#And also. OOF what an awful first experience with alcohol

[fluffypurpleglitterdemon]

Xie Lian is so bad at robbery and also he hates it. Full "but what if they're on their way to donate their life savings to a puppy orphanage!" level of second-guessing when picking a target and then he doesn't even successfully rob them before getting caught by a whole pack of gods. And then he feels so awful about almost maybe robbing someone he gets blackout drunk in a graveyard.

[sandbees]

A few about the Great Seven interacting with Twisted Wonderland characters VIA Yuu. 👀 I only have one word summary; Chaos.

Who would meet the Great Seven first? Obviously the first years (along with Ortho and Grim). They’re Yuu’s best friends after all.

Actually, it was Friday, the last day of the week. And coincidentally, that night would be a special night at the House of Mouse. Ariel and her sisters would be performing that night.

Mickey told Yuu that that they could invite anyone to watch the performance. So Yuu went to get special permission to take their friends along with them.

After kidnapping Ortho After Yuu gathers everyone, they explain that they’re going out to see a special performance at their workplace.

Keep in mind that no one knows exactly what Yuu’s new job was except Grim and Crowley. So naturally everyone was in on it and curious. (Only Grim knows about Yuu meeting the Great Seven though)

Ace: So where do you work at?

Yuu: I work at a club.

Epel: ...As in a strip club or a book club?

Yuu: Wtf Epel? It’s like a club but no alcohol. It’s technically a restaurant but they have live shows and put on a lot of performances so-

Deuce: Oh! That’s cool, we get to see it together!

Yuu: Actually I’m not going to be with you guys. I’m on duty that day so I’ll be waiting tables. But I’ll join during break.

Ace: Really? Bummer.

Ortho: Aw, I wanted to hang out with you too! But it will be fun nonetheless. :D

Yuu tells them to wait downstairs as they go upstairs to get everything ready.

They are low-key nervous, because the House of Mouse isn’t...exactly normal by Twisted Wonderland standards.

Meanwhile, Grim was telling the first years about Yuu’s experiences there.

Grim: You know, the House of Mouse is really popular, I’ve heard about a lot of customers Yuu has met.

Deuce: This job must have been hard...I’m glad Yuu got it though!

Grim: Yeah, they pay them 5,000 madol! Isn’t that great?!

Sebek: 5,000 madol?! That’s a lot more than being a waiter.

Ace: In a week? I mean having a salary of 5,000 is pretty impressive.

Grim: Hehe, it’s actually 5,000 a day.

First Years: WHAT?!

Jack: To be able to pay that much...the owner must be wealthy.

Epel: Yuu lucked out!

When Yuu comes down, the first years are asking a billion questions.

How did you find a job with such a high pay??? Is the work good?? Is your boss nice to you?? Explain everything-

Yuu assured them that their job is just waiting a bunch of tables, and that they’re payed well because the place is very popular.

Anyways, Yuu tells them that they’re going now and leads them upstairs.

“Shouldn’t we be going to the hall of mirrors-?” “It won’t work.”

The group kind of loses their mind as Yuu casually pushes Ace into their mirror, Grim follows behind.

“Come on, or do I have to push you through the mirror like I did with Ace?”

Safe to say is that they go through the mirror and are greeted with a very lavish dressing room.

“Wait woah this isn’t Mickey’s dressing room.”

Yuu finds a note and read it out loud. Apparently Mickey moved the mirror to a new room so they could have privacy. Anything in the room is for their use.

“I’m going to cry. He’s so nICE I DON’T DESERVE THIS-“

Yuu is pretty happy with this arrangement, actually. They also begin to explain the club’s shtick to their friends.

“So this is basically a club for entertainment with live shows and also cartoons on the screen. Oh, and sometimes a cat named Pete tries to sabotage the show so he can kick everyone out and make this his club.” “Isn’t that illegal-“ “Not if there’s no police.”

So anyways Yuu leads them outside and they run into Goofy.

Sebek: Is that-?

Yuu: Hi Goofy, I’m bringing my friends to a table for the show-

Goofy: Yuu! There you are! You’re needed at table 14.

Yuu: What? But my shift hasn’t started-

Goofy: Reservations from Hades himself.

Yuu: Oh shit, ok yeah I’ll be there as soon as possible-

Ortho: Hades? As in the God of the Underworld?

Yuu: Yes, I’ll explain later, more importantly let’s go find you a table.

Ace: I think not telling us you actually met one of the GREAT SEVEN!

Yuu: I did tell you; and you didn’t believe me.

Everyone is vibrating in nervousness and excitement. Especially Ortho. I mean, this is the GREAT SEVEN we’re talking about!

Yuu decides to introduce them to Hades. But surprise surprise, it’s all of the Great Seven!

Yuu’s first year friends are going to pass out from shock. Oof.

With some inquiry, Yuu explains to the Great Seven that the friends they brought were from Twisted Wonderland.

Let’s just say that the First Years got invited to sit at their table. (Sebek is quaking at the idea of sitting with the Witch of Thorns)

So while Yuu leaves to start work (not after taking all of their orders first, of course), the Great Seven begin asking the first years + Grim questions.

The first years are expectantly tense, but they loosen up.

Ursula and Jafar are a little disappointed that no one from their dorm is present, but they seem to easily forget that after Yuu tells them that they know people from their respective dorms anyways.

Yuu also gives them a little more information they found about their respective dorms, so that they don’t feel...left out? (Satisfied is a better word for it)

Ursula pets Grim and Jafar feeds him crackers. Grim does not complain, he’s fine. He becomes more compliant as his tuna arrives.

And some of the other’s thoughts? Well...

The Queen of Hearts almost blew up in anger at Ace and Deuce. They are idiots that do nOT KNOW THE PROPER WAY TO SPEAK TO THEIR SUPERIORS AND THEY HAVE BROKEN AT LEAST 359 RULES ALREADY-

But somehow, the Queen of Hearts warms up to the idiotic duo. She sees them as...annoying children she has to babysit but they’re also really adorable that she can’t stay mad at them forever. Plus, Deuce is trying and Ace has these wonderful card tricks that would make her Jester cry.

So at first, she does not approve, but as the night progresses she does. 8/10 would meet the ADeuce combo again.

Scar and Jack...hm. Well, I don’t think they’d get along of Scar’s sense of morality and justice of the past was brought up. However, the villains all agreed to not bring up their villainous past because they didn’t want to scare away Yuu/make them wary and distrustful of them. Same goes for the first years.

Anyways, Scar is impressed at how buff Jack is. He isn’t surprised though - he expected residents of his dorm to be powerful. Scar lays down some well deserved praise and Jack eats it up with a tail wag. Jack also talks about his dorm and what the dorm represents. Scar’s ego rises 100x and Scar becomes somewhat...egotistical. Well, maybe not like in a “I’m shoving my ego in your face” type of ego but in a “This pleases me and I will treat you kinder” ego.

Basically, Scar opens up a little more to Jack as the night progresses. Like a mentor/student bond.

The Evil Queen and Epel...well, the Evil Queen was quite picky with how Epel was acting. Yes, he had the proper posture but really, he was using the wrong forks to eat that particular kind of food. She expected better from someone who came from her dorm. So she ended up chastising him and scolding him for being “improper”. Like Vil.

She was shocked to say when Epel accidentally snapped back at her, before returning to his more “princely” persona. Ah, so the child had more than meets the eye. She tried a different approach, as in trying to ease Epel into talking to her. Certainly, Epel was much more headstrong and willful than that naive Snow White.

So, the Evil Queen and Epel have a rocky start, but by the end of the show.

Hades and Ortho...well, that’s a combo you never see everyday. But I think Hades would basically adopt Ortho. As in suddenly he gets father vibes from the kid. He’s also particularly interested in his own dorm, and asks Ortho about it. Ortho’s pretty chatty with Hades, and is happy to tell Hades about his dorm! He also asks a few questions himself; which Hades happily obliged to.

...and then it turns into Ortho talking about Idia and how wonderful he is. And Hades is like, “damn, this kid has a wonderful big brother. How come my younger siblings act like shit to me-“

So Hades silently swore to the River of Styx to keep this child safe, and Ortho had a fun time interacting with Hades!

Sebek and Maleficent...well, it could have been worse.

Poor Sebek was tense and tight lipped for most of the night. He really wanted to make a good impression on Malleus’ grandmother. (I don’t think Sebek has met Maleficent yet so-)

Maleficent was patient, however. She knew Fae kind were raised to think of Maleficent as a high authority figure that should be treated with upmost respect. Unlike the other kingdoms; the Valley of Thorns praised Maleficent like a goddess. She didn’t blame Sebek for acting like he was.

So she started with baby steps. Talking about how wonderful it was to meet her grandson’s bodyguard, how Malleus must have grown to be a strong magician, how she wished she had stayed to know more about her grandson.

Actually, the breaking point between the tense atmosphere between the two was Malleus. Sebek opens up a little more as he continues to talk to Maleficent.

At the end of the night, they’ve only talked about Malleus, but Maleficent was content with that. After all, keeping up with what her grandson was doing was more than enough.

By the end of the night, the First Years enjoyed the special performance and their time with the Great Seven. Things went well especially when Yuu came to join during their break.

So when it was time to go, everyone had happily said their goodbyes as they were ready to return.

“Oh, before I forget...Yuu, I have almost completed the portals for the others so do expect one of us to pop in soon.” “Oh, ok!” “...THEY MIGHT VISIT US?!”

Everyone is low key excited to meet again though.

So, the first years go through the mirror and stay at Ramshackle, chatting away at their time at the House of Mouse.

_=_

Yeah, this was a looonngg write, I’m actually going to do the rest of the TW cast in another post. I hope you enjoyed this one! :)

[s-creations]

Lost Inhibitions

Prompt found from @dead-bird-studios-cut-footage.

“Hello, Darling!” “No.” “What?” “No.” “No what?” “No you aren’t allowed to smile like that. It makes me feel things.”

Fandom: A Hat in Time Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves (Pre-Relationship) Warnings: Drinking, Forced Truth, Poor Attempt at Writing an Accent.

Mafia Town may be a bit of a journey, but their bartender makes the best mixed drinks. Better than anyone else on this pecking planet. So, it was honestly worth the treck, because some days straight whiskey just wouldn’t cut it. Amos cut his way through the crowd as he entered the bar proper and claimed the stool furthest from the door. He only waited for a few moments before being greeted with a cheer of joy.

“Conductor comrade! Mafia is very happy to see favorite customer. Hard day?” 

“Aye, ye can say that.” Amos huffed, tossing his hat aside. 

“Is Grooves or is Grooves?”

“Yes ta both,” they shared a laugh as the bartender gather his needed supplies, “What have ye got for me taday?”

 “New shipment for new drink! Very exciting. Special little liquid that lowers all care.”

“I’ll take it.”

Amos cringed slightly at the color being created in the tall glass. The vividness of it reminding him of Grooves’ new on screen outfit. Which the Conductor didn’t want to think about. With how flattering and perfect of a fit it was on the Moon Penguin. Peck it all, Amos wasn’t that great with emotions. Especially not of the romantic interest variety. 

He was broken out of his stupor when the drink was placed before him. The Mafia bartender looking very proud at his newest creation. 

“Color ain’t that, uh...pleasin’ ta the eyes.” 

“Very true. But you won’t care soon enough. Mafia promise.” 

Amos gave a shrug, a tip to the bartender with the glass, and took his first drink. He wasn’t ashamed of the shiver that visibly traveled through him. It was sweet, almost too much, but the punch of alcohol that followed after more than made up for it. He felt his body respond in kind by leaning over the bar. 

“Oof, ya really weren’t kiddin’ about that effect.” 

“Conductor feeling better already.” The bartender smirked when the owl laughed in response. The Mafia pulled out a glass to clean, leaning over to give the Conductor his full attention. “So, still have emotional constipation issues, ya? Mafia still does not understand why not explain situation to penguin.” 

“Too many years o’ aggression,” Amos answered simply, “Can’t simply be pushed away because o’ some feelings. Askin’ a rival to forget all o’ that… ‘e probably doesn’t even like me. …Just tolerates.” 

Mafia bartender winced slightly as Amos downed the rest of the drink in one go. The Conductor placed the empty glass down and tapped the counter. A silent ask for another. “Mafia understand your worries. But, Mafia will be asking Conductor to take this slow. As a friend. Is a very hefty drink.” 

“Ya know better than anyone I can tolerate more than the average...anyone. Keep them comin’ ‘til I can’t stand.” 

“Very well. Mafia will do as requested. Doesn’t mean Mafia is not concerned for possible outcome from this.”

Amos decided it wasn’t worth his time to respond. Between the alcohol itself and the new ‘mysterious’ liquid the bartender has acquired, the Conductor was more than happy to just sit there and, quite literally, drink his cares away. 

______________________

“Peckin’...headache.” Amos grumbled as the train pulled into the station. He should have probably figured that anything that gave that much of a carefree experience would have heavy repercussions. One being a hangover. A hard one. The other holding the feeling as if he was floating on a cloud. As if he still wasn’t supposed to care but did. This was hard to put into words. It was almost like all Amos wanted to do was talk even though he wanted nothing more than crawl into bed.

Hand still pressing against his temple, Amos descended from the train and joined the large crowd heading towards the studio. He kept his attention towards the ground as he was in no condition to hold a conversation with anyone. Not that the universe would allow the owl that luxury. 

He’d just entered the front lobby when the double door on the right side of the room burst open and DJ Grooves walked in. Already in the needed on screen outfit that was driving Amos crazy. No one was allowed to look that good in just a pecking awful color. Who made that color? 

The Conductor was shuffling towards his side of the studio, keeping his head down as he approached the reception desk. The penguin’s bright attitude making the owl’s own sour one so much worse. How could anyone be that happy so early in the morning? If Amos didn’t have just a pain drumming in his head, he would take the time to admire how well Grooves lit up the room. But he wasn’t in the mood to be so vulnerable before the second rate director. His second desire to slink past the other without being noticed, however, was not fulfilled either as the other director called out. 

“Hello, Darling!” Grooves leaned against the reception desk, full attention on the pained owl. That smile...it was too bright and was making the Conductor’s stomach do weird things that didn’t have to do with the hangover. 

Amos didn’t give the other a chance to continue before turning to Grooves and growling. “No.” 

“...What?”

“No.”

Grooves raised a brow, his smile slipping into something more worried. “No, what?”

“No, ya aren’t allowed ta smile like that. It’s makin’ me feel things.”

What. Did he. Just say.

If the quiet around the lobby was anything to go by, Amos did, just in fact, let slip something damaging. Grooves’ smile had completely fallen away. A look of absolute shock replacing it. Amos, on his part, felt his face heat up as all attention that was directed at him. His feathers, even being ruffled from the hard sleep he had, were puffed out in embarrassment.  He also became painfully aware of how furious his heart was beating in his chest. 

Was he dying? It felt like he was dying. He needed to throw up.

“What...What was that Darling?” Grooves broke the strained silence. 

Amos responded by slamming his hand down on the counter and marching over to his doors, face burning red. It felt like something was clawing at his throat. Another thing that wanted to be said that the Conductor knew would ruin things even further. He knew if he stuck around for too much longer, the words would spill from him. Which was the last thing he wanted. 

He placed a hand over his mouth as he made his way through his side of the studio. The owls that had already made it in and missed the disaster that was Amos’ life gave a smile to their approaching director. Did they not see how angry he was? 

“What the peck do you have to be so happy about!” Amos swallowed hard as the smiles fell away to tensed expressions. He’s not mad at them. He’s actually not sure who he’s mad at. Why did he just say that? 

“Good morning sir.” One owl hesitantly offered. 

“I was ‘til I opened my mouth to flatter Grooves.” Amos clicked his beak closed, becoming more flustered as his actors stared at him. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I can’t keep me mouth shut for some reason and ‘m sayin’ things I don’t want to.” The Conductor quickly turned and headed straight for his office. Leaving confused owls behind him. “No one get me unless the studio is on fire!” 

He felt less better when the door to his office was closed. He may have been alone, but Amos still had no idea what was wrong with him. Now he was alone with his racing thoughts as to what the actual peck was happening. Clutching his throat, he attempted to calm his frazzled mind to try and solve his current problem. Taking stock of his situation came down to a few things being realized. One: he still felt as if he was in a drunken stupor. Two: that special liquor had some prolonged side effects. Three: Amos had lost his filter and possibly couldn’t lie. 

“Test, need a test.” His attention perked up seeing a blue pen resting on his desk. Picking it up, Amos held it out, glaring it down as if this was his last life line. “This pen is r- blue.” 

He growled darkly, leaning closer to the writing tool. “This pen. It’s re- blue. Peck it all! It’s r- blue! PECK!” 

