into a large bathroom, complete with a heavy mirror and speckled yellow tile on the floor and lining the shower wall. Van Gogh closes that door and looks around the room, feeling that there's something missing.

There's no closet or dresser. Great. Good thing they're only staying one night, because he'll have to live out of his suitcase. He can't stand to think that he'll have to refold all the clothes he rifles through after getting dressed each morning.

Gogh claims the bed closest to the window and sits in the middle of it. He's just begun to untie his shoes when the door pushes open. Van Gogh sinks in on himself, terrified of what could be trying to break in.

"Relax, relax! It's only me," Kennedy laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Van Gogh scrunches his nose. "Took you long enough."

Kennedy pushes Van Gogh's brown suitcase and it rolls across the carpet to him. "Here. I thought you might want this."

"Thanks," Gogh mutters, pulling off his shoes and sliding off the bed.

***

By the time JFK and Van Gogh have showered and changed into bed-appropriate clothing, it's nearly 1:15 in the morning.

"We should go to sleep," Kennedy suggests, sitting up in bed and readying himself to go turn off the light.

Van Gogh shakes his head. "No. I'm wide awake now."

Kennedy gives him sleepy eyes, still holding himself up on his elbows. "How long do you need?"

In the low lighting, JFK is made of soft edges and rounded corners. His mound of brown hair is fully flopping over his face now without the gel, and every thirty seconds or so the boy has to push it out of his eyes. The collar of his grey Harvard shirt hangs off of his neck to reveal his collarbones, and his eyes are heavy with sleep. Van Gogh's pencil scratches against his sketchbook.

"Fifteen minutes," Kennedy mandates.

Van Gogh takes another look at the boy and smiles. "Fine by me."

He starts to draw.

[eldritchsurveys]

696.

If money was no object, would you change your wardrobe? >> If money were no object, absolutely, because I could then stop settling for clothing that doesn’t quite fit well or has bad textures just because they’re within my budget or because I can’t afford replacements. Also, maybe I could get stuff custom-made instead of dealing with whatever the stores deign to sell.

How do you/did you get to school? >> I took a bus for most years, but for junior and senior year I lived in a town with no school bus system so I walked.

Have you ever been in trouble for something you honestly didn't do? >> Yeah, a lot when I was young. I guess I make a great scapegoat.

Is the idea of having a secret admirer creepy or romantic? >> If an admirer doesn’t overstep my boundaries and doesn’t expect me to reciprocate whatever it is they’re feeling, then it’s fine, I don’t care. I’ll take any positive attention I can get.

What was the last song you sung out loud? >> I don’t remember.

Have you ever had to have a pet put down? >> No.

Were you excited to learn to drive, or scared? >> I never had this experience. I did drive Sparrow’s car around a school parking lot once, and that was pretty fun.

What was the last book you read? >> Recursion by Blake Crouch.

Did you enjoy it, or were you glad to be finished? >> I enjoyed it immensely.

Do you ever wonder what other people are thinking when they stare at you? >> Yes, because I’m quick to assume they’re thinking something negative but I’m aware enough to know that I might be wrong. But to be honest, I really don’t like being stared at for any reason, so I mostly just wish they’d stop.

Have you ever gone out of your way to get someone's attention? >> I don’t think so.

When was the last time you felt desperate? >> Earlier last week.

When was the last time you felt incredibly tired? >> This morning, before I had a galaxy-brain moment and put on a pair of sunglasses to mitigate the overwhelming amount of daylight streaming into the apartment and overloading my nervous system. Just because I know I’m sensory-defensive doesn’t mean I always remember to, like, defend my senses. lmao.

What candy cane flavor is your favorite? >> I don’t have a favourite.

What is one thing a guy can do, but a woman shouldn't? >> ---

In your opinion, who doesn't deserve to be famous? >> ---

Do you get angry when fast food restaurants mess up your order? >> I get upset, because it upsets me to have the Wrong food. But most of the time when I’m really upset about it it’s because I’d only noticed by the time we got home, or something, and I can’t do anything about it. If I notice while we’re still in or near the restaurant, then I don’t get nearly as upset because I can just... go fix it.

Have you ever had a ridiculous hair cut? >> I mean, probably.

What was your favorite elective class in high school? >> ---

Did you ever wish you could be homeschooled? >> No. Was it hard for you to get up this morning? >> Not really.

Have you ever had a dream so realistic you could've sworn it happened? >> Yeah.

When was the last time you colored with crayons or colored pencils? >> I don’t remember the last time I coloured in general (I usually colour with markers, anyway).

Can you remember the first survey you filled out? >> No way, lol.

Do you have any mental disorders? >> I could probably be diagnosed with a couple, but formal diagnosis really doesn’t interest me at this point. I have enough of an idea of what psychological criteria I fit that I can look up resources to help myself (and I have a direction to point SSI towards when it’s time to Prove My Disability To The Government), and that’s really all that matters right now.

Do you feel comfortable talking about these disorders, if you have them? >> *shrug* I mean, I guess you could say that.

