happy shipping week guys

Your friendly neighbourhood medic and security chief would like to remind you to stay safe this festive season!! Happy Lunar New Year again everyone!

little things; high school au - happy theyna ship week!

sorry for not ever actually posting, guys, i’m an absolute piece of shit and i’m sorry, my computer is broken and sad and done and this is all done from mobile (which sucks major ass). this is pretty unpolished and sappy but it felt really nice to write. i’d love your feedback in my ask or in the reblogs. thanks for reading!

It’s the little things, Thalia thinks, that are the defining moments.
Like grinning at texts from each other under desks. There’s something about Reyna showing affection that makes Thalia feel warm. Sometimes her messages are hot and sometimes they’re adorable and sometimes they make her heart ache, like when Reyna texts I miss you from a college visit or school trip. Reyna’s gone a lot, which sucks major ass (in Thalia’s words), but when she returned, Reyna would always kiss Thalia hard and slow, her long fingers on Thalia’s waist, which was almost worth it.

It was laying together after a long week, on Friday nights when homework turned into all-night gigs. Sometimes Reyna would invite Thalia over and they’d take swigs of tequila, stolen from Reyna’s sister’s liquor cabinet. It was never enough to make them pass out or throw up, but the heat between them intensified exponentially with each burning gulp they swallowed. Their heavy breaths sounded deafening in the quiet basement, so they’d turn AM a little louder then make out and hum along, because there was nothing like a low voice and grungy chords to get Reyna’s tongue in Thalia’s mouth. Thalia loved these nights. Reyna giggling, Reyna stumbling, Reyna looking so in love with her, Reyna letting her guard down more and more with each sip. Reyna’s usual stance as rigid and straight-laced valedictorian at school had a certain beauty, but Thalia loved when she could see emotions sketched out on Reyna’s face, easy to read, her sturdy walls breached. She loved when she could kiss Reyna and have her collapse into Thalia’s lips, and she loved when their bodies melded together like liquid metal, shimmering in the dim lights and molding to each other as they were made to fit.

It was walking down the hallway, hands laced together, bodies leaned together, and feet walking almost embarrassingly in time. It was then when Thalia felt like a typical high school couple. Reyna in her letterman (for academics and ROTC, of course) and Thalia rocking the “troubled teen” look, perfectly loose and hanging band shirt with laced up boots and skinny jeans (the outfit that made Reyna most frustrated, Thalia noticed often with pride), they strolled down the English hallway, feeling that invincible forever that one can only feel at seventeen.

Whenever Reyna was stressed, Thalia braided her long, thick hair. She knew it’s something Reyna’s sister used to do for her, and Thalia learned how, by way of hundreds of Pinterest tutorials, how to fishtail, french braid, dutch braid, and waterfall. With each section she twisted into place, Reyna’s shoulders slumped and her breathing got deeper. Weekday mornings if Reyna came into the Commons with her hair long and brushed with a hairtie on her wrist, Thalia knew it was her cue.

It was how Reyna rubbed the back of Thalia’s neck, lightly through the shorn short hair, sending shivers down her spine.

It was understanding that Reyna was accepted to Rice University on a full scholarship in Houston (quite far from New York City) and holding each other close for an entire night.

It was Thalia asking Reyna to prom with laid out roses in her driveway, and Reyna giggling a yes, of course, you adorable cliché dork. At the dance? Thalia believed 100% they were the most beautiful couple on the floor. Reyna’s floor-length scarlet gown convinced Thalia that nothing in history could ever be as stunning.

It was being sleepy halfway through a movie and just laying a head on a shoulder and feeling comfortable enough to fall asleep.

It was the playlist labeled “reyna” on Thalia’s phone, comprised of sappy acoustic songs that she sang in the car when she was particularly head over heels.

It was both of them tugging off Thalia’s skinny jeans before getting on the bed.

It was memorizing each others’ Starbucks drinks, Reyna, a venti drip coffee with a shot of espresso, for Thalia, a tall hazelnut macchiato.

It was the little things that made their relationship feel intimate and infinite, and Thalia wouldn’t have had it any other way.