Frustration reaching its peak, Amos threw the pen, watching it with minimal satisfaction as it hit the wall and clattered to the floor. He dropped into his chair. Holding his head in his hands, Amos swallowed hard in trying to keep him quiet. 

“All I ‘ave ta do is stay in my office until the studio closes. Then, I march to the Mafia and tell them to get rid of that blasted drink and then-” Amos’ rant was cut short at the gentle knock on his door. Fear rose that he turned into anger. “I said I didn’t want ta be bothered!” 

Another knock. 

“I said-”

Amos stood and backed as far away from the door he could get as Grooves walked in. The fear was back in full as the owl attempted to merge with his wardrobe. There was a sharp snap as the door was closed and the penguin regarded the other with worry. Which was something the owl didn’t want to deal with. He didn’t need pity, he needed peace!

“I said ta not bother me.” 

“Well, when your crew comes over to my side with worries about you, I feel as if I need to ignore your sudden request. Were you planning on staying in your office the entire day?” 

“Aye, that was the original idea.” Amos growled. 

“Now I’m even more concerned. Why are you willing to lose a day of filming?  What is going on with you today?”

“What’s it to you, ya peckneck! I thought ya would have liked havin’ a day up on me when it came ta filmin’. What do ya care if I’m havin’ a bit o’ an off day? It’s not my fault da Mafia has a new drink that apparently forces the drinker to tell the truth. Or spill their secrets. And it’s even more unfair that ya walk into my office with that outfit on! One that I ‘aven’t been able to get out o’ my mind because it’s just so perfect on ya! Ya’re not helping this confused thought about ya at all!” 

Silence fell over the two once again. Amos, realizing what he’s just said, turns his back to the penguin with hands keeping his mouth clamped as he hides his face in a wool jacket. He was shaking, if the rattling of the nearby hangers were any indications. He felt so sick. His stomach was now churning with fear. This was the absolute worst, how could this be happening? Did he just confess? That wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Amos flinched feeling arms wrap around him. He was pulled from the half created cocoon of clothing and into the comforting hold of Grooves. The penguin in question leaned over to place his chin on Amos’ shoulder. 

“I believe I have a good grasp on the situation right now,” Groove spoke softly as to not startle the owl, “Between your rather flattering words and the outburst just now, we have a few things to discuss once you’re feeling better. But for now, I do think it’s in your best interest, and you planned this already,  to stay here for today.” 

“I need ta work…”

Grooves laughed gently at the response. “So your plan is an issue if I suggest it? You are not working in this condition. It may not seem like much, but you’ve clearly already said things you’ve regretted saying. Let’s not put your actors through too much stress. But if you’re that worried about it, you can start working on your next blockbuster script.” 

Amos smirked at that. “So, ya sayin’ I’m the better director?”

“Someone has to like your work, I suppose.”

The Conductor laughed, allowing himself to fully relax into the embrace. He was startled, feeling something run through the feather’s on the back of his neck. “...Grooves?”

“Thank you for flattering my new look. If I’d known you were a fan of this style, I would have planned more like it.”

“Ya know I wouldn’t have told you under normal circumstances.” Amos let out a startled chirp as something nipped at his neck. He broke away to turn and give a hard glare to Grooves’ smug look. “Don’t be so proud of yourself.” 

“Too late.” Was the flippant response, Grooves already heading for the door. “I have my own movie to worry about, so I’ll be taking my leave. Do you wish to talk tonight?”

“...Yes, I would. If you’re willin’ ta listen.” 

Grooves gave a sincere smile as he opened the door. “Of course Darling. As I said, we have a few things to discuss. You’re not the only one who’s been holding back a few secrets of their own. Til this evening, dear Conductor.”

Amos gave a nod as the penguin left, the door closing gently and Grooves’ footsteps fell away. The Conductor shuffled his way back over to his chair. Dropping into it once more, he felt better than he did when he previously hid himself away in his office.But he was rather dumbstruck with how well it all actually turned out. 

“Right...better call that peckin’ Mafia first before gettin’ to work. No one else needs to go through this. Ever.”

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹one love confession, please➹(peter b. parker x reader)

The sad and divorced man who’s become a regular for the past year is constantly spilling his emotions to you, his favorite bartender. This wasn’t something new; you can’t count with both of your hands the times you’ve heard someone recount the odyssey of their life. But these flutters in your stomach were definitely something you didn’t experience with your customers, and you definitely did not end up making out with them at the end of the night. Maybe Peter B. was your only exception, though.

(PART I)

word count: 12.3k (oof)

warnings: cursing, alcohol, and mentions of sex (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: it’s five am where i live and this is already awfully long so i’m gonna make it as brief as i can. first, i’m sorry it took eight months, but at last, it’s here, and i’m so happy and proud of it ! thank you a million times for the amazing support this story got, seriously. second, this was also for @connorshero 1.6k followers writing challenge, and i can’t express enough how ashamed i am that it took so long lmao, i’m a clown. it’s here, tho, and i hope i hear your thoughts and that y’all enjoy it (:

taglist: @fanbase-jumper

Never in a million years would you have deemed possible a human could undergo through such a crushing feeling of dread, yet, sadly, you found yourself to be wrong, for there you were, a pressure smothering your lungs and an iciness washing over you. You never would have imagined yourself hiding in the bathroom from a certain Peter B. Parker, either; but then again, contrary to your previous thinking, there you sat on the closed toilet seat, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily as a frostbite in your heart eclipsed any other thoughts in your head.

For the last few days, you had tried to repress a memory which physically pained you as you worked at the bar, almost as if it were nothing more than a bizarre dream you had one night, or a movie you watched as a little kid and couldn’t figure out as a grown-up whether it was real or not. It didn’t take long before in your restless little brain, that date did not exist in the calendar. So… strange, how all of sudden you couldn't remember anything from that night. Yeah, nothing happened. There’s no reason or possible explanation as to why you nearly dropped dead to the ground every time the entrance opened, or why your lower stomach erupted like a geyser refusing to rest whenever you caught a glimpse in the mirror of the bruises on your neck and, just maybe, somewhere in the back of your head, recalled how they came to be in the first place; how the small vessels burst, why they’re there. Your self-induced amnesia surprisingly worked. Yeah, like a charm. Until you looked up for the billionth time and it wasn’t another false alarm. The fortress of protection you constructed collapsed as if it took no effort to build it, because there he was— there stood Peter, just a few feet away from you.

Of course, you panicked; hysterically searched your surroundings for an excuse to leave, but no one wanted to bother you when you most needed it. Terrible luck, indeed. You only had two choices (although, really, you most likely had more): you could be, you know, smart and face your problems, or, Peter, to be more concise, or you could run away to hide and wait it out in the bathroom. So, after analyzing it thoroughly for approximately two seconds, what did you do?

Get the fuck out of there, obviously; you threw your towel, sped out of the bar, and instantly headed to have the meltdown of the century in the bathroom.

You screamed into your hands as you relived everything in your head, stomping your foot on the floor tiles. Remorse didn’t suffice anymore to explain the sharp pain in your stomach. You’d sabotaged yourself— you got a nip that night, a morsel of something greater, a catalyst for ‘what if’s and a total loss of self-control, because once the temporary high didn’t satiate you any longer, you’d seek it again. Regardless of your constant imbecility, you weren’t oblivious: it was nothing more than a distraction for Peter’s troubles and conflicting emotions over a woman he’d married, and it would never mean anything to him. It never would, despite how much it meant to you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out, narrowed eyes reading the recent message while your heart went ballistic.

‘You can’t stay there forever, he’s starting to get suspicious.’

You breathed out, partially relieved. It was your friend. You texted him earlier as you lost it in the bathroom stall, as one does. You were close to getting on your knees and start praying to any superior entity that he was simply imagining stuff like most of the time, attempting to read in between the lines when, in reality, all Peter did was drink his whiskey served over ice, totally unconcerned. Yes, perhaps, you running away didn’t signify ‘subtle’, and the fact that you two hadn’t shared a word or texted ever since you fled his apartment a week prior didn’t brighten the situation at all. Why should it matter if you chose to continue escaping your issues? You could stay there forever, and it was no one’s business. The bar’s urine-scented bathroom could be your new home.

Your phone rang again. ‘Dude, c’mon.’

Goddammit.

Your friend shouldn’t have the power to knock some sense into you with just two messages, but he did anyway. You required an abundance of courage you did not carry to hesitantly walk out of the stall, and then the bathroom. You were sure your heart could hop out of your chest, as gruesome as it may have been, at any moment as Peter’s figure came closer and closer to you with each dreadful step you took. It wasn’t as dramatic in real life, most likely (most definitely). But as if you finally understood your situation, the charisma awakened from its sleep and, in an instant, you let out a disappointed ‘aw!’, replacing your terrified features with an exaggerated pout. “Oh, man! Somebody else already took your order? Unbelievable.”

He reacted as though he overheard the most unbelievable noise— a call from God itself or extraterrestrial life, because he could’ve gotten some whiplash by the way in which his head jerked up.

Peter cleared his throat, unsure of what to do with his hands as he showed you a tight-lipped smile. “Uh, hey! Hey…” He exclaimed and you winked at him. “I thought you weren’t here, or something.”

You thought for a moment. For real this time. You couldn’t say ‘I was just having a breakdown in the bathroom’. “Nah, my boss just needed my help… with stuff,” You waved your hand, aware that your boss had left an hour ago. He hummed and nodded, downing his shot. Wait. Your eyes returned to his glass when you fully took it in. It wasn’t whiskey served over ice.

You pointed at the empty drink in his grasp. “What’s that?” 

He glanced down at it, raising a brow. “What, you’ve never seen a shot of vodka?”

“No, no, I mean— yeah, but what the hell happened to your whiskey?”

Peter pressed his lips together, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, guess I just… got tired of it?”

The corner of your lips tugged down momentarily. “Ah, I see…” You distracted yourself with a glass, cleaning it despite its already pristine look. You just needed anything to focus on other than Peter. “This is so tragic, your whiskey days have come to an end.” You joked, laughing quietly and disguising the aching in your chest.

He tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow and grinning a confused smile. “What’s wrong with vodka?”

“It’s just… so boring.”

An incredulous grin stretched across his face. “More boring than whiskey?”

Your smile faded, a frown taking its place. “I… I’m guessing I had just grown used to it— I don’t know.”

For the first time in a whole year of weekly meetings and ongoing chatter, an uncomfortable silence sat amongst you two. And for the first time, too, you did not know what to say. “Y/N?” You looked up at him attentively, although you did not want to hear what he had to say at all.

Peter avoided your gaze, instead focusing on his lap, and opened his mouth, closing it when you couldn’t think up any words. “I think, uh… we gotta talk, right? About… y’know.” Your face heated up as red as a field of roses.

You laughed nervously, your hands on the bar as you slanted forward. “...About what?”

“Just, about what happened, and that thing you said the morning after—”

“Did I say anything the morning after?” You cut him off, wishing you’d stuck with your plan of moving into the bathroom.

To your horror, your biggest fear unfolded as Peter let out air through his nose, chuckling without humor.

“Are you gonna try to convince me it was a dream again?” You nearly passed out as Peter cited the words you so vividly remembered uttering. “‘You’re just dreaming?’” It all came back to you, everything— your forced memory loss received a fatal blow as memories bombarded your brain: Peter’s face twisted with puzzlement and sleep after you blurted out your utter nonsense and— how could you forget, oh God, how could you— the cherry on top, your uncomfortably intense five-second staring contest as you headed for the door and dashed out of his apartment.

“‘Wake up?’” He continued and you merely blinked back at him. He didn’t need to fucking quote you and remind you what a joke you were— who does that? But also, who tells the guy you just hooked up with that he’s dreaming after he caught you in the midst of trying to sneak out? B-B-Bingo! Of course, of course it had to be you out of all people.

You stood frozen, like you did that embarrassing morning, begging your head to stop it with the callbacks and breathing out. “What if it was a dream? You never know.” You said, unwilling to give up your idiocy. Peter stared at you, his lack of amusement terrifying you further.

“A dream.”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N—”

“What?”

“Stop acting like an idiot, please.”

“Peter, you literally could’ve brought up anything else other than this.” You hissed, exasperated. “Any other fucking thing.”

“I can’t not bring this up.”

“Well, why not? I surely can.”

“‘Cause it was weird.”

You grimaced and covered your face with your hands, muffling your words, “Oh my God, I know, I fucking know. What did you want me to do—”

“I don’t know, maybe just talk, you know!” He suggested with raised hands, the harsh sarcasm in his voice deepening your pained expression. “Wh-why did you even say that?! Like—”

“I didn’t want to be there! I just wanted to leave, okay?!” You admitted loudly, uncaring of your blatancy. When you didn’t hear him, your shaking hands slowly unveiled your face. A man two seats away eyed you two as he drank, while Peter stared at the counter with knitted brows, digesting what you said.

“Do you wish it had been a dream?” He asked quietly. You began to tap your finger, your lips shaping the words you wanted to speak, but didn’t exactly know how to.

“No. That’s not it, I…” You croaked out. You couldn’t continue when you noticed what you thought was a flourishing desire in his eyes which you saw that same night back at his place. Just say it. Your fingertips thudded the wood faster, your feet shifting, voice stuttering. Say you’d do it again.

“It was just a one-time thing, right?” You whispered. Then, you doubted if that lust had simply been a delusion your brain fabricated. That, perhaps, you yearned for something bigger so badly you’d projected your own silly cravings onto the man, for all trace of that weakening glimmer was now nothing more than the familiar amity the always held.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Right.” You breathed out.

“It was just a one-time thing.” He repeated as if it were obvious.

“Yes.” You both nodded, unable to look at each other straight in the eye without squirming. As soon as some clients called for you, you shared a last glance before you left. When you returned, all you found were some crumpled dollar bills and no sign of Peter.

You didn’t buy him a gift. And neither did he, but he did send you a message saying, ‘Merry Christmas!’, and there exists a possibility that you broke down crying whilst drunk because of the smiley face he wrote along with it, but that’s something you wouldn’t ever disclose— even if it happened one more time during New Year’s Eve as your head pounded with the people around you religiously blowing their party horns. That was it, though. You didn’t see him at the bar, which a part of you could only be thankful for, but the remaining kicked itself for not fixing things when you had the chance to. For not being honest when you could have.

Your friend yet again with his wisdom from the gods told you to stop wasting time and move on with your life, albeit not as kindly, as if saying it in such a way wasn’t hurtful enough. However, after being too sensitive for two seconds, you sucked it up and knew that he was right. 

You managed to keep Peter out of your thoughts most of the time, focusing on your job and getting additional money with your paintings to treat yourself. You could go out more with your friends, buy a new TV, maybe save for the vacation you’d been dreaming of for the past years. For some time, as there was no Peter in your head nor at the bar, it was just like before the man nearing his forties and with a really, really nice nose sat down in front of you.

You could only maintain him out of your orbit for so long, though.

You sat at another bar two blocks down your place, hunched over and your eyes glued on your cell phone’s screen, anticipation pulling imaginary strings connected to your fingers which fidgeted, tossed the device from hand to hand. Your friend was the fourth person you texted in the last thirty minutes, an act born from desperation, perhaps; created upon an urgency for an anchor, a quick fix that would momentarily patch up the heaviness in your chest that made an unwanted visit too many times to your liking and dissipate all the thoughts in your head. You needed something, a distraction, anything— hell, you’d even texted your boss, a known shopaholic, asking if she wanted to go shopping. But everyone appeared to be doing something that night, too engaged in their own affairs to remember you. It was selfish, you understood, to think that way; they had lives, after all. Nevertheless, that selfishness was a blemish you couldn’t vanish as the three dots emerged, followed by the exact same message you dreaded: ‘Can’t tonight, I’m with dad. What about tomorrow?’ There was no tomorrow, though. No, you ached for it right now, in that instant, something.

Peter.

No. You couldn’t. Another decline was a final blow you couldn’t withstand, anyway, especially from him. However, you weren’t the one making the decisions anymore. Your heart manipulated your limbs, and in a blur, you’d searched his contact. Too soon to your liking, you heard that tedious beeping, your heartbeat then the sole noise in your ears once it halted. All of a sudden, you couldn’t talk, your words lodged in your throat, because it was strange to hear that voice again and it was too much for you right now.

“Y/N? Are you there?” Peter said after you didn’t make the slightest sound, hesitance evident in his tone, for he wondered whether it’d been an accidental butt dial. You took in a big breath and pressed your phone closer to your ear, your elbows aching from the hard counter they rested upon.

“...Hi.” You scrunched up your nose, shaking your head at yourself.

“What… what’s up?” It was odd, you both knew, because when did you ever call each other, and when was the last time you two talked? But turning a blind eye to your friend’s advice, you itched to fulfill your own cravings that night— it didn’t really matter what kind, but just a friend was all you needed, just someone.

