#This makeup just became her Standard Look; I was SWEATING trying to get it back

[thefreelanceangel]

May Renn of this particular mod pack always have beverages of the perfect temperature, unstubbed toes, and a pillow that cradles their head gently into restful sleep forever.

Thanks to that "so easy even Angel can use it" tutorial and pack, my beloved bitchbunny is looking like her old vicious self again, but now with improvements.

[gummygowon]

wake up loser | jeon jungkook

word count: 1.6k

genre: fluff

best friends to lovers!

warnings: none

a/n: i wrote this oneshot a long time ago and i didn’t really know much about jungkook’s personality and i wrote this for my friend so please don’t burn me if this jungkook actually doesn’t match up with the real jk’s personality. 

clink! clink! clink!

the annoying sound wouldn't stop no matter how hard you shoved the pillows into your ears. at first you thought it was something in your dream that was making that sound but as you slowly began to wake up the clinking never came to a stop.

you mumbled a curse under your breath as you got up to look out your window. usually if you heard a weird sound coming from outside your room you would be shitting yourself but you were too tired and angry to be scared. whatever demon that was outside was about to get their ass kicked back to hell.

you pushed your window curtains to the side a little too roughly and rubbed the fatigue away from your eyes. "jungkook?"

you immediately flung your window open. he was standing on your driveway with a handful of pebbles in his palm. it was a miracle he didn't shatter your window.

"oh my god finally." your best friend rolled his eyes. "you're such a pain in the ass to wake up."

"jungkook, what the fuck do you want." you grumbled. you tried your best to not wake up the whole goddamn neighborhood since it was who knows how late it was in the night or fuck, how early it was in the morning.

"just come down. i wanna show you something."

it was summer now which meant that you were back at your parents for the time being. you missed your family greatly but now you just wanna escape back into your dorm. your mom's usual nagging was getting to you and you needed a break even if it was just for a day.

but being back at your parent's house meant that you would see your childhood best friend, jeon jungkook.

you guys would do everything with each other when you were younger. hanging out at the community pool or even playing tag with the other neighborhood kids. oh how you wished to be a child again.

but, now you were an adult going to college and partying and doing other adult stuff. you kept in touch with jungkook but not as often as you wanted. the both of you guys were incredibly busy with school and work so a long phone call every weekend would have to do until now.

if jungkook had waited like four more hours you would sprung out of your bed so fast to hang out with him. but you were rudely awakened from your slumber and sleep was hard to come across in college so you had to take advantage now.

"why? it's literally so early." you whined.

"my mom made strawberry milk yesterday and i have some left over." he bribed.

"oh, say less." any anger or fatigue left your body as soon as he mentioned strawberry milk. jungkook's mom made the world's best strawberry milk and it was a shame that not everyone could try her delicious beverage.

you quickly got ready and grabbed a hoodie from your pile of clothes that were sitting on a chair. you didn't even dare to change out of your pajamas. the warmth that it provided was too good to be substituted for a wack ass pair of cold jeans.

you slipped out our window as if it wasn't your first time sneaking out. you were an adult now, your parents shouldn't really care about why you weren't home in the morning.

when you jumped down from your window, you swatted the tiny dust particles off yourself before turning to jungkook. "well, where we going captain?"

"this way, m'lady." he stuck out his arm for you to loop through, which you gladly did.

you've always this tiny crush on jungkook. it was bound to happen at some point but you never did anything about it and secretly hoped it went away. but your crush on him became even bigger during your senior prom when your trashy ex dumped you right there and then proceeded to start grinding up on one of your "friends."

jungkook was there for you throughout the whole thing. you were balling on his blazer and apologized many times and try to pull your head away to stop your runny makeup from ruining his jacket but he pulled you in closer to him and told you it was fine. he didn't really care if his prom outfit was ruined, all he cared about was you. the prom was ass anyways.

in an effort to make you feel better, he took you to in-n-out. the two of you guys ate your burgers while singing karaoke in his mom's old mini van. without jungkook, you were sure prom would've been a complete disaster. well, it definitely was but he made it better.

since then, you had your fair shares of hook ups and dates while in college. no one had met your incredibly high standards. in other words, no one was jeon jungkook but you would never admit it out loud.

you didn't want to ruin your friendship with him over your dumb feelings for him. plus, you didn't know what he was up to in his own love life. it's been awhile since the two of you actually sat down in person and properly caught up.

after walking in what seemed like fifteen minutes, you guys had arrived at this old park you guys used to hangout while growing up.

"oh man, i haven't been in here forever." you gasped, a big grin spreading across your face. memories flooded your brain.

jungkook looked over to you and couldn't help but smile too since you were so excited.

you let go of his arm and started running towards the tiny hill. "race you."

"hey! you got a head start." jungkook whined as he dashed towards you.

you actually ended up winning the race surprisingly but since jungkook was a sore loser he tackled you to the floor.

"you cheated!" he shouted as he tickled you.

"no-stop please- i did not." you argued between in laughs.

you managed to wrestle jungkook and ended up straddling him with his arms pinned down by you. he made eye contact with you and you could feel you heart do twenty somersaults.

if you guys were kids, it wouldn't be awkward but since you guys were almost twenty years old and since someone had a little crush, there definitely was tension.

you awkwardly coughed to get rid of the silence. "i win though." you fought back as you slid off him.

"yeah, sure. whatever works for you." he chuckled.

"it's not my fault ,you're so slow jk."

he put a hand over his chest, pretending to be hurt. "how dare you say such things about me."

you rolled your eyes at his playfulness and shoved him lightly, "shut up."

the two of you guys fell into silence as you surveyed the world in front of you. a lot has changed but jungkook didn't change one bit.

"so, how's life?" you asked, breaking the peaceful silence. if nothing was going to happen, you were going to fall asleep.

"i thought you wanted me to shut up?" he fired right back.

you threw your hands up in the air, "just answer the question or i'm walking back home."

"alright, alright. i will."

for the next hour or so, the two of you caught up on everything. from friends to school life to the latest work drama. jeez, there was so much to talk about that you guys couldn't cover in your monthly phone calls. it was nice to catch up with him though. you missed him a lot. talking through screens wasn't the same as being next him.

the sun was about halfway in the sky and the clouds were painted a dusty pink. jungkook had whipped out the infamous strawberry milk, much to your delight and you guys sipped in silence with the occasional moment of bringing up old memories.

you were sipping your drink while deep in your thoughts. a surge of confidence came and it dared you to confess your true feelings to your best friend. you don't know where it came from but you weren't no pussy. you stared at the pink sky and a smile formed on you lips as you thought about the what if's with him.

you could feel jungkook's stare on you so, you turned to look at him. "what?"

he had this lovestruck look on his face. a look you've never really seen out of all the years you've known him.

now, jungkook also had a fat crush on you but was too scared to make a move. he thought he lost you when you got a boyfriend in high school but look at how that turned out. he was secretly happy that the two of you didn't work out but he would never confess that to you.

i swear there was something in the air because jungkook also had a surge of confidence that dared him to confess too. the timing was perfect. actually, everything was perfect. the sky was a pretty pink, you were happy which made him even happier.

his mind couldn't stop thinking about how cute you looked in your pajamas and messy bun. he was grateful that you could be comfortable with him and that you didn't care what you looked like in front of him. to him you were just right.

"i love you." he confessed. jungkook was practically sweating as soon as those words left his mouth. he didn't actually mean to confess like that or did he? "i mean-"

"just kiss me, you loser." you cut in.

jungkook smiled before pulling you in.

you tasted like mint toothpaste and strawberries.

[laurawritesandgames]

Title: Objections

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara, Charles/Delia

Prompt: Wedding

Content Warning: Set during coronavirus pandemic

Summary: It’s Delia and Charles’s wedding day. The Maitland-Deetz household tries to keep their irreverent demon from spoiling the big day. Little do they know it’s not Beetlejuice they need to worry about….

It had taken ten minutes, but Barbara was finally satisfied with Delia’s lashes. “There. I think we’ve got it.” She moved aside to let Delia see herself in the mirror.

Barbara had put her hair and makeup skills to the test and helped Delia out on her wedding day. Why invite over a makeup artist and hair stylist during a pandemic if you didn’t have to?

Delia examined her reflection and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

That was being kind. It wasn’t exactly one of the dramatic looks on Delia’s wedding Pinterest board. More dramatic makeup would’ve suited her dress better. Ordered from Italy, her dress was a gold ballgown with dramatic tiered tulle flounces on the skirt and a deep V neckline. The gold in the dress played off the gold accents in Delia’s bright orange hair, which was in romantic waves down her back. It was daring and sweet all at once.

When the pandemic hit, the household had talked about postponing her and Charles’s wedding. But Charles’s parents were old-fashioned, and since Delia and Charles wanted to try for a baby right away, they decided to have a virtual wedding instead.

“I can’t thank you enough, Barbara.”

“I’m not letting you do your own hair and makeup on your big day!” She gestured to the laptop. “Now go show the girls.” Her bridesmaids were eagerly awaiting drinking mimosas and celebrating Delia’s look. Barbara had met them at Delia’s virtual bachelorette party, though, of course, they hadn’t known Barbara was there. The bachelorette party had also been rather subdued, considering Delia’s usual standards. She, Barbara and the bridesmaids had streamed both Magic Mike movies, ate popcorn and drank champagne. What else could you do in a pandemic? “I’ll go check on the preparations.”

Delia’s phone, face down on the makeup table, buzzed again. Someone had been texting her all morning, and Delia had been ignoring them. Her gaze flicked to the phone, jaw tightening before she looked back into the mirror.

Barbara gestured to the phone. “I can grab that for you, too.”

A hint of a frown worked its way between Delia’s brows. A moment later, her expression relaxed, and she waved the suggestion away. “I’m fine, darling. I’ve been getting so many robotexts lately. You know, you could stay and have a drink. You’re a bridesmaid too, dear!”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I like keeping busy!” And if I bump something or the camera catches me drinking a mimosa, the focus is definitely not going to be on the bride. Barbara excused herself and went downstairs.

The walls of the living/dining room were decorated with curled gold ribbons and champagne-coloured tulle banners beneath the crown molding. The ghosts and Beetlejuice had moved all the furniture—quite easily, with telekinesis—and added two rows of four chairs on either side of an elegant pale gray runner. The rug led the eye to the laptop, set up on a crystal-laden table where the officiant would’ve stood, and the pale-wood wedding arch wrapped in the same champagne tulle. Everything looked perfect.

Adam, Beetlejuice, and Lydia, the family’s impromptu wedding photographer/videographer, were gathered around a photo album. It took Barbara a second to recognize it.

“Aww, our wedding album!” She joined the group, resting her head on Adam’s shoulder. He kissed her temple, pulling her closer with both arms. The book continued floating in mid-air.

“Obsessed with sunflowers much?” grumbled an unimpressed Beetlejuice.

“I guess so,” Adam said. “My family’s farm had a little sunflower patch. That kinda became our thing.”

“Love the mason jars,” Lydia commented.

“Hey, those were the big thing in 2009,” Barbara said. She supposed their wedding had followed a lot of popular trends: an outdoor barn wedding, lots of tea lights in mason jars, and even a photo booth. But they’d managed to be ahead of the curve on a few things. “Remember our party favours, sweetie?” she asked Adam. “They were little terrariums in stemless wineglasses.”

Adam grinned and squeezed the arm around her waist. “They were tied with ribbons that said ‘Thank you very ‘mulch’ for coming to our wedding!’”

Lydia chuckled; Beetlejuice rolled his eyes.

“Don’t encourage that,” the demon said to his friend. He continued scowling at the wedding album, but Lydia seemed happy to keep looking at the photos.

The most pages they turned, the more Barbara’s mood slid closer to Beetlejuice’s. All those photos were full of friends and family she couldn’t see anymore. Most of her friends’ Facebooks or Instagrams were private, so she couldn’t even do any light internet stalking unless she wanted to log into her old accounts and confuse everyone. Was Lisa still going back to school to get her Masters, or had the pandemic put that on hold? Was Alison still having issues with her mother-in-law? Barbara had no idea. Dead women didn’t have friends. Not to mention her family….

But a wedding was no time to be sad. She pasted a smile on her face and even managed a few cute wedding stories.

“Remember when your uncle Eddy tried to drink his wedding favour?” she asked Adam, who chuckled. “He almost choked on a succulent!”

“But he kept trying to drink from it! Three times!” Adam chuckled. A moment later, his smile faltered. “Probably because he’s a massive alcoholic.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” That story wasn’t quite as cute as she remembered. “So, um, why don’t we do a last-minute check? Make sure we’ve got everything.”

“All right,” Lydia said. She took the photo album from midair and put it away, frowning slightly. “This is probably going to be the nicest moment I have today, so thanks for that.”

Barbara and Adam shared a worried look. Lydia was deeply ambivalent about her father marrying another woman only six months after her mother died. Lydia had used that fact to extract a lot of concessions about the wedding: Delia had let her wear a black dress and take photographs on her analogue camera instead of a digital camera.

“C’mon, kid!” Beetlejuice said. “Just wait ‘til I get the party started!” He blew a party favour, and sparkly beetles flew behind him.

While Lydia rolled her eyes fondly at her friend, Barbara and Adam shared another worried look. The young woman went upstairs to get changed.  

Barbara turned to Beetlejuice. “I just wanted to remind you about your promise, Beetlejuice. I know it’d probably be very funny to interrupt the ceremony. Maybe Lydia would even appreciate it. But this day means a lot to Delia and Charles. They’ve found each other through a lot of pain and hardship, and they deserve a fun, special memory.”

Beetlejuice waved her words away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You don’t know this about me yet, but I love a good party. And people can finally see me! Well, only people here, but whatever. Why would I mess that up and have everybody pissed at me? I’m here for the fun and the food, baby.”

As much as Barbara wanted to believe him, she suspected that the only reason he didn’t have a disruption planned was because of Lydia’s innate goodness, not his own.

“I noticed you didn’t love us going through the wedding album, buddy,” Adam said. “Is everything okay?”

He shrugged. “It just…it looked nice. Your wedding.” He glanced between Barbara and Adam, loudly announcing, “None of that boring-ass shit at our wedding, okay?”

Barbara tried not to look too surprised—Beetlejuice loved shocking them. “Noted. But it’s also not going to be jump scares every minute, or a projector that reveals everyone’s darkest fears, or some kind of Saw situation.”

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows rose. “I was just thinking there’d be singing cockroaches and banners made of bats, but those are way better! You wanna plan it, baby?”

“I said ‘not.’ It’s not going to be any of those things. Did you even hear that part?”

He darted in close and kissed her lips. “Eh, we’ll find a compromise that works for all of us. We’re all about that life, right?” His neck stretched cartoonishly to kiss Adam on the lips as well. Then he poofed away in a cloud of smoke.

After a few moments, Adam said, “Did he just ask us to marry him?”

“I think it was a joke proposal. You know him. If he really wanted to propose, there’d be a lot more pizzazz. And possibly dead bodies.”

“Right, of course.”

“Would you have said yes if he’d been serious?” Barbara asked, curious.

“Things between the three of us have been going pretty well, but I don’t think I’m ready to jump into another marriage quite yet. And you?”

It was exactly what she’d expected from Adam. They’d changed since their deaths—six months later, their afterlives involved parenthood, isolation from friends and family, a lot more free time, and a polyamorous relationship. But it was nice when she could guess what he was thinking. Not everything had changed. “The same. Maybe in a few years or so.”

*

Before the ceremony, Charles and Lydia stayed in the living room, helping older relatives log on to Zoom and greeting people as they logged in. Charles was wearing a pale grey tuxedo with a metallic grey tie and pocket square. Lydia looked like an elegant classic Hollywood starlet with a goth twist: her black lace gown had a subtle skull pattern to it, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. Her onyx choker and bracelets looked like thorny vines going up her pale arms and encircling her neck. On her head was a raven fascinator with golden bead eyes, her one concession to the wedding colours.

The laptop screen filled up with squares of happy, smiling faces. Everyone had dressed up for the occasion, wearing suits and dresses.

“Betcha most of them are wearing sweat pants,” Beetlejuice said.

“Well, hopefully we’ll never find out,” Barbara replied. The three of them were sitting on the white chairs on either side of the aisle. Most people watching this meeting online probably assumed these chairs were only there for symmetry. As far as they knew, Lydia was the only other person physically at this wedding.

Despite her earlier claim, Lydia was smiling and chatting with Charles’s parents and, to Barbara’s surprise, Emily’s mother. Coming to your son-in-law’s wedding six months after your daughter’s death must have been hard, but if there were any issues, Barbara didn’t see them, and she wasn’t about to eavesdrop on a family moment.

Emily was sick for years. I suppose her family had a lot of time to mourn her. She thought about her parents and her sister at her own funeral. What had that been like?

Lydia took video of Delia coming down the stairs to the bridal chorus, played on speakers set up throughout the room, then put the video camera on a tripod so she could participate in the ceremony.

“I want to thank everyone for joining us today,” the officiant said. “In lieu of wedding gifts, the bride and groom have asked that you donate to the Rural Connecticut Preservation Society. I’m pleased to share that we’ve raised $10,000, which will be donated after the wedding.”

If Charles had had any reservations about donating to a charity dedicated to stopping housing development in rural Connecticut, which directly impacted his career, he hadn’t brought it up during the wedding’s planning stages. Lydia had suggested the charity, after all.

Everyone applauded.

“We will now bless the rings,” the officiant said.

Lydia took out the rings, held them both tightly in her hands, and whispered her blessing into her clenched fists. She smiled mischievously at Charles.

“I suppose if they burst into flame, we’ll know Mom disapproves.”

There were a few awkward chuckles from the assembled, none louder than Delia’s. “That’s my darling, unique stepdaughter for you! Oh, Lydia, you’re so funny!”

In a mocking, little-girl voice, Lydia replied, “I appreciate the compliment, my dearest stepmother.”

Barbara and Adam made sure that they were holding Beetlejuice’s hands so he couldn’t raise them.

The demon scoffed. “You know, I don’t need my hands to do ghost magic? I could just set the rings on fire with my mind.”

“Do not—”

“I wasn’t gonna! Jeez.”

With a theatrical flourish, Lydia showed off the rings to the laptop camera. Barbara half-expected them to be Netherworld green, but they were normal. “My blessing has been spoken. Please speak your blessings now.” Ideally, everyone would’ve been able to touch the rings and speak their blessings in private.

After a pause, Delia’s father spoke first, and others followed. The wedding program had provided a few sample blessings, but people were free to write their own. Delia’s mother began crying halfway through hers.

“Save something for the wedding speech, Amanda,” her father joked. He reminded Barbara of her own dad.

Barbara and Adam gave their own blessings. “Delia and Charles, we wish you health, happiness and love as you start your new life together,” they said, touching the rings, making sure not to brush Lydia’s hands.

Beetlejuice had declined to take part in “New Age bullshittery,” so he remained hovering over his seat.

The rest of the wedding was more traditional, probably to appease Charles’s parents. Barbara’s mind wandered. She and Adam had come so far, hadn’t they? She held Adam’s hand lightly, running her thumb up and down his palm—rather, she did until Beetlejuice forced his way between the two of them and sat on both of their laps.

“Poor baby, no one was paying attention to you,” she cooed into his ear.

“It’s the worst,” he agreed. She ran her fingers through his spikey green hair. Adam gave him some attention by resting his head on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. That seemed to do the trick—he sighed and relaxed.

Readings were read, vows were said, and rings were exchanged. Charles’s vows were simple and straightforward—too curt for Barbara’s tastes—but Delia’s were long enough for them both. Barbara fought the urge to check the time. She felt like Delia had been going for 10 minutes.

Delia actually appeared to be wrapping up when “I object!” sounded over the laptop’s speakers.

A square popped up on Zoom, revealing that the speaker was a tanned older man with more salt than pepper in his hair and bright white teeth. He had a faint accent that Barbara couldn’t place. She’d never seen him on any of Delia’s photos or social media.

Delia made a few choking noises in the back of her throat, the colour draining from her face.

Charles glared at the screen. “You,” he spat out.

Clutching Charles like a lifeline, Delia drew herself up as tall as she could. “Jeremy, log off immediately! I don’t know how you got my number or how you got this link, but get out, you narcissistic psychopath! You don’t get to be a part of my life, not after what you did!”

“Delia, my love, I know you still feel something for me—“

‘My love’? This can’t be the ex-husband, can it? Years ago, Delia’s ex had sailed away to Rome with the secretary he’d been cheating on her with.

“Hey,” Beetlejuice whispered, “I never possessed someone over the internet before. Maybe if we all work together, we can do it?”

Jeremy had opened his mouth to speak again. If ghostly powers could stop this disaster, they had to try. Barbara grabbed Beetlejuice’s and Adam’s hands and held them out to the laptop screen.

“—and I—” Jeremy continued. His gaze abruptly unfocused. Barbara tried to force words into his mouth.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, just as she’d scripted. “I’m going to log off and…and…and throw myself into a dumpster like the piece of trash I am.”

She hadn’t told him to say that. Barbara glanced at Beetlejuice, who grinned back at her.

“And then,” Jeremy continued, “I’m gonna take my toenail clippings, and my belly button lint, put them in a blender, take a shit in that blender, start the blender, and pour myself a shit-shake. It’s my regular Saturday morning routine, baby!”

Lydia rushed forward and tapped a few keys. His square vanished from the screen.

“I blocked him,” she said.

“Thank you, stepdaughter.” Delia sniffled, and Charles handed her a Kleenex from his suit pocket.

