#Update: I just decided to block because I have no energy for being an asshole in the reblogs like they do and I'm an adult but lol BUT

[emblazons]

I am .001 seconds from going off on someone in a reblog

[nugnthopkns]

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence. 

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something. 

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place. 

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more. 

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. 

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain. 

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus. 

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over. 

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at. 

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why. 

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck. 

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste. 

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault. 

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize. 

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals. 

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things. 

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting. 

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person. 

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe. 

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better. 

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water. 

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. 

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. 

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program. 

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating. 

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack. 

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you. 

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. 

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything. 

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home. 

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days. 

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice. 

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs. 

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly. 

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight. 

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat. 

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment. 

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. 

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode. 

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.” 

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself. 

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase. 

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting. 

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble. 

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.” 

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed. 

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to. 

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home. 

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate. 

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year. 

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters. 

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone. 

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask. 

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat. 

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches. 

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors. 

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates. 

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time. 

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score. 

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended. 

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him. 

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah. 

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head. 

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel. 

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up. 

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom. 

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair. 

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump. 

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip. 

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps. 

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey. 

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you. 

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake. 

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye. 

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep. 

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel. 

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you. 

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before. 

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice. 

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves. 

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates. 

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet. 

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone. 

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd. 

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals. 

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features. 

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda. 

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point. 

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

 It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase. 

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him. 

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months. 

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received. 

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper.��

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about. 

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list. 

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship. 

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them. 

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights. 

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.  

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop. 

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.” 

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience. 

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around. 

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door. 

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles. 

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years. 

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut. 

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?” 

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall. 

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?” 

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is. 

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete. 

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly. 

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction. 

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well. 

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much. 

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal. 

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror. 

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger. 

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates. 

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch. 

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city. 

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile. 

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift. 

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible. 

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable. 

“Good morning,” he repeats. 

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities. 

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off. 

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals. 

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine. 

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep. 

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front. 

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly. 

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay. 

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. 

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.” 

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you. 

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself. 

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms. 

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot. 

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down. 

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help. 

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there. 

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater. 

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain. 

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength. 

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again. 

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink. 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @boqvistsbabe​ @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

Ok modern zuko would be an expert at breakdancing and sokka would be the guy who just bi-panicks whenever he does

(whoops, my hand slipped and I accidentally wrote a modern au headcanon turned zukka karate au one-shot) 

Okay but consider this instead: Zuko doesn’t know how to dance for shit and has horrible rhythm, but he is a GOD at martial arts. He’s been doing some type of style since he was a kid and is a full black belt by the time he hits high school. Martial arts was always something he excelled at, but it was also something that made him feel more secure. It was something he could work on to help him protect himself from his home life, even if it wasn’t enough most times. He specifically excels in weapons forms (I’m thinking twin sais) and you DO NOT want to spar with him. Because he may be skinny and shorter, but he’s quick and can hit hard at just the right spots. 

When he was younger he was obsessed mainly because he felt that belt rankings and trophies from competitions were a way to prove himself to his dad, but when he moved in with Iroh (who encouraged him to keep it up and was so proud of how talented and passionate he was about it), he basically used it in place of talking about his feelings. He didn’t talk about his home life or the shit Ozai did, instead, he put all his energy into his black belt levels, learning new weapons forms, and eventually into teaching new students as a junior instructor. 

At school, he’s awkward and asocial and just doesn’t have the energy for people. Zuko has little patience for asshole classmates who ask intrusive questions about his scar or spread rumors about where he got it. He eats lunch in his English classroom and would be a complete shut-in if Iroh didn’t get him to work part-time at the Jasmine Dragon. But in the dojo, he’s focused and is able to direct his energy into improving his forms and teaching younger teens. 

One of his newer students transferred from a different dojo after moving from a different state. He’s actually a freshman at Zuko’s high school but it’s not as if Zuko really interacted that much with him. This kid, Aang, is as talented and dedicated as he is, but has a long way to go to learn all the new katas. Zuko’s been dubbed the ‘scary’ trainer at the dojo. He’s the serious one who will yell if someone is goofing off and everyone’s seen that he has no problem using full force in a demonstration (little kids love him and he’s super nice to them, but he teaches the 12-15 age range). Plus there’s that scar, which doesn’t make him the most initially welcoming person. But this new kid Aang just latches onto Zuko immediately. He says hi to Zuko in the halls at school and works on his katas outside of regular practice times. At first Zuko thinks this sickeningly positive kid is annoying as crap, but warms up to him. He likes that Aang cares about martial arts and isn’t nice as a show, he’s just genuinely nice. 

And maybe he sees Aang hanging around school with a sophomore girl and her brother who just might be in Zuko’s calc class and English class. 

And maybe Zuko thinks this guy is insanely attractive and somehow incredibly funny even though most of his humor consists of the worst puns imaginable. 

But obviously, Zuko hasn’t attempted to ever actually talk to this guy. The most that he could classify as ‘talking’ to the cute, funny guy on the robotics club is the one day in English class when he had to respond to someone’s dumbass comment about Macbeth with what ended up being a ten minute spoken essay about obvious motifs and symbolism. To which Mr. Puns and Ponytail was very obviously paying great attention to and even gave Zuko a smile and thumbs up for. 

Zuko knows it’s pointless to engage. After all, he’s a senior and he doesn’t have any friends anyway. There’s no point in making any this year. Crushing on this guy from the comfortable position of the other side of the room is totally good enough for him. Totally. This is fine. He’s fine.  

Besides, he’s got competitions and if he doesn’t secure the regional championships this year he’s never going to get the chance after he goes to college. And he’s got his kids to train. Aang in particular is gearing up for his first debut into this area’s tournament. 

The tournament’s in October and usually, Zuko focuses on his own matches and performances, but Aang really wanted him to watch his set. So on this day, he stands on the sides of Aang’s zone instead of obsessively going through his katas in a corner.He’s not going to be able to watch the whole set because it overlaps with his own weapons portion, but he stands on the side and gives Aang a reassuring look that, ‘don’t worry, you’ll do great, you’re a talented kid,’ when his student looks over to him nervously. 

And wouldn’t you know it? Aang brought some friends to come watch. And one of them is Mr. Zuko’s Big Gay Crush. 

“Oh, hey Zuko,” are the words that come out of this guy's mouth that give Zuko a near-stroke. And damn if this guy’s eyes aren’t blue and pretty and he usually wears his hair in a ponytail at school, but now he’s wearing it down and Zuko wishes he could take screenshots with his brain because holy moly. 

“Hey.” Is the best that Zuko can get out of his dumb mouth. “You’re Sokka.” 

“Aang invited us to come watch,” Sokka nudges his head to indicate the ‘us’ includes his younger sister, who Zuko doesn’t know the name of. “How do you guys not get heatstroke during these things? It’s like a million degrees in here.” 

“Oh the gi’s pretty cold, I mean, it’s got air and stuff.” 

Zuko decided right there that he would be completely fine with being struck by lightning. Of course, that’s what his stupid brain would come up with. Of course, that’d be the thing he’d say in front of one of the smartest guys in his class. 

They watch Aang perform his set for the judges. Zuko recognizes that Aang took his advice when he said that he wasn’t putting enough force into his hits. He’s never seen Aang be as, well, aggressive isn’t the right word, but he’s definitely putting more power into his form. Zuko wouldn’t admit it, though, but only part of his attention was for Aang at the moment. The other part was for Sokka, who was smiling bright and pumping his fists when Aang completed a row of kicks. 

The small part of Zuko’s brain that wasn’t being taken up by watching Aang or trying to act normal around his crush noticed the clock on the wall indicating that the weapons portion would be starting in five minutes.  

“I’ve got to go do a thing so I’ll just, um, go do that now.” 

“Are you competing too?” Sokka asked. 

To this question Zuko just holds up his sais and raises his eyebrow as if to say ‘it’s a tournament, what do you think?’ Because yeah, he knows Sokka’s super smart, he’s seen him churn out calc answers at the speed of light and noticed his name on the robotics club awards update on the school’s website, but he’d also seen Sokka eat 5 packs of fundip at once on a dare and unironically wear a ‘women want me, fish fear me’ t-shirt for most of junior year. Somehow he had managed to fall for the smartest dumbass on earth. 

“Oh yeah, right.” Sokka eyes the sais and then looks right at Zuko’s face, “Aang says you’re really good.” 

Zuko decides that thinking about Aang talking to Sokka about him was something he didn’t need distracting him during his set. That was something he could anxious about later. 

“Hopefully good enough for those five assholes,” Zuko replies, gesturing to the panel of judges in the weapons section of the gymnasium. To his shock, Sokka laughs. It’s a nice laugh, too. And Zuko really hoped he could blame the blush that was one-hundred-percent creeping up his face on the lack of AC. 

“You know, you’re pretty funny man,” Sokka tells him. Zuko has no clue how to take that compliment, but he really does need to go. 

“Right,” he grins nervously and shifts his left foot around to bounce away, “well I have to go do my thing.” 

“Good luck!” 

That’s where Zuko thinks the beginning and end of his interaction with Sokka would be. 

The weapons portion thankfully goes by age. And since Zuko’s one of the youngest competitions, he gets to go first for his sai katas. This is what literal years of training have prepared him for. At regionals last year, the second advanced kata got him placed high enough to qualify for states. This is what he’s good at. He tells himself that a thousand times before starting his set. 

There’s not a thought in his head as Zuko goes through the form. The sais glide through his fingertips with every jab, block, and hook. The imaginary opponent doesn’t stand a chance. He’s cool and competent and graceful. It’s therapeutic in a sense. There’s enough adrenaline to make Zuko feel like he’s worth something, but more importantly, he knows he’s nailing this. Whatever the judges say about it, he knows that he’s perfected this form after practicing it at least a thousand times over three years. 

The judges agree with him. He’s the first competitor of the weapons portion but there isn’t really a doubt in their minds about who’s going to place. 

Zuko zones back in to the gym after bowing to the panel. He walks off, feeling lighter and letting a satisfactory smile take over his face. 

He expects the hug from Uncle and the proud smile from Sensei Piandao, but what he doesn’t expect is to see Sokka, eyes wide as globes, staring at him from the other side of the mat. 

Because what Zuko doesn’t know is that the second he turned his wrists in his first form during his hooks, Sokka’s brain went into Full Bi Panic Mode. 

And Zuko thinks the one conversation where he couldn’t talk like a human and wanted to die for most of it would be the only time Sokka would decide to willingly talk to him. Zuko is dead wrong. Sokka, in fact, has decided that this, this is the guy his Disaster Bi Brain has decided to latch onto. Sokka’s brain and all his squishy feelings have apparently decided to attach to this aloof kid with the scar who reserved his voice for eloquent, impassioned speeches about dramas and was apparently an actual god with weapons. Sokka decides that Zuko could roundhouse kick him in the side and he’d thank him. And right now Zuko’s looking at him with a dumbfounded expression, prompting Sokka to remember how to function so he can go over to congratulate Zuko and maybe ask if his dojo provides a free trial. 

So yeah, that one conversation ends up decisively not being the end of anything. 

[satsuki2406]

Dear Aomi Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

"I've seen you in a dream before, you are the warm and bright presence that embraced me on Cape Kamui a long time ago on a June afternoon."

Shinohara (Y/N) is a normal girl who had everything she could ask for, a loving family, a beautiful home, friends, and a fluffy cat. For a long time, she gave her life and happiness for granted, never imagining that she'll face one of the worst and crueler facades of society so closely, destroying what once was a happy, harmonious and normal family. One day, in hopes to recover what they lost, the Shinohara family took one of the more difficult decisions of their lives; leave behind their home back in Hokkaido and travel hundreds of miles south until Musutafu, the place that could grant them a solution and help close the yet fresh wound and scare away the ghosts of the past. Hardheaded, passionate, and ambitious (Y/N) is forced to confront the incarnated face of the superhuman society that she hated the most; Bakugou Katsuki.

PAIRING: (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

GENRE/WARNINGS: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Dark Themes, My poor attempt of humor, Strong language (Courtesy of King Lord Explosion Murder God *********💥), Manga Spoilers.

STATUS: On going

Chapter 1: School is a Great Place to Make Enemies

Chapter 2: My Stupid Classmate, The Angry Dandelion

Chapter 3: In Conclusion, This Day Was...

Chapter 4: Welcome to the Neighborhood 

Masterlist \(￣︶￣*\))

✒A/N:

OH-EM-GEE-

It's really been a while since I updated this story, I really thought it was a couple of months ago, I’ve been very busy lately and just kept pushing writing for later, and later transformed into 8 months! I had to admit that I also had a huge block with this story, but recently I got a lot of inspiration and energy, chapter 6 is almost ready but editing needs to be done after all. Hopefully this would be a good one! There’s more details coming in future chapters and also new characters! I got a thing for OCs recently, I feel they add more personality to the story!

Enjoy!

o(*°▽°*)o

5: Aldera Chronicles

‘Just a good day’ That was what you prayed, asked for last night, and what you tried to repeat to yourself to keep calm and serene while you looked desperately for your earphones. As soon as you did, you connected them to your phone and searched for the loudest song you kept in your collection.

“Oi! I’m talking to you dumbface!”  

The loudest one of all.

After the whole ‘neighbors fiasco’ you got stuck with Bakugou on your way to school, both of your mothers insisted that you should go to school together at least today, so you could ‘amend your differences and get closer’ you almost gag at the suggestion, but your mom looked so ecstatic about the idea of you making new friends, after all she hasn’t looked that excited in a while, so you could not find yourself saying no to her.

Although you ‘accepted’, that didn’t mean that you will stay with him all the way to school, right now you were still in their field of vision, so if you left him behind, they will notice. You were just waiting for the perfect moment, as soon as you made it to the end of the street and turned to the left, you will take that as a cue to hop on your bike and leave him behind eating your dust.

