#//DON'T TAKE THAT TONE WITH MY KIMMY

[iguana-eyanna]

Took You Long Enough

Pairing: Shayne Topp x fem!reader

Summary: All of your friends are tired of you and Shayne flirting with each other even if you two claim your friends, so they have to take matters into their own hands

Requested by @winifrede , hope you like it!

You walked into work, feeling energized.

This has been your fifth year working at Smosh. You handled the writing in your first two years, then after a few cameo appearances, you became a full cast member.

You go to the kitchen first, wanting to grab a Celsius before the office meeting.

"Celsius? I'm surprised you didn't go to your regular coffee place down the street." a voice asks out loud.

You smile to yourself, turning around with your drink as you saw Shayne.

He was by the shelves, trying to find one of his snacks that he purposely hides in the back.

"Wanted to change things up a bit, but I also chose to stay sane and not jittery every 5 minutes."

Shayne laughs, giving you his signature grin.

"That reminds me, did you like that book I gave you? I know it wasn't your type of genre, but it made me think of you." He says, giving you his full attention as his snack was long forgotten.

Your eyes brighten as you dig in your bag on your side, digging to find it.

"I loved it so much! I think this has to be my top 5 books. Thank you for lending it to me." You said, offering it back to him.

"Anytime. Let me know if you want any other recs." He said. You two talked a bit more before you had to go, but what you didn't know was that a few of your friends were secretly watching you two.

"See how they flirt with each other? No wonder they have fan edits." Jackie points out from her chair. It was true, since you've been in more videos, the fans speculated how you and Shayne had great chemistry on screen and on vlogs. But Shayne always said that hasn't dated in a long time and you've been trying to see people (but haven't found anything long-term).

"I'm really surprised they haven't thought of dating each other by now. They seem really good together." Kimmy said, sighing.

"Too perfect." Damien mutters softly as he was working on his computer.

Jackie and Kimmy perk their heads up and look at their friend who hasn't realized what he said.

"Is there something you would like to share with the class?" Jackie asks, a bit too hostile.

Damien stops typing his keyboard as he realized that he made a mistake.

"I- um, don't know what you're talking about." Damien says, acting dumb.

Jackie and Kimmy get up in unison and corner Damien in his seat.

"Spill it Haas." Kimmy says, pointing her finger at her.

Damien raises his hands in the air for defense, squinting his eyes.

"Okay, okay! You got me." He says. The two girls lean in closer so no one could hear but them.

"Shayne and I were hanging out at his place and I noticed he got new books. I asked where he got them and he said he was borrowing them from her. After that, he just started rambling on and on about what they had in common. Then, he was thinking of asking her out on a date."

Jackie and Kimmy squeal almost jumping up and down.

"Wait, why hasn't Shayne asked her out yet?" Kimmy asks.

Damien sighs. "He's tried, but he's too shy when he tries asking her. I guess since he's still trading books with her, he still likes her, even if it's killing him that they're just friends.

"Well, we have to change that. And I know how..." Jackie says in an evil tone, looking at her desktop for her unfinished script for their upcoming video: Smosh Pit Theater.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most of the cast was on set for shooting the fan fiction video. There was you, Jackie, Damien, Chanse, Angie, Kimmy, Courtney, and Shayne. Everyone was wearing their black turtlenecks.

You were all about to record as you explained the audience of what's to come.

"Hello everyone. Today, we will be showing a special type of Smosh Theater. Not only did some of our cast members wrote fanfiction about us, but we have a bigger budget as well!" Damien said at the camera.

Now it was Kimmy's turn to speak to the camera. "All of the budget was used on props and costumes! Our writers today are Jackie, Courtney, and Damien." they all take their individual bows.

"No one knows what the writers wrote so we are acting this out for the first time." you later explained.

"This is a serious production and we are serious actors." Shayne says with a pretentious voice.

"Without further ado, let us begin." Courtney concluded.

Since she had the floor, it was her turn first. Courtney wrote about the members surviving in a post apocalyptic world.

Then, it was Damien's turn. He wrote a fic that was about the smosh members in a spy noir setting where they tried to find out who killed their boss, Ian Hecox. You thought it was such a great script.

Finally, it was Jackie (who looked a little too giddy). She steps right up and holds a stack of papers in her hands. "This fanfiction was inspired by two of my friends, known to swap their favorite books to each other. I think it's hella cute."

You look a bit off-guard as well as Shayne, not knowing what will come next. "I was too eager to write this that it only took me a day. For our final fanfiction, I give you 'A Hidden Chapter of Our Love,' written by me."

She starts giving everyone their roles:

Shayne is the lead role, a soft-spoken bookworm

Damien was a theater kid who wants to go to Juliard

Chanse is the captain of the cheerleading team & the school bully

Courtney was the narrator *her lines will be italicized*

Kimmy was the ditzy cheerleader

Angie was the misfit, who often got in trouble

Jackie was a prestigious art student

and you, the only nice, popular cheerleader who starts to fall in love with the bookworm, Shayne

Everyone started wearing their costumes, fitting into their roles. You, Kimmy, and Chanse had pom poms, Shayne had books, Damien was wearing a black scarf with that hat from the musical Newsies, Jackie held a sketchpad, and Angie wore a leather jacket.

Everyone had a script in their hands and was ready to act out Jackie's script.

Scene 1: The Meet Up

It was the first day at Smosh High, and students were eager to have a memorable senior year.

Here we have Shayne, a shy scholarly student who wished to get out of his small town and go to his dream university.

"Just a few more months and I can get the hell out of here." Shayne said, shifting his glasses.

"Don't I know it." Damien replied.

Damien was Shayne's best friend since junior high. He was always the star of each show he's done. And like Shayne, wants to leave the bounds of his old life and rise like the phoenix he is.

They walk in the hallway to find their homeroom and accidentally bump into a group of cheerleaders.

"Watch it, nerds."

Chanse said, knocking down Shayne's books to the floor. Chanse was the most ruthless cheerleader at their high school. he often picked on people who weren't in the cheer squad or in a sport.

"Yeah, what he said." Kimmy replied.

Kimmy was your pretty cheerleader that all the students wished to have, but at times was pretty clueless. The two strutted away except for one cheerleader.

"I'm sorry about my friends." You said, kneeling down to help Shayne with his books.

That was the only nice cheerleader on the squad. She wasn't like the other girls, and had a dark secret that only two people know in this school. She can't help but notice how cute this blonde guy with his books.

You and Shayne can't help but snicker after those words.

"Don't bother, you don't want to be seen with a low life like me." Shayne said, brushing you aside.

She got up and shyly looks over her shoulder till she hears Chanse calling her to follow them to the lockers.

"I don't get why you're so mean to her, she was just trying to help." Damien says.

Shayne rolls his eyes.

"It's all just an act. Cheerleaders like her would do anything to be recognized to become prom queen."

Shayne stated as the two make their way to homeroom.

Scene 2: You Again?

Jackie and Angie were talking into their first period of AP Literature and see their friend since kindergarten come late and sit next to them.

"Well well well, the popular girl is gracing us with her presence." Angie said, pretending to bow.

"Ha ha, very funny." You said.

"You sure Chanse won't be upset when he hears you're talking with us?" Jackie asks, pretending to draw on her paper.

"No, I don't get why he told the squad we can't have any other friends outside of the team. I love you guys I want us to have the best senior year ever." You said.

Jackie and Angie aw as they all hug.

"By the way, the teacher told us that we got paired up randomly with the people in our class for the entire year. Me and Angie got paired up." Jackie says.

"And you got paired with Shayne in the back, you two will hit off since you both love-"

The cheerleader shushes Angie, looking around to see if anyone heard.

"You know you can't say my secret to the school. If word got out, I'll be done." You exaggerated.

Angie rolls her eyes as she puts her feet on the table.

"I'll meet up with Shayne but I'll see you guys after school?"

They wave goodbye while you make your way to Shayne who was reading a book.

"Whatcha reading?" You ask.

"It's called 'None of your beeswax.'" Shayne stubbornly says.

"Ouch." your friends said offscreen.

"Look, we're about to work together for the entire year. Can we try to at least tolerate each other?" you ask.

"Fine." Shayne says.

The bell rings and everyone gets out of their seats, collecting their things. The cheerleader and the bookworm decide to meet during the weekend to talk about their project.

When Shayne looks down at her seat, he sees that she left a book that she must have forgotten. He picks it up, reading the cover.

"Pride & Prejudice? Why does she have this?" He asks out loud.

What he doesn't know is that he's about to unlock your biggest secret.

Later on, the plot thickens as your character and Shayne begin flirt with each other.

"-and that's how Damien and I are banned from the local Denny's."

You laugh at his story as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

"You know, you're pretty nice when you're not rude to me."

"and you're not as stuck up as I thought you'd be." Shayne replied.

Shayne gives you a gaze, trying to figure out who is this girl.

"By the way, I've been meaning to give you back something." Shayne said, taking out your copy of Pride & Prejudice.

"Where did you get that?" you ask, dramatically.

"You left this on your desk. I thought this was for school but this wasn't on the reading list."

She takes it away from him, hugging it closely.

"Be careful! It's a hardcover." You whispered, peering down to see if it was damaged.

"You're nervous that I found a book, you're the only cheerleader in our AP Lit, are you..."

Shayne leans closer into her ear.

"A bookworm?"

You try so hard to stifle a laugh. You got back into character and look at Shayne.

"Yes, I've been hiding it since I was 12 years old."

Shayne gasps out loud, surprised. A smart cheerleader in his presence? He thought those never existed.

"Dear god." Chanse said behind the camera.

"Promise not a word goes out. Only my friends, Angie and Jackie, know. I'm just trying to get by till graduation, then I could be whoever I want to be."

"You know, I feel that. Your secret is safe with me." He says.

Scene 3: Everything falls apart

After her secret was revealed to Shayne, they start to hang out more. They trade books behind the football stands and often hid in the library, discussing the plots of each story they read.

"Wait, you like hanging out with that Shayne guy? I thought he hated your guts!" Angie says.

