#talk in bed together until we fall asleep SOMEONE FUCKING SEDATE ME!!!!!!!

[salsflore]

thinking about a simple domestic life with ur f/os... matching house slippers and toothbrushes and waking up beside each other. having your pictures framed on the nightstand! doing the laundry together and quietly sharing meals. helping each other get ready in the morning & then coming home to them or vice versa. waking up to the smell of something new they’re baking (hopefully its pleasant, not burnt...) or hearing them sing in the shower at night. seeing their clothes in your closet and their favorite trinkets around the house. literally just co-existing in the same space. give me a second i feel ill

#i want to be the housewife that packs cute bento lunches for them every morning but i also want them to be the housewives. how does it work #uee i could leave them cute notes everyday. childe’s going to become a “i have to finish up quickly so i can have dinner w/ my wife!” #thing he’s doing -> fighting 20 ruin guards or fighting randos. idk he’s weird as hell #and and and after zhongli comes home from work i could help him unwinddd... and then we could do our little nightly routine together... #talk in bed together until we fall asleep SOMEONE FUCKING SEDATE ME!!!!!!! #waking up and seeing childe making breakfast with an apron that says “kiss the cook” and its horrifically cringy but also very endearing #kissing them goodbye before work like #i need to be taken out back and shot #💭 #putting in main tags.. everyone suffer with me #mika ♡ ajax #mika ♡ zhongli #yumejoshi #self ship

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞

____________________________

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A true enemies to lovers ;)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: strong language, fighting, peter cries lol

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, confused feelings, age gap (reader of age), hate sex 18+, angry makeout turned soft, smut 18+, vulgar language, brutal insults, it’s just all mean

𝐀/𝐧: I saw someone on tiktok say that they wanted a real, tense, and slow burn enemies to lovers fic with like constant bickering and fighting so welcome to my new series. not so much slow burn however because i wanted to keep this series kinda short :)

_____________________________

(𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞)

To say you and Bucky got along would be the biggest lie of the century.

You could look up every goddamn synonym for the word hate and you’d feel like each one for the bastard.

You couldn’t stand Bucky and he couldn’t stand you. Every second you two were together there was fighting yelling, screaming, everything to make everyone even in the same building uncomfortable. In the beginning you guys were nice but as time went on, you two just couldn’t get along.

It started with eye squints and fake laughs, then it went to eye rolls and scoffs, and now it’s borderline verbal abuse and physical fights.

Everyday there was something you were fighting about. Right now it had to do with the fact the Bucky was breathing too loud in your proximity. And you swore he was doing it on purpose.

“Do you have to breathe like that?” you shot.

“Yes, Y/n. I need to fucking breathe. It’s a part of life, dumb ass.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Barnes.”

“Says you, bitch.”

“I swear to god, you cunt!” I grabbed a glass of water and threw the whole damn cup at him. Glass shattered under him and he stormed at you with balled fists. You have your hands ready too, black mist swieling around your hands. You were prepared to beat the shit out of him in the blink of an eye; no hesitations.

“Stop it!” Nat shouted, running in with Steve and the rest of the team. Wanda used her powers to practically throw you two to the opposite sides of the room.

“What the hell happened?” Steve asked.

“He was breathing too loud!” you shouted.

“She’s a bitch!” Bucky yelled at the same time.

“Can you guys go one day, just one fucking day without trying to kill each other?” Tony said, rubbing his eyes in distress.

“No!” you both screamed and walked out the room, avoiding each other like a disease.

==================================

Later that day you all gathered in the living room to drink and watch a movie, which mostly just turned into talking while a movie played as background noise.

“So are you talking to anyone lately?” Nat said snuggling to you side a bit.

“No, I’m not. Not really into the early twenties party vibe that guys my age are always doing.”

“Date older,” she sipped her drink.

“I think I’d rathered just wait.”

You heard Bucky scoffing at what you said, eavesdropping like the low life he was.

“What are you scoffing at?” you aggressed.

“Nothing, just laughing at how you think you’re choosing to not get laid.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Y/n, no one in their right damn mind would ever want to sleep with you.”

“Coming from the 40s player who lost his play during the 70 years of torture.”

“Y/n,” Nat warned.

“Tell me, James. When was last you had the balls to even talk to a woman; hell even leave the goddamn compound when  it’s not a mission. You wanna call me a fucking prude? When you get some pussy then you can shit on the fact that I don't get dick.”

Bucky didn’t even snap back he simply grabbed a stool and threw at you with so much force. You brought your hands up and used your powers to surround yourself and Nat with a black forcefield that shattered the wood stool upon impact.

You brought the force down your face filled with shock and anger.

“I get it if you want to hurt me but try and put my friends in your cumshot line of danger and I’ll tear you apart in front of everyone!” you picked him up, black smoke circling around him as he wriggled in the air.

Steve and Vision yelled for Wanda, she was the only one more powerful than you. She ran in and sedated your mind with her powers making you fall unconscious falling to the ground. Bucky fell down too, choking and gasping desperately for the air you had restricted

Steve picked you up and walked towards Buck.

“You guys went too far,” he nudged his head towards Peter where he was crying, his head buried in Tony’s chest. Bucky looked around to see everyone tense and for once scared of you and him.

He quickly ran to his room where he locked the door to be left alone in silence. He took a shower to relieve the tension building in his body. He didn't mean to make Peter cry. He didn’t realize he was crying himself until he got out of the shower and noticed his red nose and puffy eyes in the mirror.

He rolled eyes and went to bed not bothering to change into anything; he just wanted to sleep and forgot about being humiliated.

You woke in the early hours of the morning with your head pounding. You weren’t in your room but quickly found yourself in Natasha’s. She was sound asleep beside you probably to make sure you’d wake up safe and ok. You gathered yourself and went to reach for the door before Nat had called for you.

“You should just stay,” she said.

“I was gonna head back to my room.”

“Yeah but we need to talk.”

“Then I’ll swing by tomorrow morning,” you responded quickly before leaving just as fast.

“Y/n,” you heard her call out. You waited a second to see if she’d follow you but when she didn’t you went to your room to sleep until in your own bed. You admit to yourself that you had lost control a little bit this time, but you were still pissed that Bucky put others in harm’s way under your account.

However, what happened happened and all you can do is prepare yourself for the team to hate you and Bucky and continue to make false promises for the future.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #enemies to lovers #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes smut #marvel smut

[wilteddaisies]

Yours - Chapter Two

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: cursing, injury, mentions of blood, angst, masturbation

Note: Finally more Azriel! It was surprisingly hard to hold myself back while writing this chapter. I wanted to write the angst and the pining, but in my head I just wanted them to love each other already lol. But don’t worry, that part will come soon ;). It won’t be the only thing coming soon. Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER TWO

As you gazed at your reflection in the mirror of the bathroom, you realised that you really did look like a mess. Your eyes had dark circles under them and your whole body seemed to sag with exhaustion. You turned the water to practically scalding, waiting a moment for it to heat up before you stripped off your dress and then followed with your undergarments. You stepped into the steaming shower and hissed as the water hit your body. Your muscles sang in thanks to the scalding shower. 

After using your favorite jasmine scented soap, you finished up and stepped out of the shower. You dried off but then quickly realised that you forgot to bring clean clothes into the bathroom with you. Cursing, you wrapped your towel around you and reached for the door knob. Hopefully, Azriel was still passed out and you could just grab the clothes. 

But, when you pushed the door open, you found him sitting upright on the bed. Forgetting your state of undress, you rushed over to him.

“Az, you're awake!” You tried to gently push him back down to the bed. “Lay back down before you strain your back or your wing.” But, he resisted, taking your hands in his instead. He took note of your appearance, his words escaping him for a moment at the sight of your flushed cheeks, damp hair, and bare legs. He tore his eyes away from where the towel was struggling to conceal your breasts and cleared his head.

“Did you do this?” He looked at his nearly healed wing. You nodded. “How. . .” he began, “How long was I out for?” 

You glanced at the clock on your dresser. “Just a few hours.” you shrugged. 

“You managed to almost completely heal my wing in just a few hours?” He looked at you with a peculiar expression on his face. Was that awe? Admiration? Surely not. You looked down, trying to hide your blush and you nodded again.

“I may have learned a thing or two in the Day Court.” you said with a little smirk. But you should be proud, even Helion praised you for your ability to pick up magical techniques so quickly. 

“You certainly did.” That was definitely a new look. Azriel looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “Maybe you can fix these hands next.” he says jokingly but also with a sad sincerity. You look at his scarred hands still holding your own. He looks too, as if remembering that he still held them. His brows furrow at them, as if he resents that his rough scars are touching your smooth, unblemished hands and tries to pull them away but you don’t let him, holding on with a gentle firmness. 

“No, Az. Please. Don’t pull away, not from me.” You tried not to be hurt by his actions, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust you with his scars but that he was ashamed of them. But, he shouldn’t be ashamed of them. Those were the same hands that fought to protect Prythian in two wars, the same hands that carried you over Velaris to go on adventures in the city while your parents were busy, the same hands that held you steady as you were learning to fly, and they were the hands of the person you loved so deeply with your entire being. You raised his left hand to your lips and pressed a kiss to each and every scar littering the back of his hand, his knuckles, his fingers, and his palm. Then you did the same to his right hand. 

When you looked back up to meet his eyes, you saw that tears were falling from them. Azriel, who never cried, was weeping in front of you. And the sight shattered your heart. Had no one ever shown him this love? How often did he feel loved and secure and appreciated? Not nearly enough, not by a long shot. 

You took his hands and wrapped his arms around your waist. They immediately tightened, drawing you closer. Your breath hitched for a moment, but you leaned in to kiss his cheeks, trying to catch each tear. Your arms snaked around his neck and as you met his eyes once again. But this time, along with adoration, you found smoldering intensity. Your gaze drifted down towards his lips and ever so slowly, you leaned towards them. They seemed so warm and inviting, plump and slightly parted as he was breathing a little heavier. Your eyes drifted shut as your lips finally brushed his. For a moment, you savored them, their softness, their taste. But they had only just touched when he pulled away, gently pushing you away with his hands that were just around your waist. 

As your contact broke, shame coursed through you, you took a few steps back, adjusting your towel. Fuck. It was the wrong thing to do. You must have misread the atmosphere in the room. You opened your eyes but kept them glued to the floor, slightly panting from the moment you just shared. 

“I-” His voice sounded choked and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “We can’t. . . We shouldn’t have-”

“I know,” you interrupted, curt. And there you were, with him still sitting on the edge of the bed and you nearly four feet away. The awkward silence that ensued was unbearable. 

 “I should-”

“You should-”

More awkward silence. . .

He sighed. “I should go.” Azriel stood up and turned towards the door. You looked at him again.

“But your wing-”

“Is practically healed, thanks to you. I’ll be fine. Thank you, truly. I don’t know

what might have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

You blushed at his praise. He looked at you as if he wanted to say more, but then thought better of it. He gave you one last smile and walked out of your room, shutting the door. You slumped down onto your bed and tried to forget his rejection.

You tossed and turned in your sheets, gods damn it you couldn’t fall asleep. After using magic to clean Azriel’s blood from your sheets, you got dressed and practically fell into bed, thinking that the exhaustion of using your magic would pull you under. But no, your pulse was still racing, your skin still burned from his touch, and your core ached every time your thoughts drifted back to the feeling of his lips on yours, of his hands tightening around your waist. You pressed your thighs together hoping to relieve the pressure but it just made you yearn even more for his touch. Your thoughts drifted even further, to the image of his sculpted abs on display, even more defined with the gleam of sweat. You wondered how they would look above you, with his muscled arms on either side of your head while he pounded into your- 

Fuck. You gave in. Your legs spread and your fingers drifted towards your center to find yourself unsurprisingly wet. You moan softly as you imagine your fingers as Azriel’s. You teased your clit, lightly petting it before drawing circles around it. You lightly jolted at the zap of pleasure. Your free hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the whimpers that escaped you. You slid one finger inside you with ease, then another, hissing at the pleasant stretch. You thought of his eyes, their smoldering hazel seeming so deep you could see into his very soul.

You adjusted the angle of your hand so that your palm pressed against your swollen clit with every movement. You felt a tightening in your stomach, you writhed as your core tightened further, and clamped down on your fingers as you finally fell over the edge. You bite on your hand to keep from crying out in pleasure. Your thoughts are still on him as you come down, your pussy throbbing and legs trembling with the aftershocks. You leave your fingers inside you for a moment more before pulling them out, savoring the feeling of the slight stretch of your walls and how you could feel yourself throbbing around your fingers. 

Fuck, you wish it was him. You feel tears start to well in your eyes and your heart cracks at the realisation that he will never be yours, never love you as you love him. He’s one of your father’s best friends, he’ll never see you as anything other than a child. You know this and yet you still want him, yearn for him, need him. You fall asleep on a damp pillow. 

You wake up the next day with not nearly enough sleep, but you got up anyway at the sound of talking from downstairs. You threw on a robe and left your room to find out what was going on. Still trying to shake off the haze of sleep, you trudged into the dining hall, which had now been turned into a makeshift meeting area. Your mother, father, Mor, Amren, Cassian, and Azriel stood around the mahogany table which was covered with books, maps, and other various papers. You tried to avoid Azriel’s gaze, not that it was difficult, he seemed determined to look at everything else other than you.

“Perhaps it could be sedated with a poisoned arrow,” Mor suggested.

“Tried that,” Az countered, “the thing just knocked the arrows away, as if it was swatting flies, and any arrows that made their mark merely bounced off of its hide.”

“Shit,” Feyre huffed. She was the first to notice your quiet entrance. “Sweetheart, what are you doing? Go back to bed, you must be exhausted from using so much magic.” She walked over to where you stood at the entrance of the dining hall and embraced you. You leaned in to her comforting touch, but as much as you wanted to rest, you knew you couldn’t until you figured out what to do about Azriel’s mission. 

“I can’t, mom. There’s work to be done.” You gently escaped her hold to peer over the documents on the table. Maps, more maps, a blueprint of the castle’s underground chambers, and was that-

“A wyvern,” Cassian answered your unspoken question. The beast in the ancient drawings looked ferocious. That was the thing that Azriel had tried to bypass in order to access the weapon? How had he even managed to fly or winnow home? 

“We just have to find a way to get around the bloody thing,” Amren huffed in annoyance. “It’s fast, and strong. Even against a fae. Maybe we could get Helion to brew us an airborne potion or maybe come up with a weapon that can be used against it. But he’s dealing with trouble in his own court at the moment, it could take weeks to even-”

“Let me go.” The silence was instantaneous. All eyes snapped to you. “I can use my magic to subdue it. Or I could try to talk to it.” The wariness in their eyes turned to confusion. 

“Huh?” The confused sound came from Cassian this time. “Did I hear that wrong or did you say you could talk to it.”

You smiled, “Being a daemati is good for reading more minds than just those of the fae and humans.” Everyone looked to Rhys, who thought about it for a moment. 

He finally shrugged, “I guess I never cared enough to try. But, in that case, I’ll just go with Azriel instead.”

“Dad, no-” But your mother already beat you to it. 

“Oh come on, Rhys. You were doing things much more dangerous than fighting wyverns at her age.” She took his hand and pleaded to him with those gorgeous blue eyes that you inherited, batting her eyelashes, as if it would help convince him. It would. “We had our epic adventure. Maybe it’s time for our daughter to have one of her own.” 

He looked like he was going to argue, but then he looked at you, the spitting image of your mother with a temper to match, and with his own midnight black hair. He looked at you and saw the strength that you inherited from both of them. It was his duty as a father to protect you from harm, but it was also his duty to help you grow, whether it be as a woman, a fae, or a warrior. He finally sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. But,” he turned to Azriel with a glare icy enough to rival Azriel’s own signature glower, “you bring her back in one piece. Or I will feed you to the wyvern myself. Or worse, I’ll hand you over to Feyre.” Your mothers face broke into a wicked grin and you could see there was some truth in his words. 

You squealed and hugged your father, then your mother. And then you looked to Azriel, who had been ignoring you the entire time, but finally looked up to meet your gaze. 

And with just a touch of a mischievous glint in his eyes he said, “Let’s go on an adventure.”

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading and for the notes on the last part! I am SO FUCKING excited for this next chapter, I absolutely loved writing it. If you wanna to be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist:  @moonchild-cf​ @pansexual-booknerd​ @huffypuffyme @tinkymae​  @peneflop​  @myfuckingacademia

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel smut #azriel fluff #sarah j maas #feysand #nessian #acowar #acomaf #fanfic #illyrian #my writing

[bangchanshehe]

The Orphanage pt.11

Growing up in an orphanage was hard, but when three men kidnap you as collateral, you find out that your life prior to being trapped in a house with twelve men was a piece of cake. Your loved ones were more corrupt than you thought and your enemies are closer than ever.    

OT12 X OC (INCOMPLETE)

word count 2k

You had taken your shower slowly, relaxing and enjoying the feeling of the water as it washed over you. But must importantly you wanted to wash yourself well so you wouldn’t be sticky and smelly from the sex that you and Suho had only hours ago.

You picked up Chanyeol’s body was and shampoo, smelling each one and smiling to yourself at the smooth as delicious smell of men’s products. It was almost illegal to allow men to smell this good. It was almost like a sedating superpower that they held against women.

You rubbed the products into your skin and hair and covered every inch of your skin with it. there was something so intimate and personal about using a mans products in the showers that made you feel like a goddess. Or maybe it was just the smells that were getting to your head.

When you cut the shower off you could hear the sound of a tv coming from the room and nothing else. You chuckled thinking about the amount of possessive testosterones coming off of Suho and Chanyeol just quietly sitting there in awkward silence. You imagined them sitting them sitting as far away from one another as possible on the bed with their arms crossed as they stared straight ahead, not daring to look at one another.

You laughed and then silenced yourself with a hand over your mouth. If they heard you laughing in here by yourself they’d probably think that you were a psychopath. You quickly brushed your hair and threw on some clothes that Chanyeol had laid out for you and then exited the bathroom.

The moment that you had laid eyes on the men you relaxed a little. The scene that you had expected to witness of awkwardness wasn’t what you saw at all. Chanyeol was laying down towards the foot of the bed as he watched tv, and Suho was leaned up against the headboard with his arms crossed, fast asleep.

You were about to speak up and say something to Chanyeol but he quickly put a finger up to his mouth trying his best to hush you. He looked over at Suho to see if he had woken up and then back at you and gestured with his hand for you to follow him.  He had a softly as possible tried to get up from the bed without shaking or waking up Suho and then opened up his closet door and sat down inside.

You looked at him curiously, but followed him in without another moment of hesitation. You had half expected for his closet to be messy and full, but Chanyeol really only had a few articles of clothing that were neatly hung at the back of the closet, giving the two of you lots of space to sit down.

“what are we doing in here?” you asked him with a curious smile

“I don’t want to wake up Suho, so for now we can talk in here” he said with a soft tone

You nodded your head in understanding but stopped when you realized that Chanyeol was looking at you with pink cheeks and a small smile “what? What’s wrong?” you asked him confused

“you just-“ he started and then looked away for a moment before turning back to look at you “you look cute in my clothes. they’re really big on you”

You looked down at the sweats and the t-shirt with confusion. “so it’s true what they say about women wearing men’s clothes?” you asked him

He cocked his head to the side “I don’t know what you mean”

You nodded your head “they say that men really like it when women wear their clothes, because it makes them look cute and sexy” you clarified

“oh” he said with wide eyes “I guess… I mean you’re the only girl I’ve ever seen in my clothes so…”

“so you’ve never had a girlfriend?” you asked him with shock. Surely Chanyeol had dated before! He was so handsome and deep. You knew that women had to be interested in him

Chanyeol shook his head no and your eyes instinctively widened.