“What a shity morning, stuck with this idiot. That friking hag threaten me to change the wifi password if I didn’t come and to top it off, she had the fucking nerve to take my phone, fan-fucking-tastic…” Bakugou was right in front of you grumbling angrily and throwing profanities left and right. His anger was more than evident; he was more hunched over than normal; his hands were way deeper in his pockets to the point you thought he could rip them open and his feet were stomping on the ground with such intensity that you could almost feel it vibrate under your own.

Despite the fact that you could not see his face, you could bet your (F/C) post-its that there was an extra deep scowl and curled pouty lips ‘decorating’ his face right now. You tried to distract yourself with your phone and avoid Bakugou as much as possible, it was bad enough to spend more time with him than you already did in school, not to mention that unwanted encounters may become commonplace being next-door neighbors.

You sighted dejected at the thought, you really were kind of excited about moving to a new city, Musutafu was way bigger than Sapporo was, with bigger malls, parks, shops, restaurants and more fun things to do. But sadly for you, Bakugou manage to crush your hopes and expectations as soon as he opened his mouth, hell, even by existing actually.

Your attention was snaped back to reality when the sound of cars passing by and other students came to you. You got on your bike again, getting in front of Bakugou so you could reach the avenue faster, “Oi! Don’t go in ahead of me dumbshit!” You ignored him as he yelled at you, his words more and more inaudible as you got farther.

After a few minutes you had lost him completely, he probably went the opposite direction to the bus stop or the train station, Aldera was close, but not enough to go walking, you did it there in twenty five minutes with your bike if you took your time, fifteen if you were in a rush, you made sure to verify how long it would take you to get there the days prior that you had to actually go back to school.

You decided to relax and enjoy the view of the city and listen to your favorite songs like the day before. Luckily the Tatooine Station was open, safe and working at its fullest.

“Not a single villain in sight, phew, how good that they managed to clear the area otherwise I would have had to…” Suddenly memories of your crossing trough Dump Beach™ came to you, that was an experience you were so willing to don’t repeat ever again. “I wonder who else from my school had to make a detour like me yesterday, or if someone was involved in the incident… those ladies said it was a middle schooler, but it’s quite ambiguous data to make any conclusive statements, there are hundreds of middle schools in Musutafu and the commercial district is in the center, so it could be anyone.”

You stopped in front of a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. ‘I’ll ask Midoriya if he knows something else, he probably passed by or something’. You had to admit that you were kind of excited about the idea of befriending the green head, even with his nervous, anxious, jumpy and shy personality he gave you a kind and sweet vibe. His insecurity gave away his true nature; his clumsiness, the nervousness, overanalyze everything, the mutter, for some they could be annoying but you found it rather and oddly fascinating, it made him feel real, genuine and honest.

‘He’s almost like…’

The chirping sound of the traffic light snapped you out of your rampant thoughts announcing that the light had finally turned green. You started off with your bike along the rest of the pedestrians and continued on your way to the school.

The rest of the way to Aldera passed without any hitch, you left your bike locked and took your stuff to walk to the shoe lockers like yesterday, just a few feet ahead you distinguish a very familiar mop of green curly hair. He seemed slightly hunched and deep in thought, probably way too deep in thought to the point that you could see a colorful smeared aura surrounding him and the word mutter coming out of his mouth. And you were not the only one, as you could see the people around walking away, with slightly perturbed expression on their faces. You just took it as a cue to let your presence being known.

“Good morning Midoriya!” You hopped by his side and greeted him enthusiastically. The poor thing almost had a heart attack and jumped out of his own skin as you just scared the shit out of him. He released a muffled scream and seem to calm down a tiny bit to immediately turn the shade of a tomato and babble a greeting.

“G-G-G-G-G-Good mo-morning Shinohara-san! You-You-You caught me by su-surprise.” He squeaked as he covered his face with his arms and his eyes moved erratically to look everywhere but you.

“Did I scare you? I’m sorry! I guess I let myself go a little bit.” You trailed, resting a palm against your nape.

“Oh nonono! Please don’t apologize! Y-Y-You were been courteous after all. He whispered breathlessly at the end fidgeting his fingers nervously. “I…nobody ever greets me or says good morning, I didn't expect it and that's why I got a little nervous. T-That’s all, so don’t worry.” His little confession shocked you for a moment, it was really depressing to be honest but it motivated you at the same time.

You beamed confidently at him, “Well Midoriya, I recommend that you get used to it then, because I intend to greet and say goodbye to you every day without fail from now on.”

He looked up at you with a surprised and somewhat puzzled expression, his fingers started to twitch nervously, his countenance became even redder if that was even possible.

“B-B-B-B-B-But Shi-Shinohara-san-!”

“Shush, shush, shush! I am not going to put it up for discussion this is how it’ll be from now on and it's over.” You placed your hands on your hips, a slight scowl adorning your face to accentuate your mock annoyance. “Besides, who will run away from Bakugou with me after I tell him how much of an asshole he is for the umpteenth time in a row?”

You relaxed your demeanor again, offering him a goofy smile, so he could notice that you weren't even mad to begin with. The poor greenette thought for a smidgen that he made you angry and that worried him profusely. But one glance at you told him that you were being sincere, he was scared that you could be trying to play a prank just to make fun of him as it has already happened to him so many times. that alien feeling of relief and tranquility invaded his chest, apparently the chance encounter he had with his childhood hero had been a good omen and brought him more good things that he could imagine.

His eyes teared up with hope and a squiggly smile adorned his face, he dried his tears with his gakuran sleeve and clenched his fists excitedly.

“So, what do you think?” you asked eagerly.

“I look forward for it!”

.

.

“Did you see what happened yesterday at the commercial district? It seemed pretty rough” You commented to Midoriya absentmindedly while you took your uwabaki from your locker. He visibly flinched as he heard your question almost dropping his shoes in the process.

“Ye-Yeah, they said that the pro heroes could hardly put up a fight because of the villain’s quirk.”

“Right? Hopefully All Might was nearby, otherwise who knows what would have happen. I wonder if the hostage is ok, I didn’t watch the news last night so I’m not pretty sure what exactly happened. Do you know how it was?

He flinched again and turned his head to you rigidly as you raised an eyebrow at his sudden odd behavior.

“I do-don’t know a lot but I read that everything was ok afterwards, the hostage walked out with just a couple of scratches, so there’s nothing to be concerned about Shinohara-san, it’s pretty nice of you to worry so much, especially since the hostage…” Midoriya looked down and tapped his trembling indexes together; he wanted to tell you something, but didn’t know how.

“Come on Midoriya, you already told me the hostage is ok, what can be so bad that you are hesitant to tell me?” You inquired him softly.

“Is nothing bad per se, well, you’ll see the hostage…” He paused and looked in all directions to check if anybody was listening. Ok, weird. He got a little closer to you and cupped his mouth with his left hand.

“The pe-person captured yesterday was-”

Your little hush-hush conversation was interrupted when the metallic sound of a locker being abruptly opened echoed in the sudden silent space. Your ears located the unexpected noise behind you and instinctively you turned to see what had caused such a ruckus.

A couple of lockers from you, a really angry and really frustrated Bakugou appeared right in front of your eyes. You observed how out of the blue everything and everybody seemed to freeze in time, and all eyes were on him. The atmosphere turned tense, every person there watched attentively his every movement, talking with just a glance, some people were whispering among themselves no even taking their eyes off him.

‘What the hell is happening?’

He took his uwabaki and slammed them on the floor, removed his shoes and buried them unceremoniously in the locker, slamming the door shut. He grumbled, trying fruitlessly to put his uwabaki, cursing that he couldn't put them on as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He suddenly stopped his movements, acknowledging the unwanted attention he was receiving.

“The hell are you looking at you fucking losers?! Why don’t you mind your own damn business, huh?!”

His voice echoed with fury at the school entrance, despite their obvious fear, nobody moved an inch, all the eyes glued on him. He finished to put on his shoes and stomped further inside. At the corner of his eye he noticed your presence and immediately stared at you, he seemed even more infuriated than before, this clearly soured his mood even further, if that was even possible.

You returned it with one of your own, as intense or more as his, the attention seemed to turn your way as your little staring contest became longer, Midoriya nervously looked between you and him, probably waiting for another showdown to break out, just like yesterday. Everybody’s breath hitched by the minute, but you didn’t back down, your (E/C) eyes met the fiery inferno of his crimson ones, after a couple more seconds he just tsked and stomped away with his hands buried way deep in his pockets.

After he left, the clock started ticking again, everyone took a breath of relief, averted their eyes from his retracting back and continued their lives like always. Midoriya’s shoulders relaxed significantly at the time that his soul slowly returned to his body. When you noticed him more calmed and focused, decided to address the elephant in the room.

“What. The. Heck. Just. Happened?” You whispered bewildered. “Who peed on his cereal? If this is something usual here, I’ll be more than glad to take my bike and go all the way back to Sapporo.” You crossed your arms over your chest and stared irritated at his retracting back.

“Well, now that Captain McTantrum™ left, what was that you wanted to tell me about yesterday’s incident?” You asked relaxing your demeanor to something more gentle and friendly. Midoriya flinched slightly and his poise appear suddenly uneasy.

“Um, well, the person-the-the person th-th-that got trapped by the mud villain, tha-tha-that person…” Midoriya tried over and over but it was useless, he couldn’t complete a single sentence without stumbling over his own words. Noticing that using his words would be useless, he looked at you in the eyes to then wander his gaze, pointing to something behind him. You started at him completely lost while he kept repeating the same cycle of looking at you and then looking away, urging you to get what he was trying to say, not moving his head once, like he was unsure to look back.

You exanimated what was at his back; just a couple of students walking to their respective classrooms, friends greeting each other, and Bakugou turning to the right at the end of the corridor to go upstairs-

‘Wait, Bakugou?’

Then it hit you, the awkward silence when he arrived, the unwanted starring, the murmuring, his more than usual foul mood, the outburst, Midoriya’s reluctance to tell you, he probably though he would get into trouble with him if it reached his ears that stupid Deku was talking shit of him to thief bitch. Everything made sense now. You broke out of your trance and looked at Midoriya “Was Bakugou?-” He eagerly nodded his head, satisfied that you finally understood him.

“Oh, I see…”

“Y-Yes…”

“…”

“…”

“HOLLY SHIT-”

.

.

With the issue clarified and only five minutes left before the class started you two proceeded to go upstairs as well. Midoriya and you made small talk with some intervals of comfortable silence here and there, soon enough you both reached your classroom, people chatting lively when you opened the door. Midoriya walked in just behind you as you made it to your designated seats.

‘If I’m not wrong, Math is our first class of the day’ your mind wandered to other school related topics while you seated at your desk, just as you did the bell ringed and your teacher entered the classroom and started his lesson of the day.

.

.

Midday finally came, which mean it was finally lunch time, you invited Midoriya beforehand to eat with you, he timidly accepted, after a lot of nervous quacking but you could tell he seem excited about the idea. As soon as the bell that announced the so waited lunch break ringed, you proceeded to pack your books and stationery into your bag and take out your bento when your desk was crowded by what it looked like to be all the girls in your class. One of them, a girl with short brown hair and blue eyes was the first to approach you.

“Hey Shinohara! Do you want to have lunch with us? We didn’t actually have the chance to talk yesterday and we thought it would be nice to know you better.” She spoke.

“Yuki-chan is right! Is refreshing to have another girl in the class after almost three years since we are very few, with you we are eight now!” Said another one of them visibly thrilled.

“You looked so cool yesterday when you confronted Bakugou!”

“I think nobody has managed to do that and live after it, or actually do it”

“Right?!”

“So awesome!”

They gave you a really kind and chill vibe, chatting and praising you animatedly. Although they seemed to really enjoy Bakugou’s antics against your green head classmate, well, nobody's perfect, noted. You can’t judge the book by its cover, but when you looked at them, it’s impossible to not think about…

The offer is almost irresistible.

Almost.

“That sounds lovely! But Midoriya and I agreed to have lunch together today, so I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it to another time.” You almost cringed at how cutesy and honeyed your voice sounded but they seemed to buy it, until their expressions made a 180. Their faces were shocked and almost offended at the thought of you putting him over their proposal. It was a ‘are you for real?’ reaction over all. You kept smiling at them to emphasize that you were serious, when the girl that talked first tried to dissuade you.

“B-But why don’t you eat with us today and leave your lunch with him for tomorrow? I’m sure Midoriya won’t have a problem, right?” She turned and looked at him just as the rest of the girls did after she, Midoriya flinched nervously holding his bento at the unexpected attention he was receiving.  

“Eh…! I…! Well… Um…”

“You see! He’s ok with it!”

‘He hasn’t even said a thing!’ You thought trying to conceal your disbelief. ‘Let’s put all the beef on the grill then’

“Oh, I got an idea!” You chimed. “Midoriya! Why don’t you join us for lunch too? That way nobody eats alone and we get to know better! It’s a win-win plan! What do you think?” You were not dumb, although it was true you can’t judge anybody by a simple glance, you had a somewhat firm idea of why they were so eager to mingle with you, so you just did what you thought it was necessary to make sure it was not that, and what a better way than with your nerve-wreck of a friend.

‘What a better way to know someone’s character than by the way they treat others?’  

The poor guy looked like he was about to have a seizure and your classmates were not any better; they looked at you even more astonished than before, and you could swear that they started to sweat. Suddenly they look to be hesitant, even the more insistent one. They looked at you, at each other and then at Midoriya.

“I-I think you are right, it wasn’t very nice to insist after you already had plans with…Midoriya, I guess we can leave it for another day.” The others seem to agree, a bit crestfallen but relieved nonetheless.

‘I knew it…’

They shortly left after that; you kept your friendly smile until they finally disappeared behind the door, when they were out of your view completely you let your smile fall and collected your lunch from your desk. You marched to the door, but stopped midway when you noticed that certain someone was still standing lost in his own world, mumbling nonsense as usual.

“Midoriya” You called him, he seemed to have got out of his trance and looked at you eyewided, confused and bewildered.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming or what?” You said smiling.

He stared at you genuinely surprised, but he swiftly shook his head and walked towards you.