As Delia struggled to compose herself, Barbara whispered, “A poop-shake? Really, Beetlejuice?”

“It was Adam!” He couldn’t even keep a straight face, and chortled. “Okay, you caught me. Hey, I had to make sure he’d never be able to look these people in the eye again.”

Delia glared at the laptop screen. “Lydia, darling, explain to me how you set this event up again.”

“I set it as a private Zoom event. Everyone involved in the ceremony had to have a link and a password.”

“So,” Delia said, “who gave my ex-husband—who, I’d just like to remind everyone, is a cheating bastard—the link and the password?”

Slowly, one of Delia’s aunts raised her hand, her face bright pink behind her makeup.

“Millie!” Delia’s mom exclaimed.

“Mom!” shrieked one of Delia’s cousins.

Most people on the Zoom call started shouting at once. It took a few minutes to hear Aunt Millie’s explanation.

“I had no idea he was going to object,” she squeaked. “But he was such a big part of our lives for such a long time, and I thought he deserved to at least see the ceremony….”

“Aunt Millie,” Delia said, “you are no longer welcome!”

“Of—of course. I’m so sorry, Delia.” Aunt Millie took out her glasses and peered at the screen. “Er, which button do I…?”

Lydia took care of it, and banned her.

“And everyone thought I’d use my ghost powers for evil,” Beetlejuice boasted. “Look at me, doing good deeds! Being a goddamn hero!”

Barbara would’ve responded, but poor Delia sagged against Charles, tears running down her face. She tried to speak, but only managed a quiet sob.

“We’re going to take a break,” Lydia said quickly, turning back to the laptop. “See you in 10 minutes, everyone.” She muted them and closed the laptop.

Beetlejuice waved his hand to grab Delia’s attention, grinning broadly. “Thought I’d mention that if you know where he lives I could teleport to his location and, well, cause a little havoc.”

“Do we need to go over the house rules?” Barbara asked. ‘No Murdering’ was the first one.

“No murdering, this time! Just a little non-fatal revenge.”

Delia hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Non-fatal?” Lydia asked Beetlejuice. “Are you sure? Our wedding did set a precedent for murder….”

Beetlejuice chuckled, and the two fistbumped.

After a moment, the demon frowned. “Wait, should I fistbump you for murdering me?”

“You already completed the ‘bump—you can’t take it back now,” Lydia said.

“Shit, you’re right.”

Delia stared at the living room, lips quivering. “Maybe…maybe this is a sign. The universe must not want me to get married again!”

Beetlejuice floated over. “Delia! Signs don’t exist. Trust me, I’d know! There is no heaven, no hell, no meaning to anything! The universe is cold, distant, and uncaring. It’s basically my mom,” he joked. “But the point is—it doesn’t care what you want, and nothing you say or do can affect it.

“Besides, girl!” Beetlejuice leaned in. “Chuck is rich as fuck. Lock him down!”

Charles glared at him before turning back to Delia. “I still want to get married to you, Delia.”

“Are you sure?” She blew into her Kleenex before continuing. “There are women who…who don’t have ex-husbands that ruin their weddings and—and make a scene in front of all their friends and family….”

“Delia,” Barbara said quietly, “you’re not the first person to date an asshole. I mean, look at me and Adam.”

Beetlejuice appreciated the burn, even if it was at his own expense—he cackled over Delia’s tepid chuckle.

“Don’t blame yourself for what just happened,” Barbara continued.

Delia whimpered into her Kleenex. Charles stroked her hair lightly.

“Delia,” he said, “I stood in front of our friends and family and told them how you were the brightest light in my darkest time. I meant every word of it. Nothing will change that. I love you.” He kissed her so deeply that Barbara looked away to give them some privacy.

When they were done, Lydia cleared her throat. “I’ll go get the digital camera so we can adjust the photos faster. That way you won’t have to worry about your makeup looking perfect.” She began to set her analog camera down.

Delia shook her head. “No—you said this was your artistic vision, and I won’t see it compromised.”

Lydia looked surprised. “Oh.” Her smile was small but sincere. “Thanks, Delia.”

Delia took this as an invitation to hug her stepdaughter. Lydia rolled her eyes, but patted her shoulder and didn’t pull away.

“Besides,” Delia added, “this camera was your mother’s gift to you, and I don’t want her coming back from the Netherworld to tell me off.”

Beetlejuice facepalmed. “That is not how the Netherworld works! That’s not how any of it works.”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to make sure, could it?” Delia stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fix my face.”

“I can help,” Barbara said, and Delia nodded.

Once they were upstairs, Delia collapsed in her makeup chair, sighing heavily.

“I actually thought it was going to go well,” she commented. “That I’d have one beautiful day even in the midst of the world’s ugliness. I was so stupid. Nothing ever goes right for me.”

Barbara reached out to pat Delia’s shoulder before stopping herself. When Delia looked confused, she explained, “Lydia said touching me or Adam is like touching an ice cube tray straight from the freezer.”

“I don’t mind.”

Hesitantly, Barbara touched Delia’s shoulder. It was the first time she’d touched a living person other than Lydia in months, and hugs from a 16-year-old girl she didn’t know that well were rare. The older woman shivered but didn’t pull away.

“Lydia’s not wrong,” Delia admitted. She put her hand over Barbara’s, squeezing slightly. “But a hand offered in friendship should never be refused. You know, it’s been almost four months since I last touched someone who wasn’t Charles.”

“Hopefully this coronavirus pandemic will end soon.”

“I’ve been saying healing prayers twice a day.”

Barbara wasn’t sure they’d be effective, but healing prayers were more than most of America’s leaders were doing. At least Delia was listening to the science and wearing a mask when she went outside. She’d grown so much in the short time Barbara had known her.

Barbara missed her friends from when she was alive. That was natural. But she couldn’t let her loss keep her from recognizing that she’d made a friend after death, too.

“Thanks, Delia,” Barbara said. “Not just for the healing prayers, but for everything. Having two ghostly housemates and a demon would be a lot for some people, but you’ve taken it in stride.”

Delia chuckled. “I once lived in a commune of 200 people. Living off the land, growing our own food…and digging our own toilets.” She wrinkled her nose, then chuckled. “You three are a walk in the park compared to that!”

“If there’s anything you need from me or Adam, please let us know. We don’t want to trouble you or Charles.”

Delia opened and closed her mouth. After a moment, she said, “Well….I suppose I do have a rather personal question….”

“Shoot.”

“Beetlejuice—is he actually good in the bedroom?”

Barbara giggled. “He is. He’s had millennia to think about what he’d do if he ever had sexual partners again. He’s very…inventive.”

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem the type to be concerned with another’s pleasure.”

“Oh, there’s definitely times he forgets. But then we get to teach him. Ahem. Now,” she nodded to the mirror, “let’s get your makeup touched up.”

*

Barbara wouldn’t ever be hungry or thirsty again, but the stuffed butternut squash was delicious. Delia and Charles had deferred to Barbara and Adam’s local expertise when they planned the menu at their wedding dinner. Adam knew most of the farms the vegetables had come from.

The Deetzes had said goodbye to all their guests, and the family was eating their wedding dinner in the dining room.

Delia had been going to give out the crystals on either side of the laptop as wedding favours—the stones were mostly rose quartz, moonstone and a pale white stone called selenite. But after Jeremy’s arrival, she said she needed to cleanse the crystals. “I’m going to give them a few lunar cycles, just to be safe.”

Barbara nodded, pretending she understood what that meant. “Adam, Beetlejuice and I are dead. We’ve got nothing but time!”

“I just want to thank everyone again for your hard work,” Delia said, smiling at them. “Lydia, for your photographic eye and leading the blessing. Barbara, for the hair, makeup, decorating and emotional support. Adam, for sending out all the emails and doing the tech support. All the ghosts, for intervening when a certain someone decided to crash the party.”

“It was mostly me,” Beetlejuice said. Barbara rolled her eyes at Adam, who chuckled.

“He is the ghost with the most,” Adam said, making Beetlejuice grin.

“My mistake—thank you, Beetlejuice. Thank you all for being part of one of the most important days of our lives. Thank you for being our family.”

Barbara sniffled a bit as she and Adam applauded the speech.

“I got the happy couple some extra gifts,” Beetlejuice said. “For the wedding night.”

“I’m going into another room,” Lydia announced abruptly, setting her plate down. “Another house. Another life.”

As she left, Beetlejuice grinned. “We’re rated PG-13, guys! It’s just rose petals on the bed and some boozy chocolates. Figured you two have your own toys—”

Lydia started singing loudly as she covered her ears, taking the stairs three at a time to get away.

Barbara tried to figure out what he had in mind. “These rose petals won’t become spiders, will they?”

“They’re totally normally and boring, if you must know. I ordered them off Amazon.”

“How?” Adam asked. “You have no money.”

“I typed in Chuck’s credit card, duh.”

“What?” Charles snapped.

Barbara and Adam sighed. Beetlejuice’s morality was a never-ending project that was not without its consequences.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected that it was a good thing the Maitlands loved working on projects together.

*

After the wedding dinner, as Barbara, Adam and Beetlejuice were cleaning up, Lydia came downstairs. She was carrying another photo album and wearing a glum expression. She’d changed out of her party dress, and was wearing a comfy hoodie and sweat pants—all black, of course.

“Got a sec?” she asked quietly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Barbara said.

Lydia showed them a photo—a younger Emily Deetz on a younger Charles’s lap, grinning at the camera in a fancy restaurant.

“My mom and dad’s wedding wasn’t like today’s. There wasn’t any structure. It was just a big party at one of the best restaurants in New York, followed by wandering the city with all their friends and family. They stopped in at dingy bars to listen to live music, they caught a comedy show, they walked through Times Square at two in the morning. They almost got mugged! Mom was hard core like that. Daddy attracts dramatic weddings, doesn’t he?” she joked.

Her smile dropped a second later. “And Daddy looks just as happy here as he did today. I was photographing him and Delia the whole time. I’d know.”

“So,” Beetlejuice said, “the big takeaway here is that Chuck is in love with the women he gets married to?”

Lydia chuckled sadly. “Something like that. I mean, one of them was a woman he met in college, while the other was his employee…. But who cares about things like abuses of power when it’s true love? Daddy and Delia keep trying to make me comfortable with their love story, but how can I be? If it were any other situation, I’d be blasting Daddy online as he stars in the latest MeToo scandal, right?”

Barbara nodded. “You’re right. It’s pretty rare for a story like Delia and Charles’s to end this way. You sound like you’re carrying a lot, Lydia. Do you want to sit and—”

“No, thanks. I just wanted to whine for a bit. Delia’s family seem nice, at least. Except for Aunt Millie, obviously.” She closed the photo album in a short, frustrated gesture. “Well, goodnight, guys.”

“Do you mind if we check in with you tomorrow?” Barbara said. “See how you’re feeling?” Sixteen was such a tough age—particularly when your father was remarrying.

“If you want.” She shrugged, as if she really didn’t care, but her small smile made Barbara hopeful that she’d made the right decision. The only thing more difficult than being a teenager was parenting a teenager she’d just met a few months ago.

Beetlejuice was frowning as Lydia left. “Guys, we gotta help Lyds!” He was nothing if not loyal. “We should break Chuck and Delia up, right?” He leaned in to Adam. “I got the perfect way to do it. You know how Delia thinks Emily can come back from the Netherworld?” Beetlejuice became Emily Deetz for a moment, still with a few mossy patches and green hair. “Well, what if she can? And then we tell Delia to GTFO!”

That he was asking them instead of just doing it was a pretty good sign.

“Well, Bug,” Adam said, “think about it—if Lydia didn’t want this wedding to happen, she could’ve objected herself. Or asked her father not to get married to Delia.”

Beetlejuice became his usual self again, looking disappointed. “Oh. Right. Didn’t think of that.”

“She’s an intelligent, sensitive young woman with complicated feelings about a complicated issue,” Barbara said. “I think the best way to help her is to listen to her without judgement.”

“Why is the right way always the most boring way?” Beetlejuice said, sighing.

Barbara knew how to get him happy again. “Now,” she said, running her hand along his shoulder, “why don’t we finish up and go upstairs? After all this work for everyone else, we deserve some…ah, quality time together.”

Beetlejuice fistpumped and chortled. “Yes! Unfortunately, because of this fic’s rating, we gotta cut it off here. I just wanna let everyone know, it’s gonna be freakin’ awesome—'cuz I’m awesome, baby.”

Barbara had no idea what he was talking about, as usual. Adam kissed her cheek, and they went back to the dishes.

[2nerd4this]

Fluffy prompt: Cathy getting sick and not wanting to admit it bc she knows everyone is stressed and she doesn't want to make it worse. But Catalina like forces her to submit to being looked after (or possibly tricks her into accepting care.) OR Cathy just suddenly feeling really clingy to Lina but trying to suppress it bc she doesn't want to be annoying. Lina though ofc notices this and makes a special point of keeping Cathy close to her bc she can tell she needs it rn.

Heyyy, these were such both good ideas that I decided to combine them. This one’s fairly long, for my standards anyway, and it's completely unedited because it was my coping mechanism for the last few days, so... I hope it’s still alright, or at least makes sense. Thanks for the prompt!

It was foolish- Cathy knows- to assume that she could avoid the virus that was moving through the Queen’s house like a... well- a virus. 

Even the Ladies, who the Queens had started to cut off contact with after the first few cases in an attempt to keep them healthy, were not immune, and Maria, who was adamant that she wouldn’t get it, was currently confined to her bedroom by the others.

But for some reason, Cathy thought she would be fine. It had gotten to the others fairly quickly, and Jane, the last to get it, was almost back to full health. 

Imagine her annoyance, then, when she awoke this morning with a splitting headache and a sore throat, exactly what she had been dreading for weeks.

Groaning, she rolled over and pulled the blankets up over her head. This was the most inconvenient time to be sick. Tonight was supposed to be the first time all six Queens were healthy enough to perform together, and their poor alternates were in desperate need of a break. 

She would just have to suck it up, then. Not only were the others excited and ready to perform all together (finally), they were all also exhausted from taking care of themselves and others for a straight month. Jane, to no fault of her own, had been rendered completely incapable of anything more than walking to the bathroom for a straight week- both because of the illness and the anxiety that accompanied it. That meant that the other five Queens had been spending every waking moment taking care of her or running errands, something that Jane usually took care of.

No- Cathy would be fine. A cold shower, a couple of pills, a warm breakfast. That would be enough, at least to tide her over until after the show. Once she got up and moving, she would be good to go.

.

So that was a lie.

It was almost time to leave for the show and Cathy hadn’t left her room in hours, curled up under the blankets, sweating and shivering and wishing she could just sleep. But each tick of the clock reminded her that she couldn’t- she shouldn’t. Her family needed her.

So when six rolled around, Cathy managed to get herself vertical and presentable, just in time for Anne to yell upstairs that they were leaving in five minutes and that she ‘better get your butt to the car soon or else Kitty’s gonna make you sit in the middle!”

Technically, she couldn’t safely take medicine again for another hour, but if she took some now, she would be able to have one more right before she went on stage. 

It was worth it.

.

When they arrived at the theater, the headache had not lessened as she had hoped. In fact, it had gotten worse. She hadn’t even thought that was possible.

Cathy tried her best to push through, but with warm-up first, she knew there was no way she could disguise her pain much longer.

“Whoa, Cath,” Jane caught her arm as she swayed and stumbled onto the stage, “You alright, love?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” Cathy nodded assuredly. Jane didn’t look convinced, but Joan had already started and she couldn’t do anything but nod and pat her arm gently.

The sixth Queen positioned herself behind the others, against the wall, so they wouldn’t notice as she winced with every loud chord and shivered against the non-existent cold. 

And when warm-up came to a merciful end, she knew it was only the beginning.

Back in her changing room, it was just as loud.

Jane was celebrating her return to the show with an Insta Live, and Kitty was blasting music and singing along at the top of her lungs. 

Cathy did her makeup and hair as quickly as humanly possible, before throwing on her costume haphazardly and escaping the cramped room.

The brief respite the hallway brought caused her to sigh loudly in relief, and when she rounded the corner into the usually deserted stairwell, she slid to the floor immediately, putting her head between her knees and rubbing her temple, closing in on herself to try and stop shaking.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there- time became odd against the pain. At least pass the one-hour call, and she was barely able to make a mental note to keep an ear out for half-hour.

That, clearly, wasn’t going to happen, because it wasn’t until she felt the physical presence of a body next to her did she realize that she wasn’t alone. 

Before she could stop herself, her head shot up, causing her to shut her eyes in pain and groan. 

“Oh, mija,” Catalina’s sympathetic voice echoed loudly in her brain, even though she was probably whispering, and Cathy let out a pathetic whimper.

“Shhh”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Lina whispered, much quieter this time, and Cathy pried her eyes opened and peered up at the older woman. “Oh, honey, you look awful.”

“Wow, thanks,” Cathy quipped, albeit half-heartedly, then immediately regretted it when Lina laughed. “Too loud.”

“Sorry, sorry. Baby- mija... why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m fine, I- I took medicine earlier. I have to do the show- tonight at least. Give the girls a break.”

“You still want to perform?” Catalina asked incredulously, then immediately lowered her tone as her goddaughter winced. “Sorry, mija, I’ll be quiet now, I promise. But- querida, I’m taking you home.”

“No!” Cathy exclaimed, now ignoring the pain. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine, please.”

“Not a chance.” Catalina shook her head, wrapping an arm around the girl to start rubbing soft circles on her back. Cathy sank into the touch immediately. “There’s an alternate on stand-by here, as you... already know, of course, but I can text her right now, alright?”

Cathy whined pathetically, already shifting into her godmother’s warmth. “But madrina, I can-”

“No. That’s final. Don’t argue with me on this, Catherine. It’s a lost cause.”

The use of Cathy’s full name banished any remaining fight she had in her, and she nodded minutely, finally sinking fully against Catalina. The older woman nodded sagely, smirking softly. 

“Good girl. Give me just a second so I can text her and we can go, alright?”

She got no response, but she wasn’t expecting one anyway. Cathy’s eyes were already starting to shut again. 

.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, they were both in Catalina’s car, Cathy’s legs pulled up against her tightly as she shivered slightly from the breeze. The other Queens had understood immediately and reassured her, through text of course, and the alternate had been more than willing to step up. She had been kind of expecting it anyway. 

“Alright, mija, just twenty minutes and then we’ll be home. You can try to sleep if you want.”

Cathy just hummed in return, but that was enough answer for Catalina, who smiled and turned the ignition, then quickly turned the heat up.

The ride home was uneventful, though Cathy didn’t fall asleep. Catalina tried her best to follow all traffic laws, but every time her goddaughter shifted and groaned, her heart clenched and she sped up, just a little.

As such, they arrived back home in a little under fifteen minutes. 

“Cathy, querida, we’re here.”

Catalina rounded the car and helped the girl out of the car, supporting almost all of her body weight. 

She had to admit, she was a little glad that the others had been so sick as well, or else she would be driving Cathy to the hospital right now, based on how miserable she looked. 

“Did you eat dinner? Lunch?”

Cathy simply shook her head, allowing Catalina to lead her inside and straight to the kitchen, deposting her on the nearest stool. Immediately, she started rummaging through the fridge and pulling out assorted food. Because of the recent craziness, they didn’t have much that wouldn’t take an hour to prepare, but she got what they had and set it on the counter in front of Cathy.

“Here you go, mija.”

“I’m not hungry,” Cathy muttered, placing her elbows on the table and putting her head in her hands.

“You have to eat something, querida.” Catalina walked around the counter to rub her goddaughter's back gently, pushing a lock of stray hair behind her hear. “Please, mija. I understand, I do, but you’ll feel better if you eat.”

There was a long pause as Cathy groaned and rubbed her hands over her eyes before she sighed and lowered her head all the way down onto the table. Catalina hummed sympathetically.

“ ‘m sorry, madrina.”

Catalina paused her ministrations momentarily, regarding her goddaughter carefully, then sighed. “What for, mija?”

“Dunno. I shoulda- shoulda said something. Or worked harder to stay healthy, I dunno, I just-” Cathy raised her head a little, turning to peer up at Catalina through hooded eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh querida,” Catalina slid onto the stool next to the girl and pulled her upper body into her arms. “Don’t be. But, yeah, next time- tell me. Please?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good girl,” Catalina chuckled, resting her chin on the younger woman’s head. “Now. Are you sure you don’t want to try and eat?”

“I just want to sleep.”

“Alright,” Catalina conceded, “but afterwards....”

“Sure,” Cathy sighed, and Catalina supposed it was more from the exhaustion than actual agreement. Nevertheless, she smiled.

“Perfect.”

Catalina glanced at the food on the counter, then shook her head. It could survive a few hours out of the fridge. 

“Alright, up we get, mija. My room or yours?”

“Mmmm” Cathy nodded and stumbled to her feet, to little success, as Catalina reached out to steady her.

“Mine it is,” Catalina chuckled. “It’s closer.”

They made it upstairs without incident, and Cathy was quickly tucked away under the covers, sweaty hair matted to the pillow. Catalina flicked the lights off and shut the window, then turned back to her goddaughter.

“I can stay, if you want.”

“Mmm” Cathy hummed, pulling the covers tighter around her. Catalina smirked.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Sweet dreams, mija.”

To no one’s surprise, Catherine slept through the night, the virus counteracting her atrocious sleeping habits.

In fact, no one but Catalina saw Cathy again until lunch the next day.

“Cathy!” Anne exclaimed when the woman came down the stairs. 

Immediately, Catalina shushed her. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, covering her mouth.