You stuttered for a while, internally grateful he remained silent and waited for you to clear your mind. “Nothing. That’s why I’m calling, I guess. Just wanted to talk.”

“To talk?” You could hear the engines of driving vehicles in the background and you frowned, scratching the back of your head.

“Sorry, are you busy? I didn’t mean to bother you. I can call another time—”

“No, no!” He stopped you, your heart growing wings, fluttering and capable of flying out of your chest with how gentle he sounded. “I just got done with something and I’m going back home, you don’t have to hang up.”

You hit the tip of your shoes against the bar, tense brows still not relaxing. “Oh, okay…”

“Are you at work?

“No, my shift ends at a normal time on Friday’s, thankfully.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I see— so you’re home alone and bored?”

You observed the place around you, focusing on the bartender and then on your drink. “Eh, not exactly.” You closed your hand into a fist, struggling to not dissect the skin around your nails like an animal in a biology class. “I know this is unusual, we never really talk outside of the bar and we haven’t seen each other in a while, but…”

“It’s kinda our first phone call, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your lip trembling. “Y-Yeah. Our first phone call.” You almost cursed when your voice wavered.

“Hey, you alright?” 

You sighed, scratching your head. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t know.  It’s a Friday night— everyone’s out having a good time, and I’m just… here, in a bar and on my own.” You shrugged, your nails carving the timber.

“It’s not stupid.” He murmured and you snorted, unconvinced. “If it makes you feel any less alone, I’m not exactly out partying and having a good time, either.”

“Do you even still party, grandpa?”

“Just ‘cause I’m old, it doesn’t mean I still haven’t got the moves.”

“It definitely sounds like you don’t.”

“Don’t sound so sure, you haven’t seen me at my best.” Seeing him wasn’t necessary, you could easily imagine his teasing grin.

“Hm, yeah, I’d immediately take off my clothes if you pretended to lasso me at the club.” You both giggled and you hugged yourself, glancing at the empty stool beside you, biting the inside of your cheek. “Do you maybe want to come and have a drink with me?” You shot your shot, to your thumping heart’s dismay. Guessing by the click you distinguished, he probably just got back home.

“...Have a drink with you?”

“J-Just to hangout, you know.” You quickly explained. “Chat for a while. I can pay, if you want.”

You waited for a response, a rejection. But it didn’t come.

It was quite embarrassing, to say the least, that after he agreed and you hung up, you almost dropped your phone with how the fright weakened your arms as you tried to send him the bar’s address. You eagerly waited, too, like a damn puppy anticipating its owner’s return at the end of the day. Using your phone’s selfie camera, you checked your appearance, tidying up all just to make yourself look way more put together than you actually were, even if you were in a bar, alone, and, well, drinking. Despite your awaiting, though, you were taken off guard when a man chose to settle down beside you and cleared his throat.

“I gotta say, it’s weird to see you on the other side of the bar,” Peter smiled as a greeting. Your eyes scanned him, taking in his presence, struggling to process it as if he were a ghost. In your defense, it did feel as if he hadn’t been part of your world for the last two months.

You chuckled, shyly moving your view to your beverage. “Sorry, I won’t be playing bartender tonight.”

“Too bad, I like it when you give me free drinks.”

“Technically, you still are getting free drinks from me tonight.”

He huffed, a crooked smile lingering on his face. You called for the bartender and side-glanced at Peter, quietly asking what he wanted and biting back a disappointed grunt when it wasn’t whiskey served over ice. Whatever. It was just a drink. You two didn’t share a look after that small interaction, though, your face flustered, redder than the bartender’s awful and painful-to-look-at-from-how-bright-it-was shirt. You preferred to believe it was the alcohol, regardless of the truth that you hadn’t drunk that much yet. But your skin burned since he was there, and suddenly, the last disastrous meeting you two experienced replayed way too loudly in your head, the scorching sensation only spreading further and gaining more vigor with the possibility that it did the same in his, too. The unspoken and evident discomfort was enough to make you assume that it definitely was on his mind. 

You made the effort to spark up a conversation with the dreaded small talk. ‘How have you been?’, ‘Anything new?’, ‘The weather’s been pretty cold lately, huh?’— blah, blah, blah. Nonetheless, neither of you had more to say other than short, boring responses. It became so unbearable, you knew the only way you could get through this night— seeing as you couldn’t leave after he’d just gotten there— depended on your current and whoever many you could afford future drinks. Quite an alcoholic mindset, perhaps, but there was no way you were the only one or that Peter didn’t have the same wish as you.

Holding your third drink, tispy thoughts pressed you to climb out of the hell you were in. You turned your body to face him, nudging his leg with your foot. He’d been paying attention to a wildlife documentary and an animal hiding from its predator before he lifted an eyebrow and nodded at you. “What?”

“Where have you been?”

A crease formed between his brows as he found it hard to differentiate this question from the one you asked earlier. “I told you, I haven’t really been up to much—”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I asked. Where have you been?” Peter pursed his lips, contemplating.

“New York.”

You hummed, bringing your drink up to your lips. “Okay. So if you were here, how come I haven’t seen you since, uh—” You pretended to count in your head, tongue poking out of your mouth as you summed with your fingers. “—December?”

“I was busy.” You narrowed your eyes.

“I thought you hadn’t been up to much?”

“I… haven’t,” Peter said slowly, too far in to escape the contradiction. You bit your lip before finishing your half-empty drink all in one go, head spinning, the weight in your stomach drawing you down to the Earth’s core.

It’s difficult to perceive the line between overthinking and legitimacy. It’s so fine and faint, like a message written with chalk in the middle of the neighborhood’s road that can only be deciphered if you stare at it long and closely enough after the days have passed by and the rain showered upon it. On one side, the message was nothing more than scrawls and nonsensical letters, an unnecessary distraction on the road disrupting you from reaching your destination on time. But then, there was the other side: the truth. A truth that, funnily enough, you reached by overthinking in the first place. Which was what occurred when you suspected the reasoning behind the lack of Peter in your life could be pinpointed to the man purposefully avoiding you; and, right now, grasped that, after all, it wasn’t just another case of irrational overanalyzing. 

“Do you hate me?” You blurted out, your eyes going round with the disappearance of your filter. Confusion overflowed Peter’s head and spilled into his expression, adorning his face.

“Huh?”

“Do you hate me—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Where the hell did that come from, though?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” You stated the obvious, visibly hurt. Peter denied with his head the misconception, sighing.

“It wasn’t intentional.” He assured you not just with his words but his gaze, too. You pressed your lips together, not fully convinced.

“Was it not?” You asked with a small quirk of your mouth. He stared at you, embarrassment crawling across his skin.

“Alright, maybe it was.” He admitted sheepishly. You let out air through your nose, turning on your seat.

“So you do hate me.”

“Y/N,” Peter called for your attention, although he knew it was half-joke. You returned your attention to him. “If I hated you, would I be here, sitting next to you?” He questioned, motioning around him. You shrugged one shoulder, a grin growing on your face.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just being nice.” You said and he groaned jokingly, sporting his very own lopsided grin.

“I’m being nice because I like you.”

Your smile fell for an instant, but you put the expression back up, reminding yourself that, once more, it didn’t go further than platonic. “Good. But you were mad, then.”

“No, not exactly.”

“You left without saying goodbye last time.”

Peter frowned, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did. Sorry.” He apologized, the sincerity interlaced in his voice worsening your state. You wanted to place your hand on your chest, as you diagnosed with your zero quantity of medical knowledge that you had a high chance of having a heart attack before the night came to an end.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“Well,” You placed your chin on the palm of your hand, moving your eyes elsewhere. “First, for being a dumbass back when we hoo—”

“You know what? You’re fine.” He interrupted you. “Save yourself some time.”

Your brows snapped together. “But—”

“You were right. Let’s just not talk about it and move on, alright?” He waved his hand, grabbing his drink. “If you do talk about it, I think I’m actually gonna get up and leave.”

You laughed, nodding. “Ah, I see. So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, then?”

His actions halted in the midst of taking a sip. “Maybe.” He answered vaguely.

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just run away from your problems, Peter.” You pointed out like the hypocrite you were, particularly after that was exactly what you were doing not too long ago. Peter, unaware of this, however, had to admit you spoke the truth as he rubbed his nose with his knuckles, grumbling.

“You see, you say that, but I’m still gonna continue doing it.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re going to discuss this like adults—”

“As an adult, I’m telling you that all is good and I’m over it.” He finished with a warning tone you couldn’t take seriously and you giggled. “Next topic.” 

“Okay, grandpa. Sure thing. All is good.” You grinned, the ice in your heart melting off as he copied your countenance.

“For real this time.”

“Yeah. For real this time. Can I be honest with you, though?” Peter waited for you to go on, paying close attention, his gaze soft. You stared at him for a moment too long ‘till your eyes moved to your hand now feebly holding your empty drink. “I missed you. Kind of. Is that dumb?” You mumbled, your voice small.

You couldn’t properly see him, but through your peripheral vision, you didn’t catch any movement. That’s when you prepared to scream ‘sike!’ to his face— a real-life undo button to delete the emotions you couldn’t take back and shove down your system anymore. However, it felt… good. For once, it wasn’t spilling your guts out and regretting everything as you attempted to cram your organs back into you; you had plucked out a thorn that’d been hanging inside the palm of your hand for far too long. It was liberating. And you peered up at him, expecting that relief to be temporary, but his tender features didn’t let that happen.

“...No. I missed you, too.”

You both smiled.

The conversation began to flow. Words started to spill, and although you weren’t at the bar, you enjoyed that exact same security and blissful buzz. You realized then— a revelation that did not help your case— the location didn’t play an important role, and perhaps it never did; bar or not, if Peter was there, you’d still feel stupidly and overly content. Your worries faded away as you two caught up with no drop of MJ’s name, but some lingered anyway, because change was inevitable, looming over you. Laughter left your lips, his hand rested close to yours on the counter. You noticed, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, to walk away from the euphoria tainting your body. More liquor entered his, over time you stared at his mouth one, two, three, four seconds too long as you became intoxicated along with him, and so did he with yours.

“C’mon, tell me.” You pouted for an instant, interchanging it for a drunk smile. “Your secret dies with me.”

Peter slammed his fifth drink down, cheeks tinted pink. It was wrong, indeed, to take advantage of his condition and try to get out of him something you’d wanted to know for the longest time, and that he kept to himself as if it were government classified information. In your drunken brain, it did not seem too far off. Perhaps he went on outrageous underground missions. You laughed at yourself. Peter didn’t seem like a spy-type of guy. Unless…

“Do you, like, work for the government?” Peter screwed up his face at your absurdity.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter opened his mouth, a giggle escaping. “I can’t.” You dragged your stool closer to him, as you weren’t close enough already. Actually, when did you get so close? It didn’t matter. You analyzed his face, hoping that somehow, if you looked at him long enough, you’d gain the ability to read minds and crack into his. Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, studying you like you were the most interesting being. You didn’t know why, but you felt tempted to move that strand of hair that always hung in front of his forehead away from his face. As any rational person wouldn’t, you did, your thumb brushing against the barely visible scratch that started the conversation in the first place.

“What are you thinking?” You questioned, brimming with interest. He went crossed-eyed as he tried to follow your hand.

“About stuff. Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked back, his view traveling down to your lips. You bit your lip.

The closeness, your full-blown pupils, the actuality that you could lean closer to him and you’d meet his lips. It all seemed too familiar. And so you wondered, if you did move and kiss him, if you stopped resisting and glanced down at his lips, too, what would happen?

“I don’t know. What does it look like I’m thinking?” You asked, lowering your voice. The stench of alcohol should have been enough to stop you both from advancing any further, but Peter licked his lips, smirking.

“It seems to me like you wanna fuck me.”

You gasped, hiccuping. “Oh, my! I didn’t know this part of yours, Peter B. Parker. Is it just the alcohol speaking?”

“Maybe. But is it true?”

“What?”

“What I said.”

Your upper body swayed closer to him, tired, dizzy, and wishing to lie down. You gripped his shoulder and helped yourself add some distance, your other hand landing on his knee. “Maybe.” You simply said. Your eyes remained interlocked into one another, your hand running up his shoulder to his neck, and then all the way up to the back of his head, sensing his goosebumps. “Maybe…” You repeated as your touch on his knee traveled up his thigh. Peter took in a sharp breath, his hand unconsciously wrapping around your wrist.

You couldn’t help it anymore. You leaned in and captured his mouth in a rough kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pull away, a voice said in your head as you felt his tongue momentarily slide against your bottom lip. Pull away, the nagging voice went on and you did, shaking your head.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen again.” You whispered, yet your mouth came back into a messy kiss, even messier hands craving touch. Breaking glass startled you two apart and you looked down, sighing when you saw your drink’s contents all over the ground. “You owe me a drink.” You panted, your lips swollen.

Peter scoffed, his half-smile blurring your vision as he tilted his head towards your ear. “Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.” He said, mouth ghosting near your cheek despite his words, yearning to continue. You pecked his jaw, lips resting against his hot skin, careless about the other customers in the bar.

“I do want something to happen, though.”

You both ignored the conversation your sober selves had. ‘It was just a one-time thing, right?’. Peter slammed your apartment’s door closed whilst your lips were still connected, your hands clumsily coming down to try to unbuckle his belt. ‘Yeah’. His own hands aided yours, the clinking of his belt buckle speeding up your heartbeat as if it weren’t already dangerously fast. ‘It was just a one-time thing’. Peter groaned into your mouth, tasting like liquor, like something you’d both regret the next morning but did not care about the consequences, even if it was a lesson you’d already learned. Not at the moment.

But nothing happened.

You couldn’t recall much the next morning. The first proof that it didn’t go further from a make-out session was that you woke up in your bed, alone, and wearing the same clothes as the previous night. The second evidence you gathered when you barged into your living room and there slept Peter on your couch, his appearance also identical to the one in your hazy memories. He didn’t remember anything. As you struggled to cease your trembling legs, he simply laughed and asked if he got so wasted he had to crash at your place. You shrugged and smiled, still capable of tasting his lips and vividly feel his hot breath.

From then on, you avoided drinking or being too exhausted to have any common sense when you were around Peter. One day he invited you to go out and have a few drinks again, to ‘repay’ you, and to which you responded as calmly as you could that you had other ‘plans’; other plans that, truthfully, were faker than the disappointed expression of yours that followed. Then, as if you couldn’t ever reach a state of peace, he asked again a month later, and you had no other choice than to invent a faulty reason for why you didn’t feel like drinking that night, the next night, or the one after, even if, according to all the drunk stories you’d recounted to him in the past, you never really turned down a drink or the opportunity to get inebriated. Guilt poisoned you when he never brought up the idea after that, fingers crossed that he didn’t get the impression you didn’t want to meet him in other circumstances other than the bar; regardless that that’s exactly what was going on. Every other night after he helped you with closing the bar, you’d also nod goodbye at him and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting until he turned around the corner so your feet could dreadfully carry you to the subway station, your now-unfixable car present in your head like an aggravating piece of gum that stuck to your shoe.

Nothing could be more vexing than this, though.

Eventually, you began to wonder. Perhaps, yet again, you were as weary as that time you slept with Peter, seeing as you couldn’t think straight, almost as if you’d suffered from a concussion and all your neurons died, to your utmost dismay. But there was a dissimilarity: the unfortunate detail that, unlike physical fatigue, mental exhaustion wouldn’t pack its bags and wave farewell after a night-long sleep. Not when immediately after you woke up, the same worries still found their home within your head. So your imagination took it as an initiative to force feelings and schemes onto you, ones which involved the stomach-churning plausibility that maybe, just maybe, Peter liked you back and you could happily come clean. You had to laugh. But then you really started to wonder.

You needed at least six reasons to follow through with it. First. He was the one who made a move months ago. Second. He wasn’t drunk. Third, you listed in your head, you kissed. Again. And, fourth, this time he might have been drunk, but if he did it both as a sober man and a drunk one, it had to mean something, right?

You were struggling to distinguish the line between overthinking and legitimacy again.

You went to work that day, decided, the fifth reason simply being that you couldn’t get him out of your head, but the sixth reason missing. A truck landing on you would probably do the job, you thought. You didn’t mean it whole-heartedly, of course. But, apparently, the universe didn’t know about sarcasm and how it worked since, an hour after the thought passed through your head, it sent you a nice little gift and Spider-Man just so happened to get in a fight near the bar and an actual truck broke through the walls of the pub.

“I can’t fucking believe a truck landed right here. This is why I hate living in this city so much,” You scoffed, holding a towel wrapped around ice up to your bruised forehead as you observed the gigantic hole where the truck happily invited itself into. Peter barely reacted to your comment, too focused on disinfecting the wound in your arm. You pulled the makeshift ice bag away from your head, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m starting to get a headache from how cold this is, can I—”

Peter grabbed your hand and forced it back up to your forehead, shaking his head and focusing again on your arm. “No, trust me, it will reduce the swelling.”