“Yes!”

“A-Are we going to eat outside?” he asked curiously.

“I mean, it’s a beautiful day the temperature is perfect and this would actually be the first time ever that I had the chance to be outside in early April without freezing my butt. Do you have any place in mind?”

“No, I-I always eat by myself, so I prefer to stay in the classroom” He answered somewhat ashamed.

“Its ok, I know the perfect place.”

[pinkmoogle]

Coming out of my cave after literal years of inactivity and writer’s block to throw shade at someone who took the time out of their day to leave the shittiest comment on my work that I’ve ever received in my entire life.

1.) I hope you’re hungry, because you can sit down and make a meal out of my entire ass. Anyway.

2.) If someone’s work isn’t your cup of tea, move along to something else rather than dedicate your own time and energy to making the author feel like garbage on matters that you personally don’t agree with. You clearly have no grasp on what’s appropriate or not; a simple ‘this went in a different direction than I’d have liked because your style has changed and I just can’t agree with it’ would have sufficed just fine. If I don’t like a piece of fanfiction, do you know what I do...? I find something else. I promise it’s not as difficult as it sounds.

3.) I don’t write for you, peaches. You don’t pay my salary. You don’t control my life in any way, shape, form, or fashion, and with all of that in mind, do understand that I don’t owe you jack shit when it comes to what I choose to write. While your opinions are valid, that does NOT give you the right to be so insulting toward a writer and their fic that hasn’t been updated since 2017. I literally cannot tell you to blow me enough.

4.) Perhaps I should have included a ‘Dubious Consent’ tag to begin with, (before you shit your pants, don’t worry - I’m adding it after I post this), so I take full responsibility for that when it comes to a ‘lack of warning’, I suppose.

5.) If FDiGQ?????????????????? disturbed you, you should reconsider reading fanfiction as a general whole. I mean that as respectively as possible. 

6.) Before anyone decides to remark on any potential ‘inconsideration’ for the overall point of this person’s comment, please understand that I believe their concerns to be 100% valid and am in no way arguing against them. I am, however, expressing disgust at insulting, hurtful and unnecessary commentary that was in no way called for or deserved.

7.) Please see #2.

8.) Please see #2.

9.) Please see #2.

TLDR;  If you don’t like a piece of fanfiction because of the content, please move on to something else that’s more adhered to what you’re looking for without being an asshole about it. 

Your piece of fucking garbage comment has been removed from my work. Have the day that you deserve. ✌️ ✨

[tsarinastorm]

AA: Ashes to Ashes- Adam Sackler/Reader- Chapter 4

Sorry it took so long! I should be on a normal update schedule now.

The two of you walk in silence up the staircase to your apartment, it’s obvious that neither of you know what to say. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy that he and Jessa broke up, and that he came back to you in a way. You’d missed his company, his friendship, and you missed him. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him, he made you feel like your whole world was spinning but in a good way. Once inside your apartment, Bagel practically leaped into Adam’s arms, and he even made high pitch, happy noises that you’d never seen him do before. Adam holds him and pets his head, saying, “I missed you too, buddy.”

The scene warmed your heart even though you were planning on being ice cold with Adam. You offer him a drink and he asks for his typical: a glass of milk. You make yourself a cup of coffee and bring him his glass. You settle into one side of the couch and he remains on the other side, but Bagel crowds in between you, with his head on Adam’s lap. You decide to break the ice and make small talk.

“Did you finally finish the film?” You ask and he turns to make eye contact with you. He takes a drink of milk before answering.

“I am, I’m want to go back to theater. How’s work and the writing?” You can tell his nervous because he keeps bouncing his leg.

“It’s busy. Between the contracts and my book, it’s been exhausting.” You take a drink of your coffee and end up turning your body so you’re angled towards him.

“That’s good. Did you send it to the publisher yet?” He mimics your posture and is now turned to face you. Somehow, the space between the two of you on the couch has dissipated.

“Yeah…” The two of you continued to catch up with what happened in each of your lives over the past two weeks. You chatted about everything, like always, but there was a huge elephant in the room. Strangely, he seemed to avoid the topic as much as you were. Neither of you wanted to talk about what his break up with Jessa meant for the two of you.

You’re feeling overwhelmed by the situation: you had had a long day, ran into Jessa, then Adam showed up on your doorstep saying that he and Jessa broke up. Now, you had to deal with your feelings for him, and you couldn’t ignore them. His eyes are burning through you and there’s a part of you that wants to jump on him right now. Instead, you force yourself to ask the question that you’ve been avoiding since you came home.

“What do you want?” You really just want to go to bed and sleep for the next few days. You’re suddenly jealous of Bagel, who’s contently napping laying across Adam’s lap. If you were able to shut your moral conscious, maybe you could be snuggled into his arms.

“I guess I want what we had.” Adam answers. You weren’t expecting that answer.

“So just friendship?” You stand up to stretch, and take the glasses to the kitchen as you await his answer. You’re standing in front of him, and he goes to reach to you to pull you closer then he resists.

“Yeah I can talk to you about everything.” He eventually confesses. His eyes are passionate but you can tell that he’s watching for your reaction, for permission. He gives you a crooked smile and you can see his dimple, which you find adorable. You tell him, “Look, I’m going to bed. I am exhausted.”

Adam doesn’t move, he does the opposite he settles into the couch and stretches his legs out. You ignore that and continue on your nightly routine: take your meds, showering, skin and hair care routines. When you’ve finished, you peak out of your bathroom to see that Adam’s still crashed on the couch, and he’s snoring. Of course you could wake him but you decide not to. You crawl into your bed, and you’re asleep before you know it.

******

Adam wakes up sweating and tries to nuzzle into whatever warm body is snuggled into his.  He hopes its Y/N, after all she did let him stay the night, and he and Jessa were now broken so any relationship with Y/N was no longer off-limits. Then his bubble is burst when he realizes that the warm body he’s cozied up to is Bagel, not Y/N, and he’s about one slight movement from rolling off the couch.

He gets up and goes to look for Y/N, after peaking in her bedroom he finds that she’s still sound asleep. Bagel however doesn’t seemed bothered by this develop as he nudges the door opened with his nose and continued into the room, eventually joining Y/N in bed. Adam decides to make himself useful so he starts making breakfast, but then he notices that Y/N doesn’t really have any food in her apartment other the basics. He remembers that she doesn’t really cook so that makes sense, he then heads out to pick them up something.

After grabbing some breakfast dishes including egg casserole, bacon bagels, and muffins he returns. He sets up the table and is working on the Keurig, which is not being tolerable. He lets out a stream of curses when he hears, “What did my Keurig ever do to you?”

Y/N walks into the kitchen with Bagel trailing behind. She casually walks up to him, hits a button then turns to look at the table. Adam tells her, “I was going to make you breakfast but that didn’t work then I just brought some things.”

“I can see that. It looks good. Did you sleep on the couch all night?” She asks as she stretches like a cat.  Adam can’t help but stare at her tits which are now pressed out and her nipples are showing, and he’s never wanted to caress them and kiss them more than he does right now. Then he forces his eyes away though they now check out her legs which are on full display since the stretch pulled her pajama shorts up. Y/N ignores his looks of lust and grabs a cup of coffee, grabs a plate and starts delving into the breakfast he brought. She gestures at him to join her and he does.

Not long after they’ve ate the breakfast, Y/N dives into the deep questions that Adam would prefer to not talk about. He was enjoying their domestic bliss, which allowed him to fantasize what life together would be like.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the whole truth about Hannah?” She asks staring at him over her coffee mug. Once she takes another drink, she bites her lip and it makes his brain short-circuit. He lets out an exaggerated sigh and punches at his thighs in frustration before he answers.

“Because it’s embarrassing. I should have known it wouldn’t work and I was afraid of what you’d think.” Adam eyes the anything else in the room to avoid her gaze. When he does He can tell that she’s surprised by that answer because she furrows her eyebrows and pauses before asking her next question.

“Why’d you go back to her?” Adam knows damn well the reason he went back to Hannah but it makes him sound weak, needy, and naïve. And Y/N is Jessa’s friend so he knows that admitting the truth to her could be a huge risk. But he cares about Y/N in a way that he never did about Hannah, Jessa, or anyone else he can remember, Y/N is his friend.

“I just wanted to feel something real again, then Hannah and I realized it was really over and I went home to find Jessa there.” Bagel is resting his head on Adam’s thigh and Adam strokes his head to comfort himself from whatever explosive reaction he’s sure Y/N will have.

“And you accepted it because?” She asks. She doesn’t look mad or concerned, just curious.

“How was I supposed to break up with Jessa after she accepted that I left her for someone else with zero consequences?” She nods her head in response and they sit in silence for some time.

*****

It was your day off, you had a peaceful sleep the night before and woke up to find Adam still in your apartment but with breakfast. You had talked this morning about some things you didn’t have the energy to talk about last night and currently you had finished up a run around the neighborhood. It was amusing to say the least: Adam was shirtless wearing shorter shorts and had a hair tie in his hair to hold it back.

As you cross the street, a car almost hits you. You jump back suddenly and you can feel your heartrate spike. Adam, is furious and starts banging on the hood of the car, screaming at the driver, “WATCH WHERE THE FUCK YOU”RE GOING!! YOU ABOUT HIT A WOMAN, ASSHOLE!!”

You gently tug on his arm and urge him to continue crossing the street. Once safely across, you can tell that he’s still agitated so you put your arm around his waist. When he turns to face you, you ask him, “Are alright now? That guy was just an idiot.”

“Mmhmm. But he could have hurt you, what a fucking asshole!” He’s getting flustered all over again but he shakes his head agreeing with you. Adam snakes his arm around your shoulder and you allow it because it feels so nice, just the way you always thought it would. He’s even a little sweaty but so are you, and it doesn’t seem to bother either one of you.

After walking like that for a block, you eventually convince yourself to move away. You instantly regret it, but you know that you can’t cross a line with him, because now he’s your friend’s ex. You’re not sure which is worse: when he was your friend’s boyfriend or now when he’s her ex. This was a losing situation. You decided you’d be friends with him until he lost interest and moved on to his next woman or went back to Jessa.

“Wait, I want to go in here.” You say as you notice that you’re walking passed a vintage, eclectic furniture shop. Adam groans and tries to keep moving. You ignore him and keep on walking into the store. He stands outside and shouts, “I’ll wait out here, kid.”

“Kid” was a new nickname, you thought “tiger” was your established nickname. You’d have to ask him about the new term of endearment.

******

Adam knows Y/N shares his feelings and wants him too but is too stubborn to admit it. Then, because she’s a good person and a good friend she worries about hurting Jessa. Her compassion and empathy were two of his favorite things about her, but right now they were his enemy. She made him feel truly happy, and whole in a way that he thought he never could be. This situation meant he had only really had one option: stick around Y/N until she was ready to explore their relationship. He’d just have to wait it out, he was sure that eventually she’d realize what they had and that Jessa was a shitty friend.

Currently, he was waiting for her outside her apartment building. That’d been close enough that he knew he her routine and he knew that she would be taking Bagel for his morning walk soon. She hadn’t responded to his texts, he wanted to know she was ignoring him and to make sure she was okay. Soon, he spots her walking out of the building with Bagel walking beside her. Bagel barks at him and tries to run to him. Y/N was wearing a hooded t-shirt, skort-type thing, and sneakers. All Adam could notice was her legs, and how her outfit snugly fit her hips and ass. He’s distracted for a moment and he’s shocked when she asks, “Why are you here?”

“To see you, you didn’t respond to my texts. We are friends, aren’t we?” He asks as he bends over to pet Bagel who’s more than happy to see him. Bagel’s human is not as happy to see Adam, she crosses her arms at him before she curtly asks,

“You’re honestly here because we’re friends?” Her hands are her hips now, her eyebrows are raised, and she’s clearly not buying the ‘just friends’ thing either, that works in his favor. He stands up and tilts his head down to look at her when he tells her his feelings.

“You and I both know it’s more than that. I like you, I have for a long time and I think you like me too.” Adam always talks with his hands and his whole body. He hopes to make her confess her feelings.

“Suppose that’s true, nothing could ever come from it.” She says and tries to keep walking. He was not expecting that response. He quickly follows after her.

“Why the fuck not? Are you saying that you do want something more?” Now, he is confused. He thought that she’d admit that she wants him too and they’d be together, end of story. But apparently she wanted to punish herself and him. She lets out a huffy sigh before she answers.

“It could never happen even if I do because I’m Jessa’s friend and I don’t do that to my friends. I know we already crossed a line when we kissed, and I can’t change the past, but I can stop the betrayal from being worse.” She says matter-of-factly. Her eyes bore into his but she waivers on the last words and forces her eyes away from gaze.

“Believe me, if it was reversed, Jessa wouldn’t give a shit. She’s a shit friend. She dated me even thought I was Hannah’s ex…besides Hannah’s the only friend Jessa cares about.” Adam likes Y/N’s sense of loyalty but her loyalty to Jessa is misplaced, surely she must know this.

“I don’t give a shit what Jessa would do. I’m not Jessa and if you think I’m anything like her, then you know absolutely nothing about me.” She huffs at him, points her finger at him, and stands on her tiptoes so her face is closer to his. He never meant to compare her to Jessa, he knew damn well they were nothing alike.

“I do know you. Better than you think. And you know me. I’m not just going to let you push me away.” He tells her and his hand goes to her forearm. She doesn’t move away, she looks at his hand then trails her eyes back to his face. Her eyes are soft then they swiftly harden.

“Fine. I have to finish a contract today, then meet with an illustrator. You can hang out, but if you try any funny business, I’m out.” She asserts, and he smiles at her attitude.

“I can control myself if you can.” He chuckles and strikes his most innocent look, it makes her laugh. This is a start, he thinks, it’s only a matter of time. He rushed into his other relationships, he’d learn from them, and now he was willing to go slow with Y/N.

“Let’s try to go back to what we were before.” She says as they continue walking and going about their day.

[myfoofoo]

This is about shipping, because some of you are acting like you lost your mind....