Where did you go on your last field trip? >> ---

What do you do when someone pushes their views on you? >> No one does that, really. I mean, I don’t even know how they would, considering how unfazed by social pressure I usually am. Dogma just doesn’t stick to me.

Are you able to agree to disagree? Or do you have to have the last word? >> I’m perfectly willing to agree to disagree.

Do you think you make a good first impression? >> Not always.

Do other people's first impressions stick with you? >> It depends on what my first impression was. If it was like “oh my god this person really comes off like a bigot”, yeah, that’s going to stick until explicitly proven otherwise. If it was like “oh hmm this person seems to be in a bad mood” then like, whatever. Moods change. Sometimes you just catch people on a bad day and that doesn’t mean they hate you forever.

Are you friends who you thought they were when you first met? >> ---

How have you changed in the past year? >> I really don’t know how to track this.

How about in the past five years? >> This is a little easier to track, because five years ago I didn’t even live here. But I don’t really have the energy to like, lay it all out in words right now.

What do you do when you feel like giving up on something? >> Sometimes I just give up on it. Other times I take a break. Other times I have a meltdown. Other times I push through.

Have you ever had to give up on someone? >> Yeah.

Would you rather break up with someone, or them break up with you? >> ---

Is there a cover song you like better than the original version? >> There are quite a few songs like that for me.

Do you think it's okay to like a cover more than an original? >> Who the fuck is going to stop me...?

What band do you wish was still making music? >> Meh.

Do you still watch any cartoons? >> Sure, I watch cartoons.

Are you just too lazy to recycle? >> I guess, more or less. I also don’t really see the value in it anymore. Reducing and reusing seem to have more immediate effects that I can observe in my own life; recycling is just another industry with its own emissions problems at this point.

Think of the last person you talked to--do you love him/her? >> Sure.

Do you fit your zodiac sign? >> My natal chart seems to be an astute character sheet for me.

What is one of your weak points? >> I don’t know.

What is one of your strong points? >> Meh.

Are you calm in emergency situations? >> More often than not, yeah. Unless said emergency situation includes a lot of environmental stimuli, in which case that will frazzle me (although the situation itself might not).

When was the last time you cursed at someone? >> As in, with the intent of being mean, not just cursing in conversation? I really don’t remember.

Are you afraid of losing someone you love? >> I’m always afraid of losing Can Calah.

Who are you most attached to? >> ^

What do you depend on other people for? >> Most of my quality of life, seeing as I can’t live off this government income alone.

Are you good at reading other people's body language? >> I don’t know, maybe.

Do you like facial hair? How about chest hair? >> It’s fine.

If you have a favorite number, how did you choose it? >> I didn’t really choose it, it’s kind of just... I don’t know. It’s part of the fabric of my reality or something blah blah blah.

What goes through your mind when someone breaks up with you? >> I mean... wouldn’t that depend on the specific breakup...

What goes through your mind when someone asks you out? >> ^ (But also in general, I’m going to react defensively to being asked out because... I don’t date, and anyone asking me out either doesn’t know me well enough to even initiate that sort of intimacy or doesn’t care that I’m aromantic, which is not a good look either way.)

Do you match your shoes with your outfit? >> My shoes match with all my outfits.

Do you style your hair daily? >> No.

Who was the last person to compliment your appearance? What'd they say? >> I don’t remember. I think the only person that really compliments my appearance these days is Sparrow, anyway. Is there any movie you just can't stand to watch? >> Yeah.

What do you think of pornography? >> I mean, it serves a purpose.

What hair products do you use regularly? >> Shampoo. Also this tea tree oil stuff that I don’t know if it works or not but I don’t have a better idea.

Does it bother you when people use extremely bad grammar? >> No. Most of the time “bad” grammar isn’t an impedence to communication, so I don’t see what the big deal is. (Obviously if you’re writing for, say, an academic journal, there is a certain standard of writing one should be following. But people are always complaining about bad grammar on, like, tumblr, and who fucking cares? Ain’t nobody being graded on mastery of Strunk’s Elements of Style here.)

Do you have a hard time talking about sex with the opposite gender? >> Er, one’s gender isn’t what determines how comfortable I am talking about sex with them.

Do you feel more comfortable with a male or female doctor/nurse? >> There’s something to be said about the lack of compassion that male doctors often display towards people who are perceived as female, which I do take into account, but ultimately I figure it’s still about the individual doctor and not whatever configuration their chromosomes are in. I’ll take a competent, compassionate male doctor just like I’d take a competent, compassionate female doctor.

Have you ever had major surgery? >> No.

Could you go a month without speaking? >> I think it would be rather inconsiderate for me to go a month without speaking to Sparrow. I have had periods of selective mutism, of course, especially during depressions, but if it lasted long enough I would eventually have to make some attempt to work around it.

What goes through your mind when you see someone very obese? >> I mean, nothing specific.

How about when you see someone very thin? >> Once again, nothing specific.

Is there any food you don't like that a lot of others do? >> Yeah, milk chocolate.