“why not?” you asked him and he huffed “don’t do that, you’re such a catch! I’m sure that there are girls who like you!” you exclaimed

“it’s kind of hard to date with this lifestyle…” he finally answered but it was softer than normal. “I mean sure we have the time that we could make it work, but we would never be able to really tell them what we do. Or really go out with them in fear that they could be used in someone’s plan for retaliation. Plus, the phone calls, text, leaving suddenly without explanation…” he continued looking down at the floor

Your eyes followed his down to the floor where he was playing with the hem of his sweats. You had never really thought about that and you felt bad for bringing it up, because clearly it was something that he had a hard time with. This lifestyle was much more lonely than what you had though.

“and what about the other members?” you asked him

He scoffed and then looked up at you with a small smile “sure, they fuck around, but they don’t have girlfriends. Or at least they would never call them that”

“oh” you said with wide eyes trying to imagine anyone of the boys being that way

“what about you though? Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he asked you, and now it was your turn to get shy

“I’ve dated a few men, but none of them were ever serious” you answered honestly “I think my longest relationship, if you would even call it that, was four months”

Chanyeol nodded his head with wider eyes “and what is your ideal type?”

You gave him a sideways smile and a look that said, ‘are you really trying to go there right now?’ “uhm….” You thought about it and your smile dropped “I don’t think that I really have a type” you answered. And it was true. Everyone that you had dated was different. Their style, background, lifestyle, jobs. “I guess the thing that I fall for is if someone can made me feel safe and make me smile. Other than that, I don’t think the rest matters”

Chanyeol nodded his head and smiled “that’s fair”

There was a moment of silence and the two of you just sat comfortably until a thought had come across your mind

“hey, can I ask you a question about” you turned your head and pointed to the bed where Suho was sleeping

Chanyeol’s eyebrows pursed together and he looked you up and down “yeah, what’s wrong?” he asked you concerned

“are….” you didn’t know how to word it without it sounding too rude “is Suho really that scary that everyone in the house fears him?” you asked

Chanyeol took a moment to think about your question and he almost broke into a smile before he stopped himself and straightened his face back out.

“does he seem scary to you?” he asked you

You contemplated his question for a moment “yes and no. I’m not really all that scared of him, but sometimes the other members really seem frightened by him”

“Suho is like a big brother to us… if not more.” he answered with a smile “we love him, can do or say whatever we want around him, but at the end of the day he is our boss and higher up than we are. so, we do have to sometimes put ourselves back in place to set boundaries”

“and what about Minseok?” you asked quietly

Chanyeol’s face suddenly became more serious “well…” he looked off to the side and then back down “he’s gone through a lot in his lifetime…. He’s always had things pretty bad, and they didn’t ever really stop.” He answered and you focused your gaze on him as you processed what he was saying “he’s really rough around the edges, because he was forced to be that way… it’s not that he’s necessarily mean, or aggressive. It’s just that he does and says the things that he does as a way to sort of set boundaries and protect himself”

You were about to ask another question when you heard the bed shifting, and steps coming closer to where the two of you sat. you leaned forward and tried to look and see Suho as he approached the two of you, but he never appeared. You frowned and leaned out of the closet to see the door to Chanyeol’s room open.

“did he leave?” you said thinking out loud

You stood up and held a hand out to Chanyeol to help him stand up.  He eyed your hand and then took it with an eye roll

“if you think you can pull me up, then try” he said jokingly, thinking that you would let go

But to his surprise you actually pulled on his hand hard enough to yank him off the ground higher than he expected. You got him to stand a little but because of his surprise his knees buckled, and he fell into you. You tried your best to catch him and stay standing but his height had the advantage and he knocked the both of you over onto the floor, with a loud thud.

You scrunched your eyes as you mentally prepared for the impact your head would have on the ground, but your head never hit the floor, instead they landed on Chanyeol’s hands as he cradled them, protecting you from getting hurt.

You opened your eyes to Chanyeol hovering over you, looking concerned that he had hurt you. You looked down at your body, noting that Chanyeol. Fell to his knees and was leaning over you in between your thighs. You gulped and then slowly looked back up to his eyes

“sorry” he said with a breathy voice “I didn’t think that you would actually make me stand”

You gave him a small smile and relaxed against his hands that cradled you. “its okay” you put your hands on his cheek and squeezed them making his lips pout “thank you for saving me from busting my head open”

He was about to say something, but you pulled his face down to yours and gave him a small kiss on the lips. He panicked and pulled away with an open mouth and wide eyes as he looked down at you, shocked that you had just kissed him. You laughed at his expression but were soon silenced as the look of shock in his eyes were glazed over with a look of lust.

Chanyeol looked down at your lips and then back up to your eyes before he kissed you back. However, this time it wasn’t as innocent as your kiss was. Chanyeol seemed desperate for more, as he let his body rest over yours and deepened the kiss. His hands gathered up the hair on the sides of your head and he held you in place as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You fought for dominance in the kiss as you both bit, and licked each other, swept up in the moment, completely unaware of the audience that you had. the two of you practically flew away from one another at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You looked up at Suho, who had a cocked eyebrow as he stared at the two of you. You looked over at Chanyeol out of curiosity and noticed the way that his lips looked swollen and red from your kiss and you bet anything that your lips looked the same.

“sorry to disappoint, but I only went to get a glass of water” he said with a flat tone, as he kicked the door closed and locked it “but please…” he gestured to the two of you “don’t stop on my account” he said with a sly devilish smile.

@pentagone10​ @cazziamo​ @mooshins​ @lovely-kpopp-blog​ @kpop---scenarios​ 

#kpop #kpop series #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #mafia au #mafia series #mafia smut #mafia poly #poly series #kpop poly series #kpop mafia au #exo #exo series #exo smut #exo ot12 #ot12 #exo fanfic #exo fan fiction #exo mafia au #exo mafia

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter eleven

I was initially going to hold back on this update until Sunday but y’all already know my impulse control is nonexistent and with the encouragement of new friends (hey naomi and elena!!) I had to go ahead and post. Tried something a little new with this chapter and it focuses a lot on Malcolm and I learned I actually like writing in his POV a lot so that’s new. It also features more Edrisa bc I love her and she’s my best friend’s absolute fav so I had to do them some service after the help with the last chapter which got some of my most insanely complimentary comments. Like one of y’all really commented how I wrote Martin well and I didn’t stop smiling the entire day. That’s fucking insane. Hope y’all enjoy the update and are staying safe!

Gil steps out of the room, exhaustion settling into him. Immediately Ainsley sits up leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“How is she? Is she ok?” The drive back from Claremont had been the worst. Jessica had jumped with every siren sounding and in New York? It was a lot. Ainsley held her hand the entire time while Malcolm rocked, his brain firing off at a million miles a minute. Nobody said a word but it was Jessica’s silence that was the most concerning to them. 

What the hell happened in that cell?

“She remembered what happened, didn’t she?” Malcolm casts a glance at Ainsley who doesn’t meet his gaze. Gil can only shrug.

“She still hasn’t said anything but something in there definitely got to her. I called Dani and JT. They agreed to be the new details until we can sort out why she got so uncomfortable when we passed the guards on our way out and the drive home.”

“We should go get mom’s things.” Ainsley says. “She only packed clothes. She left all of her products and things she’ll probably need. Who knows how long this stay will last, we should at least make her comfortable.” But she shifts her eyes to the door where Jessica was sleeping, or at least pretending to. She feels guilty for leaving her twice, it’s written all over her face.

“I’ll go.” Malcolm offers. “I feel like we missed something that night. It’ll give me a chance to look again.”

“Hell no.” Gil protests immediately. “I’m not comfortable with you going alone.”

“I’ll bring a detail.” His retort is interrupted by the sound of movement from the other room, like someone shifting around in the bed. Jessica is listening and for whatever reason, she doesn’t like that.

“We can go tomorrow. Right now I want all of us under the same roof.” Malcolm tips his head back, annoyed then rises again with an idea.

“What if I bring Edrisa? She’ll be able to help me look around and we’ll be back before you know it.” No more sounds of ruffling interrupt so Gil has to give in.

“Fine, but I want updates. And if you get even a whiff that something is wrong you two get the hell out.”

“Deal.” Gil sighs as Malcolm rushes off to text Edrisa.

The Whitly’s are going to be the death of him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“This is so exciting.” Edrisa practically bounces with every step up the driveway. “I’ve never actually got to be a part of the actual investigation.” She pauses, a thought interrupting her excitement. “Should I have brought something to defend myself?”

Malcolm smiles, her enthusiasm is refreshing after his day. Honestly, part of him just wanted to talk to her to get some of the weight of the world off his shoulders. For a brief moment this case isn’t a killer threatening his family. It’s just him and Edrisa. “Edrisa, we’re just getting clothes.”

“Are you sure cause I have pepper spray in my car.”

“Yes I’m sure.” He holds the door open for her gesturing to enter. “And besides, you’ve got me.” She beams at that, her pep coming back in full force as she bounds to the kitchen. He follows with a shake of his head.

“Ok, so what are we looking for?”

“Well, my mother drinks tea like most people drink water.” He points to the cabinet where they usually keep it. “It’s her comfort but Gil doesn’t keep tea in the house.” If Edrisa is curious why, she doesn’t show it. His tone is enough and he’s absolutely certain she read the casefile from that night.

Tea was how the surgeon sedated his victims, Gil was almost one of them.

When Edrisa opens the cabinet her eyes widen. The shelves are stacked with bags of tea, neatly sealed with tight creases. “That’s a lot.” She chuckles.

“It’s everyone’s favorites. Chai for Ainsley, the black is mine. She has every worker’s favorites, I think she even managed to get JT’s but don’t tell him that.”

“My lips are sealed. Matcha is my favorite, by the way.” She winks.

“Oh, she knows.” He grins at the wide, starry eyed look she gets. She blushes and clears her throat before turning back to the task. “Mother’s is the earl grey supreme.”

“What’s the difference between that and the earl grey?”

“Honestly?” Malcolm shrugs. “Price, probably.” Often she falls into the trap of the more expensive the better, it makes for an interesting Christmas and a pain in the ass to get gifts for her when she just buys anything she could possibly want on a whim.

Edrisa stops for a second, her posture straightening, and then getting on her tiptoes to see better. Even from behind he can tell she’s got something on her mind. It’s confirmed when she reaches inside pulling out a smaller, black bag. His head tilts because his mother never bought small bags. Even for people that rarely passed through she wanted to make sure they were prepared. Then the label catches his eye, it’s a completely different brand then what she normally buys from. A brand he hasn’t seen in years.

The brand his father likes.

“Where did you find that?” He asks, on edge and looking out the door. The house is silent other than the two of them but that doesn’t mean that can’t change at any second.

“It was on the bottom shelf and it’s open. All the rest are sealed. Why?”

Just like that it all pieces together. 

His mother had asked him that night if he made tea. He’d told her no and that made her seem more agitated. At first he thought it was because the killer had made her tea, had been in her room. No, it was much more than that. With Freddy’s connection to Claremont, the ability for the killer to find her bedroom and the kitchen so quickly, and the tea that his father used to make.

“The surgeon. He knows who the killer is.” The rush of emotion the punches him in the chest makes him stumble back against the counter. Edrisa runs to him, one hand on his elbow to steady him. Her presence isn’t enough to tamper the anger thudding in his chest with every heartbeat. He knew. He knew when she was missing. He knows now that her life is being threatened.

He was the one who got her to remember.

“That’s why she’d gone to him. She recognized the tea and didn’t say a word about it. Why didn’t she tell us?” Anger clashes with sadness burning at his retinas. He shuts his eyes tightly pressing the heels of his palm to them trying to get himself back under control.

“Malcolm.” His own name sounds unfamiliar in Edrisa’s voice. She’d always called him Bright. Never Malcolm. “Let’s get her stuff and go. They’ll get worried soon.” Her calmness has him taking a deep breath and nodding. “Good.” She extends her hand to him, it’s an almost childish offer in its innocence. Her hand is something to ground him to the world. It gives him something different to focus on rather than his feelings.

Wordlessly, he takes her hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Malcolm and Edrisa arrive the house is more crowded than before. JT is by the doorway with Ainsley and Dani sharing the couch. Gil has made coffee for everyone, certain that it will be a long night all around. They all look relieved to see them but Gil reads it on his face before anyone else.

“You found something.”

“Hooooo, did I find something.” Edrisa lingers next to him, unsure if she should stay or go. She decides on the former when Ainsley scoots on the couch leaving room for her to sit on the end closest to where Malcolm still stood. “Is she awake?”

“Bright, is this a good idea?” Dani asks sitting up a little straighter. He notes that she’s in much more casual clothes, probably looking to rest before trading shifts with JT.

“Nope. But I think she knows who the killer is. And if I’m right?”

“Go. We’ll be right out here.” Ainsley nods, making the final decision.

He shifts the bag over his shoulder opening the door to the bedroom slowly. In the dim light streaming between the curtains he sees his mother sitting on the side of the bed, she’s got something in her hands but it’s too dark to make out.

“Mom?” Her head turns to him, her expression isn’t the blank unreadable one from earlier. No, she looks relieved that he’s back. The news twists uneasily in his stomach as he shuts the door behind him. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?” He doesn’t really expect her to answer. But when her breathing doesn’t pick up or really make any uncomfortable movements he takes it as permission.

He grabs a chair sliding it so that he can sit across from her. Closer he can see how tired she is. Her breakdown likely didn’t help but she definitely didn’t fall asleep at any point in time since she got back.

“Stop me if you need to, ok?” She blinks at him so he continues. “Why did you go see him?” He treads lightly, testing the waters first. An annoyed expression passes over her face but she doesn’t shift or startle. He digs in the duffel he brought along pulling out the bag of tea. “Is this why?”

When her eyes land on the bag she takes a shuddering breath, it’s confirmation enough. 

“This was the tea he used to make.” She blinks back the tears, correct again. “This is why you visited him. The killer made you the same tea, you knew he had something to do with all of this.” Her lower lip wobbles but she holds herself tightly wound. “He knew who did this.” The first tear that slides down her cheek makes him feel like the worst. “Do you want me to stop?” She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. Her hand unfolds and in it is a crumpled note. He takes it, slowly as not to startle her into shutting back down.

Just like you like.

“Did the killer write this?” A nod. Malcolm takes a breath trying not to be frustrated that she kept this from them. Had they known they would have questioned his father so much sooner. The information she knew, it’d be common knowledge. “Thank you.” He says instead, taking her hand and enclosing it in both of his. She’d held his shaking hand like this countless amounts of times, her fingers stroking the back of his hand in the same way he mimics now. “I need you to tell me what he told you.” She starts, but doesn’t pull away. “Please.”

Her voice is deep, more tonal than he’s ever heard come from her. He almost thinks he imagines it. It’s too low to understand what she says.

“What?”

“He’s a cop.” Her eyes meet his, glassy from unshed tears. He smiles at her sadly, too caught up in the fact that his mom is back before the gravity of her words hits him full force.

Oh.

Shit.

#prodigal son #gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #gilssica #gilica #jessica whitly #gil arroyo #malcolm bright #edrisa tanaka #Ainsley Whitly #prodigal son AU #kidnapped au #notgonnarememberthis fics #find your way (back to me) #find your way (back to me) chapter 11 #you'll take my whitly family parallels over my dead body #fanfic

[artificialqueens]

Overpowered Part 3 (Branjie)-athena2

A/N: Thank you all for the great feedback on Chapter 2! This chapter is a little angsty, but I hope you like it! Any feedback you have would be amazing, it really means a lot to me. ***This chapter has a mild panic attack, implied abuse, and discussion of medication.*** I also made some Brooke and Vanessa moodboards for this fic! Find them on my tumblr @buffywhovianpotterlock.

I’m surprised you’re still functioning.

We made the drugs that made you.

Precious little Frost.

She throws the weighted blanket off with a sigh, Vanessa following. “Can’t sleep either?”

Brooke shakes her head.

“I want to read it now.” She’s been tossing and turning since she told Vanessa she was ready, and she’s ready now. She has to know. She digs through her dresser.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. You’ll do it with me? Please?”

Brooke can lift a car over her head, but nothing could ever be heavier than this folder.

“Of course.” They drop down at the kitchen table.

Brooke has been picturing this moment since she asked Nina for advice, the older woman’s voice filling her head.

The file might give you some closure. But, given what happened last time, it’s likely it could cause another flashback. We could look at it here, or you can do it on your own if you’d like, but be aware you might respond negatively.

It’s what she figured Nina would say, an answer that wasn’t really an answer.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay? Promise?” Vanessa asks, grabbing her hand.

“Promise.”

Her free hand flips the folder open. The vaguely familiar words burn her eyes as she wades through medical terms of the injuries from the plane crash last March. A broken leg, broken arm, 3 broken ribs, collapsed lung, internal bleeding, and several cuts to her body. Does she feel the pain from those broken bones now, or is she imagining it? She touches the thick white scar on her chest absently.

She suddenly remembers a drainage tube between her ribs (she has a small scar there too) and the long scar down her chest, and white tabs stuck to her skin, connected to monitors that beeped piercingly, and pain like someone had carved her chest open and pieced it together with Scotch tape. Then the doctor put something in her IV, and it all went black.

“You good?”

Brooke jumps. She’d forgotten Vanessa was there. “Yeah. So far it’s just what happened after the crash.”

Subject name removed from flight list. No survivors. Flight list not released, subject will be presumed dead if any inquiries. Subject’s public records here (pgs 2-8), scrubbed from databases.

She turns the page. Scans of her birth certificate and driver’s license. She’s Canadian? A fight between her and Vanjie runs through her head, Vanjie grinning and teasing her for saying “soar-y”.

Newspaper clippings. Maybe there’s something about her before, or her family— she hits two obituaries. Her parents. She can’t read the rest. She just can’t.

Brooke should feel something, she knows she should. But she can’t remember. Nothing at all, not even a flash. It’s just an empty space inside her where she knows the memories should be.

She moves on hastily. Hytes New Co-Director of Toronto Ballet Company. She remembers the feeling of her feet in ballet shoes, but co-director?

The clippings are ghosts of her old life and she can’t take the haunting anymore. Brooke moves to lists of dates, starting when they took her and continuing until this summer. Her dosages, her exams, her training, her missions. The first rows cover her progress healing and responding to the drugs. Drugs that the two men she met hours ago had made for her and countless others. Her stomach twists painfully and she jumps ahead.

5/30/2018: Subject at healthy weight, physically approved to begin training. 10% accuracy with ice blasts.

Brooke remembers the row of bright red targets. His voice thunders in her ears. “You have until October to get half those targets.” It’s a command.

8/13/2018: Subject having nightmares, inquiring about old life. Subject sedated, given 100mg dosage in IV overnight. Had no memory of asking questions after waking.

She skips over training logs, punishments, and medical data. It’s like reading about someone else. She has vague images of the events, but they’re getting stronger and clearer as she reads.

 10/1/2018: Subject achieved 65% target accuracy, no punishment required.

“Maybe that’s enough.”

“I’m f-fine.”

11/19/2018: Training complete. 100% accuracy, blast strength increased. Dosage (10mg) steady and effective. Subject compliant and approved for field missions.

It’s all here. Labs she’d broken into. Weapons and technology she’d stolen. Every injury, every new drug sample. Records of fights with Black Diamond, with Shuga Rush, with–her heart skips a beat–Vanjie.

And the last one. The very last one before Vanessa saved her and took her away from them.

7/7/2019: Vitals steady. Subject compliant. Dosage to remain doubled until further notice.

“Brooke?” She can hardly hear Vanessa.

“These are all the bad things I did. ”

“Baby, no. Those things weren’t you.”

She shakes her head, heart straining her chest.

“You want to make us proud on your first mission, don’t you?”

She nods.

“Remember, if you fail, that’s bad. You know what happens when you’re bad.”

“I won’t fail, General.”

“Brooke!”

Her lungs are on fire, burning all her air. 5 things she can see.

She sees the kitchen wall across from her but it’s tilted–Vanessa is holding her tightly, stopping her from falling off the chair she’s half-out of. She pulls herself upright, eyes absorbing the wooden table as her breathing slows.

“Are you okay?” Vanessa tenderly brushes sweaty hair off Brooke’s forehead.