“You would think you would have figure that out by now, Anne,” Kitty joked in a whisper. Anne simply shrugged, then patted the chair next to her. Cathy blinked at the second Queen slowly, pausing in the middle of the dining room and glancing over at Catalina.

“Cathy?” Anna questioned softly, tilting her head. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, nothing. Sorry.” Cathy shook her head, rushing over to sit next to Anne. “I’m just tired.”

The others continued to watch her oddly, and Cathy shrunk back into her seat, but Jane soon came to her rescue.

“Food’s ready, girls.”

And everything returned to normal.

.

Except it really wasn’t. 

After lunch, Anne suggested a movie. While they all reassured Cathy that they would understand, they really would, if she wanted to go back upstairs, she simply shook her head and sat in the armchair against the wall, as far from the others as she could get. 

And honestly, the others wouldn’t have thought anything of it, as Cathy seemed to be feeling much better, even laughing along to some of the jokes in the film, except for the fact that she had remained sitting straight up and stiff in the chair for the last hour and a half. 

“Cathy?” Jane asked after the movie, pulling the girl aside as the six scattered. “Are you alright?”

“What? Oh- oh, yeah. I mean,” she chuckled softly, shifting her weight awkwardly. “I have a headache, but it’s fine.”

“Alright...” Jane said, but she didn’t look convinced. “But if you need something- I’m here.” The third Queen reached out to rub the other woman’s arm, but Cathy shied away immediately. Jane pulled back and quickly apologized. “Sorry. How about you go upstairs and take a nap, alright?”

“I’m fine, Jane,” Cathy muttered, a little harsh. “I can take care of myself.”

“Alright.” Jane raised her hands in surrender, stepping back and leaving Cathy a clear path to the stairwell. Cathy glanced between her and it nervously, then slipped past and disappeared up the steps.

Unfortunately for Cathy, her path from the first staircase to the second was blocked. By the one person she didn’t want to see.

“Querida?” Catalina looked up from her basket of laundry to see the distressed look on her goddaughter’s face, and immediately shifted so she was blocking her escape upstairs. “Catherine, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Cathy-” Catalina sighed, setting the basket down and reaching forward to grab the sixth Queen’s arm. Cathy tensed and stepped back, but Catalina held firm. A few moments passed before Cathy sank into the touch. “Querida, how about you come back to my room and take a nap?”

“No, no. I- I was going to go up to my room and rest.” Cathy stepped back, pulling out of her grasp. Catalina sighed.

“Are you sure? I could use the company.”

Cathy paused, shifting her weight from foot to foot, then glanced from Catalina to the laundry basket.

“Laundry can wait.”

“....are you sure?”

“Of course, mija. Come on.”

Catalina led Cathy back to her room, leaving the basket where she sat it down, and straight to the bed. Cathy crawled under the covers and sunk into the pillows, but glanced up in surprise when Catalina followed, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the other side of the blanket up to her waist. 

“Madrina?”

“Is it alright if I sit here to read?”

Cathy eyed her godmother suspiciously for a moment, then dropped her head back onto the pillow.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” Catalina glanced down, head tilting in confusion, but her smirk was obvious. “I’m not doing anything.”

Cathy blinked up at her for a few more seconds, before smiling softly and relaxing back into the mattress. She then scooted closer to her godmother and rested her head on the woman’s leg, allowing her to wrap an arm around her back and rub gently. 

“I get it, mija,” Catalina whispered after a minute or so of silence. “But you don’t have to be worried about that sort of thing with me, alright? I’ll always be here for you.” The older woman leaned down to press a soft kiss to Cathy’s curl-covered forehead and said nothing when the girl in question was clearly blushing darkly. “Go to sleep, querida.”

.

Hours later, when Anne knocked on the door announcing supper, Catalina helped Cathy untangle herself from the covers and led her to the door. 

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Never, mi hija. Even if you were perfectly healthy, I’d understand. If I need space to myself, I’ll tell you, but if I don’t... just assume it’s alright.”

Cathy nodded in understanding, then followed her godmother to the table, sitting down next to her and trying her best to avoid notice as she scooted the chair closer and closer to the older woman. 

And if the others noticed- now or when she didn’t leave Catalina’s side at all that night or when she fell asleep on her lap during the movie they were watching or when Catalina stayed home from the show the next day to or when Cathy slept in her room every night for three days straight- they certainly didn’t say a word. 

[missjanjie]

Branjie Fic | Take Me Back to the Start (8/?)

Title: Take Me Back to the Start Summary:   Everyone remembers their first love. Not everyone carries those feelings from childhood to senior year. Yet Brock is starting his last year of high school while still longing for the relationship he lost five years ago. Meanwhile, José is at the top of the food chain and seems to have it all together. But maybe their story isn’t over yet. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~25.3k (total) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll) Rating: E

Read on AO3

José was never able to sleep the night before a competition, but for some reason, it felt worse tonight. It felt like there was more on the line— not only did he feel the need to live up to the expectations of the coach and everyone on his team, he wanted to be as good as Brock seemed to think he was.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how important Brock’s opinion was to him. Next to his mother, no one else ever seemed to believe in him so unabashedly, and he didn’t have the ‘parental obligation’ that he associated with his mom. Brock believed in him because he wanted to.

And maybe that should have put him at ease; it should be something to take comfort in. Instead it just made him feel like he had more to prove, that he had to prove he was worthy of Brock’s praise.

Either way, it was almost four in the morning and José was as awake as ever, and he knew he would regret it in the morning if he didn’t at least keep trying to get some sleep.

But it became clear that just wasn’t happening, so he texted Brock to see if he was awake.

‘You can’t sleep either?’ Brock sent in response.

‘Nope :(‘

‘Wanna call me?’

José grinned, sitting up in bed. ‘Yeah, one sec,’ he sent before calling him. “What’s got you up, boo?”

“I’m just nervous about tomorrow,” Brock admitted with a sigh. “Everything went well at the game, but it’s gonna be a whole other setting and it’s really gonna be a testament to whether or not I can choreograph or if I ruined everything for everyone.”

That definitely didn’t make José feel any less anxious – if anything, the knot in his stomach tightened. “If it helps, it’s not all on you. We did this together. We either succeed or we flop, but it ain’t all on your head. Or mine.” The last part was a reminder for himself, but it didn’t digress from the point.

“I don’t wanna screw anything up for you, though.”

José didn’t mean to laugh, quickly trying to stop himself. “You think you’re gonna screw something up for me? Boy, you must be really up in your head.”

“You say that like it’s a new development,” Brock retorted dryly. “I can’t help it, I just want everything as close to perfect as physically possible.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” José chuckled. “If you keep tryna be perfect you just gonna create impossible standards. You’re already the best dancer I know; if anything I should be lecturing you about being too arrogant, but you ain’t even cocky.”

Brock sighed with a light laugh. “I think if I started getting cocky I’d just end up apologizing for it,” he chuckled softly, then yawned.

José caught the yawn, rubbing his eyes. “I think we tired each other out,” he mused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As late as it was, they did finally manage to sleep through the night, hoping it’d be enough to get through the next day.

------

Brock had been walking around the building the competition was in, as he’d ended up getting there before the team. But apparently, he had been wandering around too long, because all of a sudden, he looked up and saw Courtney barreling towards him.

“There you are! We started to think you got lost.” She took his hand, guiding him to the waiting area where the team was getting ready.

“Sorry.” He offered a half-hearted apology, now distracted by examining the group and, more specifically, looking for José to see how he was holding up.

José didn’t even notice when Brock arrived, deeply invested in the task at hand. He was standing by the freshmen on the team, fixing their hair and makeup, going over the steps. One girl seemed to look anxious, so he pulled her aside to give her a pep talk that lifted her spirits.

“He’s a real den mother, isn’t he?” Courtney remarked to Brock, who was leaning against the wall and watching him with the fondest of smiles.

“Makes a great team captain,” he agreed.

It was mutually beneficial as well — when José was focusing his attention on keeping the younger teens motivated and in good spirits, he had a solid distraction from his own nerves. If he kept preaching these words of affirmation, maybe he would start believing them himself.

Once the group had dispersed, Brock made his way over to him, pressing a kiss to his temple and giving him a light squeeze. “Holding up okay?”

“Trying to,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck, gaze shifting from the taller teen to the younger group. “It’s the first big competition for most of them, can’t let ‘em see you sweat, you know? They’re all looking to me to have shit together.” His voice was strained, without the distraction, he was back to being consumed with anxiety.

And Brock picked up on it, squeezing his shoulders and staring at him until José gave in and made eye contact. “Listen to me, we’re here because you’re an amazing captain. They look up to you because you’ve been an incredible role model this whole time. I don’t just believe in you because I like you, I believe in you because you’re one of the most talented, hard-working people I’ve ever met.”

Despite his stubborn efforts, José relaxed at his words. He realized he’d needed a pep talk just as much as his younger teammates. “Thanks.” He looked up at Brock, giving up any attempt at hiding the smile that fought its way to his lips. “Couldn’t have done it without you, though.”

“I’m glad I could help, but you guys are gonna be the ones tearing it up, and I’ll be cheering for you the whole time,” he promised.

Shortly after that, the squad was given a ten-minute warning, and Brock made his way out to the bleachers. He was sitting for about a moment before he looked up to see a familiar face joining him. “You again?” he joked.

“Yes, I’ve been stalking you this whole time.” Karl chuckled. “I’ve never seen a cheer competition before, do they all just perform their routines and that is it?”

“Neither have I, now that I think of it,” he shrugged. “But yeah, I can safely assume that’s the gist of it.”

Karl furrowed his brows. “You haven’t? Has José not been competing?”

Brock shook his head. “No, no, he has. But we… went a few years without talking, only picked back up recently.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

He couldn’t tell if the question came from disbelief or genuine confusion, pressing his lips together and looking out ahead of him. “José and I have a unique history. Guess at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter, mostly just happy with the page we’re on now.”

“Mostly?”

Brock pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if being this nosy was a French trait, or something specific to this teen. “Everything is a work in progress, but things are going in the right direction,” he concluded. “How are you and Charlie?”

The expression that overtook Karl wasn’t unfamiliar to Brock — giddy, warm, rosy cheeks with an offset gaze—it was the same lovesickness that had plagued him since childhood. Only this time, he wasn’t looking in a mirror, and it brought a sense of relief to him, that he wasn’t alone in the smitten boat, so to speak. “Things are good,” he answered. “Very good.”

“I can tell. You two are good for each other,” he mused. “Don’t let anything get in the way of that.”

Karl nodded, then both of them shifted focus to the floor as their school’s team entered. The music began to play and the routine began, both of their eyes trained on every moment.

When it ended, Brock realized he had been holding his breath the whole routine. He stood up and cheered as the air returned to his lungs, filled to the brim with pride and admiration - it couldn’t have gone better if he tried, and a weight lifted off his chest.

But the nerves came back with a vengeance when it came time to announce the winners. Third place was announced, and after second, Brock was starting to get nervous. He was on the edge of his seat when the first place was announced.

“Holy shit, we won.” Brock didn’t register the cheering or Karl shaking him. He was stunned. That really happened. All of their hard work actually paid off in a tangible manner. It wasn’t until the noise had died down that he came back to earth. As soon as the team exited, he got up and ran to meet them on the other side.

The second José spotted Brock, he sprinted towards him. He didn’t say a word, just grabbed him by the face and kissed him hard, not letting go until his lungs gave him no other choice.

Brock wrapped his arms around José’s waist, picking him up and spinning him around. “That was amazing!” He kissed his cheek before setting him down. “I am so proud of you.”

“We did it!” José beamed when his words were no longer escaping him. His face was red and his eyes were wide, sparkling with enthusiasm and pairing perfectly with a smile that could outshine the sun itself. “We really fuckin’ did it.”

They did have to break apart when the rest of the team crowded around in collective celebration. Parents were running in to congratulate their children, people started to scatter as they posed for pictures with their medals.

José was the first to notice his and Brock’s mothers walking towards them. He chuckled softly, the two women were chatting animatedly, as if no time at all had passed since the last time they were in a room together. He admired the effortlessness in their camaraderie, it led him to believe that things could actually be normal between himself and Brock. “Aw look, they getting along.”

Brock chuckled. “What, did you think it was gonna be like the Capulets and Montagues?” He received a blank stare in response. “Romeo and Juliet?”

“Oh yeah, with Leonardo DiCaprio.” He nodded confidently, and they were embraced by their moms before Brock could offer a response.

------

It was getting late; the cheerleaders were starting to taper off after the celebration dinner. Everyone was a bit tired, but spirits were high and bright.

“Do you wanna come over? Maybe spend the night?” José asked with his mouth half full, washing the bite down with a swig of water. He and Brock hadn’t left each other’s sides since the win, they’d even been squished together in the restaurant booth until people started to leave.

Brock grinned, setting his napkin down on the empty plate. “Sure, if your mom doesn’t mind.”

“Naw, you were always her favorite anyway.” He chuckled, waiting for him to slide out of the booth so he could follow suit, and they walked out to his car with linked arms.

The drive back was quiet – Brock seemed lost in thought and José chose to focus on the road than press him about it. They’d had a long day, after all, he was sure if it was worth bringing up, it’d come out eventually.

Once they were finally in José’s bedroom, they were as relaxed as ever, watching Real Housewives reruns and getting just high enough to not know what city they were in. They had their own running commentary going, one that started as jokes and devolved into just mimicking what the women said in nasally, valley girl voices.

But after a while, the TV faded into the background, and they became more invested in their cuddling. And then cuddling turned to kissing, which led to groping.

“I think we should have sex,” Brock said suddenly.

José blinked in surprise, taking a moment to make sure he’d actually heard him correctly and he wasn’t so high that he had started to hear things (which would’ve been improbable with the meager amount of weed they smoked, but he could never be too sure). “Are you sure?”

Brock just nodded simply. “Uh-huh. I mean, I’ve been wanting to for a while now, but I, you know, overthought it every time and chickened out,” he explained, for once not feeling like he was struggling to stay calm.

He let out a laugh because yes, that was very on-brand for Brock and knew for sure that he was being sincere. “Well, if we’re being real right now, I have been wanting you to fuck me since the rain cockblocked us at the park.”

It brought him a relief to know that these feelings had been mutual for a while now, though it made him feel ridiculous that he’d been so adamant about holding out and hiding away. They could’ve crossed this path weeks ago, but he quickly concluded it was better late than never. “Then what are we waiting for?” he asked, pulling José into a kiss before he could answer.

Not that there was anything José felt like he needed to add. He kissed back with all the eagerness that had been building up over what felt like ages now. He was gripping onto Brock by his shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank it off and toss it aside, his own following immediately after.

Brock was amused at the speed and dexterity the brunette expressed when he wanted something done, and he decided that all he needed to do was keep up with him. So, he scrambled to get out of his jeans, to get them both undressed as fast as the delayed connection between his brain and his hands allowed.

“Tell me if you wanna slow down or stop or anything.” The difference in their speeds had become apparent enough to José. Even without a request, he quelled his pace so they were at a similar rhythm, one that soon felt effortless to both of them. He waited for a beat, then reached into his drawer and handed him a bottle of lube.

“We don’t need a condom?” Brock asked, examining the bottle and figuring out what he needed to do next.

José shrugged. “Nah, you a virgin, and I tested clean. Might as well make your first time even better, you know?” He had always used protection with Kyle, insisting it was for safety. Despite being technically true, in the back of his mind, he knew it was because he never completely trusted that he was his only partner. Perhaps in another place and time, it would’ve bothered him, but he didn’t care anymore, and it was a freeing revelation.

Brock, on the other hand, accepted the explanation at face value. “That works for me.” He hummed, waiting for José to lay back. “You, um, need to prep first, right? Or am I supposed to do it?”

“You getting nervous already. Lemme do it,” he decided, taking the bottle back from him. “Pay attention, so you know what to do next time.”

He smiled, the idea that ‘next time’ was a given settled well with him, it made him feel warmth swell in his chest. “Should I take notes?” he joked, sitting cross-legged on the bed. But as he immediately realized, notes would not be necessary. Watching José surpassed any porn he’d ever watched. It had him hypnotized and practically drooling, he was absentmindedly jerking off to the sight that he couldn’t look away from if he tried.

And José absolutely adored the attention and tried to put on a show without being too loud. He worked himself just to the point of readiness, easing his fingers out and looking up at Brock. “You ready, big guy?”

“You fucking bet I am,” Brock chuckled softly. He took the bottle and used the lube to slick up his length, then very carefully guided himself into him, grunting softly as he did. It took him a moment to adjust, the feeling so new and overwhelmingly pleasurable.

José waited patiently for Brock to get comfortable. He already felt so good just having him buried inside him, just holding him close, one hand on his back and the other tangled in his hair. And when Brock started thrusting, he yielded to his movements right away.

Brock’s moans went from cursing and words of praise to unintelligible nonsense faster than he could’ve anticipated. His thrusts were a bit unsteady but deep and fervent. His hands were at either side of José, balancing himself until he moved one to grab his waist, giving him a better angle to continue.

Time faded out of relevance as the thrusts became more desperate and erratic, the two of them clinging to each other for dear life. It could’ve been anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours – they didn’t know, nor did they care. By the time they were both spent, they were lost in their own little world. Nothing else mattered, they could bask at this moment forever.

“So was it good for you?” José asked when he finally caught his breath and the room stopped spinning so much.

Brock snorted, covering his mouth. “Yes. It was very, very good,” he replied, wrapping his other arm around the smaller male and holding him close. “It was good for you too, right?”

“Of course it was.” He huffed as if it should’ve been obvious.

“Just checking,” he cooed and kissed his forehead, then yawned as he closed his eyes. “At least tonight we’re gonna sleep really well.”

José buried his face into Brock’s chest, mumbling a sleepy “Uh-huh.”

Brock exhaled deeply, holding him close, then gently whispering, “I love you.”

He got a loud snore in response and he laughed to himself. Maybe it was for the best, he thought as he started to drift off. The right time would come eventually.

[dearyou-itsmeagain]

Platonic Dasey Au

Ok but Ashley and Michael are definitely the inspiration for this. Living in such mad support of each other but not like that..this time ;)

A Planet and Her Moon

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539803)

During college, they did get closer. They became best friends, each with a spare key to the others place and an open invitation. They'd watch hockey and movies and fight over the remote but the days of hormone-spiked feelings (the whole damn spectrum, it used to feel like for them) were gone. It was easier to fight because they knew their boundaries.

But they would step over them sometimes.

Derek toeing it to spark a reaction he wanted; sometimes a Casey-patented 'der-ek', sometimes a giggle, but never anything that would tip them out of balance.

Casey, always the rule follower, found loop-holes instead. She'd lean into him to get his attention in a crowded room, knowing he'd always put his arm around her shoulder, rubbing his fingers across the seam of her t-shirts.

As a result of them calming down, the family fell closer together. Edwin would call Casey for girl advice, because lets face it, he did not want to follow in every one of his brother's footsteps. Lizzie would call Derek about different ways to fix the soreness in her muscles hours and hours of soccer practice had caused. Marti would call them both, just before she'd go to bed. She was getting too old for bed time stories but she'd talk about her week and then drift off as they told her about theirs.

Then at one of Derek's games, she meets him. His the new center just transplanted in in the middle of the season because he's good, really good. Derek tried not to like the guy but he's genuinely just a really good guy. So the three of them hang out sometimes. He doesn't get weird when they do or say something normal step-siblings shouldn’t, like an innuendo taken too far or a hand resting somewhere for just a step too long.

He'd ask her out and Casey would look at Derek for the answer. It was Derek who told him yes. It was Derek who took her shopping for an outfit. It was Derek who called Emily to come help with her hair and makeup that night.

And so Casey took it as a blessing. She knew they'd missed their mark too.

When the goalie dropped her off, it was at Derek's, even though he'd picked her up at her apartment. Still he got out of the car, opened her door, and held her hand as they walked to the door.

"You knew I'd come here anyway, huh?" Casey was tense as he chuckled at her question. "I know how important it is that he likes me and was hoping the date was good enough to want to spill right away," he looked her in the eyes while he smiled. They were warm and bright, even if she did wish she'd see a hint of wild. Casey would stand in front of him outside of Derek's front door, knowing he was right inside. He'd texted her to check if he should pick up wine or more beer.

"I want this to work," the goalie would say, "Can I call you tomorrow for the verdict?" His smile was infectious and she'd giggle and nod and pull him in for a hug.

It would work. They'd have a summer wedding many, many years down the line. The McDonald/Venturi Clan would spend the week before the wedding in a house on the beach on Prince Edward Island.

Casey would have her feet in the water at the edge of the homes dock right at sunset. Derek would gently nudge her, pulling her back before she'd even come close to falling in, giggling as he sat next to her, his arm in its spot around her shoulders.

She'd place her head of his shoulder and sigh and he'd know what it meant.

"Case, it'll all be fine. He loves you, you love him, the wedding is going to go off without a single hitch because some how you convinced me not to do anything to ruin it. But come on! It'd be for the memories, you only get married once Casey, might as well get it right." She'd look up at him in that way and he'd freeze. "I'm just going to get it as right as I can, " She'd smile to ease the tension that crossed his shoulders, rubbing her fingers along his spine to help it dissipate faster. Derek would pull her closer, press a kiss to her hairline, and leave the conversation at that, keeping their boundaries firmly in place.

The morning of the wedding, she's all smiles. Everything has gone right so far, she thinks, before she sees Derek still in his sweats, 25 minutes before she's supposed to walk down the aisle.