"His best friend is so hot, especially when he sings Santa Fe." Jackie giggles.

Damien hides his face in his hands, feeling slightly flustered.

"I thought so too, but he seems sweet. I'm happy thatI found someone who has something in common with me."

"Or rather someone you like." Jackie hinted.

"We're just friends, nothing more. Let's go, we're going to be late for class." You said, getting your bag and heading your separate ways.

What the girls didn't know was that Kimmy was in the background, hearing every word her cheerleader friend said.

"Chanse will definitely want to hear this." she said, running away to find him.

Switch to Damien and Shayne who were by the lockers, talking mindlessly.

"So prom is coming up, do you think you're going?" Damien says.

"Prom is just a stupid event where teenagers are stuck in a room all night secretly hating on each other's guts in the school's gym." Shayne says, annoyed.

"So... no." Damien asks.

"You out of all people should know that I am not going to set foot at a school dance."

"I thought you could ask that cheerleader out since you've been sneaking off after school to the library. I'm thinking of asking that girl Jackie, she's so talented, and pretty, and smart, and pretty..."

"Whoa. what makes you think I should ask her?" Shayne asks.

"You guys are like Benedick and Beatrice from Shakespeare’s finest works. You both hate each other with a passion. Then, you realize you two are meant to be."

"Yeah, meant to be..." Shayne repeats his friends words.

Towards the end of the day, Chanse and Kimmy confront there fellow cheermate.

"Look girl, we need you to focus our way to the Cheer championships. You can't be associated yourself with some geeks. It'll ruin our image." Chanse snapped.

"Yeah, what Chanse said." Kimmy said

"So drop your loser friends, or you're off the team." Chanse said, strutting away with Kimmy.

"Hey!" A voice cried out. The cheerleader turns around to see Shayne running towards her, hiding something behind his back.

"I know we shouldn't be caught talking together in public, but I wanted to ask you somethi-"

"Shayne." You stopped him.

She takes a deep breath and is about to say something that she will soon regret.

"I don't think we should carry on about us: being friends and all. You're just a bookworm and I'm a cheerleader. We shouldn't mix." You said, walking away.

Shayne takes out a bouquet of flowers and throws them to the ground.

Everyone behind the camera feels bad for his character as they aw in pity.

"Prom is a waste of time... and so does pretty girls that break your heart."

After that scene, everyone changed into their prom outfits. Once you've changed, you were going back to set but you could hear someone saying your name. You were about to ask who it was but you see Damien and Shayne with their backs toward you, oblivious that you were there.

"I think Jackie is trying to get me and her to pair up." Shayne says.

"Really? I haven't noticed." Damien lies, trying to hid Jackie's secret.

"Like the switching books concept? We've just been doing that for a couple of years, it's not that romantic."

Damien looks at his friend who was clearly in denial.

"It's just us, tell me what's wrong man."

Shayne takes a deep breath.

"What I'm scared most is the kissing scene. I just... don't want things to change between us."

You feel your heart go down in your stomach. Of course he doesn't like you like that. You were about to leave until you heard Shayne speak up.

"I'm falling hard for her. And every time I don't tell her how I feel, it's just another day of letting her go."

Damien sighs and pats his friend's back.

"You'll never know how she feels until you ask her."

They sound like they were about to leave, so you made sure you were out of sight. At that moment, you knew what to do now.

Everyone gets ready for the prom scene on set. Courtney resumes her narrative.

Scene 5: One Final Dance

It was prom night. Everyone was dressed and was excited for tonight's festivities. Damien and Shayne walk in to their school gym.

"Thanks for coming man, you know you didn't have to come." Damien says.

"Don't worry, I'm just here to make sure you don't look like a fool in front of Jackie." Shayne said.

Then comes out Jackie and Angie. Jackie was sporting a ball gown while Angie was wearing a slip dress with her signature leather jacket and converse.

"Hi Dami, you look very handsome." Jackie says, hiding her giggles.

"And you look as radiant as the sun, m'lady." Damien bowed, kissing her hand.

"Ugh. Gross guys." Angie said.

The new couple hook their arms and make their way to the dance floor.

"Forced to come here too?" Shayne asks Angie.

"Yeah, Jackie would have lost her mind if she didn't have her moral support system. Thank god I didn't have to handle her alone."

"Who else did you guys come with?" Shayne asks.

"That would be me." a voice said.

Shayne turns around and sees you in a really pretty dress.

"Wow" Shayne said, not following the script anymore.

Angie makes her way out as someone cues some slow dance music that wasn't copyrighted.

Shayne tries to look away, crossing his arms as he looks down at the script.

"Thought you didn't want to be seen with me?" He asks.

"I had a change of heart, especially when I quit the Cheer squad."

Shayne turns around, not believing her words.

"Why did you do that? Don't you want to be popular?" He asks.

"No, I don't think I ever did. I just got lost of where I belong in high school."

"And where do you want to belong?" He asks.

"In your arms."

Everyone oohs off screen as you and Shayne blush like idiots.

Shayne awkwardly places his hands around your waist as you wrap yours around his neck.

"Remember when you gave me back my book? I wanted to give you something else." You said, silently gulping.

"What did you want to give me?" Shayne shyly asks, thinking you'll just give him a kiss on the cheek.

"This." you whispered.

You lean in to Shayne and kissed his lips. Your heart was beating a thousand times per second. You pull away and look at Shayne who looked off guard.

You look scared, not knowing if this was the best idea. It wasn't until Shayne dropped his script and kissed you again, holding you tight against him. You held on too, as your script was long forgotten.

Everyone of your friends cheered on. You two couldn't tell how much time passed till you heard someone speak up.

"Uh, guys? We're still rolling." Garrett said. You and Shayne pull away, looking a bit out of breath.

"Sorry, got lost in the scene." Shayne said as you two picked up your scripts on the floors.

"Mmm hmmm" Chanse hummed as people started to break out of laughter.

After the scene was done, you all wrapped up the episode and congratulated each other on a job well done.

When you dressed back, you bump into Shayne unexpectedly.

"H-Hi." you nervously stutter.

"Hey, I was um, actually looking for you."

"Oh, what's up?" You said, already knowing what he wanted to ask.

"That kiss... it really meant a lot to me. But I, I wished we could had our first kiss after a first date."

"Shayne Topp, are you asking me out?" You asked, smiling.

"Yes, I'd love if we could go on a date together."

"Took you long enough." You said, making him chuckle.

You two went out of the studio to head to your favorite cafe down the street, walking hand in hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"All that hard work and they didn't thank us." Jackie says as Kimmy and Damien see that you two weren't around.

"I'm sure they'll say something later. For now, let them have fun." Kimmy smiled.

Damien gets a buzz from his phone and sees a text from Shayne.

He opens it and sees it's a pic with you and Shayne smiling with a message:

Thanks for the meddling, wouldn't be here without your guys' help. Will let you know how it goes.

Damien just chuckles and puts away his phone, letting his friend enjoy his first date with you as Jackie and Kimmy are already planning your wedding.

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

hi, i love ur writing sm!! my prompt is 116 for spommy (i have guitarist spencer brainrot) -kit

116. “you wrote me a song?”

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 9.6k, rated teen

summary:

five times tommy and spencer shared clothes and accessories and it wasn't a big deal, and one time they shared clothes and it was a very big fucking deal.

It begins, like most things, innocuously. Very rarely do the important things in life announce themselves. Very rarely do they feel the need to tell you: "Hello. You don't know me yet, but you will." And oh, you will. The important things sneak their way into your life, wiggle beneath the door you were sure was safely closed, find cracks between the floorboards to make themselves comfortable within until they decide you're ready for them. Or until the universe does. However that works. Spencer doesn't fucking know. It feels like every important thing that ever came into his life was a matter of luck and opportunity, impulse and split second decisions. He doesn't know that anything in his whole life went exactly according to plan.

This, though, this begins with a slight weight against Spencer's chest, his fingers grasping at something not his own, and a question. It's not even like the question is completely out of the blue, really. A few of them are standing in the hall talking, shooting the shit between shoots when they have a few minutes when they aren't technically supposed to be doing anything, so what's it matter if they take a second? Spencer is listening to and occasionally chiming in on a conversation about anime when he hears his name.

"Hey Spencer, isn't that Tommy's necklace?" Kimmy asks, her head tilted to the side as she moves closer to Spencer to inspect him. Blinking in surprise, Spencer looks down at the pendant in his hand. He hadn't thought about it since he put it on, really, just performed those morning tasks that a person performs most every day and went on with his life. Looking at it, having his attention focused upon it, it feels much heavier than it did before.

"Oh yeah, he left it on my sink and I wanted to make sure I brought it back to him. Thanks for reminding me," Spencer says, already setting down the hallway. He doesn't even realize that he's left mid conversation until he's halfway across the building, but well. He doesn't want to forget about it again. He knows how much Tommy wears this thing, and he's gotta be at least somewhat attached to it, and that makes it precious, in a way. He doesn't want to examine why something that matters to Tommy might matter more to Spencer than if it were another friend, how close he feels to Tommy's happiness, how being around Tommy Bowe is a fire he can warm his hands against. Not that he touches Tommy all that often. They're friends. He clears his throat when he gets to Tommy's desk, knocking on the surface of it. Tommy startles, taking his headphones down from his ears and letting them rest around his neck and lifting his head to look at Spencer.

"Hey, bub, what's up?" Tommy asks, that gentle tone to his voice that always feels like he uses it for Spencer alone. He knows that isn't the case, okay? He's not fully delusional. Sometimes it's just nice to let himself hope, you know? To let himself dream.

"You forgot your necklace on my bathroom counter," he say plainly, holding the pendant in his hand again. Tommy makes a small happy noise, reaching up and grabbing it between his fingers, Spencer's own hand falling away. He doesn't pull it up and off of Spencer, just pulls Spencer a half step forward to assuage his own worry that he's going to fucking break Tommy's necklace by not allowing himself to be moved by it. Tommy smiles at him so brightly, though. That's pretty fucking nice.