“Y-Yeah.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“So do you,” Brooke says quietly. All Vanessa does is take care of her, worry about her, and Brooke knows she hasn’t done enough to help, especially with the vision. Vanessa’s been through bad shit like her and is suffering in ways Brooke can’t imagine, but she’s always so strong, iron forged in fire–

“Less thinking, more sleeping,” Vanessa insists, leading Brooke to bed.

Their bodies intertwine under the blankets, but neither sleeps. —

“Brooke, come here!” Vanessa yells around a mouthful of pumpkin brownie, tapping on the window.

On the street below, a sea of kids in bright colors weave in and out of pumpkins and decorations. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to look at, until-

“Are they…”

Vanessa nods.

Two little girls head down the sidewalk. One wears a red suit with a V on the chest, the other in familiar royal blue, and she can just see the neon F.

“We’re legit heroes now, baby,” Vanessa grins, but her tears mirror Brooke’s own.

Their lips meet and Vanessa tastes like chocolate.

She thinks it’s the first time they’ve both forgotten about the vision. —

There’s been small earthquakes and electrical damage around the city, but no sightings of Quake or Shockwave.

Their nights are spent tackling common criminals beneath an inky sky.

She watches Vanjie scream at robbers and would-be murderers while desperately beating the crap out of them like it’s the only thing reminding her she’s still alive. The only thing keeping her alive.

Vanessa is suffering but Brooke has no idea how to help.

It’s like watching someone drown but being unable to save them.

Vanessa isn’t eating. Her eyes are rimmed with shadows. Her skin is painted purple and blue from all the fighting.

She doesn’t want to talk about it, and Brooke doesn’t want to force her.

Vanessa is close to breaking, and as much as Brooke wants to shatter, she can’t.

Sometimes she can’t even look at Vanessa without wanting to cry because she may never see her again.

Brooke’s heart is made of glass, but she needs to let it ice over before Vanessa burns herself out.

Because even though they have time, Brooke feels like she’s losing Vanessa already. —

It’s probably a stupid idea, but it has A’Keria’s blessing, so there’s hope.

Brooke works while Vanessa showers. She moves chairs and couch cushions and blankets until she has a sturdy blanket fort. She arranges fluffy pillows underneath, lays out the potato-chip cookies she’d made, and gets The Notebook set up.

Brooke is waiting when she emerges from the bathroom in her pajamas. “I have a surprise,” she says, covering Vanessa’s eyes. “Sorry about the cold hands.”

“I’m used to it. And there better not be any haunted house shit in here. Halloween’s over.”

“Nothing scary, I promise.” She removes her hands and watches Vanessa’s eyes get big, Brooke’s heart growing with them.

“Brooke.” Her hand goes to her mouth. “How did you…A’Keria,” she answers herself as she slides under the fort. “Damn. I love you so much. I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Brooke says as she nestles beside her. “So, um, I wanted to ask how you’re doing? Be honest.”

Vanessa shrugs and stares at the cookies. Brooke’s never seen her at such a loss for words. “I…I don’t know. I’m pissed–not at Yvie, it’s not her fault–but at everything, I guess, and I’m confused and sad and really fucking tired of it all, honestly.”

Brooke nods. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But if you want to talk-”

“I know you want to help, but I don’t want to talk. Please.” Her voice gets small and Brooke’s heart aches for her. “I usually love screaming about my problems and feelings and shit, and I know everyone thinks it’ll help to talk about it, but I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs. “I just want to watch this movie and have you hold me.”

“Of course.” She presses play as Vanessa curls into her side, Brooke’s arms steadying around her, feeling how tense she is.

It didn’t go quite as she planned, but Vanessa falls asleep with a smile on her face, so it wasn’t a total failure. —

“You seem a little distracted. Anything you want to talk about?” Nina’s voice drips with concern and Brooke wants to tell her. She should tell her.

She shrugs, fingers digging into the squeeze ball.

“Anything at all?”

“Meds,” Brooke mumbles, finally bringing them up like she’d told Vanessa she would a month ago.

“Something in particular about them?”

Another shrug.

“Can you give me a little something to go on?” Nina asks gently.

“I think I want to take them,” Brooke says eventually, eyes on her lap.

If Nina is surprised, she hides it well. “Okay. Did something happen that caused you to want them? You seem a little hesitant, and I want to make sure you’re confident and comfortable before I prescribe anything.”

She’s about to shrug again when she can’t keep it quiet anymore. “I…I’m just sick of it! I’m sick of sweating in the grocery store and thinking I’m gonna have a heart attack when I leave the house! I’m sick of the panic attacks and the headaches and not sleeping and I…” The outburst quickly drains her and her next words are a whisper. “I just want to be better.”

Nina is quiet.

“I’m s–I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling.” Nina pauses. “Brooke, I’m so incredibly proud of you. I want to say that first because I think you need to hear it.”

Tears spring in Brooke’s eyes. Nina was proud of her.

“I understand why you’re upset, and why you’re scared. Anyone would be after what you’ve been through. But if you feel ready, I do think medication would help you.”

“But if I…” Her voice trembles as she releases a fear she hasn’t even told Vanessa. “If I take them, doesn’t it mean I’m not good enough? That I’m weak?”

“Oh, Brooke,” Nina says softly, and her eyes look slightly damp. “Not at all. You’re doing so well. There’s absolutely no shame in needing help. Asking for help and taking medication shows how strong you are, how hard you’re working to get better.”

Nina passes her the tissues and Brooke no longer hides her tears. “I’m ready,” she confirms.

Nina smiles. “There’s one more thing I want you to try.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow.

“I want you to try not to apologize when you’re here.”

Nina might as well have asked her to pilot a rocketship.

“I know it’s a lot, and I don’t expect you to do it immediately,” Nina amends at Brooke’s bewildered expression. “It’s just something I want you to try.”

Brooke nods.

“And Happy Thanksgiving!” Nina crows. —

She and Vanessa wake at sunrise.

“Please tell me you don’t play Monopoly on Thanksgiving,” Brooke begs as they season the turkey.

“Oh no, that’s for birthdays only.”

“Thank God.”

“On Thanksgiving and Christmas we do bingo.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Mmm, you haven’t played with Silk. The bitch uses six cards. She used to keep a marker in her pocket and change the numbers. And she has to call out the numbers herself because she doesn’t trust us.”

“So I guess I’ll hide the valuables?”

Vanessa laughs and kisses her cheek.

Brooke knows what she’s thankful for. —

Silk barges in an hour early presenting her sweet potato casserole like it’s made of gold.

“Thank God we got Brooke to make the pies. Last year A’Keria was in her health-food phase and tried to poison us with low-fat nonsense,” Silk grumbles. “I almost wasted away.”

“And she brought that green shit white people love,” Vanessa adds.

“Kale?” Brooke guesses.

“That’s it.”

“She better not mess with my mashed potatoes. Last year she put cauliflower in them. Says you can’t taste the difference. Believe me,” Silk pats her chest proudly, “I can taste it.” —

“Everything good here?” A’Keria checks, glancing at the food covering every inch of counter surface.

“Yeah, I just hope Scarlet and Yvie like it.”

“Girl, you could go on the Food Network,” she declares, pointing to the pie-crust leaves on top of the pumpkin pie. “Everyone’s gonna love it.” A’Keria pats her arm in reassurance and the calm runs through her immediately. Brooke smiles in thanks, and A’Keria winks. —

“A’Keria, these potatoes are so good. What the hell is in them?” Yvie asks and Silk nods with her mouth full of them.

“Just butter and cream.” She pauses, grinning devilishly at Silk. “And cauliflower.”

Silk almost chokes. “You lying hoe!” She grabs a serving spoon and chases A’Keria around the table while the rest of them roar with laughter.

Brooke catches Vanessa’s eye, and she knows they’re thinking the same thing: Please don’t ever let this end. —

After a 2-hour bingo game resulting in 3 ripped cards, 2 spilled cups of coffee, one marker hurled out the window, Yvie flinging whipped cream in Scarlet’s hair, Silk almost swallowing a bingo ball, Brooke launching walnut shells like missiles, and Vanessa’s pumpkin pie fork nearly taking out A’Keria’s eye, everyone heads home.

“Brooke, I almost forgot,” Silk says as she leaves. “That Plastique girl? I found her.” —

She bounces her leg in her and Vanessa’s favorite coffee shop, because Nina had suggested they go somewhere she felt comfortable.

“You okay?” Vanessa asks. Brooke felt fine doing this without Nina, but there’s no way she’s doing it without Vanessa, even though Brooke feels guilty for dragging her along to something about her when they could be focusing on Vanessa.

“Yeah. It’s…she knew me before, you know? Not me now. And I’m not who I used to be. I don’t even know who I used to be.”

“Well, maybe you can’t focus on who you were. Because you are who you are now, and you don’t need to be anyone else. And for the record, I like who you are now a whole lot,” Vanessa bats her eyelashes and Brooke feels warmth spread through her.

Plastique looks exactly like she did in Brooke’s dreams–long black hair and a face so delicate it could be a doll’s.

She bursts into tears when she sees Brooke, touching her arm like she can’t believe she’s real. Which she probably can’t, Brooke realizes. She thought I was dead.

She gives Plastique the Silk-approved story: Brooke survived the plane crash with severe memory loss, met Vanessa, and has been trying to regain her memory. It’s not a total lie, but Brooke still sweats as she tells it, even though Plastique believes it and cries again halfway through.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t look for you. They said no one survived and I never thought…”

“Of course you didn’t. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Brooke, it’s my fault you were on the plane,” Plastique says suddenly, voice thick.

“What do you mean?”

“I was supposed to be on it, but there was a mix-up and there wasn’t enough seats, so I was gonna take a later flight. You wanted to stay with me, but I told you to go…”

For just a second, Brooke considers how easy it would be. To blame Plastique, to have someone to hate for putting her on that plane and in the lab’s hands. But she can’t. It’s not Plastique’s fault, just like it’s not her fault. Nina always tells her it’s no one’s fault but the lab’s, and it’s never felt as true as it does now.

“No,” Brooke says firmly. “Nina–she’s my psychiatrist–she told me if you wouldn’t blame someone else for something, you shouldn’t blame yourself for it either. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you,” Brooke’s voice is fierce as she grips Plastique’s hand.

Plastique nods, wiping her tears.

Plastique had been an intern at the ballet company that Brooke was co-director of. Brooke had danced professionally with the same company for 6 years. She was leaving on her first tour as co-director when the plane went down.

Vanessa’s eyes silently ask if she remembers any of this. She remembers twirling across a stage, costumes light against her skin. She remembers feeling free.

Plastique pulls out her phone. “Here’s a picture of you when you danced.”

Brooke sees herself on the screen but can’t quite believe it’s her. She’s in white from her tiara to her pointe shoes, lacey costume on her lean body, hair pulled into a bun. She looks confident, so far from the Brooke who flinches at loud noises and stutters when ordering food that they’re hardly the same person.

“I’m loving this short hair on you, girl. You cut it right before the tour. I’m glad you kept it,” Plastique says.

Brooke’s never thought about it. It was short when she woke up at the lab, and they had kept it like that so it wasn’t in the way for her training or their medical exams. She likes it short and A’Keria trims it for her.

They talk for another hour, and Plastique promises to keep in touch.

Brooke is quiet on the way home, her mind buzzing.

“You alright?” Vanessa asks. “That was probably a lot, huh?”

She nods. She doesn’t know if she should miss the Brooke in that picture when she doesn’t really know that person. She doesn’t know if she should try to be more like that Brooke.

She thinks of what Vanessa said. Maybe it’s not about who she was. Maybe she doesn’t need to be anyone else.

Just being herself is enough. —

The last day of November dawns unusually bright.

Brooke stands over the sink with a pill in her hand. She looks out the window and her stomach drops, pill slipping through her fingers.

She feels the urge to run outside, let the flakes melt on her tongue, let the cold steal her breath and freeze her cheeks.

But she doesn’t.

Because it’s the first snowfall of the season, and they’re running out of time.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #superhero au #overpowered #athena2 #tw mild panic attack #tw implied abuse #concrit welcome #submission

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Marked (Part 16)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1780

Warnings: None.

A/N: Big thanks to @indecisive20something for the sweet message, which was exactly the push I needed to start on this again. 

I tried not to think about it, because I knew once I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. My heartbeat rattled around in my rib cage in time with the constant loop of What do I want? What do I want? What do I want? running through my head. That was a dangerous question, with answers that twisted around and knotted together and tightened in my chest until I couldn’t breathe.

Work was busy enough that I could manage not to drown in the questions, and then I collapsed into bed and slept like the dead when I got home. So far, so good.

I woke up to a text from Dean.

Still want to get together this afternoon?

Sure. I’m done at 4.

I moved through my day like a robot, like I wasn’t fully present in my own body, everything jerky and automatic. The noise and the smells and the customers trying to get my attention were too much, too loud, interrupting the careful blankness I was clinging to.

I stepped out into the back alley for my fifteen, leaning heavily against the brick wall, and looked up at the grey sky, wishing I could see the stars. My phone vibrated.

I’ll come pick you up, okay?

Okay. See you soon.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

——-

The humid spring air drags at my skin, tugging at my fingers when I stick my hand out the open window and let it ride the pressure of the wind. Dean’s drumming absently on the steering wheel, singing along just a little bit off-key. I turn up the volume. His grin is blinding.

“Let’s just… go somewhere,” I say impulsively, and he’s already nodding.

“Where?”

“I’ve never seen the Pacific.”

The sun is setting as we drive up State Route 1. The light catches pink and orange on the tiny ripples of distant waves, bright gold on Dean’s eyelashes, and he looks like he’s glowing when he smiles. I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of those smiles.

We park somewhere and hop out of the car, kick off our shoes, set them on Baby’s hood and stumble hand in hand toward the shore. The loose sand is warm under our feet, shifting and sliding with each step. I almost trip, but Dean’s got me, safe and sure, tugging me back to upright with one strong hand.

I shriek when the cold surf hits my toes. The water gurgles in and hisses away, steady, endless. The hems of our jeans are soaked already, but we don’t mind.

When the last rays of sun have faded and the salty breeze starts to nip at my bare skin, Dean wraps me in his flannel and we sit on the hood of the car, sharing the last of the road snacks for our own familiar version of a picnic dinner.

I’d joked, earlier, about driving forever, but the truth is that I want to be home. I miss our bed, the soft blankets that smell like Dean, and I miss the library, and I miss Sam, and all the other mundane bits of our life together. So Dean pulls back onto the highway and we head east, and I fall asleep curled in the passenger seat, the next best thing to home.

I love waking up with Dean, the way he holds me in his sleep, pressed firmly to my back with his arm curled protectively around me, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. I take it in for a few minutes, still and silent, until he starts to stir, his thumb stroking over my collarbone and his nose nuzzling my ear. I hear the happy little noise he makes when he remembers we’re both naked, and even though I’m sore and sated from last night, I wiggle back against him, breath catching when he starts to press gentle kisses to the curve of my shoulder.

I roll over lazily, molding myself to his chest, and kiss him properly. He’s smiling against my lips. When I look at him, he’s looking back through half-closed eyes, sleepy and sweet and soft, the Dean that only I get to see. I love him, love him in a way that makes my heart swell and puts stars in my eyes and brings every other stupid cliche to life. I love him so much I can barely breathe sometimes.

Bonham jumps up on the bed by our feet, whining happily. She’s always so excited to start the day that her entire body vibrates with the wagging of her tail. She wriggles in between us, trying to give Dean his morning face-licking, and even though Dean’s grumbling and swatting at her, he’s smiling with such fondness that I giggle.

“For someone who swore he’d never have a dog…” I start, but Bonham lunges at my face instead while Dean laughs.

“Okay, Bonnie, let’s go,” he says, trying his best to sound annoyed. Bonham waits by the door, ears raised, while Dean fumbles with his pants. I admire the muscles in his shoulders as he pulls on a shirt, half-tempted to drag him back into bed and map the freckles with my tongue.

Sam’s got my favorite mug waiting by the time I shuffle into the kitchen, and there’s a fresh pot of coffee, still steaming hot. Cup in hand, I move through the familiar steps of our morning routine, filling Bonham’s water dish and scooping food into her bowl, ducking under Sam’s arm to swipe a piece of bacon from the pile waiting on a paper towel.

When the jangling of dog tags announces Dean’s return, everything’s ready. I slide Dean’s plate across the table and he gives me a sleepy-eyed smile, already reaching for his fork.

“Love you,” he says fervently, when I pass him his coffee.

“Love you more,” I respond, and I kiss his cheek before settling down in my own chair. Sam heaves a long-suffering sigh, but he’s smiling.

“What’s the plan for the day?” Sam asks.

Dean’s too busy shoveling eggs into his mouth to talk, so I answer: “Checking out that venue I told you about. The one by the lake.”

“Can’t we just elope?” Dean says, around a mouthful, and I roll my eyes affectionately.

“Careful, one of these days I’ll get sick of making floral decisions and actually take you up on that,” I tease. Dean’s the one who wants to go traditional, always has been; if it were up to me, we’d have gotten married in the woods the day he proposed, with nobody but the birds and the stream to witness it.

Sure enough, he huffs and makes some excuse about not disappointing my mother, and Sam and I exchange a knowing look across the table.

Dean’s hand finds mine on the table. He squeezes gently, interlacing our fingers, and I pick up my coffee left-handed, reluctant to let go.

I couldn’t care less about the wedding, about flowers or catering, about whether he’ll wear a tux or his rattiest old flannel, but as far as I’m concerned, the rest of our lives can’t come soon enough.

There’s someone calling my name, I realize. It’s distant and faint, echoing, and I feel a flutter of panic in my rib cage. It’s Dean’s voice, and there’s a harsh edge of fear there that cuts through the warmth in my chest. The taste of bacon is fading, giving way to something metallic and choking. Sam and Dean’s faces are dissolving in front of me, blurring and fading, and when I try to squeeze Dean’s hand again it’s not there.

It’s just not there, and I try to hold on, try not to let it slip away, but it’s no good.

——-

Something in my arm was stinging, biting through the confusion, and I blinked down at it, registering a syringe at my feet. Dean’s face in front of me was pale and scared, but as I watched, the terror turned slowly to relief.

“Oh, thank Christ, holy fuck,” he was saying, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and he sat back, shoulders sagging.

“Do you know where you are?” Sam said gently, and I looked around. I recognized the bunker, the main room, but I realized with a sharp chill of fear that I had no memory of getting there. Part of me was still trapped in the dream, still warm and safe and comfortable, and I wanted to close my eyes and go back, bury myself in that world where everything was exactly as it should be.

“You were attacked,” Dean was saying. The heels of his hands were still pressed to his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at me.

I scanned through a foggy series of memories, coming up with the alleyway, the sound of footsteps, and then nothing.

“By a djinn,” Sam said, and I stared at him silently.

“They feed on humans,” Dean said gruffly. “They poison you, make you see things… when I showed up to meet you, they said you hadn’t come back from your break.”

“You found me?” I asked. My voice was faint and shaking. He nodded.

My head was spinning. I fought back a sudden surge of nausea.

“Those things I saw,” I stammered. They’d seemed so real, so fucking real I would’ve sworn I could feel every callus on Dean’s fingers, and part of me was straining to hear the tip-tapping of paws and the jangle of a dog collar in the hallway.

“They’re mind readers,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “They can see what you want, more than anything, and they make you think you have it while they keep you sedated.”

I closed my eyes and choked back a sob. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment, knowing that Sam and Dean were witnessing this ridiculous display, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

They can see what you want, more than anything...

It had been a fucking hallucination, all of it, the warmth and the comfort and the dog and the ring, but it had felt so real and so right, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight and wished, more than anything, that I could fall back into that stupid domestic fantasy where I’d finally, finally, felt at peace.

The worst part? I didn’t have to ask myself what I wanted, not any more, not when the answer had played out around me, 3D and high-def and undeniable… but now that I knew, I was faced with the sickening realization that what I wanted was impossible.