“Should I be worried that you know so much about injuries?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap. “I know. Thanks.” You smiled, recalling the urgency in his voice after he called you, saying he’d seen what’d happened on the news. He moved on to the gauze and began to bandage your arm, making sure his movements were delicate lest he hurt you more. “I met Spider-Man, though. I think I can finally die in peace.” You caught the way the corner of his mouth lifted upward.

“Really? Did he apologize for almost killing you?” Peter grumbled, accepting the scissors you offered him to cut the cotton fabric. You released a huff of air, admittedly offended and immediately going to defend the masked superhero.

“He didn’t almost kill me, it was the other guy. Bad guys, you know? They’re everywhere.” He huffed. “He checked up on me and offered to take me to the hospital, though. Pretty cool guy.”

“And why didn’t you say yes?”

You contemplated his question. “Stranger danger.” You shrugged. Peter laughed softly, muttering ‘fair enough’. “It also wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to interfere with his, uh… superhero duties…”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t making sure you’re okay part of his duties?”

“I guess, but I’m fine, it’s no biggie.”

“Y/N, you could have died.”

“But look at me,” You patted your torso, then holding your arms wide open. “I didn’t. You’re making it sound much worse than it actually was.” Peter ran his hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly.

“Whatever,” He said, hesitance showing through his eyes. “I just think the guy should be more careful. His job is to protect the people, not to… hurt them.”

You scowled playfully, kicking him lightly. “Dude, fuck off, don’t talk shit about him like that. He’s Spider-Man. Give the poor guy a break.” He didn’t say anything, though, stirring your concern as you realized he seemed off since he first arrived. “Are you okay?” You inquired, frowning.

Peter glanced up at you before rubbing his face. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”

“Every day is a long day when it comes to you, isn’t it?” You joked lightly, nudging him a second time. “You helped me, now let me help you. What’s up?”

He moved his head from one side to another. “You’re always helping me.” He said almost as an apology, smiling sadly. You smirked back, standing up from your seat next to him to jump over the bar. You grasped an empty shot glass, checking no small debris had made its way into for the sake of Peter’s health (now, that’d be a hell of a lawsuit) before you slid it towards him.

“It’s my job as your bartender.”

He peered down at the glass and then up at you. Chuckling defeatedly, he took ahold of it, and you read it as ‘ah, the hell with it’ as you reached for the bottle of vodka. “I fucked up.” He whispered while you poured the liquid.

You screwed the cap closed, your eyebrows lifting high. “How come?”

Peter placed his head in his hands, nose crinkling. “I, um… talked to MJ?” And just like that, your mood took a fall as well, an inaudible ‘oh’ fleeting past your lips. “It’s the first time we talked in a long time.”

“...And?” You asked anxiously, folding your arms across your chest. Peter clutched onto the shot of vodka, watching the liquid dangerously reach for the edge of the glass after he slowly tipped it.

“Well, she’s trying to move on.” Surprise crossed your face. “And I was so distraught by it for the rest of the day that I really fucked up at work.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“That maybe I should move on, too.”

Your arms fell down to your sides. Maybe you really did hit your head too harshly, you thought, as your body started to feel heavy and you had to support yourself on the bar, for all this information you were hearing at once was colliding against you more vigorously than the pieces of wood which fled towards you earlier. Swallowing to bring moisture to your throat, you continued with the million-dollar question pestering you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You regretted uttering the words, something you seemed to be doing too much to suit your taste as of lately. However, Peter, although the question troubled him the same way it did you, clasped his hands together and you studied him whilst he went through every thought in his head and through every feeling, seeking an explanation he himself needed to know as well. 

“I’m not sure if I want to. But I know that I have to.” He finally breathed out. You leaned forward, not satisfied, needing to hear more and more even if it’d hurt, because nothing was more vexing than this feeling. 

“But you love her,” You said matter-of-factly. Silence. Your heart pounded rapidly enough you could sense it in your head. “Right?” You asked, embarrassed by the apparent desperation in your tone.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out his thoughts, blinking up at you.

“You love Mary Jane?”

He bit his lip as he went back inside the isolated room of his brain after only just sneaking his head out, evidently growing stressed. “It’s okay,” You brought him back out, sacrificing your curiosity as you gently smiled at him. “You don’t have to answer.”

Peter exhaled thankfully, downing his shot. “What’d you wanna tell me earlier, anyway?” He asked expectantly, his voice scratchy from the liquor. Oh. Yeah, right. Plans might have changed an hour ago, yet for some reason, you still wanted to come clean to Peter. However, right now, after hearing about Mary Jane, you forgot about the sixth reason and remembered why you never did in the first place after all this time.

“Do you… want to go get a drink?” You cursed your imagination for not working when it was necessary. Peter’s forehead creased with astonishment as if he never thought he’d hear that sentence again (in his defense, though, it’s exactly what you were planning to do).

“You finally wanna go and get a drink?”

“Hey, just be glad I’m feeling like it.”

It was an understatement to express you were feeling like it.

You continued searching for that sixth reason for the next weeks, even if the entire world knew that after you found it, you’d keep your lips sealed. Your friend put your friendship at risk when, during your September lunch with your boss, he couldn’t resist but telling her about your ‘secret crush’, saying he simply did it for a third opinion, but neither of you gained no new eye-opening advice for your boss dragged on about how Peter could be ‘the one’, which honestly worked in scaring you away from the topic. One day after, as you couldn’t fall asleep, you deliberated the reasons why you should forget about Peter.

One. He’s your friend. Your really good friend. You liked him being your friend. He’s funny, a nerd, and you could talk to him forever, even if it was merely absolute nonsense. Two. He’s a lot older than you. Not that eight years mattered that much, but it could. You were just entering your thirties whilst he was nearing his forties. Even if he’d made it clear kids weren’t his cup of tea, he could change his mind. You weren’t ready to settle down yet, despite most people reminding you the clock was ticking and you should start considering it. 

Three. The iconic Mary Jane Watson. Peter’s ex-wife whom he loved dearly. He might have not talked about her since he mentioned the idea of moving on, but you knew it was easier said than done. If you opened up, he could shut you down and reveal he’s still in love with MJ. Or worse, if you two did wind up dating, he could decide to leave you for her. Four. Your friend helped you with the fourth one. He had yet to tell you about why he’s bruised most of the time. It admittedly awakened the cynicism in you, for it could be something which had the potential of putting you at risk, or get you killed. Plus, if he did not want to give you an explanation, it meant he didn’t trust you enough. 

Five. You couldn’t lose him. You already almost did. Your absurd crush could be the last straw and get rid of him for good. If that was the case, then you’d do anything to muffle your heart singing its love songs when he crossed your mind or simply stood in front of you. You’d do it, even if it’d hurt.

Again, you couldn’t come up with a sixth reason. You established, then, that whichever reason you uncovered first, would be the final word. Your friend knew both a sixth reason for why you shouldn’t forget about Peter and why you should that, trying not to influence you any further, he kept to himself; it being clear in his head which one he hoped you’d find first.

It was another Friday night. You’d just returned home after wasting your money on some restaurant that definitely was not worth the price (goddamn New York) when your phone blared its ringtone in your pocket. Your heart clenched as you read the name and were about to answer immediately, until you stopped yourself. Counting eight seconds in your head, your thumb slid across the screen after you got to the last number and picked up the call. “Peter?” You were audibly and justifiably perplexed— why has he calling you at… you checked the time— ten P.M,? It may have not been the first one anymore, but phone calls were still a rare occurrence between you two.

“Hey! Are you busy?” His breathing was heavy, which made you wonder what he possibly could’ve been up to before he called you.

You opened your apartment’s door and blindly searched for the light switch. “No, I just got back home, actually.” You muttered, and then voiced a victorious exclamation when the room lit up in front of your eyes. “Why?”

He inhaled profoundly. “Cool. Great. Yeah.”

You guessed the barely distinguishable quiver in his voice could be defined as uneasiness as you sat down on your couch’s armrest, squinting.

“Is everything okay?”

“...Yeah. Yeah!” He repeated, firstly too quietly but now with faux confidence. “I needed to talk to you.”

Ah, hell. You had one important question and one only: when would you get a break from confrontation and those words? The last time you and Peter ‘needed to talk’ didn’t exactly go as smoothly. That in mind, your organs plummeted down into an expanding black hole in your stomach as you brought your fingers up to your lips. “I’m all ears, as always.” No, not really, but you didn’t exactly have any other choice.

“Okay, okay. Um, I, uh… what am I doing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I wanna say sorry in advance.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

You could solely hear what sounded like wind. “You’re not gonna believe me, so just, just look outside your window.”

The black hole having devoured the contents in your system, you raised to your feet and sped to the window, not capable of painting in your head a single picture of what in the heavens the man could be planning. You unlatched the lock and glided the window upward, your head gradually peering out. Your eyes went as big and round as the full moon glowing above you when you saw it.

You stared dumbfounded, close to pinching yourself to do a reality check. It had to be a dream. A strange dream. There was just no way. No fucking way, it was absolutely impossible. It was beyond the innumerable existing possibilities that Spider-Man looked back at you, stuck against the wall. Similar to someone’s lack of subtlety, it couldn’t have been any more evident. You didn’t even need a big brain or to think, to analyze deeply as if it were a riddle in a newspaper. Because it was just right there in front of you, plainly obvious and transforming your blood into ice: the phone he held up to his face.

“Hi…” Said the masked hero. And so did Peter through the phone call.

Your phone slipped from your grasp, yet you didn’t glance down at it. You continued to gawk at the man as he flicked his wrist and saved not only your phone, but simultaneously also your bank account from having to spend hundreds of dollars on a new one. You did not mutter a thanks, let out no relieved sigh when he gave it back to you. You just stared.

“I know I’m pretty cool to look at, but can you please say something?” He laughed nervously. Ignoring him, you took a step back and retreated your head, eyes close to falling out of their sockets. The phone in your shaky hands rang a second time and you answered without needing to look at the contact.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Peter, what the fuck.”

“I’ve done this so many times but I still don’t know what to say.” He groaned to himself. You put your hand on top of your head, disbelieving.

“Get in.” You abruptly ended the call and plopped down on your couch, clutching your stomach, blinking furiously after black dots uncontrollably twirled in your vision. You heard a thump, the floor shaking slightly; however, you didn’t turn around to look at your guest, instead focusing on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t until the cushion beside you sank with the man’s weight that you blew up. “Holy shit.” You cupped your face with your hands, laughing out of pure shock. “Holy shit… holy shit!”

“Don’t freak out.”

“How am I not supposed to freak out?!”

Peter— Spider-Man shrugged, his white lenses wide. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He admitted.

You scanned his mask, the mask you’d become familiar with after seeing it so many times on TV and pictures. Somehow, however, regardless if you knew that mask and the person behind it, you couldn’t believe its authenticity. “Take off the mask.” He didn’t move or respond. “Please.” You begged.

You first saw the stubble. Then his lips. Then his crooked nose, and soon, those eyes. The whiskey eyes. Peter’s whiskey eyes. Your hands wound up on his broad shoulders, and for some reason you yourself couldn’t work out, it just dawned upon you how muscular they were. Your eyes came back to his face. Yeah, that’s Peter. That’s Peter B. Parker. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. All the revelations crashed against you quick, glass shattering in your head, everything suddenly making sense. The bruises. His constant fatigue. Everything.

“Peter… oh my God.”

“I know I-I kept this from you for a really long time, and I know it’s hard to fully digest it, but I did promise I was gonna tell you one day.” He said, the corner of his lips twitching. But you weren’t smiling— all the terrible fights you’d watched on the news throughout the years flashed in your head, going all the way back in time to when you first discovered Queens’ brand-new superhero as a seven-year-old.

You gasped, covering your mouth. “You’re telling me you’ve been at this since you were a fucking kid?”

Peter let his mask drop to the carpeted ground, his back sliding down the sofa’s backrest. “Since I was fifteen, yeah.”

“Peter…”

He grimaced at your concern. “I know it sounds sad, but it’s not… it’s not that bad.” He promised you, but you couldn’t take him seriously. You picked up your legs, sitting cross-legged and playing with your fingers as you continued to go through your racing questions.

“I used to look up to you when I was little.” You revealed quietly. Peter scoffed, grinning playfully. 

“What, you don’t anymore?”

You shook your head vigorously. “I do. Shit, I still do. I never thought I’d meet my childhood hero the way I did, though.”

“Sorry I’m just a sad, old man.”

You rolled your eyes, prodding him with your elbow. “You’re so much more than that.” All humor fled his expression and he shut his eyes, throwing his head back. 

“Am I? I constantly feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He huffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke. There it was, of course; he couldn’t talk about Spider-Man in a non-degrading way.

“You’re fucking Spider-Man!” You exclaimed, not accepting his utter bullshit, but he was willing to accept it as he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“I know, you always say that.”

You gave up in trying to change his mind and shifted closer to him, copying his position, unable to focus on your view of the boring, mundane ceiling; so you turned your head to see Peter getting lost in the white square. “You really didn’t have to tell me. This is a big secret.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.” You were glad he kept staring up as you felt the blood rush to your face.

“You do?” You asked, your chest warm, illuminated with glee. Peter glanced at you, nodding nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah. I really do.”

You turned your face away from him, your muscles close to tearing from how big and proudly you grinned. “Spider-Man trusts me.” You hushed to yourself.

Peter breathed out, exasperated, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Stop.” He pleaded, laughing himself nonetheless. You bit your smile back, moving to sit straight in what your friend liked to call your ‘parent worried about their kid’ sitting position. 

“I guess I was right for worrying, huh?” You smiled sadly, taking in the severity of the situation. He poked his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to worry.” He sighed. You snorted.

“That’s dumb. You’re saying you’re always putting your life on the line? Of course I’m gonna worry.”

“Well, I worry about you, too.”

“How come?”

“If you’re close to me, then you’re putting your life on the line as well.”

You frowned, squeezing his arm to comfort him. “No, don’t say that.”

“Y/N, it’s the truth, though.” He fully sat up to turn toward you, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s the worst thing about this. How many times have the people I care about gotten hurt? All ‘cause of me?”

You remained speechless. Moments later, he placed his hands flat against the sofa, preparing to stand up. “Y’know, I get it if you want to keep your distance from now on. I actually think it’d be a good—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You warned him, expression stern. “It’s stupid.”

“I almost got you killed that other time—”

“You didn’t almost get me fucking killed, for Christ’s sake!” 

Peter’s jaw tightened and he ran his hands through his hair, that strand of hair falling back in front of his forehead. “Whatever. You can’t be so sure, anyway.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing that he was right. You nervously placed your hand on top of his. “Can I hug you?” You asked like a child, giving him a half-smile. Peter looked down at your hand before his eyes moved to you.

“Sure. Y-Yeah.” 

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him hard, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt him slowly embrace your waist, scared of  underestimating his strength. “I’m glad you told me. It must have been really hard.” You murmured against his chest. He chuckled humorlessly, his cheek on top of your head.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m gonna be here for you no matter what, okay? Whether it’s to vent or for some weird spider shit. I…” Love you. “You’re my friend, dude.”

After he left that night, you’d never been more conflicted about your feelings. It was a conundrum; a whole headache-inducing brain-teaser. You’d striked out the fourth reason why you should forget about Peter, the original five down to only four, but you still searched for that sixth— now fifth reason. As if it didn’t scramble your brain enough that it left you dazed and your thoughts impossible untangle, Peter unknowingly joined the game with the objective of rattling you up more. 

You noticed he didn’t disappear without notice ever again, and if he did, he didn’t leave you hanging, rather he sent you a text the day after with an entire clarification. Then, you caught onto the increasing meter of his touchiness: new and unexpected hugs, holding your damn hand— although that only happened twice, but still. Your overdramatic friend didn’t even need to point it out. 

One Saturday, he sat down in front of you, and before you could greet him, he surprised you. “One whiskey served over ice, please.” He smirked. You gaped at him, laughing, face astonished.

“What’s up with that?” He shrugged, grin never disappearing.

“I dunno, I guess I missed it.”

You never thought you’d continue hearing ‘one whiskey served over ice, please’ ever again. But you did.

This year, you did give him a present for Hanukkah and Christmas. A painting of one of your favorite photos of his that he showed you one day; a day you so vividly recalled, for he asked you to come with him to take pictures of an exhibition at a museum, and you accidentally broke a statue after you leaned against it in the attempt of doing an extravagant pose. To your surprise, he gave you one, too: a photo album with pictures from that day, and a message that read, ‘Merry Christmas!’, accompanied by a smiley face. In the blink of an eye, it was New Year’s Eve again, except that this time, you and Peter were talking.