"Der-ek! Why are you not dressed? Are you trying to drive me crazy?" She'd huff as she pulls him toward where she knows his tux is; she'd placed it there herself after all. His head was still thrown back laughing as she pulls all his clothes together for him, "Come on Princess, I'm not even the star of the show here, who cares what I look like?" "I do! You will not be ruining my wedding photo's Derek!" He'd grab her shoulders as she starts to unbutton the dress shirt before taking it off the hanger, and turns her around.

"Casey, take a deep breath," She'd confused why he's so serious until she realizes she's on the verge of hyperventilating. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help, "Hey, hey Case, look at me."

It'd all stop when their eyes meet and after a few moments she registers his hands slipping up and down her arms. She closes her eyes and isn't nearly as shocked as she should be, even now, when he pulls her into a hug.

"Hey, everything is alright. I'm not dressed because the flower delivery was late and they needed an extra hand and I didn’t want to get anything on my tux. I would never ruin this for you case okay?" She'd nod into his chest, hoping she'd be able to fix her makeup after this.

They wouldn’t talk about it. Nor would they talk about how he stared at her when she walked down the aisle, how their eyes caught when the goalie turned away to take the rings from his best man.

They would just continue through life in a constant orbit of each other. Some times closer than others. Derek knows he feels more like a moon to her planet but he doesn’t think it'll do any good to talk about it.

So he writes and directs and creates these amazing short films. Everyone is surprised by the emotion in it for Derek Venturi who would stutter the word f-f-feelings, except Casey.

Her and the Goalie would come to screenings, always wielding this huge bouquet of daises, just for Derek. He and the goalie would chat as he overheard her telling people what a wonderful film it'd been, handing out HIS business cards whenever she felt like the person on the other side of the conversation was worthy.

When he won his first award, he thanks her first. It becomes tradition, "I'd like to first and foremost thank my best friend Casey for supporting me through this." Then he'd continue with the standard designed thank you speech.

He'd date but never anything serious. He was content to sit and watch and orbit. He knew he'd given up true happiness when he'd said yes to the goalie for Casey, but she'd earned it this time. He’d do it again and again just to see her as happy as any princess could be.

[n0nesse]

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒   ♡   𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

  Instead of having people send these in I just wanted to do all of them myself!

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them?  

All Scanners share virtually the same physical form, and all YoRHa units use the same base endoskeleton, though the hardware differs between function. They’re short and small-framed to save the maximum amount of materials while still being able to effectively perform their duties. 9S has never felt self-conscious about himself physically because he looks almost identical to every other Scanner and there was never any pressure on any of them to look a certain way like there is with humans. They have no ability to change their height or weight (though non-YoRHa androids can do so for aesthetic purposes if they choose) and it’s forbidden by their uniform code to modify their bodies anyway. 

Since coming to Koi, 9S is quite aware now that he would be very short for a human of his apparent age, but he doesn’t feel bad about it or anything, other than occasionally being irritated at getting mistaken for a kid.

🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it?  

As mentioned before, it’s forbidden for YoRHa units to try and alter their bodies, even if it’s for something like a tattoo or piercing. 9S doesn’t feel like he has any reason to do so right now, but that might change in the future. He doesn’t care if others do it. It’s their choice to do what they want with their bodies, as long as they understand the consequences.

🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick?

9S knows maintenance is extremely important, and he is fairly accident-prone it seems. He’s had a limb or two blown off by machines more than once. Although he’s not a Healer unit, he’s gotten used to performing repairs on himself in the field and gets fussy if he has to sit around and wait while someone else fixes him up or checks him for viruses. As an android, he’s immune to biological pathogens, so there’s never any reason to worry about that. Currently he is functioning just fine.

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy?  

An android’s mind doesn’t work the same way as a human’s, but it’s still very possible for their data to get scrambled or glitched due to trauma. 9S was supposedly wiped clean after every execution, but that doesn’t mean nothing ever remained, and every time he rediscovered the true reason for his partnership with 2B it became more and more painful to confront. 

9S does an excellent job at convincing himself he’s stable, but it’s quite easy to push him over the brink. His emotions are terribly repressed so one needs only to scratch the surface to draw them out. He really should talk to somebody about this but there are no therapists on the Bunker.

🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?  

9S really likes to be clean! Although it’s not necessary for androids to bathe, since their bodies are naturally resistant to dirt and moisture and they don’t sweat, he doesn’t enjoy getting all dusty or covered in machine oil and will wash himself off the first chance he gets.  He finds being dirty very distracting. Keeping one’s dermal layer repaired is a vial part of maintenance as well, so he mends any small cuts or scuffs quickly. 

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  

Although Scanners are often solitary, 9S really enjoys being around others and will eagerly socialize with other androids. If only the resistance members wouldn’t stop trying to get him to run errands for them... He’s friendly with the other Scanners and will spend time with them if they’re on the Bunker together, though they seem to hold him at arms’ length for reasons he understands now. 

2B is a special case, being his bodyguard of sorts. She could even be considered his best friend, and though his feelings of fondness for her are genuine, they’re very complicated. He’s happy she’s here. He’s also thrilled to be making so many new friends on the islands and does his best to make a good first impression, especially with humans. 

🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood?  

9S was ‘born’ fully-functional and did not have a childhood of any sort. He didn’t even get to shadow a senior Scanner or anything, he was thrown right to the wolves. Such as it is.

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?  

Uncommonly clever and observant, even among his own kind, though prone to making reckless decisions when driven by his emotions or his insatiable desire for answers. 9S has access to vast informational databases he can draw from, even in his own archives, with even more stored on his Pod he could summon at any time... if his Pod was here.

🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why?  

Winter. Everything is buried, dormant, appearing quiet and serene on the surface.

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them? 

9S doesn’t mind helping others, though he can get irritated if given tasks he feels will distract from his mission, or that are boring or too difficult. When it comes to helping the surface androids, they more often than not involve combat with machines and him and 2B risking their lives, which he finds completely annoying, and not fun, but he still does it anyway.

🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes?  

Relationships between YoRHa units are officially banned, though the rule is not enforced very strictly. 9S has a hard time comprehending the complexity of romance and prefers not to think about it, perhaps unconsciously convinced he doesn’t deserve to have anybody feel that way about him. 

🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them? 

I would imagine, based on his youthful appearance and friendly, earnest demeanor, a lot of people would assume he’s a lot more naive than he really is. 9S lacks a lot of knowledge about how modern society functions, but that’s because he arrived 6,000 years too late to the party. He picks up on things extremely quickly and is quite socially perceptive. Fitting in is important to him, having come from such a conformist culture as YoRHa. 

🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits, interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it?  

9S is more interested in human culture than most Scanners and especially enjoys collecting human-created media, particularly music, which he stores on his Pod and plays when he’s out scouting. He’s had a great time in Koi renting movies from the library, because entertainment options back home were extremely limited. He’s also gotten into fishing because of 2B.

🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?  

As an android, 9S doesn’t require food to live. He can’t feel hunger or satiation. YoRHa units are powered entirely by the reactors in their black boxes, which only require water to function. Most of the time they can get all the fuel they need from vapor in the air they breathe, though in dry climates they’d need to find a water source. 

However, eating is an important communal activity, so they have a limited ability to do so. They don’t have stomachs or digestive systems. Any matter they consume is incinerated as soon as it’s swallowed. As a Scanner, 9S can analyze the chemical makeup of things he tastes, so he’s always putting weird shit in his mouth just to see what it’s made of. He enjoys eating with others, especially after difficult missions. It’s relaxing, even if the food is usually terrible because nobody has proper ingredients.

🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero? did they move away,  or do they wish to?

9S doesn’t have a hometown, unless the orbital base he was manufactured on counts. He doesn’t like spending extended amounts of time there, because there’s not much to do, but returning is often required in order to meet with the commander and receive mission details. It’s kinda nice to be able to look down at Earth from space, though...

[afrodeitiess]

Wedding Bells

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 | Prologue

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tony Stark x Black!Oc

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1780 Words

          THE CREAMY WHITE wedding dress seemed to become tighter with each growing second, constructing her breathing and pushing her chest together so that her breasts had no other direction to go but up, up, up.

         Topanga Woods has never once imagined that she'd be here. She'd never thought that she would ever choose to spend the rest of her life with one person and she remembered being quite averse to the idea of marriage. She was as stubborn as they came and that she was no picnic to be around. The idea of marriage has always felt very far away, like some inevitable fate that would one day catch up with her and drain all of the light from her life.

          Every single time that her father had brought up the topic of marriage before, she'd always said that she'd die all alone and surrounded by a million cats and while her stance on the cats still had not changed, it was now hard to imagine her life without Tony Stark. It was difficult to say exactly when her feelings for the millionaire, playboy genius, philanthropist - his words, not hers - had suddenly morphed from hatred to mere tolerance and eventually to love but she'd never imagined that she'd be so excited at the prospect of walking down the aisle and becoming his wife.

         Despite all of this, Topanga felt an iron grip over her heart, squeezing and wrenching until she felt as if she could just crawl into a hole and die. She'd known to expect this as she'd lived her entire with anxiety and she was always second-guessing her decisions and sweating the simple things but all of her fears and doubts were bubbling over inside of her.

          What sort of wife would she make? She wasn't the most accommodating person and she required her standard eight hours of sleep to function. Topanga had a tendency to self-destruct, to simply give up or ruin something before she could end up hurt and alone. Being with Tony made her happy and she loved being able to wake up next to him every morning and being able to make him smile with a simple corny joke. She loved him and she wanted the best for him but she couldn't shake the feeling that he deserved better. Somebody else.

        Besides, the title of Tony Stark's wife would definitely be different from all of the ones that she'd occupied previously. They'd started out as enemies and rivals and with time, they became friends and eventually, she was his girlfriend and then lover. And in the sum of a few years, she'd managed to add fiancée to the list and now, she was taking in the title of his wife.

         What sort of mother would she make? She hadn't known her own mother as anything other than the woman had left her father soon after she was born. All that Topanga had ever had was her father and a letter from the woman who had birthed her. She didn't particularly care for her mother. What a pair she and Tony made with their various mommy and daddy issues.

         Topanga allowed herself to chuckle at her own thoughts and shift ever so slightly. The little movement was enough to catch her seamstress' attention. "Stop moving. You're going to mess up your dress and then you'll have to walk down the aisle looking like a mess." Topanga adhered to her instruction and resisted the urge to retort that stating all of the things that could go wrong was not helping her anxiety at all. She was already singing that song to herself on repeat.

         Within half an hour, her makeup was all done and Topanga was grateful, although she couldn't feel her face. She sat in front of the mirror and glanced over her shoulder to make sure that her makeup artist wasn't looking before she wiped furiously at the vivid red lipstick that she'd painted all over her lips. "Are you decent?" Topanga heard a voice call from the door. She could recognize her best friend's voice anywhere.

         "Decent," she called to Alex and she heard two sets of footsteps from the door.

         "It's nothing I haven't seen before anyways," a voice called and the words were followed by a low chuckle. Topanga could hardly stop the smile that perched itself on her lips, despite her upset feelings. Her husband-to-be. She turned around to find Tony stumbling into the room, hands over his eyes.

         "I found him outside straight up freaking out," Alexis explained as she led Tony by the arm further into the large room.

         "I was not freaking out. Tony Stark doesn't freak out."

         Topanga scoffed underneath her breath as she could recall several times that he'd done just that. She smiled at him, although he couldn't see her and picked up the bottom of her dress and she waved off the makeup artist to give them some time alone. "Hey baby," she greeted him.

         "Hey," he returned and despite her closed eyes, she could hear the smile in his voice. "I wasn't sure if it was seeing the bride or talking to her on the wedding day that's bad luck."

         Topanga chuckled at him and turned around before instructing him to do the same. "What's wrong?" she asked, taking a step in his general direction and she heard him do the same. "You're not going to disappear on me, are you?" Her tone was joking and for the most part, she was but she couldn't help the fear that crept into her mind and her moisture that seemed to materialize on her palms.

         "I would never. Besides, I highly doubt that there's any distance that would stop you from hunting me down and making my life hell," he said, laughing lightly as stepped to the right in the direction of her voice.

         "True," Topanga admitted with a shrug. She took another step back, using the sound of his voice as a guide. "All of these preparations are getting to me. It would be much easier if we just eloped."

         Tony's answer came far too quickly for her comfort. It seemed that he, too, was second-guessing everything. "We still could. We could run away from here and get engaged in Vegas. It's really nice there this time of the year. I know people there that can marry us for little to no money - I did that once, true story - and then we can honeymoon around the world and come back and show off the tan that we don't have."

         Topanga's brow jutted up at the insinuation that Tony had been married once although she was sure that it was another story from his crazy life and she wasn't all that excited to hear about it. She lifted her feet back one step towards him. This time she was sure that she was close. She could feel it. She lifted her hand to grab his and was met with cool air. "To your left, Tony. No, not my left. Your left."

     This time she reached back and her skin made contact with his and she wrapped her hand around him and exhaled quietly. She rested her back against him and their hands intertwined behind them and suddenly, nothing mattered. Not the doubts that she was having or the too-tight dress or Tony's Vegas story. All of her doubts were reduced to whimpering whispers at the back of her mind. She felt Tony exhale and slump a bit. "Where is all this coming from, Tony?" she asked after the silence became too much bear.

         "I'm not sure," he whispered to her as they both sunk to the ground, not caring that it would be really bad if her dress was stained. "You know that I never really pictured myself getting married. Commitment? Gross, right. But I always figured that I would eventually and I love you. I absolutely want to spend the rest of my life with you but I don't know, I just always thought if I ever did get married, that my mom would be there."

        Topanga couldn't think of anything to say. They talked about everything but while they'd talked about his parents before, she knew that it was a touchy subject for him. She wasn't sure that there was anything that she could say that would fix it so she didn't say anything. She simply rubbed circles at the back of his hand. It wasn't much but to Tony, it was everything. She was there and that was all that mattered the most. Still, he couldn't stop himself from voicing his fears to her. "Do you think we're making a mistake?"

         Topanga sighed. "I really don't know." There was something quite daunting about having to voice her worried out loud. Even if it was to the person who knew her best. She got the sense that she didn't have to say it anyway. He already knew. "I hope not but we're human and making mistakes is what we do best. We're all too skilled at shattering but we're together, right? And we'll always be able to put the pieces back together."

          Topanga wasn't sure if she believed it or if she was simply trying to convince herself but she really hoped it was true because she'd found something great with Tony and she wasn't willing to give it up. Not now.

         A beat passed between them.

         "God, I really want to kiss you right now," Tony commented, his fingers playing with hers. "You know that I'm absolutely in love with you, right?"

         "You've said it once or twice," she laughed at him and she was surprised to find that she didn't feel as awful as she did before. If anything, she was in a hurry to put a ring on him and officially make him hers. "I love you." She leaned back against him and he squeezed her hands tighter as if she was his only tether to the world around him.

         Topanga couldn't help but think that everything would be okay. They were only two people and they were, by no means, perfect but they were together and they were in the eye of the storm. It was quiet and perhaps that was all they'd ever have but it was them against the world and that was more than enough for the two troubled souls.

___________________

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄.

━ So that was the first chapter and it’s kind of tame and not nearly as emotional as the rest of the story will get but I hope you enjoyed it. Like and reblog if you did

[lenobyahhon]

Unexpected Surprises

Okay, soo here’s my first Hayffie fanfic based on a prompt by @giulytrinka ! Hope it is kinda what you wanted.

I’m not sure I like it... I found incredibly hard to write the dialogues and I kinda wanted it to be bigger (at least 1000 words) but I finished at 975...

Also, I haven’t written much in English for the past two years, sooo any grammar mistakes or sentences that aren’t clear, please let me know!

______________________________________

Both twelve’s tributes were dead within the first ten minutes of the game, as usual. Effie knew that would happen, the outcome had been so painfully obvious as soon as she saw the two young and skinny figures coming up the stage on Reaping day, but she still couldn’t stop the overwhelming sense of devastation from invading her.

“Finally figured out it’s not gonna get any better, sweetheart?”

Haymitch’s words as he stood up and left the penthouse echoed her mind days later. They hadn’t seen each other since, between his outings until almost dusk and her waking up early.

It is probably better this way. Effie thought looking at the already stained makeup remover cloth in her hand. In the past two years working as twelve’s escort she and Haymitch had got their fair share of bickering, and although the sexual tension -and even she had to admit to herself, the tension was pretty sexual- was building up, the arguments weren’t going away any time soon.

It was barely past midnight, but Effie was making herself ready to bed, her face bare and natural blond hair falling just before her shoulders, when the loud noises just outside her bedroom door began.

She took a deep breath before stepping out, already expecting a very drunk Haymitch.

“Ah, there you are sweetheart.”

He leaned into her and she instantly put his arm over her shoulder in an already familiar way.

“You reek of alcohol. Again.” Effie made little tsk tsk sound as she led them to his room. “What was it this time? Liquor? Rum?”

As he mumbled something incomprehensible she had to remind herself once again why did she do these sort of things that simply weren’t in the contract she had signed when she became an escort. Twelve simply needs good publicity, and that can’t be achieved with a victor that reeks, drink and dresses like that.

“Oh,” Effie looked around the messy room, going for the bed “I don’t understand how you are able to turn such a nice room into a pigsty in days.”

She tried to let go of him when they reached the bed but he didn’t seem to want to take his arms away from her, instead Haymitch embraced her harder.

“Ya know, Chaff couldn’t shut up tonight, he kept repeating how he thought you had a great fucking ass.” He commented as he buried his face in her hair.

Nice she thought drunk clingy Haymitch.

She realized he wasn’t completely out of it when she partly dropped, partly pushed him on the bed and his eyes actually focused on hers. She avoided the contact by shifting her attention to his shoes, an action she had mastered over the last two years.

“Well, as much as I find Chaff’s ways rude” Effie inclined her head “I must agree with him”.

He started getting up and Effie jumped back with the sudden motion.

“I wanna take a shower” he growled under his breath, clearly upset with his friends’ comment, as he turned in the direction of the bathroom.

She followed him with her eyes, more shocked than she would let show. “It’s good to know that even you have standards for when filthiness becomes too much”.

“Yeah, sorta” Haymitch said as he went to the bathroom “could you help me with the clothes, princess?”

“Fine, let me try to find some clean ones.” She automatically turned, so certain that’s what he had meant by helping with clothes, that she didn’t even considered anything else. “It would not hurt to put them to wash every once in a while, you know.”

The lack of response wasn’t surprising. What she saw when she came back with a pair of clean socks and a relatively clean sweat pants was. He was standing completely naked in the middle of the bathroom.

“Oh my god,” her eyes were wide and for more than a second she couldn’t look away “where is your sense of decency?!” Only after she realized he had a smirk on his face Effie looked at the roof not inclined to admit the sight was rather pleasing. “I really do not have great expectations when it comes to you, but that is way too much”

He came closer, taking the clothes from her arms and putting them on the sink.

She could feel his breath filled with alcohol near her, and without her heels on she was a whole head shorter than him so looking up wasn’t really working anymore. Looking straight seemed like the best option in that case, she could only see his chest in front of her. Trying to keep her expression blank Effie made a point of not looking down.

He got a lock of her blonde hair between his fingers. Haymitch got his face closer, taking a deep breath to smell her, she was completely frozen. The energy that pulled her towards him was so clear it took all her self-control not to lift her face and lock her mouth in his.

“You’re my escort.”

With a sudden move that made her tense Haymitch put his arms around her, holding her tight. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown she could feel more of him that she was comfortable with in that situation.

He’s drunk. She had to remind herself in a futile attempt of slowing her heart.

“I think it would be better if you took that shower now.” Effie slowly pushed him away, going for the shower’s tap.

As soon as he let go of her Effie quickly got out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Effie only stopped when she reached her bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it. With a hand on her forehead she tried to control her breath.

Oh, their next encounter was going to be so awkward.

[5hfanfiction]

2AM in L.A. - Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Sleeping With Strangers

It might have been the light, might have been her parched lips, might have been the splitting headache. Might have been some combination of the three. In any case, Lauren awoke, miserable, trying to figure out which to fix first. She rolled onto her side, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the coffee table beside her. No idea whose glasses they were, whose couch she was sleeping on, whose house she was in, or who the partially dressed girl beside her was.

In spite of the many questions swirling around Lauren’s scattered brain, she wasn’t surprised by what she had awoken to. The nights spent alone, sober and in her own bed had become few and far between. This was just another Saturday morning, waking up in a stranger’s apartment. She sat up, instantly regretting the quick change in position, and grabbed the trash can beside her. Whatever was left of last night’s dinner came flying back up as Lauren emptied the contents of her stomach into the bin. Nobody else in the room was conscious enough to hear her as she stumbled to the bathroom to brush the taste out of her mouth. There were a few toothbrushes sitting beside the sink – none were hers, but she grabbed the cleanest looking one and made a mental note to use a few extra rounds of mouthwash.

As she brushed, she caught a glimpse of her disheveled hair and makeup in the mirrors, and noticed the shirt she was wearing certainly wasn’t hers. Breathing in, the mixed scent of sweat, weed and women’s perfume on the shirt quickly told her that last night, once again, hadn’t been spent alone. There was a familiarity to the perfume. It was gentle but distinct. Flowery, but powerful. She knew it instantly. It was the same fragrance Camila used to wear. Lauren closed her eyes, the familiar smell taking her back to the days she’d tease Camila for insisting on wearing the same perfume every day. Back then, it seemed tiresome. Now Lauren silently thanked her for the lifetime of memories that scent now brought back. It was no longer just another perfume; it was Camila’s tender touch, her eyes, her laugh, her smile.