Have you ever followed a trend? If so, what was it? >> When I was younger, certainly. You know, when I actually paid attention to trends. I have no idea what’s even trendy right now, except like... VSCO? Is that still a thing? Shit moves too fast these days, man.

Have you ever started a trend, even a small one? >> Not to my knowledge.

What was the last thing you bragged about? >> I don’t know.

[yukimuraruki-art]

Nakagauchi Masataka as Kazama Chikage

Size: A4 scanned at 300 dpi Medium: Charcoal (Derwent & Panduro), Winsor and Newton Pro Markers Pastel Tones Series: Hakuouki - Musical Hakuouki Shitan Character: Kazama Chikage (Nakagauchi Masataka) Reference: Nakagauchi!Kazama

Commission Info |  Instagram |  Facebook|Personal Website

All Likes and Reblogs are welcome and very much appreciated ♡

Don’t Repost, Trace, Recolor or change this drawing in any way without permission. Please also rate the drawing on Pixiv. Alternative on DeviantArt.

It's finished!! Actually since March 3rd, but for some reason I didn't scan it before  Anyways, it is online now and I love it so much!Although I think I could have done better, but since it's Nakagauchi Masataka portraying Kazama Chikage, I think I will never be satisfied. I've been a huge fan of Nakagauchi-san since 2007 or 2006 even, when he debuted as Niou Masaharu in the Prince of Tennis musicals - also Niou Masaharu is one of my top 5 characters of all time and TeniPuri xD And since one of my favourite actors plays now one of my favourite charatcers, it's kind of huge xD So, since I had again access to my charcoals and other drawing materials, I decided to do this portrait. It's drawn on a thicker kind of copy paper, since I wasn't sure how my qater colour paper would react to charcoal. In the end I would have had a better and far easier time if I tried it then, but it's not the worst outcome here either. The flowers are done with pencils and markers, so they would make a nice popping contrast to the overall dark and monochrome picture. I think I didn't capture all the shadows in the best manner, but well... I tried and I will try again His expression is kind of not the same, I think on the photo he looks a bit more arrogant, so here, have my slightly more civilized Kazama xDIt might be the case that many people will look at this and facepalm because I chose to draw Camellia Japonica in the background. Well it's an intentional choice to draw the no-go flowers of the swordsmen in old Japan. The bromide is from Hijikata-hen, so Kazama dies in the end - it's a farewell in that story. For those who do not know the reason: the camellia japonica whithers in a way that looks as if the flower is beheaded - not a good sign for swordsmen. For women on the other hand, the flower means love.

Commissions Open

[prankster-ravenclaw]

PRC story part 3

Andrea, Claw, stood uncertainly in front of the big wooden door, she had redd the new text parts that Raven and Sly had sent and she wanted to meet them so badly now. But inside her, the ugly face of fear rouse itself up, ugh. Emotions. How she hated them.

Seeing the glimpse of the two had surprised her, weren't they supposed to be much older than her? They looked as if they weren't older than eighteen! Sure, powerful wozards and witches could stop aging physically, but that usually took some very extraordinary conditions and most of them looked like they were past their twenties then. It was outrageous! How dare those two not follow the rules she broke so often! Wait... That doesn't sound right. Please carry on.

Claw knocked on the door, which opened by. Itself, Hogwarts had decided after war to help the muggleborns feel more at home by imitating their home, automatic doors were only one of the things it was currently trying out. She was about to step in when a pair of voices made her stop on her tracks.

"Raven... How many pepper ups have you had already?"

"Relax Sly, it's just my fifteenth"

Claw's eyes widened, Raven had already drunk fourteen pepper ups and it was only midday? What was he? An extressial being? Was he partially a magical creature? It had to be like that. There was no other way he could've drunk that much pepper ups and still be alive.

"Slyyyyy! Give it baaaack, I need iiiiiiiit"

"I'm telling on you to Puff"

"What. Why him?"

"Becauseeee I ship it. And because you two keep flirting all the time"

"It's called conversation Sly. And what does a boat have to do with this?"

"Confidential~"

The whole conversation made Claw giggle, the duo was just like how she imagined them. Her amused musings were stopped by a man appearing in front of her, yellow tinted eyes looking tired and worn, dark circles evident around his eyes and red hair hanging lifelesly covering half of his face.

"MOTHER FUCKER", Claw screeched and nearly hit the man with her hand.... Only for the said hand to be caught by the male, who smiled gently at her. "Miss Greenfield was it? What brings you to my office?" Oh yeah, Hitwizard, right, she forgot about that.

Professor White looked at her surprise visible in his eyes, the longer the third grader stared, the more the male's hair changed its shape. When the man had been at his desk, his hair had been spiky and black, as if he hadn't slept at all, now it was slowly settling down into a smooth haircut of copper colour, sideburns curling towards his high cheekbones. Claw couldn't help but wonder, which was his original colour?

"Is there something you needed miss Greenfield? The class isn't for another hour-", she was brought back to reality by the soothing voice of the man, who

..... Actually wasn't that tall now that she thought about it. He was the same height as Puff so he'd be... Ummm... Five feet and seven inches? One-hundred and seventy-five centimeters? Gah! These measures were so confusing!!