You came out of the party’s bathroom, unable to tear your gaze away for the fourth time from Peter’s New Year’s Eve message, until you bumped into someone and had to force yourself to pocket your phone. You lazily swayed to the music, your vision blurring out, turning it harder to find your friend amidst the people. While your body was there, all your five senses working perfectly, feeling the heat from the enclosed space, the music vibrating in your chest, the smell of alcohol and smoke fixed in your nostrils, your mind lived in December 20th. December 20th being last Monday: a date that continued to echo in your head, the entirety of the day playing from the beginning until the pitch-black hour of midnight. It played, played, played relentlessly, exhaustingly. December 20th, it continued, a stupid date that your drunk self could not let go of.

You distinguished your friend in the crowd, comfort kissing your body and your tired legs guiding you to him, until you moved a person aside and saw the full view of his lower body grinding against a girl all over him. “Ah, fucking gross,” You groaned, pushing the unlucky same guy as you took a turn and headed for the glass door leading out to the balcony.

You firstly bumped into the door thinking it was open, but successfully slid it open and made it out into the winter weather, the city more awake than ever twenty minutes before the New Year. But you weren’t focusing on the future. No, you held onto last Monday, gripping it so tightly it hurt, hanging onto it as if you’d be nothing once it left. You stumbled towards the bench to your left, falling defeated on it. December 20th. You turned on your phone, squinting down at the screen, eyes struggling to focus through the brightness. Last week. You opened your contacts and without hesitation called a number, bringing your phone up to your ear, humming along to the beeping whilst you awaited for the person to pick up.

“Hello?” Peter said. You hung up, eyes wide. What the fuck were you doing? You didn’t answer your own question, though; you pressed the button to call again. 

“...Hi?” 

You ended the call a second time, growing frustrated with yourself. Having finally made up your mind, you called him one last time, jumping when he answered in what appeared a worldwide record-time. “Y/N, what the fuck—”

“Peter! You answered.”

There was a short silence. “I did.” He agreed, undeniably puzzled. You slumped against the wall, muffling your dopey laughter with the palm of your hand. You could hear… ah, wait. You could see, not hear, his face in your head with no problem: his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“How are you?” You wanted to hear about his day. What had he eaten that day? What had crossed his mind? Hopefully you’d made an appearance at least once. That’d be nice.

“I’m good, thanks for asking.”  You hummed happily. “How drunk are you?” 

You shook your head, failing at rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. “Just a bit tipsy, maybe.”

“How much exactly is ‘a bit tipsy’ for you?”

“How many phone calls have we had?”

A question out of the blue, you knew, and you were expecting yet again the quietness as he processed your sudden need to quiz him about such insignificant rubbish. Well… did he think it was insignificant? So many questions bouncing off your skull all at once, worsening that awful migraine you could already feel coming… or was it the booze? No, who cares. All you cared about at the moment was his response, because knowing how many fucking phone calls you’ve had wasn’t that hard unless you didn’t care.

“What?” Really? He was going to make you repeat yourself? You dug the heel of the palm into your closed eye, white fireworks blowing up in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Like, for these past two years. How many phone calls?”

“I… don’t know, maybe like three?”

Your face fell ever so slightly. “It’s six, actually.” You heard an unenthusiastic gasp.

“Wow, that’s great.”

“Do you remember the sixth one?”

“Isn’t this the sixth one?”

“This is the seventh one.”

“Okay, and why are you giving me a class about how many phone calls we’ve had?”

“Because you don’t remember the sixth one. I’m sure you don’t even remember the fifth one that well.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “It’s a blur.” Peter murmured.

“You were drunk…” You shut both eyes now, trying to dig through the fog to recall. “It was after you came to the bar…” Peter’s embarrassed stutters, similar to his inebriated ones, helped to uncover the memory further. 

“I-I was drunk, yeah,” He admitted, “just like you are right now.”

“And what did you say?”

He laughed uncomfortably. “I think you remember better than I do.”

You grinned. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Of course I’m embarrassed, Y/N.”

“Well, what about the sixth time you called me?”

“I seriously can’t remember a sixth time.”

“It wasn’t a failed booty call.”

He breathed in harshly. “Ah, I’m glad, I guess.”

A frown took over your features. “You really can’t remember?” You needed him to. He had to. Or else...  or else…

“I swear on my aunt.”

Your heart shattered, the sharp pieces prodding and hurting your chest. “So… so I guess you didn’t mean what you said?” You mumbled to yourself, realization sobering you more than you wanted it to.

Peter couldn’t help but begin to panic a bit at the mention of expressing something without his knowledge, or at least without his not drunk self’s knowledge. You immediately grew conscious of it for this time, the silence was different. “...What did I say?” He questioned, somewhat afraid. You didn’t speak. “Y/N? What did I say?” He pushed more urgently.

“It doesn’t matter,” You changed your mind. Calling was just another bad idea. You took your phone away from your ear for a second, jumping off from your seat, but your foot accidentally knocked over your drink. You stared down at the growing pool of alcohol staining the floor, seeping underneath your shoe. Blinking, you looked at your phone, at Peter’s name, and the numbers of the counter below it rising, marking each of your thumping heartbeat. 

The sixth reason. You needed it to stop you right now; an instruction to back out, the reassurance that it was still an option and it didn’t stop being one long ago. But as your finger came down to end the call for the better, your head screamed, freezing you.

Sixth. You were in love with Peter Parker.

You dropped back down on the bench, eyes glazed over. That was it. The sixth reason. Peter. The man nearing his forties and with the loveliest messed up nose. The customer you met last year and that continued to come to bar you worked at just to talk to you, his bartender. The guy you laughed with, sang with, slept with, became too close with, fell in love with. You put the phone back up to its right place, anxiously licking your lips. “Look, I’m gonna regret this. I know I am. But that hasn’t stopped me in the past, so why should it now, right?” You chuckled, your eyes wide. 

“I’m really concerned about that phone call, though.”

“Peter,” You glanced up at the sky, gulping. “I’m so glad I met you. I really am.”

“I-I’m glad I met you, too.”

You smiled momentarily. “Good. Working at the bar had become such a pain in the ass, and it still kinda is, but then you came that first time, and you called me ‘kid’ which annoyed me, but I was still hoping that maybe you’d stay, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because…” Your free hand came up to aid the other which trembled too much, grasping it tightly. “I don’t know, it was weird, I just couldn’t… I-I really wanted to get to know you. And it took some time but eventually we did talk— you said that stupid pick-up line and somehow it worked. I really need to higher my standards.”

“Hey, it was a great pick-up line.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You gave me your number, didn’t you?”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward, and you laughed softly at yourself. “I did, I did. And I’m glad I did, even if you were just trying to get your mind off of MJ.” The truth stung as it glided out of your mouth.

Peter thought for a moment before continuing, “Maybe I just wanted a friend.” But it lacked sincerity, and you both could recognize that.

“But, Pete,” You bit your lip, looking down at the mess you’d left on the ground, the sole of your shoe now sticky. “Am I really just a friend?”

More silence. You breathed in, your chest moving up. “Be honest with me, please.” You begged, your voice hushed.

“Okay.”

Your stomach began to cramp up. “That time we hooked up,” You paused, the eerie shortage of noise on the other side of the line pushing you to go on. “Did it mean anything to you? Was it anything more than just a distraction?”

“I…” 

“Or what about that other time at my place? Why did nothing happen?”

“We were too wasted. It was wrong.”

“So you do remember.”

“I do.”

You placed your hand on top of the other, beginning to pace around. “Are you lying about that phone call, too?”

“What is it with this phone call you say? What happened?” He repeated, desperate and with a hint of irritation. You approached the railing, placing your elbows on the metal.

“Just… be honest with me.”

“I am, Y/N.”

You kneaded your forehead with your knuckles, shaking your head. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s been too long, and it’s so confusing. You’re so confusing. Or maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know. There’s… there’s this thing, I know you can feel it as well, and sometimes it’s as if there’s a chance that you might feel the same way I do, but then the next minute it’s as if not, a-and it’s so confusing.”

“Feel the same way you do? What do you mean?” He clearly knew what you meant. Your eyes traveled around the city, the cold and strong breeze nearly knocking your body backward. If he knew, why couldn’t he simply outright admit it? Why, all of a sudden, was it taking him so long?

“The phone call…”

He groaned. “Y/N, just please tell me why you’re so hung up on that phone call?”

“It was last week. You said you liked me.”

You said it. He heard it. He finally heard it, and you waited for anything like an idiot, yet it never came. You checked if you had accidentally hung up the call, but when you saw that it was still going, you sighed and decided to end it for once and for all. “We can be anything. Anything, okay? I can just be your bartender, you can be my client, we can be friends, w-we can be more. If it’s not supposed to be, then just as long as you’re there, I really won’t mind. Just, please… I’m begging you…” You whispered, not capable of discerning whether your body quivered from the winter or the fear brutally gnawing on you.

“Be honest.” 

Peter held his breath. “Y/N…” You waited, shoulders shaking, the stupid fucking silence clutching you by the neck as you waited. Just say it. Just say it—

“I’m still in love with MJ. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You said aloud, voice cracking. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Pete, no, I’m…Thank you. It’s just kinda hard to take it in, but I...” You tightened your jaw, your throat aching, swallowing back your pity. “I will. Thank you for being honest, though.”

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin things,” You could barely hear him: your brain too loud compared to his voice. You shook your head frantically, scrunching up your nose to hold back a sniffle.

“Never. I love you.” It wasn’t the way you wanted to say it. “You’re my friend. And I’m not going anywhere because you said I was stuck with you, remember?”

He laughed, a beam of light that almost mended your fractured heart. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that.” You smiled brightly, wiping the tears you’d tried so hard to stop from running down your cheeks. You stood straight, but it was only for a mere second, for your arms plopped back down onto the railing from the lightheadedness which threatened to bring you down. 

“Okay,” You slurred, the bile rising up and burning your throat. “I’m gonna leave you. My friend will hate me if I miss the countdown…”

“Sure. Happy new year… be safe.”

You giggled, waving your hand at no one, really. “Don’t worry about me grandpa, I do this every year.” You doubted the idea that popped in your head, but voiced it anyway, “And if you need any help with MJ, I’m here. I can give you a discount at the bar for a date night!” The excitement you forced onto yourself was salt on the wound.

“I’m not sure if that’s a romantic idea, but thanks, I’ll think about it.” You both hesitated, waiting for something once again. But when you realized that it’d never arrive no matter how much time passed, you nodded quietly and unwrapped your arms from yourself, preparing to let go of that feeling you’d clutched onto for the longest time as well.

“I’ll see you around.” You finally said and hung up. You stared at your phone, grief by your side, holding your hand. Yet, to your surprise, a weak smile started to creep on you, relief slowly sewing your heart together. You told yourself that the heaviness in your heart didn’t matter, because at least you had Peter. At least he would still be there, at the bar, with his whiskey served over ice.

As you stumbled to your feet, ready to join your friend and drink away your bittersweet ache, your phone began to vibrate. Your brows twisted together and you looked down, sliding your thumb across the screen.

“Peter?”

[casual-eumetazoa]

Hello! I love your rant about writing, and I agree with you but wonder if you have any advice for someone who’s getting back into writing after a long break? I write a few chapters of a doctor who fixit when I was 13, then one good omens fic when I was 15, and now I’m almost 17 and I feel awful whenever I write because I feel like my characterisation and dialogue are off. I have such high standards for myself and I fell like I’ve wasted so much time and it’s too late now I’m 17. Any advice?

hey there! thank you for thinking that i am qualified enough to answer this lol. seriously though, i’ll try my best but take this with like a whole tablespoon of salt cause i am just one person with an opinion and experience but no officially published works who probably made around 100$ total from my writing in my entire life,,,,

and also i have never read a “how to write” book ever

so first of all, there is no such thing as too late to be a writer! this isn’t a kind of thing like sports or music where age supposedly matters. in fact many famous writers didn’t even start writing till they were in their 20s, 30s, 40s, etc, you get the picture. also things like language ability and vocab richness only reach their peak around 25-30 years of age so your writing will continue to improve naturally as you get older

really the only thing that matters with writing is practice and feedback. the more time you spend writing, the better you will get at it. it’s a bit trickier with feedback cause it is not always helpful, but honestly self-evaluation plays a big role in my experience as well. basically the more experience you get at writing, the better you will be able to judge your own stuff and know how to fix it. at some point you will look back at the stories you wrote several years prior and will know exactly what’s wrong with it and how to fix it. but getting good feedback can greatly accelerate this.

so basically the best writing advice anyone can give is to keep writing! and then the only question is what you can do to write more.

for me, the two important things have always been journaling and writing for myself. journaling is pretty self-explanatory and it has some other benefits, like benefits for mental health and general well-being, so it’s a win-win. i’ve been journaling consistently since i was 14 and i often go back to old entries for a kick of nostalgia, and also to see how my writing ability and style have developed over the years.

i think the problem a lot of people have with journaling is that they find it boring or pointless, like i regularly have weeks when nothing interesting at all happens to me and there are no powerful emotions to process, and writing about what i had for breakfast just doesn’t cut it. that’s why i use my journals more for just writing down random thoughts that occur to me, as well as for writing down random bits of stories. most of those bits just stay in the journals forever but sometimes i find bits of plot or lines of dialogue in my journals that i later use for other stories.

the second thing is just writing stuff for yourself, and allowing yourself to write something bad. like, i’ve written over a million words (and no this is not a number i’ve pulled out of my ass, i’ve actually added it up once for laughs) of horrible self-insert fanfic, most of which has barely (if any) plot, and i know it’s bad so i don’t show it to anyone, but i still really enjoy writing it because i am writing for myself.

it is actually an important writing skill, to disengage your inner critic, because that is the mindset you should always have when writing the first draft. first drafts are always horrible! they only become good when you edit them, typically many times if it’s a lengthy story, and that is when the inner critic becomes useful. 

there’s a piece of writing advice that goes something like “write drunk, edit sober”, and there are many ways to achieve that “drunk” state of mind without alcohol (though i do write better after a pint of beer, ngl.........). mostly it’s down to achieving so-called “flow”, which a lot of writers just call inspiration, and it’s a state in which you are doing something without thinking. if you’re neurodivergent or know the lingo, the extreme version of this is hyperfocus - a state in which you even lose the sense of time and can keep writing (for example) for hours on end

writing bad stories for your own enjoyment is a great way to master this. you just sit down and type up whatever comes into your head and that’s it. you don’t even have to read it back, and you definitely don’t have to edit it. since it’s for your eyes only, you can just focus on having fun with it and learning how to freewrite and reach that flow state if you can and benefit from it

another absolutely crucial skill for writing is reading. a lot of reading. and it doesn’t have to be serious literature, just read as much as possible of whatever you enjoy and consider good writing. cause thing is, “good” and “bad” are arbitrary, and you can’t please everyone, so just find the stuff you personally love and try to understand what it is about it that makes you enjoy it so much

there is also no harm in imitating for practice, though this is probably more helpful for developing style. in terms of characterization and dialogue, i think it’s more important to just read other stuff and make mental notes on what works and what doesn’t.

also for dialogue, i find that it really helps to read it out loud. actually that helps with writing anything but for dialogue in particular; like, often i read my stuff out loud to myself after the first edit and sometimes i will read it wrong cause my brain autocorrects stuff and that’s how i know what to fix

for characterization, i’d guess that the easiest way to fix it is to have a beta reader or a friend who is willing to help. feedback is great for any writing aspect as well, as long as it’s good feedback. i find that personally i learn the best from being pointed out what did work, because i am usually aware of what didn’t but just don’t know how to fix it at that point. 

also imho at least characterization is one of the things you can take certain liberties with in fanfic, cause everyone has their own interpretation of characters and as long as you don’t stray too far from canon, readers usually don’t mind minor deviations.

so that’s about all i could think of and oof this is a lot of text! 

tl;dr:

1) there is no such thing as “too old to start writing” or “too old to get back into writing”; all that matters is practice

2) practice is just writing, as much as you can

3) possible ways to achieve this is journaling (both about your life and as a scrapbook storage for thoughts, ideas, and story bits) and writing stuff just for yourself, and allowing it to be bad

4) “write drunk, edit sober” - first drafts always suck, so don’t overthink it, just write down whatever comes to your mind

5) reading as much as possible, and reading books in the genres you enjoy and want to write in is very important

6) reading out loud can work for improving dialogue

7) getting good feedback, especially imho getting feedback of what worked and what is really good in your story, can really help as well

i also have a note pinned to my blackboard titled “rules of writing”, which i have as a reminder of sorts, and if anyone wants i can share that as well

[honeybee-babe]

cw for ed-ish stuff so feel free to skip if you aren't in the right place of mind to deal with that: I've been really strugling with binging urges lately and I was wondering if you could share some Luther hcs or other thoughts you've had about him and food stuff? How do you think it would go if one of the others walked in on him binging (someone who's sympathic about it)?