Shaking herself from the nostalgic daze, Lauren finished brushing her teeth with the stranger’s toothbrush, took a few swigs of the stranger’s mouthwash, and used whatever she could find in the stranger’s cabinets to at least make herself somewhat presentable. Looking hungover on Saturday morning was standard, but between the stranger’s shirt and last night’s makeup, Lauren was verging on looking truly homeless. As she crept back through the quiet apartment, careful not to disturb the few dozen people passed out in various rooms, in various positions, she tried to piece together anything she could remember from the previous night. There were dozens of empty bottles scattered throughout the rooms, and assorted drugs and drug paraphernalia on any flat surface. Lauren caught a glimpse of her purse tossed into the corner of the entryway, a wave of relief washing over her as she looked through it and found everything still there.

She pulled out her phone and texted Dinah.

Lauren: wanna come pick me up and then get breakfast? Dinah: girl it’s nearly 2:00. breakfast window closed a long time ago Dinah: and where tf are you anyways? Lauren: fine lmao wanna come get me and then get lunch? Dinah: fine. send me your location Lauren: thx boo boo

Twenty minutes later Lauren’s phone buzzed.

Dinah: i’m outside but i needa pee. can i come up? Lauren: lmao ya it’s penthouse

A few minutes later the elevator opened and Dinah stepped out.

“Shit, Lauren,” she said quietly, taking in her surroundings as she wove her way past the drugs, bottles and people still passed out on the floor. “Are you good?”

“Are you here to judge or to use the bathroom?” Lauren asked, only semi-joking. She waited outside the bathroom door, still hoping she’d find her own shirt from last night, but somehow knowing that it was a lost cause. Dinah emerged moments later, trying valiantly to hide the judgment and concern she was feeling.

The two girls left the apartment and headed to a back roads restaurant, where they were pretty sure they wouldn’t be recognized. Conversation was limited, as the unspoken tension filled the silence. Dinah finished her plate of food and took a deep breath before approaching the long-overdue discussion.

“Can I be straight with you, Lauren?” she asked.

“You know I don’t do straight,” Lauren laughed.

“Very funny,” Dinah rolled her eyes. “But seriously.”

“Fine, go for it.”

“For real, are you okay? Like you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I’m good,” Lauren answered, picking absentmindedly at the salad in front of her. “Why?”

“I dunno, all that stuff in the apartment last night…that was intense,” Dinah replied. “It didn’t seem good. It seemed kinda reckless.”

“It’s fine, I was chill,” she chuckled.

“Were you actually?”

“I mean, probably,” Lauren laughed it off. “I don’t remember it but I’m usually a good time.”

“I don’t doubt you’re a good time,” Dinah smiled. “I just feel like maybe you’ve been hitting everything a little hard recently.”

“It’s fine,” Lauren shook her head. “It’s just fun, nobody’s getting hurt.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Come on, D,” Lauren sighed, beginning to show signs of frustration. “Can you just drop it? If there’s ever a problem I’ll call you but you don’t need to make everything dramatic.”

“Okay fine. So what was the girl from last night like?”

“No idea,” Lauren admitted, a hiding the twinge of pain in her heart that came anytime she thought of the endless list of faceless strangers she had been sleeping with. “I ended up with a free t-shirt though, so does it matter that I don’t remember her?”

“As a one night stand, probably not. But don’t you ever get tired of…” Dinah trailed off, holding her tongue when she realized Lauren certainly wouldn’t open up in broad daylight in a diner in the outskirts of LA.

“Can we go?” Lauren asked, suddenly tense.

“Sure,” Dinah answered, dropping cash on the table and following Lauren out to the parking lot. They climbed into the car and drove in silence for the first ten minutes.

“Before we left the restaurant,” Lauren began quietly. “You were asking something.”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask the question.”

“Do you ever get tired of being with strangers? Don’t you want to be with people you love, not random replacements?”

“I already fucked that up,” Lauren answered under her breath.

“Huh?”

“It’s just for now,” she answered loud enough for Dinah to hear.

“Okay but how long is ‘for now’ going to last?”

“I don’t know. Until one of the replacements become permanent?”

“It doesn’t seem like your style, Lo,” Dinah said, pulling the car over to the side of the road and putting it in park. “Hooking up with random girls every night wishing they were someone else, wasted and sad all the time. It’s not you.”

“Who said I was sad?”

“Are you not?” Dinah asked, eyebrows raised.

“I guess I’ve been happier.”

 “When you were with Halsey? What ever happened with that anyways?”

“That was never a thing,” Lauren shook her head, tears beginning to fill the corners of her eyes. “She covered for me for a while when I was on the worst benders but it never became anything.”

“Lauren…” Dinah paused, searching for the right words. “It’s…it’s okay to not be okay.”

At Dinah’s last sentence, Lauren fell apart. The façade of strength she had perfected over the last few months crumbled, leaving behind the heartbroken truth as tears streamed down her face.

“I hate it,” she choked out. “I hate sleeping with strangers, but it doesn’t feel real.”

“You’re gonna be alright” Dinah whispered, pulling Lauren into her shoulder as she continued to sob.

“I miss being sober, I miss being okay.”

“I know you do,” Dinah replied. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do know, but I think you’re scared to admit it.”

“I just need time. And space.”

“We have a few days off,” Dinah answered. “Have you thought about getting out of LA for a little while to clear your head?”

“Where?” Lauren cried. “I have no one. I have nowhere to go.”

“I know where,” Dinah replied as she turned the car on and made a U-turn.

“Where are we going?” Lauren asked.

“To the place that always makes sense. You’re going home.”

“I know I’m not exactly sober,” Lauren laughed. “But my apartment is the other way.”

“Not that home,” Dinah smiled. “Your real home. The 305.”

A/N: Sorry for the delay getting this chapter up. I’ve been super busy. As always, feel free to send me any suggestions you have! I love hearing other ideas and perspectives. 

[meditatemoremedicateless]

Life in Snippets: An Adventure

Summary: Max and Victoria take a daytrip down to Portland to buy Max new clothes (Courtney wasn’t so happy with the outfit Max wore to her first Vortex Club function). After a surprisingly romantic time at the mall, they have ice cream on a hill at Council Crest Park. Things will never be the same between them.

Words: 6,083

Major Tags: Chasefield, Marshfield, Fluff, trans!Victoria, nb!Max

Tagged: @mute-frisk​ @red-zora​ @melonishus​ @priestessamy​ (I think you’ll like this story, Amy, it’s very gay).

Read on AO3 or ff.net

The Page Before: “Friends?”

September 7, 11:20am

Victoria was almost done putting on her face by the time she heard the knock on her door. That must be her.

"Come in, Max," she called, not looking away from the mirror she used on her desk.

The door opened, and there was a bit of hesitation before it closed. Then, "Hey Victoria."

Sure, Victoria couldn't see her, but she knew exactly what Max would be wearing. A t-shirt or tank top along with that infernal sweat shirt, despite the fact that it had been in the high seventies for the entire month. Max never wore anything different, like Taylor before she had discovered sundresses went with jackets. Luckily, Victoria had prepared for this inevitability.

"There's clothes on the bed for you. You and Courtney are the same size, I'm pretty sure, so everything should fit you fine. I'll do your makeup in a sec."

There was no shuffling to get dressed behind her, so Victoria figured Max must be confused. Then Max said, "Uhh? I mean, aren't we going to buy clothes? Why would I need nice clothes or makeup to buy nice clothes and makeup?"

Victoria sighed, setting down her brush and turning in her chair. Of course, Max was dressed precisely as Victoria had imagined, though she didn't think she'd seen the creepy Silence of the Lambs t-shirt before. Gross. Max absolutely could not be left to her own devices.

"Because, Max, we have to see if the nice clothes will look nice on you. That means you should already be wearing something nice so we can see if it'll match. Of course, these aren't your clothes, but they'll at least give us some ideas as we go along. As for the makeup, I want to know how you'll look in total when we go out. And I get that you don't really wear makeup, fine, but if you're going to start going to parties and meeting famous photographers and talking to nice galleries, you're going to have to look more . . . put together."

Max pouted, shoulders sagging as if she was planning on dragging her hands over the ground all day. She said, "I mean, it seems a little misogynist if people are only going to take me seriously when I look nice."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Of course it is, Max. The world is a sexist place, doubly so in industries about appearances. We're not about to change that when nobody even knows our names."

Max crossed her arms over her chest, but gave no protest. "Fine," she responded, "I'll wear Courtney's clothes."

"Thank you Victoria," Victoria chimed as she turned back around to face the mirror.

"'Thank you Victoria,'" Max repeated, and then the shuffling of clothes being pulled off and replaced began.

Once Max had apparently replaced her shirt, Max started to talk over the sound of her zipper. "So, how'd you get so good at all this? Looking good, I mean. I never really got how girls just seemed to pick it up."

Victoria was satisfied with her face, so she moved on to her eyes. "Youtube, mostly, and my mom. I can't really say I had a choice."

Max was done, but there was still a lot of jangling. Moving change between pants, maybe? "What do you mean?"

Hmm, that's right. Max really might not know. She doesn't have much reason to. "Well, you see, my doctor was a real bitch. Back when I was fifteen, and I was looking to get hormones, my doctor refused to prescribe them until I had 'lived experience' as a woman. And, in his eyes, I guess that meant having long hair, wearing skirts every day, and learning to contour, because that's what it took. I had no fucking clue there were even standards of care at the time. I thought that was procedure."

Max was done changing, so she sat down on the bed next to Victoria's desk. "Wow . . . that's some bullshit," she said.

"Don't I know it." Victoria smirked, swiveling her chair to face Max with one eye mostly done, so the left side of her face looked much heavier. "But hey, don't I make such a pretty girl now?"

Victoria swiveled back to her mirror, expecting no response. However, she could see Max nodding out of the corner of her eye. Max said aloud, though so quietly Victoria wasn't sure she knew she was speaking, "You really do."

Victoria refrained from talking further, or looking Max in the eye for a minute until she was done. Once her composure returned, though, she turned towards Max again. "Come on, I'll do you and then we'll go."

"I still don't see why we have to go all the way to Portland," Max whined from the passenger's seat.

They were just passing through Tillamook, the most depressing county seat imaginable, and Victoria was taking the time to enjoy the low speed limit by leaning into the wind out of her window.

Victoria glanced at Max, unable to comprehend literally a single idea that came out of Max's mouth. "Are you serious right now? You spent what, a quarter of your life in Seattle before moving back to this hick ass county and you don't see why we'd go to a city to go shopping?"

Max shrugged. "There are boutiques in the county with nice clothes."

It was kind of dangerous to emote too much while driving, so Victoria settled for a "Uuuuugggghhhhh," followed up with a, "No, they have hand-stitched sundresses made by old grandmas and secondhand Urban Outfitter designs with Navajo patterns on them. God, Max, did you even leave your house while you were in Washington?"

Now Max looked annoyed. "Yes, Victoria. I was just never very interested in vanity."

Victoria grinned, putting on a more nasally voice, "'I'm not like other girls.'"

"Got that right," Max laughed, the annoyance disappearing from her face as fast as it had appeared.

"Well," Victoria said, "maybe you should have. Vanity suits you."

Max was still smiling, though an unfamiliar look crept onto her face. She was hard to read, given how little she ever animated. "You think so?" she asked.

"Would I be buying you clothes if I didn't?"

Max sunk back into her seat, elbow up on the window sill, though hers wasn't rolled down all the way. She looked cocky. It was a good look on her, just like Courtney's clothes were. Max could be cute. It was too bad she didn't seem to know that.

September 7, 2:52pm

It had been like an hour. It turned out Max had bigger commitment issues with clothes than Courtney's dad had to her mom.

"Yes! Okay, yes, it's cute. God, okay, Max, it's gorgeous, just please, please decide on something to buy."

Max had eschewed everything too feminine once they'd arrived at Pioneer Place and started going through the clothing stores. Victoria had never really been interested in men's fashion, beyond the extent she'd had to wear a suit on occasion after turning twelve or so for gallery showings and things like that. It was hard trying to mash up her stylistic preferences along with Max's absolute assertion that her pants be from the men's section, because 'they're so comfy, and the pockets are endless!' They'd spent the better part of the hour switching between clingy, arms-length shirts and tops, ignoring Max's interest in a leather jacket. Nobody wore a fucking leather jacket in Arcadia Bay or at art events and it would just look weird.

Max's head cocked to the side curiously. She didn't seem frustrated, which was how she had responded the past six times or so Victoria had announced that an outfit was adequate. "Do you really think it's gorgeous?" she asked.

Victoria sighed, slumping back against the changing room hall's wall. Max was trying on a striped, slightly see-through shirt very similar to Courtney's preferred casual look, though she'd paired it with a cardigan with thick, contrasting lines around the edges. Max looked pretty, very pretty, but like everything else, she was concerned that it was too girlish. Victoria put her hand to her temple where a headache was rapidly coming on. "Yes, Max, I do. You look good in everything - you're skinny and small, so everything fits you, you look a little professional but not so much that you're overdoing it, the cardigan even matches your lipstick, and while you may have no butt, you're wearing boy jeans, so it's not like anyone would notice if you did."

Max's mouth pinched into a point. It looked a little silly with how her lipstick was smeared (she touched her face constantly), but Victoria could tell she was mulling something over. She turned back around to her stall, looking herself over again.

"Are you sure I'm pretty enough? Like this works?"

Victoria had never seen Max like this. It was no wonder that she avoided vanity - it seemed to make her distressed very easily.

Victoria took a few steps forward so Max could see her face in the mirror. "Of course you're pretty, Max. You were pretty the whole time. I think the thing that's bothering you is that you don't want to be pretty."

"What do you mean?" Max asked, clearly confused.

Victoria exhaled slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. She pinched her own sweater, trying to make an example. "Look," she said, "beauty is all about gender conformity, right? People find women beautiful when they highlight everything about them that is meant to mark them as women. The beauty is in the binary, and you hate that."

Max turned around slowly. As Max looked up at her, Victoria became keenly aware of the short distance between them. Max was so pretty. But was it wrong of Victoria to try and make her be? Even if, from every angle she looked at it, she was looking out for Max?

"But don't you hate that?" Max asked. She didn't seem upset, like Victoria had expected. She seemed . . . gentle. Hesitant. Meek, even, like an animal trying to guess whether Victoria were friendly or not.

Victoria swallowed, then nodded. "I mean, of course I do, Max. But I also love being beautiful, and I love people knowing that I'm beautiful. Wanting it to be some other way doesn't make it so."

Max's eyebrows furrowed as she got lost in thought, staring right past Victoria. A woman pushed past them with a huge handful of items, entering the stall at the end. After a pause, Victoria laid a hand on Max's shoulder to get her attention. When Max looked back up, remembering that she was there, Victoria said quietly, "You know what I did almost as soon as I could walk freely after my bottom surgery? When I didn't need any more approval from any more doctors and any more therapists to look like myself?"

Max shook her head.

Victoria reached up, running her fingers through her cropped hair. "I cut off all my hair. I had grown it out for four years. I styled it almost every day. And as soon as I could, I chopped it all off and bleached it." Victoria paused for a second, then continued, "I always hated having long hair."

Max raised her hand slowly, hesitantly, towards Victoria's hair. She paused partway, as if asking for approval, and Victoria nodded.

As she ran her hand through Victoria's hair, she whispered, "That's too bad. I think I would like your hair long . . . it's so beautiful." Sensing Victoria's discomfort, perhaps, Max continued, "But that's not for me to decide."

Victoria wanted to kiss Max, she knew that much. She couldn't tell if it was because of how delicate Max's touch was, or the way she was looking into her eyes, or that Victoria had revealed something personal, or just that they were so close. Victoria had this impulse sometimes, of course, but she'd never known how to act on it. The only girl she had ever kissed . . . she had seen it in her eyes, Victoria was sure. She couldn't imagine any other reason why else she would have kissed her.

"Is it okay if I pick out another outfit for you?" Max asked, dropping her hand from Victoria's hair.

Victoria smiled. It helped diffuse that knot inside her, the one that pulled tighter every time something like this happened. "Of course." Beat. "No promises I'll buy it, though."

Max grinned, and that broke the tension, finally. "That's fair," she replied.

They spent the next twenty minutes or so flitting all over the women's section, although that composed about half of the entire floor they were on, with Max only stopping long enough at a rack to hold something over Victoria's body for a second. She seemed to know exactly what she was looking for - whatever it was, it was red. Red on black? Hmm, no, it looked like Max gave up on that idea rather fast. But after twenty minutes of this mad dash, Max was only holding three additional pieces of clothing from before - a red dress, white lace stockings, and red heels maybe three inches tall.

"Are you - are you seriously going to make me wear heels?" Victoria asked, once Max actually took the box with them. "I'll be a giant."

Max had already starting walking out of the shoe section, but she paused just long enough to look over her shoulder and say almost snidely, "Well, yeah, but a fucking hot one." And then she just kept walking, heels in hand.

Well, all right then, Victoria thought, lagging behind for a moment before jogging to catch up.

"Wait, where are we going now?" Victoria asked. They were headed to a part of the store they hadn't come to at all in the past hour and a half.

"To the part of the men's section where they have suits," Max replied.

Victoria stopped dead in her tracks - it was a pace or two before Max followed suit, turning back towards Victoria.

"Max," Victoria said cautiously, "I haven't worn any men's clothing since I was fourteen."

Max nodded in reply. "Yeah. And I haven't worn a dress since I was thirteen. But you dressed me up like a girl, and now I'm going to dress you a little more nonbinary."

"But I don't know if I'd ever wear something like that," Victoria protested.

"Fair, fair," Max said, taking a step back towards Victoria. "But you'd look killer in a suit."

And she did. The suit was red like her dress and her heels, which was a little too much for Victoria, but she couldn't pretend that she didn't look good. It was bright, and in your face, and it made her butt look good, and it was something she would absolutely never wear, and it made her look huge, and it also made her look hot. Very hot. Even Max's face told her that much.

"I . . . I don't know," Victoria said. It wasn't a custom suit like she would have wanted were she to buy one, and a good three hundred dollars cheaper than any suit she'd ever worn before. Moreover, it was a goddamn suit, and she couldn't think of a place she'd go where she'd be caught dead in it.

Max answered, "Oh, you know. You know."

Victoria's voice rose in pitch as she got more distressed, "I know it looks good, I do, but I feel like this suit is walking imposter's syndrome and I'm so huge with this and the heels."

Max's voice was softer when she replied. "Is it too much?" she asked. "We can stop. You don't have to buy it. I think I just . . . wanted to make something beautiful I wasn't so scared of."

Victoria turned back towards her changing room mirror, taking a step closer to it. She fluffed up her hair. She pulled her jacket taut. She turned to one side, and then the other. Then she just hummed quietly to herself. "I guess I could have it tailored," she said, thinking aloud.

In the mirror, Max's face brightened. "Really? You'll buy it?"

Victoria nodded, exhaling loudly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. It's only fair, right? Well, in the kind of fair where I have fuck-tons of money for clothes, but yeah."

Max grinned as Victoria turned back around. "Now let me get changed," Victoria said, Max stepping back as she closed the door.

By the time she'd taken the suit jacket off and stepped out of her heels, there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah Max?"

"Victoria . . . do you like me?"

The knot in Victoria's chest returned suddenly, the rope of nervousness brushing over her neck in warning. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, are you attracted to me?"

Tighter. "What . . . what's bringing this on?"

"I'm very attracted to you. I mean, I haven't been doodling our names in little hearts in my notebook but I . . . like you."

Tighter. "Well I . . ." tighter. "I like you too, Max. You kind of fascinate me."

There was a little chuckle from outside, and then Max responded, "I'm glad."

There was a pause, and then Max's voice appeared again, "Victoria. Would you like to have sex with me?"

Victoria thought she might choke. "Uhhh," Victoria mumbled, then, "like, right now?"

Max only said, "Yeah."

Oh god. Oh my fucking god. She wants to have sex in the changing room. Do I want to have sex with her? Okay, okay, fine, I'm a little curious, but here? Seriously? Okay, wait, maybe that's fine. I've seen like two people come in this whole time, and I can totally masturbate quietly, at least. Am I seriously going to fuck Max in a changing room? What if she's joking? What if I say yes and she's actually joking? Will she make fun of me? But what if I take it as a joke and she's not joking?

"You still there?" Max asked.

"Uhhhhh yeah. Hold on."

After a second longer of hesitation, Victoria unlatched the door and pulled it open. Max stood there, no different from before, in her freaky t-shirt and faded jeans. This was nothing like the first time. This wasn't a seduction. This was . . . curiosity. For both of them.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked. It was soft, forceless, like when she'd reminded Victoria they didn't have to buy the suit. It was different. This was definitely different.

Victoria nodded, and Max stepped forward, standing on her toes as she held Victoria's face and kissed her. The first kiss was soft, just warm and gentle and hesitant. They barely knew each other. Their bodies weren't familiar with each other. That was only to be expected. But the second kiss was hard, and Victoria inhaled sharply in surprise. By the time it was over, Victoria was panting, and she could taste lipstick.

"Oh."

Max stepped in as Victoria took a step back, and the door was latched behind them a second later. Then Victoria was up against the mirror, the glass cool against her legs and neck while Max was very, very warm. Why wouldn't she be? She was always wearing that damn sweat shirt. Oh, nevermind, that was the first thing to go.

As Max's kisses started anew on Victoria's neck, she blurted out, "I've wanted you this whole time." It almost sounded like a whine. Victoria wasn't even sure why she said it.

Max pulled back, blinking a few times in rapid succession. Then she said, "Me too."