Lemme just point this out before anyone else does. 

-Yes I’m aware this post is long. Get over it.

-Yes I’m aware the anti shipping here isn’t as bad as other fandoms

-I will only post this type of stuff here just this once okay? I’m sorry for the inconvenience, just block me if it bothers you so badly...

-I’m only saying this here because people decided to go to the crankiplier tag and be rude, and no I wasn’t triggered just off that. This has been a thing for awhile, that was just the last straw for me

-Mark or Ethan if you see this I’m so sorry, I’m just sick of this now

ok can i just say i love all the people who go in anon asks or say shit in the crankiplier tag talking shit like....funny thing is most of you would not be saying shit irl would you? LMAO No you wouldn’t you cowards, so don’t say it here. Ya’ll need to chill okay? Literally nobody’s trying to fight you. I don’t know if you guys are having an episode or some shit, but you need to chill trying to fight each other literally won’t fix a damn thing will it? I’m legit trying to say this as calm as possible because I’m actually fuming right now.

STOP. PLEASE. JUST. STOP.

This shit is seriously going too far and the sad part is most of you think you’re being a hero. I don’t know what happened to cause you all to be angry last night. But you going over to the crankiplier tag or ANY ship tag just to talk shit is fucking childish. Don’t ever feel proud of yourself for what you’re doing right now.

And don’t pull that “We’re sticking up for...” you’re doing it terribly by the way. Don’t use that as an excuse for how ignorant you are acting. Some of you are chill so just ignore this. No matter if you’re a shipper or not, nobody should be harassed to the point they get anxiety. Nobody should be generalized because a select group of people fucked up. I really don’t want to fight anyone but this is just disappointing and gross to witness. Do you actually feel proud of yourself for hurting complete strangers?? I thought this fandom was supposed to be welcoming not full of assholes who don’t understand the full story but still label you “toxic” anyway. 

I literally respect tf out of Amy and Mika and I respect tf out of Mark and Ethan. I’ve literally kept everything to myself and most of us have?? 

One thing I want to make clear, I know you mean well...I know you’re just trying to keep the boys safe and I am literally with you on that...but this isn’t the way to solve that. Fighting each other won’t solve this. I admit before someone tries to use this against me I did write a VERY...very aggressive thing towards anti shippers, but I felt bad so I want to redo it. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you had bad personal experience with shipping.

I’m sorry if you witnessed the septiplier shit in 2016

I’m sorry if you’re going through personal baggage and we’re you’re only outlet.

I’m sorry if shipping makes you uncomfortable.

But being rude to each other? Will not fix it. I respect you if you don’t like shipping. That is entirely fair and I have no problem with that. It’s the way you guys handle it that makes me want to punch the fuck out somebody. lmaoo

Handle it in a mature way. Not like this. You don’t have to like us, that is fair.

But don’t you fucking dare compare us murderers, to pedos, to stalkers. And yes I’ve seen someone say it before. Don’t you ever compare us to that nasty shit. 

You do not know ANY of us personally nor will you ever. Don’t try to judge our characters just because of one trivial thing. It’s childish and disgusting.

Remember Natsuki’s poem? “Amy likes spiders”? I’m sure most of you know what I’m talking about. You remember what that poem was about? Don’t judge a person just because of ONE characteristic about them, it just makes you an ignorant jerk. And I’m sure most of you even agreed with that poem....kinda hypocritical ain’t it??

Can we please...PLEASE just chill out?? This fandom is supposed to be like a family, not a constant battle. It doesn’t need to be like this. Like ever. So please let’s just stop with this....please.

And no before people start whining, no I am not supporting the people who harassed the boys. I’m not supporting people who tag Mark or Ethan or ANY youtuber with smut. No I am not supporting the people who called Amy and Mika nasty names. 

I am supporting the people who kept it to themselves. I am supporting the people who respected the boys wishes and either changed their ways of shipping or posted in their rightful tag. I am supporting the people who are probably too afraid to stick up for themselves when people are literally shouting at them. I am supporting the people who ship because it’s the only thing that makes them smile during hard times. I am supporting the people who did nothing to hurt you or anyone in anyway.

ANYWAY, I’m not gonna fight ya’ll not worth the energy honestly. Stay safe, stay sane in quarantine, it’s pretty rough right now. Wash your hands. Goodbye.

Wait I forgot Ethan and Sean literally said shipping IS FINE just don’t go harassing people. Sean literally said in the video “Don’t fight each other over this..” And yet you’re doing the opposite. THIS IS WHAT YOUR FUCKING WORDS ARE CAUSING

ARE YOU DEADASS PROUD FOR GIVING SOMEONE PANIC ATTACKS????

REALLY?? OVER THIS??

Before I blow up lemme just...don’t feel proud of this. This is not okay. Shipper or not. Don’t give people this much fear. I’m staying out of the tags for awhile until ya’ll finally decide to grow up. This is depressing...

Small update: Please don’t put other people’s toxic actions on all of us. We are not their parents, we don’t control them in anyway. I literally put out friendly reminders not to harass the boys, that’s all I can do. Otherwise it’s literally out of our control. If people spam a ship name in their streams, like wtf am I supposed to do??? I’m not a mod, I’m not a goddess, I can’t just magically ban them, I wish I could because I hate that shite too lmao. Also, yes quarantine sucks ass right now. But just because you’re bored does not mean, come over and be mad at us. Or whatever th ya’ll excuse is these days. Nobody asked lmao.

[mothmansfriend]

when i’m sad oh god i’m sad (pt. 2)

link to pt. 1

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets.

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning),  suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

There are a number of places that are simply uncomfortable to sleep. Barely sitting up and using the chairs provided by the previous tenants as a pillow is certainly one of them. It takes Remus a moment to identify what woke him up as there's another round of knocking on his door and he doesn’t want to respond. It’s bright out,the sun is blocked from his figure by the curtains covering most of the windows. He hears Roman’s muffled voice as the locked doorknob jiggles, “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is”.

Their footsteps move away and Virgil speaks, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that-” his voice fades as they enter the kitchen.

Remus can barely pick himself off the floor before his phone lit up with a notification.

the shittier twin: You good? LMK when you’re coming home, Virgil is lowkey freaking out  (received: 10:14)

He stares at the words willing his brain to focus as he decides, maybe he should reply.

He sends a photo of a fat pigeon he took outside a club him and D got kicked out of a few weeks ago. It would be clear that the picture was taken at a different time, but does get message of ‘I’m alive’ across. Which is about as much as Remus is willing to communicate to people that haven’t even tried to contact him before now. How sad is it that his twin brother didn’t even check on him until six days later. Or maybe he should be asking if it’s sad that after four days Roman still hasn’t noticed that he’s home, or that it took Roman six to even ask? Remus spends all this time in the theatre and in the arts studio, and still Roman was the only one to ask, though at the request of someone who wants to get mad at him. He considers if maybe that he is a bad person, and that isn’t something he normally would care about, but if he weren’t then people might have checked on him. He usually hangs out with D almost everyday and he swears he’s never been gone more than maybe four days. But no one else seems concerned at all.

He considers reasons why this might be and gets stuck on Roman’s comment that he hasn’t been gone that long, and the implications then of him being gone longer. Things that don’t really make sense, but he knows losing your train of thought and getting distracted is a part of ADHD, but maybe, this is much more concerning. How does he know that he’s only ever been gone so long, maybe those lapses are more than a few minutes of zoning out. Which leads to, does Remus know who he is during these lapses? The contrast between the two prince twins have always been clear in their behaviour, Roman who follows every word their parents whisper in his ear. The boy grew up to be an actor after years of who takes any command without thought at that chance to be on top, and revelled in praise. It’s the cowards way of survival, are you really living if you’re not you? He knows Roman wasn’t quite loving that, but he still complied. Remus has always known exactly who he is and who he always will be. But the uncertainty of who he is in those spaces that seem to be taking up more and more space, maybe he;s been following someones script too?

He’s constantly changing his mind and forgetting where he is, are his feelings his? If everything the thought he knew about himself is slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass than how does he make it stop?

—

Virgil slides into the recently empty chair next to Roman the second Patton gets up to ask the waitress for another round of coffee, he steals one of Roman’s sausages and speaks, “By the way, I’m catching a ride to your place with you and D”.

Roman squawks at the sausage thief, “Why? I already told you Remus isn’t home!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know, just humour me. I went to talk to Joan before we left and Thomas said Remus texted to apologize for missing practice, he’s never done that before! I just wanna come check, you can make fun of me later or whatever.”

“Fine, whatever, I know you’d just show up anyway. I don’t think him texting Thomas means anything though, even if it is weird.”

“Well we can agree to disagree then.”

—

The entry to the apartment the Prince twins share with D was just as full of banter as expected. D and Roman irritating Virgil without effort but Virgil matching that with his own comebacks and determination to check on Remus. “Alright, Emo Knightmare, let’s go knock on his cave door so I can know you again, that he isn’t home” Roman drops his bag next to the couch and heads down the shared hallway of D, Remus, and the storage closet. D walks past him with comments of a essay due tomorrow and disappears. Roman walks down and knocks on the door sternly once maintaining eye contact with Virgil knowing there will not be a response. Virgil follows him and he knocks again after a moment and jiggles the knocked door handle. “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is.” Roman turns and leads them back out into the living room towards the kitchen.

Virgil pauses for a moment watching the door before he follows, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that he actually texted to apologize for not showing up today. You know when Remus is out he never remembers to charge his phone, it just seems weird.”

Roman exhales and wordlessly pulls out his phone shooting off a text to his twin before pulling some leftovers out of the fridge to offer to Virgil despite the fact they had eaten not long ago. Virgil accepts and he puts it on two plates for the microwave. Roman’s phone vibrates on the counter with a text. The emo leans over to read and snorts, “Wait, is Remus’s name actually ‘the shittier twin’ in your phone? He just send a picture of  what appears to be an obese pigeon, that doesn’t answer my question at all!”

Roman shrugs, “Of course it is, and yeah that sounds about right, it’s like he’s trying to communicate through hieroglyphics, he’s just telling us he’s fine.”

Virgil’s dark eyes examine Roman’s face for any reflection that he’s just trying to make him stop bothering him with his concern, but when he sees nothing he drops his defensiveness, “Yeah, okay, he’s your brother, he’s kind of like a cat I guess. He always comes home right?”

The microwave beeps and Roman slides the extra plate in front of Virgil, “Exactly, he’s just like this, I’ll text you when he comes back. You don’t need to worry about it, Virge.”

Virgil shoots him a small smile before taking his plate to the couch closely followed by the oldest Prince twin as they settle down with Netflix until they need to leave for their respective classes.

—

Roman blearily wipes his eyes as he wakes up in his dark room and rolls over to check the time. 2:34am wake up and bathroom break time. He briefly considers just rolling over and waiting four or five hours until he needs to get up for class, but decides there’s just a higher chance of getting a restless sleep the rest of the night. The hockey captain rolls out of bed standing in his room shirtless and only wearing a random pair of soft sleep pants and stumbles out of his room, crossing the living room and entry way he’s about to try the handle of the dark bathroom door when it opens to reveal a tall dark figure.

Roman jumps back with an admittedly embarrassing squawk before recognizing the dark figure to be a freshly showered, exhausted, and almost weak looking Remus. The two stood in silence for a moment, Remus not even reacting to the sight of his brother. Roman awkwardly laughed for a moment, “Holy shit, Remus! I didn't even realize you were home.”

Remus stares emptily, moving to walk away without replying, Roman stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “Are you like, uh, okay? You kind of look like shit”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as suddenly Remus’s face hardens into a snarl, “Oh fuck you, Roman.” His voice cracks halfway through but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the venom in his voice, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Christ! If you’re going to be an asshole then nevermind, I just wanted to check up on you. You know, like a concerned brother just might do?” Roman fires back suddenly feeling defensive. The tone of voice Remus uses almost sounds scared to him but he doesn’t have the energy to pry at Remus in the hallway less than 6 feet from D’s door at 2:30am.

“You don’t get to play any kind of concerned brother role right now! You don’t just get to decide to be concerned one day, it’s all about appearances with you, I dont fuck with that!” Remus’s voice raises as he gets more and more riled up, his voice sounds like shit as if he hasn’t used it in days, “Tell me when you think I got home, Princey, huh? You don't know shit about me and it’s time you stopped asking like you do.” He steps towards Roman edging back down the hallway to the living room.

“Why am I supposed to know when you got home?” Roman fires back, “You’re an adult! You’ve taken care of yourself fine for years, I’m not your parent I don’t need to know where you are twenty-four-fucking-seven!”

Vaguely, Roman hears D’s bedroom door open and feels brief regret that was smashed by Remus shoving him backwards. “You don’t need to know! But, did you ever think to wonder? Did you ever once care enough to ask? No! I don’t remember ever being gone more than three or four days.”

Roman recoils for a second in confusion but counters standing his ground, “What does that fucking mean? You own a calendar, a phone, you should know your average in the last year has been like five to seven days, you can’t blame me that you decide to go on a bender every 6 months or less. Can’t you ever grow up?”

“It means I don’t know where I was for two to four of those days at least! You self absorbed prick! Fuck!” Remus crumples for a second, his facial expression looks so, lost. He violently grabs and tugs on his still damp hair. He stands back up face guarded once again. “I know I never go out without a plan, I have paid some fucking terrible prices for that that you never need to know about. But, you’re telling me that I was out there and I don’t remember it? And no one thought to mention anything to me? And you’re asking if I’m ‘okay’? Fuck that, fuck you. I’m going back to my room, and ideally I’ll fucking rot and die before I have to look at you again,” Remus seethes before turning and slamming his door without waiting for a response.

Roman sags at his brothers exiting remarks, making tentative eye contact with D who waits in the dark hallway. “I don’t know what to do,” Roman says quietly.

D moves towards him moving them to the couch offering a comforting touch to the remaining twin, “Roman, I cannot tell you that I have any idea about what just happened. But, it seems like he just wants you to be there for him, in his own weird displays of affection he does love you and I think maybe he’s scared sometimes that you don’t care for him, and he lashes out. But right now, you need to go back to sleep so you can go to your boring nine am lecture, and I’ll try to spend time with him tomorrow. Sound good?”