"I was wondering where it was! You could have just texted me about it, I would have come to get it. Not because I'm that committed to wearing it or anything, but better that than you having to walk across the building just to give it to me, not to mention remembering it at all," Tommy rambles, free hand gesticulating slightly with the ebb and flow of his words. He loves listening to him talk. He clears his throat again instead of giving in to the dopey smile that wants to make its way across his face.

"I really don't mind. It was kind of nice, actually. Having something to fidget with that wasn't, like, conspicuous. The weight. I dig it, man," Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders. Tommy raises his eyebrows, fond amusement coloring his expression. Spencer fights down the flustered feeling trying to take root in his chest, more akin to a stubborn vine than butterflies taking off.

"Why don't you hold onto it for me, then? For the rest of the day, at least. See if it's something you like?" Tommy offers, pulling Spencer gently forward again. Spencer looks down at the necklace, at Tommy's hand with knuckles against his chest, and clears his throat a third fucking time. He should decline keeping the necklace, though. It'll just make him think about Tommy all day, and he doesn't need that kind of distraction.

"You, uh- you wouldn't mind?" is what comes out of his mouth instead, and he brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck as it warms with his awful full body blush. It's not really full body, that's obviously dramatic, but it's his face, and his throat, and down his chest, across his ears, heat crawling down the back of his neck. It always feels like everybody in the room knows exactly what he's thinking when he flushes like that. Tommy's still looking at him with fondness, though, so he can't imagine all of his thoughts are telegraphed by his involuntary physiological response to his own emotions.

"Not a bit," Tommy says, twisting the chord of the necklace around his pointer finger as he continues, "I already got used to not having it on today. You could keep it til Saturday, we could go get you your own this weekend?" It legitimately takes Spencer a second to realize he's been asked a question; Tommy is absently rubbing his first two knuckles up and down Spencer's sternum. The consciousness of that touch makes Spencer's breath feel short in his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be cool," Spencer says, nodding. Clearing his throat for a fourth fucking time, he looks down at Tommy's hand more pointedly and then over, making eye contact with him. Tommy looks down at his own hand as if it had been moved from where he could have sworn he had left it, blinking rapidly before untangling his fingers from the chord. Spencer just barely stops himself from catching Tommy's hand, from pulling it back to his chest. Instead he smiles down at Tommy, bumping his knee against Tommy's own. Tommy rolls his eyes, but he still can't keep the fondness off his face.

"Go back to work," he says, laying his palm flat on Spencer's chest and pushing him away gently. Never one to miss a bit, Spencer falls back dramatically, pretending to stumble over his own feet and actually stumbling a little in the process. Tommy's adorable, fucking loud honk of a laugh rings through the air, and it's worth it to embarrass himself a little for that. He shoots Tommy a grin over his shoulder and leaves as directed, heading back to his own desk with the dumbest fucking grin on his face. Kimmy raises her eyebrows at him when he comes back, clocking both the dopey expression and that Tommy's necklace was still in his possession. Instead of entertaining the rapid fire questioning that is sure to follow the look she gives him, he sticks his headphones on and smiles at her, shrugging his shoulders and pointing at the headphones as if he hadn't just placed them there himself. She rolls her eyes, but she does it with a smile and gets back to her own shit after, so it's fine. Everything is fine.

Strangely enough, the next instance happens not two weeks later, like there was some Baader–Meinhof situation going on behind the scenes. Tommy only knows what the Baader–Meinhof thing is because of iconic camp nightmare The Raspberry Reich. The revolution is my boyfriend. Heterosexuality is the opiate of the masses. Lines of all time. More to the point, it's not like he was going to independently research an obscure phenomenon he had never heard of before, so his first time hearing of it was Raspberry Reich, it's all very normal. Don't think about it.

Anyway! Not two weeks after seeing Spencer with his necklace around his neck turned his brain to soup and made him incapable of passably human conversation and behavior, Spencer leaves his sweatshirt in Tommy's living room. And it's not like Tommy can just leave it there when Spencer was so sweet about his necklace. And Spencer had done the same thing with his necklace, really. He can't really imagine that wearing that was as nice as this, as tucking his nose beneath the collar of the sweatshirt and breathing in, as feeling that same sense of comfort and safety that Spencer himself gives Tommy when he's not even there himself. Not that he's ever told Spencer that that's a feeling he gets, he's not trying to fuck up their gig. He loves his friendship with Spencer. He loves Spencer.

But honestly the thing is, the real reason Tommy wears Spencer's sweatshirt the entire night before he brings it back to him and into the office the next day, what actually motivates him to do something as weird as wearing his dear friend's clothes around like their relationship is something different than it is, is simple really: he wants to wear it. He wants the sweater sleeves to come down over his hands, he wants to think about Spencer actually giving his sweatshirt on purpose, he wants to pretend for a minute that this can happen. Just because Spencer came out to him doesn't mean that Spencer wants him. Reminding himself of that never really hurts any less.

He should give it back as soon as he gets to the office, right? That's what a normal person would do at this juncture. Instead, Tommy goes to his own desk rather than Spencer's, putting on headphones immediately instead of diving into the typical morning conversation. Nothing can happen in this office without it trickling down the Smosh grapevine, no matter how trivial that happening might be. If he already gets into office conversation, Courtney will most definitely know that he's wearing Spencer's clothes before lunch and that cannot happen. They're the only one who knows how he feels, so far as Spencer is concerned. If he doesn't want to be made fun of for this all week, he should take it off. Still, he doesn't.

He doesn't see Spencer til sometime after lunch; Tommy's not exactly sure how long it's been since lunch, stewing in an editing fugue. Spencer had actually come to find him as well- Tommy had still been convincing himself that this didn't have to happen and if they just didn't talk about it, it didn't have to be a thing, but Spencer had apparently needed to show him some Reddit post but wanted to see his face when he read it, so he didn't want to send it over. Tommy is distracted enough by gagging at one of the most disgusting stories he's ever heard- men are disgusting- that he forgets he's even supposed to be talking to Spencer about anything, just enjoying his presence and hearing his laugh. Liking someone is the most embarrassing thing in the world. Eventually, though, Tommy does make himself bring it up, sleeves pulled over his hands.

"Keep it, man, looks better on you than it ever did on me," Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders. Tommy barely holds himself back vehement denial of the sentiment, genuinely fucking aghast that Spencer doesn't know how good he looks with a fine knit sweater stretched over his chest, but that might mean giving it back. And he doesn't want to do that. He wants to keep smelling like Spencer all day. He wants to feel like Spencer's fucking boyfriend, and it's pathetic. He should give it back.

"Spence, I can't take your sweater from you," he says, starting to pick up the bottom hem hesitantly. Spencer stays his hand, giving him an all too indulgent smile.

"It's not like you're stealing it, dude. I'm giving it to you," he says, gentle with Tommy in that way he's so rarely gentle with anyone, and Tommy wants to fucking bite him. He's so sweet, and nice, and fucking awful because how is someone supposed to not fall in love with him like this? Tommy makes a face at him, slumping forward dramatically to rest his head against the top of Spencer's stomach.

"You're a bully," he grumbles to the floor, pulling a laugh out of Spencer that Tommy canfeel, like that's allowed. Spencer's fingers card through his hair and Tommy struggles not to lean up into his touch, struggles not to just fall asleep and let Spencer hold him up. He's warm and he's tired and he's had a hard week, and Spencer makes him feel safe. He knows nothing's going to happen if Spencer's there. Not that he thinks something all too dramatic is going to happen at work, but there's no way that someone would be able to take a picture of him sleeping, or try to scare him awake, or try anything, really, because Spencer would put a stop to it. He'd keep him safe. Spencer's blunt nails scratch through the short hair at the back of Tommy's neck. Tommy has to suppress a shiver.

"You okay to be here all day? I can cover for you if you need to go get some sleep," Spencer asks quietly, his voice filled with that same indulgence as his smile. Tommy shakes his head, removing himself from his comfortable spot against Spencer's belly. Spencer's hand is still on the back of his neck.

"I'd just be tired there, too. Bad sleep week," he admits. Spencer's face creases with worry. Tommy doesn't let himself reach up to smooth out the expression even so much as he'd like to do just that.

"Anything I can do to help?" Spencer asks, absently scratching his fingers through Tommy's hair again, as if that doesn't make it nearly impossible to focus on what he said. How can Spencer help? Come over, he thinks, make my bedsheets smell like you. He's not going to fucking say that to Spencer, though. He's not stupid.

"I'll let you know if I think of something, alright?" he says, knowing that a direct denial wouldn't sit well with Spencer. The other man simply hums, his thumb and first two fingers squeezing the back of Tommy's neck comfortingly.

"You do that. Just text me if you think of anything, seriously. I should probably go do my actual job, though," Spencer says, slipping into a grin before bending at the waist and kissing the top of Tommy's head. "See you later, Tommy." Tommy sits there, blinking and blushing, until Rachel comes over with her eyebrows raised, questioning what just transpired as loudly as someone can without making a single sound.

"I have no idea what just happened," he says, and it's the truth. That doesn't mean he doesn't want it to happen again.

This time, it's less than a week later, and it's much less of an accident than the first two times.

Tommy unties his bandana halfway through dinner, complaining of sweating as if he himself did not order something spicy on purpose. He's eating ice directly from his glass every few minutes, exhibiting little to no regard for anyone who looks at him like he's doing something weird. Spencer's leaning his chin against his hand and openly staring, fondness plain as day despite the fact that the rest of the table is filled with half the people they share an office with. He and Tommy are tucked into one side of an oversized three quarter round booth, sitting next to each other and probably able to be honestly considered to be in their own little world right now; Tommy has been rhapsodizing the introduction of a promising new drag queen to the Los Angeles drag scene for about five minutes now, and Spencer's listened to every single word of it. So, when Tommy unties his bandana, Spencer is virtually the only one paying him any mind.