Victoria hadn't taken off any of her clothes (she didn't even know if she was going to), but she felt naked, exposed when the truth was out there instead of in her hand. That was how the knot stayed so tight, but it was also what kept her from unraveling. Being in total control of her feelings was her way of being in total control of herself.

Max made a twirling motion with her finger, and then said, "Turn around."

Victoria obeyed, turning until Max's hand fell on her hip, stopping her. The zipper on the back of Victoria's dress started coming undone, and after it, a trail of kisses down Victoria's spine. No, this was nothing like the first time. That had been so . . . sloppy, so careless. Max kissed every notch on Victoria's spine, and nothing felt like the first time.

Victoria's dress was on the floor, and Max's kisses finally ended. There must be pink spots all over Victoria's skin. They really should have used lipstick that didn't come off so easy.

"Why don't you sit down?" Max whispered. "It'll be easier."

Victoria complied. She was nervous. Although this was what she wanted, there was still that little voice telling her that something could go wrong, that Max wouldn't like her, that there would be regrets. As Max's fingers hooked into the band of her underwear, Victoria caught her hands, halting everything for a second. Max looked up at her, unsure of whether or not that was a sign to stop.

"Let me . . . let me do it," Victoria said, and Max dropped her hands as Victoria slid her underwear onto the floor. Victoria swallowed, and said, "Kiss me."

Confusion - finally something! - emerged on Max's face. "Where?" she asked.

Victoria covered her mouth as she giggled, then said, "My mouth, you ass."

Max stood up from her crouch, bracing herself on the bench as she leaned over. "Well, hey, it was a little unclear, okay?"

"Okay," Victoria said, knotting her fingers in Max's hair as they kissed.

Then the kiss broke from their lips, and down Max went her neck, her chest, her stomach, her navel, her-

"You're going to get your lipstick everywhere," Victoria wined. It was already smeared all over Max's face.

Max only smiled, lowering face so that Victoria couldn't see her mouth anymore. "I don't give a fuck about my lipstick," she said, and then Victoria gasped.

September 7, 4:16pm

Max seemed to take the 'eating' part of 'eating ice cream' very seriously. Victoria was pretty sure she'd never seen someone older than six actually try and bite ice cream, and here was Max doing it in rapid succession.

"Oh my God," Victoria exclaimed, "doesn't that hurt your teeth?"

Max licked her lips and then responded, "Why would it hurt my teeth?"

"Because it's cold."

"Why would something being cold hurt my teeth?"

Victoria gave her the most neutral stare she could muster. "Because that's how it works."

Max shrugged, returning to her sugar cone. "Not for me."

They were sitting off the trail somewhere at Council Crest park, whose reviews included several recommendations to make out on the hills. Victoria had no idea if that's what they were here to do, really, but none of the other parks had that even suggested in their reviews. Plus, it had a fantastic view of the city, and that was the most important thing. The view always reminded Victoria of the Japanese gardens - it was too bad they didn't have time to visit on their day trip.

"So," said Max, "if I join the Vortex club after this, does that technically count as nepotism?"

God, Max was a messy eater, and it was distracting. She had ice cream on her cheek in two places - who does that at age eighteen? "You've got a little something, Max, here," Victoria said, swirling a finger on her own cheek.

"Huh? Oh, thanks."

"And as for your question - the Vortex Club doesn't pride itself on its democratic merits. It's more about rising to the nobility, you know, feudalism style."

Max's eyes popped way open sarcastically as she kept eating. "Oh, wow, that sounds totally awesome. Feudalism. Love that."

Victoria shrugged. "It is what it is?"

Max laughed at that and said, "Oh, of course, as long as you're on top 'it is what it is.'"

Victoria stuck her spoon in her mouth for a second, letting the ice cream melt in her mouth for a second. Then she replied, "Yep. And that's how you'll think when you're on top, too."

Max glanced at Victoria side-eye, a smirk on her face for a silent second. Then she shrugged. "Nah. Can't say I'm into that. That's how you get stuff like capitalism, art snobbery, and . . . gender." Max shivered at that last word.

Victoria accepted that in stride. "Those are like my favorite things, Max. I love being an art snob. I was born - no, made to be an art snob."

"You're going to be great at it," Max said, nodding.

"Thanks, jerk," Victoria said, pushing Max's shoulder so she toppled over. Luckily, the ice cream stayed on its cone.

Once Max sat herself back up, she said, "See? See the violence inherent in the system? The oppression? Workers of the world unite, we-"

Victoria reached out again, but this time she grabbed Max's jacket. "Please shut up," she interrupted, and scooted closer to Max to kiss her. It was cold, and public, and just another thing she had never done, and it felt good.

They were both quiet after the kiss, returning to their ice cream. Well, in Max's case, finish chewing the cone, but that technically counted.

When she finished it, though, and there was nothing left to distract her, Max asked, "So, is that it? Are we friends who kiss sometimes now?"

Victoria shrugged. "I'm not the one who decided to toss a casual friendship aside to fuck in a changing room - I feel like you can answer that question better than I can."

Max laid back on the grass. It was shady where they sat, but Victoria could already tell Max was getting a sunburn. She was one of those people with pale skin who just got murdered by the sun, it seemed. Maybe that was why she kept the sweatshirt on all the time. "Hmm," Max hummed. "When I got accepted to Blackwell, I knew I'd only be coming back for a year. After that, it was college and a career, places where my decisions might matter, but here? The worst that could happen is I feel awkward around someone for a year, and then I'd never see them again. So I decided I wanted to be a slut while I still could."

Victoria nearly spit out her ice cream as she started laughing. Lucky that there wasn't enough for big bites left in the cup, perhaps. Max? Max wanted to be a slut? But she was so . . . well, not what Victoria pictured when she pictured a slut.

As Victoria settled down, she asked, "So what? This was your first pit stop on your adventure to be a slut?"

Now that the humor was starting to wear off, Victoria wasn't sure how she felt about that. It made her feel . . . cheap. It was a familiar feeling, and precisely the one Victoria had been hoping to avoid when she'd agreed to it. Then again, what else was she expecting of Max, exactly? What else did she even want out of her?

"I don't know," Max said after a short pause. "I don't think that's it. I wasn't kidding when I said I liked you. But I also . . . want to be kind of reckless, you know? And I'm not sure if you noticed but our classmates are kind of hot."

Victoria hadn't noticed that, actually. Every beautiful person in a place like Arcadia Bay was rare, and their beauty and rarity made them dangerous in a place like this. It was always clear that they didn't belong - to themselves, and to the people around them.

Still, Victoria was getting the impression she knew Max even less than she had thought. "I get that you want to be reckless and all, and that this place is a dumpster you can just as well set fire to as you leave, but your actions still have consequences, Max. I don't mean to sound like an abstinence-only sex educator just . . . I don't know. Things can get pretty fucked up in a year, you know?"

Max laughed, turning to look up straight at Victoria. Even back in her old clothes, Max looked beautiful under the dappled sunlight. Victoria hadn't seen her eyes in the light before, really, but they were . . . good. "Actually, you sound more like Kate Marsh."

Victoria grimaced. That was even worse. "God, fine, I take it back. Fuck everybody, no regrets."

Max's chuckle continued, but she quieted down faster this time. "That's not an insult, you know. I like her."

Seriously? How are Max and I even friends, I swear to God. "Really? You don't find her, you know, irritating? Stuck up? Bitchy?"

"Nah," Max said, dismissing Victoria off-hand. "She seems sweet. Genuine. Really smart. And a little gay, question mark?"

What. "What? What makes you say that?"

"She kind of asked me out on a date, maybe." Max's face pinched. "I'm not sure, but if she weren't Christian I definitely would think it was a date."

Well, that's unexpected. Victoria wasn't sure if that made her like Kate more or less. There was always a little bit of distrust she held for queer Christians, though she hadn't examined it very deeply. If she actually took the time to ask herself, a part of her knew it was how invalid her anger felt in the face of faith, but she carefully did not ask herself.

A question appeared in Victoria's mind. She knew she shouldn't ask it - it would make her seem attached in a way she most certainly did not want to. It came out anyway. "So, this maybe date. What is it?"

Max looked up at the branches of the tree instead of at Victoria's face. "Kate's taking me to a coffee shop downtown tomorrow. She wants to study together, but it's for a class we haven't had any graded assignments in yet, and I clearly don't know what's going on. So I think she's just taking me out for coffee or tea because . . . gay?"

There was a short pause in which Victoria didn't know what to say. Luckily, Max was quick to fill in the gap in conversation. "What's your deal with her, anyway? It's like you disliked her on sight."

That wasn't true. Victoria had at first decided she simply didn't care one way or another about one of the new girls of photography. It wasn't until the end of class the first day that Victoria had settled on disliking her, and the reason was painfully obvious and obviously petty. Kate had taken Mr. Jefferson's TA role. Moreover, she had acted like she didn't even want, like she was doing it just to help out. No one was altruistic without motivation, especially when it came to the rich and famous. Victoria hated people who pretended to be better than they were.

"I guess . . ." Victoria started, but she had no ending for that sentence. What could she even say without sounding childish? "Everything she says seems too good. Like, practiced, 'please notice what a pure flower I am.' Real people aren't like that. They fuck up and have shitty ideas."

"Hmm," Max hummed. Then, she rolled on her side, forcing Victoria to turn a little to look her in the eye. "So what you're saying is that you think she's perfect, and that pisses you off."

"Ew, no. Fuck off." Max was starting to get on her nerves a little, prying a little too close. This was one of the main reasons why Taylor and Courtney were so easy to spend time with - they didn't ask questions they didn't need the answers to. Most of the time, Nathan was like that too - and even better, he didn't divulge things he didn't need to, either.

Well. Victoria couldn't pretend it had been easy to spend time with Nathan lately, exactly.

Max shrugged, dropping onto her back. "Suit yourself," she said, "but I think you'd actually like her, if you talked to her. She doesn't talk much, but when you get her going - well, she knows a shit-ton, I guess I'll just say that."

Victoria didn't want to hear this. "Max. If I kiss you and you promise not to overthink it once this trip's over, will you please shut up about Kate Marsh?"

"Hm. Deal."

This was going to get grass stains all over Victoria's clothes. And even if she'd asked Max not to overthink it, Victoria knew she'd be tearing this whole trip apart long after she'd washed the stains from her clothes and the lipstick from her skin.

September 7, 7:10pm

As she pulled into the parking lot at Blackwell, the nervousness that had begun to grow throughout the trip back reached a head. Victoria had just had a very strange day with Max, and she wasn't sure what it ending meant. Max would finally have something to wear to Vortex Club stuff, so Courtney would finally feel comfortable letting her in. That was good. Victoria was pretty sure that was good.

As they both reached into the back for their bags, Max paused. "You know," she said, "I've never done anything like today. I hope it was okay."

Victoria didn't know what to say to that, really. It was so hard for her to tell what Max was feeling - when their eyes met, Max's eyes were almost just the same neutral, and Victoria never knew what came next. "Yeah, I haven't . . . either." A half truth. "But I think it was okay. I think we're . . ." we're what? What are you even trying to say? "In the clear."

"Yeah," Max agreed, settling back into her chair with her bag in her lap. As she reached for her door, though, Victoria tapped her shoulder, trying to get her attention before Max left, and they were actually, really back at school.

Max looked back. If she knew what was coming, Victoria couldn't tell. She just leaned over the seat and kissed Max, and Max kissed her back. She brought her hands up to Victoria's hair, holding her in longer than Victoria had planned for.

Neither of them wanted their day trip to end. It felt like an entirely different car trip than the one they'd set out on.

Would things go back to normal after this? Or would this 'one more kiss' feeling linger in their classes, when they met in the hallway, at parties? If it did, what then?

Before Max left the car, she said, "Thanks for buying me the clothes. They're really pretty."

And all Victoria had to say in response was, "Yeah, of course."

And their trip was over.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Yes - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 6)

Part 5

**Word Count 3,508

You were now staying in Harry’s childhood home with his parents. It was a little awkward at first because you and Anne still had a relationship to mend, but you were hoping that with her extending the offer for you to stay with her, it meant she was willing to work on things. 

Although, she could have only offered becasue she didn’t want you to be the reason Harry postponed something with his career. You were laying in bed trying to read a book, but you couldn’t. Normally, you loved to read, but being stuck in bed for almost five days was getting to you. 

You weren’t exactly on bedrest, but Harry and Anne were both very adament on you taking it easy. You sighed getting up and looking around the room. It had been well over two years since you were last there. In your snooping, you ended up finding an old picture of you and Harry, from when you first got together. 

You both looked so young and it was only a few years ago. You took the picture and hung it up on one of the little boards that were in there. There was a knock on the door and then Anne walked in. 

“I made some lunch, if you’d like to come down,” she smiled. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you smiled before walking downstairs. 

“So, how are you feeling?” Anne asked as you both were eating. 

“Better,” you said. “I think under the circumstances of that night was the only reason it happened.” 

“What exactly did happen that night?” Anne asked. 

You sighed. “When I went left the restuarant, there were like twenty or so paprazzi with cameras flashing. I covered my face and tried to walk through them until one was saying something like, “Don’t be like, just give us a picture,” and when I ignored him he wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me up. Then at one point he put his hands on my chest and that’s when I elbowed him in the face. He let go of me then and looked like he was about to hit me, is when Harry came in and stepped in front of me.” 

“Oh, wow, I knew along the lines what happened, but not in full detail,” she said. “But if you don’t mind me asking, why did you leave the restaurant?” 

You looked down. “I felt like I wasn’t wanted there. It was all too much, so I just had to leave,” you whispered. 

Anne sighed. “That was partly my fault,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry about that.” 

“I can’t exactly blame you though,” you sighed. 

“And I can’t exactly blame you for everything that happened between you and Harry in the past,” she said. 

“Both of us were young and with the pressure our of careers, it became too much and we ended up saying a lot of things we didn’t mean,” you whispered. 

“I had never seen him that heartbroken before,” she sighed. “It was the first time he really felt it was over between the two of you.” 

** 

The Break-Up 2015. 

You and Harry had been back together for a few months for the fourth time since you first met. It was sort of your thing to be together, figure out it wasn’t working anymore, and then break up again. It’s not like you wanted it to be that way, it’s just how it was. 

Until that one night. Harry was on tour with One Direction, while you were working on your album in the studio. Harry was in different cities and countries every night and you were held up in a studio in LA. 

You two hadn’t spoken except for a few texts in almost a week because of crazy time zone differences and you being in the studio. However, the night before, you and Harry decided to have a little date over facetime the next day, so you made sure to take a break from the studio that day. 

You made sure that you were dressed nicely and did your hair and makeup, even though you knew Harry wouldn’t care if you were just wearing sweats and your hair was up in a messy bun. You wanted to treat this like an actual date, since you wouldn’t know the next time that you two would actually have a real date. 

The scheduled time for your facetime had come and gone without Harry ever calling in. When he was ten minutes late, you decided to try and call him, but he never answered. So, you tried to call his phone and then sent him a few texts. 

Nothing. 

For some reason, you decided to go on social media and you saw some pap pictures of Harry out and about with a group of people going to dinner and then leaving some club in the city they were in. 

You should have been pissed. You should have been more than pissed that he ditched your date for a dinner and some club, but you weren’t pissed. 

You were hurt. Tears began to well up in your eyes and the eye makeup you spent so long on started to run down your cheeks. 

It was happening again. You could feel it. You could always feel it. The moment when the breakup was coming. 

The first break up happened after a year of dating. Since the two of you were considered the “hottest” couple that year, you two were constantly getting papped together or having cheating rumors speculated whenever either one of you were photographed standing with someone of the opposite sex. 

In the beginning, neither one of you let it bother you because you knew it wasn’t true and that neither one of you would ever cheat, but eventually the media and the rumors won--after a really bad photo of you and one of your crew members were out at a club. 

You were drunk as you were leaving the club and he was trying to keep you from falling. His arms were wrapped around your waist and you were leaning up against him before getting into the same car. 

Harry was livid to say the least and started to think that all the other times you had been accused to cheating in the media was true. 

So, he ended it right then in there. A few days shy of your one-year anniversary. 

The second break-up happened after you two got back together a few months after the inital break-up. You two had talked over what happened and agreed to move on from it, but a few months later, it was over again. 

During the months of your break-up, Harry had been seen out dating someone else. He kept reassuring you that it wasn’t like that, they were just friends, but one night you two had ran into her and she implied they had been more than friends. 

You were angry and hurt because you didn’t know what the truth was. You felt angry because Harry had possibly lied to you and hurt because your relationship must not have meant that much to him in the first place for him if he was sleeping with another girl weeks after your break up. 

So, you ended it with a slap to his cheek right then and there. 

The third break-up happened just a week after you two had gotten back together after you realized that the girl was lying about sleeping with Harry. You and Harry were having a date night in, watching movies on Netflix and eating take out. 

Harry had been on his phone for a bit and you could tell that he was reading something.

“Whatcha reading?” You asked him. 

“Your new interview,” he said. 

“Oh, that’s out already? I thought it wasn’t supposed to come out till tomorrow,” you said. “Let me see.” 

“You talked about our sex life,” he said. 

“Wait what?” You asked confused. 

“Right here, you mentioned something about our sex life,” he said showing you the line. 

Okay, it wasn’t like fully detailed and you hadn’t actually talked about it in the interview, but yet there it was in the article written up about you. 

“I didn’t, I didn’t say anything about that during the interview. We had gone out for drinks after and we were playing that Never Have I Ever game and someone said they never had multiple orgasms in one night and I took a drink. I never went into detail about who it was with or anything that we did,” you said. 

“Well, it’s there now and everyone is going to know about what we do in the bedroom,” he sighed. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s not like it says anything bad,” you said. 

“But it’s our private business out in the open, Y/N,” he said. 

“Oh, but you can write a song about it and it’s perfectly fine?” You asked. 

“That’s different. I’ve never once talked about specific details in the lyrics,” he said. 

“And I didn’t talk about specific details either,” you defended. 

“Maybe not, by this journalist added in their own and everyone is going to know,” he said. “And it doesn’t help that the photoshoot you did, you’re practically naked.” 

“Yes, I’m techincally shirtless, but nothing is showing,” you said. “And why are you upset about that? You’re the one is always preaching about not judging and not having double standards for females, yet you’re upset that I’m shirtless in a few photos while it’s perfectly okay for you.” 

“Well, it’s different when you’re my girlfriend and talking about our sex life in an interview accompanied by naked photos. Do you realize how many guys are going to be all over you now? How many guys are going to think about you? I don’t want you being seen as a sex object because you’re more than that,” he said. 

“Oh, but it’s perfectly fine as long as you’re the only one seeing my naked and have sex with me, right?” You said annoyed. 

More things were said. And then Harry ended it, right then and there. 

Back to the fourth and final break-up. When you realized that Harry had stood you up that night, you called him and called him. He, of course, didn’t answer. He was probably too drunk or too tired to bother answering your call. You would have left a voicemail, but you knew that you had too much to say and not enough time to say it, so you sent him a text instead. 

“I can’t believe that you ditched our date tonight to go out with your friends for a fancy dinner and some cheap club. We haven’t spoken to each other in almost a week and we finally agreed on a time and you blew it. Who are we kidding Harry? This obviously isn’t working anymore and to be honest, did ever truly work. We’ve through this before and we’ve tried to make it work and it just never does. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with you and then not be with you. This cycle of “love” is not healthy and we both deserve to be happy. You can’t honestly say that you’re happy with our relationship becuase if you were, you would have been there tonight. I waited for you for over four hours and you never came. If we both were really happy, we would say fuck you to our schedules and make time to see and speak to one another. This time is the last time for us, Harry. It has to be. We both deserve more. I love you, I really do, but what we give other isn’t enough for me anymore. I’m sorry I’m telling you this over a stupid text, but it’s the only way I know to reach you. 

Goodbye Harry. I love you and I always will, but this is the end. It has to be.” 

**

“And it was,” you said. “I had made the decision that it would be because it wasn’t fair to either of us to keep going back to each other if we weren’t going to make it work.” 

“I know and I’m glad that you did that,” she said. “You were right, the two of you weren’t in a healthy relationship. The only time it really seem to be right was that first year you were together.” 

“Yeah, it was amazing. It was the first time I really fell in love and I was happy. We both were happy, but then shit happend and we were done,” you sighed. 

“Harry still believes had he not overreacted over that photo that you two would have never broken up and you would have still been together till this day,” she admitted. 

You bit your lip. “Maybe, but I’m sure one of the other issues we had come up later on could have still happened.” 

“Perhaps, but I think what’s best now, is to not worry about the past. The two of you are together now and you’re having a baby together,” she said. 

“Yeah, we are,” you smiled putting your hand over you still non-existent bump. 

“I know that I said to leave the past in the past, but Y/N, I have to ask you, if you were so adamant about not being with Harry after that last breakup in 2015, why did agree on getting back together with him now?” She asked. 

“Honestly, it just felt right,” you admitted. “It didn’t feel like all the other times when we talked about getting back together. We were apart for over a year. We hadn’t spoken to each other or even seen one another in such a long time, yet the second I saw him again, all those feelings I had for him rushed back to me. And we’re both older now and I feel like when something comes up between us, our first thought isn’t going to be to just end things, like it had been in the past. We’ve actually had a bit of a run in with that and I think we handled it pretty well.” 

“What run in?” She asked. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, it just, I’m curious.” 

