A/N: So it's a shorter chapter and it's mainly Quinntana backstory and bonding along with a bit of set-up for future chapters. Hope you enjoy!
The majority of Sunday passes by uneventfully, as most Sundays do for Santana. She spends the day doing laundry, dicking around on her laptop, and catching up on some movie watching. It's not until close to 4pm that her cell phone rings, and she looks down at the call ID to see that it's Quinn. She immediately quirks an eyebrow, Quinn never calls...
"What's up, Q?" she greets casually.
"Code Red," the girl responds with a tired, slightly hoarse voice.
Santana's face immediately drops and her eyes widen. "Shit," she breathes out, knowing full well that the blonde is not talking about a slushie facial. She's talking about something much older and much darker.
'Code Red' is something that Santana has not heard Quinn say in years. In their younger years, it had become a sort of signal for Quinn needing to get out of her house―mostly because of her father―with no questions asked. Santana suddenly flashes back to the day 'Code Red' came to be, a day that turned out to be just as significant to her as it probably was to Quinn.
April 3, 2004
It's a Saturday afternoon and Santana is playing N64 when she hears the front door opening. She immediately pops up to her feet, knowing that it's her mother coming back from the store.
"Mama!" she voices excitedly as she heads out into the hallway.
When she gets there, she's surprised to see not only her mother, but also Judy Fabray and a ten-year-old Quinn. Judy has a significant shiner on her right eye as well as some bruising along her arms, and even Quinn seems to have the beginnings of a bruise on one of her forearms.
"Mija, take Quinn here and go play some Nintendo," her mother instructs firmly.
Santana, just pleasantly surprised to see Quinn, nods as she waves the sheepish blonde into the living room. "Wanna play Wave Race?" she asks plainly with a bit of a sympathetic smile. Despite her mother's assumption of her ignorance, Santana has a pretty good idea of what's going on.
Quinn doesn't verbally respond, but does nod.
The pair sit down on the ground and set to playing the game, and Judy and Maria enter the room shortly thereafter.
"Have a seat, Judy, I'll get you something to drink," her mom offers with a kind smile, guiding the near catatonic older blonde over to the couch.
As she turns to leave the living room, though, Santana's father appears in the doorway. "Maria, what's all this racket?" he asks before he enters to see the group of women. His brow drops and he looks like he's about to say something, but Maria quickly rushes across and out of the room, dragging the man along with her.
They don't make it far, though, and Santana can hear when her parents start arguing, albeit in Spanish, in the hallway.
"[What do you think you're doing, bringing these bitches into our house without even asking me?]" her father's voice booms.
"Esteban," her mother breathes out exhaustedly. "[We have to help them out... do you see her? She's been beaten almost beyond recognition. For God's sake, even the kid is bruised up!]"
"[Maria, it's not our place to step into the middle of their family!]"
"[What do you suggest then? We just stand by while that drunken son of a bitch kills his wife and daughter?]"
"[And what do you plan on doing if that crazy gringo shows up here looking for them, huh? Did you ever even consider that? You never fucking think!]"
"[You are a heartless, soulless bastard, and I hope that God takes mercy on your soul.]"
It's not long before Maria re-enters the living room in a huff, staring up at the ceiling and crossing her body with her hand. She walks in front of the two young girls to turn off the tv before taking a seat on the ground facing the girls with as soft an expression as she can muster through her anger.
"Mija, Quinn," she sighs. "We need to come up with some sort of way that you," she points to the blonde. "Can let Santana here know that you need to get away from home, ok?"
Both girls nod.
"Ok," Maria nods in turn. "Try to find a password or a code word, something that only the two of you will know. Quinn, you just say that word to Santana and you can come stay here, whenever you'd like and for as long as you'd like, alright?" she offers with genuine tenderness.
Quinn nods once more.
"Ok. Quinn, I'm going to take your mother here to get settled in upstairs. Mija," she turns towards Santana. "[Think up the word, ok?]"
Santana nods in acquiescence and watches as the two older women abruptly depart from the room.
She turns her gaze to the blonde next to her with an eyebrow raised. "So it's your dad again?"
Quinn just nods.
Santana shakes her head with a frown. "[Asshole,]" she breathes out, causing the blonde to look over curiously. She clears her throat slightly. "Ok, so what should our code word be?"