The man stood in the door frame, looking like a mockery of the living paintings that were behind him - one of them seemed to be flipping him off for some reason, wasn't that the professor who retired year or two ago? The old one who nobody liked? -, awkward silence settled itself into the hallway like a blanket of storm clouds, menacing. Claw blinked. Why did she come there again?

"A, Uh, I- Raven, me, you, Claw"

Fuck. That's not how you're supposed to introduce yourself to new people. But she couldn't help it. Claw, Andrea, was afraid of foreign people, talking to them terrified her, talking to ANYONE terrified her.

Young professor raised his brow slightly, feeling bit surprised and confused. "Try taking a deep breath and starting over again, miss Greenfield", he said and gave her an encouraging smile. Bloody hell, she really wanted to punch this fool. Looking like a puppy somehow and radiating chaotic yet peaceful energ- was his skin super pale? And his eyes way too tired looking for someone of his age?

Claw straightened herself, mouth forming a thin line, nobody, and I repeat, NOBODY gets past HER while looking like that.

"RAVEN! HOW MANY TIMES DO OTHERS HAVE TO TELL YOU TO SLEEP AT NIGHT!? YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'RE ABOUT TO FAINT! YOUNG MAN, THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT FINE AT ALL! I WILL TELL BOTH HUFF AND PUFF ABOUT YOU!"

She quickly covered her mouth in horror, she just threatened a god damn TEACHER! Oh god, this wasn't good, not good at all, she'd be scolded, sent to home, taken points from, be disgraced nononononononono.

A hand touched her immobile shoulder gently alerting her of the person invading her personal space. The girl looked up, expecting to find a pair of dissapointed and angry eyes but instead... She saw amused pair of sleepy eyes staring right at her whil- was that Sly grinning on the background and making faces to the paintings? Was Sly DRAWING A PAIR OF MOUSTACHE ONTO SOMEONE'S FACE WITH A MARKER??

Raven hid his smile, trying not to laugh, but his shoulders giving it away to those who knew what to look for. "Tha-t was one w-way to introduce y-yourself", Raven said, still covering his mouth, few chuckles escaping behind the hand. The man took a deep breath before he locked his eyes with the girl. "Claw, isn't it? I can see why you got that nickname", Raven said in a teasing tone making the younger one want to pout. And she would've, if it wasn't for the man standing in front of her.

Sly came to the two tossing a marker into the air and catching it before retossing the thing, a wide smile on her lips as if she was a cat that just ate a canary.

"Raveeen~ Guess what you forgoooot~", she said as she kept her smile plastered on her face making Raven stare at her in confusion. "I'm pretty sure that I haven't forgotten anything-" he said as he glanced at the paintings as if looking for clues. Sly strutted closer, now smirking openly.

"Tri-wi-zard to-ur-na-me-nt~", the woman sung making Claw tilt her head in thought, she had heard that name before, but where? Raven on the other hand left out a groan. It was that type of groan you’d encounter when you tell a man that he has to drop his broom in favour of cleaning up the whole house without magic while his friends are playing Quidditch as much as their heart desires while the unfortunate individual asks himself why he ever got married only to be reminded of the reason upon casting his eyes on the figure of his wife, who’s looking happy and satisfied and like she’d make your favourite food for dinner as a repayment for your mission.

Claw kept staring at her professor, who seemed to be going through all of his plans, hopes and dreams for the future at the same time until she finally managed to tore her eyes away from the sight of ultimate tragedy and to the woman, who was today wearing green and silver robes for some reason.

“Why did he react like that? What’s so bad about the tournament?” she asked making Sly’s face beam with evil plans of torture.

“Well, my small and destructive friend, Raven has encountered this thing before, and so have I, and the tournament happens to include something he loathes with passion”, the older witch said with a playful tone while her friend’s soul was escaping its holder in favour of planting mushrooms on it. We seriously need to make him watch less anime, it’s starting to affect him.

Sly leaned closer with the smuggest look in her eyes.

“Ballroom dancing”

Claw suddenly understood the despair of her new teacher.

[aunstudies]

exam number eight : chemistry paper three

unlike biology paper 3, chemistry actually had practicals that we had done in class! i’m going to be honest i didn’t revise as much for this paper because i didn’t have much time and plus most of the questions are practical based. the six marker was on how to find the order of one of the reactants, and it was similar to the iodine clock experiment, as you had a reagent that reacted with one of the products to delay the reaction. i got a bit confused when it wanted initial rates for each concentration, mainly because i forgot how to do it lol. but then i put the rate proportional to 1/t which i think is the only way to do it when you time how long it takes for the colour change. and then i plotted rate against concentration. all i know is that others did it differently so i don’t know. i made a few mistakes but that’s bound to happen. the mcq’s were okay apart from a few, and then there were two mcq’s based on physics from gcse i think?? all in all i hope i have done enough for that A*

i have a day off tomorrow before core four + comprehension on friday

also it’s my birthday!! I am officially an adult even though i look and feel as though i am still 12 lol. i’ve had this blog since january and i just want to say thank you to every person who has followed me, liked/reblogged any of my posts, or has asked me anything, and anyone who has supported me through the tough times. here’s to being 18!