“No, it’s okay. When those pictures of us in Miami were taken, my team said that someone from Harry’s team had tipped off the press and told them where we would be and to release the photos for publicity. At first, I was furious and thought that was the only reason he had called me after all this time and we had some words and Harry was about to leave because he couldn’t beleive that I actually believed he would have something to do with it, but I stopped him. I apologized for accusing him and we talked it through,” you said. 

“Well, that’s huge a step for you two,” she said. 

“Yeah, it is,” you smiled. “And just being with him again feels different. It almost feels like we’re starting over again because so much time has passed and we’re in a different point in our lives.” 

“But you two are still quite young,” she said. “You two still have your whole life ahead of you. Your careers, I mean Harry is just now starting off his solo career.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked confused. 

“I’m just saying that, how is Harry supposed to have a career when he’s going to have a baby to help raise?” She asked. “He has a tour coming up at the end fo the year, what happens if he’s on stage and you go into labor? What if he has to cancel some shows and disappoint his fans? Did either of you think about that before you slept together?” 

“I-I... no, but-” you stuttered out. 

“Exactly neither one of you thought about anything,” she said. “i know that what’s done is done and there’s no going back from it and I promise you that I will love and take care of this baby, but I can’t say that I’m thrilled over this right now. If you and this baby end of ruining his plans for his career, I will never forgive you Y/N. He is my baby and I want nothing more than for him to be happy, but I know that if he loses his music, he won’t ever be truly happy.” 

You looked at her with wide eyes. “Do you think I want him to lose that either? Do you think that I’m going to make him choose between us and his career? Will having a baby right now make things a little more difficult with the way our careers are? Yes, but we’re going to figure it out and make it work. And how can you sit there and be nice to me and make it seem like we’re working on our relationship, but then be so cruel me to the next?” You asked. 

“I don’t mean to Y/N, I’m telling you how I feel,” she said. “My children are my pride and joy and I love them with all my heart and I will do whatever it takes to protect them.” 

“I get that Anne, I really do, but you have to know that I love Harry more than anything in this world and I want him to do everything that he wants and I would never want to be the reason to hold him back. Is this bad timing to have a baby? Yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re not looking forward to being parents. And another thing, for someone who keeps saying to leave the past in the past and move on, sure does keep bringing up the fucking past,” you said before getting up from the table and going back up the room. 

**

Later that night, Harry had facetimed you and you two were chatting. 

“I miss you!” He whined. 

You laughed. “I miss you too, how’s spending time with James? I’ve been watching the show and you’re doing great.”

“Thanks, baby,” he smiled. “And it’s going great. I’ve having a blast. I love hanging out with James, so it doesn’t feel like work. How are you and the baby?” 

“We’re doing okay,” you said. “I still feel nasueous at times.” 

“I read somewhere about drinking a certain kind of tea can help with that,” he said. “I’ll look it up again and send it you.” 

“You read it somewhere?” you giggled. 

“Yes, the entire flight I was reading this baby book I found,” he blushed. 

“Aww, that’s so adorable,” you smiled. 

He laughed. “Anyway, how are things going with Mum?” 

You sighed looking down. “They’re going...” 

“Y/N, what happened?” He asked. 

“Nothing too bad, it’s just, I thought we were moving forward and then she just said some things and I stormed out and haven’t talk to her since,” you admitted. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he sighed. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“Yes, you should have,” you said. “That was what she brought up. She’s afraid that the baby and I are going to hold you back.” 

“You’re not,” he said. “We’re going to find a way to make everything work.” 

“I know and I told her that, but she’s worried that we’re not,” you sighed. 

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll talk to her,” he said. 

“No, don’t. I don’t want to feel like I’m coming between you and your Mom,” you whispered. 

“You’re not coming in between us,” he said. “I know my Mum and she’s just looking out for me. She’s quite the protective one, you know.” 

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that,” you said. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll be home in a few days,” he said. 

“I can’t wait,” you whispered. “It’s weird staying in your room without you.” 

He laughed. “Especialy with all the memories we’ve had in there,” he smirked. 

You blushed. “Shut up,” you giggled. 

“So, do you have a little bump yet?” He asked. 

“No, not yet, but I feel bloated,” you said. “But my boobs I’ve gotten a little bigger it seems, which makes them pop out of my shirts more than they usually do.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything...” he smirked. 

You rolled your eyes and pulled up your shirt. 

“Hey! I was enjoying the view,” he pouted. 

You giggled. “You’ll enjoy it soon enough when you get back from LA.” 

“I can’t wait,” he said. 

You giggle yawning.

“Well, I better let you get some sleep, baby,” he said. 

“No, I’m okay. I want to keep talking to you,” you whined. 

“We can talk tomorrow,” he smiled. “You need your rest.” 

“Fine,” you groaned. 

“I love you,” he smiled. 

“I love you too,” you smiled. “And you better call me tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry. I will,” he smiled. “Night, baby.” 

“Goodnight,” you smiled blowing him a kiss. 

He pretended to catch it like a dork and you both ended the call before you put your laptop on the table and crawled into bed. 

**

Thank you to everyone who sent in ideas breakups/arguments! I tried to use bits and pieces of each! :) 

[anotheraldin]

Her eyebrows lay perfectly shaped, the edges of her hair falling over them as they tapered along with the cold winter breeze. Her temples relaxed, almost as if they were glad to be free of the burdens which they used to carry. She couldn't hide her prominent cheeks, or the pimples which dotted across them. The concern etched on her frown painted the picture of a girl who couldn't decide whether she would be an actress - living a life of fame, wealth, and glamor - or wash dishes in the village until she found a suitor whose children she could raise as he worked abroad to support them. Yet despite the sweat which rolled down her nose as the sun shone upon it, there lay something particularly strange about her presence. An aura she carried - an aura crying with pain and betrayal. Betrayal by her loved ones, by society, and ultimately by the hope and love which her eyes must surely have once reflected as they saw the world which lay in front.

But today her eyes lay closed, almost mercifully so as they refused to let the world peek into the lenses that would allow them to witness firsthand what they actually were. And her lips had started to darken. Not the darkness of seduction, but one providing a pensive view into the eventuality of the passage of time on any object. Her hopes, dreams, love, and joy lay in the room above next to her dupatta (scarf).

What remained on her were marks of that dupatta as it coiled across her neck the evening prior when she stared at the world, catching one final glimpse. An excruciating period to the unbearable sentence which had become her life.

She was, above all, a victim. A victim of criminals incapable of recognizing their crime. She was the victim of an absent father. A father not present to instill within her the proper love and care that a child deserves to properly grow. A father not present to guide her through the most fundamental stages of her life. A father not present to teach her about society and all its ills. A father whose chest wasn't present for her to hug in times of happiness, and whose shoulder wasn't present for her to shed tears in moments of pain. A father not present to help her understand what constitutes good men and bad, with whom she should associate and with whom to avoid.

So she sought the figure of a father, someone to give her the approval she so direly craved, with various young men. Criminals, in the guise of youth. Youth, whose victim she would eventually become. These were young men so consumed with the thirst of their own desires that when they looked into her eyes they saw nothing more than a vulnerable prey. Young men so consumed by their egos that they only thought about what they would do to that - that 'thing.' Young men so depraved that, in the flurry of their sexual ardor, they forget all the women they are betraying. They forget their mothers who nurtured them. Their sisters who played with them. And their future wives and daughters who will love them and depend on them. Young men so brainwashed by an industry that they see, believe, and act upon the portrayals of women merely as the objects of their sick pleasure and nothing more.

And so complicit in the crime committed on this beautiful girl became the entertainment industry. An industry whose lord is not Allah, nor Krishna, not Jesus, nor Ram but - profit. One so entrenched in hypocrisy that it will portray women being treated as objects and then cry foul when society acts upon their portrayals. She was the victim of all those actors. The Khans, the Kumars, the Singhs. Those that taught her, in the absence of her father, that a man is supposed to be a playboy, a womanizer. That a man is supposed to be foolish and irresponsible, and that he must break her heart and then try to make it up to her. She was a victim of all those actresses. The Chopras, the Kapoors, the Bhatts. Those that taught her to bend to the will of morons that sought her flesh as a trophy. Those that taught her to abandon self restraint and surrender to her desires and the desires of the wolves pursuing her. Those that taught her to, on one hand, be proud of who she was, and on the other - in advertising all forms of makeups and whiteners and lotions and accessories - to change everything about herself in order to become more desirable to others. She was a victim of the silver screen which, while it may shine bright within dim lit theaters - cannot be seen and replicated through the lenses that stare back into society.

She found herself the victim of a corrupt society. A society so consumed by itself that it disregards anyone who doesn't conform to its own standards. She was the victim of her neighborhood - the men and women who would whisper about her, only to raise their glances with sneers and judgment. She was the victim of the schools next to which she resided. Schools taught to instill goodness within the society around themselves yet often bereft of the same goodness within their own walls. She was the victim of her own home. A home where she couldn't find the peace and tranquility one envisions of when they envision home.

And she was our victim. All of us. Those of us who purchase the facade sold to us by the media and further help spread its poison. Those of us who incline towards misogyny, even if in jest. Those of us who alienate each other through judgment, worrying about the state of others as a way to fill all the ever-expanding voids within ourselves. Those of us who lead our loved ones to feel more lonely when around us than they ever feel when truly alone.

And ultimately, she was her own victim. One that bought into it all. One that bought into all the lies those young men told to woo her, the lies those actors and actresses told in trying to sell her an image or product that doesn't exist. One that fell for an education of 'you'll never be good enough' and that 'you're just a product, worth no more than for what your image could be sold.' One that failed to realize that God was with her, no matter if the whole world stood against. One that failed to understand that - as is stated - one prostration to Him, frees you from a thousand to others. Or maybe she realized all of this, yet it never materialized into more than thought. As has become faith today - something oft repeated, yet rarely ever grasped.

As we proceeded with the burial the following night, one couldn't help but notice the lack of attendance. Maybe it was the collective guilt of society preventing them from seeing their victim laid to rest, maybe it was a false understanding that religion prevents them from such attendance, or maybe it was a selfish stigma. A fear of what others may feel about them should they investigate of their presence. Would society look at them with eyes of suspicion, with eyes of judgment much as how they looked at her?

It wasn't much afterwards that the burial process was complete. As I tossed several handfuls of dirt on her grave and started walking back to the motorcycle on which I'd brought the Imam leading the procession, I stopped some forty steps out to take one final glance. Seeing her family scenting the grave with perfume and lighting candles around it was a poetic reminder of what religion had become for society today. A relic, carried out of respect for the dead. It wasn't something lived, breathed, and experienced as much anymore. It had become a set of rituals carried out through sporadic beats of guilt and a sense of obligation in occasionally displaying the legacy of one's elders. It had become a symbol, much like many other symbols in this historic city. It had become the dominion of empires which once ruled the landscape but which now lie in ruins, nothing but sites for tourists whose forefathers had killed it not too long ago to flock for selfies, filling their Instagram feeds with more self adoration - trying to get more hearts to fill the void of one within themselves.

Indeed this girl, once a beautiful soul, now lies resting - the subject of a Judge above all the other judges. A Judge more merciful than all of society, yet one strict in punishment for society's illicit indiscretions. And only He knows best of her ultimate fate. Yet, while her story may have come to an end, the pages of her book closed - the books of millions like her are still being written - some to end much the same as hers, yet others, maybe even one other - were we to take heed in our own lives, trying to improve our state and those of others around us - might have a happier ending.

-Muzammil Ahmad

[one-soul-two-brothers]

one-soul-two-brothers’ ultimate fic recs: j2 non au edition (part III)

why I chose these: J2 non au are my absolute favorite fics to read Happy endings are a requirement A fic doesn’t have to have sex to be good (but it doesn’t hurt) They have all been thoroughly vetted (aka I’ve read them all at least twice, and will definitely be reading them all again)

ENJOY!

best ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

title: Second Chances rating: explicit word count: 6800 summary: Jared and Jensen have a ‘friends with benefits‘ relationship the whole time up until they marry the girls. They try to stop; really they do. excerpt: Jared hates gossip, he really does. It’s part of the whole acting thing - the need to keep his life - and the lives of the people he loves - private. Jared bites his lip to keep from telling her that this isn’t their business, that’s it’s between Jensen and Danneel. Which isn’t entirely true. Jensen is having an affair. Granted, he didn’t know that his friend hadn’t had sex with his own wife in damn-near three months. And he refuses to acknowledge the warmth that spreads through his stomach and heart at the thought that it might be because of him. Unless, Jensen’s sleeping with someone else as well. Huh. So apparently jealously is another emotion that he needs to learn to ignore. anna’s notes: It takes Jared and Jensen having to break up their friends-with-benefits relationship to get married (to other people) to realize that maybe it was always more than just friends with benefits. Even with the infidelity storyline, this fic is sweet and heartwarming.

title: The Death of Jensen Ackles rating: explicit word count: 10k summary: Jensen and Jared are friends with benefits until something happens that changes everything. anna’s notes: Okay obviously Jensen does not die, just want to get that out there. Jensen is allergic to kiwi and Jared finds out the hard way, then proceeds to be cute and funny while freaking the fuck out (even though Jensen is fine) and it forces them to face their true feelings. Actually a very sweet fic with hardly any angst.

title: Black Ice rating: explicit word count: 7400 summary: Jared returned from a promo trip, Jensen wanted to pick him up. But he didn't throw the weather into the equation... anna’s notes: This has a little bit of everything: hurt!Jensen, mild angst, a very adorably concerned Jared, and some humor (Jensen passes out after sex and it’s kind of funny how Jared reacts). This is definitely one of the more canon non-aus, and it was written in 2016 so I like to assume it takes place during one of the later seasons (not that it really affects the story or anything).

best SELF HARM / ED / ETC

title: In a Mirror Distorted and Indistinct rating: mature word count: 38k summary: They keep calling him beautiful. Pretty. “Come on. Look this way. Give us a smile, Jensen.” He smiles and blinks against the flashes, fighting the urge to lower his eyes, to hide the blush burning under layers of makeup. Sweat runs down his back, his hands tremble. He’s not pretty, not beautiful. He’s small and weak and pathetic and one day they’re all gonna figure it out. One day… anna’s notes: Okay I put off reading this for the longest time because I did not really like the summary. Which annoys me because it immediately became one of my favorites. I mean, I love this one, it’s kind of sad but I read it every few days, especially after I’ve read a not-so-good fic. Anyways, here’s a different summary: Jensen develops an eating disorder after an accident when he was 14. Moving to LA and trying to make it in the entertainment industry doesn’t help. Then he lands a role on Supernatural, and meets Jared, and kind of falls in love with Jared, and everything eventually comes spilling out. (Also, the writing style is a more standard than the author’s summary makes it out to be.) (There are also two timestamps.) Basically if you haven’t read this yet, go do it right now.

title: Intervention rating: explicit word count: 46k summary: It takes an accident for everyone to become aware of exactly how serious Jensen’s problem has become. But how can Jared and the Ackles family help when Jensen is so in denial? The only way they know how. author’s notes: This story is slightly AU in that it is set at the end of filming for Season 6. J/G have been married for one year, J/D are coming up on their one year. It also suggests that at one time, Jared and Jensen had been together in a relationship, but broke up due to PR pressures and other outside influences. anna’s notes: This story is sweet and moderately angsty and not too heartbreaking, and it’s well-written, the characterization is great, and the ending is really satisfying. Just a warning (for those who care, I don’t one way or another), it does not paint either D or G in a positive light. At all. If you want a long, solid fic with good storyline and a happy ending, this is for you.

best HUMOR / CRACK

title: Assumption Is the Mother of All Fuckups rating: explicit word count: 19k summary: Jared couldn’t resist playing a practical joke on Jensen. He just wasn’t prepared for the consequences. This is about how he saw an opportunity and ran with it hoping to pull off the ultimate practical joke and beat Jensen once and for all and how it didn’t quite turn out like he had planned. It is a story about why Jared decided to stop playing jokes on Jensen and instead joined him with playing jokes on everyone else. anna’s notes: I. Cannot. Explain. To. You. How. Fucking. Hilarious. This. Is. I’ve read it twice in like three days, I just...it’s so good. And yes, it’s crack in a sense that it’s ridiculous and probably would never happen, but the kicker is that I could almost actually see this happening. I mean, that would be amazing if it did. Everyone is written slightly OOC because it is crack, but it’s done in a way that honestly just makes it that much better. Just, please go read this, and be prepared to laugh out loud for like three hours straight. (It’s especially amazing if you read it at 4 in the morning while slightly sleep-deprived, like I did the first time.) Also, there’s a sequel which I haven’t finished yet so I can’t vouch for it, but I’ll link it here anyways (and edit this once I do finish it): Two Wrongs Make It...Right?

title: Two Times Jared rating: explicit word count: 25k summary: There aren't many things that make him lose his poise. He's not one of those guys that regularly freaks out, when their favorite NBA team gets knocked out of an important competition or make that NFL or MLB, pick whatever you want. No, most of the time Jared Padalecki is a pretty laid-back guy. Right, so maybe he did freak out when his Dad almost caught him making out with this girl from High School in their backyard when Jared was 16 because the family was home from church early all the while Jared was supposed to lie in bed, being "sick", but that's an entirely different story. What really freaked him out, though, was when Jared met his "gay" self. Well, his other self that was more than a little gay for his best friend. It happened something like this… anna’s notes: Jared meets a physical manifestation of his inner (gay, apparently) consciousness who is there to help him realize his deepest desire...which just so happens to be Jensen Ackles.

best PORN WITH PLOT

title: The Ultimate Gay Test, or Whether or Not to Lick Jensen Ackles & The Ultimate Gay Test 2, or the Padalecki Plan of Penetration rating: mature & explicit word count: 5600 & 21k summary: It's not as if Jared's gay. He thinks. It's just that Jensen's so goddamn pretty; Ok, so there's been kissing and... other stuff. But if Jared's gonna go gay he's going all the way, baby. Now how to get Jensen's dick in his ass... anna’s notes: First Jared has to figure out if he likes Jensen; then there’s lots of porn with some actually kind of heartbreaking plot in between, because Jensen is scared of getting hurt and is scared of hurting Jared because of something that happened in his own past, and it ends up being about way more than just sex.

For all my other ultimate fic recs (j2 non-au and wincest), go here.

[americanahighways]

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Barbara Stephan is passionate about her music as well as spreading the gospel about the rewards, and risks, of a musical career.

Based in the Milwaukee, Wisconsin area, Barbara Stephan has made a name for herself for her sultry R&B voice and versatile styles as leader of the Barbara Stephan Band, as part of her current duet with singer/songwriter Peter Mack, and as a soloist.  She has performed with national artists such as Susan Tedeschi and Jon Paris.  During September 2019, she released her first CD, Motown-inspired Come on Over to Me, with her 10-piece backing band.

Among her many accolades are nominations for the Wisconsin Area Music Industry (WAMI) awards as 2020 Singer/Songwriter of the Year and, with the Barbara Stephan Band, 2020 R&B/Soul Artist of the Year.

Singing and songwriting are part of Barbara Stephan’s makeup and DNA.  While she has tried many paths in her life away from music both educationally and professionally, she has always been drawn back to her life’s blood of music willingly forgoing luxuries and making the sacrifices necessary to dedicate her life to music.

The accompanying photographs are from one of the last live performances of the Barbara Stephan Band in early March 2020 at the ACA Entertainment Original Music Showcase, before Wisconsin’s stay-at-home order took effect.  Her band is just beginning to perform again in limited public appearances.

Barbara has a lot on her mind these days about a lot of subjects—her music and influences; the headwinds aspiring musicians face as they embark on a musical career, including the discouragement they typically receive from family, educators and others; and the need for education in the business of being a musician.

Probably the most important tips Stephan would have for aspiring musicians interested in building a career would be to persevere and pursue the dream.

Barbara Stephan has found some interesting ways to use her creative talents during the current COVID-19 epidemic turmoil —including providing remote vocal lessons and spreading her wings as an aspiring fantasy author.

I had the pleasure of doing an extensive phone interview with Barbara Stephan during the height of Wisconsin’s governmental stay-at-home order.  Here are some edited highlights from our conversation.

AH:  When did you begin to sing?

Barbara Stephan:  I first discovered I could sing, or when people told me I could sing, in church when I was at a really young age.  Our family had just moved to small town of Afton in southern Wisconsin.  I started going to church when I was five.  By the time I was 7, they put me in the adult choir.  This really helped me develop my ear with singing harmonies at a very young age.

AH:  Describe your earliest influences.

BS:  My dad is a guitar player and was really into jazz.  As I got a little older, he was teaching me a lot of jazz and had me singing Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughn at a really young age.  I grew up listening to classics and standards like Louis Armstrong.  I became a huge Chrystal Gale and Patsy Cline fan.  That’s what I grew up listening to.  Singing along with my dad and playing the guitar.

I took jazz piano lessons up until about 16 years old.  Then I really wanted to start playing and singing more pop and rock—stuff my friends were listening to.  I always did appreciate jazz, but I started to get into Prince, The Cure, Wham, George Michael and Michael Jackson.  I’m a huge Michael Jackson fan.

AH:  When did you start performing professionally?

BS:  I actually had my first tavern gig with my dad at age 13.  I remember we had to fight with my mother because, oh my gosh, she did not want me hanging out in bars.  Which of course I understand!  That was when I started playing keyboards and singing in my dad’s band.

I started to branch off and left my dad’s band, singing in little jazz duos and combos.  When I was in my early 20’s, I auditioned for a band called Wall of Sound in Madison.  That was so much fun!  I was also listening to bands like Earth Wind and Fire, Tower of Power and Aretha Franklin, which was the kind of stuff they were doing.  That really satisfied my love for singing harmonies.  I was with Wall of Sound for a few years and then I moved to the Milwaukee area.  Later in my 20’s, I auditioned for a band called Cold Sweat and the Brew City Horns.