Quinn looks up in thought. "'Code Red'," she responds simply.
Santana just nods with a bit of a sad smile. "'Code Red' it is."
That was shortly before the first time Judy Fabray kicked Russell Fabray out of their home. Apparently getting rough with Quinn again had been the final straw. In addition, it was only about two weeks after this incident when Santana's own father left for good, without so much as a note let alone a proper goodbye. It was a memorable day, indeed, but for all the wrong reasons.
For the next few years 'Code Red' was utilized on a semi-regular basis, whenever necessary. Santana can remember almost every individual instance. Maria would let Quinn stay on the pull-out couch for nights at a time―even school nights―without asking for any sort of explanation at all. It was one of the older Latina's redeeming qualities―the amount of care she exhibited for a child that wasn't even her own.
And yet it was the nights when things got really bad at the Fabray house that were especially memorable. Quinn wouldn't call on those nights. She would just ride her bike over, even in the dead of winter, and climb the large oak tree outside of the house, scaling close to the Latina's window and simply knocking to announce her presence. It almost became automatic. Even if Santana was in the deepest of sleeps, she would wake to the quiet knocking, get up and open the window for the blonde to climb in so that they could share the bed. It was never anything romantic or sexual. Often times Santana would just hold the crying blonde until she fell asleep, whispering reassuring words into her ear and running a hand through her hair in an attempt to lull her into a state of relaxation. Maria usually wouldn't even know Quinn was there until breakfast the next morning.
The memories are sad, and they are perhaps only made all the more sad by the fact that the pair had reached a point where when Quinn needed her the most―last year during babygate―Santana wasn't even considered an option. Sue Sylvester, the Cheerios, the competition for captaincy, and even more so just the competition for popularity, had driven such a wedge into their friendship that Quinn didn't even think to turn to the Latina, who was once her strongest ally, in her hour of need. Santana would never admit it to anyone, not even herself, but it cut her deeper than she wished it had.
And then there's the guilt. The guilt of not being the one to step up and be the bigger person; of not putting their personal shit aside to be a good friend; of being so hung up on everything other than being a friend that she didn't even think to offer the girl a place to stay, despite the fact the blonde basically had a free pass with her mother. Quinn ended up staying with someone who was practically a stranger because Santana wasn't there and Mercedes stepped up to be that person―the person that Santana wishes, in hindsight, that she had had the balls to be.
Santana sighs before abruptly shaking her head, bringing herself back to the present. "You driving or you want me to pick you up?" she asks gently.
"Pick me up," Quinn says firmly before huffing a frustrated laugh. "He's decided that my car isn't mine anymore."
Santana sighs. "Ok, Q, I'll be there in ten."
"Thanks," the blonde replies simply before hanging up.
Santana just looks down at her phone in slight disbelief. The asshole is back. She quickly shakes the thought and heads downstairs, not even bothering to grab a jacket, just grabbing her keys before heading out.
She makes the short drive over to the imposingly large Fabray household, a house she's always hated―the feigned kindness and false sense of entitlement never quite sitting well with her―and pulls into the driveway before honking twice abruptly. Quinn quickly emerges from the veritable fortress looking extremely frazzled, a duffle bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, her face awash in red from crying.
As the blonde moves closer, Santana realizes that the redness on the right side of her face is darker and the pigmentation is more uneven, as if hand-shaped. She can feel immediate rage rising in her veins, the heat of it stinging her face, and she tightens her grip on the steering wheel. She can't help but think back to the first time she noticed the blonde had a bruise.
July 17, 2001
It's a gorgeous summer evening, and a bored, seven-year-old Santana decides to ride her bike over to Quinn's house to see what the blonde is up to. When she arrives at the Fabray residence, Quinn is already outside and pulling her bike out of the garage at the side of the house.
Santana waves excitedly, "Quinn!"
The blonde looks up in surprise and waves hesitantly back before brushing some hair down over her face with her hand. She walks over with her bike, and, though her head is down and her hair is creating a bit of a shield, Santana can see a bit of a black mark beneath one of the girl's hazel eyes that makes her arch an eyebrow.
"Let's go to the secret place," Quinn says simply before hopping onto the saddle of her bike and starting to pedal. Santana rushes to catch up to the girl and they ride towards their destination in silence.