[graciesunit4journey]

Self Portrait illustration

This is a self portrait based on my personal experiences with racism as a mixed race/black girl in Britain. I was inspired to include my own personal experiences because i have been through a lot of racism and injustice in the 17years of being alive. There are two faces in this illustration one face with an unbothered face and then another face being extremely frustrated, tired and angry. I decided to base my self portrait off of how i feel when i do experience racism discrimination and racial undertones. Through being a little girl in primary school i’ve always thought my skin colour was the problem and not everybody else. From being 10 years old kids at my primary school used to mock my skin tone and where my father was born. I used to get called dirty, unwashed, a n****r, and got told to go back to my own country. When telling the teachers and my parents about this racism and bullying they did nothing. As The bullying started to get worse it went from being called names to being pushed over and having mud spread on my face by other pupils whilst being told to go back to Africa. Even after such horrible events the head of the school told my parents that all they can do is speak to the bully’s parents about this behaviour, As a young child i was confused and frustrated and wanted to change race as i thought the problem was me. Growing up, i have learnt that the head of the school was promoting the racism by not excluding the racist child, The school said they don’t stand for bullying or discrimination and everyone is equal. So why did that not apply to me or to my case? Why was I getting in to more trouble for reacting then these racist bully’s? I used this anger and frustration i had then and even more now into my self portrait. I also thought of the racist words i have been called by my “friends” and the comments made by my race which made me angry. Just the other week i got on the bus and sat behind two old women and they then said “Im not sitting in front of no blacks” and then they moved to the back of the bus. When constructing this piece of work i used pencil to sketch out the whole thing, I drew the normal face first representing how the world wants me to feel and how i’m expected to face the racism. After i drew the frustrated face which is how i truly feel about racism and how i’ve been treated. When drawing the hair and the eyes i decided to draw it in a neo- expressionism way so i drooped the eyes a lot to make a tired but un-phased look and with the hair i made sure it looked like it had texture. After fine lining, in a thicker marker pen i then started to write on the hair things that have been said to me about my race that have effected me in the past and present. If i could change something i would definitely change the kind of marker pen for the writing as it leaked and i had to use tip ex to remove it.

[mojput-mypath]

DE-TOXIN’

DOUBTING THOMAS

Since 2013, I have started to use Ayurveda as a means of healing my body. I was in India and it was easy, I could often go for check-ups and the doctor would keep changing my therapy according to need. I had one year in India, so it was a slow, yet useful process for me. I also did sessions of cranio-sacral therapy, advised by my Ayurveda doctor. I also went to see the Ayurveda eye doctor, he told me my eyesight could be improved with treatments and also gave me some mudras I could do to improve not only my eyesight but my body strength as well. I went to the Ayurveda dentist, and he told me my immunity is low, giving me chyawanprash (an immunity-booster paste), and some other powders and pastes I used to rub on my gums with honey or brush my teeth with, saving my then-rotting-tooth for about 6 months. The moment I came to Europe (different food and no more ayurvedic powders), I had to have the tooth pulled out. Ayurveda seemed to look at the body and mind and emotions as a whole, whether it was the dentist or the eye doctor, or general physician.

I have been recommended to do a “Detox” or any form of Panchakarma (ayurvedic treatments). At the time I had little money and no time and felt these are “just some massages”. I had the opportunity to visit friends in the Ayurveda hospital while they were doing the treatments and they did not seem very happy. Later they told me it was good, but you had to keep the recommended food and lifestyle in order to keep the light feeling, so I was not very impressed.

Even though many of you might think of me as: “Well, there’s a true believer”. I am super sceptical and believe things only when I have myself experienced them.

Even then, in 2013, the doctor was telling me to go to the hospital for treatments, but it took me another 5 years before I actually did it. I needed some persuasion. I went to see Ayurveda doctors regularly all these years, taking supplements and following the eating and lifestyle habits as much as I could at the given time. I trusted their advice more and more, as I saw that the more I followed the recommendations, the better I felt.

At a particular moment I was following ALL the advice of the doctors. Yet, I was still unwell. Some things were not getting resolved. The last two years, every time an Ayurveda doctor “checked my pulse”, the reaction was: You must do a Detox. I have already formed an opinion on these “Detoxes” and thought they were just too expensive, in India, as it is far away, including travel expenses, or in Europe where it was far too much for my budget.

I started to think Ayurveda is quite useless, so what should I do? As I came to trust it more and more, I knew that I would probably just do it one day. My doubts were about how expensive it was, whether it was really so useful and is it more like a spa holiday, rather than healing the body. Could it really help?

TOX-IN -> TOX-OUT

I knew I in-toxified quite a lot as a kid, and knowing that toxins are not only chemicals brought in from the outside, but also that the body creates toxins out of stress, mental or emotional. I knew that, if not choosing allopathic medicine, this would have to be it. Five days of “Detox”, here I am.