"Should I start carrying a bag, maybe? Just so I have somewhere to put shit when I want to take it off," Tommy says, his tone indicating, however, that he's not particularly looking for an answer as he tries to figure out a place to put the bandana so he won't lose it, presumably. Spencer extends the wrist of the arm that's closer to Tommy, making the other man tilt his head in question.

"Tie it to my wrist, I'll keep up with it til you want it back," he says, less offer and more instruction. Tommy smiles and Spencer doesn't lean in to kiss him and ruin their friendship, which is a matter of a lot of self control in the moment. Folding the bandana into a triangle and then rolling it into a flat, Tommy grabs Spencer's wrist in his hand, moving it over so that he can tie the bandana around it more comfortably. He's never thought of touching someone's wrist as particularly intimate before, but having a crush, especially on a friend, is fucking stupid. A fairly typical interaction will convince you they're in love with you. Another fairly typical interaction will convince you they know you like them and they're just trying to save your feelings. Neither is logical. Tommy's fingertips touch his skin as he finishes the tie, tapping it before moving Spencer's wrist back where he got it, like it's an item he borrowed. Fondness wells in Spencer.

"There you go," Tommy says. Keith gets Tommy's attention from across the booth then, calling on Tommy to back him up in some argument with Noah about music. Spencer lets himself stare for only a moment longer, conscious of being surrounded by people, let alone that Tommy could notice it himself. When he turns to his other side, Shayne is already looking at him from a few people down. Well, technically, he's looking with pointed suggestion and raised eyebrows at the newest addition to Spencer's ensemble. Spencer starts a conversation with Damien about video games instead of unpacking that look, eventually drawing Shayne into the conversation as well. He likes Shayne, he really does. He's a pretty fucking great dude. He also thinks it's his job to take care of everybody and everything, and this doesn't need to be taken care of. He's been handling this for years now. It may not be going away any time soon, but he doesn't know that he wants it to, if we're being honest. Given the choice between being ass over tea kettle in love with Tommy and removing himself from the friendship so that he can take some time to get over it, he'll choose Tommy every time.

It's not something they always do, and honestly they hardly do it often enough to even call it typical, but sometimes, after these dinners, they go out to a club somewhere. Tonight is one of those nights. Spencer, admittedly, isn't really good at the whole club thing. He doesn't drink, he has to be bullied into dancing, he likes long conversations and being comfortable. A club isn't really the place for that, or at least not a good place for that. He's more comfortable in cafes and arcades. Does he sound like every single introvert with a rich online life? Yes, but it's also true.

Courtney drags him out onto the dance floor and Spencer loses track of most of their group. He dances with Courtney before being led through dances with just about every woman in their party. Amanda dips him halfway to the floor with a laugh that he can hear above the music before passing him over to Rachel, who makes him do some wannabe swing dancing with her to the sound of Usher's Good Good. Perhaps the idea that she makes him do anything is a little misleading, being as she only has to pull him into a triple step for him to fall in with her. They get through the whole song before he bows out, having danced through at least seven songs and fucking sweaty. It's not even like he started dancing as soon as they arrived, either, and he has no idea how long it's been since he had something to drink.

He's on his way to the bar to get a water when he feels fingers hook on Tommy's bandana, stopping Spencer where he stands and guiding him to face Tommy himself. He leaves his fingers between the fabric and Spencer's skin, holding Spencer in place with a loose grin. Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" Tommy asks, not quite slurring his words but putting just enough pause between them for Spencer to know that he's well and truly tanked, "Dancing with everyone. It was cute." He never knows how to deal with drunk Tommy. Drunk Tommy compliments him voraciously, visibly delights in making Spencer blush and stutter over his words, thinks Spencer is cute and tells him so. If Tommy didn't have a hold on him, Spencer would be running off to find someone else to handle this, because God fucking knows Spencer doesn't know how. Instead, Spencer lets himself be pulled a little closer, lets Tommy pull him into a sway that's more like a hug than anything else, just rocking on their feet a little. Who can blame Spencer if he relaxes into it a little bit? Who can blame him if it's just nice to be held sometimes? To be held by Tommy. For Tommy to show him affection in this clear, public way. Spencer should pull away. He doesn't.

"You alright, buddy?" he asks, smoothing his hand over Tommy's back like he's not freaking the fuck out. Tommy presses his face into Spencer's neck, inhaling deeply to settle himself. Spencer puts some pressure into rubbing his back for good measure. Even if he's getting overwhelmed by this, it seems like Tommy is overwhelmed by everything else. And Tommy comes first. Not that he's willing to unpack that in the slightest.

"Everybody else got to dance with you. I was just... was just waiting my turn," Tommy says quietly, and typically Spencer doesn't think he'd be able to hear him at that volume in the middle of a club, but Tommy is so fucking close. Suppressing the shiver that comes with Tommy's mouth so close to his skin, it takes Spencer a moment to actually focus on the content of what Tommy said.

"You wanted to dance with me?" he asks, not really meaning to but unable to take it back once it's out. Tommy hums a confirmation, a vibration that Spencer can feel in his chest.

"Always wanna dance with you," he confirms, nodding. Spencer's breath catches in his chest. 

"Maybe we should go sit down," he suggests, but Tommy just pulls him in a little tighter, tucking his face against Spencer's throat again with a whine.

"Just give me a minute. A few minutes. Whatever," Tommy whines, bordering on the beginning of begging, and Spencer needs to clear his mind. He cannot think about Tommy begging for him or this is going to become a very awkward situation extraordinarily quickly. He counts his breaths but stays holding Tommy, letting the other man hold him in return, humming and swaying happily. He has no fucking idea what to do with this. He loves this boy, he's willing to admit that to himself (today at least), and he doesn't know if he can make himself pull away. He rests his hand on the back of Tommy's head, scratching his nails across his scalp. He makes the cutest fucking noise. Fuck.

He's unbelievably grateful some minutes later when Shayne and Amanda decide it's time to start motherhenning everyone into making safe arrangements to make it home. Tommy tries to drag him into the back of Damien's car with him, letting him go only when Spencer reminds him that he also drove here, and in the opposite direction, he also has to take people home. And he has to promise to text Tommy when he gets home, like Spencer is the one who is drunk and vulnerable. Spencer fights back the instinct to kiss him on the forehead as he leaves him in Damien's backseat, just squeezing his hand and repeating his promise before entering the blissful silence of his own car, head down against the steering wheel. Courtney pokes him in the side of the head from the passenger seat, falling into a tipsy giggle when Spencer pretends to get knocked over by the barely there force behind it. Noah and Keith are both most of the way to being asleep in the backseat, curled together like matching parentheses. Spencer's heart fucking hurts. He takes the car out of park. There's more to do than this.

He doesn't realize that Tommy's bandana is still around his wrist til he's getting ready for bed. He puts it on his bedside table. He'll get it back to Tommy eventually.

Exactly a week later, everybody from work is gathered together again, though concentrated in Shayne's apartment rather than out in public. They're in a rash of work birthdays, and most of them will take any reason to throw a little party. It's the kind of party no one really drinks at, the earnest enjoyment of games they had nicked from work (Ian and Anthony being the worst offenders, so no one is worried about it) keeping the mood light and the laughter loud. Tommy is pulling back from everything for a moment, sitting on a counter in the kitchen and minding his goddamn business. Spencer walks in with an empty glass in hand after Tommy's been there for probably five minutes, and he lasted longer than Tommy thought he would. His average wait before checking on Tommy while he's doing what Spencer has deemed brooding and Tommy calls chilling out is about three minutes. God forbid Tommy actually look actively upset during a get together. There was one memorable time that Spencer was actually the one who guided him outside, standing with him encouragingly as Tommy pulled himself the fuck together. Now, Spencer puts his back against the counter Tommy is sitting on, leaning backwards next to his right thigh.

He waits quietly, almost silently. Tommy leans his thigh against Spencer's shoulder. Spencer leans into it in return. The warmth of him is so reassuring that it calms some of the ticking anxiety still beating a tattoo against Tommy's breastbone. The meds are working. He has to remind himself that the meds are working. Having a bad evening every once in a while doesn't mean that the meds aren't working. There is no perfect cure for any mental illness. When Tommy holds his hand out, Spencer takes it without question, lacing their fingers. He strokes his thumb over Tommy's skin soothingly. As much as it sucks to be halfway to a meltdown with most of his friends spread across the floor in the living room playing games made for children, it's nice to have Spencer there. Nicer than when he has to do this alone, anyway.

"I'm okay," Tommy says when he finally speaks, which he realizes immediately might not be the most reassuring thing to say. Spencer just hums, squeezing Tommy's hand briefly.

"You will be," he says, simple like inevitability, and Tommy takes a breath easily for the first time in what feels like hours. It's probably only been the last hour or so that something caught in his mind and suddenly he wasn't able to relax in a room full of friends, cross-legged next to Rachel and feeling like a child tossed in a swimming pool. That's how he learned how to swim, anyway. It was one of the scariest things that happened to him as a child, an uncle laughing joyously as he told Tommy you're getting a bit old to not know how to swim, bud, and him, nine years old, lifted off his feet and sent through the air and into the water. Water above his head, kicking as hard as he fucking could because he was terrified, anxiety still feels like that. Like being thrown into the pool in his cousins' backyard. A little while, maybe a few more minutes, passes without any change. 

Then, Spencer is moving, letting go of his hand to stand between Tommy's spread thighs, pulling Tommy down into a hug with a hand on the back of his neck. When he tries to press himself into Spencer's neck, the bill of his khaki baseball cap digs into Tommy's skin. With a laugh, Spencer takes it off and sets it down on the counter beside Tommy, pulling him back in without pause. Tommy doesn't hold back the happy humming sound that wants to leave him at the ability to hide his face in the wash of Spencer's comforting scent. Spencer strokes through the back of his hair, nails running gently over his scalp. His knees close around Spencer's hips, leaning enough of his weight on Spencer that it probably wouldn't be difficult for the other man to leverage him off the counter and pick him up in his arms. The idea of Spencer holding him like that, those long arms holding him in the air, against a wall, whatever and wherever, he cannot get stuck on that thought. Not when he and Spencer are this close.