Roman examines D, letting himself feel vulnerable for a moment but trusts that D knows what to do. He’s known the twins since high school, if anyone knew it would be him. “Thank you, D” Roman whispers, leaning into the little affection for a moment before he stands up and moves them back down the hallway.

Roman goes to the bathroom as originally planned but thinks about the things his younger brother had said. How much is he missing? What does it mean for Remus to simply not remember days at a time? Is it because of drinking too much or something else?

As Roman tucks himself back into bed, preparing himself for the restless sleep he had been trying to avoid. His mind wanders, and he can’t help but think that maybe he should be questioning blood stains on Remus’s carpet a little more.

[hutchhitched]

The Vintage Joshifer Series: End of Love—Chapter 18

End of Love by hutchhitched

A kazillion years ago, I started posting this story. I never intended for it to drag on this long in between updates, but life happens and so does writer’s block. I know there’s little readership in the Joshifer fandom anymore, but I needed to finish it. If you’re still around to read it, thank you. If you want to dive in, I’d appreciate it. You definitely don’t have to be a Joshifer fan to read it since Josh and Jen’s characters are historical actors and not versions of their modern selves. There are three more chapters after this one, all of which will be posted this month (fifty years after the events that take place in the final chapter).

 Historical events in this chapter include the following:

The Democratic National Convention took place in Chicago in August 1968. Bobby Kennedy’s assassination (see Chapter 16) threw the convention into chaos since there was no longer a clear front runner. LBJ’s vice president eventually won the nomination, but the real story was outside the convention in the streets where members of the New Left protested—including the Yippies, who nominated a pig for president (3:38). Riots broke out in the streets, and protestors, police, and journalists were all injured.

Not long after the DNC, there was a protest at the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City, NJ, led by those who were supporters of women’s liberation. The New York Radical Women (NYRW) and National Organization of Women (NOW), and members of consciousness raising groups all participated. Gloria Steinem, who helped found Ms. magazine and just recently toured the country promoting her new book, was one of the founders of NOW.

 Shout out to @xerxia31​ for drawing my attention to the quote, “The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility.”

Chicago, Illinois, August 1968

 “Jen, are you working again today?” Amy shouted through the closed bedroom door. When there was no answer, she rapped loudly on the wood.

 Half asleep, Jennifer stretched and rubbed sleep from her eyes.  She rolled over and slipped her arm over Josh’s naked torso and yelled in a sleep-choked voice, “Yeah, I have to be there at noon.  Sleeping in.”

 “I’ll be home late tonight. Be careful.”

 “Thanks, Amy,” she replied and nestled her head into Josh’s shoulder.

 “Yeah, be careful,” he grunted and shifted onto his side.  “Someone might try to take advantage of you or something.”

 “Mmm…  Good morning,” she breathed as he traced her collar bone with the tip of his tongue.

 “Good morning to you. Signs point to it being very, very good.”

 Jen spread her legs and sighed as he settled between them.  His mouth greeted her as if they’d been separated for months, even though they’d spent the majority of the night before high and trying new positions from the Kama Sutra he’d scored from one of his friends at work.

 “I’m not going to be able to walk today if you don’t stop that,” she teased in between sharp intakes of breath.  She twisted her fingers in his hair as she approached her climax and tugged hard.

 “Don’t gripe, doll,” he said as he tore his mouth from her.  “You know you love this.”

 Wrapping her arms around him, she tugged him against her and welcomed him inside.  His long strokes drove her over the edge quickly, and he plunged into her as she gripped and rippled around him.

 When they were finished, he tugged on a pair of bellbottoms with frayed denim hems and walked to the bathroom.  He returned a few minutes later, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and left with only a brief farewell tossed over his shoulder as he walked down the hall. Stunned, she sat up and stared after him, but he didn’t return.

 “Something’s still off,” she muttered before shrugging and dressing for work.

 She’d only been at her new job for a few weeks.  Once she’d decided to take Jack’s advice, things had moved quickly.  She interviewed and got the job within a few days, allowing her to leave her job at the Tribune and take a reporter position at the local NBC affiliate.  It had taken a bit to readjust to reporting news on camera instead of typing it, but she had no regrets.  Her boss at the TV station was a saint compared to Mr. Murrow, and she enjoyed the new relationships she’d developed with her co-workers, most of whom were incredibly good-looking and closer to her age.  The field was an entirely different world than the newsroom, and Josh seemed amused by her stories.

 “Not sure what’s wrong with him today,” she mused as she made her way to work to receive her assignment and camera operator for the day.

 “Jennifer,” her boss called from his office and motioned her inside.  “I want you on the DNC this week.  I know you usually work weekends, but Chicago doesn’t get the convention every year.  You’ve got today and tomorrow to prep, and then you’re on until Thursday.  I need you at the top of your game.  These things are notoriously dull, so you’ll need to create some interest through interviews.  Get people’s ideas.”

 “On the convention floor?”

 “No, you’re outside. I’ve got another team inside the convention itself,” he explained.  “I need you to report on the mood outside the event.”

 “Is anybody going to be hanging around outside?  If people can’t get in, why would they be there?”

 “I put in a call Daley’s office.  The good mayor seems to think there might be trouble.  Police are expecting some more radical groups to be in the streets.”

 “Radical groups,” she murmured.  She’d ask Josh what he’d heard when she got home.  He knew more than she did about who would be there.

 ****

 But Josh wasn’t at home when she got there. She stayed up late, studying and prepping for her assignment, but he didn’t come back.  His clothes still hung in her closet, so she knew he hadn’t bailed on her and would return eventually. Still, his absence grated on her, especially when he didn’t return the next day either.

 She woke early on Wednesday to featherlight kisses on her forehead. Josh settled onto her, pressing her into the mattress and winding his fingers in her hair.

 “I missed you,” he whispered and wiggled his crotch between her legs.

 Grouchy from lack of sleep and even more frustrated he’d been missing for the past two days without any sort of explanation, she snapped, “Where have you been, asshole?”

 She almost smacked him when he chuckled, but she forgave him quickly enough when he explained he’d been planning a demonstration for the day at the DNC. He kissed her softly, lovingly, and she relented. She closed her eyes, let him inside, and moaned when he moved inside her. His political pillow talk excited him more than anything else lately, and he eventually came with a long, guttural growl in her ear. He pulled out quickly and dropped his head between her legs. His mouth worked magic on her. When he kissed her afterwards, she tasted both of them in his mouth. She wasn’t sure why that turned her on so much, but it drove her to beg for another round before she left for her shift.

 ****

 Jen was met by a throng of protestors and twice as many police as she stationed herself outside the convention and attempted to interview as many people in the crowd as would talk to her. She wrangled a conversation with a woman named Katie, who proudly proclaimed herself a member of the Youth International Party.

 “Katie, can you tell us a little bit about why you’re protesting today?” Jen yelled into the microphone and turned it toward the other woman. She bumped into the other woman when someone jostled her, and she strained to hear the answer.

 Katie screamed at the top of her lungs, “Fuck the pigs! The Yippies are here to show how corrupt the police and government are. They support the military industrial complex, sending our boys to die in ’Nam while they wallow in filth in D.C. We’re here to nominate our own candidate, Pigasus the Immortal, because even a pig could run this country better than that asshole in the White House.”

 Jen’s eyes widened imperceptibly, but she schooled her features as best she could. No matter what her interviewees said, she needed to remain neutral and report the news. No matter how radical or extreme, no matter if she agreed with the sentiment or not, her job was to present the facts and share what was unfolding in Grant Park to the rest of the nation.

 As the crowd around her shouted, “Pigs are whores,” she marveled at the irony of nominating a pig for president while simultaneously slandering the police as whores. Tension crackled in the air, and she wondered briefly if Josh was actually somewhere in the crowd like he was supposed to be. Admittedly, while her political bent was less radical than his, she still agreed with a lot of his ideas. This, though, seemed more like it could burst into a riot immediately and not stay just a protest.

 Hours passed, and she kept interviewing, kept side-stepping potential problems, and kept doing her job. As darkness fell, the crowd’s energy ticked higher. Something was going to happen. She could feel it. Thousands of police and national guard and military surrounded the protestors, and all it would take was one spark for the area to erupt.

 Three minutes later it did. Someone threw a rock, the police retaliated, and a full-scale riot broke out in front of her. A Molotov cocktail whizzed over her head, and she motioned to her cameraman to start rolling. She had no idea if the station would pick up her report, but she wasn’t letting this opportunity go. This was a career-maker.

 “As you can see, violence has broken out at the protests outside the Democratic National Convention here in Chicago. It’s 11:00 pm, and city ordinance says that all public parks must be closed at this hour. That hasn’t fazed the protestors, mainly members of the Youth International Party and others of the New Left, who demand an end to American involvement in Vietnam and a rehauling of the federal government.

 “Chicago mayor, Richard Daley, has consistently declared that he will see law and order maintained, and he’s backed up that assertion with over 12,000 police, 5,000 national guard members, and 12,000 regular army troops, according to reports from the mayor’s office itself.

 “Earlier today, Yippies, members of the Youth International Party, nominated a pig for president as a statement about the state of the government. Tonight, the establishment is fighting back. Expect more—”

 Something struck her in the side of the head, and she saw stars. She focused enough to see her cameraman swivel the camera to capture the events, so she could gather herself.

 “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, careful to keep her voice low in case her microphone was broadcasting. She pressed her fingers to her forehead and grunted at the pain. When she pulled her hand back, she was stunned to find it covered in blood.

 The crowd jostled her, and she realized she needed to get out of harm’s way. Her head hurt, and she swayed when she tried to take a step. Dizzy and confused, she staggered to her left. A few seconds later, she collapsed.

 ****

 “Wake up, Jennifer.”

 The voice was insistent and familiar, and she tried to listen. It hurt too much. Too tired to care, she slid back into darkness.

 “Jennifer Shrader Lawrence. Wake up!”

 “No. Ow. Sleep. Sleep now.”

 “Come on, doll. Wake up. Right now.”

 With a growl, she nudged into the hand cupping her jaw and opened her eyes. The light from a single lamp made her head explode, and she whimpered in pain. It took several seconds for her to focus. When she did, she sighed, “Josh.”

 “You know, you shouldn’t get a bottle thrown at your head. You’re too pretty to carry off a scar on your forehead.” His eyes were filled with concern and a hint of anger, but his lips curved into a gentle smile that made her want to kiss him.

 “Good thing I have bangs,” she joked quietly in an attempt to keep her head from swirling. “How’d we get back here? What time is it?”

 “A buddy of mine gave us a ride. I saw you get hit, and I managed to pick you up before you got trampled. Also, don’t black out in the middle of a riot. That’s just common knowledge.”

 She frowned. “I was working.”

 “You were,” he agreed before adding forcefully. “Now, you’re not. You take a bottle to the head and bleed all over yourself, you’re in no shape to be on TV. And it’s almost 4:00 am. You’ve been out for a while.”

 “I took you away from the protest.”

 Josh didn’t answer. Instead, he put a bag of ice on her forehead where the bottle had hit her right over her right temple. Indicating she should take it from him, he grabbed a bottle of aspirin off the bedside table, popped three into his hand, and put them on her tongue when she opened her mouth.

 “You’re going to be laid up for a few days. You should call your boss when it’s a reasonable hour. He can call in a replacement.”

 “Josh, I need to work.”

 “What you need to do,” he snapped, “is get well. I’m going to sleep. I have to be back out there tomorrow.”

 “You’re going back?” she yelped. “Why? So you can get hurt? There are thousands of police out there and the army and Daley doesn’t give a shit about any of you.”

 “Which is exactly why we’re protesting, Jennifer.”

 “Doesn’t make it smart.”

 “I never said I was smart.”

 Before she could say another word, he flipped off the light and headed to the living room.

 “Where are you going?” she demanded, her anger barely contained.

 “I’ll be on the couch tonight. Go to sleep.”

 “Jackass,” she muttered, but she wasn’t in any shape to drag him back to bed. Instead, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. When she woke up the next morning, he was gone.

 ****

“There you are. I thought you weren’t going to make it home before I left.”

 Josh stood in the hallway, his expression unreadable, and Jen zipped her suitcase closed. She rose and crossed to him, but he didn’t reach out for her or return her tentative smile. She really shouldn’t be leaving town when their relationship was on the rocks, but her boss insisted they needed her presence in Atlantic City, that her coverage of the riots not quite two weeks prior had shot her to superstardom—at least as much as a local news correspondent could be. She was the trusted face of news in Chicago and covering the Miss USA pageant would give her a softer side that would solidify her image of being able to report everything in the news cycle. She thought it was bullshit, but she wasn’t really in the position to argue.

 “This isn’t exactly the farewell I was hoping for when I asked you to make sure to say goodbye to me.”

 “You shouldn’t be going,” Josh grumbled, and anger flooded through her.

 “I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?” she snapped. “Not if I want to keep my job. Besides, it’s a beauty pageant. It’s not like I’m going to get hurt again. I’m not covering a riot.”

 “Jennifer, there are consciousness raising groups all over the country headed to Atlantic City. They’re planning all sorts of protests against this—this—this travesty that likens females to cattle. I can’t believe you’re willing to cover something that makes other women look like pieces of meat.”

 He threw up his hands, and she pursed her lips. “It’s my job.”

 “Get a new one, then. You’re supporting the establishment. I thought you were against all the shit—”

 “I’m a journalist, Josh. A journalist, not an activist. That’s your job.”

 He glared at her before whispering, “Maybe you’re not who I thought you were.”

 “The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility,” she said, her voice frigid. “I’m leaving. I have a flight to catch.”

 He didn’t stop her when she grabbed her suitcase and stalked past him. She was down the stairs and into the cab before tears spilled over and wet her cheeks.

 ****

 Atlantic City proved to be a lot more than Jennifer expected, and it made her furious that Josh was right. Of course, she was always mad when Josh was right and she’d argued against him. He liked to gloat, and she had no desire to go back to Chicago and hear him snicker.