I will not share all the details here, as it is an experience to have on one’s own, but I will attempt to depict what I felt in a most non-spoiler manner. It started off kind of easy, I had physical sensations for sure, but nothing that I have not already experienced during all the harmful intoxication I did, now many years ago. I went through all of them, and somehow it was not so difficult for me. I took this time to really not do anything, and I took care that others would not involve me in any work discussions.

To be totally honest, I had to hide a little to make the point of people understanding I needed some alone time. It worked! I felt gentle, soft, sensitive, fragile, yet took good care that I don’t bring more stress than needed into the experience. I noticed a few things, how emotions come suddenly and wildly, and disappear in the same speed, like nothing ever happened. I also noticed how my mind was craving for entertainment. How easily we fall into watching TV, listening to music, chatting, without ever giving some rest to the mind. Mind is like a magnet, searching constantly for something to stick on and be amused by, and in the end gets worn out, tired easily.

WEIRD MAGICAL SUPER-HERBS; YAY!

I said not to spoil too much, and I am sure you could Google what is done in Panchakarma (I am guessing what we do here in Germany is just some parts of it), but let me tell you about my own experience. On the first days, you take some herbs. Magical super-herbs that drain all the toxins from your body. I could actually feel them work inside me! How amazing is that? You take a small amount, a mixture of herbs, that pull all the toxins out of your system! How simple! Of course, the doctor decides what exactly to take, what amount, when, for how long, etc. These days I had the time to allow the process to happen in my body and during that time I was allowed, or encouraged to colour pictures, more specifically, mandalas. 

:::Lovely materials:::

In the process, which I absolutely loved, and coloured-in quite a few, revealed for me many insights. I felt how artists must feel when creating. Allowing the creativity to flow while practicing and practising and practising (whether music, or painting or knitting or anything else). I had so much more focus and awareness of the colours, the shapes. I could feel the nuances and allow my fingers to choose the next colour and my eyes to flow to the next area I would colour. I saw nuance and knew contrast. I felt the beauty of doing and doing. Just doing. Not waiting or struggling to finish. I enjoyed every single moment. The little details of working with coloured pencils vs. markers. How they both reacted with paper, and print. How the more you press the colour pencil, the more colour will come out. But the more you press, the more your hand hurts soon after, so you can sometimes use layers, and sometimes press. Colouring was like a dance with myself. Beauty yet undiscovered.

:::Bed exhibition:::

MY BUDDY BODY

Another point that was completely re-discovered for me, was the relationship with my body. The Ayurveda (Ayur-veda: knowledge of life) Detox is made in such a way that treatments are given together with advice or rules of conduct. The entire time you are supervised by therapists as well as the doctor and provided with everything you might need. Yet, to use the rules to your benefit, you must listen very carefully to your body. With surgical precision, or awareness. If you go too much in one direction, you are in trouble. If you indulge your craving, you are in trouble. If you suppress whatever is coming, physical or mental or emotional, you are in trouble. Being in trouble just means it creates a little more discomfort for you, it can be avoided if you really put all your attention on the body.

The doctor gives instructions in every given moment and can help you get out of trouble and explain how things work, but it is about you, you are the only one who can really feel and know your own body. No-Body can know Your-Body better than you. It brings total awareness and complete responsibility. Such a mind-blowing setting, Ayurveda, you rock!

One more thing I could observe during this time is to see and feel and make use of my body as if it were a temple. This we usually mention when talking about sex, and for sure, this attitude should be applied. With food, and what we use on the body as well – yes, my body is as sacred as a temple; How much do I love it, appreciate it, how much care do I have for it? What kind of food do I take? What creams do I use? My body is sacred! I just looooove this God-given-gift! I want to take good care of it. It is my personal temple.

:::The view from my little sanctuary:::

THE AYURVEDA DETOX IS AMAZING

Then there are more things that are included in the detox, but I would not like to spoil anyone’s surprise. I wondered during this time, whether there is any kind of detox program in Western medicine? One that has no harmful side-effects for other than the body system that is being detoxified? Is there a wholesome detox at all? I do use Western-based medicine for short-term solutions, like a blocked nose, migraine pain, blood results, x-ray and similar.  I do trust it with some miraculous modern discoveries, like prosthetics, by-passes, organ-donation-based procedures. But I would not put my entire health in the hands of mostly invasive treatments. I have made use of it, and in many cases it has helped acutely, but not long-term. Too soon to tell yet, and of course, I have been using natural medicine for most of my problems for years to keep them in balance. It is to be seen how it will come out in the long run.

In short, I would recommend the Ayurveda Detox itself, along with all other Ayurveda practices, as non-invasive, individual body-aligned and deeply purifying. I am ever so grateful for the much-needed rest, for the silent observation of my own body, mind and emotions and for the truly spiritually enriching experience it also provides.

I cannot recommend anything I have not experienced myself. In the internet provider shop I used to work, I  would honestly tell people - if they lived in an area where the Internet was crap - that the Internet was crap. People loved my honesty and would often buy the packages just because they felt safe. Definitely true that my experience is my own, and that is only what I can share here.