That perfect blissful quiet life was nothing more than a dream. Reality was still a fucking mess.

.

.

Next part is HERE. 

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a note HERE. 

#spn #spn fic #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester x you

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Fragile Things (ch.3, baon)

Summary:  It’s been a very long week

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Notes: Brace yourselves, you have to go forward to go back...but because I had a few people who were concerned enough to ask, let me reassure y'all that no one is dying in this series, nor would I ever have Edge and Stretch separate, nope, nope, nope. Life isn't perfect for them, never was, but you can count on that much, for certain.

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

When Edge first opened his sockets, he wasn’t sure where he was. Blearily, he looked around the room, his thoughts tangled and sleepy.

The walls were painted a soft yellow and hanging on them were paintings of soothing landscapes and floral arrangements, done by the artists in the Monster community. On a corner table was a vase of dried flowers, carefully displayed to bring a touch of soft color to the room. The overall effect would have given the appearance of a luxury hotel room, if not for the hospital bed and the monitoring equipment.

There were comfortable chairs, a far cry from those in the waiting room. Blue was curled up asleep in one of them, his head resting on his updrawn knees. Beneath the curtained window was a cushioned bench. At some point in the night Sans had crawled up on it and he was sound sleep, unflinching at the dawn light pouring across his face.

They both had matching dark smudges beneath their sockets, their faces lined with weariness. He surely had a set of his own. Matching luggage, wasn’t that the witticism?

His exhaustion must be making him giddy, if he was thinking up jokes. Sleeping in a chair had done little for his fatigue but his magic had recovered quite a bit, they should all have gotten something to eat before they’d fallen asleep last night, they—

It was only when the blankets on the bed shifted that Edge woke up entirely, everything that had happened the night before falling painfully into place. Stretch stirring was likely what had woken him, and Edge leaned back in his chair, watching as Stretch’s face scrunched up, his sockets flickering.

At some point in the night, someone had removed most of the electrodes, which meant someone had been in this room and Edge had slept through it. That he’d berate himself for later; right now his attention was entirely on Stretch as he slowly woke.

He blinked rapidly, his head lifting from the pillow as he looked around in confusion. His eye lights met Edge’s and he could see dawning realization before he let his head drop back on the pillow, closed his sockets as he croaked out a heartfelt, “fuck.”

“Yes, I would call that an accurate assessment,” Edge said acidly. Stretch’s sockets pinched shut tighter for a brief moment before he slit them open again, fuzzy white lights meeting the crimson of his glare. “’Fuck’ is certainly a word to describe this. Perhaps I can use it in a sentence for you. For example, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Behind him, he could hear Sans and Blue stirring, but he didn’t look away from Stretch, who was shrinking down in a guilty cringe. It confirmed everything he’d been afraid of; not only had Stretch been doing something dangerous, he’d done it on purpose, without even the barest precaution of a lab partner. The fear he’d been swallowing back all night, waiting hours for if when his husband woke, was congealing within him, hardening into fury.

Pure carelessness, that was all it was, Stretch so foolhardy with his own life, and for what?

“Would you care to explain what happened?” Edge demanded. “Do you even know?”

Blue slid out of the chair, scrubbing hard at his sockets as he came up to Edge’s elbow, “Pappy, you should rest—"

They both ignored him and Stretch burst out, “look, i know, i fucked up.”

Edge laughed harshly and Stretch cringed harder, gripping his hands together, the bones scraping. “Oh, well, then, you know that you fucked up, that makes it all fine, doesn’t it?”

“i didn’t say that!” Stretch blurted. He was breathing heavily, the machines giving a beep of warning. But a quick Check showed his HP was fine and Edge wasn’t about to apologize for Checking him. As agitated as Stretch was, Edge doubted he noticed. “it’s just with everything that’s been happening lately, i was trying to…to get the fucking thing to work. i thought if i could get it working properly, things would get better.” He reached out tentatively, his fingers drifting limply down to the bed when Edge didn’t take his hand. “i thought, humans might not like us but if we could work through a way to help them heal? they’d be begging for us to stay aboveground.”

“Pray tell, how does that excuse cutting corners? I may not understand everything you do in your lab, but I do know Sans should have been with you.”

“edge,” Sans said behind him. His voice was low and miserable, but Edge couldn’t pay attention to that. His focus was a laser on Stretch, angry heat throbbing in his rib cage.

“i know,” Stretch whispered. A tear streaked down his cheekbone and for the first time since they’d gotten together Edge felt a brief, vicious moment of satisfaction at seeing it, coupled with distant pain. 

“Do you have any idea how it felt to go downstairs and see you like that?” Edge went on, relentlessly.

“i get it, okay?” Stretch’s voice broke, pleading.

“If you don’t care how it made me feel, then think about your brother!”

“i care how you feel!” Stretch shouted. The tears were flowing now, bright orange against the paleness of his skull. “of course i fucking care! you’ve been under so much stress lately, i only wanted to—" Stretch bit off the words, scrubbing angrily at his cheek bones with the back of his hand. “i was trying to help!”

That was like a blow, directly to his soul and abruptly it all made a glaring sort of sense. Stretch had done this because of him. He'd risked his life for him, all for him.

Slowly, Edge stood, the chair scraping loudly on the floor as he pushed it back. Without a word, he turned and walked out, couldn’t listen to Stretch frantically calling his name. He needed a moment, or he was going to say something he’d truly regret.

His boots were too loud against the clean tile of the floor, the steady sound of them lulling as Edge walked swiftly through the corridors. His feet carried him automatically to the visitor area where doors led outside to a terrace. Distantly, he registered someone standing on one end, smelled a whiff of cigarette smoke. He ignored them, pushing aside the flutter of emotion that familiar scent gave him, and walked to the other side to brace his hands against the snowy stone balustrade.

The volcanic heat in his soul was pounding with molten fury, LV that rarely troubled him clamoring unforgivingly. Edge dug his fingers into the stone until they hurt, the pain purposefully distracting as he concentrated on breathing. In to a count of four, then out, drawing out the exhalation as long as he could. Finding a rhythm, letting it soothe him.

The cold helped as well; it cleared his head, helped him focus. Edge stood there until his feet and hands were numb, his skull chilly with drying sweat.

He gave it another long moment before he said, acidly, “I know you’re there.”

Red stepped out from a shadow, the glow of his eye lights appearing abruptly. “good, was getting sick of hiding.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slender cigar, biting off the end with sharp teeth and spitting it over the terrace. He took his time lighting it, scratching the match against the stone balustrade and holding the cigar in the tiny flame until the end glowed cherry red. He took a long puff, exhaling a vile cloud of smoke that wafted directly into Edge’s face. “all right now?”

Edge considered it before he answered, watching the ash grow in length at the cigar tip before his brother tapped it carefully away. “Yes. If you blow that smoke in my face again, I’m going to shove that cigar through your eye socket.”

A grin quirked up the corner of Red’s mouth, but he moved to stand downwind. “whatever you say, boss.”

It wasn’t worth the argument to tell his brother not to call him that, not at this moment. “How long have you been here?”

Red shrugged, leaning with his back against the railing. “since last night. didn’t want to interrupt your little slumber party, so i talked with the doc. sleeping pretty heavy these days, aren’t you, bro.”

Edge didn’t bother answering that. His brother would find a way to punish him for it, eventually. For now, he had more important questions, “What did the doctor say?”

“said that your liability is fucking lucky you found him when you did,” Red said bluntly. Edge did not flinch, only met his brother’s gaze evenly. Eventually, Red nodded. “he’ll be okay. sans was a little forthcoming, at least,” something in his expression soured a little at that. Perhaps Edge wasn’t the only one with a reprimand in his future. “that little toy of theirs was supposed to take a little of their magic. no big deal, both of them have it in spades. only, something backfired and instead it drained him dry. when it ran out of magic, it went for his hp.”

Perhaps it was a measure of kindness that Red stopped there, that he didn’t confirm what Edge already knew. If he hadn’t been worried when Stretch didn’t show up for dinner, if he’d stayed later at work, if, if, if. Or perhaps Red didn’t want to antagonize his LV any further by saying what they were both thinking.

Dust.

With a flick of his wrist, Red tamped out his cigar, tossing the butt into a nearby ashtray. “if you’re done with your bitch fit, we should get back. your pretty little honey bun is about to have an aneurysm. doc is talking about sedating him if he doesn’t calm down.”

Guilt flared, as painfully cold as his anger had been hot but Red was already shaking his head. “don’t even, kid. sometimes you gotta walk away. Better to take a chance leaving than staying like that.”

Edge nodded curtly, turning on heel and walking away. His brother didn’t follow him, but then, Edge didn’t expect him to. Red would find his own way back to the room.

He could hear weeping before he even made it to the doorway, taking a slow breath and bracing himself before he walked in. Blue was sitting on the bed with Stretch, holding his brother and rocking him, singing softly. Sans was nowhere in sight.

Blue’s eye lights jerked towards Edge as he stepped through the door, wide and accusing but he said nothing, only loosened his hold as Edge moved up to the side of the bed.

When Stretch lifted his face from his brother’s shoulder, his face was awash with tears. The sound he made, a low, whimpering moan, tore at Edge’s battered soul. He let Stretch grab him with frantic hands, let him pull him in, holding him achingly tight.

“don’t leave me,” Stretch pleaded, his unsettled hands grasping at him frantically. “please, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, don’t leave, please…”

“Hush,” Edge murmured. Uselessly; Stretch only babbled on, but he managed to move enough to pull Stretch into his lap in a tangle of blankets and tubes. Gently, he cupped the back of Stretch’s skull, guiding his head down to his own shoulder. Wetness seeped through his shirt almost immediately. Edge ignored it, petting softly, soothingly, as he crooned, “Shh, it’s all right, it’s all right now, I wasn’t leaving, I would never leave you, shhhh. You aren't getting rid of me that easily.”

He heard the door close and sent a thought of silent gratitude at Red, for surely he’d dragged Blue out; it was highly unlikely he’d leave on his own, not with his brother like this. But Edge preferred to deal with his husband’s upset without an audience and he didn’t care to be soothing both Swap brothers. He cared about Blue, for all that he could be an occasional irritant, but his passion and his love was for one skeleton alone, the one in his arms.

Edge only held Stretch as he cried himself out, murmuring useless reassurances until he fell asleep. He waited until he was sure Stretch was sleeping soundly, then, with as much care as he could, Edge lifted Stretch back into the bed. He took his time tucking the blankets around him, wiping away the drying dregs of his tears, then lay down next to him, on top of the covers.

Eventually a nurse came in, pausing as she caught sight of Edge on the bed. Edge glared at her, but she didn’t say a word, only changed the IV bag and left.

With a sigh, he settled in, resting his head on the pillow next to Stretch’s and closed his sockets. He didn’t care what anyone did or didn’t say, doctors, brothers, or the Angel herself.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #by any other name

[classic-rock-roller]

1. You’re with Bonham and Tom one day and for some reason, Tom won’t stop insulting Kevin. There’s not a single aspect of his being that’s not under Tom’s scrutiny, and after a while, Bonham’s had enough. She turns to him and says, “Fucking quit will you? I know you don’t like him but you don’t have to go so far out of your way to be an ass. He’s still a person, and you need to –!” She is cut off when Tom punches her squarely in the face, hard enough that she falls on the ground. You’re about to say something when Tom says, “If you still associate with him then you’re worse than he is. I can’t believe you still let her hand around, babe.” Before you can respond, Bonham gets up slowly, and you see her hands shaking. “If that’s how you feel, fine. I’m going home.” She walks out before you can stop her. What do you say to Tom? How does he respond?

“Stop being an ass, Tom. You know I still talk to him too. Now I have to go catch up to her.” I follow after her to calm her down and apologize for what Tom said and he screams, “Wait! Hon!”  

2. At the party mentioned in the last set, you and Tom go over to Bonham and Kevin, and everyone is surprisingly civil with each other. Kevin says that he’s got a new girlfriend, and Tom asks him who. Kevin just looks at Bonham and then back to him and says, “…….is it not obvious. I’m with Bonham.” How does Tom respond, and what do you and Bonham say?

Tom: Oh... (under his breath) ow...(louder) That’s great! I’m so happy for you. 

He only says that because I dig my fingers into his arm to stop him from being an ass. 

Me: That’s great. I’m so happy for you guys! 

And I pull Bons and Kevin into a group hug. 

Me: My two best friends together. That’s great! 

Bons: ...I didn’t expect you to act like that, Tom. 

3. You and Kevin and Randy and Bonham are out to lunch one day and she’s really jumpy. Every time there’s a noise she jolts and turns to see. Randy asks her what’s wrong and she says, “I can’t get over the feeling that we’re being watched. Can anyone else feel it or am I crazy?” Kevin says, “I mean, you are crazy, but not for this. I’ve got the same feeling.” How do you and Randy respond?

Me: I mean I always have that but that’s because the paparazzi always follow us. 

Randy points to a guy trying hard to blend in with his huge ass camera. 

Randy: Yeah there’s one right there. Maybe that’s why you have that feeling, Hon? 

4. You and Tom are due to hang out with Bonham and her friend Jay one day, and you hear them having a conversation through the door to her apartment as you walk up. You reach up to knock, but not before you hear her tell Jay, “I’ve been trying to help Kevin through rehab, and we’ve really connected, but he’s telling me things I never even thought could be true…I don’t think anyone knows about the things he ’s told me, not even BabyCarrot. I don’t think she knew him at all.” Do you and Tom listen for Jay’s response? If you do, what does he say? What do the both of them say when you walk in? How do you and Tom react to what you heard?

Tom wants to listen but I knock before he can hear anything else. When Bons opens the door she goes, “You heard all that. Didn’t you?” 

Me: Yes, and I’m so glad you can get through to him. I tried and tried for years to get him to open up to me and he always said he didn’t want me to know how fucked up he was. I’m so glad he’s talking to you. You can help him get better. 

Jay: I told her she’d be able to help him get better. He can’t keep all of that he needs someone to talk to. 

Tom: Jesus, I didn’t realize he was THAT deep in. He really does need help. 

5.  Bonham shows up late to your house to go out with you and Tom and Tom’s friends one night. You see she’s got scratches running up her arms and a black eye that was poorly covered with makeup. “You look like shit, what happened?” Tom asks. Bonham says, “Kevin tried this new drug called spice and he had a bad trip. He came after me. Mrs. Cooley, our neighbor, called the cops. When they got there they put him in restraints and sedated him. They’re keeping him at the hospital overnight.” How do you, Tom, and Tom’s 3 friends respond?

Me: I’m going to kill him. He could hit, punch, and kick me, fine. But he can’t hurt you and I know you wouldn’t normally let him so he must have been like really coked up. I’m not letting him hurt you anymore. 

Tom: Whoa, whoa, calm down there, Hon. 

Eric (Tom’s Bassist): Wait, Kevin beat you when you dated?

Fred (Tom’s Drummer): Whoa, dude, are you ok? Should we take you to a hospital? Let me get you a bag of frozen vegetables for your eye. 

Jeff (Tom’s Lead guitarist): Whoa, that's crazy! I hope they can figure out what made him go insane. 

6. Bonham is joining you and Kevin and your sister and Axl and their kid on a trip to the beach. When you get there everyone is ready to go in the ocean except Bonham, who’s got a loose-fitting button down shirt on over her bathing suit. “Come on, don’t be a prude. Take the shirt off.” Axl says. “No,” Bonham says. “I don’t want to.” “Come on,” he says, and reaches for it. “No! Quit it!” Bonham says, before he successfully removes the shirt. “Oh shit…what happened there?” he says, regarding a large and curving scar across her back. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to take it off!” she says. “What happened to you? Do we need to call the cops?” your sister asks her. “NO, we don’t, they can’t do anything about it. I was hanging out with the boys (QR of the 70s) when me and Randy first got together and Kelly pulled his knife on me saying I was going to ruin the band. I tried to run and he got me across my back. Happy?” You were unaware of this. Kevin seems to be too. How do you, Kevin, Axl, and your sister respond?

Me: What?! I’m going to kill him. I’ll fucking hunt him down and kill him. 

Kevin: I know where he lives but I really don’t want to bail you out of jail, sweetheart. So you’re not going to go kill him. 

Axl: Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re a little hot head there BabyCarrot, calm down. 

My sister: Whoa, that is insane. I’m glad you’re ok. 

7. You and Tom are hanging out one day when Kevin calls and asks to come over. Tom says he doesn’t care, so you let him come in. He sits you two down on the couch and says, “I need to ask you both something. I want your blessing to marry Bonham.” You’re confused, but Tom voices your confusion perfectly. “Why are you asking us? We aren’t her parents.” Kevin responds with, “I know, but you two are her closest friends, and if you say yes, I have a feeling she’ll ask you to give her away, Tom. Her dad won’t make the effort to come up here and her mom doesn’t like cameras. That’s beside the point. Will you let me or not?” How do you two react? What does Kevin say to your answer?

Tom and I are both surprised. Him mostly at being told he’d probably give Bons away and me that Kevin wanted to ask us. 

Me: Of course you have my blessing. You’re both my best friends. I’d love to be a part of your wedding. 

Tom: Yeah, of course, you should marry her. You both love each other. It’s quite obvious and if you need me to give her away I’ll gladly do that. 

Kevin (getting choked up and pulling Tom and I into a hug): Thank you guys so much. This means so much to me. I’m glad I have your blessing to marry her. 

8. You and Tom are about to get busy one night, and it’s really late (like 3 AM). Suddenly, the house phone rings. You both ignore it, but the answering machine picks up and it’s Kevin. He’s hysterical. “I found her on the floor and I didn’t know about it she didn’t tell me and just there’s so much blood oh God I have to call someone else oh God oh God oh–…..” Do you go see what the problem is? If you do, what is it? What happens when you get there?

I push Tom off me and run to the phone, “Kev, calm down, ok? Tell me what’s wrong. Assess the situation. Call 911. I’ll be over in a minute.” 

Tom is still laying on the bed and looks at me while I get dressed. “You’re seriously going over there?” “Yes, that’s my best friend. I’d give my life up to protect her. Are you coming or not?” 

He pulls on jeans and a tee and we speed over to Kevin and Bons’ house. The paramedics are there and taking her to the hospital. Kevin is pacing and going, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” While holding their newborn. I go up to him and take the baby and go, “Kev, calm down. What’s wrong?” “She didn’t tell me she was hemorrhaging again and she collapsed on the bathroom floor. Oh god.” 

I hug him and go, “It’s ok we’ll go with you to the hospital, ok? Here hold Emma while I go get the diaper bag and her car seat.” We wait in the ER waiting room until the doctor comes out and tells us she’ll be just fine and that Kevin did the right thing calling 911 when he did. 

9. You and Bonham thought it would be a good idea to go on vacation with Tom and Kevin so they could work through their issues with each other. It goes generally well, but one night each pair goes their separate ways so you can all have a single date. You and Tom are heading back to the hotel room when the key won’t work. “Wasn’t ours 203 not 205?” you ask. “No, I’m positive it’s this one.” Tom says. He jiggles the key around until the door opens, but you soon realize you were right, this isn’t your room, when you see Kevin sitting on the bed and Bonham on her knees in front of him. How do they react to seeing you and what do you two say?

Bons grows red and I cover my eyes while Kevin screams get out. 

Me: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to see this. 

I pull Tom out of the room and over to our room. He’s blushing just as bad as I am and it kind of killed the mood for us for the rest of the night. 

10. On the plane on the way home from vacation, you doze off, exhausted. About halfway through the flight, Bonham nudges your seat with her foot. “Psst. Wake up.” You look around groggily but when you see where she’s pointing you stifle a laugh. Kevin and Tom fell asleep, their heads resting together. How do you respond? What do they say when they wake up?

Me: Aww that’s adorable. 

I pull out my camera and take a picture. We need photographic evidence. 

When they wake up the kind of look at each other and Tom nestles back down. 

Kevin: What are you doing? 

Tom: I don’t care. I’ve grown to like you and I’m tired and comfortable. 