 Worse than that, she had an aching fear in her gut that she’d fly home, and he’d be gone. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t been able to shake that he was planning to leave for months. It seemed only a matter of time. How could she tame Josh Hutcherson, activist and rebel and total playboy?

 Why hadn’t they managed to have a discussion about their relationship in the year they’d been living together? They’d never promised to be exclusive, never had the conversation, and Jen had a sinking feeling that he was just biding time until he went back to his former life—floating from place to place and woman to woman, following the fight for the causes he supported and relationships be damned. Andre and Jackson were his only close friends, and he hadn’t seen either of them in months either.

 Something wasn’t right, and she was terrified of eventually discovering what it was.

 She shook herself as her mind drifted to Josh for the hundredth time in fifteen minutes. The action behind her on the pier ramped up as the pre-pageant sessions dragged on. She’d interviewed dozens of protestors, asking them their views on the women’s movement and women’s liberation. Several members of the New York Radical Women were there leading the protests, and Jen thought she’d go insane if she heard the words “consciousness raising” again.

 Jen directed her attention to what she thought would provide the clearest portrayal of what the protestors were attempting to accomplish. She interviewed women carrying signs of females marked up as cuts of meat; she directed her crew to record the Freedom Trash Can as women threw in high heels and tweezers and bras and pantyhose; she heard the term bra burner and twirled to spot a fire until the woman she was interviewing explained that they’d decided not to set the trash can on fire because they feared the wooden boardwalk would go up in flames. Finally, she took copious notes during the pageant itself until protestors in the balcony unfurled a large banner and simultaneously set off a smoke bomb that drove everyone from the auditorium.

 In short, she realized later when she was back in her hotel room and reviewing her notes, she’d done everything she could possibly do to both keep her job and work against the establishment Josh seemed to want to insist she supported. If she was honest, her work that day was a giant middle finger to both her boss and her whatever-the-hell he was to her because Josh sure hadn’t promised her anything.

 She was fuming by the time she landed in Chicago the following evening, ready to return to her apartment and find him and his belongings missing. If she could stay mad until she found out for sure that he was gone, maybe she’d be able to survive the loss.

 When she walked in the door, she had a string of curse words waiting on the tip of her tongue to fall, to distract her from the pain she knew was coming.

 “Hey, doll.  I missed you.”

 Tears pricked her eyes, and she dropped her suitcase. She took three giant steps and threw herself into his arms. He tried to ask her what was wrong a million times, but she shut him up with her mouth every time.

 “Take me to bed,” she begged, and he obliged. She was well into her third orgasm before she believed he was really there. 

[demaury]

Game On -- High School AU | Enemies-to-friends-to-lovers AU (chap.1)

Ten years after his father shipped him off to boarding school, Jude is back to Los Angeles for his senior year. As it turns out, relinking with his childhood friend isn't nearly as hard as it is to deal with his almost estranged father. 

Zero is the typical high school heartthrob and a basketball prodigy on the way to make a name for himself. Everything should be easy, but years in foster care and physical abuse don't make for the smoothest reunion with former teen-mom  and her perfect family. 

Really. They have a lot on their plate already.

Falling in love was not supposed to be an option. (read on ao3)

Jude Kinkade was many things.

Unfortunately, hopelessly naïve was one of those. Especially when it came to certain matters, he thought bitterly as he stared, probably for the umpteenth time that very morning, at his still desperately silent phone.

C’mon, it’s not that big of a deal, Kinkade.

I’ll call you when I get home.

Yep. Jude had been just that naïve apparently, he had been waiting for that exact thing to happen ever since, and it had already been five days.

The clicking sound of a pair of high heels caught his attention, and Jude quickly buried his phone in his jean pocket, affectedly tugging at his grey shirt while staring at his own reflection in the full-length mirror. Lionel Kinkade, née Hemsworth, and formerly known as Davenport, leaned against the doorframe of her stepson’s bedroom, heaving a loud sigh as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Jude, honey, could you stop moping? It’s going to be just fine.”

Jude lifted his hazel eyes to her through the mirror, grumpily chewing at his bottom lip. “Being the new kid always sucks,” he grumbled.

Eight years of boarding school and here he was, back in Los Angeles for his senior year, as if all those years in-between had meant nothing. At a goddam public school, of all things. Don’t get him wrong, he hardly cared about the standing of his school, or the rankings, or whatever, really. He just wished he hadn’t been forced to abandon everything and everyone he knew, one random morning a month into the school year, just because his dad had suddenly decided he needed to.

“See it as an adventure. It’s scary but it could lead to some fun along the way,” his stepmom shrugged, like it was no big deal.

He gave her a pointed look. “I’ll be in this school for less than three months. What’s even the point? Dad could have left me at Ellis Harwood, that would have been just as fine,” Jude protested, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

He felt like they had had this conversation a thousand times already, and maybe they had, judging by the look on Lionel’s face. Was it his fault if his father was almost never around? What was he supposed to do, just not complain to the only other person in this house who didn’t belong to the cleaning staff?

Lionel waved dismissively. “Come on, you know he didn’t want that stupid story to affect your records.”

Jude huffed and shook his head.

If only the Principal of Ellis Harwood Institute, ME., hadn’t had the brilliant idea to flee the country with the donations made to the school by the wealthy parents of his students, then maybe Jude would have had the time to prepare before everything was packed up and he was on a plane back to Los Angeles.  The problem was that no private school in the whole country seemed to be accepting students out of the blue after the beginning of the first quarter, so Oscar Kinkade was told that money or not, his son would not start afresh until January. Unless, of course, he went to a public school. Jude wished he didn’t have to endure his father’s tantrum when he was told about it, but he did — at length.

Lionel finally stepped into the bedroom, affectionately adjusting the shirt on Jude’s shoulders, brushing away an invisible speck of dust.

“You’ve dealt with a bunch of rich assholes for eight years, that was scary,” she observed, then a wicked smile formed on her full lips: “Everybodywill want to get to know you, trust me. Time has made wonderful work of you.”

Instantly, Jude sarcastically snorted and looked away. In the course of the last year and a half, he had matured to a point where people everywhere were starting to notice him. Not in a weird, reproachful way, but with something that looked ridiculously close to approval. Attention was hardly the worst of his daily struggles, though. He had yet to get used to his quickly developing body, an upgraded version much taller and with much broader shoulders. As if all of a sudden his nearly ten years of swimming competitions had decided to catch up with him. He had been bumping his head, his shoulders, his knees, his elbows — literally any part of his body, really — more often during the last year than ever before in his entire life.

Kids always wanted to be taller, but nobody ever warned them about the downside of being tall.

The only positive so far? He had stopped feeling ridiculously self-conscious about his size in an all boy-school, but even that had been taken from him now.

Lionel glanced at her sparkling Cartier watch with a hint of disdain. “We should get going. I once learned at my expense that being fashionably late in high school is highly frowned upon.”

Jude rolled his eyes and went to grab his Eastpak from the empty desk. Most of his bedroom was still empty, save for the bookshelves that were literally crumbling under the weight of voluminous sci-fi novels that he used to devour a lifetime ago, and his trophies and medals in a corner that served as a reminder of his glory days on the swim team.

Jude half-heartedly followed his stepmom, barely listening to her pep-talk as they were heading downstairs.

Three months. It wasn’t like a lot could happen in less than three months.

Right?

*

Wrong.

A lot could happen in almost three months.

Jude stared, glowering, as Lionel’s ridiculously ostentatious red Porsche pulled away from the school’s sidewalk, drawing attention to her from every person within hearing distance.

What a way to be discreet.

He was going to kill her.

He forced a tight smile at the students who were looking at him, then he turned back and tried to drown himself in the flow of students heading for the doors marking the main entrance of the building.

Hollow Creek High was one massive block of concrete, almost popping out of nowhere at the corner of a street, buzzing with the energy of the city’s traffic and the warm, glowing Californian sun. It was a far cry from Ellis Harwood, sticking out of the woods and spreading its dozen different buildings over a glorious, perpetually tender-green field of grass, like the $45,000 a year hypocritical post-card it was. Since Internet and the technological revolution had hit the educational system, transferred students were receiving their new schedules by email, which was nice in a way because it meant he could skip the part where he’d have to present himself to the secretary’s office.

The problem was that he was literally walking in without knowing a single thing about the place.

And now he was standing in the middle of the hallway.

Okay, Kinkade.

It’s gonna be fine.

When he was done with his own personal affirmation, he looked up and was startled by a pair of blue eyes staring at him, belonging to a blonde girl leaning on a nearby wall. She didn’t shy away when he glanced back at her, instead, a frown soon appeared on her face as she was tugging at a strand of her hair. Jude couldn’t help but look behind his shoulder, which gave the girl enough time to disappear among the other students.

The bulletin board, where she had been standing, didn’t look like the worst thing to pretend to care about at the moment. He’d have pretty much cared about anything if it didn’t mean that he was standing there like an idiot. A quick glance at the board had him reconsidering his options, given that the only information on display were for last spring’s cheerleading try outs and last year’s prom night, he could only guess that no one really cared to update things here.

Great, he definitely looked like an idiot now. Jude retrieved his phone from his pocket to check the room number of his first class for the hundredth time, then looked up only to see the signs pointing in the right direction right above his head.

Second floor, then according to-

“Jude?”

Jude startled and scooted around, his eyes dropping onto two girls standing beside him.

He recognized one of them (the blonde one) as the girl who had been staring at him not a minute ago; her friend was a fairly shorter brunette, with straight dark hair, for some reason, she looked strangely familiar to him. She knows your name dummy, of course she’s familiar! a voice yelled at him in his head.

“Uh, yeah?” he cleared his throat, furrowing his brow.

The blonde girl lost her pout and nudged her friend, grinning. “You owe me ten bucks.”

“Oh my God, it’s me,” the brunette said, ignoring her friend, “Raquel. Raquel Saldana. Remember?”

For a moment his mind went blank.  Oh no, would she be upset if he couldn’t remember her? Then an intense memory of burnt cookies and birthday parties by the pool in his backyard crossed his mind. So what does this mean? He just walked into a brand new school and stumbled across the one girl he had known since he was born, and who had been his best friend until he turned 8 and was shipped off to the other side of the country? Could it be that simple?

Really?

If he had another second to think about it he’d definitely start looking for hidden cameras, but suddenly things felt like they were going way faster than what his mind was ready for.

“Oh God, it’s been forever,” he sputtered awkwardly.

Raquel started grinning too. “Something like ten years. You remember Kyle?”

“Hart. Kyle Hart,” Jude said automatically without really knowing what had happened.

Where did that came from though? As far as he was concerned, an hour before he was feeling like he was in a whole different country.  He wouldn’t have even been surprised if people were speaking a foreign language around here.

“My memory is definitely still working,” Kyle declared, very pleased with herself. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were in a fancy school or something.”

Jude was a little taken aback. He had certainly not thought this situation would happen and he hadn’t planned on discussing the ‘fancy boarding school’ side of his life, but here he was. “I, uh, I just got transferred… um, here.”

The girls exchanged glances.

“No way,” Raquel exclaimed. “What happened?”

Jude waved. “There’s been a bit of a… well, a mess at my school, but that’s, like, a long story.”

Raquel turned to Kyle. “Talking about mess, wasn’t Blondie supposed to meet with Geyer this morning?”

Kyle groaned. “Yeah, but he left before I woke up. I love him but I swear I want to smash his head in at times.” Not even a second later she stood up on her tiptoes and glanced around in the crowd. “Have you seen Jelena? We were supposed to talk about music stuff for our routine.”

“She told me she went with the guys,” Raquel shrugged.

Jude shoved his hands in his pockets, balancing his weight on his heels as he tried to look like he wasn’t listening to things that were none of his business. It was hard when the only two people you knew were the ones doing the talking and you literally had nothing else to do in the meantime. He considered going to find his class on his own when suddenly the girls seemed to remember his presence.

“I gotta go,” Kyle said, more to Raquel than to him, but then she gave him a nice slap on the arm that he wasn’t exactly expecting from someone like her. “See you later, guys.”

Raquel nodded and Kyle disappeared among the other students.

“Sorry, we’ve had our own drama too, lately,” Raquel said as she started walking. “Anyway, it’s so great to have you back in town. Do you need a tour?”

Jude smiled, a little embarrassed. “I guess I just need to go find my teacher first, you know, to tell him who I am and stuff.”

He just hoped to limit the chances of his new teacher making him stand in front of the whole class and introduce himself. Not that he minded much talking in front of an audience, he didn’t at all in fact. He just didn’t want anybody to make a big deal. His only consolation in coming into a public school was to drown himself in the flow of students and so far he couldn’t say it had worked very well.

“Who’s your teacher?” Raquel asked, tugging at her choker, cocking her head.

“Gibbins,” Jude replied, and she immediately snorted, grabbing his arm.

“Then you’ve got plenty of time to tour around,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He doesn’t give a flying fuck about anyone. Last year we had this exchange student, Loy. Gibbins didn’t find out he wasn’t a native speaker until after Christmas,” Raquel explained as she dragged him in the opposite direction.

Jude scrunched his nose.

Great.

What were the odds that the good Mr. Gibbins would ask him every day who he was and what he was doing here?

The next ten minutes with Raquel flew by before he even noticed, but Jude found a way to figure out a few things. One of them was that he wasn’t in some prank show; apparently he had found his childhood friend five minutes after showing up. Also, he was positively screwed, as far as he was concerned. Raquel was one of the popular crowd here, and having her show him around was more like “showing him off”, which would have been flattering had he not planned to keep a low profile until his next transfer after Christmas.

He sucked it up however, because knowing where the Cafeteria was seemed important, and not something he’d come to regret by lunch time. Raquel was also taking her role very seriously when it came to giving him the fully detailed version of the school’s social hierarchy as they progressed through the crowded hallways.