The secret place was a forested spot near the lake that Quinn and Santana spent a lot of time at during their summers. It was essentially a narrow inlet that separated the lake from a small pond and had a small bridge spanning its width. It was relatively hidden away from the main roads and was, according to the pair, by far the best spot for stone skipping and tree climbing.
They arrive at the spot and Quinn unceremoniously abandons her bike before proceeding to the water's edge to grab a handful of stones. She moves up to the bridge and starts to skip the stones across the water's glistening blue surface, all without a glance back at the Latina.
Santana carefully places her own bike down on the grass before just watching the girl, taking slow, hesitant steps towards the blonde as she stares at the bruise around her eye for an extended period of time. She scrunches her face. "What happened to your eye?" she asks curiously and with the genuine naivety of a seven-year-old.
Quinn drops the rocks she's holding and falls to her knees, bringing her hands up to her face as she starts to cry.
Santana has no idea what to do and cocks her head to the side in confusion. The only time she's ever seen the blonde cry before was in junior kindergarten when Noah Puckerman ripped the head off of Betsy, Quinn's favourite doll―which, obviously. But these tears are different somehow, and they make no sense to the Latina.
She approaches slowly and takes a seat close to the blonde on the edge of the bridge, letting her feet dangle down over the water. A moment of silence passes before Santana reaches into the pocket of her denim overalls to retrieve something and hold it out to the blonde.
"Here, take Toby," she says softly, holding out a small wind-up toy frog for Quinn to take. "He always makes me feel better when I'm sad."
The blonde looks up in slight amazement, her eyes glistening with unspent tears, before shuffling forward so that she's sitting directly next to Santana and her feet are dangling off of the edge of the bridge as well. She stares down at the green and yellow piece of plastic in the Latina's hand, smoothing her own hands over the fabric of her white sundress. "But, you love Toby," she argues softly, looking back up at the girl with wide eyes.
Santana shrugs. "It's just a dumb frog. I have other toys. Toby helps people and you need help right now," she smiles as she hands over possession of the treasured toy.
Quinn smiles in return, dropping her head to rest on the Latina's shoulder as she plays with the plastic frog between her hands.
"I don't think I want to go home," the blonde says absently, her eyes fixed on the toy.
Santana arches a curious eyebrow but doesn't move. "What do you mean?"
Quinn sighs. "Daddy got mad at me because I didn't do the dishes right, and... I just don't want to go home."
Santana nods slightly.
Quinn's hands still and she lifts her head suddenly, looking at the Latina with wide, hopeful eyes, "Can we run away?"
Santana returns the stare with bright eyes and an enthusiastic smile. "We could totally build a treehouse in the forest and live in it!" she suggests excitedly.
Quinn nods with equal excitement. "And we could have bonfires at night, and we could have marshmallows and hotdogs for every meal," she smiles brightly.
Santana nods in return. "And we could have pet rabbits and squirrels and ducks..." she trails off suddenly, growing quite sullen as she looks up at the blonde curiously. "Can Brittany come, too?"
Quinn nods. "Of course she can! She's a girl. Of course, there will be no boys allowed," she shakes her head. "It has to be a cootie-free home."
Santana nods in agreement with a wide smile, "Totally. No boys ever."
Quinn smiles sheepishly before leaning over to give the Latina a quick peck on the cheek. When she pulls away she looks down at Toby with a slight blush. "You're the best, S."
Santana feels a bit of a flutter in her stomach and reaches out to take one of the blonde's hands into her own. "You too, Q," she smiles.
Quinn settles her head back onto Santana's shoulder and they just sit, watching the sun set over the lake until well after it's retreated beneath the horizon.
They stayed at the secret spot until well after Santana's 8pm curfew that night before heading home so that Santana could pitch their seemingly Nobel-worthy escape plan to her parents. Of course, her parents immediately put the kibosh on the girls' plan, but they did let Quinn stay a few nights while things calmed down at the Fabray household.
As Santana snaps back to reality, and to the girl currently in front of her, her slightly happy, slightly melancholy memory drifts away and the overwhelming heat of anger kicks back into gear. Right now, looking at the quick-forming bruise on the blonde's face, she wants nothing more than to stomp up to the large house, ring the doorbell, and punch pompous, whiskey-soaked Russell Fabray right in his fucking hate-spewing mouth.