"You'll be okay," Spencer whispers, repeating the sentiment as he rubs his free hand up and down Tommy's back. Tommy melts even further into him, Spencer's hand on his back moving to his hip to keep him steadily on the counter. It strikes Tommy that this is Shayne's kitchen, that their friends are in the living room, that Spencer is missing time he could be having fun to babysit Tommy and his pointless fucking anxiety meltdown. He must tense or something, because Spencer pulls him back to give him a concerned look, a wrinkle forming between his brows that Tommy has to hold himself back from smoothing. He really needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. He thinks this with one of Spencer's hands on his hip, the other on the back of his head. He does not see the irony in this in the slightest.

"You should go hang out with everyone else," he says, putting on a vaguely encouraging tone so that maybe Spencer will actually believe that he's well enough Spencer wouldn't mind leaving him alone. The benchmark of normalcy that Tommy thinks is fine to leave him alone at is quite different from the neighborhood of wellness that Spencer is comfortable leaving him in. Like that doesn't burn in Tommy's chest, that care he has for him.

"Not without you," Spencer replies automatically. Tommy gives him a look.

"It's a party. You should be at the party," he insists, frustration building in his chest, making itself bigger to hide the fondness that's pooling there as well. Even if he doesn't think Spencer should be wasting his time waiting for Tommy to calm down, it's still sweet that he wants to. It'd be selfish to let him though. It'd be selfish.

"I'm exactly where I need to be," Spencer says; it's a response that snaps Tommy's mouth immediately shut, his face burning as he looks down at Spencer's open expression, his dogged loyalty. He doesn't kiss him. God, he wants to, though. How he fucking wants to kiss this man. He groans, pushing his face into Spencer's shoulder hard enough to make his nose hurt just a little from the pressure.

"Don't be nice to me, I'm fragile," he says, half joking and half not, knowing that Spencer will know exactly how he means it. Care about me, care about me, care about me. Whether Tommy wants to say that or not, it seems to be all that can makes its way out of his throat when Spencer is around. That and jokes, thank god. He doesn't know what the fuck he would do if not only were his feelings for Spencer absolutely fucking embarrassing for how they send him acting a fool any time Spencer's in need of something, but also they took away the fact that he's fucking funny. Sometimes funny feels like the only thing he does right. Spencer hums indulgently and runs gentle, reverent hands over Tommy's skin, like Tommy is more than he ever expected to have. Tommy's breath catches in his throat.

"How about this? We go back together when you're feeling comfortable. I come join whatever game you wanna be playing. You tell me if you're feeling overwhelmed again. Profit," Spencer says, pulling away a little to his eyebrows at Tommy. He looks like a guy at a used car dealership offering you the best deal if you drive off the lot today! Except fucking adorable. Because it's Spencer. Asshole.

"Weren't you playing something with Shayne and Damien?" Tommy asks, trying to remind Spencer of the world outside of their little bubble. Spencer shrugs.

"And Courtney, and I mean, yeah, but they've probably moved on anyway- which, for the record, is fine with me, I know how your brain works- so it won't be an issue," he says, seemingly completely unaware of the way he just made Tommy's stomach contract. I know how your brain works. God, Tommy loves him. Fuck. He looks down, unable to make eye contact with Spencer for his next question.

"You wouldn't mind?" He sounds fucking pathetic, and he wants to curl into a ball and hide until it kills him or til everyone forgets his name, whichever comes first. Spencer's hand moves from the back of his neck to cup his jaw, tilting his face up. The soft stroke of his thumb over Tommy's cheek. Looking at Spencer, catching his eyes, it grabs the breath out of Tommy's lungs- the way it sometimes feels like he looks at Tommy like there's nothing else in the world better to look at.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Spencer rasps, echoing his sentiment from earlier like the first time wasn't enough to make Tommy fall in love with him. That's bullshit, he's been in love with Spencer for years. The man doesn't make it any easier though. Tommy takes a steadying breath.

"Let's do this, then," he says, nodding once. Spencer backs out of his space, reaching out to help Tommy off the counter like he's helping a lady out of a carriage. He keeps a hold on Tommy's hand to lead him to the living room, as if Tommy doesn't know how to get back to the next room over. Tommy's fine with the grip on him, wouldn't break it without an actual emergency on his hands, but he does pull Spencer to a stop when he looks back at the counter. Spencer raises an eyebrow at him.

"Your hat," Tommy reminds him, tilting his head back toward that side of the counter. Spencer's eyes land on it with a measure of surprise; Tommy doesn't examine the fact that he had been enough of a priority that Spencer had forgotten an accessory he'd been wearing all day. It's nothing special. He doesn't know who the fuck he's kidding. Spencer doesn't let go of his hand to return to the counter, instead dragging Tommy with him. This is a bit of a misnomer, being as Tommy would follow this fuckhead anywhere, probably. Fucking embarrassing. Spencer picks up the hat and turns to Tommy with a grin, one that Tommy knows spells trouble for him before Spencer even reaches up to slide the hat, backwards, onto Tommy's head. He even pulls the baseball cap back by the brim, making sure it's comfortable.

"Hold onto it for me," Spencer says. Tommy shrugs his shoulders a lot more casually than he feels. Spencer leads him back into the living room. They play games. Tommy never does give Spencer back his hat. In the morning, it hangs on a peg in Tommy's entryway. He doesn't bring it to work with him Monday.

The next time, Spencer is beginning to understand why Tommy still wears Spencer's sweater around all the time, swapping it out with another of Spencer's sweaters every couple of weeks. He's got one of Tommy's leather jackets on, lent to him when the changing of the seasons had caught him off guard one morning and Tommy happened to have an extra jacket in his car. That was... admittedly a few days ago. And Spencer still hasn't given it back. And he's wearing it to lunch with Courtney. He didn't think about that part before he left his apartment! They haven't even joined him at the restaurant yet and he knows he's going to catch hell for this.

So he might have told Courtney how he feels about Tommy. Whether that was a good idea or not is still up for debate. That line of thinking drops quickly when he sees Courtney walk in the door, grinning as soon as they see him. They wave off the maître d' with a point at Spencer, who waves at the maître d' as well. The host nods and lets Courtney escort themself to the table, being as she doesn't have to be sat somewhere. They're still grinning.

"Spencer!" Courtney says excitedly when she reaches the table, grabbing his shoulder as she comes up. He sees the way her eyes catch on the material of his jacket and prepares himself for the teasing; a well timed waitstaff member comes up to ask if Courtney would like something to drink. They say yes. Water and coffee. They're the only drinks he's ever seen Courtney order in a restaurant. As soon as the order is taken and the interaction is done, Courtney turns sharp eyes on Spencer, raising an amused eyebrow and sitting forward in their seat. Spencer sighs.

"Go ahead," he says, making a motion with his hand that is clearly indicative of a let's get this over with sentiment. Courtney frowns.

"Well, it's not any fun if you're like this about it. So, when did he give you his jacket?" they ask, not even bothering to say Tommy's name. They both know who she's talking about. Rarely do he and Courtney play games with one another. In a different world, he'd have it bad for Courtney. They're one of the nicest, funniest, coolest people he knows. In this one, he rolls his eyes and changes the subject, relieved when Courtney rolls with it. They try to get lunch together, dinner, something, at least once a month. Trying to have a real conversation at work is difficult, and Spencer's not going to be honest when it's the whole group of them off the clock, either. It's just not in his nature. So, they do this. Spencer has to be fast to grab the check before Courtney, snatching the black book as soon as the waitstaff puts it down. Their waitress, Elizabeth, because Courtney cannot be at a restaurant without learning the name of their waitstaff, snorts, amused at their antics.

Neither Spencer nor Courtney have an excellent perception of how an adult is meant to behave in public. This either leads to strangers being quite fond of them or not fond of them in the slightest. It's much easier to leave a tip in California. You leave a tip more than 20 percent of cost in Florida, everybody up to your grandparents is asking you why you're wasting your money like that. In California, it's practically an expectation. Spencer doesn't particularly mind; he remembers shift work. Braver than any fucking U.S. Marine to be in the service industry.

They wave at Elizabeth on their way out of the restaurant, handing the black book over to the smiling attendant of the Host desk. Wishing it was socially acceptable to also leave a tip for the exhausted looking host, Spencer has just tucked a hundred into the book and walks out with Courtney, not waiting for any sort of change. The over is a tip. The smile of their host is a bit more genuine after. God, America is fucking dystopian. Spencer shakes it off as they walk down the strip, taking Courtney's hand. They never stay in L.A. when they get lunch together; they pick out some small town an hour, an hour and a half away and meet there like spies, as if it would be absolute oddity for them to go out together in their own home city. It's fun, though. Going on little adventures with his friend.

The restaurant they chose was in a strip mall, a Five Below about a minute in one direction and a Barnes and Noble about the same in the other. They make brief eye contact and agree silently to head in the direction of Five Below first in the interest of both of their wallets. If they get out the impulse shopping at Five Below, they won't do that much damage at Barnes and Noble. Theoretically. They both know that just because they do something with the very best of intentions doesn't mean that it will go according to plan. Isn't that always the bitch?

They rush through Five Below; it's a store that's always the most fun when you speedrun it, not deliberating on purchases but throwing them in the cart with reckless abandon, only assessing the damage after you've clearly made an impact. Often, they end up making a second pass around speedrun stores because of this, dropping off items that they really don't need back where they found them. Courtney puts a pink cowboy hat on Spencer's head. He does a pose. They take a picture. It's all very fun.

It's on the walk between Five Below and Barnes and Noble where things start to take a bit of a downturn. Not a downturn, really. Just. More serious. Courtney pulls him to a stop with their joined hands, dragging him to sit down on a bench outside of a closed store. No hours on Sunday. Their hours are limited on Wednesday as well. Must go to all the services. Courtney sighs.

"Are we gonna talk about the jacket, Spence?" they ask, fingers squeezing Spencer's as if to remind him that he's free to say no. He squeezes back.