TW: Eating disorders and body dysmorphia, mentions of sexual assault

oof i’ve let this sit here for far too long. soz! been busy af. :( 

First off, I hope things have gotten better for yoU!! I have been in a similar boat lately literally binging and restricting for weeks on end. It’s getting better but it really is hard to break these cycles, it requires a lot of strength. But you are strong enough and i know you can get through it

ANYWAY:

HCs and Thoughts on Luther’s ED (this got very wordy/rambly):

tbh i see luther as a comfort eater, esp. bc he ate those 10 hot dogs when he was sad and feeling sorry for himself. yes finding out that reginald was lying to him was awful and truly traumatic but people without already disordered eating don’t just up and eat 10 hotdogs when they’re sad. that is an extreme binge for someone at any size, plus he seemed ashamed of it when allison brought it up: AND not to mention the only other thing we ever see him eat post-change is a weird nutritional pouch and eventually alcohol.

on the moon, Luther must have eaten in rations and definitely would have been counting calories. Plus with the nutritional pouch thing we can assume he is restricting when back on earth and the hotdogs were a binge, therefore Luther is a binge/restricter.

EVEN in the flashback to before the serum we see him eating way too little for his size (way too little for his size before the change, mind you). He eats a single bowl of cereal without any juice or anything to wash it down, which is just not an adequate breakfast for Tom Hopper’s Actual Body(TM), especially if he was going to train later that day. And then after this sad breakfast he drinks a ton of milk. IDK if this is a stretch but that in itself is kind of disordered; the milk was definitely a comfort food for him which indicates that he is an emotional eater (IE extra calories because he feels lonely), a predisposition to disordered eating before the serum. He clearly prefers to get most of his calories from liquids, which continues and gets worse after the change.

I imagine Reginald was particularly strict with him about food. Since his power was physical strength, Reginald probably gave him a strict diet and exercise routine. Counting macros and calories, etc. Going under or over his limit was probably a huge, HUGE fucking deal. And maintaining perfect body image as the big, strong #1 was definitely a giant deal to Reginald bc Luther had to look intimidating. That, along with the pressure to be perfect, is a recipe for anorexia or bulimia. Luther definitely is the type to take corrective measures: binging and then following it with purging or restricting, or intense exercise.

Additionally, with the smiley-faced foods, I imagine the kids were taught to see Grace’s food as comfort. I see Grace giving them treats to make them feel better when Reginald was a dick. These good intentions definitely could have convinced Luther that food was comfort and nurturing but something Reginald wouldn’t allow him to have. So the overwhelming urge to eat and eat and eat (BINGE) when he is very upset, followed by an urge to restrict.

And definitely a deep, deep shame about all of this. If anyone found out, Luther would be crushed.

Literally the stereotype for someone with an eating disorder is someone who feels they lack control over their life trying to overcompensate by controlling their food intake. And someone who is striving to be perfect either because someone has told them they have to be (*COUGH*Reginald) or convinced them that they will never be good enough unless they are (*COUGH*Also Reginald). Luther embodies this mentality; he wants to be perfect for Reginald, but Reginald has set Luther up to hate himself because he can never be perfect (perfection is a myth), and also Luther has literally no control over his life because Reginald controls everything. It is thought that many young teenagers develop eating disorders because they are afraid of the changes their bodies experience during puberty, the underlying problem being that they are afraid of growing up; Luther literally still lives at home and is absolutely afraid of growing up.

Ape body obviously makes things 100000x worse. And we see in the show that his poor eating habits (small bowl of cereal and relying on milk for liquid calories/comfort food) have gotten even worse (liquid calories in packages clearly restricted until a MASSIVE binge on hotdogs)

MIGHT I ADD: Sexual assault survivors are much more likely to experience disordered eating because the lack of control over what happened to them and the hatred of the body that has been “tainted” or reminds them of being assaulted..... Luther’s consent over his body was clearly taken away during the ape-body operation.

Thoughts on Someone Walking in on him Binging:

This is real tough. I feel like Allison isn’t really aware of it due to her reaction to him eating 10 hotdogs and not saying anything about it. IDC if he is big, 10 hotdogs is abnormal especially given how little he used to eat, and the fact that he currently only eats those weird fucking packages. I feel like, loving as she is, she wouldn’t really understand it. I feel like Allison has a really healthy relationship with food, probably the healthiest out of all of them. She is the most well-balanced sibling I think. But once she realized it was a problem she would do a ton of research into BED/Bulimia/EDNOS or whatever Luther has and become an expert and advocate, as well as helping him in recovery.

Same with Diego but I feel like he would probably joke about it and then after Luther either told him to fuck off or hide the evidnece, he would realize it was a serious problem but not want to apologize or know what to do. I feel like he’d be concerned but not want to express it, so he’d tell Klaus about it and make him bring it up. After Luther entered into recovery Diego would keep updated through Klaus but not express concern to Luther himself. 

Five... oof I feel like Five would just be like “yup thats how i ate during the apocalypse” and not really understand? Like i don’t think he’s evil but he would probably not find it very serious. Once he found out (if he ever did) that it was serious, I feel like he’d be accomodating (checking in if Luther ate his dinner, if he snuck food out of the pantry etc.) but not particularly warm or comforting.

TBH I see Klaus and Vanya being the most understanding Vanya would definitely understand the urge to make yourself seem as small/insignificant as possible, and Klaus obviously understands mental health issues and addiction (ED is an addiction!) 

Klaus might not realize what was going on at first and make a joke, but i think he’d realize real soon bc he understands unhealthy coping. he would probably joke around with him still in the same way that he jokes about his own addictions, but i feel like he would be very comforting, like solidarity yknow? Maybe he would make a pact with him that they would recover from their addictions together.

I feel like Vanya would just be super supportive and quietly soothing. Like if Luther got uncomfortable she would use a rlly soft caring voice. this is sappy but i feel like if Luther was ever to talk openly to a sibling or cry in front of one of them about his body issues, it would be Vanya.

OKAY THAT WAS WAY TOO LONG OF A RESPONSE AND I HAVE TO GET BACK TO WORK.

NIGHT NIGHT!!

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Morose Mononokean II 4 - 7 | Mob Psycho 100 II 4 - 7 | My Roommate is a Cat 4 - 6 | Double Decker! EX 1 | Egao no Daika 5 - 7 | Shield Hero 4 - 6 | Magical Girl Spec Ops Asuka 4 - 6 | Royal Tutor movie

Morose Mononokean II 4

Aw, another little fuzzball to steal away my heart? I’m being spoiled, aren’t I?

For some reason, this episode was meant to be really emotional, but I felt pretty restless while watching it. Probably because I was thinking about playing Merc Storia all that time.

Mob Psycho 100 II 4

Didn’t expect Shinra to be back after his previous appearance…

Notably, you’d expect Matsuo’s name to have the kanji for “pine tree” in it, but it doesn’t - it has the kanji for “demon” and then one more.

I loved it when FLCL and SGRS went into manga mode, but for some reason, the transition into manga mode didn’t land as well here…hmm.

“I’ll go inside her…With an out-of-body experience.” - That sounds majorly wronggggggggggg, Mob, y’know? Even with context.

I find it interesting Mob perceives himself to be naked…as in, unguarded. He’s fine as he is and doesn’t need to change…in some ways, anyway. He could probably do with a few more emotions, but you get what I mean.

Wha-wha-wha-whoaaaaaaaaa. You mean, Mogami just got rid of Mob’s powers??? That is a nasty cliffhanger!

My Roommate is a Cat 4

Just seeing Hiroto near Kawase’s armpit…so unfazed…it’s kinda funny, but only mildly.

Tuxedo cat…ergh. The differences between American and British English never ceases to trip me up…I mean, the term makes sense…it’s just the differences between the types of English I’m annoyed at.

If you observe the OP, you’ll see Haru has that collar…I’m not sure if that’s meant to be a spoiler then…

Haru basically has the mindset of Kaguya and Shirogane, which makes this hilarious (and yet it’s still justified due to being a believable mindset for a stray!).

S-Smug dog!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Get out of the way of Haru-chan!

Shield Hero 4

“Draw your swords!” – Wasn’t there a rule saying Naofumi can’t use a sword anyway? Plus, Motoyasu has a spear, not a sword…

Balloon? Now, that’s funny!

Using magic to intervene is the cowardly action, methinks, Myne.

I find it interesting Naofumi sees Raphtalia as a little girl – it’s a perception of vulnerability, potentially weakness – when things are shown through his perspective.

Falling Through Starlight is beautiful, y’know that? Be-a-uuuuuuuuuuu-t-i-ful!

Magical Girl Spec Ops Asuka 4

Interestingly, Francine kinda looks like Mami (Madoka Magica).

Wait, is this woman Miura? (Sorry, I’m just wondering why Abigail – the blonde evil magical girl – would choose to use yakiniku to threaten people…)

Oh dear…it’s that train question (save one or save many).

Neding authority before you can actually do anything legal…now that sounds like Double Decker.

“Chef”? I was mortified when it came to the rusalka scene…but I think we already know why Povar is a chef…

CQC? Close quarters combat? Ooh, I’ve never heard it abbreviated before.

Well, I like how Povar and Rusalka Man (can’t spell Russian to save my life) always keep their salaries in mind. Makes them easier to see as evil.

Egao no Daika 5

Oh, this series has two moons? Kind of like Double Decker’s two suns, yeah?

I just realised Lily’s the only one with a skirt on her suit…

Morose Mononokean II 5

I don’t think I’ve seen a Fuzzy-centric episode ever since the first time we met the furball…

That hand on neck thing is apparently a CIA technique if I interpreted it right…just, it’s applied to a purple/white lion, so it’s hard to tell whether it’s the real thing…

Fluffy tadpole is best tadpole. All fluffy things are cute to me, even the lethal ones…I guess.

Seriously, if someone doesn’t call the animation of the Executive sakuga, I don’t know sakuga! That crow is some fancy animation!

Hanae’s mother is scarier than most youkai, given she can give me a nasty jump scare!

Mob Psycho II 5

This episode’s called Discord…which maks me think of the chat program of the same name…weird, huh?

Notably, it’s Dimple’s voice coming from Mob’s mouth…hmm.

That episode was real cool…it’s too bad by turning off the volume at the wrong time, I missed the Sajou no Hana song…

My Roommate is a Cat 5

Roku, Nana, Hachi…haha.

I noticed Haru has smaller eyes than Hachi…aside from the collar of course.

Aw…reunion too cute. I honestly think that this show has a fairly effective use of “filling in the gaps”, as it were, and thus making good use of cuts.

Double Decker! EX 1

Yep, we’re back with Double Decker!!! I’m glad to see it back, really.

Wait…ohhhhhhhhh. So Double Decker! doesn’t just refer to the bus in this show or the system. It means “2 Detectives” in Japanese (in a codeswitching sort of way). It was wordplay all along! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh! I get it now!

This Deana assassin stuff must be a lie…

(after the commercial break) C’mon, Kirill, buddy. You’re drunk, y’know that, right…? Right??? Update: Oh, not drunk, dreaming. My mistake.

Oh, I was just saying that My Roommate is a Cat dos a nice job “filling in gaps”. Didn’t realise Double Decker did it as well. Also, how the heck is Doug unpopular with women???

So…Kirill actually got hired based on his feminine looks? Geesh, that Travis…

The thing I missed about this show was not being able to play the ED after an episode, so I’m glad to have it back!

Spec Ops Asuka 5

Having Kurumi fix up Nozomi’s arm kind of erases the consequences…but that’s what Kurumi’s for, right?

Barber Scissors…? Is this what happens when you take Kill la Kill way too seriously?

Wowee. Din’t think Sacchuu was capable of dealing nasty punches as well.

There’s gotta be some sort of parallel between Abigail and the queen vs Asuka and Kurumi…

Post-credits segment. Keep watching.

Shield Hero 5

Headbutt to the nuts! Oof!

When it comes to races, the one tune that comes to mind is one from the Dog Island (track 22 from this YouTube playlist).

I swear there was CGI during the race…on Filo.

Please don’t make jokes about Naofumi liking lolis, people. This is not that type of show…

Mononokean 6

Is it just me, or has this epiode been relying on the use of blue speech bubbles for humour more than normal?

It’s Mononokean: Sports Anime edition!

For some reason, I find the name “trashboat” hilarious. It was probably just “ponkotsu” (piece of trash) in practice, but the variation in English is really something to behold…

Ashiya sleeps like an old man, LOL. It must be cosy in that bed…

Moja is just adorable in whatever scene it appears in! Even Moja being dragged down a stream is cute~!

Relaxing your shoulders, huh? That reminds me that that’s a destress technique I haven’t used in a while. My head’s been spinning while I was trying to watch this episode, so I should probably get back to trying to do that stuff…after this episode, of course.

Price of Smiles 6

You think Spec Ops Asuka looks bad? Look at Price of Smiles melt in this “Yuni! You should recover!” scene.

For some reason, this one dude (I forget his name) being a father surprises me. He looks like the type to be single…

The female version of the name “Noel” is Noelle…get that right, people!

Layla’s right when she says one of the main causes of war is the struggle for resources and wealth.

Mob Psycho II 6

I noticed instead of a Mac or something, the computer is a “One” computer.

The board says something a lot more complicated than Saitama’s routine…which means One likes exercise. Maybe…probably.

“Codomo” phone, LOL.

The last time I heard of tofu in anime that I remember…was Boueibu. Something about Ryuu killing a man with tofu.

Somehow it didn’t occur to me until the eyecatch was over but the block…was tofu!

How do you even get drunk when there’s no alcohol in the drink??? (LOL)

Oh! Shinra again!

…Also Jodo Kirin!

Shield Hero 6

Naofumi is giving 0 f**ks about the dressmaker’s love of Filo.

Why is Filo CGI…? It looks unnerving, to be honest with you.

My Roommate is a Cat 6

Eleventh grade…16? 17? Heck, Yugo looks 27, not 17!

Notably, “Comic Polaris” is the name of the magazine that publishes the manga of this. Hence “Novels Polaris”.

Heck, Subaru. In the internet age in particular, people write to affect others. I should know, as someone who did just that just a few years ago!

Oushitsu Kyoushi Heine movie

Yay, we’re back! Crunchyroll bringing over movies is definitely increasing my workload for these commentaries, so with all the new things I’ve added to my lists of priorities as of late, I wonder if I can keep up…

Hitting us with CGI in the first minute of the movie…oh man, how far does CGI go these days???

Honestly, in my brain Wagner (Classicaloid) = the twins (this movie) = the Beppus (Boueibu LOVE! LOVE!). They’re very similar in terms of personality…

In the same way, Bruno = Schubert from Classicaloid (but swap one’s Sensei for the other’s Senpai).

Licht = Motz.

It seems like someone liked ponytail!Licht enough to keep him here. So it really wasn’t just me, huh?

Seriously, what’s this “God of War” stuff anyway???

Man, vocal exercises? This takes me back to my piano-playing days…I was a sightreader and only had to do one of the two (out of sightreading and vocal stuff), but there was someone else who had to do both.

This piano is bugging me. Its white keys are black and its black keys are white!

Somehow, Heine’s small top hat suits him. It’s probably because he wears a small beret in that same position usually.

More CGI background characters…*sigh*

Hmm…soft power at its finest(?)

Seriously though, why did that evil Duke guy appear in this movie again??? He has zero use plotwise. Sure, he was important in the first season and if we ever get a second he’ll be important there, but here? Nada!

Have you noticed Heine is in all those dance positions a girl would normally be in??? Hmm! Interesting! But still…if there’s one thing I ever missed from the anime’s experience, it would be-oh, scratch that! This is my cue to watch the cheesy live-action dance ending! I missed it so much!

Egao no Daika 7

Seriously…who is Eins talking to??? Whose emperor???

They still haven’t revealed what this new guy’s name is, even after his introduction…well, technically he was introduced at the River Deese, but we still didn’t learn his name then. (Did we?)

Spec Ops Asuka 6

Is Mia just this show’s version of Kyouko (from Madoka Magica, but American of course)???

Oooooookay, that (with the kissing and stuff) is so not what foreigners are like, people…

Oh, goodness. Have I really been living with this stuff (girl x girl teasing, with Kurumi in particular being one of the more extreme examples I’ve seen) in my magical girl anime for years now? I mean, Suite PreCure is laced with the stuff…

If ordinary rigor mortis business is at work, then I’d say the heater is to speed up the rotting of the corpse…

LOL, there’s Halloween-class…and then there’s Voorhees-class…how appropriate for Disas.

“Only one of the Magical Five would’ve known about that phrase.” – My bets are on Peipei, but we’ll find out for sure…someday.