As per the money issue, I just had a conversation with someone who payed 12,000$ for a three-week detox. That is around 500€ per day, for three weeks! Ayurveda Detox in Bad Antogast is a short 3 or 5 or 7 days program, it is less than 200€ per day (depends also on your accommodation preferences), includes food, treatments, care and all other details mentioned above. My budget must afford it! For the naturalness of the processes, the purity of the products used and the care the staff provides, I now feel it is cheap! Affordable, at the least. This is how much I love my body! This is how much Ayurveda is effective!

I feel like a new-born baby, with all the capabilities and faculties of a healthy and strong grown-woman. Ever so pure again…

:::A little tired still from the process, but undoubtedly calmer and happier:::

[bonniebird]

Follow me

Young(Just pre Stanford)!Sam x Young!Sister !Reader

“Dean doesn’t go to school!” You objected as you glared at the three looming figures in front of you. “Sammy isn’t going!”

“It’s Sam!” Sam sighed quickly, gritting his teeth.

“You need to go to school (Y/N), last time I let you stay out of school you nearly got yourself killed.” The firmness in John’s voice told you not to argue back but Dean was smirking from behind him so you knew if you really wanted to, no one would notice if you bunked a few days.

“Fine.” You said as you sighed, rolling your eyes before throwing yourself onto one of the beds.

The argument started again later that evening when Dean offered you the burger he’d gotten you and you slammed the books you’d been given onto the table. “Where’ve you been?” John snapped and you glared at him which made your brothers exchanged uneasy looks.

“At the school, they want me to look up all this weird… I don’t even know!” You hissed. “I’m not going!”

“(Y/N)!” The sharp reply was shot back with a look of irritation and you suked in a breath.

“Hey, it’s not that bad… I’ll help.” Sam offered. You accepted but not before snatching your food from Dean, dumping at the foot of your claimed bed as you grabbed your bag and headed to the bathroom.

When you’d changed into comfortable clothes you and Sam sat on your bed, quietly talking over the work you had to do before school started on the following Monday.

“We won't even be here that long.” You grumbled as you finished your food.

“It’s still important, it could really help you!” Sam insisted as you crossed out some of what you’d written.

“Because ghosts are super scared of Shakespeare?” Your response made him laugh loud enough for it to disturb the hunting party in the corner.

“Sam, it’s time for her to go to sleep, we could use your help.” Dean muttered as he sipped his beer.

“Uh, yeah sure thing.” Sam answered quickly, bundling you up in the blankets as he dumped your pile of books on the floor next to the bed and caught some books Dean tossed at him.

“Teeth.” John said and you quickly shot up to do as he asked.

When you came back Sam was smiling to himself as he moved over to the other bed to give you space to sleep. “Hey, guess what?” He whispered.

“What?” You asked, leaning over as Dean stood to say goodnight, knowing unless he put his foot down you’d stay up and whisper with Sam all night which would drive John nuts.

“I’m going to Stanford! I got into college!” Sam grinned when your face lit up proudly and you grinned until Dean scoffed.

“You wanna go to college?” Dean asked. You both glamced at John who stopped mid turn of a page but didn’t react.

“No, I got in… Didn’t think i’d do it.” Sam announced proudly.

The argument that followed was by far the worst you’d ever seen. It went on for hours and by the time Sam had enough and grabbed his bag it was starting to get light. “Sammy?” You asked quietly as he slammed the door.

You made a mad scramble after him and made it out of the room before anyone could stop you. Sam was walking so fast you would have had to run in any hopes of keeping up with him. Despite calling and calling he ignored you, glancing back for a second when a bus pulled up at the nearest stop and he jogged to catch it.

You ran to catch it too but by the time you had gotten to the stop it was too late, the next one wouldn’t be for hours. It felt like hours before the Impala pulled up next to the stop and Dean stomped out.

“(Y/N) come on, Dad’s been looking for you.” Dean muttered as he dumped his heavy coat around your shoulders. “He’s worried sick.”

“Good. I hope he gets sick.” You snapped childishly.

“You can’t put this all on dad, Sammy left us.” He sounded annoyed but hurt too.

“I hate dad. He didn’t have to tell Sammy to go away forever.” You snapped and strolled to the car.

“He’ll be back, you know how he is, gets mad and goes to cool off.” Dean sighed as he spoke and got into the car, glancing back at you when you got in but sat in Sam’s usual spot.

“He’s not coming back this time.” You sniffled and glanced up at Dean who nodded and sighed again. He turned the music up and hit the heat until he was sure he could at least get you back to the motel without a cold.

******************

Sam chuckled when he saw you. He knew it was you, Jess found all the polaroids of you and made a collage for him, he looked at your photos everyday. How you’d gotten to Stanford was beyond him but judging by your uniform and the comfortable look on your face you’d been around for a while.

“Hey, can you tell them I had a family emergency. I’ll come by for notes or stuff later?” Sam asked the group he’d been walking with as he rushed to get the bus.