11. You’re in the studio one day helping Tom and his band and Kevin is spam calling your phone. You ignore him until the studio secretary comes in and says, “Mrs. Keifer, we have someone on the phone for you.” You answer it and before you can say anything, Kevin spits, “Is Bonham with you?” “No, why?” you ask. “I found her ring on the ground in the driveway, her phone’s on the counter and nobody knows where she is.” How do you respond? What do you do?

Me: I think I may know where she is. 

I excuse myself from the recording booth and go drive out to a secluded little park where Bons and I used to go when we lived together. I find her sitting on the bench we used to sit on.

Me: Care if I sit next to you. 

I sit next to her and she rests her head on my shoulder. 

Me: What’s wrong Bons?

Bons: I just don’t know if this is right. I love Kevin but I didn’t think this was how it was going to end up. I thought I’d be married to Randy and you’d be married to Kevin. 

Me: You love Kevin right? I can tell you do. You both love each other and life isn’t written in stone this was just where we ended up. 

Bons: I do love him and I want to marry him. 

I drive her back home (she walked there) and when we get back Kevin pulls her into a tight hug. When he pulls away I can see the tears in his eyes, “Where did you go? I was terrified something happened to you.” 

____________________

1) Sean and Kevin have decided to try some edibles that Sean found from a friend. Sean seems to be fine, but Kevin is still high like three days later. On numerous occasions, he’s told you and your singer, “This is all a dream.” One day Sean, being a smartass goes, “Why don’t you go out in the cold to sober up?” Kevin goes, “Maybe I should.” Before promptly stripping down to his boxers and running out into the -12 degree weather. What do you, your singer, and Sean do?

2) You and Rudy are sitting with Kevin, your singer, and Mal and Eddie at the dinner table and you can tell Kevin is a bit coked out. Your singer puts down her fork and goes to Kevin, “Quit the booger sugar, Kevin.” Kevin looks at her, “Booger sugar?” “The cocaine, Kevin.” “Why didn’t you just say that?” “Because your children are present.” How does Kevin respond and what do you, Rudy, Mal, and Eddie say?

3) Tom has been trying to get Kevin in trouble for coke possession for a long time. One day, Kevin gives him some coke and he calls the police on him. This results in both of them being jailed (Kevin for dealing, Tom for possession). When you both go down there to bail them out how are they to each other, what did the do the four hours they were locked up, and what do you and your singer say to them?

4) Your singer and Tom have finally had a kid you and Kevin (who have been newly married) have come to visit them in the hospital. You’re holding your goddaughter and Kevin has is arms wrapped around you and is resting his head on your shoulder. He goes, “You realize we’re going to spoil little Cassie here, right?” How do you respond and what do Tom and your singer say?

5) You and your singer just got back to her and Kevin’s house to find him dressed in a Spiderman suit trying to climb the side of the house. Sean and Rudy are watching from the ground and you go over to them. You nod towards Kevin, “What’s dummy over there trying to do?” Rudy looks to you, “Climb up the side of the house like Spiderman.” Your singer says, “Well he seems to be succeeding.” Right as she says this, Kevin falls and lands on his back in the grass. What do you, your singer, Rudy, and Sean say to him and how does he respond?

6) Your singer and Tom have had their second kid and you and Kevin go to meet your godson. When you get there, your singer smiles at you and hands you her son. “This is Samuel Kevin Keifer.” Kevin stops and looks at her before saying, “You gave him my name for his middle name?” Before your singer can say anything Tom says, “Trust me, it wasn’t my decision. If it was mine it would have been Carl.” “And I’m not giving my son his father’s first name as a middle. You even hate it because you go by Tom or Thomas.” How do you and Kevin respond and what do your singer and Tom say?

7) You and Kevin go with your singer and Tom when they take their kids, Cassandra and Samuel to Disney. Your singer has just gotten four-year-old Sammy settled into the stroller and Tom is holding six-year-old Cassie when your singer goes, “We made it to the happiest place on earth. It’s 9 am. I got a schedule every minute of our day until 9 pm. Pay attention and stay close.” How do you, Kevin, and Tom respond?

8) It’s the middle of the day while you’re in Disney and your singer goes to Tom, “Do you mind pushing Sammy in the stroller while Bons and I take Cassie to go visit the princesses?” Tom looks at her and goes, “No, I’m not going to push him in a stroller, okay? He’s four.” She gives him the look and goes, “Just push him in the stroller.” What does Kevin say and how do you and Tom respond?

9)  You’re still in Disney and while there you and your singer jokingly get in line to meet Gaston while Kevin and Tom watch the kids. Tom says, “Oh, great! Now my wife wants a photo with Gaston. Perfect!” Kevin looks at him, “Do I detect some jealousy in there, Tommy?” How does Tom respond and what do you and your singer say once you get back to the two of them?

10) It’s pretty late in the day and Cassie has been doing good with keeping up but she’s clearly getting tired. She says, “Mommy, my feet hurt.” And before your singer can even get a word out of her mouth, Kevin goes, “Well, hurry up. Make believe your feet aren’t sore. This is Disney, use your imagination.” How do you, your singer, and Tom respond?

11) It’s the middle of the afternoon and it’s very hot. Kevin goes, “You know what I want to ride? A park bench in the shade.” Tom goes, “If something isn’t in the air conditioning. I don’t want to go.” Your singer looks at the two of them and goes, “Oh, something you finally agree on.” How do you, Kevin, and Tom respond?

@osbournebemydaddy your move Bons :) 

#tag game #tag war

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Fragile Hearts Ch. 3: I Want Your Midnights

Remember you can commission me for continuations with just 5 dollars!!! <3 </i>

Click the OP if the READ MORE link does not show!

Click here for chapter 1

Click Here for Ch. 2

Of course a big thank you to the person who commissioned! 

READ ON AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11928798/chapters/26961477

A TRIGGER WARNING- dubious consent/implied assault (in the past NOT between hidge)

You should know that I was debating this chapter and where it went for a while before deciding to go ahead and keep it as it was. I actually had to get my guy friend’s input on it.

I’ve always said that I wanted to write reality. I’ve always wanted to write stories that incorporate the real world, not just some fantasy life. I believe that the things we are shielded from in literature, those things that place banned books on a list together, are all things that need to be talked about. So I’m hoping that you all as reader can understand that too.

Please feel free to stop reading if it gets uncomfortable. I promise the chapter after will pick up just fine. But if you are willing to read it, please understand why I write what I write. These things happen. And they aren’t talked about. In a sense, I was also sort of imposing my experiences on these characters. Writing is therapeutic for me and I tend to do so often before I realize it.

I’ve sort of hinted at it with Pidge in previous chapters, but this one explains a little further. There is no explicit detail, I know I may be making it out to seem like a scene from The Kite Runner or something, but no. I just know that a lot of people tend to get offended if not warned about the slightest possible trigger so I’m trying to take precautions.

I hope you all continue to read and watch this love story develop! 

Thank you all for reading!

These butterflies were not welcome. Not in the slightest. They made everything so complicated. And it wasn’t a simple fluttering or even a swarm. It was a fucking tsunami of butterflies every single time she knew Hunk was coming around and every single time as he left.

It was strange though. As soon as Hunk was there with her, as soon as he hugged her and started conversation, they went away. And Pidge felt so comfortable, hours could pass without her realizing just by joking and talking and catching up. It was like her butterflies were sedated by his presence. She was thankful because said sedation kept her from acting weird around him. Hunk knew her too well, and he would easily pick up on her acting different around him.

He stopped by the apartment every day after work to say hi to her and Matt. And he’d stay to talk into the late hours of the night. Typically, Matt would end up excusing himself to sleep, leaving Pidge and Hunk to talk and laugh.

They had a habit of always reverting to food. Somehow, each conversation would veer off until Pidge was asking Hunk about his baking and cooking. And each time, Pidge found herself smiling at the light that came into Hunk’s eyes when he talked about it. Whether it was about umami and how he had to get ingredients to react together just right for that special taste, or if it was about the serenity of icing cakes, or the excitement each time a customer freaked out over the intricateness of their cake. It didn’t matter. Hunk would light up and ramble, and Pidge could feel herself falling a little more for him with each word.

One night, Pidge joined him at his apartment to enjoy a few drinks. She didn’t like drinking around Matt, partially because she always felt like she was still 15 in his eyes. But he would also always be just an 18 year-old in hers. Besides, it was a big day! Hunk had gotten booked for cakes for the entire month of January and it was New Year’s Eve!

New Year’s Day was a Monday, so Matt had taken a single shot of whiskey and gone to bed.

Meanwhile, Pidge was still on vacation and Hunk had closed the bakery for tomorrow. They were just fine sitting in his apartment drinking cheap champagne out of the bottle as they watched fireworks through the window.

“Any resolutions, Pidge?” he asked.

“To graduate. Get a job.” She looked over at him and passed him the bottle. “You?”

He tipped the bottle back and sighed. “I don’t know. Every year since we got back, I tell myself I’m gonna find the others. Just to know they’re okay. But I can never bring myself to.”

She frowned and hoisted herself up to sit on the window ledge. “Why not?”

“Because we all lost contact for a reason, right? We remind each other of… bad times and…. They wouldn’t want to see me. Lance was my best friend, and if he hasn’t reached out to me, it’s because he doesn’t want me reaching out to him. We’re our own reminders of war, Pidge.” She looked down at her hands and furrowed her eyebrows. “Shit. I didn’t mean…. You’re not….”

“It’s okay,” she said offering him a smile. “I get it.”

“No,” he insisted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The champagne is making my words come out funny. It’s just….” He took a breath and looked at Pidge. “I’m happy I saw you again. I don’t want you to disappear, even though I know you’re okay. I miss Lance and Keith and Shiro, but I’m scared they won’t want to see me. Yeah, we all needed distance at first; we’re all we had on the castle for like four years. But now I just want things back to how they used to be.”

She smiled and leaned her head back. “You mean, me posing as a guy and Lance and Keith competing in everything?” He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah I get it. When I saw you at the bakery, I kind of panicked. I wondered if seeing me would upset you.”

“I wondered that too. If I’d upset you, or if I’d get upset unconsciously. But honestly, all I’ve felt since I saw you again has been relief.” She smiled at him, the blush in her cheeks not only from the alcohol buzzing happily in her brain, but from the closeness and the quiet words. “I’m so happy you’re back in my life, Katie Holt.”

She turned away, unable to contain her smile. “You’re getting sappy, Garrett.” She hopped off the windowsill and took his hand. “Come on. Now isn’t the time for gloom. We’re gonna get trashed and we’re gonna reign in the new year smiling!”

He laughed and followed her to the kitchen where they poured themselves another drink. And then another. And another. Hunk turned on some music and cleared the living room where they stumbled around, claiming to dance, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.

Pidge felt warm and her face was probably hurting from smiling so much, but she couldn’t feel it. She’d opened the window and the apartment was so cold, her fingers were numb. She and Hunk kept slurring words, laughing at each other dancing clumsily around the living room. Suddenly fireworks went off one after another, screams and squeals of delight rising up to the apartment window.

“What time’s it?” Pidge asked, dragging herself to the couch as she recovered from a laughing fit. “M’God, Hu-unk!” He hummed and plopped down beside her. “We missed the coun’dow,’” she whined.

“We can make our own,” he said. “Okay, okay. Ready? Ten! Nine! Eight!” Pidge laughed and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He blinked rapidly and chuckled softly. “You’re s’posed to wait till zero.”

“Oh. Whoops.” He chuckled and looked at her, unfocused eyes and breath that smelled sweet from the Disaronno liquor. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Pidge.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, and suddenly every cold, numb feeling went away and her entire body was alive with warmth and joy. She bit her lip to contain her smile, glancing at him.

He was so close. His dark skin lighting up with the fireworks outside, the steady beat of whatever song was playing from the television. She could just lean forward and give in and blame it on being drunk.

If it weren’t for the sudden lurch of her stomach.

She took a breath and swallowed hard. “Gotta use the bathroom,” she mumbled, standing unsteadily as she walked to the bathroom. He followed behind her, asking if she was okay, but she didn’t trust herself to talk.

The good thing about being drunk is that you’re never really too aware of the moment you throw up. Pidge always hated being sick, but it wasn’t so terrible when she was drunk. It just sort of happened until she was… sort of done.

She was vaguely aware of a hand at her back, vaguely realized she should be embarrassed.

She flushed the toilet, cleaned her mouth, and looked back at Hunk with a smile. “I think I drank too much.”

Hunk smiled and shook his head, his arm wrapped around her middle as he pulled her back against him. He ran his fingers through the waves of hair on one side as she sighed. For a moment it was just them, sleepy and drunk on the bathroom floor.

“’M cold an’ tired,” she whispered.

“You should rest. I’ll sleep on-” he hiccupped, “couch.”

She shook her head and tilted her head back. “No. You’re warm. Stay with me.”

“Mkay.”

It took a while before they both stood and made their way to Hunk’s room to sleep. He lent her a pair of basketball short and a shirt that she changed into before crawling under the covers and promptly falling asleep.

***

When Pidge woke up, the room was cold and unfamiliar. She turned over, groaning at the throbbing in her head, the disgusting taste in her mouth, and burn in her stomach. She kicked her feet, seeking comfort until her leg brushed against someone’s much warmer leg. She turned and saw Hunk sleeping on his stomach, turned away from her.

For a second, she panicked.

Had they done anything the night before? Had she said something stupid?

But then again, this was Hunk. She could trust him with her life. And she didn’t feel any different from a normal mediocre hangover. She was fully clothed… in his clothes, which were very comfortable. Everything was fine.

She nudged him and grumbled, turning his head. “Hunk, wake up,” she prodded, her voice hoarse.

He groaned and blinked, adjusting to the light in the room. “Whoa. Uh, morning,” he said with a light blush on his cheeks.

“Why is your room so cold?”

“I know I had the heater on yesterday. I dunno.” She shivered and curled into a fetal position. “You okay?”

“Hangover aside, yeah. Just cold.” She heard the chiming bells of her ringtone as a call came in. “Shit. Where’s my phone? Where are my pants?”

“What?” She got up and heard his sigh of relief. “Oh my God, okay. Okay. I need food.”

He stood as she searched the bathroom for her clothes, cursing the cold as she shivered. A hangover was bad enough, and shivering from the cold wasn’t helping. When she found her phone, she answered and looked herself in the mirror, cringing at the way her hair stuck up in odd places, tangling itself.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Pidge,” Matt chuckled. “You sound like shit.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

“Do I want to know what happened last night over there?”

Pidge huffed and ran her hand through her hair, trying to fix it. God, Hunk woke up to see her like this? “Nothing.”

“So you’re not hungover?” She cringed at the prospect of Matt knowing that. “Just tell me this isn’t the beginning of you two dating, because I promise my speech at the wedding will begin with, ‘So they got drunk on New Year’s and that’s what bring you all here!’”

“Oh my God. Matt!” He laughed, and she sat on the toilet seat cover. “No, nothing happened. I’ll be home in a bit, okay?”

“Drink water, eat food. I’ll be at work though, so I wanted to call.”

“Will do. And okay, I’ll probably just sleep until you get back then. Happy New Year’s, Matt. Love you.”

“Love you too, Pidge.”

She hung up and sighed before going to the sink to at least wash her mouth with mouthwash. She walked out, feeling embarrassed and gross and weird. She hugged her body and followed the scent of food to the kitchen.

“I found the reason the place was so cold. I think we opened the window at some point and forgot to close it,” Hunk said. She chuckled and sat down, watching him move expertly around the kitchen. Suddenly, he turned and leaned onto the counter to face her. His face was surprisingly red despite his dark skin. “Did I trespass at all? I just… I feel like there’s something I should apologize for, and I can’t remember much from yesterday and-”

Pidge laughed and threw a rage at his face to shut him up. “Relax Hunk. As far as I remember you were an absolute gentleman.” She blushed and looked down. “And if you’re asking what I think you’re asking, no I don’t think that happened. I… feel the same. And I’m pretty sure I’d feel different.”

“You haven’t…?”

She shook her head. “My dating life hasn’t been the best, dude. I don’t like the idea of sleeping around for fun. Not… for my first time.” She cleared her throat then glanced at him. “H-have you?”

He nodded and looked away again. “I was… in a bad place the first time. I had a girlfriend and she was a little… pushy? Manipulative?”

“A bitch,” Pidge supplied in a clipped tone.

Hunk just chuckled. “Yeah, that’s another way to put it. I don’t know. I was lonely. I didn’t want to let her go. It didn’t last though. Maybe a month max?” He shrugged. “After that it was a blind date my coworker set me up with. I wasn’t really into it, I didn’t know her much. Took weeks for me to feel like myself. That’s why… I just wanted to know I hadn’t fucked up again.”

Pidge took a shaking breath and bit her lip. Hunk’s back was to her, but she looked at him anyway. “Well, you didn’t. I promise.” She couldn’t help the way her heart sank, though. The idea of Hunk with other girls…. None of them would know him as well as she did. “I thought you said you hadn’t dated.”

“Mm, no. You asked about Shay. Not about anyone else.”

She hummed and messed with the hem of the oversized shirt she was wearing. She began to wonder if there would ever be a day when she and Hunk would be more than this. Best friends that got drunk together. It wasn’t horrible, but… Pidge really wanted more.

She wanted those things she’d seen in movies. The dates, the flowers, the period mixtape- she saw that movie once, and that one gift stuck with her since- the handholding, the gentle kisses, the dancing in the living room in the middle of the night. Her roommate told her to stop listening to Taylor Swift each time another boy proved to be an absolute idiot, but Pidge couldn’t help it. The music was catchy.

More specifically, she found herself wanting those things with Hunk. Because there was no one else she felt this comfortable around. No one else she felt she could be her absolute self with. Who better to understand the nightmares, the memories, to listen to her go on and on about engineering and technology and inventions, to see her as more than a girl and her body parts?

“You okay?” She blinked and refocused.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, this headache is driving me nuts. Plus I think I just remembered I threw up last night.” She grimaced as she tried to piece together fragments of memory. There had definitely been a bathroom involved.

Hunk’s eyebrows went up and for some reason, his cheeks reddened. “Okay, I actually remember that now. You actually laughed it off.” Pidge grimaced and hid her face in her hands. “Here, this’ll make you feel better,” he said. He gave her a rectangle with Spam and rice wrapped in seaweed. “Masubi. Quick and easy to make. Excellent for hangovers.”

“Thank you, you are a saint.” She bit into it and before she knew it, the food was gone. It was small, but still even Hunk was smirking at her. “I was hungry,” she muttered.

Hunk was happy to continue supplying masubi for them both as they regained their strength.

“So what are you doing today?”

“Nothing, I don’t think. Matt’s working, so I’ll probably just relax at home.”

“You know, we still have that movie to go watch. I don’t know if it’s still in theaters, but… we could check?” Pidge raised an eyebrow and allowed herself a smile. “You up for it?”

“Definitely.”

–

What the hell was a date? Pidge looked it up in the car. The word was defined as a social or romantic appointment or engagement. So… it was a date. But what kind of date? Romantic or social? And why was not knowing making Pidge sweat more than usual?

She just really wished she could tell what Hunk thought of her. Sure, they’d only met back up recently, but… well they were best friends. Did Hunk still see her as the fifteen-year old who’d passed as a boy? Or did he see her as a little sister? Was she too much like one of the guys? He’d called her beautiful, hadn’t he? Or was it pretty? They were different. They had different connotations, so it mattered. God, and she’d woken up in his bed that morning.

“What’s chewing at you over there?”

Pidge took a sharp breath and chuckled. “Nothing. Sorry.” Hunk looked over at her and frowned.

He didn’t say much aside from that as they drove and Pidge tried not to berate herself for being so awkward. Of course it wasn’t a fucking romantic date. She was wearing the same jeans from the day before and one of Hunk’s button ups with most of it tucked into her waist. She was still gulping down water to replenish that which she’d lost the night before. And now she was just making it weird.