Quinn silently enters the vehicle, resting the bag on her lap before looking over with vacant eyes. "Let's get out of here before he notices I'm gone."
Santana just nods wordlessly and sets to driving.
The drive is short, and in less than ten minutes―two of those minutes spent waiting for the slowest pedestrian in the history of the world to cross the street, drawing some pronounced honking of the horn and Spanish obscenities―Santana is pulling back into her own driveway. The pair enter the house and Quinn just shrugs off her jacket before heading into the living room. Santana picks up and hangs the girl's jacket before heading off to the kitchen to get a glass of water for her.
When she returns to the living room, Quinn is lying in the foetal position on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly. Santana sighs as she watches the girl from her position in the doorway, the flood of similar memories running through her mind nearly overwhelming. She runs a hand over her hair, wondering what the fuck―if anything―she can do to make the situation any better. She swallows heavily before walking in, and she sets the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of the blonde, in her line of sight, before settling on the couch at her feet.
Quinn stares at the glass for a few moments before clearing her throat. "I need a drink."
Santana arches an eyebrow and looks over the girl. "Water's on the table."
"No," the blonde clarifies abruptly without shifting. "A real drink."
Santana continues staring pointedly at the girl for a moment before releasing a deep sigh and reluctantly rising to her feet. She heads back to the kitchen and grabs the near-empty bottle of vodka she has from the cupboard before heading to the living room once more. She places the bottle down on the coffee table next to the glass of water, not even thinking about taking a drink herself, and this time Quinn sits up abruptly, turning her head towards the Latina as she takes a seat once more.
"That's it?" she asks with an eyebrow raised.
Santana shrugs. "We kind of depleted my supply last weekend."
The blonde groans before reaching out for the bottle and uncapping it.
Santana sighs as she sinks back into the couch, raising a hand to her still-hot forehead. "Your dad makes me so fucking angry."
Quinn nods and waves a hand out in agreement. "Preaching to the fucking choir," she says simply before taking a long swig from the bottle.
The Latina just shakes her head and turns towards the blonde with a bit of an incredulous look. "I honked at a blind kid."
Quinn laughs, really laughs, almost choking on her half-swallowed mouthful vodka as she does. She coughs it down before looking at the Latina with a smile―the first smile Santana's seen cross her lips so far. "I think it was justifiable. He was moving pretty fucking slow," the girl shrugs before drinking the last bit of vodka from the bottle and placing it down on the table.
Santana chuckles and shakes her head, stretching her legs out to rest them on the coffee table, and Quinn shifts, settling her head onto the Latina's lap. Santana starts brushing her hands through the blonde's hair almost automatically, and she can see that the girl's eyes are starting to water. She knows better than to call her out on it, but she does feel the need to say something.
"It's gonna be ok, Q. Your mom's smarter than that, there's no way she'll take him back," she assures the girl softly as she continues to comb her fingers through the girl's golden mane.
Quinn scoffs lightly, looking up pointedly. "Except she did last time... and the time before that... and the time before that..."
Santana silently groans, wishing she could somehow make this all go away but at the same time knowing it's entirely impossible. She drops her head back to rest on the top of the couch to stare at the ceiling and a silence spreads over the room for a few long moments before she speaks again.
"We never ran away, you know," she breathes out softly, lifting her head back up to chance a glance down at the girl in her lap.
Quinn's eyes slowly open as her brow furrows in confusion for a moment before it hits her. "Oh my god, the treehouse," she voices softly in realization, a sad smile playing on her lips.
Santana just nods encouragingly with a slight smile.
"And you gave me Toby!" the blonde remarks in disbelief, raising a hand to her forehead as the memory enters her mind.
The Latina just nods again. "You know, you were the first girl who ever kissed me," she informs the girl with a bit of a smile and an arched eyebrow.
Quinn laughs and shakes her head before looking up with a bit of a grin. "Shit, I turned you gay at seven years old," she chuckles once more.
Santana laughs through a scoff, "Don't flatter yourself, Q. Besides, who says I'm gay?"
The blonde just drops her brow and narrows her gaze.
The Latina's brow furrows. "What, you think I'm gay just because I'm dating Rachel?"
Quinn just shoots an unimpressed stare, "And possibly also the sleeping with B?"
Santana scoffs, "And how about the fact that I sleep with Puck, too?"