“So, Kyle is on the Cheerleading squad, as is my best friend Jelena, who happens to be the squad Captain. Don’t ever think that they’re here just to cheer on the guys, because they’d scratch your eyes out. It’s a competitive squad and they take it pretty seriously. You’ve been warned,” she added with a knowing look.

Jude promised himself he’d do more than try, even though he knew nothing about cheerleading anyway. Being in an all-boy school, they were represented by their sister-school, and the students from Parkland were carted in to their events to sway their hips and sing a school anthem that wasn’t theirs… You could definitely find better in terms of girl power.

“Baseball team,” Raquel told him as they passed by an open door where a few guys were fussing loudly in the empty classroom before first period. “They are attractive and friendly for the most part, but they aren’t going to fix global warming anytime soon.”

Jude huffed a laugh. “We had the same with the water polo team. How many sports do you guys have over here?”

Raquel gave it a thought. “Baseball is a bit of a go-to for the freshman kids. They don’t do so great but it’s always nice to be a part of something, I guess. We used to have a male water polo team but the girls’ got all the medals and the coverage so they mixed both at one point and now there are only girls. I used to be in it but I quit last year,” she went on. “We’ve got a swim team,” she said after that, pointing to a dozen students heading down the stairs. “Weird people, strictly assholes. They only hang out together and you can tell that they don’t like you already.”

Jude forced a smile and nodded politely. It wasn’t new to him, swim teams generally had this reputation everywhere, except that back in Ellis Harwood, he was on the other side of it and things were just fine, assholes or not. He risked a somewhat longing look in their direction. He wasn’t supposed to apply for this club, or at least he hadn’t wanted to so far. What was even the point of getting into a brand new routine if he was going to disappear just before the launch of the season?

But God, in that moment, he missed his former school.

His childhood friend’s continued exposé managed to regain his attention as she kept speaking. “Footballers range from ‘trashiest asshole’ to ‘happy puppy’, there’s no real pattern and sometimes they can switch faces at any given moment,” Raquel commented, slightly scrunching her nose. “Of course, there’s the Cheerleading squad, and that leaves the Basketball team. We’ve got a soft spot for that one because three of our friends are playing. Jelena’s boyfriend is the team Captain. They are cool, you’ll see. Come on, I’ll take you to your class.”

*

It was shortly before lunchtime before Jude got sight of Raquel again, after she guided him to his first class, but in the meantime he had been introduced to her best friend. Jelena Howard was a small girl, literally tiny, with full lips, brown skin, and curly brown hair framing her face. She was undoubtedly good-looking, but in a much colder way than Kyle or Raquel -- which, strangely enough, didn’t particularly discourage Jude.

“I’ve been to boarding school,” Jelena had told him to his surprise between two classes, when he had tiredly explained once again that he had been out of town for the last decade or so. “But it was only for a year, before I moved to LA with my mom.”

“I’m a veteran then,” Jude had snorted, and when she smiled in response, he felt like it was something he should be proud of.

The rest of the morning had dragged on, and between unknown faces of the students and unknown faces of the teachers, his brain was having a hard time processing everything — honestly, he had stopped caring by the third period. The Spanish teacher, whom he had forgotten the name of, had him stand and present himself to the class (which didn’t exactly make Jude like him). But he was the only one to do so and he counted that as a small win.

“How did it go?” Raquel grinned at him in sympathy when they found themselves together in the Cafeteria.

“Fine, I guess,” he admitted, because all in all, it could have been a lot worse.

The facilities, the food, even people’s clothing overall were a thousand times cheaper than what he had been used to since he left Los Angeles for his first private school, but he could probably survive it for three months without much trouble if that meant not being called out as the outsider.

Raquel strode through the Cafeteria with her vibrantly yellow tray in hand.

One more thing he had to get used to. For three years he had been seeing life in shades of orange and green, the colors of Ellis Harwood, while Hollow Creek High’s were black and bright yellow.

Jude followed her to a table where Kyle was already sitting opposite another guy he hadn’t met yet. Raquel sat next to the guy and Jude took the spot next to the blonde. The guy had short black hair, and his skin was a warm, golden-brown that made his silver nose piercing stand out. His most distinctive feature was definitely his dark eyes, mostly because he was staring sternly at Jude, likely trying to figure him out.

“Roman, you remember Jude? We were in third grade together,” she said naturally as she gestured between them.

“I can’t remember shit like that, c’mon,” he huffed, shaking his head. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jude snorted.

Raquel rolled her eyes. “Derek, Jude. Jude, Derek.”

Jude gave him one of the hundred polite nods he had been giving all morning, then he saw Jelena casually walking in from the corner of his eye, two boys on either side of her who could have easily passed as her bodyguards. They couldn’t be more different, except for their matching size. One had a dark complexion, the face of someone who was everybody’s friend, and shoulders that would have made a few NFL players feel self-conscious; Jude recognized him without any trouble from her phone background he had caught a glimpse of between periods.

The other one?

The other one had sandy blond hair, perfectly chiseled cheekbones and electric blue eyes glaring around like he was on the verge of murdering someone.

The pure, authentic, stereotypical Californian beauty. With an extra ‘I’ll-be-the-last-thing-you-see-before-you-die’ vibe.

Oh hell no, Jude thought categorically as he tried to ignore the horrible backflip his stomach made, unable to take his eyes away.

Not a fucking chance.

I’m not doing that again.

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 39

read chapter one

read on ao3

“So, you’ll be here tomorrow morning?” Alec’s voice is distracted as he accepts the glass of water from the stewardess with a nod.

“I land at 10:15 and by the time I find the driver and make it to Rosewood, it should be around 11:30. Does that work?”

Taking a quick sip, Alec relaxes back in his chair. “Sounds great, Underhill. I have the BBC Live Lounge in the morning but I should be back to the hotel a little after noon once I finish the interviews that Lydia’s scheduled. Think you can be ready by two?”

Underhill’s voice is dry as he responds, “I’m ready now, Alec. He won’t know what hit him by the time we’re done.”

Alec’s tone is grim as he all he offers is, “Good.”

Hanging up, Alec thinks through his itinerary as he’s thirty thousand feet in the air. While he wasn’t quite obnoxious enough to own his own jet, he had the habit of chartering for transatlantic flights-- it was one of very few true splurges he indulged in and while Alec still regularly flew commercial in The States, everything was just so much more convenient when he flew private.

The stewardess is attentive but she’s worked for him before and knows that Alec doesn’t expect hovering care-- she’s in the cockpit talking with the pilots and he’s left to his own devices.

The next six hours are full of opportunities, he thinks wryly. He could write a little, surf the web for a bit, or sleep. All sound like excellent wastes of his time but instead, Alec reaches for his phone.

He has a few demos to play through and as Alec put his earphones in, he selects the first one. He always listens through recordings at least a dozen times before releasing it to the label. Feel Something, the title track of the album, is just what he wants and the meeting yesterday at Institute Records had gone amazingly well, considering the last time he’d seen Jia he’d been experiencing the worst writer’s block of his career.

They’d agreed to a midnight release next week and as Alec does the math, he figures that he’ll be back in New York by then. They’ll be recording the music video for the single soon and while it’s not common to release two singles so close together, Alec finds that he’s excited for this next album and the new phase it will usher in.

Truthfully, he’s excited for Magnus’s reaction.

The past few days-- months-- run through Alec’s head and he finds himself smiling, stupidly and sappily. It’s been a good summer and while he still has a private reservation or two, he’s looking forward to the rest of the year and whatever it may bring. His birthday is next month and Alec remembers talking with Magnus about traveling-- he wonders if he could persuade Magnus to join him on a trip soon or if he’s moving too fast, after all.

Alec knows from personal experience that Italy’s beautiful in the fall. He bets it would be even better with Magnus at his side.

He puts his wandering thoughts on the back burner and focuses on the music. This was the latest incarnation of Feel Something and as Alec listens to the whole thing through-- several times-- he knows that he’s got it. He’d recorded this a few hours ago, spending the last of his day in New York at the studio, fixing the few critiques he and Meliorn had agreed would take the single to the next level.

It’s a little after ten now and Alec will land in London at eight in the morning and go directly to the BBC’s headquarters. He’ll perform a few songs-- including a cover and an original-- and then have an interview later on in the morning.

His afternoon is free, though, at his insistence. While London was almost a second home at this point-- what with all the business he’s done here over the years-- there was a more practical reason that Alec had been willing to spend a few days here that had nothing to do with his career.

Hence, Underhill.

But that’s all for tomorrow and Alec needs to catch what sleep he can if he has any hope of being useful tomorrow. He catches up on his email for a few more minutes, making sure that everything is up to date, and then he’s heading to the bedroom in the back of the plane and crashing.

To his surprise, he falls asleep almost immediately. It’s been quite the day on both his personal and professional fronts and Alec is exhausted but it’s the good kind of tired-- it reminds him of being on tour and he misses that energy more than he’d even anticipated.

He can’t remember the last time he was in New York for three months straight and while it’s been great, it’s also been an adjustment. Alec was used to moving, being constantly on the go.

His last thought before sleep claims him is that he hopes Magnus can deal with a grueling tour schedule but even in his sleepy haze, Alec figures that they’ll be just fine.

Alec sleeps most of the flight, catching four or so hours before the stewardess is waking him up and informing him that they’ll be descending shortly. Alec makes quick work of changing out of the sweats he’d boarded the plane in and into his outfit for the day. It’s nothing dramatic but it does make a statement.

It’s been awhile since Alec’s had to don this particular type of armor but it’s effortless and gratifying in being so.

Olive green chinos rolled up to expose his ankles paired with a white short sleeved shirt with navy pop dots. It’s elegant yet casual enough for a radio appearance and when paired with a Ferragamo belt and shoes, his look is coolly composed.

Alec’s played this game since before he was old enough to understand its rules. It wouldn’t do to appear too casual or half-assed. That would mean he’s suffering a terrible break-up and generally in despair. Looking too put together though-- say a suit or structured blazer-- that means he’s trying too hard to look unaffected, that he’s hiding his inner turmoil or whatever the shit, and takes him right back to square one.

This look is nothing out of the ordinary for Alec, even if he’s dressed it up a little more than he usually would. That’s the image Alec needs to portray as soon as the vultures get sight of him-- wholly unaffected, as confident as ever, not a care in the world. Because Alec can’t forget that even if he doesn’t give a shit about what they have to say-- he’s also responsible for the media’s opinion of Magnus, no matter how obliquely.

How Alec plays this week will be the difference between the media circling above them, smelling blood in the water, or deciding that there’s nothing overly interesting in Alec’s relationship with a man who so happens so have a little skeleton in his closet.

Landing goes smoothly even as his thoughts are preoccupied and Alec grabs his bag from the seat next to him as the attendants open the door.

He’d landed at a small, private airport north of the city-- Heathrow would have been a nightmare to get through-- and a town car is waiting for him as he steps onto the tarmac. Alec sees the half dozen reporters standing a football field away, just that side of the private property line and smiles a little, just to himself.

He knows that smile will be splashed on the internet in a few minutes and he hopes the photographers choke on their payday.

The truth is, Alec doesn’t care. It’s just another day to him. He’s weathered far worse storms than a boyfriend whose dad was a raging asshole-- and he’s done it, more often than not, alone. With his siblings in New York more often than not and Alec across the globe, he’s dealt with paps who would rather tear him apart alive than give up their inside scoop. Having Magnus to fall back on, knowing that he’s doing this for them, is all the strength Alec needs to ignore the media when otherwise he might’ve been filled with impotent rage and bitter resentment.

Alec refuses to give reporters the satisfaction of ruining what he’s found and for the first time, maybe ever, Alec feels confident. He may know how to play the game, but he still catches himself caught up sometimes over just how little privacy he has, how little regard the rest of the world has for him.

The driver takes his bag and Alec ducks into the back seat. It’s a smooth ride into the City and Alec spends that time on his phone. It’s unforgivably early in New York but Alec sends Magnus a text wishing him a good morning and letting him know that he's landed safely before switching over to his email and seeing the updated itinerary Lydia had sent over in the dead of night.

Shaking his head at the hours she keeps, Alec sees that everything looks in order for the next week and refreshes his memory for what to expect today. He spends the rest of the commute online, getting caught up on the latest news about him and Magnus and their scandalous relationship.

When the car pulls up to the building, Alec can see the crowd of photographers through the blacked out windows of the town car. Luckily, it’s a sunny morning and Alec doesn’t feel like too much of a douche as he slides his aviators on and smooths down his shirt. He doesn’t wait for the driver to open his door and instead gets out himself.

Out of the frying pan, he thinks and his expression is blank as he makes his way to the front door where an assistant is holding it open and looking only mildly out of her depth. However, what should have been a few second stroll turns into a minefield as the reporters inch into his breathing space.

The flash of cameras is blinding even through his sunglasses and Alec narrows his eyes at the door, each step slow for how the crowd is inundating around him.

“Hey, Alec!” A microphone is shoved in his face but Alec barely spares the reporter a glance. That doesn’t stop the man, though, from asking, “Is it true that you’re in a relationship with Magnus Bane, heir to Asmodeus Bane’s ill-gotten fortune?”

“No comment.”

It’s the standard response in the industry but that doesn’t stop the paps from coming even closer, as though Alec had just given them a million dollar soundbite.

Alec knows no comment is only worth a few thousand, in this case.

“Alec, how does it feel to be tied down? How can it be true that the most sought after bachelor in the music industry is spoken for?”

Another reporter laughs and it grates in his ear. “Tell us that we haven’t seen the last of Party Boy Lightwood. We at The Sun were heartbroken to find that someone had grabbed you up without anyone noticing. Tell us you’re smart enough to dodge an obvious gold digger.”

“Yo, Lightwood-- Brett from the Daily Mail. We heard that you’re whisking Bane away on a honeymoon next week to celebrate your private wedding ceremony. Can you confirm?”

Alec rolls his eyes internally but just repeats, “No comment,” in a cool tone.

But like sharks scenting blood-- even if everyone present is well aware that the accusation was nothing more than a play to get a reaction-- the reporters become just a little more frenetic. Gritting his teeth, Alec shoves his way through the paps and thinks that maybe he should have brought his bodyguard along. It’s been awhile since Alec’s been embroiled in the news so intensely and having security definitely helps keep things running smoothly.