Things felt somewhat okay once they were in the theater, hands shoving the other’s out of the way for better access to popcorn as they tried not to giggle too loudly, each with an Icee and a shared box of Whopper chocolates. The movie they’d gone to see wasn’t in theaters anymore, so they’d decided to watch the newest Star Wars. Even though she’d never seen any of the other Star Wars movies, Pidge didn’t have a problem staying up this time.

When the movie ended, they talked about the realities of space wars versus that which Hollywood had created. That was most of the ride until Hunk had taken her to get food at Chick-Fil-A. They ate in the parking lot inside the car with the radio on, talking about what they looked forward to that year.

“It’s funny. Last year, I think I just binged a Netflix show New Year’s day,” Hunk said. “I never expected that I’d be spending the day with you just a year later.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Who knows, maybe by next year, we’ll manage to find the others. We could all go to New York. I’ve been wanting to see the Rockefeller tree.” She licked her thumb and forefinger clean before reaching for her lemonade. “I have another break for Easter, but I don’t know if I can afford to come out here again. You and Matt should road trip to see me. Just a suggestion.”

“Suggestion, right.” He smiled and Pidge stuck her tongue out at him. “That’d be fun. Then it’s your turn to be a tour guide.”

She snorted and shook her head. “I barely leave my campus, what makes you think I don’t need a tour guide?”

“Oh my God, Pidge.” She shrugged again and finished her last piece of chicken.

“You know what would go great with the rest of these fries?”

Hunk met her eyes and smiled. “Oh, hell yeah. Let’s do it.” He drove back into the drive thru and ordered an ice cream cone for them both, along with freshly made, large fries. They parked in their same spot and sang along to the radio as they ate their ice cream and watched a light fall of snow outside.

“How much longer are you staying?” Hunk asked.

“I have to be back by the 14th.”

“So we’ve got two weeks to make up for about five lost years.”

“Sounds impossible.” Hunk looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “I accept the challenge.” He broke into a smile and it made the hurricane of butterflies come back full force.

–

Pidge got back to Matt’s place with enough time to plop onto her bed and mull over the day’s events for about fifteen minutes before she heard the door open and close again.

“Wakey wakey, Pidge!” he called. “You home?”

“He’s had sex,” was the first thing Pidge could think to respond as she stared at her ceiling helplessly.

Matt appeared at her doorway with a confused, slightly disturbed expression. “Okay, it’s gonna be one of those talks. Come on, sis, I’ll make some hot chocolate. With marshmallows, because what are we? Animals?” She managed to scoff out a laugh. Then she let herself slip off the bed and grabbed an extra blanket as she followed Matt to the kitchen. Sure, it was a weird conversation to have, but they were both adults, and… he was all she had. Besides, it wasn’t the first time she’d talked to him about uncomfortable things.

She was the one he went to whenever her heart got broken or her sort-of friends made a passing comment that upset her just because she wasn’t like them. She didn’t have prom, she didn’t get high with friends, she didn’t have her first kiss during a game of spin the bottle. She had training and wars and a family to find. Matt was always there.

“Is that his shirt?”

“Yeah. I didn’t wanna wear the same one from yesterday.”

He nodded. “So what’s going on?” he asked as he stirred the milk.

She burrowed herself with the blanket and rested her head on the table. “We were talking and he mentioned that he’s had sex and I don’t know why but it bothers me. Everything got awkward. And I can’t tell if we went on a date or not.”

Matt sighed and stirred in the chocolate. “Katie, you’re gonna have to explain this from the beginning because I need to know the context behind this.”

She groaned and looked at him as he grabbed two mugs and continued to stir. “Um, okay. So obviously we drank.” Matt nodded. “And we can’t remember much, but when we woke up….” She trailed off uncertain how to continue. It was just so weird to talk to Matt about this because he knew them both. This wasn’t a faceless stranger Pidge was mentioning. It was Hunk.

He served the chocolate and sat down beside her. “Did you sleep together?” he asked gently. Enough to show he wasn’t teasing, and that he wouldn’t hold it against her either.

“No. No we didn’t, I know that for sure. But I guess he thought maybe we had so he was freaking out. I know we hadn’t because… well I didn’t feel different. Don’t people usually feel it when something happens?”

“I think that depends on a few factors….” It was Matt’s turn to blush. “Okay. So I take it you haven’t done anything with anyone?” She shook her head and hid her face with her drink. “I’d expect you would know the morning after. Especially if it was a drunk thing, not… planned. There’s a lot of… foreplay-”

“Please stop talking.”

“Oh thank God. I’m up for us being open with each other, but I didn’t want to give you The Talk.” Pidge grimaced and waved her hand for him to continue. “Anyway, yeah, in your case, I’d expect you’d have known if anything happened.” He snorted. “Unless he’s just that small.”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m joking! Anyway, then what happened?”

“I just assured him nothing happened, he asked if I’ve ever… you know. And I said no. Then I asked him.”

“And he said yes.”

“He explained.”

“Oh no.”

Pidge nodded and ran a hand through her hair. “He said he was in a bad place the first time. The girl was manipulative or something and he was just really hung up on her. I don’t know how many times or anything. But he said the second was with a stranger and he didn’t really want to, but he went with it and felt bad for a long time.” She sighed. “It bothered me. Knowing that some shitty girls know him that way. They didn’t deserve him.”

“That’s jealousy. Also, maybe the fact that he’s done it at all bothers you because you haven’t. Face it, Pidge. You’re a romantic.” She frowned and stared at Matt in confusion. “You wanted to be his first. First off, those experiences really don’t sound fun or healthy at all. I’m pretty sure those….” His face got solemn. “If he was coerced into those it’s basically abuse.” Pidge’s heart clenched and suddenly her own feeble jealousy didn’t even matter. Matt was right. It was no wonder Hunk seemed so jumpy. “And second, you can’t let the fact that he’s done that already, coerced or not, affect whatever relationship happens or doesn’t happen between you two. You weren’t even around him for those times. For all he knew, you would never come back into his life. People put a lot of pressure on sex meaning something huge, but it doesn’t have to and it doesn’t always mean anything. Don’t be put off by it. And don’t feel like you have to catch up either.”

“I don’t. I guess I just… felt bothered by the fact that he’s done it. But you’re right, it’s not like I was even around. It’s not like he likes me back either. Do you… really think he was forced into it?”

“Pressured mentally or emotionally. Especially if it had the toll he said it did. Hunk’s a good guy, Pidge. And you know that.” She nodded. “I know he’s not the type to sleep around for shits and giggles. He’s not the type to sleep with just anyone. Not that there’s a problem with that, I’m just saying….” She nodded and he nudged her. “So you mentioned a maybe date?”

She bit her lip and told him about the movie and the food and the ice cream in his car. “Like I said, it was a little awkward at first, and really tense. Then it went back to normal. It sounds like a date, but what if it was just a friend thing, you know? Friends go to movies and to eat.” She dipped her finger into her mug to swipe off some leftover chocolate at the bottom.

Matt stretched and nodded. “Yeah. Okay, personally, I think he likes you. And it does sound like a date. I think maybe you both wanted it to be and you’re both freaked out to say it aloud. I don’t know if it’s because you’re scared the other won’t feel the same or if you just don’t want to mess up your friendship after finding each other, but yeah. My philosophy however, is that it’s not a date if it’s not clarified with the other. Saves you from lots of embarrassment.” She huffed and brought her knees up on the chair. “You could always ask him you know?”

“I don’t have much to go off of. I can’t pick up any signs that he likes me.”

Matt snorted and counted off on his fingers. “Okay, let’s see, he’s gotten drunk with you like twice and fed you after it. Didn’t try to feel you up which gives him major points in my book- just saying. He made you an entire Christmas dinner and decorated the place. He’d planned the whole thing out with me. He lets you fall asleep on him in movies, on the couch, apparently at his place too!” Pidge blushed and placed her hands on her cheeks. “He stops by every day after work and stays until nearly three in the morning! Yeah, I can hear you two laughing. And you don’t notice how he looks at you when he first sees you because you’re busy fidgeting and trying to hide your blush.”

“Shut up!” She hid her face completely then peeked through her fingers. “What do you mean?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Oh boy.” He stood and took the mugs to the sink without responding. “You know, I do realize you’re an adult now, Katie. I figured you get drunk and go on dates and do what most people your age do. You don’t have to feel bad if you talk to me about it or try to hide it. Yeah, it’s a little weird to talk about sex with your big brother, believe me I get it. It’s a little unsettling talking about it with my little sister. But we’re all we’ve got. And I’m not going to hold anything against you, ever. I’m here for you no matter what. Okay?” Pidge nodded and stood up with her blanket draped over her. She waddled over to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I love you, Pidge.”

“Love you too, Matt. Thank you.” She stayed there for a moment, hugging her brother, feeling incredibly grateful for him. She didn’t know what she would’ve done if she hadn’t found him. She can never forget that terrible sinking feeling, the hopelessness and pain that she felt when she thought she was too late. When she thought she’d lost him forever. She hugged him a little tighter to remind herself he was real; he was okay. “I’m going to bed. Thank for talking with me.” She gave him a fist bump as she pulled away.

“Night, Pidge.”

–

Pidge decided to stop by the bakery that Wednesday. Hunk had been so exhausted after work on Tuesday, that Pidge told him to go home instead of stopping by the apartment again. The bakery had many cakes to get done by the end of the week.

She could smell the comforting scent of chocolate and vanilla and merengue frosting. She saw many customers looking at the simpler cakes for last minutes orders, people looking in as tourists in total awe by the intricate cakes. She went up to the register and smiled at the guy taking orders.

“Hey, is Hunk back there?”

“Sorry miss, the head chef can’t come out today. Though I can answer any question you might have.”

She shook her head and smiled. “Thanks, but it’s… um, is he getting a lunch hour?”

“That depends on how ahead of schedule he gets…. Um, I can let him know you’re here, but I can’t promise he’ll be able to come out.”

“It’s fine, I can wait for his lunch hour. Or just come back before closing.” She ran a hand through her hair and cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

She left the bakery quickly. What was she thinking? He was working. He was insanely busy.

But ever since Matt pointed out the emotional toil Hunk’s experiences had left him with, she’d been wanting to talk to him. To clarify. To tell him he wasn’t alone. To tell him she’d experienced the similar things when boys tried to touch her during cuddles or tried to get her drunk to “loosen her up.”

She knew they were both strong people. They’d piloted lions, fought in wars, had gone through hell and made it out alive. Still, somehow humans managed to fuck them over more than any Galra could. They weren’t supposed to keep fighting on Earth. But now it wasn’t evil alien emperors trying to hurt them… it was humans. And that made things so much harder because while they could tell a Galra was evil, you couldn’t always tell a person was. And the body either freezes, fights, or flees.

Pidge had worked hard to not berate herself for freezing. She couldn’t think of anything else to do. The shock of some stupid boy managing to get past her defenses better than a fucking Galra had shocked her into stillness and silence. And then she fought. And then she fled.

She wanted to tell Hunk it wasn’t his fault. She wanted to tell him that she understood. That just because they’d been in war didn’t make them invincible. She just…. She wanted to be there for him now that she was there.

Still, she’d stuffed that experience to the very back of her mind and digging it back up now made her feel anxious. She’d been in therapy for PTSD in regards to the war thanks to the Garrison. Thankfully she had still been in therapy when that happened, so she was able to work through it with both Matt and the therapist’s help. Did Hunk have any of that? Was he even aware of the truth behind those experiences, or did he shrug it off because he was a guy? Even Pidge hadn’t realized it until Matt pointed it out.

Pidge walked around aimlessly trying to get her thoughts together.

She returned just before closing and managed to get Hunk’s attention. He brightened and let her in while he finished cleaning up a bit.

“I was just about to head over to your place. What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a smile. She looked around where the other chefs were finishing up their areas and waving goodbye. “I was actually wondering if we could talk?”

Hunk frowned and put his rag down. “Of course…. What is it?”

She looked at him and wondered if she was doing the right thing there. Was it right for her to bring up something he probably hadn’t mulled over? To shed light on something he probably wasn’t even aware of? Maybe not…. But it would be worse if she kept it to herself. If she didn’t dispel the misconception. She thought about his expression when he asked if he’d done anything. How he’d thought he fucked up again. But he never had. It had never been his fault. It was eating at him even if he didn’t know it, and Pidge couldn’t let that continue.

“Pidge?” Hunk looked worried now, nearing her.

“Um…. I just…. You seemed really tense at first when we went to go see the movie. I was wondering why. Did it… have anything to do with how we woke up?”

Hunk’s expression fell and he returned to cleaning. “Um…. I mean…. Sort of? It’s just, I couldn’t remember a lot, and you seemed uncomfortable too, so I thought… maybe I’d done something and you just didn’t want to tell me. And I freaked out because you’re my best friend, and if I hurt you-”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything to me. Hunk, you are a good person.” He smiled at her and nodded as he rinsed out his rag. “Is this… about the other girls?”

Hunk turned to her and frowned again. “The ones I mentioned? No, not really…. I just… I fucked up then. I did that out of loneliness and stupidity. I promised myself if I ever did anything with anyone it would mean something. And I wouldn’t feel like crap because of it.”

This was her in. This was when she could explain. “Those weren’t your fault, Hunk,” she whispered. “Those girls…. They forced you to do those things by exploiting your loneliness. You said it yourself, you… you got manipulated and-”

“Hey,” Hunk said, taking her hand. “Calm down. You’re shaking.”

“It happened to me too.”

There was a long pause before Hunk managed to ask, “What?”

Pidge let herself plop onto the floor and just like that it came tumbling out. Her frustration, her struggle, her experience. She’d started to cry but whether it was because of the memories or the frustration, she wasn’t sure. “It wasn’t you, Hunk. You know that, don’t you? It doesn’t make you weak or- or-”

“Pidge, come here.” Hunk pulled her against him and took her hands. “I know. I know, I do. I did talk to someone. They told me the same. But it’s not necessarily fun to bring it into a conversation, is it?” He squeezed her hands and smiled. “Thank you for talking to me about it, though. It means a lot. And I’m glad you felt you could trust me with yours. Hey.” He touched her chin gently, and she looked up at him. “I don’t think you’re weak either. You’re the strongest girl I know.” She smiled weakly. “We’re survivors in so many ways, aren’t we?”

She chuckled and nodded. “When do we get a break?”

“Honestly? I feel like I catch a break whenever I’m with you.” She met his eyes and felt a blush fill her cheeks. “You’re my best friend, Pidge.” She nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show. He sees her as only a friend. That was fine. “Here, I should get you home. It’s almost one in the morning.”

The ride back felt oddly light. She felt like she’d lifted a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying. And Hunk seemed much bubblier than he had since New Year’s. His smile was wider. And Pidge found herself laughing harder at everything. There were many types of battles in life. Some literal and some not so much. Pidge had considered herself a survivor. But that night, in the car with Hunk as they kept laughing and talking past two in the morning in the parking lot of Matt’s apartment complex, was the first time she’d actually felt the strength of a survivor.

Click Here for Ch. 4

#hidge #hunk x pidge #pidge x hunk #future au #they are adults #pidge is 24 #hunk is 26 #rare pair #vld #voltron #au

[chloetcommathecreator-blog]

I wake up at 3PM every day

3/13/14

I wake up at 3PM every day. The alarm on my phone goes off at ten and eleven and I shut it off in a dream-state. What is there to wake up for at that time anyway?

I wish I had more klonopin so my jaw would unclench. My teeth seem wired shut when my mouth is closed. I have to consciously breathe and focus on it to relax, but once the focus is gone, my teeth are clenched again.

I am going out to dinner with Allie tonight and probably Bret. We - or at least Allie and I - are probably just going to get as drunk as possible. She gave three options and all were walking distance. Latin, here we go.

Sasha is barking downstairs. I don’t think I will walk her today. Yesterday, she went up every driveway and chased every moving creature in people’s yards and it drove me crazy. The leash we have does not lock, so I need to keep my thumb on the plastic button and after crossing several streets and steering her around cars, my hand was almost numb from aching. She is a good dog though. She loves me so much. She’s beautiful.

Dan told me through text the other day that he is going to therapy. He has been upset at his externship at Lumiere and spends his time trying not to cry. I’m not sure how I feel about him telling me these things. Sharing. Am I the only one he can talk to, or wants to talk to about it? Sometimes I feel that if Dan wasn’t in my life, I wouldn’t really be upset about it. I probably wouldn’t see him much when I got back to the Culinary because my suspension puts me in a different class, and I’d be living off campus. I can’t imagine going back. I don’t like to think about it.

I do miss Dan sometimes though. I miss the time we spent at school where we would nap together every day. To me, that was everything I needed.

He is a soft kisser. Like Billy. I like hard, wet, rough kisses where you’re not thinking about anything but your lips and his and you couldn’t think of anything else if you tried. Kissing Dan, I sit there thinking, pressed against him. He doesn’t make me come. A few times he has moaned at me that he wants to make me cum as he fucks me. I hope I didn’t laugh externally but I did in my head. I’m maybe mean. He asked me to be more vocal in bed. I told him I would work on it.

Marla once told me she liked me more when I was drunk. That upset me and made me really sad. I think I’m the same way with sex, though. Sober, I am awkward and self-conscious but drunk or high I am giddy and excited.

I’ve never come during sex. I’ve gotten the sheets soaking wet, leaving puddles under us after sex, and my thighs get slick as I get aroused and everything is wet wet wet. But I’ve never come during sex.

The next guy I sleep with, I want to have tattoos and a big dick. I remember the feeling when Billy and I were having sex on the floor of my brother’s room and his dick was long enough that it stimulated this new place and if he had lasted longer (he lasted a good amount of time, no complaints), or if I had relaxed a bit more, I would have come. It was the closest I’ve every gotten and Billy was the guy I liked least out of everyone I’ve slept with. As Firas told me when he tried to figure out why I chose to sleep with Billy, “He’s a simple guy”. And he was. Really not much going on in his head, from what I could tell, and from what came out of his mouth. But I found him attractive and he was so tall and had a large dick and we had good sexual chemistry-- or maybe just teenage desire-- so I slept with him a few times during the summer after freshman year at Tulane. I usually tried to get him a bit high or drunk before we had sex because I was awkward and he would talk and I really did not give a shit about anything he had to say. He did not like me to see him naked and walking about. I didn’t like that.

Is sober sex part of adulthood? If so, I don’t want it.

Even if my memory is choppy, on New Years, after Mariel, Dan, and I tried to smoke all my weed (my idea-- I decided to stop smoking everyday and this was my last hurrah. I would be drug tested four days later and didn’t think about this. Idiot). But Mariel went home and Dan and I settled into the couch and got undressed again. I was barely dressed after the bath we had taken before Mariel came over. Dan was on top of me and kissing me hard and I liked it and gripped him hard. He told me he liked it when I pulled him towards me or something like that. I told him to bring condoms but I am a dumbass and we didn’t use them. As usual I was wet as fuck, and bringing my hand back up from between my legs, grabbed Dan’s arm and left a print of wet wet wettttt. I like when he rubs his dick between my legs. I especially like when he does it from behind and he is between my locked thighs and I don’t have to worry about the expressions I make. But he was on top of me and I wanted him in me so badly. At some point, I put my hand up against his stomach, holding him up a few inches so that only the tip of him was able to go in me and I’m sure I was smiling. Every time I opened my eyes he was smiling at me. I ended up on top of him and slipped him out when he groaned that he was going to come and semen spilled onto his chest. He wiped it off with his briefs and then wore them, which I told him was gross as hell, but there wasn’t anything else to use in the empty, cold house and we were cold and tired and lazy. If we continue to have sex, we’ll be using condoms. I don’t need the stress in my life of having to worry if I’m pregnant. Though I know the chances are slim, it makes me so anxious that I feel like my hair might start to fall out, and I become so angry at him. Also if we wore condoms he would last longer, which would be nice because without a condom it is maybe too much stimulation or something and he comes so quickly… I like when he helps me clean myself off though. Helps wipe the cum off of my torso with a towel or napkin. I like how it isn’t shameful or awkward and we-- or he-- is comfortable being just naked and there. And he doesn’t mind when I am on top and he comes onto his stomach. I never thought I’d be that girl who was stupid enough to use the pull-out method. I’m not on birth control to control birth, but to control my mood swings around my period and my acne. I ran out at the start of this month, but I take it for me, not for anyone else to take advantage of.