"I don't know how to talk about it," he says, which is half-true. He doesn't know how to put it into words, how to communicate exactly what he means when he says that Tommy's jacket feels like a safety net around his shoulders. "I don't know where to start."

"Start with whatever's easiest. If I get confused, at least we'll have somewhere to go from there," they propose, bumping Spencer's shoulder with their own. Spencer smiles, wistful.

"He let me borrow it a few days ago," he starts, still not saying Tommy's name even if they both know, unable to provide that weight to this conversation. "It was really fucking cold Wednesday morning, remember? And I hadn't read the forecast, and I had been in a rush, and I was just going to deal with it like a normal person, right, but he. We got to the office at the same time and I guess he saw me rubbing my hands together, I think? On my way in. And he takes his jacket off and hands it to me, doesn't say a fucking word, just goes back to his car and grabs the blue one, you know the one? I wait for him, because what the fuck, and he just puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me inside. I couldn't even make myself say anything. Who fucking does that?"

"Someone who is trying to be very obvious about his crush on you?" Courtney posits, taking a sip of the Mountain Dew Code Red she had bought at the Five Below daintily. As daintily as a person can fucking drink Mountain Dew Code Red. Spencer bumps their shoulders again.

"You know I don't like hearing that shit, Court," he reminds them, looking down at the pavement between his feet. He's not really an optimistic guy. He's not a pessimist either, likes to think of himself as a realist or at least a pragmatist. When someone suggests that something might go in his favor, it only encourages him to prepare for the opposite more. What if he's expecting things to go well and everything goes to shit anyway? Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, that's what he always says. He can't remember where he got that exactly, but it felt very wise at the time.  He's not ready to admit that it feels more fatalistic now in the light of his thirties. Your twenties are an inherently dark time. No one knows who they are at 23. He barely knows who he is past thirty.

"Why can't he like you?" Courtney asks, no bullshit, non negotiable. Spencer sighs, closing his eyes.

"It's not that he can't. It's that I don't even know what to do if he does," he admits, feeling sick to his stomach. He's never known what to do when things fall in his favor. This is no different. Sure, worst case is that Tommy is grossed out by Spencer having feelings for him, doesn't wanna be friends anymore, makes it awkward as shit at work. But what about the best case? Tommy wants to date him and they fucking fall in love or what the fuck ever and someday, probably sooner rather than later, Spencer fucks it up royally and loses Tommy more than he's ever had him. He doesn't know if he would survive that. He says all of this aloud to Courtney, who makes a contemplative noise.

"Would you rather never find out?" they ask. He wishes he knew. He has the sleeves of Tommy's leather jacket down over his hands, the scent of him all around him, and he still has no fucking idea. He leans his face against Courtney's shoulder.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" he says, groaning. Courtney's laughter is high and clear, cutting across the buzz of the highway not far from their little corner of the world sitting together at a strip mall. They reach over with the hand not holding his own and pat his head.

"You'll be okay, Spen," they say. Spencer wishes he could believe it. After a moment more of contemplative silence, Courtney pulls him up by the hand and they walk to Barnes and Noble. He makes them pose for a picture with a Gemini candle. They both spend over sixty dollars. It's all very fun.

Days later, it should probably feel weirder to go into Spencer's bedroom without him. It probably would if it was the bedroom of anyone else, but Spencer has told Tommy time and time again that he should feel welcome to whatever in Spencer's apartment. Snacks, drinks, clothes, toiletries, he basically told Tommy to treat Spencer's apartment as his own, more or less. That doesn't stop Tommy from wanting to text him every time he so much as takes a bottle of water, but he can pretend. It makes Spencer feel better to think Tommy is comfortable, for some reason. There's no use in unpacking that.

The thing is, he's cold. Has Spencer told him before that he can mess with the thermostat if he's in the apartment alone? Yes, but that is a bridge too far for Tommy's sensibilities, okay? Anybody who knows him might say he doesn't have any, but he does! Are they... a bit looser than most people's? Sure, but they're still there. Anyway, he's cold, and he's supposed to be starting dinner so it's not like he's going to sit down on the couch and snuggle up with a blanket and a book, or whatever people do. Imagining that, sitting on the couch and waiting for Spencer to get home from the grocery store, is enough to make Tommy both nauseous and warm all over. No use in getting caught up on it. He pushes open the door of Spencer's bedroom with that thought.

When Tommy had first met Spencer, he would have expected his bedroom to be messier. He would have expected a messy bedroom, very little organization, a living space that looks not too different from his own. Instead, Spencer's video games are fucking alphabetized. He's so fucking cute. Everything in his room has a place. His favorite hoodie is always hanging on a thumb tack near his bedroom door when he's not wearing it. Now, Tommy slips that very hoodie over his head, reveling in the comforting scent and the immediate warmth of the article. He shuffles out of Spencer's bedroom quickly, nervous to linger. He knows he would start nosing through shit if he let himself, far too curious for his own good. The immediate instinct, of course, is to see what's in the drawers of Spencer's bedside table. But he's not going to do that! He closes the bedroom door behind himself and sinks his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie.

Hold on a second. There's a folded sheet of paper between his hands now, so he pulls it out of one side of it to examine it. He has to unfold it three times to have it flat, the creases segmenting the sheet into eight sections. It's... it's a song. He knows Spencer plays, but he's never mentioned writing his own songs. Messily scribbled lyrics are written over hastily drawn bars, notes marked with letters rather than just depending on the readability of their place on the staff. It's definitely Spencer's work. It has the same look to it as Spencer's quick scrawl on notes for work, on notes left on refrigerator doors, in the chicken scratch he calls a signature.

The header, the same size as the rest of the words on the page but underlined, says for him. All lowercase, no further clarification. The opening lines don't read like a love song at all. They present the flaws of the subject, almost, like the idea that he is a little messy, scattered, often late, that all of these things are positive to Spencer just because it's him. The bridge reads more like a love song, certainly, as does the chorus. The second verse is all too familiar. Not because Tommy has read it before or anything, but because he was there. Sitting on the counter, head between his knees, that was him. Is he... is he him? Could he be him?

He reads back over the first verse with hope burning a hole in his chest, determinedly ingesting the traits he has always disliked about himself, how Spencer wraps those traits in fondness. He remembers vividly occasions where Spencer would pick him up for events that he knew Tommy didn't want to go to, because everyone knows he's going to be late if he doesn't even want to be there. Spencer organized his desk for him once. Tommy hadn't even asked him to, just said go crazy when Spencer asked if he could move something. And Spencer had gone crazy. In the best way. Tommy swallows thickly, reading further down into the parts of the song he hadn't read yet.

Tommy hears the key in the lock and can't make himself scramble to put the song away no matter how much his brain tries to tell him that it's the safer route. He wants Spencer more than he wants that arbitrary feeling of safety, that fear driven sense of everything being alright. He looks up and Spencer is already staring at him, putting the two bags of groceries he's carrying on a side table before raising his hands like he's placating someone angry at him. Tommy couldn't be further from anger if he tried.

"You wrote me a song?" he asks, voice cracking in the middle as the words trip out of his mouth. God, he hopes it's about him. This is going to be fucking awkward if not.

"It's- it's not what it looks like really isn't gonna work in this situation, is it?" Spencer asks, starting off strong but fading quickly, closing his eyes and breathing out to ground himself. Oh. He's expecting rejection. It's the gladdest Tommy's ever been to not fulfill someone's expectations.

"Will you play it for me?" he requests, gentle in his tone and in the look he regards Spencer with, all too conscious of the multitude of ways that his friend, his Spencer has been hurt in the past. Unfortunately, Spencer's gaze has slid to the floor as he stands still with his hands up, supplicant.

"It's not done. It's. Well. It's not good," Spencer says, uncomfortable laugh spilling out of him sounding as if it was either that or tears. Tommy stands then, putting the song down on the coffee table and crossing the room in wide steps til he can tilt Spencer's face up with a hand on his cheek. Startled, Spencer allows it, allows Tommy into his space as if it's simply somewhere he belongs. Tommy wants to belong there.

"I think it's great," he whispers, too overcome to make himself louder. Spencer swallows visibly.

"You haven't even heard it yet," he rasps, that same hushed volume taking him over, afraid to break the moment. He cages Spencer back against the wall, urging him backwards gently until he's looking up at Tommy with wide eyes. He moves a hand up to Tommy's collarbone, moving it quickly to the side of his neck and pulling him downward. Being kissed by Spencer Agnew is different from anyone he's ever kissed before. Spencer's other hand is fisted in the pocket of his own hoodie on Tommy's stomach, holding him closer like Tommy can't get close enough, like he wouldn't be able to stand it if Tommy pulled away. Both of Tommy's hands are cupping Spencer's face as he marvels at the ability to be able to do this at all, to be able to cup Spencer's face and to kiss him breathless, it's fucking incredible. Still, he pulls away from the kiss, setting his face down against Spencer's collarbone and dropping one of his hands down to Spencer's hip.

"So, will you play it for me?" he asks, shithead grin pressed into Spencer's neck, relief as thick in his veins as any drug. Spencer snorts and rubs his hand through Tommy's hair, playing with the longer parts of it.

"You actually like it? Not just, like, that it's about you?" he asks, voice thick with the bravado that Spencer always puts on when he cares a little more about something than he'd like. Tommy lifts his head up to look at him, not even trying to keep the overwhelming fondness off his face. He presses a quick kiss against Spencer's lips just because he can. It's so sweet to be able to taste that smile as he pulls away.

"I like it," he confirms, quiet but firm, and he gets to watch as the implied compliment washes over Spencer. Again not even trying to stop himself, Tommy leans down to kiss him again, again, again. Short little kisses that aren't a lead-up to anything, just a manifestation of the kind of fondness that makes his stomach hurt, sweet enough to rot your teeth. Affection for Spencer is a fire in his chest, spreading through the caverns of his limbs with a quickness. It's the most scared Tommy has ever been. It's also the safest he's ever felt.