The ex-cheerio arches a questioning eyebrow.
The Latina rolls her eyes. "Well not lately," she amends, though she feels it should be entirely obvious.
Quinn doesn't want to let it go, though, her eyebrow staying arched. "And what about those other cheerios?"
A small but telling smirk crosses Santana's lips briefly. "I don't have a single idea what you're talking about."
The blonde's brow furrows again as she narrows her gaze, pointing a finger up at the Latina. "Don't think I don't know what went on in those showers. There's a reason I never showered in the locker room."
Santana's mouth splits into an absolute grin as she chuckles, some pretty fond memories infiltrating her mind. She only snaps back into reality when her phone vibrates against her thigh. The vibration rattles through the blonde's head and she lifts up temporarily as Santana reaches into her pocket to grab the device. The Latina looks to see she has a text from Rachel, and reading it makes her smile.
'So... I had a thought. Given our new policy of honesty with my fathers, you should probably get to know them a little better. Do you want to join us for Sunday dinner?'
Quinn arches an eyebrow at the Latina's smile, "Rachel?"
Santana just nods, turning her attention to the girl on her lap. "You haven't had dinner yet, have you?"
The blonde shakes her head. "I'm not even remotely hungry, though."
She types while the girl is talking, 'Where?' before looking down with a furrowed brow.
"You need to fucking eat, Q."
Quinn groans and rolls her eyes, and a response from Rachel comes in.
'Breadstix ;P'
Santana chuckles lightly. 'Two nights in a row, huh? :P' she taps out before looking at the blonde again.
"I call you 'fatty' just for fun, you know. In all actuality, you look like you could use a fucking truckload of Big Macs, Fabray."
Quinn groans again and raises an arm, letting it fall to rest over her eyes. "Fine, whatever," she breathes out exhaustedly.
A response from Rachel comes in, 'So... Is that a yes?'
Santana taps her thumb on the side of her phone for a few moments in thought before looking down at the blonde on her lap, chewing her lip in uncertainty. "How would you feel about potentially going out for dinner with Rachel and her dads?"
Quinn slowly slides her arm up to her forehead to reveal wide eyes. "You're fucking joking, right?" she huffs.
The Latina smiles somewhat dejectedly, and Quinn rolls her eyes before elaborating.
"Ok, (a) her dads probably fucking hate me; (b) me and Rachel aren't all that close so it's likely it would be the most awkward dinner ever, even without her dads there; and, (c) have you looked at me? I'm a fucking mess," the blonde slightly chuckles and shakes her head. "The last thing I want to do is go out in public right now."
Santana nods in understanding, though her overall expression doesn't shift. She actually finds herself feeling bad as she taps out a response. 'Not this time, but thanks for the invite. ;)'
A quick response comes in. 'Ok..?'
'Q's here...' she taps out, but she doesn't send it yet, instead looking down at the blonde once more.
"How much do you want me to tell her about why you're here?"
Quinn squeezes her eyes shut and exhales audibly before looking up at the Latina's eyes. "Whatever you want, I guess."
Santana nods before taking to tapping again, adding to the bit she already has down. 'Her dad's back and it's just a bad scene at her house right now, so she's staying here.'
'Oh no, is she alright?'
Santana smiles at the diva's concern. 'She will be. She just needs a break.'
'Ok. Then I guess I'll just see you in school tomorrow?'
'Of course. Have a nice dinner :)'
'Have a good night :) xoxo'
Santana smiles once more before putting her phone down on the side table and turning her attention back to the girl on her lap. "Ok, so, food. We could order something...?" she trails off with an eyebrow raised.
Quinn scoffs slightly. "You're really not gonna let this go, are you?" she deadpans before, in an ultimate act of betrayal, her stomach growls audibly, cutting through the silence in the empty room.
The Latina shakes her head with a bit of a grin. "Not a fucking chance, Fabray. And you know how stubborn I can be," she adds as a final, definitive point.
The blonde groans, lifting a hand to her forehead. "Ugh, fine," she pauses for a moment, seemingly in thought. "Does anyone deliver bacon?" she cedes slightly.
The Latina furrows her brow in thought, seriously considering the question. "Well..." she trails off, raising a hand to scratch her head, mentally running through every delivery place she can think of. "We could order KFC and get you a sandwich that has bacon on it?"