I liked when he wraps his arms around me, hugging me from behind. He is tall enough that it completely envelops me. Kissing him doesn’t make me burn, but when he kisses my neck after we’ve woken up from a nap and I am facing away from him, his touch leaves a mark and he can’t see it, but I’m smiling. I don’t like when he sucks on my breasts or goes down on me. I don’t know why. It feels good but I don’t really like it when he does it… maybe because he goes cross-eyed when he goes down on me or it doesn’t really stimulate me that much when he sucks on my breast. His hair is everywhere in my bed. Short, black hairs, shed like from a dog, and it makes me crazy but it doesn’t gross me out. I think he will continue talking to me. I’ll keep responding. Long distance things are not for the uncommitted. I am too young and too sad and too lonely and too blasée to not want to sleep with someone here. Luckily, I don’t leave the house or interact with people my age. There isn’t really any point anyway. I just confuse people and complicate their lives. And it makes me even more anxious.

3/15/14 “Reality, however utopian, is something from which people feel the need to take rather frequent holidays” Brave New World Foreword

“And what has humankind been searching for since the dawn of time but to levitate, to escape from the force of gravity, to escape from these lead-soled shoes.” Absinthe Documentary

I haven’t seen Wolf of Wall Street, or whatever movie with Leo DiCaprio in which, as he puts it, “consumes enough drugs to sedate Manhattan” on a daily basis. I want this. Is that wrong? I want to be in a stable job or in a business where I don’t have to worry about being drug tested and can do what I want with my free time and private life. I want to hit my bowl every night before bed, relax all the muscles in my body, clear my head of all the bad by clouding it up, and be able to close my eyes and focus on a good memory until I am thickly asleep. Do they test for oxycontin or xanax in drug tests? These are my alternatives. I have only gotten enough a few times, less than I can count on one hand, to be able to get the full effects-- my body numb in a pleasant way and my head running smoothly and undisturbed as I lay spread out on the couch, completely unmoving. It feels good. Calm. Like being underwater, I am alert and aware of the surroundings but held down by stronger gravity, a greater pressure, soothing like being swaddled like a baby. Marijuana makes me move. I can put on my soundproof headphones and lay out on my floor and do yoga, feeling every muscle in my body, absolutely focused on each feeling, the strain as I contort on the ground. I feel beautiful when I look at myself in the mirror high. I don’t know why that is. I see myself differently. I like to rub moisturizing lotion on myself… and then put it in the basket… because I like the feeling of touching my own body, the contours of my clavicle against my skin, the slopes of my legs, the nape of my neck. While barbiturates weigh down the lead-soled shoes even more, dragging me farther into the depths, marijuana lifts me above, and I am floating like Aries, wings exchanged for lead, coasting and content.

The ‘War on Drugs’ will undoubtedly fail. It is intrinsically opposed to human nature, and we are paying the price in jail space, money, livelihoods… justice. I am prescribed 40mg of Prozac   .5mg of Klonopin & 3mg of Wellbutrin a day.

And it is not enough. The drug companies are able to buy politicians as lobbyists to maintain an unreasonably high price on medication and continue to be maliciously successful. Ground up, unrecognizable, processed chalky substances in colored pill form or the bud of a plant.

Cigarettes are legal. You can feel the damage as it is being done with each inhalation-- the burn in your throat and the sick, toxic smell eroding eroding. Smoker’s cough- listening to a person hack up a lung. Unable to go through the day without taking a break to assault their lungs, leave cigarette butts littered on the ground, thrown out car windows. Fuck the environment. When you treat your body like an ashtray, the world is one too. Why is that okay, when I JUST WANT TO HIT UNPROCESSED, NON-HARMFUL, NON-CANCEROUS BUD TO SLEEP. Not smoke to get through the day, but to put me to sleep. Zzzquil gives me strange, upsetting dreams or maybe makes me remember them and leaves me feeling sluggish and groggy and tastes terrible. But it is readily available. My parents told me I shouldn’t take too much Zzzquil because it’s unhealthy for my sleep pattern. Then they gave me advil PM to get me to sleep. Fuck you. Fuck all of it. I understand what it feels like to be gay, to be different, ostracized. I understand what it means to be persecuted for who you know you are and what you know you want by blind, fumbling hypocrites whose minds have been closed so long they have rusted shut.

We forget history.

Many in my Vietnamese family became Republicans after fleeing to America. Do they not remember being raised on food stamps in order to survive, being given that aid and an extra push to a family of seven children, fled and penniless from their war-torn country? Do they realize that this aid which embarrassed them so much, allowed them ALL to be successful, thriving adults in comfortably large houses, happy with their careers, putting their children through college?

We forget the absurdity of a society once unaccepting of interracial marriage as we argue against love between people we do not know, will never meet, whose lives will not affect ours. We talk about the sanctity of marriage being destroyed by people getting pleasure in their private lives whilst we have mistresses on the side, fuck prostitutes, keep horrifying pornography. “God” is great, God is good, because he is everything we want him to be. God is us, each of us individually, and to find God, as we call it, is to find oneself. There is a difference between pondering the greater meanings of life and travelling or reading or getting an education to find meaning in yourself, in your life. YOU. Versus reading a book written thousands of years ago. I don’t even know the date of the second world war. I don’t know the age of the Earth. People STILL BELIEVE that theories are NOT fact. People still do not believe in evolution. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. It is beyond comprehension to me. If your God is trapped in an irrelevant book, trapped in the walls of a church if you sleep through the sermons on the hard wooden pews, then you are trapped. My cousin became religious after his teammate was seriously injured playing a sport and the religious group reached out to him and showed not only the injured boy, but my cousin, compassion and unexpected unconditional love. God, to him, is love in other people. He is a happy person, social and well loved by his family and friends. He loves others and brings them happiness. These beliefs adhered to his inner self, planted the seed and watered it and helped him to blossom into a being made of light and love.

God, to me, is every bit of matter in existence. God is in the fractals naturally occurring in plants and nature, so intricate that it takes immense work for our minds to understand it in the slightest. God is standing at the top of a mountain and climbing out of the cave we live in and accepting all that has been made without our help, without our knowledge. Thriving. God is the dead bird outside of the dormitory at the CIA, legs stuck out into the air, feathers lightly shimmering blue. God is the bird rotting in the bushes. God is the recycled atoms and iotas of LIFE that create and recreate and recreate. Explain birth to me. Explain how two cells become a functioning, unique individual. Explain how we know more about the surface of Mars than of our own ocean. God, to me, is everything, and it is impossible to ever know. God is the birth of everything, the two cells becoming a GALAXY of incomprehensible size, the creation of MAN, our thoughts, and our massless souls and everything else possible. Maybe this is why I can’t get out of bed. The news hurts me because other people are destroying my God. Processed foods, ignorance, a stunted quest for knowledge, an obsession with THINGS and Kim Kardashian and MONEY, whilst we walk on and are MADE of the same matter as dinosaurs, people, STARS. We are all God and it is in our nature to suffer. I can’t get out of bed sometimes. I want to accelerate the process. I want to disintegrate into structures of other forms of life. I don’t want to dress myself in a way that is acceptable to others. I don’t want to deal with the stupidity of people’s conceptions of the matter of my being. Asian, female, American, short… as if we do not contain fragments of each other… as if we were made of different matter, different RACES categorizing matter by what does NOT matter - how we look and talk and dress, where we are from, how we speak… I can’t even… Can God be a cancer? Eventually everything must succomb to death, yes? Are humans part of the process of Earth’s death? The consumption of all resources in a cell until necrosis. Black holes? I tried to read A Brief History of Time but could not FATHOM it. I imagine that having the mind of Stephen Hawking is almost unbearable. The closest of most to understand or infer the cause of all being, the vast universe, while trapped in a body of matter that will not function for him. Black holes he understands. Matter expanding into something from nothing, but what do we do with that knowledge? We don’t understand the matter that kills us, there is no “cure” for death. Let it be. Let everything be. Let God…

I don’t know what I am saying. I am a hypocrite and a vain fool and premolded a certain way. I barely know how much I do not know. But it is a lot.

Sometimes I wonder if I am a bad driver because of my matter, or because of people’s conceptions of my matter, which is constantly jokingly told to me. I wonder if I am a bad driver at all.

What does it mean to be me? How is it that my sister has her own personality, innately existing within her. A God in her head of her own. Every one of us.

Speed up the process. I am watching my God die.

Love and sex and sexuality, Plato and Aristotle, the defect(?) in my mental matter, blood cells, valves, chocolate, the skin cells shedded constantly from our bodies, the bugs in my sister’s room that were attracted to the sugary trash she didn’t throw away. The personality of ANIMALS. I can’t see it all and will never know it all but I can be a part of it all, molecules freed from this shell… Spilled out into the earth and strewn around and around like the precipitation and rain cycle we learned about in third grade. Around and around like the planets and stars to central points, around and around and dying and giving birth.

I want to die.

I can’t stand people as a whole. All of us, even myself. We forget our history. We can barely remember our own memories accurately, but we get older and stop questioning, asking WHY am I doing this? WHAT is the purpose? I believe that if you asked this question with everything you did, you would be able to avoid the mindless lull of routine and find reason in life. Why am I stopping at this stop sign? To avoid hurting anyone. If it is the middle of the night and there are no cars, is it moral to go against the law and ignore the stop sign? No. If you are sure no one will get hurt, there is no reason to stop. The cameras that automatically take pictures of your car when you stop too far past the line infuriate me. Let real people decide what is right, what is safe, instead of a machine fixed for one purpose, focused on one line. People learn to avoid the camera spots. It does not make them better drivers, it just conditions them to act a certain way at a certain place. Are we safer? And the county gets a large part of their income from these camera traps, I’m sure. Traps. Another example- in baking, some a obsessed with wearing gloves. I was told to wear gloves while piping dense, pre-made muffin mix into molds. “Always wear gloves in case the chef comes by!”, I was told. WHY do we wear gloves? To protect people from spreading diseases through touch. Does this help with the muffins that are going to be baked in a 375 degree oven for nearly half an hour? No. It is a waste of plastic. Waste waste waste. I want to be in France. I want to have been born in France, raised in France. Solidly French. I want to speak like making words into song, draw out my vowels, deepen my inflections. I read an article that said that people have different personalities associated with different languages they speak. I believe it. I am a different person when I speak French. If I spoke it fluently, I could exist in Europe as an entirely different person, I believe, unrecognizable to the lazy, unhealthy, isolated, antisocial, unromantic, anxious, drug seeking person that I am.

I am not high right now. This is me.

Me, who gets lost for hours when walking the dog. Me, who is terrible at remembering names. Me, content to lock myself away in my own ivory tower, hardly scalable by even my closest family members. Me, who can feel the Prozac lodged in my throat, dry and uncomfortable. Me, still infatuated with a boy I haven’t seen or spoken to in years. Me, who regularly cries while driving for reasons I don’t even know. Me, who can’t sleep normally. Passed out at eleven tonight and woke up at two AM, wide awake and didn’t nap at all today. Passed out at eleven exhausted, and still, up two hours later. Me, whose most calming activities are doing useless art projects. Hot glue gun messes, torn fabric and unusable, unneeded items. Me, who does not believe in people-- does not believe in God-- but has faith in both. Me, in THIS skin, with THESE teeth and nails and bad vision and pores and sweat and hair. Me me ME I am a vain fool.

3/16/14

In high school, we used to smoke K2 when we couldn’t get a hold of weed. It was a different high. I scarier, messier, muddier high. The type of high people stereotype as a usual high-- too much giggling over nothing, unable to carry a conversation or finish a thought, eyes wide open but everything blurry, indistinguishable. Once Mariel and I were at Zoe’s house and smoked a bowl of K2 in her basement. Usually she partook, but this time Zoe didn’t… she wanted a clear head for something she had to do later. Mariel and I did our usual ‘smoke until you feel it’ routine and were absolutely fucked up in the head after a bit. I remember we were looking at pictures and laughing hysterically and it scared Zoe. I don’t want to imagine what we were like, seeing us from outside the haze. It would have scared me too.

We smoked salvia a few times too. Once in Mariel’s backyard  when we went ‘camping’... an excuse to get fucked up out of sight from her parents. I took a hit, then sat glued to my collapsable chair as I voiced my concern about the tree above me warping like a mirage. It only lasted maybe two minutes but it paralyzed me and made me feel like I was going insane. I was doing my best to keep control of my brain and barely succeeding.

Another time, at Zoe’s house, we were around a bonfire and packed a bubbler full of salvia. Griffin took two hits, Mariel, I, and maybe some others took a hit, and then all was chaos. Griffin tried to rip his beard off and panicked and flipped over the fire pit, as I was told later, though I watched the entire thing. I felt like the embers crashed close to me and I thought that maybe I should move but I couldn’t stop laughing and Mariel was laughing uncontrollably next to me, both of us laughing so hard we had to sit down in the wet grass. I remember that I couldn’t control my body and peed my pants, soaking my black leggings and seeping into the ground. I continued to laugh. Lucy put me and Mariel in ‘Time Out’, by making our cackling duo sit in a corner of the lawn while the boys restrained Griffin and calmed him down.

Are these things people normally do in high school?

Ari II: The first time I talked to him was in the computer lab at the CIA. The ancient school is terrible with technology and I couldn’t remember the domain name for my email or find the link for it anywhere so I swore a bit at the computer and then leaned around the wooden divider to my right to ask the person next to me what the email domain was. He had thick glasses and jet black hair and answered my question.

One day, in Baking Fundy’s, he was in my class to learn about baking for a job he was taking. I remember seeing Chef stand in the corner and watch him judgmentally as the culinarian bent with his knee on the ground to hastily and messily fill his bowl with flour. He piped out profiteroles like he was piping out mashed potatoes and just looking at them I knew that they weren’t going to rise correctly. He looked up at me when I came up to Chef and asked him if we could eat some of the goodies another Bakeshop had brought in. I complained when he told us ‘No’, but mainly I asked just to get the boy to notice me. Miranda told me she liked him… She liked every male she saw… and just to mess with her I told her I wanted to sit on his face and she took that as a challenge to talk to him and make him like her.

He was friends with Erica so I asked about him and later on apparently he asked about me so she tried to set that up. One day, in the hall, he asked for my number to hang out sometime, as he said, and I gave it to him, surprised.

He texted me that night and ended up smoking with us by the river and drinking in the dorms. He lived off campus. I think he was my age. He had never spent time on campus. It was strange having him around my friends… a new guy when they all knew I was sleeping with Dan too, but they were not the type to judge. David hit on him and we laughed. Ari made strange conversation and I kind of sat back on the rug and watched the scene. Later, he drove me to his apartment right across the road from the school and we smoked a joint on the swings of the playground at his housing complex. I had to go back to campus at one point to give David his keycard that I had accidentally kept, but after sitting on my room trying to decide if I should go back with Ari, knowing that I wanted to but at the same time didn’t… He texted me wondering what was going on and if I was coming back with him. I probably left him idling in front of my dorm for half an hour. I got back in his white car. He told me he had a pool in the complex, up the hill from the playground, and we scaled the fence and I stripped off my clothes and jumped in. He told me he wasn’t wearing any underwear and I thought that was hilarious for some reason, but he stripped naked and jumped in the pool too. I was wearing my UGLIEST bra… nude and falling apart at the seams and stained on one side with bleach… but didn’t care. Maybe was too drunk to care. I swam in the deep end, enjoying the silence under water. No need to talk then. He stayed in the shallow end and was so skinny that he was shivering cold in the warm water. I think he still had his glasses on. While he had waded in, I had dived straight in, slicing through the chlorinated water and holding my breath as I sunk for as long as I could. I joined him in the shallow end after a bit, figuring I should probably talk to him. He kissed me and ended up pushing me onto the side of the pool, sitting, legs wrapped around his torso as he stood there shivering and naked in the water. I wondered if there were any children who lived in the complex. I wondered if anyone could see us from the windows or if there were cameras. I liked kissing him. He kissed me hard and tasted like cigarettes… not smokey, but spit stained with nicotine in the best way. Totally culinary dude. He worked all of the time, was what I heard from him, and his parents didn’t help financially at all. He was from Cali and had never seen snow. When he asked to go back, shivering, I put my shorts back on and my riding boots, but my see-through shirt clung to my skin and was too difficult to put on wet so I just held it. He tried to help me as I went over the fence, but I didn’t like that. I sat shirtless in his house and met his two roommates. One had built a jungle gym for his cat, Alice. She was still a kitten and beautiful. I told them that the cat was prettier than me and she was, beautiful white and gray coat and large, shining eyes. Ari shared a room with one of the guys, which I made fun of him for because there was a spare room that was empty. I don’t remember his explanation. I think he played guitar? Maybe that was his roommate. I don’t remember. Usual, awkward me, kept talking at him, sitting on his bed, until he kissed me, and the he was taking his clothes back off. He took off his glasses and set them somewhere and I wish my vision or memory was good enough that I remembered what he looked like without the thick coke-bottle glasses that made him almost look like a bug. Completely naked, I asked if he had any condoms. Didn’t really do much of any foreplay. I remember his dick being pretty big, but then again he was such a skinny guy that maybe it just looked big. I don’t remember the sex but I remember laying back afterwards and facing the wall and he climbed back into bed behind me, having thrown away the condom. “I needed that”, I remember him saying. I asked him why but don’t remember the answer. Probably because he was so busy all of the time. He told me that he would just walk around naked sometimes, even in front of his roomates. He didn’t care. I asked him if he also didn’t wear underwear a lot of the time. I don’t remember the answer. But when I turned away and closed my eyes he told me he couldn’t sleep like that and I flipped onto my other side, facing him. And I decided to leave. He watched as I put my bra back on, looking at my chest as if noticing my breasts for the first time, and I hoped that I didn’t look fat as I pulled on my high waisted black shorts and zipped them up to the birthmark at the center of my torso. He asked me if I wanted him to drive me back but I wasn’t up for any extra conversation and he was just being polite so I told him I would walk the five minutes back to campus. I ran past his roommates as he walked me to the door and outside he hugged me, which made me uncomfortable, and said he’d see me around. Classic. I walked back to campus and only spoke to him briefly a few times after that. I texted him when Dani had just moved into the room with me and we had gone roller blading. I had been thinking about him for days and texted asking how he was. He didn’t respond, but told me later when he saw me in the library that he didn’t see the text until morning and said by then it was too late to respond. I told him not to worry, that same morning I had dropped my phone in a puddle and it was broken. I wasn’t able to fix it because the nearest Apple store was three hours away, which I only found out after going to three malls near me. My parents sent me a new phone after a week, but he never texted. Erica asked my in the dining hall one time, for him, what my deal was… in his words, “We kicked it one time and then didn’t talk after that”. That made me angry, and I raised my voice more than necessary, cup in hand next the soda dispensers, saying that he had never texted me. I was confused about why he was asking her questions when he could ask me and hadn’t made any attempt to contact me since, and been somewhat dismissive when we did see each other, usually in the library. She shushed me when I got to shouting about how it was just sex, like ‘thanks for the sex, but byeee’, and that was the last she said of that. ‘Don’t shoot the messanger!’, she told me. I like seeing him in the dining hall, liked seeing him through the window of his kitchen and tried to follow which kitchen he moved to after every three weeks. Miranda told me one day during IPP in the pot room that someone in his class had said that he was an asshole. He had been sleeping with one of the guy’s friends and then suddenly stopped talking to her, and she was upset about it. ‘So don’t obsess about him’, she told me. “He’s an asshole”. I wondered if he had stopped seeing the girl because of me… but that didn’t make sense because he wasn’t talking to me either. Eh

The next night Dan was kissing me in my mega-bed and I stopped him and told him I felt weird sleeping with him right then, so soon after sleeping with someone else. “I slept with someone else last night”, I told him, and he lay back and didn’t say anything, but was obviously upset. Then we had to talk about it. Finally, I told him that I felt bad about upsetting him, and he said he was glad that I felt bad about it. I don’t think we were on the same page. I didn’t regret sleeping with Ari, just hurting Dan’s feelings. I was also angry that he was upset because we weren’t dating, never would, and if the roles had been reversed I wouldn’t have said shit about it. I told him to leave… we would go out later that night… and was happy to be alone. We got absolutely trashed at the bar that night, ending up at Darby’s with Erica, her friend Ginger, Miranda, and Alex and probably being the sloppiest drunks there (nothing out of the ordinary). Two pairs of lesbians were kissing up against the windows and I dragged Dan over to join them. He hoisted me up against the wall and we made out until the lesbians noticed and laughed, leaving. The bouncers next to us enjoyed the show, I’m sure. That night we went back to my room and had the roughest, drunkest sex we’d had yet. I think both of us were avoiding thinking. I don’t think it came up again between us. Erica once asked me in front of Dan if the night we had been talking about was the “night with Ari”, and if Dan heard it and understood, he didn’t say anything.