Spencer has always kind of made him feel like that, though. Wrapped up in a torrent of fire, tucked in under the waves of the sea. A boy will make you feel like a natural disaster and your stupid heart will only want to touch your hands to him more. It is, inarguably, some bullshit.

He presses closer to Spencer one more time, connecting their lips just one more time before he bullies the both of them into being responsible. Just one more. And then just one more. And then- he pulls back. He'd stand here all night, til both of their lips are numb and neither of them can breathe, if Spencer lets him. And he's starting to think maybe Spencer would let him. "We either need to start making dinner or put up the groceries, bub," he says, trailing his nose against Spencer's hairline.

"Wanna put up the groceries and make out on my couch?" Spencer asks, no bullshit and a grin on his face. Tommy kisses him again. Just because he fucking can.

"Absolutely. Especially if you'll play me that song later," Tommy says, giving Spencer a falsely innocent flirtatious pout, exaggerated just a little for humor. Spencer chuckles, leaning up to kiss him again, a quick peck like he can't get enough of this new intimacy either.

"We'll see." Tommy knows he will, though. Can tell from the way he looks at him. He loves how Spencer looks at him.

[jamgoesart]

Chapter 11

This could still become something. The next few days will be fantastic. To make a functioning team out of these people, which accepts each other, should come close to a miracle.

"Go home Kimmie," Pete took the brunette in his arms and gave her an encouraging smile, signaling that everything was fine and she didn't need to worry, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Whatever you say." Kim nodded as she placed a hand on Mitchell's upper arm.

All good, my ass. Purely nothing, was fine. Which was primarily because Bradshaw was constantly looking for a fight and never let a situation go to that. Off to the side, along came Jake, who had a competitive fight with Rooster.

What had happened to Nick Bradshaw was tough, no question about it. On the one hand, Kim could understand the boy looking for someone to blame, and Maverick, well, he was the one who had flown. On the other hand, it had been an accident. It was examined, by several, independent experts and for what happened, nobody could something. Accidents happen, as hard as it sounds.

Pete had blamed himself then and still did, no matter how many times he was told he was not at fault.

•●•

In the Hard Deck, Kim sat alone at a table, arms folded on the worn wooden top and, after a little puffing, looked outside at the beach.

Kim hadn't even touched her drink yet, too much was going through her head. This day had been just awful. And to be honest, she wasn't looking forward to tomorrow either. As if tomorrow would be any better.

"Let it go," Kim gave in a weak tone, picking up her glass and standing up as Jake put a glass in front of her and was about to sit down, "Just once."

Kim couldn't take his patter at the moment. Especially not after that Frost story, the stunt with Bradley, and it being about the past all over again.

Behind the bar, out to the beach side, Kim sat down at a free picnic table, unoccupied only because there were still empty glasses and cups there that no one was clearing. It was crowded, as Penny had predicted. The weather was a dream. In a few hours the sun would set and even then, it would still be warm to sit on the beach for a long time, even as the sun gradually disappeared.

"Have you had your little girl's heart broken?", it was exactly the kind of sayings Kim couldn't go for at the moment, but a hangman obviously didn't understand when to just let it go, "Wasn't my intention."

"As I said when we first met. You'd be a hell of a lot more handsome if you'd just, plain, shut your damn mouth," an annoyed Kim could be heard saying shortly after she'd said this, closing her eyes, and defensively raising her hands off the table, "Just leave it alone. I.... can't do this right now, okay?"

"Bribe," Kim heard him say instead, and opened her eyes at Jake's words, narrowing them to slits and giving him a 'are you completely kidding me right now' look, but he kept sliding the glass across the table closer to her until it was in front of her, "Not about that, although I wouldn't mind.... okay, fine. Is it because of Bradshaw? Don't tell me that idiot is the reason you're in a bad mood. Not because of him, don't do that to me."

"You actually don't realize it," a sigh escaped Kim because the blond was actually living in his own bubble, "It's okay to be ambitious and want to prove you're the best, but not at the expense of others. Yeah, your feud with Bradley was one of the things that ruined my day. And, because you're so burning to know. I don't know Bradley personally. How do you know him? Just because my dad was of the same vintage as Bradshaw's dad? This is about Pete trying everything he can to prepare you for this mission. How can he, though, when you'd rather beat the crap out of each other? Can't you just put your ego last, or at least, second to last? You don't have to prove to anyone that you are good. Haven't you already? You graduated at the top of your class. Congratulations. Look at Pete, though. My dad was number one in his time, not Pete. So doesn't mean much, as you can see from Maverick. I strongly suspect their careers would have been pretty much the same even if the order had been different. Both are where they are because of their character and performance, not because of their degree. Who's the best is just a stupid dick comparison between you Top Gun flyers. It sucks."

"Do you think that would make any difference?" at Jake's question, Kim put her glass back down, which she had just put to her lips to drink, "The guilty conscience that haunts Maverick because of Bradshaw's dad makes Rooster look favored and have more freedom than any of us. If anyone else had allowed himself to do that number with the five thousand foot limit on the first day, he would have been thrown out on his ear, but not Rooster. Tell me why."

"Jealousy doesn't become you," Kim countered, emptying her glass and starting to look at Jake, which didn't go unnoticed by him and caused expressions of incomprehension, "You reminded me of something."

Before Jake could say anything, Kim pulled out her phone, wrote a short message and sent it. This story between Bradley and him, was quite familiar to her and stopped, it had never. Not completely. It had gotten better, significantly better.

Since Jake didn't understand what had just happened, Kim turned her phone towards him afterwards so the pilot could read the message.

'Your old wingman might need more than a phone call this time.'

"You're welcome," Jake replied smugly, taking a sip from his glass, "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have sent that message. So, you owe me one, Kasanzky. At least a kiss, and we both know you want it too."

"You're the guy, so it's your job to make the first move. Especially since, you're asking for it. What's wrong with you?" what Kim didn't expect, however, was Jake raising his eyebrows, shaking his head and looking to the side while standing up, "Come on, walk away. Go away."

Though Kim pushed the blonde away from her, as her joke was an invitation to him, Jake took her upper arm, pulled her up to her feet and then, placing his hands on her cheeks, kissed her. The first word counted and that was 'come', not 'go away', as Hangman informed her, before the latter kissed her again, grabbing his glass from the table in the process and leaving the brown-haired girl standing there with a final, 'you want it too' look.

[cosmichoneyedblossoms]

Secret Velvet

Pairing: Gangster Ziu x Lawyer Reader

Genre: Gangster!au x Lawyer!au | Angst | Smut

Word Count: 1,889

A/N: @xkpopobsessedx asked for a Ziu imagine not too long after he became her bias, it’s taken me forever to write him, but here he is

[[MORE]]

Pulling up into your usual parking spot in the driveway, you sighed leaning back into the driver's seat, taking a moment to breathe before walking into a house filled with rowdy men. The white siding of the house held the glow of the porch light, the windows spilled the light from inside the walls, it fading into the dark midnight that cloaked the town—the gorgeous farmhouse definitely didn’t match the people who reside in it. You turned off the car and stepped out to notice a cab pulling up to the driveway of the house, the front door opened to reveal a woman with bleached strands of pleasure tangled hair stepping out of the house.

A woman…?

Another body appeared in the doorway, this time a body you knew. You walked up the sidewalk for a voice to call out your name, “Y/N. You’re home late.” Baron’s throaty voice made you look up at him, the woman standing next to him wore a contorted sneer as she watched you walk up the steps of the porch.

“I know.” You tried to push past him when his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you were pressed against his body.

“You should’ve let us know you were gonna be this late.” You looked up into his liquor tainted eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Law student papers take a while to grade, B.” He nodded, humming a response when his eyes flicked over to the woman standing there.

“Why’re you still standing there? Your cab is here.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever, Baron.”

“See ya later… Krissy.” He chuckled, rubbing your side. You could tell that she was annoyed by the way he was tossing her out like last nights garbage.

“It’s Kimmy...” She huffed turning on her heels and stormed her way to the cab. You waited until the car pulled off to shove Baron from your body.

“What the fuck man.” You walked into the house and kicked off your heels while Baron chuckled behind you.

“I’m sorry, she was getting to close for my liking—”

“Y’know, you could just stop bringing girls home from the clubs you guys go to. They’re all trashy.” You hissed walking down the hall towards the living room.

“Hey don’t get mad at me. We all brought girls home.” You stood in the archway of the living room to see the rest of the guys lounging around the room.

“All of you brought girls home?” Your question didn’t seem to surprise them as five heads nodded.

“Most of us had them out before one.” Lou gruffed and you glanced down at your watch.

“It’s almost two-thirty—hold on, all of you had women in my house?” Dropping your messenger bag, you crossed your arms, your blood starting to boil.

“Is that a problem?” Geumhyuk cocked his head like they weren’t criminals.

“Is it because we’re criminals?” Ace laughed, nudging Ziu who sat quietly next to him, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Don’t act like you aren’t. You guys were caught on camera yesterday after fighting with a rival gang and you decided to celebrate your victory by going to the club and bringing trashy women into my home, which by the way, I’m graciously letting you live here—”

“Y/N—”

“Do not interrupt me, Jacob!” You growled, your face flushed with frustration while you took a deep breath, “So if you want to get your rocks off…Go. To. A. Hotel.” All seven heads nodded, their agreement only slightly alleviating your annoyance, “I’m taking a shower then going to bed…” You walked past the boys to the double doors that sat next to the stairs and opened them to disappear into your side of the house.

The scalding water against your skin helped bring your anger back down, aided in melting away your stress of the day. You could fall asleep in the warmth, but you needed to sleep in your bed tonight, spending every night in your home office chair has your back begging for a break; with that thought, you turned off the water and stepped out of the shower to wrap a towel around your glistening skin. You began to start your nightly routine when a knock came from the door accompanied with the creaking of its opening, “Don't you have enough manners to not walk into a room where you know a woman is undressed?” The casual tone that fell from your lips caused a muffled chuckle to come through the sliding door separating you from the other person.

“Oh, I do, but not for you.” The door slid open for Ziu’s towering height and electric red hair to step into your space.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You grabbed your bottle of toner and a cotton pad and began to tone your skin.