Mononokean 7

As much as I found the pillow fight scene with Fuzzy in it funny, I swear Abeno is a bit too sadistic for my own good. What is it with some women and their sadistic kinks…?

Abeno calling Ashiya “hunk of junk” makes me think Ashiya isn’t much of a Sousuke (from Classicaloid), but they do have a lot of similar character traits, now that I think of it…hmm.

For some reason, I think Abeno knew the conditions of the deal and what the deal entailed in advance, hence the training camp.

Seiza…means sitting on the floor in the position Ashiya was in (knees to the floor etc).

Mob Psycho II 7

“Cheeseburger Tornado”, LOL.

When Reigen got angry at the TV, I was just like, “It’s Shield Hero (Mob Psycho version)!” I.e. you con the conman and not turn the conned into a conman…or something like that.

Those microphones are so obviously CGI, people…

I know I’m a fan of Yuzuru Tachikawa, but episode 5 actually didn’t do too much for me, to be honest (even though it was visual spectacle, which is Tachikawa’s strong suit). However, while episode 7 looked less punchy overall, it was miles better…

“First-press limited edition? That is the absolute best decision.” – What is that referring to??? Update: It’s referring to the BDs...or DVDs...or both.

Update: Forgot to add Double Decker to the title and tags.

[thumper-darling]

Will you send 65 questions my way?

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

Oh my gOD YES. What if there is no life apart from my own and every person I come into contact with is just a highly thought out illusion in my head and nothing is real? 

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

2. It definitely depends on where I am when it is dark? Like, I’m not going to be scared when it’s dark in my bedroom because I’m comfortable there, but I’m gonna be heckin terrified of the dark if I’m in the woods? You feel me?

3. The person you would never want to meet?

Ronald J. Stump

4. What is your favorite word?

Cluster or Truffle

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

Birch tree binch

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

“Wow, I really let myself go” :’) 

But no, I thought about how I have mascara rings under my eyes but haven’t worn mascara in 2 days and I have for sure showered since then so why in the frickin heck do I have mascara marks under my eyes? 

7. What shirt are you wearing?

An old man’s sweater that I thrifted 

8. What do you label yourself as?

Interesting? Adventurous? Quirky? I don’t know, what do you label me as?

9. Bright room or dark room?

Dim room 

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

Being bullied by @parkersenses

Nah, but I was actually having a deep conversation with my little step-sister about life and school advice. 

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

17

12. Who told you they loved you last?

Lulu @doctormelapples

13. Your worst enemy?

McDonald J. Rump

14. What is your current desktop picture?

….

a racecar…

15. Do you like someone?

I really like my doggo

16. The last song you listened to?

Adolescent by Lostboycrow 

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

I could never hurt somebody, no way. like, how do you expect me to deal with that radical guilt. my conscience is way too pure for that.

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

I would rather not punch people in the face? Does it count if I answer with who I would like to punch me in the face?

19. If anyone could be your servant for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

Um, I would want to have Harrison Osterfield be my “assistant” for a day. I would literally just have them hang out with me because I need friendship to thrive

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

My eyes? or my freckles, even if they are faint

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

I don’t heckin know what I would look like. Like me but more testosterone? I would like to just live my everyday life, but observe the differences from male and female treatment that’s incorporated in our society. 

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

I can juggle really terribly 

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

I’m not afraid of anything

   the past coming back to haunt me

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

Bagel for bread, jalapeno cream cheese, lettuce, tomato, smoked turkey, and havarti cheese

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

Either on a tattoo, or put it in my college savings. But probably on a tattoo because I have no financial security. 

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

Montreal Canada binch. Okay no, but probably like NYC or LA or something super stereotypical like that.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be?

Mike’s Hard Lemonade for decades. honestly, I love lemonade and those drinks are so heckin tasty. 

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

You have a right to your own opinion, until it infringes on the basic human rights of others. Then ur fined and thrown in jail for being a rude ass disrespectful person thx. 

29. What is your favorite expletive?

fuck

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

My book “The Perks of Being A Wallflower” 

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

The drama that went down with my family last summer and earlier this year

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

Oooh, maybe London or Barcelona? Or Italy. OH ITALY WOULD BE WONDERFUL

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

There was a girl who got into a car accident a few weeks ago, I didn’t know her, but I do know that she was 18 and had just graduated Valedictorian of her class. She had a full ride to college, so I think I would bring her back. 

34. What was your last dream about?

A hotel room 

35. Are you a good….dancer?

THE ANSWER TO THAT IS YES

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

Ah yes 

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

Not well

38. What is the color of your socks?

White. 

39. What type of music do you like?

All of it idk 

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

sunrises 

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

Vanilla 

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

I don’t know, Michigan State

43. Do you have any scars?

I have a few from accidents when I was younger. I’m a clumsy oof

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

After I graduate college I’d like to be involved with writing somehow. I really want to work on films or work with manuscripts.

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I’d like to be a more energized person

46. Are you reliable?

I like to think so 

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

Are you happy with your life?

48. Do you hold grudges?

I really try not to. I don’t like to hold on to hatred or anger. 

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

A fox and a golden retriever? That’d be a fun mix 

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

I once had a conversation with someone about who had cooler socks? And kept sending pics to each other of our goofy sock collection. That was a strange one. 

51. Are you a good liar?

God, I hope so

52. How long could you go without talking?

I once went 24 hours without talking, soooo

53. What has been your worst haircut/style?

I LET MY FRIENDS CUT MY HAIR THE SUMMER BEFORE MY SOPHOMORE YEAR AND I ENDED UP WITH A CHERRY RED ASYMMETRICAL BOB AND IT WAS WAY TOO SHORT FOR MY FACE SHAPE AND IT WAS AWFUL

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

I cheated and did like an eggless cake or something like that?

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

Hecking, no. Accents are not my strong suit 

56. What do you like on your toast?

Peanut butter or butter with cinnamon sugar

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

a little doodled heart probs

58. What would be you dream car?

Ford fiesta? Idk

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

I sing in the shower when nobody else is home. That’s about it.

60. Do you believe in aliens?

YES It is literally impossible that we are the only living and thriving society in the entire universe? Like?? The possibilities are endless.

61. Do you often read your horoscope?

Not always, but if it pops up on my dash I’ll look at it

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

S or T 

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

Dragons! Was that even a question 

64. What do you think about babies?

I get nervous around babies. They’re such small, delicate humans and I feel too much responsibility being around babies. 

65. Freebie! Ask anything interesting you can think of.

You didn’t ask anything, so I’ll just tell you about my day?? I had a college freshman event today and I met some pretty cool people and it has me less worried about starting college. I also think I’m gonna read and write a bit today, so I’m pretty excited about that. Also, my mom comes back from out of town in an hour or so and I can’t wait to see her. 

[dudence-blog]

Dear Dudence for 18 September 2017

I’d previously not wanted to do comments on Dear Prudence’s chats; they’re disorganized, the letter writers get responses from other reader in the column, it might be a bit unfair because they’re quickly written.  However, as a wise philosopher reminded me, this wasn’t a rule so much as a guideline.  However I do have rules about alcohol so with a Shiner in hand here we go...

Midlife crisis?: For the past year or two-but especially over the last few months-I’ve been having what I can only describe as a midlife crisis. I’ve lost complete interest in my job (though I’m still productive), don’t want to deal with my kids anymore even though I love them like crazy (I’ve been a single mom for 10 years with no help from their father), and basically just want to travel the world with no responsibilities.

Dear Midlife Crisis, take a look around you at work, later, take a look around you during a school function, PTA meeting, whatever.  Every single adult you’re looking at has had, or will have, a time when they think the same things you are now.  Wanting something different, a life you think you’ll love, free of the responsibilities and worries of your day-to-day life is nothing new.  Heck, here are multiple entries for it on TV Tropes.  You give no indication in your letter that it is life itself which is overwhelming you, which is what Newdie’s advice would be good for.  If all you wanted was a break from the stress, or to reduce the stress, sure, hire a cleaning service or get a babysitter.  However, although she was wrong, she’s on the right trail.  While a year lounging on the beach sipping umbrella drinks might be unreasonable for several reasons, would a week-long vacation without the children be impossible?  That or find yourself a younger woman and buy a sports car.

Husband’s having an affair and I don’t care: I just discovered my husband of 15 years is hooking up with women he finds online. We’ve had issues that all couples who’ve been together for a long time have: full-time jobs, medical issues for us both, dealing with my aging and infirm parents, carting the kids to hell and back. I’m disappointed that he appears to have chosen the nuclear option rather than discuss his dissatisfaction. But other than that, I feel nothing. No anger, no sadness, just ... whatever.

Dear Don’t Care, oof.  This doesn’t strike me as merely a lack of romantic connection, but a lack of an emotional one as well.  I don’t lightly advise ending relationships, but that doesn’t mean I won’t, and it certainly doesn’t mean I wouldn’t suggest it as a topic of discussion with your spouse.  Because it is a subject you need to bring up when you talk with him about this.  At the very least, as NuPru suggested, if you’re going to make this a feature of your relationship you need to make sure you’re protected (emotionally, physically, reputationally, whatever).

Unwilling teetotaler: Recently, I had to give up alcohol for medical reasons-it may or may not be permanent. One side effect is I don’t have as much tolerance for family events or weddings that used to seem fine (or even great) with a few beers. My husband’s family is large and we are obligated to go to a lot of family gatherings. Unfortunately, I’ve found that without alcohol, these events range from boring to someone-please-shoot-me.

Dear Unwilling Teetotler, you’re not being unreasonable to not want to stay at frequent events which make you miserable.  You are being unreasonable to expect your husband to forgo partaking so he can experience your misery.  As in many things COMMUNICATE.  “Honey, I’m going to head out after an hour or so, you stay and have a great time.  If you need a ride because you had too much please call me.”  There, problem solved.  If logistics is an issue, Uber.  Please ignore Bad Pru’s comments about needing to have a conversation about your in-law’s relationship with alcohol.  She’s reading her biases into your letter.  Granted, I’m doing it too but its my place, my rules guidelines.

Bad dog: We have new neighbors that moved in a couple of months ago. They are nice people and have a toddler that my son loves to play with, but they also have a dog that is insanely aggressive toward kids. We have a dozen or so kids on the block and he’s lunged at about half of them. (He even hit my own son with his snout while his back was turned, leaving a bruise, not a bite.) Luckily, he’s been on a leash every time which has prevented a serious attack. Recently, the dog has been digging his way out of the backyard. The owners have fixed the holes when they happen, but now all the neighbors are even more scared of what could happen.

Dear Bad Dog, do you live in my neighborhood?  Nevermind.  They’re nice people and your son plays with theirs.  Share your concerns with them, but be prepared for them to dismiss your concerns.  People tend to be blind to issues close to them.  “Beloved Pet” is an issue close to people, so they’re probably going to be defensive, and you need to be prepared for that.  Afterall, you are about to tell them they don’t know how to train and raise their dog.  Be polite, share your concerns; it’s aggressive towards other children, a dog on the loose is at risk of all sorts of bad things happening to it, etc, etc.  I would caution you about making “call Animal Control” Step 2 in your course of action.  Animal Control is an escalation.  If you’re not prepared to see the dog taken away, don’t call Animal Control; they are there for the protection of animals and people, not Neighbor Conflict Remediation.

Outsider tortoise at a table full of hares: This may seem a nonproblem, but it’s important to me: I’m a slow eater. I don’t make people sit at the table for hours as I languidly pick at my plate, but I’m often finishing my first helping while others are on their seconds, thirds, or beyond. In fact, I rarely get a chance for additional helpings, even when I’m the hostess. (Which I frequently am, making tons of food.)

Dear Outsider Tortoise, I hate your friends and I’m not too fond of you either.  I hate your friends because they’re making you think “I eat slow because of my privilege and that’s ‘Not Okay’”.  I’m not fond of you because you’ve taken it to heart and view “my parents taught me table manners” and view that as some sort of undeserved boon in life for which you must atone.  Fuck that noise.  That being said, if this is an issue across several groups of friends the problem might actually be with you (whether because you do eat interminably slow or your friends are awful people I’ll leave as an exercise to the reader).  You could do what NuPru said and just get more on your plate, or you could go the opposite route and get less at first so you finish faster then get your seconds with the group, or you could store some extra in your fridge for yourself later, or you could find people who aren’t mooching off you and then blaming your middle-class upbringing for why you don’t eat like a ravenous warthog.

[pretty-volatile]

Journal entry

Thursday, June 6th, 2019 1:40am

So I realized I haven't really journaled in a hot minute and I'm trying to keep track of shit so I know what to bring up when I finally see the psychiatrist.

First of all, only 15 more days until my appointment. I'm still self medicating with weed, but my usage varies day to day. Some days I don't need to smoke AS much, some days I need a lot of help, some days I'm okay but I just want to have fun. My tolerance is higher so I can do daytime use without being affected really. I feel it helps with the anger episodes too. It used to teeter between being helpful/unhelpful for when I was feeling down. Sometimes it would make the overthinking worse because it'd be harder to pull myself out. Lately, I've been exploring my emotions more and being high just helps me open up but kind of numbs some of the pain I might experience. It's more of an emotional trip.

Second of all, I really fucked up this quarter. I'm a 4th year college student and I had already accepted that I need longer, but like. I am worried that I might get kicked out lol. I was Subject to Dismissal ever since I failed my entire Winter Quarter 2018. Oops. Then the next quarter I thought I was going to be able to pick shit back up but then I couldn't keep up so I dropped out of the quarter Week 10 (literally the last week of the quarter lolol). Ever since then I've been trying so damn hard to keep school up while my mental health just kept failing me. I'd start out new every new beginning of a quarter and then by Week 4 I'd start falling behind because I just didn't want to do anything. I couldn't. But then there was a time or two that I was able to pick my ass back up and got decent enough grades to go onto the next thing. This quarter started out pretty well. I was on top of shit til about Week 5 or 6 or something. But I fucking finally cracked this quarter. I had started to pick up on some of my habits, and then I looked up Borderline Personality Disorder and I just lost it. I opened the floodgates to some memories that I had forgotten about or blocked out. Everything started to connect and I started to experience trauma on top of present reality. It was TERRIBLE. Still is but like. It was just so overwhelming to recognize things I didn't even know I did or I didn't know that they weren't okay. Then I reached out to my therapist and I was like I think I have BPD. Of course she couldn't diagnose me because she's not a psychiatrist, but she has experience with supper groups for folx with BPD and she has experience with DBT. But she kept bringing up that she thought it was more likely that I have bipolar disorder. I was still set on BPD. Trying to think of all the symptoms that I experience and match with. I was obsessed with proving there was something wrong with me or that I needed help. Part of me was also thinking "There has to be something wrong because if not, then I really am just a piece of shit...." My insomnia has been pretty bad, which the only thing that helps is...you guessed it!....weed. which sometimes it fed into it too so I'd have to smoke so much that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I started to accept the possibility of bipolar disorder too and I was trying to pay attention to my mood(s) more too. Since I was aware of the symptoms of BPD and then later on bipolar, I was starting to pick up when a change was starting to happen so I could warn my partner. At one point my mood was like I was starting over again every single day. It'd start out moderately good and then by the end of the night I'd be breaking down crying about how I didn't want to go to bed just to start the whole day over again. During that time it was EXTREMELY hard to pull myself out of my depression/emptiness. Then once that nightmare stopped my mood switched to being hypomanic for about 6 days. Then right when I needed to get my shit together for school, I started to fall again. At first it was a numb "I don't want to do anything, life is dull, what's the point, fuck it". Then I just became really really sad overall. I didn't want to get out of bed or do chores. I didn't go to class. It was just TOO MUCH but like it made me feel like shit because I knew I needed to go.

Oh and all while I was experiencing most of this, my therapist has been away on medical leave since May 17th and the last time that I actually talked to her was yesterday (6/5 @ 1pm) but it was just for a brief 20 minute call. But we'll be able to pick things right back up when she gets back. I only have to wait 11 more days, so that's good.

Oh and my like impulsive behaviors/reckless shit (for me) was like spending money on food outside of groceries way more than I should have....I got a really bad case of the fuck its and I couldn't really say no because if I didn't buy snacks and food that we didn't have to make we wouldn't have eaten (we as in my partner & I) because of my lack of motivation and energy to do anything at all. I got to use my eating disorder as an excuse to feed into my impulses, oops. Oh and of course I'm addicted to smoking cigarettes and like I smoke weed all the fucking time so I guess those could be some other "reckless" behaviors :P I don't really drink much because of my mother's alcoholism and PTSD. I've had tendencies in the past and when I turned 21 I had a bit of a freak out, but now I'm just like. I'll drink if everyone else is too or if it's for a show or if I just wanted some tall can of yummy stuff at home. Otherwise I REALLY prefer being stoned. It lasts longer. There's not really any PTSD associated with it, debatable but still. It helps me get over the anxiety of dealing with people or strangers specifically. Unfamiliar places with a shit ton of people are definitely a trigger for some panic episode or anger episode. I'll turn into a sour bitch for no reason other than that all the people freaked me out that much. I'm very much like I want a whole separate world for my partner & I and our friends so that we don't have to deal with shitty or creepy people....I like people once I get to know them and stuff but otherwise I'm just like SocIalIZing? Psssh ha...no. That also made it difficult to go to class because I got antisocial as fuck. I LOVE going for walks and doing errands while stoned and listening to music, but like...interacting with people? Having attention drawn onto me? Nooooooo thanx.