I was always working full time jobs and rehearsing and gigging on the weekends.  And I was working as an administrator for the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra.  But I hated office work –sitting under fluorescent lights all day in my cubicle.  There was a lot about the job I loved, but a lot that I hated.

AH:  You have been influenced by many different styles, genres and performers from different backgrounds.  Your band feels like a “big band in a small package.”  How would you characterize your band’s music?

BS:  Definitely a soulful R&B-ish horn band kind of approach is the style I like the best.  Some of my songs lean more into specific genres than others.  Overall, I really love the style of music from old school Motown R&B horn section bands or a little bit older.  And then I try to infuse the music with a little bit of pop and a little bit of modern-day soul.

AH:  You also sing frequently in a duo with Peter Mack.  Contrast the style between your band work and your duo work.

BS: It’s different but it’s similar.  Peter mostly plays acoustic guitar.  We both have a penchant for blues-soul-R&B type music.  But we also do classic rock.  Most of the feedback we get from people who know us as a duo and then know my music is that we take all of the covers that we do, and we fashion them around a more soulful R&B style.  For instance, we’ll do Led Zeppelin, we’ll do an Ozzy Osborne song, we’ll do ZZ Top, Alice Merton, and DJ Aloopa, and more current stuff.  All of it lends itself to this soulful R&B approach.

What I love so much about my duo with Peter Mack and what I don’t necessarily experience with larger bands is that the arrangements are so free flowing.  Every week it’s something different and the solo sections can extend that forever.  This is the most artistically freeing place we both can be because it is just the two of us.  We have the freedom to do whatever we want – we can do every kind of style and genre.

AH:  You have been nominated this year for two WAMI awards, as Singer/Songwriter of the Year and your band as R&B/Soul Artist of the Year.

BS: I am very excited about that!  To be recognized by my peers on a local level is really exciting.  I’ve never been on the WAMI radar before.  It’s nice to see my name listed with all of these other Milwaukee and Wisconsin artists that I admire so much.

 AH:  What kind of challenges have you faced in your music career?

BS:  As I was coming up through the ranks as a teenager and in my early college days, people told me I would never make a living as a musician.  There was no support for me at all in what was a dream that seemed to be completely unachievable.  Back at that time, looking around, there was no one making a living as a musician.  So I floundered around from office job to office job and college to college.  I tried this degree and that degree, and I was so unhappy and languishing in this belief system that there was no way for me to make a living as a musician.  Knowing what I know now, that was completely untrue.  There are many avenues and many ways to make a living as a musician.

I did spend years living in studio apartments, paying pretty low rent and driving a cheap economical car in order to do what I wanted to do.  Marriage and children, and a big house and fancy cars and all of that stuff were not a part of my dream at that time.  Part of my dream was waking up whenever I wanted and performing when I wanted to perform and teaching other people to realize their musical goals.

AH:  What advice would you give to an aspiring young musician?

BS:  My overarching message to anyone thinking of a career in music is to do it if you absolutely have to do music.  If there is really nothing else that speaks to you, then do it.  A music career will challenge you at every level of your being.  If you are pursuing music because it’s what you must do, then make a commitment of potentially living in one room with few possessions.

My husband and I recently did a presentation about making a living as a musician for Career Day at Brookfield Central High School.  I have quite a few high school students in my studio.  We had a really long list of potential careers as a musician or ways to be involved in music, including being a teacher or being a hobbyist musician or a salon or a professional musician.  We have friends who are in a symphony orchestra who went that route.  If you want to practice violin for 8 hours a day, that’s amazing.  Go that route.  Or do you want to be Lady Gaga famous?  Set your goals.

The question I always ask high school students is about the climate they see currently.  What feedback are they getting from guidance counselors and educators and parents about what seems to be an unachievable dream.  I would say that 90% of them were being discouraged at every level from going into music.

But then there was one girl who raised her hand who said she was from a family of professional musicians who had a completely different angle and were very supportive of her.

It’s important to seek advice from people in the music industry.  What kids don’t understand, especially when they are being discouraged, is that being around people who have already made a living as a musician are the kind of people who are going to be able to tell you all of the different ways you can achieve a music career.  They will also give you encouragement and advice on how to succeed.

It might take you more work and effort than you ever thought you were capable of.  For any person who is going through entrepreneurship or going to be self-employed, this is probably going to take you a lot more time and a lot more effort than you could ever imagine.  But it’s going to challenge you in ways that will enrich you so much as a human being.

AH:  How are you maintaining your sanity in dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic and social distancing restrictions?

BS:  This has been quite a test for my husband, Mark Antoniewicz, and me.  We are working together professionally, and we just got married in November 2019.  While we are at the same time going from these extremes of being incredibly fearful.  You know, we have our days where we are totally despondent and fearful about what’s happening and we have our days where we are very hopeful.  In the meantime, I always wanted to do an online video-vocal series of lessons because I have so much to say about my own journey of being a singer.

I completed two videos that I sent to all my students to keep us connected and to give them a daily means of practicing all aspects of having a really healthy vocal technique.  I’ve always wanted to do online videos but felt I didn’t have the time.  Now I have nothing but time, so the online video vocal series is really exciting.

AH: In addition to your voice coaching, what other projects are you involved in?

BS: I am actually writing a book.  I am in the middle of the second draft.  It’s kind of a strange story.  The inspiration happened from a song that I wrote called “Willow.”  As a child, I was really attached to a beloved willow tree in our backyard.  As an adult, when that tree died, I couldn’t believe the grief I experienced.  I was completely unprepared for the emotional upheaval.  So I wrote this song and for some reason out of this song I began to have this vision involving the Baba Yaga and all of her wisdom.

The Baba Yaga is the old crone who lives in the woods who eats children.  She is the quintessential witch out of Russian folklore who lives in a hut with chicken legs for stilts.  She runs around in the forest in this chicken leg house and is a very scary intimidating character.  I started to have these visions and this story line began to come along of the Baba Yaga who appears to be monstrous, but who is here to tell the story that she has completely been misunderstood as have all of the monstrous characters in all of the stories.

Her message is that it is actually because of the monsters, and not in spite of the monsters, that humans evolved.  The Baba Yaga and other monsters like her are actually here for human evolution.  While it’s been their job to scare us, to make us hide under our beds and in our closets, this occurred to make us more aware of the fear within us so that we can eventually transcend the fear.  Without that fear, humans would not have the tools to evolve.

AH:  You have also been involved in promoting original music and musical talent.

BS:  Yes.  Matt’s role is as business owner and president of ACA and North Coast Management.  My role is to support him and his vision, which is to provide as much work and performance opportunities as possible for musicians. Because of the incredible quality and integrity of the people he has been able to surround himself with, I couldn’t help but want to be involved.  It feels really good to provide a sound structural foundation and provide every level of support as possible for musicians coming up through the ranks who want to pursue a music career.

AH: Will you try to reflect our current experiences during the COVID-19 crisis into any of your songs?

BS: I am working on a song about what I would really like to do right now, which is to get in the car and take a road trip to the mountains.  If I could hide away in the mountains until this is all over, that would make me really happy.  I would love to sequester myself in a mountain cabin somewhere and do a lot of self-reflection.  This poses a lot of questions like what would I do if my music career went away?  If everything we knew and loved and valued was stripped away from us, which has happened to countless millions of people throughout human history, how would I cope?  What would I do, who and what am I really, and what really does have value to me?

AH: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

BS: I would like to be doing what I am doing now, but on a larger scale, such as regional tours with my original band.  I would like to build more of an online presence.  I also want to write more music, including more show and television music.  Maybe another full album’s worth so that I have a show with all my best music.  I have a 2 hour show now, which is exciting, but I would like to write more music for it.

I don’t aspire to have a big touring gig—I have two step-kids now, I’m married and kinda rooted to where I am, which is wonderful and beautiful and amazing.  I wouldn’t mind going out for a few weeks at a time to smaller theaters—more intimate venues, regionally and then in different areas of the country.  My shows lend themselves very well to those places.

To find out more about Barbara Stephan, visit her website, barbarastephanmusic.com.  Barbara’s upcoming performances with her band as well as her duo work with Peter Mack are on her website, as well as at ACAEntertainment.com.

INTERVIEW:  Barbara Stephan: Passionate Soul-Infused R&B and an Inspiration to Aspiring Musicians @barbarastephanmusic @brookbillick #americanamusic Barbara Stephan is passionate about her music as well as spreading the gospel about the rewards, and risks, of a musical career.

[sassysweetcollegegirls]

Chapter 4 of The Klance Equestrian AU that no one’s really looking for but im still writing

Lance woke up the next morning to the pillow tossed onto his head. He had slept fitfully and when he finally drifted off it was closer to the time he was supposed to be up doing morning chores than it was when he should really be sleeping. 

“I’m up.” He rubbed his face and didn’t even bother looking at Hunk who had been grumbling some kind of response about even the Pope doesn’t get up to pray this early. Lance really didn’t care. He clamored out of bed and put on clean jodhpurs and a hoodie and sat down to put on his boots. Even sleepy Lance appreciated the retina that his boots provided and the time it took for him to get the Italian leather to bend and fit. Once he was ready he filled his pockets (making sure he had extra’s for Voltron) and headed downstairs. 

The barn was it’s normal quiet for the most part and Lance carefully grabs his blue bucket thinking there is nothing out of the ordinary he reaches up to turn on the CD Pidge made him when he hears it. 

Theres a soft singing coming from the area of the wash stalls. The voice is smooth and deep but still girly and clear. It’s beautiful something Lance wishes he could capture but he left his phone upstairs. He carefully walks forward his bucket is empty his eyes on the wash stall. Which is lit. 

He’s the only one who has ever been here this early in the morning and Shiro had to be picked up yesterday by Adam. So Lance wasn’t sure who would be standing in a lit wash stall singing at four in the morning. But the thing is empty he looks around because there is still a candy sweet voice singing and Lance wants to know where it is coming from. He looks across the aisle at the stalls and sees Voltron isn’t standing. He tiptoes forward worried the stallion isn’t pacing his stall like he did when He woke and Keith wasn’t there.

The voice gets louder and Lance recognizes some of the lyrics,” Were soarin’, we’re flyin, there’s not a star in hevean that we can’t reachhh...”

They sing high school musical that’s hella gay. But Lance can’t judge he knows the words too. He peeks over the wall of the stall and there is Voltron. He has Keith’s jacket over his eyes and his head in the boys lap. Keith is carefully stroking the stallions neck and ears his fingers are slow and Lance can see that Keith’s hair is wet thrown into some kind of braid to keep it from touching his face as he soothes the stallion.

This is beyond dangerous and Lance knows it but for some reason Lance isn’t to keen on the idea of stopping what’s happening to Voltron. He keeps watching Keith’s fingers and he wants to know why he sits so still and sings so softly. He wants to but everything is telling him this is private something only Keith and Voltron understand.

“I’m all Fucked Up.” Keith sings softly and Lance winces noticing the change in lyrics he takes one more look at the boy whose smiling and singing and starts his chores.

***

Adam called Lance and said Shiro had an emergency therapy appointment and he’d be in as soon as he finished. So Lance did turnout and started cleaning. It wasn’t Lance’s favorite thing to do but he did it because he knew Shiro would walk in demanding that things be held to standards.

Lance was sweating and had removed his shirt by the fourth stall. He want used to the pushing and pulling of shit in the buckets Shiro had insisted the staff use because it built stamina. Needless to say Shiro seemed to be the one using them the most.

He’s a little focused so when he hears someone clear his throat behind him he jumps clean over the bucket in front of him turning to look at Allura and Coran who are standing side by side. 

Allura is dressed in her usual attire for the barn, jean jodhpurs to expensive for Lance’s taste and a tank top that shows most of her shoulders and breast. She has her hair braided into this soft sweeping bun and her makeup is flawless. Lance used to be in awe (sometimes he still is) of how Allura managed to come to the Barn looking like she stepped out of a magazine. Coran was the more normal one he had his dirty jodhpurs and a t-shirt that read “IMA HALF-ta-PASS on That.” his orange mustache was curled into his fingers. 

“ Do you need some help Lance?” Allura inquired her eyes traveling from the bucket to Lance who was drenched in sweat and shirtless. 

“Where is our Great Shiro?” Coran mustered looking around puzzled

“He had an emergency Therapy appointment. He had some kind of episode yesterday... So I have barn duty this morning. Your help is appreciated, you can grab a bucket and a pitchfork if you want.” Lance is relieved because for once he forgot what mucking twenty stalls feels like and he'd only gotten through maybe three. It would be a long day if he didn’t pick up the pace. 

“ Of course we will help. Though I don’t think we will be removing our clothing.” Allura teased grabbing a bucket and a pitchfork from the pile by the ATV. 

“Haha very funny. It got hot in here what was I supposed to do?” Lance groaned as he lifted up a particular wet spot and Coran took the stall beside him. The three worked together in a quick pace. Chatting sometimes Allura would tell Lance about the horses stall or ask questions about what the morning had been like. By the time they reached Voltron Lance had almost forgotten about the Stallion. He had almost forgotten about seeing Keith and Voltron curled up in the bottom of his stall singing to the stallion. 

So when Allura approached the Stall with her Pitchfork Lance was completely unprepared for the response the stallion gave. His eyes rolled white and he began rearing screaming panicked. Allura had his door open and she stood Panicked as he reared and his ears went back and he turned as if to kick but before any of that could happen the door to Voltron slid shut and the Pitchfork was taken by a pair of gloved hands and snapped clean in half over a pair of jeans. 

“ARE YOU INSANE?” Keith snarled. 

Allura looked terrified and Lance rushed forward to put himself between her and Keith. Keith looked angry he was holding the ends of the broken pitchfork and his shoulders shook like he was trying to contain some type of monster. His violet eyes were open and clear and Lance knew he should be afraid but he wasn’t all he could think about was Keith cradling Voltron in his lap singing to him. 

“She was just trying to clean his stall. Calm down.” Lance tried soothing. 

“ Clean his stall? Do you have any idea how terrified he is of pitchforks and people holding them?” Keith’s anger hadn’t calmed any his words were still angry biting,” People would come into his stall with them and fucking beat him with them. BEAT HIM. So you wanna clean his stall you wait till he’s out because he’s gunna respond like that everytime he see’s a pitchfork.” Keith pushed past Lance taking off his jacket he reached into his pocket to get a small bottle of lavender and then he entered the stall. 

Lance sighed and turned to look at Allura who stood eyes wide watching Keith who was entering Voltron's stall eyes calm shoulders relaxed and ready to do whatever he had to do to get him to calm down. 

“Sorry Princess... That’s our new horse. He kinda has some special needs...” Lance picked up the pieces of the pitchfork and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Your not supposed to call me that.” Allura soothed and then she looked at the stall again.

“ Whose the Lad defending him?” Coran asked all activities had stopped as the trio stood watching Keith carefully douse his jacket with lavender and then rub the stallions muzzle and face with it. Voltron seemed to calm his muscles twitched and he looked around in fear still but he was coming down from the stress and the high of the adrenalin. 

“It’s Keith Kogane.” Lance muttered and his mind went back to this morning finding Keith on the floor and trying not to disturb him while he did chores so Voltron could rest. 

“Wait a second You have KEITH KOGANE stationed in these stables?” Allura’s job grew slack and her eyes became wide. 

“ Wait you know this guy?” It was Lance’s turn to be surprised. 

“ Know him!? How about competed with him! He’s the hardest rider I’ve ever competed against. He is daring and cunning but he cares more about his mount than anyone I have ever met... How did you get him here he was exclusively with GALRA’s GALAXY since I met him.” Allura confesses all of the words coming out in a big rush. 

“He came with Voltron... Apparently you can’t separate the two...” Lance murmurs watching as Voltron finally drops his head and pushes it into Keith’s chest. Keith holds the stallions head even though its heavy. The two lock eyes and Lance can feel anger sleeping through his skin. “ It’s almost pathetic really..” Lance says and he’s not sure what made him say it but he said it loud enough for Keith to hear.

Keith’s head turns and he looks at Voltron who has calmed considerably before he hangs his jacket over the stallions poll and exits the stall. He walks calmly up to Lance and looks him square in the eyes.

Lance is trying to process because all of a sudden Keith is in his space. He is standing with his gloved hands clenched, his eyes narrowed and his lip bitten in half while he takes shallow breaths. He smells like hay and lavender and leather and none of it makes sense but it’s sexy and Lance has to swallow the urge to put his hands on Keith’s face and touch his lips.

“Say it again.” He challenges Lance his tone is level and his eyes are set searching Lances.

“I said. It’s Pathetic.” Lance clarifies and he watches the rage settle across Keith’s face.

“The only thing more Pathetic than me is you. So why don’t you go cry to Shiro and get on those fancy push button ponies and walk the fuck away.” Keith had easily envaded Lances personal space but Lance doesn’t feel like backing down

“I could just sell him you know. Middle of the night let someone come get him and you’d never know what happened to your precious Vol-“

“LANCE McKLAIN & KEITH KOGANE” there is the booming rumble of Shiro and Lance has to look at how Keith has him by his hoodie and they are snarling at one another,” WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?”

Keith’s head bows in defeat and he lets go of Lance and Lance steps back and looks up. Neither one of them wants to look at Shiro. Shiro is flanked by Coran and Allura who look more than amused. His eyes are filled with anger and shock because his barns a mess, the horses are outside and need switching and here he has two boys looking like they are going to fight to the death.

Keith crosses his arms and stands facing to the side not answering. So Lance gulps and wrings the back of his neck,” We were fighting...”

“Over?”

“It wasn’t really fighting it was more li-“

“He called me and Voltron Pathetic. So I was gunna fuck him up end of Story Shiro.” Keith snapped and his hand went to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So what you broke my favorite pitchfork?” Shiro reasons

“That happened before they started trying to kill each other!” Allura sang

It was Shiro’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose,” Lance you can’t just go around telling people their pathetic because your jealous... Keith you can’t ju-“

“I can’t what Shiro? I can’t defend myself? I can’t tell people to fuck off? I can’t tell them to shove it up there ass? Or I can’t just leave and never come back?” And then Keith was gone he’d said all the hurtful things Lance could see on Shiro’s face and then some.

Keith stomped down and walked into Voltrons stall taking his Halter and lead he reappeared a few minutes later and the two walked off in the opposite direction of the party in the hall. Voltron snorting and looking about freightfully and Keith speaking in low tones.

Lance swallowed before turning to look at Shiro. The man stood some tears running down his face watching Keith and then he looked at Lance and asked,” Why is he Pathetic?”

“Because hes always going on about Voltron this, Voltron that. That stallion went nuts this morning because someone was holding a pitchfork in his open stall door Shiro! He could have killed Allura.” Lance begins waving his arms angrily and pointing at the now empty stall and the pitchfork.

“Lance, Keith stopped him. He shut the door and minimized the threat. Do you really think he would have let Voltron hurt me?” Allura comes up and touches his face her nails glimmer in the corner of his eyes and he looks at her.

“I DON’T KNOW. That’s what scares me. That Stallion is a ball of god knows what and without Keith he’s Pathetic! And Keith’s Pathetic without him.” Lance runs his hands through his hair and looks at the group and Shiro sighs.

“You told me yesterday, your dad would never give us anything we can’t handle... Is this to much for us Lance. Or are you afraid of something else?”

“The boy has potential I’ve seen him on the circuit. Lance are you afraid to be beat?” Coran asks and all of a sudden Lance doesn’t feel so good. He looks at all the faces and all the shit on the floor and he just wants to puke.

And then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder grounding him and he looks behind him to see Hunk (bless his soul). Hunk is looking at the group and at Lance with those eyes that say this is safe but lance is unsure so he simply says,” I don’t think I will be beat, I’m certain I will.”

***

A couple hours later (after everyone has learned that Lance is insecure and he needed reassurance) he is sweeping the aisles alone (Shiro’s punishment for him being a dick). He is looking at Voltrons empty stall and trying to remember what song Keith had been singing before he had walked away.

A deep part of him wanted to look at the lyrics and learn them to see if he could decipher the kind of person Keith was. It seemed so stupid that just several hours ago he wanted to slam him into a wall and beat the ever living shit out of him, but the other part of him wanted to do other things. Like kiss him and run his fingers through Keith’s annoying 80′s mullet. 

Lance sighed and shook his head cleaning the barn was not a place to be daydreaming. He wasn’t paying attention as he backed up dragging a small pile of dirt with him bumping straight into Keith. 

Lance stumbled back apologizing quickly and reached out to steady Keith who had his duffle bag and backpack in hand. He glared at Lance who took a step back,” Hey...Jesus watch where your going man...” Lance mumbled 

Keith looked at Lance again puzzled before reaching into the front pocket of his backpack and pulling out a crumpled twenty dollar bill. He held it out for Lance who looked at it puzzled and back to Keith.

“ What’s this for?” Lance puzzled 

“ I broke your pitchfork... Consider this my way of saying sorry.” Keith murmured as if he was ashamed. Lance looked at the bill still confused and Keith twitched anxious. “ Take it.” 

When Lance doesn’t take the money Keith tosses the money at Lance’s feet and grumbles almost to quietly that Lance can’t hear it,” I said I was sorry okay.” He is gone as quickly as he came. Lance looks at the twenty and picks it up holding it up to the light to make sure it was real and not fake.  Sure enough it was real. 

Lance all of a sudden feels guilty and like he was the one who did something wrong.