“What do you think it means?” His voice filled the steam tainted air around you causing your heart to race, you didn’t have to look at him to know his eyes were trailing your exposed skin.

“Just because I’m your lawyer doesn’t make me less than a woman, I’m just an extremely less trashy version of the girls you guys bring home.” Tossing the toner soaked pad into the trash you started to apply moisturizer to your skin; cold fingers ghosted over the back of your neck, their gentleness carefully threading themselves into your messily damp hair.

“Are you jealous?” All your senses were focused on his voice that appeared close to your ear, so close you could feel the heat from his breath tickling the outer shell.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then you won’t be upset when I say my girl is here?” He could see your eyebrows furrow in the hazy mirror, feel your body tense under the touch of his fingertips.

“What?” You tried to hide the twinge of anger in your voice, but it was hard.

“She’s here, waiting for me to just strip her of what little clothing she has on…” His fingers slipped under the hem of the towel that loosely hugged your frame, “Her eyes have been screaming for me to squeeze between her thighs—”

“Ziu…” You hissed hearing him ramble on about the girl in his room, waiting for him, “What did I say downstairs? Get your trash out—”

“You really want me to take you outside? I mean if you want to fuck in moonlight and grass, we can.” He hummed pulling your back against his hard chest, ghosting his lips over your shoulder and sliding his fingers up your thighs, the sweetest of chills flooded your skin, “I didn’t know you were into public sex…” His long extremities brushed over the shape of your pussy, his touch already sending pleasure coursing through your body.

“I’m not… It’s against the law…” Spreading your legs more for him, he dipped fingers between your smooth lips, the pads of his fingers instinctively went to your clit while his lips burned their shape into the bend of your neck, his teeth animalistically marking you as his, staining your silk with the finest red wine. His fingers found your already wet hole, a slight hiss escaped him as he slipped two of them into your wetness.

“You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” You couldn’t confess what him being around did to your body, he didn’t need to touch you for your body to drool, all he had to do was look at you—his eyes had your body in his trap. The curling of his fingers in your core had your previous thoughts melting away into bliss, he knew just how you liked it, knew just how you wanted it, he loved pleasing you…

“Ziu…” You gasped as your body was roughly bent over the counter, the coolness of the granite countertop bit at your blazing skin as your towel fell down to the ground.

“You’re so hot when you get all authoritative over us…” He pulled his hand from between your thighs to unbutton his pants, dark denim and black boxers fell to his ankles as his hand gripped his throbbing length and ran it up and down your slit, coating his cock in your naughty juices, “Am I the only one who knows you like to be dominated?” His question was all too rhetorical for you to answer because he knew he was and even if you did, you were too focused on the head of his cock sliding over your swollen clit to give a coherent answer. You pushed your hips to him, pinning his cock to his stomach, and you ground your need against him; your slick warmth caused a growl to escape his lips, “Careful what you ask for.” Rough fingers gripped your soft hips, his throbbing length delved deep into your gooey heat. A quiet hum left him, slender fingers traveled up your goosebumps ridden skin to tangle them in your damp strands of hair. The most blissful sound radiated from you as he pulled your head back by your hair while he prodded at your sensitive spot, he enjoyed being inside you, but he could honestly get off on the gasps and moans you made—in his eyes, you’re an angel falling from grace, comfortably indulging in sin.

Aggressive thrusts took over his hips, his cock rammed into you wildly, greedy attacking all the spots he knew you loved to have teased. The ache in your stomach craved release, the urge echoed through your every pulsing nerve; with each stroke of his cock in your drooling pussy, you turned into a moaning mess, not giving one care if the guys next door heard you. Ziu unburied his hand from your hair to wrap it around your neck, his thumb and index cradled your chin while he pulled you back to him, his cock already beginning to throb between your glistening lips, “I’m so close…” He growled, nipping at your ear lobe.

“Please don’t stop, Ziu…” You whined, your orgasm right on the edge of unraveling; his fast pace told you how close he was, but he wasn’t the guy to leave you hanging, especially with how close you were.

“C’mon baby, help me…” He panted and you reached between your legs and rubbed at your taut clit, your walls almost immediately clamped down on him causing him to hiss, the end of his rope already in sight. The knot in your stomach finally unraveled around him, your convulsing walls became too much for him as he tried to guide you from your high that he pulled from your creamy core to move you down onto your knees, “Say ‘ah’.” You opened your mouth, his eyes focus on your glazed over eyes as he pumped his cum onto your face, watching his cum drip down your face onto your breasts.

“So tell me the truth.” Ziu flipped the light off to your bedroom as he walked towards your bed, “Were you jealous?”

“W-What?” You stammered pulling the blankets up to your face, “I was not jealous.”

“Are you sure? You got really defensive when I mentioned I had a girl…” He crawled into bed next to you, his head falling a few inches away from yours, “Why would I bring home trash when I have a diamond at home?”

[runbeyonddreams]

A "Tussle" over Tina Fey

An old college classmate posted the latest Tina Fey sketch about sheet cake. She obviously thought it was brilliant.

The following is our FB convo. It was a reminder as to why we were more like frenemies in college than actual friends. Not even sure why I'm still connected to her on FB...

_____

ME:

I get why this was funny. I laughed a bit until she said this,

“In conclusion, I really want to say, to encourage all good sane Americans to treat these rallies this weekend like the opening of a thoughtful movie with two female leads; Don’t show up. Let these morons scream into the empty air."

Whether she meant to or not, her privilege is showing and her lack of fully understanding the importance of intersectionality is glaring.

If all good Americans could actually benefit from just not showing up, that WOULD BE F*CKING fantastic. Eating cake is WAY more fun for real.

But, there are plenty good sane Americans who stand to lose A LOT more than a financially secure white lady, if they decide to just sit out and not protest, not push back, not make their voices heard.

HER:

I don't think she meant it, the whole segment is about being ironic; she's eating a freaking cake. It's slapping you in the face with sacrasm and ironic self-awareness. She's making fun of herself and her privilege in her upper middle white class collegiate sweatshirt, etc. She knows shes a white privileged woman. Now, does being ironic (as an intelligent comedian) also have to be criticized as "tone deaf" and showing her privelege? I just don't think so. After all--while she's making fun of folks "not showing up" to those movies she's talking about (that she probably wrote and or produced) I'm sure she actually would LOVE for people to show up to them. She's being ironic. I don't doubt for a second that she's sympathetic to intersectionality.

I'm going to guess you think my response shows my privelege and lack of understanding when it comes to intersectionality...? Wink wink?

Ultimately, like most male comedians do in the face of fear, sadness and darkness, she was trying to find a way to bring levity to a sad chapter. I personally think that the uproar is more misogynistic than anything.

Anyway. We should be fighting Nazis together (which I'm sure we both are) not dissecting Tina freaking Fey. I'm gonna get back to Donald Trump, who occupies most of my god damn time these days.

ME:

My side eye to Tina Fey is because this isn't a one off for her. I also didn't appreciate her previous comments regarding the white washing of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot and the unsettling episode of Kimmy Schmidt where she made fun of Asians in a really racist way. She can get away with just blowing over her missteps as "hey, I was just joking" because of her privilege. Plain and simple. There's a demographic of people who are just so over being told "lighten up, I didn't mean it, it was just a joke, stop being so serious" about all the little things that hurt and degrade.

I still own her book. I will still try and watch Kimmy Schmidt. I still kinda love Mean Girls. But, I admire her less and less the more missteps she takes. I keep hoping she'll figure it out.

If you were to see my side of my news feed there is a definite difference between those who revered this Tina sketch as unflawed and brilliant, those who are too tired of micro aggressions to truly take her to task, and those who are extremely outraged and hurt by the unapologetic trivial comparison between deciding to attend a movie opening and taking part in a civil rights protest.

If you were trying to make a joke "wink wink" about me possibly judging you, it fell flat. I'm pretty sure I never mentioned any judgment of you in my comment. I didn't really give YOU much thought when I wrote the comment. Does it say more about you than me that you feel the need to defend yourself somehow? If I DID feel that you don't fully understand my stance or the importance of intersectionality, would it even matter to you? Is that what white fragility looks like? Wink wink.

Also, for those who dissect Tina Fey, it does not necessarily mean it is taking time away from fighting Nazis and the mindset of 45 & his supporters.

It's recognizing that it is important, especially now, to understand how carelessly discarded seeds grow into invasive destructive weeds.

HER:

Ah, the winks were a bad idea, I told myself!

ME:

Yep.

HER:

I think it's really weird I just had a tussle with you over Tina Fey--you are someone who clearly has the same viewpoints of me on almost everything regarding women, minorities, politics, etc. I'm not exactly sure what happened here other than we seem to not really know much about the other anymore. Sad.

ME:

How is this a tussle? I let you know exactly why I had a different reaction to her sketch than you did. You defended her, explained why you think she's still brilliant, then said you had better things to do than further dissect the impact of Tina Fey's words/actions. Totally fair. You most likely haven't been hurt by any of the things she has said for laughs. I understand that. And honestly, I'm not judging you for that. That's not within your control.

Then you casually brushed off me POSSIBLY judging you, and challenging your choice to put Fey on a pedestal (once again, nope, wasn't doing that bc I get why the sketch is otherwise hilarious) as a thinly veiled joke (?) to maybe make sure someone you barely know doesn't think less of you for thinking differently.

Not a tussle.

Just reality.

This is my reality whenever I point out the hurtful flaws of high profile celebrity "heroes", or anyone.

I've honestly had to explain my pov on various occasions similar to this one, with very similar people to you, and not once has anyone ever said, "ohhhhh... I see I might be missing something. I'll make a point to be more aware of that going forward. I'll dig deeper and peel back another layer. I'll take a moment to really learn why this is causing so much dialogue."

Nope.

And you know what? I keep trying. Keep hoping that someone will. So I keep trying.

But yeah, maybe I'll just scream into a sheet cake while attempting to shove the whole thing in my mouth.

It would definitely be more fun.