Finding out the BPD stuff though weirdly helped me to start talking to other humans again? Kind of? I mean it was mostly me like venting or whatever but I was actually talking to people? (Via messaging mostly) lololol the funniest thing is that a fp was the reason I even looked up BPD. I developed a "crush" first and then later I looked up BPD because I was like ya know... I wanna know. I looked it up once before because there was a time that we thought my mom had BPD. Come to find out, she had bipolar instead. But I remember the first time I looked it up I was like "ha! Some of these symptoms/signs are personally calling me out" but I was mostly looking at it to understand my mom so I wasn't really thinking about myself that much. Plus when I looked it up first, I was still disassociating pretty bad that I wasn't entirely aware of what I was doing or how I was feeling. But when I looked it up the second time... literally EVERYTHING or just about everything that was coming up was exactly how I was feeling or how I have felt in the past. Then I found out about the Favorite Person thing and I was like oof, that's some...that's some shit right there. I still have to sort out what relationships/crushes were actually crushes or just a fp thing that eventually faded away into me not talking to them anymore. That was really fun to admit to my fp that they were the reason I looked up BPD. Lol but we did have a good conversation and like I tried to talk to other people that either understood second hand or first hand. Another person I talked to has BPD, and the other already has mental health issues and his fiance has BPD (so they both understand). Found I am/was an fp to another person that I apparently inspired him to finally go get the help he needs, but like he just had to fuck it up recently by bringing up a touchy subject. I can only imagine how angry or upset he is with me for not responding, which is also why I don't want to answer because I'm too scared with that kind of pressure of being someone's fp 😭😓🙈🙊 sorry bud....just had to bring up something that happened to be a touchy topic 😅

Lately I've really been trying to use music to get me through shit again. Back in high school all I would do at home was stay up, listen to music, draw, write poetry, watch movies, stay up on my phone or laptop. And I was creative as fuck! I've been trying to listen to old music, which also helped me realized just how much help I need(ed) because of how much I would relate to this music and this music was like really deep and really...just it was concerning that is as so young and connecting with what these adults are singing about. It also helped unlock memories. unlocked old feelings. Lots of drifting. But now my music listening is a little more controlled and I used to go on these emotional trips full of memories and just letting myself get swept off into it. I probably can only do this successfully since I eventually said fuck it to the rest of this quarter. (I saved one class but uh unless my professors can make my BPD/bipolar go away then there's nothing we can do.) But like the emotional trips have been really therapeutic for me honestly. Sometimes I feel a little "aw fuck that's all I did today, oops". But other than that it's been helpful. I was also able to draw! I've done like 3 drawings within the like past week ish. Which is more than I thought I'd be able to do. For the longest time I was so blocked off from my emotions and thoughts, I'd feel like drawing but once I sat down it was hard to start it or finish it. Or I'd be able to do like 1 good one every few months. Back in high school I was constantly drawing and even into the beginning of college, but once I started disassociating it was like bye bye creative motivation. Obviously I don't want to take advantage of this burst of creative motivation but like it feels REALLY good. I eventually want to get back into poetry too. I'm actually an art hoe, but when I disassociated I like had no drive to document anything nor the mental capacity/awareness to connect the dots. Which really cramped on me being artsy because my whole art experience is fluid, just let it take me where I need to go. I did some poetry within the last year though. Mainly relating to addiction/alcoholism/insomnia. I'm very much an emotional set type person. It's almost always centered around a feeling or situation that invokes feelings/thoughts.

Okay that's even impressive that I got this much of journaling done, but I think I should stop now. This is long enough and now my thoughts are just kinda scattered and I'm too tired to keep coming back to any points I'm making. This was meant to just be a check in but it turned into like a full on documentation of how I've been feeling or whatever. Whew exhausted. Maybe I'll jot shit down again later after I reread my post later. Goodnight for now ✌

[wellesleyunderground]

Four Weddings and a Funeral reviewed by Lakshmi Gandhi (@LakshmiGandhi) & Asha Sundararaman ‘04 (@mixedtck)

This review first appeared on Lakshmi and Asha’s weekly newsletter - sign up here!

We love a good rom com and screenwriter Richard Curtis's 1994 "Four Weddings and a Funeral" has always been a favorite of the genre. (Who could forget Hugh Grant at his most bumbly and floppy-haired as he courts the elusive Andie McDowell?)

That was one of the reasons we were both surprised and intrigued when it was announced that Mindy Kaling would be making a Hulu series based on the classic film. This is also one of the reasons it pains us so much to reveal that the resulting series is NOT GOOD. In fact, it's pretty actively bad and is strange and painful to watch.

Fortunately, we watched (most of!) the available episodes so that you, dear readers, don't have to.

(Editor's note: As usual, we're going to spoil everything, but we can't imagine anyone voluntarily spending their time with these characters, so it's ok!)

Lakshmi: Asha, I hadn't read anything about this series going in for once, so while I knew the reviews were iffy I simply wasn't prepared for the extent of the badness. All of the scripts felt like first drafts? None of the romantic relationships made sense?! The New York Times review was brutal:

The show, which has almost nothing in common with the film except for a London setting, comes from the creators Mindy Kaling and Matt Warburton, but without any of the clever sparks they brought to “The Mindy Project.” Though it is set in England, the four main characters are American. They are allegedly best friends, but no one has anything in common nor do any of them have any chemistry, platonic or romantic. The inevitable couple seems like a bad match, and no two characters seem like they’re on the same show. Do not go to the chapel; do not get married.

Asha: I hadn't read much about it either. (Also, full disclosure, I actually haven't watched the original movie.)

Lakshmi: What?! We need to get that fixed immediately. But (as you’ve probably guessed) the basic premise is that Hugh Grant goes to four weddings and a funeral (of course) and all of the characters grow and change as a result of those five events.

Asha: Right, makes sense. (Also, I promise that I will watch the original film soon.)

Lakshmi: But in addition to the original being super white and super upper crust English (which is different from this adaptation in perhaps a bad way) the film had a lot of depth. This series has all American main characters and is just strange because so many aspects are nonsensical.

First, what are the odds that all of your good friends from your college experience in the US will land cushy jobs in London?!

Asha: Right?! I went to grad school in London, so I kept wondering how all of them had work visas! Banking, I could see, but starting a design business? Working as a teacher? None of it makes sense!

Lakshmi: And none of them even have English parents or seemed to go to grad school there (two other routes to getting visas). Also, since none of them are actually married when the series begins, they don’t qualify for spousal visas either.

Asha: Exactly.

Lakshmi: So there was a definite "what about Brexit? How did any of you get visas?" feeling throughout my viewing experience.

Asha: Mine too, especially having lived there.

Lakshmi: Yes! And you can definitely speak more one this (I've never lived in the United Kingdom) but my impression has always been that it is REALLY hard to get a UK work visa. And Brexit of course makes it clear that the political climate is not friendly to non-UK born people or immigrants of any kind.

Asha: it's definitely not easy. I know people who've done it post-grad school, mostly working for multinational corporations. But moving to London after college on a whim? Nah.

Lakshmi: Right. The only people I know who moved to London on a whim did so without documentation (meaning they worked off the books in restaurants while they had their quarter life crisis or whatever).

So Brandon Mychal Smith's character's job is the only one that sounds legit (he works for a giant financial institution.)

Plus,  these people would never be friends in real life. Additionally, no one is likeable and no one has anything in common. There is no thread that unites them at all (and the same goes for all of their partners)

But let's back up a little and talk about the plot.

The pilot episode starts with Maya (Nathalie Emmanuel from ‘Game of Thrones’) arriving in Heathrow for one of the weddings in the show's title. Her bag goes missing and she throws a fit (she's extremely unlikeable in those scenes!) and an airline manager, the middle aged British Pakistani Haroon Khan (who is played by the Indian actor Harish Patel) asks his son Kash to help her.

That is the big meet cute of the first episode. The twist of course is that Maya soon discovers that Kash is engaged to her friend Ainsley and in fact their wedding is the one Maya flew to London to attend. I have no idea what Kash and Ainsley saw in each other and the subsequent scenes never give us any clues either!

Asha: Well, to be fair, I think that was the point. They liked the facade of each other, rather than who they actually were.

Lakshmi: But they never talked about anything? Ainsley is definitely part of the one percent (her parents fund her entire business AND rent a London townhouse for her.) Kash lives with his widower father and little brother in a working class neighborhood.

Plus they were going to have a Church of England wedding and no one talks about how they are of different faiths (the dad mentions it as an aside only after things go south). And the dad makes a joke about not drinking alcohol yet Ainsley gifts Kash with whiskey glasses (I get that Kash obviously drinks alcohol, but it's still strange that they ever made a "oh we're not supposed to be doing this" joke or anything.

Asha: Well, it is pointed out in episode 2 that the whiskey glasses were a bad gift...

Lakshmi: But not because of the religious tradition thing! But because of because of the impersonal nature of whiskey glasses as a gift.

And it's strange (especially in England of all places) to have a relationship like that and never talk about money or standing or whatnot.  It was one of the many reasons I wished this show had been transported to New York or Boston or LA or somewhere else in the United States.

Asha: But once again, that was kind of the point, they didn't talk about anything!

Lakshmi: So why were they getting married in the first place? And all of the couples had the same problem! They were all terrible communicators.

Asha: Yes, that's true.

Lakshmi: Why were Zara and Craig together?

Asha: I have no idea.

Lakshmi: Craig was the Brandon Mychal Smith character who worked at the huge bank. Zara herself spent a lot of her time exotifying him too.

I also need to point out (and this continues Mindy's terrible record with regard to writing Black characters)  all of Craig’s storylines were AWFUL and I feel comfortable calling them othering and borderline racist.

For example, there is a joke in which Craig says six girls asked him to prom and the punchline is that "one of them was my Spanish teacher." (And readers know me well enough by now to know that was a huge cringe and a big no for me.)

And then! He gets a message out of the blue from a girl he hooked up with six years ago and it turns out.. dun dun dun... he has a secret baby! Gross and also... why didn't they give one of their upper crust white British male characters that storyline? Choosing to give your only Black character a secret baby is a weird decision! It just seemed unnecessary and his partner was so disconnected from him and the realities of his life.

Basically, I cannot believe that money and class weren't more of an issue in all of these relationships with British people. Mindy must have read Austen at some point? (or any other British novel, hahaha)

Asha: One would think! But they actually do bring up class issues a bit in episode three with their British friend Gemma. She's "new money" which means she ends up being the butt of the joke in her British social circles.

Lakshmi: Yes, that was interesting! But by episode three the series had been so frustrating to me that I couldn't appreciate the good parts as much as I should have. For example, episode one was BAD but episode two was JUST MEDIOCRE and episode three was JUST OK but the badness of the pilot made my tolerance for the rest go down a bunch.

Asha: I want to say that the show does have some good parts! I enjoyed the relationship between Kash and his family.

Lakshmi: Yes, I loved that as well. The dad was a well written character. And they watch a British game show that is a lot like Jeopardy! every night, which felt like something most South Asian families would do Plus there were little asides where they did talk about religion and those also felt real.

Asha: I actually feel like the dynamic between Kash, Kash's dad and his brother was the best part of the show. All three were the standout characters of the series.

Lakshmi: I wish they had made Kash the central character, rather than Maya.

Asha: Agreed.

Lakshmi: And the child who played the little brother Asif was also very good.

Asha: Definitely

Lakshmi: I liked this thread by the author Rachel Hawkins on the show:

Nathalie Emmanuel deserves better than Four Weddings and a Funeral, OOF. I ADORE Mindy Kaling, but this is so bad I kind of can't believe it exists.

Asha: The entire show was just so underwritten.

Lakshmi: And I know I keep sounding like a broken record but we never really see why these characters are friends.

Asha: Well, they might be that group of college friends who are best friends because they were best friends in college and would have grown apart if it weren't for the fact that they all moved abroad

Lakshmi: Perhaps... but usually those tight bonds don't last even if you do end up being in the same place. I mean, why live in England (or set your show in England) if the characters hang out with and act like Americans all day.

Asha: Hahaha, that was the one realistic thing to me actually

Lakshmi: I don’t know...this would have been a great show to set in Boston or another upper crust New England town. I show featuring characters that went to boarding school and their working class New England friends would have been so good. (and that concept hasn't been explored in a modern day show in a while.) Plus, Mindy is from Massachusetts! She missed the boat there!

Asha: Well...she did go to private school, and to Dartmouth....

Lakshmi: So it's her world! She should have done it!

Asha: Her world was minus the working class New Englanders!

Lakshmi: She could have gotten other writers for those scenes. I feel like a lot of the parts that especially annoyed us would have been eliminated had this been an American show..

Asha: That's probably true.

Lakshmi: You've seen “Love Actually,” right?

Asha: Yes.

Lakshmi:  So a lot of the scenes here were like “Love Actually” fanfiction (another thing reviewers pointed out.) There's a novelist who flirts with a woman who speaks English as a second language. There's a weird choir that pops up during one of the weddings.

Those scenes with the French teacher did illustrate how fragile male writers are!

Asha: Hahahahaha

Lakshmi: Seriously though! Anyway, the character Duffy gives her a draft of his novel to read. It's a 1200 page book (and everyone knows about my strong belief that nothing needs to be above 350 pages!) and he asks her for honest feedback.

But when he receives honest feedback he goes nuts and acts like a baby (which is totally unsurprising.) He’s even so upset that he asks her to leave his home.

Asha: he does make amends later on, once he realizes that none of his friends who praised his book had actually read it.

For the record, her feedback was that there were 20 pages of that 1200 that were great! Plus, those pages she liked were at the end, so he should be appreciative that she engaged with the work! His was so gross and so thin-skinned.

Asha: it really means that you're too attached to your work and that you see it as a reflection of who you are as a person. It also means you're not ready to be a professional writer.

Lakshmi: I strongly feel that the way people respond to edits reflects who they are as a person. This has nothing to do with the show at all really, but I maintain there is one way to know everything you need to know about a person, and that’s by FACT CHECKING THEIR WORK.

The person who blows up when you ask "oh,where did you get that stat from?” is insecure in all aspects of their life. Also, "Remember to spell check" is never a personal attack, but you'd be surprised at how many people act as if it is! So I think that's why I had such a personal reaction to that scene (and kept wondering at why Mindy and the other writer put it in.)

Asha: Hmm...I don't agree that it reflects who they are as a person. But i do think it means they're probably insecure, ha.

Lakshmi: So you do agree it reflects SOME aspects of their personality. I don’t know, as a fact checker, I just want to make sure we're accurate and don’t get sued! But I'm kind of used to people blowing up when I ask questions like "can you send me the link to this study?" (which should be a neutral question but rarely is).

ANYWAY, another annoying thing was how Maya randomly decides to stay in England after going through her own breakup and then starts interviewing with Members of Parliament essentially right away. Again, my brain went to the place of "what about Brexit?!”

Asha: Same.

Lakshmi: Even the most liberal Labour Party member probably doesn't want to deal with the optics of hiring an American on a whim? There are people in England who would kill for those jobs...

But it was interesting to see Maya process the aftermath of her affair. She had been working for a New York Senator and had an affair with him. She then realizes that she never knows why these other politicians are granting her interviews. Are they hoping for an affair as well?

(Maya is VERY talented but she feels like people are overlooking her skills because of her personal life.) I actually thought those scenes were some of the most realistic of the series.

Asha: Well, other than the fact that she was an American interviewing for British political positions, which as we’ve noted wasn’t at all realistic.

Lakshmi: Of course. But that internal conflict was very real.

Lakshmi: OK, we went well over our usual time! (We always have strong feelings about Mindy's work!) My final thought was that I just couldn’t believe this novelist dude thought his friends had read his work.

I feel like writers would be a lot happier if they realized their nearest and dearest probably aren't going to read their stuff (and oftentimes won't even buy their stuff!) and that sometimes that is all for the best.

Asha: Agreed.

Lakshmi: Also if you ask for honest critique and then blow up when you receive it 1) you aren't a good person 2) you shouldn't write publicly, because Goodreads reviewers aren't going to be as kind as a woman invited to your house as a guest. (She was really sweet about delivering the feedback; everyone should be that kind and deliberate when giving honest reactions.)