You were to caught up in your book to notice him taking a seat behind you, even when he caught his old backpack that you’d coloured yellow with tape and a marker. “Hey.” He sighed and chuckled when you jumped and made a noise of surprise.

At first you froze because the voice was so familiar but when you realised who it was you slowly turned to face him. “Hi Sammy.” You muttered casually.

“Hey Sammy? That’s what I get after all this time. Look at you, you’re almost as tall as Dean!” He laughed and leant forward on his seat.

“I’m not that much taller.” You said quickly and he nodded.

“In my defence when I think about you the first thing that pops into my head is you in your booster seat while i’d read to you in the car.” He said quickly and you groaned at the thought.

“That’s so stupid… shouldn’t you be in class?” You asked and he shrugged.

“Shouldn’t you be with Dad and Dean?” He countered and you winced.

“Things go weird after you left. Dad was sadder but he’d drive off for days each month and leave me and Dean. Dean lost it. He’s trying to make up for you being gone and it’s totally annoying.” You explained and he ruffled your hair, motioning for you to follow him off the bus and up into an apartment.

“That’s just Dean being Dean. Hey Jess?” He called into the apartment and you frowned, shyly ducking behind Sam when a cute girl popped her head out of the kitchen.

“I thought you had class?” She asked with a smile.

“I did but I ran into this one on my way.” Sam moved so she could see you and you waved awkwardly.

“You must be little (Y/N)!” She gasped and rushed to hug you, shooing you further into the building. You smiled when you saw the old photos which Jess proudly showed off.

*******************

Sam and Jess didn’t mind extra shifts between their classes and you soon had your own little space that used to be darker corner of the living room.

With Sam’s help your grades shot up and you adored spending time with Jess. For once you had girls clothes that hadn’t been handed down through your brothers, someone to discuss crushes with and other topics you wouldn’t dare breech with Sam or Dean.

You weren’t on the road and despite your complaining all those times you’d had normality in your reach, this time, you enjoyed it. You had friends that weren’t hunters, clubs and activities that you’d only ever dreamed off.

Every Now and then you thought you’d caught a glimpse of the Impala or you dad or Dean. But it was always a glimpse and you quickly forgot it.

Until you rushed out of school, riding high on the thought of Jess convincing Sam to do Halloween at least once, acing your round of tests for the term and the promise of seeing the movie you’d wanted to see since you’d seen the billboard.

As soon as you hit the bottom step you saw the car. In a second your high mood plummeted and if you weren’t in shock you might have collapsed to the floor and sobbed. You expected to be humiliated in front of your friends, your father booming a rant at you as loud as he dared. It would probably last for days.

“Hey kiddo!” Dean called and you realised it was only Dean.

“(Y/N) do you even know him?” One of your friends whispered, their mother hurrying over to see what was going on.

“Yeah, that’s my older brother, Dean.” You told them before slowly walking over. “Why’re you here Dean?”

“No hello, sorry for running away?” He quipped and you kept your gaze blank as you crossed your arms.

“Took you long enough, so what? You found me now dad wants me back… i’d say home but we’ve never had one.” You almost glared at him and he shrugged.

“Three months isn’t that long to find you. Told dad you’re like Sammy and you need some time to cool off… You should have called.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he shrugged. Giving you a look that meant he wanted to tell you off but he knew it would be useless.

“I didn’t want to.” You scowled at him as you glanced at the car. “Where’s dad?”

“He’s on a hunt. Come one, we get you home and he’s mad for a while but then he’ll be fine.” Dean opened the car door and you shook your head and started to walk off. “Well tell Sammy I said hi.”

“You know I’m staying with him?” You asked, abruptly turning to face him.

“Dad knew where Sam was as soon as he settled down, that’s where he’d vanish off to!” Dean winced once he’d admitted it to you because you looked ready to flip the car.

“What!” You shrieked, not caring that the remaining classmates were now staring. “I tried to find him for months but dad knew!”

“He didn’t want you running off to find Sam and not be safe!” Dean defended and you grit your teeth together.

“Go away Dean.” You snapped and stomped off. “Leave us alone.”

tags: @stormyfandoms,  @raggedymans-lover,  @sawyerjeann, @vivirunmillondevidas, @bookswillfindyouaway, @littlemsdemon, @scxrchy, @darkestgrungeuniverse, @wolfshifter4life,  @laeyly,  @5seconds-of-fandoms,   @akshi8278,  @cassiopeia-barrow,  @icharleecongreve, @yourphotographyteen16,  @brok3nsurvivor,  @wrapbuckyinablanket  , @totallovelesson,  @cantdealwithyourshitcarl,  @miikayywhocares, @evillightwood,  @imnotafraid4,  @sheridandwyer, @ria132love,  @music--is--life16 , @thejulietfarciertlove,  @madredqueen000,  @wolfofdestiney, @rosesarestriped,  @archer-whovian-violinist,  , @sarcasm-only-defense, @itsemilyhemmings,  @penguimo10,  @thebookisbtr , @itsssmichelleee, @ackles-winchester , @ms-allenbrown