Quinn nods pronouncedly. "Bacon good."
Santana laughs slightly, leaning down a bit to pat the blonde's cheek condescendingly. "Grammar also good," she teases.
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she breathes out, but it's with a bit of a smile, and it makes Santana smile too.
The pair do order and eat food, Santana keeping a close eye to make sure that Quinn eats her entire meal, while watching movies. Horror was not on the table, the blonde preferring something a little more light-hearted under the circumstances. After a marathon of 'Holy Grail', 'Life of Brian', and 'The Meaning of Life'―Monty Python films being a particular favourite for both of the girls―it's past 11pm, and, much to Santana's delight, the depressed blonde has spent a good portion of the night laughing and reciting lines along with the movies.
As soon as the tv is off and the room falls silent, though, Quinn's mood seems to shift again. Santana sighs as she looks over at the blonde, who is staring blankly ahead.
"Come on, Q," she offers a hand. "Let's go get you set up."
Quinn doesn't take her hand, but does follow her out in the hallway, where Santana grabs the duffle bag and slings it over her shoulder before leading the blonde upstairs and into her room. The blonde plops down on the bed and Santana puts the bag down next to her, opening it and handing her some sleep clothes, which she reluctantly accepts.
The blonde just starts to strip, her sense of modesty having left the building along with her laughter. Santana turns her back and takes a few steps, crossing her arms in front of her body, not wanting to perv on one of her oldest friends. Quinn just watches in amusement, slightly chuckling as she pulls on a nightshirt.
"It's not like I'm getting buck naked over here, S," she teases softly as she stands to tug off her jeans.
Santana rolls her eyes but doesn't turn around. "Doesn't make a difference, Q, don't need to see it."
Quinn furrows her brow, staring discriminatingly at the Latina's back. "You've seen me in a lesser state of dress in the locker room a million times but now you're all bashful?" she chuckles again with a slight shake of her head. "Worried it'll turn you on?" she inquires smugly as she pulls on a pair of running shorts.
This time Santana scoffs a laugh. Any other day she would immediately fire back with a comment about the unattractiveness of stretch marks, but given the events of the day, she decides to let it slide. "You know, usually I just write stuff off as you being you―as strange as you fucking are―but sometimes I think you're full-on delusional."
Quinn just rolls her eyes as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed once more. "Ok pervy, you can turn around now. I'm fully clothed."
Santana does turn with a bit of a smile. She takes Quinn's bag and sets it on her desk, gesturing for the blonde to get under the covers as she does. She drops the blinds and turns to head towards the door. She stretches a hand out to hit the lights, but the blonde's voice stops her.
"San," she breathes out, a bit of embarrassment plainly evident in her voice. "Could you just... could you stay for a little while?"
If it were even a month ago, she probably would have just scoffed and left the room, storing away the blonde's vulnerability for future ammunition; however, now she just sighs softly before turning around with a soft smile and nodding.
She lifts the covers and carefully slides in behind the blonde, wrapping an arm around her torso, pulling the girl tight against her own body. Quinn starts to cry softly, and Santana reaches her other hand up to brush it through the blonde's hair.
"Shh, shh, it's ok, I'm here," she coos softly.
"I just," the blonde breathes out, her uneven breathing affecting her speech. "I just thought he'd stay away this time, you know?"
Santana sighs into the girl's neck. "I know." And she does. She's seen enough of what Russell Fabray does to Quinn, both emotionally and physically, that it's fairly obvious that the only thing the girl has ever hoped for is that the asshole would disappear for good. "I could, you know, take care of him, mob-style if you want..?" she slightly smirks.
The girl chuckles in her arms. "Promise?"
"Fuck yeah," Santana replies softly. "I'll totally go all 'Godfather' on his ass."
Quinn lightly chuckles through a yawn. "Awesome," she pushes out softly as she starts to drift off.
Within minutes the blonde's breathing evens out and Santana is almost sure she's fallen asleep, but she stays an extra ten minutes to be sure, knowing from experience that the first night is always the worst. When she's convinced that the girl is down for the count, she slowly and silently climbs out of the bed, turning off the lights and closing the door quietly behind her as she leaves.
Next chapter should be ready to go by Monday :) I'm hoping I can get back into my normal publishing schedule despite exams and all that shittiness.
Thanks for reading!