I think I liked Ari more than Dan, maybe just because I didn’t have him. Just saw him from afar. Maybe that’s why I think I like all these boys… because I’m not with them.

I was annoyed when I found out his name was Ari. Any other name, please. Of course he was Jewish. He cheered, knocking his shot against ours in my room, and said, “Lechaim”, or whatever Jewish word means “to life” or something like that. Of course his name was Ari.

3/18/13

I was watching Beethoven with my sister today - one of those kids movies where the dog, a Saint Bernard in this case, is the focal point. There’s a scene where the daughter asks her father where babies come from in order to distract him while her brother sneaks four puppies into the house. The father hesitated and started with a roundabout explanation and Kate laughingly said that it was funny that he didn’t even know where babies come from. Children amaze me. It’s amazing how, like listening to a different language, we only retain what we understand. We make assumptions with the facts we already have, to later discover how wrong we were… Like how watching children’s movies as an adult and catching all the innuendoes is so bizarre. I told her that the dad knew where babies came from he just didn’t want to say. I asked her if she knew where babies came from and she said no. I was completely prepared to inform her, but then I thought that my parents wouldn’t be happy with me doing that… the corrupt older daughter negatively influencing her sister so early. I didn’t tell her. We continued to watch the movie. If she asks again, I will tell her. I’m not sure how I will phrase it, but it will be mostly anatomical - no vague “when a woman and man love each other” + stork = baby.

A letter to an older Kate -

As we grow up, we find that the truth about adulthood is not as glamorous or as deep as we thought it would be. People will ask you what you want to be when you’re in the “real world”, as if you step into a new universe when you go to college. As if your choice of work will define you entirely as a person. As if the only thing that matters in planning out each day and month and year until you have enough money saved to retire.

I turned 21 two months ago and you turned 8 last month. I feel like I haven’t matured past eighteen.

But this is what I do know; the only thing you have control over in your life is yourself. Your body, your thoughts, your voice, and your actions. High school is a time when you try to find yourself through other people… When everything you are is held up to a standard and compared with everybody else. Your high school environment will determine when you think the proper age is to first kiss someone, to first drink, to first smoke, shoplift, let a boy touch your breasts, own your first car, go to parties, have sex. High school is spent trying to find the right mold to fit yourself into.

When I was sixteen, I was upset that I had never kissed a boy, so I kissed my friend Nick at a school dance. I didn’t like him and he was a bad kisser. It took a while for me to finally tell him I didn’t like him and to finally cut loose from the expectations that I had and he had and everyone seemed to have that we should be together and admit to myself that I did not like him and did not want to kiss him anymore. When he got a new girlfriend, strangely I was upset. Just kissing him, I felt like he belonged to me. He really liked me and though I did not like him back, it hurt to lose that adoration.

Girls get pregnant at the age that I first kissed a boy. Even before that. And it is terrifying to me.

People will say this so often that it will become a cliché. You’ll hear it so much that you won’t even think about what it means, but it is everything. Be yourself. Do what feels right to you ALWAYS.

I think that is what it means to be an adult. Being yourself, acting as you want to and you think you should, and therefore finding your place in the world.

I hope you figure this out before I do.

My first kiss was terrible and so was the first time I had sex. Again, I thought that there was a certain age limit for these ‘milestones’ in our lives and made a mistake.

Sometimes I think that the only way to really learn a lesson is the hard way. I could never have told 18 year old me that in college - in the world - NO ONE CARED about how old you were when you first had sex. That didn’t define you as a person. All that mattered was that you were you.

Freshman year at Tulane, I found out that this beautiful, cool girl on my floor was still a virgin and when I heard that, I wished that I was too. I wished that I hadn’t put myself through so much pain and shame and hurt because I thought it was what everyone was supposed to do. I hadn’t found the right person and I hadn’t accepted that so I forced myself into a mold and a mask that did not fit and did not make me happy.

On the other hand, though my relationships with boys (or lack thereof) seemed to always be a problem, I really liked to drink and get high. By being able to do this in a safe environment with friends whom I trusted, I was able to find my drunk, partying self and control her. A lot of my friends in high school who had avoided all drinking and parties ended up going crazy their freshman year and having unfortunate sexual encounters. Some were raped. Some ended up in bad places with people they thought they could trust but didn’t know at all. I’m not telling you to drink or smoke or party, but if you are going to experiment with ANYTHING, do so with a person or people who you really, really trust, and everything will be okay.

The people that think that their journey is more ‘normal’ or cooler than yours do not understand that every single person on this earth goes through a different journey. They do not understand that there is no standard. There is no mold that you need to fit yourself into in order to be successful or popular. Find strength in yourself. That is all you have. Find confidence and come to term with what you consider to be flaws.

Don’t expect there to be a path paved out for you to follow. Don’t follow paths that others have paved for you.

Going through life is like trying to cross a creek by stepping on stones. The stones are scattered everywhere and you always have choices, but it is up to you how you cross - whether you backtrack and loop around, make a beeline towards a certain rock or let someone tell you where to step. (That was the first analogy that came to mind).

People spend their lives wondering what happiness is and how to achieve it. I may be clinically depressed and medicated and miserable, but I know the key to happiness is to be yourself and do what is right to you.

In Beethoven, there is a scene where a boy one of the main characters has kissed locks the door of the bedroom and won’t let her out. I hope you are not the girl who feels as if she owes him or she should do something. I hope you are like Beethoven and rip the walls down. I hope you tell him to go fuck himself and break his nose. I hope you understand that you never owe anyone anything. Especially not your body. You don’t owe anyone your time or breath or presence.

This is your life. Your universe. Your reality.

Tell the people you love that you love them and tell the people who you don’t care about to scram.

Tell the boy who tries to get away with not wearing a condom that he should find someone else to get pregnant. Even if you really, really like him. There’s a French saying that goes, “Love makes the time pass and time makes the love pass”. It’s true. The first boy who told me he loved me I hope to never see again and am content to ignore his existence.

Tell the student or the teacher who bullies another kid to take a look at themselves. Sometimes it is enough to just show that you don’t approve. Sometimes you don’t have to say a word. In eighth grade, after my mom kicked me out of the house, I went to live in New Hampshire and went to a new middle school and was so depressed and angry that I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I ate lunch in the bathroom. I felt like I was going to vomit every time I got on the bus and had to find an empty seat. Two teachers made fun of me a few times, saying things like, ‘Chloe do you have an answer? Oh wait, you don’t talk’ and laughing. I cry about it sometimes still. I hope that you are the kid who talks to a person like me and treats me like I am a normal person so that I can feel and act like a normal person. I hope you are the girls who invite me to hang out with them at their lunch table or in the playground. I hope you are a student who would think that something was wrong with what the teacher was saying. I hope you know that no matter your age, a person can tell what is right and what is wrong. I think that children even have a better sense of morality than adults, but are afraid to be heard or wrong.

I read about in experiment in Psychology at Tulane in which volunteers were recruited to ask people questions and electrocute them when they were wrong. With each wrong answer, the voltage would be raised a little until finally the volunteers were told to use the highest voltage to zap the person they were questioning despite their screams in protest and pain and despite their moral values. Every one of the volunteers went to the highest level, as directed by the director of the experiment. Every one of them followed orders. From this study, it is easy to understand how the Holocaust happened… how people are disposed to be like sheep - obediently going along with the current, concerned only with their own well-being. Maybe some people are destined to die for what they believe in. If that is the cost of living a just life, I fully accept it. The people who were being zapped in the experiment were actors. Do what you think is right. Leaders are the ones who stand up and tell another person they need to stop what they are doing. Leaders determine whether people will get hurt or helped. Please be a leader, even if only in the smallest ways. You love to tell the story of when Julien was little and he had his face painted for Halloween and he cried because another boy smudged his make-up on purpose. Be the kid who comforts him. Be the kid who tells the perpetrator to apologize. Be the tattle tale if that is what you think is right.

Tell your parents the truth. You are so lucky to have the parents that you do who are there to listen to you fully and calmly help you through every trouble you will have. I’m so happy that you had a normal, happy childhood and got to see what a happy, beautiful marriage looks like.

Tell the people who ask you if you get good grades because you’re asian to SCRAM.

Tell the people who joke about how you are a bad driver to SCRAM.

Tell the people who say you should lose weight or need to wear makeup or shave your legs or smile and be pretty that they have no sway in anything you do. I spent nine years of my life dealing with bulimia and sometimes anorexia, bent over a toilet, feeling like shit all of the time, starving myself or eating until I thought I had ruptured my stomach. If you want to eat only ice cream for dinner, eat ice cream for dinner and nothing else. If you don’t want to wear makeup, don’t. It is fucking hard being a woman in our society. It is hard to deal with double standards, trying not to be perceived as a slut or a prude, trying to be treated equally and to stand on a level playing field. If you want to kiss someone or have sex with someone on the first date, do it. If they don’t call back, they’re not the type of person you should waste any time on. Thanks for the sex. If you don’t want to have sex, don’t. Even if you’re dating the guy and he says he really horny and you’re already in bed together. Too bad. Even if you owe him money or he drove you somewhere and he is your ride back. Too bad. Tell them to masturbate or something. You never ever owe anyone anything that you don’t want to give.

Tell the people who say your clothes are too slutty or not sexy enough that it’s not their problem. If you want to wear a see-through shirt, do it. If you want to wear footsie pajamas in public, do it.

Don’t read the magazines that tell you how to dress or what men like. The only good parts of magazines geared towards teen girls are the articles about people’s most embarrassing moments or the stories about how someone handled or dealt with a situation in their life. Read a good book every once in a while, for real.

Tell the friends who try to pay you back to keep the money and don’t ever bring it up again or use it as leverage against them. Put extra money in the meter, tip your server 20%, buy the shirt you really want but is so expensive, because that is what money is for - to be spent on what you want. It is not something that should tie you down or stress you out. It is paper and it comes and it goes. Maybe you will never wear that expensive shirt or maybe you will wear it every day. I would rather have an empty bank account than regret for not going out with my friends because I wanted to save my money for no particular reason other than stressing about not having any money. You’re young and should have fun (especially while your parents are still the ones funding it). On the other hand, don’t keep material things for sentimental reasons. Write it down and donate your clothes that you haven’t worn for years or the shoes you never wore but love to look at. Get rid of everything that you possess that possesses you. Going to college, you shouldn’t be weighed down by half a dozen stuffed bags. Be free. It is almost physically sickening to constantly live with guilt or regret. Watching Netflix while your friends go out to a karaoke bar which you only did not go to because you wanted to save money SUCKS. All we have is memories and interactions. Don’t hold money above that. But if your friends try to get you to go out and you just want to stay in a sleep, stay in and sleep. We pay for everything in either money, time, or experience. You have to pick which one is most important for each situation. You can take the nonstop flight home for several hundred dollars or you can swap your ticket at the gate for a reimbursement and wait for the next flight - if you have the time.

Tell the people who compliment you, “Thank you”.

Tell the spoiled girl who is complaining about something superficial like it is the worst thing in the world that she is lucky to have what she has and she should shut the hell up. My best friend, Allie, can be one of the most superficial people I’ve ever met but I am always honest with her, even with things as small as saying I need to go home because I can’t handle watching another episode of Island Hunters or Keeping up with the Kardashians. When she complains about Elle Wood’s hair in Legally Blonde, I tell her to shut up because Elle is perfect as she is.

For real though, Kate. Do you. Be you. Everyone will try to make you fit into the mold they have in their mind for their world. Even Daddy will sometimes hear only what he wants to when you talk to him. Be yourself and don’t apologize for it ever. I spend too much of my time apologizing for what I do and trying to go unnoticed. I start too many of my sentences with, “I’m sorry, but…” and apologize too often for talking too much even if the other party seems interested. Be you and you will be surrounded with people who you want to be around and you will be in the place where you want to be.

It’s hard to take words and make them into action. I have been writing suicide notes since I was thirteen. I am 21 and live at home with my parents after being suspended from school for failing a drug test because I smoke too much weed. It’s hard for me to be all that I tell you to be. It scares me that I am a role model for you. It scares me that you’re going to grow up and have to make mistakes and get hurt and feel alone and sometimes hate yourself. Sometimes I think that the only way to be a good person is to go through hell, but I hope that’s not true. Listen to people and look at the world around you and be aware of reality. I think opening up your eyes makes you a good person. Read the news, travel, volunteer and put yourself in places where you are uncomfortable and you will understand.

When I think of people I have encountered in my life that I respect and want to be more like, I can only think of people who were unforgivingly themselves. Being yourself is like finding enlightenment - people flock to you and you seem to have an aura of happiness about you… or maybe it is just the glow of a strong sense of self.

3/25/14

I had a dream last night or maybe today… I’ve been sleeping non-stop…. where I went to visit Allie at PSU. It was a campus I had never been on before, but I knew it was PSU. I was walking through the campus to find Allie and crossed a bridge where students were sitting, facing the water, on what seemed like a long bench. I saw Ari sitting there and then noticed that Allie was right next to him. I sat beside Allie, but was excited and nervous to talk to Ari. In the dream it went well. Ari went inside to take a shower and I talked to Allie for a while until she decided that she also needed to take a shower and yelled at Ari until he got out. I apologized to him for her being rude but he wasn’t upset. We talked some more and then when he got up to leave, he ran into this girl who obviously knew him and they hugged. He introduced me to her, who was also named Chloe, and said that they had travelled around Quebec together. I told them I had gone in high school in March and it was so cold we spent our whole trip buying more winter clothes. They laughed.

I woke up today and felt like shit. I woke up and looked out the window and it was dark and snowing and there was enough that the trees and ground were all white. It is the end of March. I looked at the snow and went back to sleep.

My dad texted me today asking how it was going with externships.

I do not give a fuck about finding an externship. It is not even in the periphery of the periphery of importance to me. I do not care about anything. I still want to die in the quickest way. I want to NOT be in this earth. Especially not mentally. A coma would be fine.

I don’t give a fuck about finding an externship and slaving over fucking stupid desserts for ridiculous hours for five months before going back to the hell hole that is the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park.

I want to melt into my bed and disappear, especially to myself. I do not have any type of ambition. I do not care at all and this is me at my best, feeling less depressed than normal and functioning… Not that I do anything.

I want to scream so loud that the blood vessels rupture in my brain and I collapse. I will never be able to tell anyone how much I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING. Fuck.

3/29/14

My father is frustrated that I’m not ‘getting better’. I came home from seeing Maura and it was obvious that I had been crying. I always cry on the way home from talking to the therapist. Sometimes the psychiatrist too. Just this time he noticed.

My stepmother knows.

I think that my father sees this as a tumor that can be removed or a collapsed blood vessel causing a stroke. Severe damage to the surrounding tissues. Heart failure. But you only need to put in a stent. Fixed.

My father sees this as something that is not a part of me… Something that I will heal from. But this has nothing to do with my immune system. Nothing to do with my blood and bones. Everything to do with the web of neurons in my brain and the invisible signals that they send or don’t send. Everything to do with neural interpretation of the world. As I see it. My life and my reality and my misery and my headache.

I will not ‘heal’. I will deal with this for my entire life, constantly sewing back the ripped portions of my soul and continuing on. I will not get better. The unfounded hurt that weighs heavy in my chest will not lighten. Will not lighten with medication or talk or kisses. There will always be a weight but I must learn how to carry it.

The things you don’t see:

Me at the table, eating breakfast or lunch alone, crying silently for no reason. Wiping the tears away, putting the plate in the sink, and going on to the next activity.

Me driving in my black two door VW, sobbing. Loudly. Driving on the highway and screaming because this is one place no one can hear me. Waiting at a stop sign and watching the pedestrians cross as I try to make it look like I’m not crying. The tear stains on my shirt and the mascara stains in droplets that won’t come out.

Me on the floor of my room, in child’s pose, crying into the floor… into my knees. Crying silently into something to muffle the noise and gasping for air.

The words circling my head as I listen to people tell me what to do… I don’t care I don’t care I could not possibly ever care less.

Me huffing sprayed vapors out of a sock because I can’t stand to be in my own head and there is no weed available. The last time I took your hydrocodone it didn’t make me feel a thing. I just want to lay there, comfortably numb, content to be where I am, what I am, doing what I am doing.

Me imagining every possible way to kill myself. Googling ‘ways to commit suicide’. Looking at anatomical figures of bodies online to find where the femoral artery is. How to cut it. Where to bleed out. How not to leave a mess for anyone to clean up. Imagining killing myself in the parking lot of a hospital or police station so you won’t have to deal with the trauma of taking me there or seeing what I’ve done. Holding my breath long enough to feel what it would be like to suffocate. It hurts in a way I can’t explain. Imagining if I could get a hold of heroin and ‘accidentally’ overdose. Imagine falling off of a bridge and the last sound I hear is the crunch of my breaking body and the splash. Imagining a gun pressed against my head and my body in the woods at peace and free free free.

Me, almost constantly focused on when I can next be alone or get into bed.

Me in public or in forced conversation, so nervous at times that I stutter, even with people I know well and like… Trying to hide me always. Trying to find someone with whom I do not writhe in the silence. Me, happy and laughing and in a group of friends, distracted. Drinking. Exhausted so easily by words..contact.. connections.

Me trying to relax every part of my body at night in order to fall asleep, but failing as soon as my mind wanders and my muscles tense… their default position.

Me replaying memories over and over in my head but trying not to. Wanting to tear my brain from my skull to not think of that… Not think of what they said or what I did or what I wish had been.

Feeling, always, like I do not belong in this world. Feeling always tired. Peeling the skin from my lips until it burns. Repositioning myself in the bed non-stop for hours hours hours in the dark wishing I could flip a switch and shut it all down. Wishing I could sleep and sleep and… sleep.

I had a good day today. Got my driver’s license. Sitting in the MVA, alone, in my off-white Gap jacket and high boots, feeling, for the first time, like an adult. Playing with Kate and listening to her laugh and listening to her eight year old self explaining to both me and herself why the characters in The Karate Kid acted and spoke the way they did. Today you turned forty nine.

I had a good day but it is almost 7am and I haven’t slept.

This has been the first warm night but I miss the cold. I miss the chill of the pillow that I pull from the open window, putting another pillow in its place to get cold too. With the humid air slick against my skin, I wish for the freezing breeze the smell of cold… in a warm blanket.

I took a nap before dinner because I was so heavy with sleep that my lights went out the minute I buried my head in the pillow. So tired that it was as if I couldn’t get up, was magnetized to the bed… The kind of tired where your head is cloudy. I understand the name ‘Sandman’. The heaviness enclosing you like bags of sand, the way it would feel to fall into a sinkhole, where anything you try to grab onto disintegrates in your hands and you slip slip down down heavy and away. The best kind of falling asleep. And all I did today was go to the DMV.