Still, Alec’s made of sterner stuff and while photographers yell in his ear, trying to get his attention, and phones are shoved in his face for a soundbite worthy of a headline, Alec makes it to the front doors of BBC radio relatively unscathed.

The assistant holds the door open wide and as soon as Alec crosses the threshold, she’s turning on her heel to follow him while two security guards from the building keep the paps out and muscle the doors closed.

Alec hears the shutter of dozens of cameras even through the closed doors. The windows do nothing to temper the flash as everyone tries to get a photo of him through the glass.

Alec pauses at reception and the assistant takes over.

“Good morning, Mr. Lightwood. My name is Lacey and I’ll be your assistant today while you’re here at BBC Radio.”

Raising a brow at the calm, confident tone, Alec just offers a smile and replies, “It’s nice to meet you, Lacey. You can call me Alec.”

The two of them shake hands and Alec’s a little surprised to see that Lacey has a professional, steady grip. “How long have you been here,” he asks and tries to readjust his first impression of her.

From her reaction to the jungle outside, he’d thought that she’d be a nervous intern but while she had looked shaken as Alec fought his way through the wolves, here in the confines of the station, she seems ready for anything.

Smiling brightly, Lacey replies, “Three months but I have to admit that I’ve never dealt with a crowd the size of yours.”

“You get used to it,” is all Alec says and Lacey looks at him like he’s lost his mind before shaking her head a little and refocusing the conversation.

“You’re here for the next few hours and I’m your point woman. I’m the one that can get you coffee or whatever else you require and I’ll be the one to lead you through your schedule with us. We’re starting with the Live Lounge performance and you’ll have a few minutes for makeup and hair before we get you to the stage set-up.”

Alec goes along with whatever she says and doesn’t tell her that he’s performed or interviewed here so many times over the past ten years that he probably knows the building just as well as she does. He lets the hair and makeup team fiddle with him a little, making sure that he won’t look washed out under the performing lights, and then he goes to the recording room.

It’s not really a stage, just a dimly room with just enough space for a performer and their instruments. Cameras and TVs line one wall and as Alec shakes hands with the team and goes through a round of introductions, he settles in his spot in front of the piano. He puts his headphones on and rests his hands on the keys, taking a grounding breath.

He was only using the piano for the first song-- he’d use the stage band for his own music-- but part of the fun of the Live Lounge was covering artists with stripped versions of their own songs.

Alec warms up for a few minutes and then the cameras are rolling. He’s practiced this particular song for a few months and had brushed up on it yesterday after heading home from the studio.

As he’s given the cue to start from the producer, Alec eases into Coming Down by Halsey. Badlands had been one of his favorite albums the year it had been released and he’s held this song in reserve for a few years just for such an occasion.

The piano is a soft undertone and Alec leans into the notes. He hasn’t performed since May-- since Good Morning America all those weeks ago-- and it feels good to be back. He hasn’t taken so much time off since he was in high school and even if it’s a stripped version in front of half a dozen cameras and no fans, it’s still fun.

There’s no pressure here. It’s Alec and his passion in its purest form. Singing a song he loves in the silence of a dim room. Letting his eyes close, Alec ignores the people gathered, the staff that ensure everything runs smoothly and focuses on the piano and the notes.

The four minutes go by faster than Alec anticipated and there’s a short commercial break before Alec hears the intro music in his headphones. He hears the introduction for his next song-- one of the ones he’d recorded a couple of weeks ago that has almost a guaranteed spot on his next album-- and he counts off the beat with the drummer accompanying him.

This song is a little more lively and he’s breathing hard by the end of it.

There are a few more songs he performs, mostly old favorites with his latest singles mixed in, and then he’s moving back from the piano. Pulling the mic pack from his waistband, Alec hands that and his headphones to a member of the sound team and then Lacey is ushering him to the radio department.

Alec waits outside of the recording room, watching as Nick Grimshaw goes through a spiel of some sort before being ushered in. He’s known the radio host for several years and the two have a good relationship-- they’ve even gotten drinks while Alec’s been in the city. Grimmy never pushes when he senses a sensitive topic and he’s one of a handful of media personnel that Alec actually likes. He's talked to the man off record several times before and Grimshaw has yet to expose any of his confidences. All around, he's a pretty good guy in Alec's opinion.

He sits in his assigned chair across from Grimmy and gets hooked up with headphones. He asks Lacey for a cup of coffee and she returns almost startlingly fast. He’s a little surprised that it’s a great cup and it’s only then that he realizes that he hasn’t had any coffee this morning and it’s going on mid morning.

Just a few minutes later, Grimmy’s introducing him and Alec grins and relaxes into his seat, sipping on his coffee.

“Our next guest is a music industry legend-- and he knows it. He wrapped up his last tour in May and has spent the summer laying low in his hometown. Until this week, at least.” The host’s tone is scandalous as he continues, “Rumor has it that the most elusive playboy in New York has finally let himself be caught-- and by a professor, of all things. I’m sure everyone is very excited to hear that we’re spending the morning with Alec Lightwood. Alec, man, it’s been a little while, hasn’t it?”

Laughing, Alec leans into his mic. “It has,” he confirms. “I almost want to say it’s been over a year since I was last at BBC Radio 1 headquarters.”

“Too long,” Grimmy says sadly.

“Way too long. But I’m in London for a few days and thought it only right that I stop by.”

“Well, Alec, we appreciate that.” Nick takes a quick drink of his own coffee before going on. “How have things been with you lately? Catch us up on what the Alec Lightwood’s been up to the past few months.”

Nick raises a brow which Alec returns as he answers. His first interview being with Nick is definitely not a coincidence by Lydia and he resolves to send his manager a nice gift-- something with gold-- once he gets back to The States. Nick knew how to play the game and he was feeling Alec out. Alec would appease him-- after just a little bit more ducking and weaving.

“I wrapped up a world tour earlier this summer.”

“Yes,” Grimmy says dryly. “I heard. I also saw your GMA performance and saw a few fans post about a supposed private concert.”

Shrugging, Alec replies, “I like to do a few smaller events for fans during the year, Nick. You know that. My Good Morning America performance was fun, though. It was nice to perform in Central Park.”

“I would imagine. I noticed something, though, when I was watching it this week.”

Interest piqued, Alec just prompts, “Oh?”

“You were performing fan favorite Carousel when you did something a little unusual for you-- you dedicated a song.”

All of a sudden, Alec realizes what Nick’s building up to and he winces a little. He barely remembers the performance and had totally forgotten that he’d mentioned Magnus at all. Though now that he thinks about it, he definitely should since the move had been brazen even for him.

Still, there’s a game to be played. “A dedication,” Alec asks, frowning as he makes a show of thinking. “That doesn’t seem like me. I never dedicate songs. It’s almost always unbearably sappy and I wouldn’t put my fans through that.”

“Yeah, you’ve only dedicated one or two songs before but that’s what made this stand out. You dedicated that song to someone you met recently.” Grimmy sends Alec an arch look. “Apparently, you thought they could be a great friend.”

He emphasizes the end of the sentence and Alec rolls his eyes. “Friends are important to a healthy life, you know,” he says demurely.

“Well, Alec, you know everyone here in the studio-- and the world, I’m sure-- is dying to know. Who’s the friend you made a few months ago and do you still talk to him?”

Alec laughs a little, leaning close to the mic. “Well since you asked so nice Grimmy, I do still talk to him. His name is Magnus.”

Nick’s eyes light up, like he wasn’t sure Alec was going to give him the story after all, and Alec smiles and takes a drink of coffee.

“Magnus, you say?” He pauses for a beat before returning, “Is there anything to the story that you want to share, Alec?”

“Let’s see,” Alec starts. “What do you want to know?”

Nick glares at him, joking, and Alec smothers a laugh that’s probably caught on tape.

“Lightwood, what do you think I-- and everyone listening raptly right now-- want to know? Anything, everything.” Grimmy sweeps a regal hand in front of him. “The floor is yours, man.”

Humming thoughtfully, Alec finally says, “Well, it looks like you know Magnus and I were friends.”

Jumping on the reply, Nick asks, “Were?”

“You’re right, Grimmy. One’s boyfriend should also be a friend. That’s only healthy.”

“So, it’s true then? The illustrious Alec Lightwood is taken?”

Alec pauses dramatically before sighing in equal fashion. “I am,” he confirms. “I’m in a relationship with Magnus Bane.”

“You’ve heard it from the man himself, folks!” Grimmy tsks, shaking his head morosely. “I know a lot of men will be crying into their pillows tonight at the news that you’re off the market, Alec. So you know I have to ask-- what’s the story there?”

“It’s a pretty boring story,” Alec says, almost apologetically. “We met in a diner one night.”

“You do like a good burger,” Grimm says sagely.

Alec laughs. “You know me too well. But yeah, I was at this diner in New York and it was pretty late. I had just ordered my food when I looked up and saw him.”

“Oh? Was it love at first sight,” Nick prods.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Alec says, a little uncertainly. “There was just something about him, though. We talked for a few minutes that night and things were kinda left there. I didn't think I’d ever see him again.”

“But?”

“It turns out we go to the same coffee shop. I ran into him there a few days later and we talked a little more and ended up exchanging numbers. I’m telling you, it’s all pretty conventional. We talked and met up a few times and things just grew and changed until we realized that there was more than just friendship there. We talked and-- yeah, man,” Alec ends, grinning. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“I’m happy for you, Alec, but you know I have to ask-- are you concerned about his history?”

No matter that Nick’s a friend, Alec’s tone cools at the suggestion, even if he knows that Nick’s just doing his job. “No, I’m not concerned about anything having to do with Magnus.”

Grimmy winces. “You have to know how that looks, though, right? This guy comes out of nowhere and you start dating only for it to be revealed his dad is a is one of the most well-known conmen in the entire world? And Magnus apparently has a juvie record? That doesn’t look good for anyone involved.”

Alec laughs but it’s caustic. “Are you telling me that you’ve never done something you regretted, Grimmy? Fu-- goodness knows that I’ve gotten into a scrape or two that involved a lawyer. And we can’t help who our fathers are.”

Alec doesn’t say anything else on the topic and Grimmy is kind enough to stay away from the topic of Robert. Instead, the host says, “I just want to make that sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. You’re Alec Lightwood, for God’s sake. You can’t just date anyone, even if we’d all like to think we have a certain level of autonomy that extends to who we want to be with.”

“I’m choosing Magnus,” Alec says firmly. “We’ve talked about things and we’re together. I don’t care what anyone else has to say about my relationship, especially when they don’t know us.”

Raising a brow, Grimmy replies, “That sounds pretty strong, Alec. Can I take that to mean that you and Magnus are in this for the long haul, naysayers be damned?”

Smiling, Alec just says, “That is what it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

Thankfully, Nick takes the cue and with a huff of amusement and a silent nod in support of Alec, the show goes to commercial.

Taking his headphones off, Alec follows suit and the two of them enjoy a few minutes conversation off the air.

“Hey man, I hope you’re good. You know that I had to ask.”

Shaking his head, Alec waves him off. “We both know how the game’s played, Grimmy. This was nothing out of the ordinary for the two of us.”

“Well, that’s not quite true, is it? I never thought that I’d see the day you settled down with someone. This Magnus guy must be special, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alec confirms. “Between you and me, I’m pretty gone over him.”

Nodding seriously, Grimmy just says, “I’m happy for you, Alec. You deserve this and I hope to hell that it works out for you two.”

They fistbump while Alec says thanks and they're back on air just a few seconds later.

The conversation moves onto his career and Alec talks about his plans for the next album for a little bit, bantering with Nick, before there’s another commercial break.

Carefully, he stands up and stretches, draining the rest of his coffee and requesting another. Lacey jumps to attention and Alec spends the next little while playing a few radio games and talking about other, less personal subjects.

When the show finally ends, it’s after noon and Alec feels his red eye catching up with him. Shaking his head to clear it, he thanks everyone and follows Lacey as she leads him to the front of the building where his car is waiting.

There aren’t as many reporters this time and Alec makes it to the car with a fraction of the attention his arrival to the station had garnered.

The ride to the hotel is uneventful and Alec scrolls through Twitter and responds to a text from Jace before going over to the New York Times and spending the rest of the drive reading a few depressing as hell articles.

Pulling up to the hotel's front entrance, the doorman moves smoothly to attention and Alec nods to him as he steps into The Rosewood. It was his favorite hotel to stay in when he was in London and most celebrities liked the privacy the hotel afforded.

Walking over to the reception desk, Alec’s greeted warmly and checks in without issue. The driver had taken his bag to the hotel earlier and as Alec checks his watch, he sees that Underhill should have arrived a little while ago. Getting his keys, Alec heads to the elevator and up to his room.

He has a suite for the duration of his stay and as he inserts his card, he hears the television on low volume. Underhill is sitting on the couch, sleeves rolled up and jacket thrown over the dining table chair. He’s watching a football game and looking through his phone.

“What’s up,” Alec asks, kicking the door closed and throwing his key onto the entryway table.

Looking up, Underhill shrugs. “I’m just wasting time until you get here. Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“You know me,” Alec says dryly. “I love to live dangerously.”

Underhill snorts but doesn’t say anything. He also doesn’t move his feet and Alec swipes at them half assed as he moves around them to take the other half of the couch.

“He should be here in half an hour.”

“We’re ready,” Underhill says confidently. “I’ve got my paperwork and legalese all ready.”

“Legalese,” Alec asks, giving his lawyer an arch look.

Underhill just shrugs and they watch the rest of the quarter before turning the TV off. Standing, Alec moves to the liquor cart and pours a glass of whiskey for Underhill, handing it over before pouring a second for himself.

Underhill flips through a folder, skimming the contents for a few minutes before sighing and coming to his feet. He rolls his sleeves down and shrugs into his suit jacket. They set the suite to rights and Alec takes out his phone. Magnus must be up for he’s answered Alec’s good morning text sent so many hours ago and Alec can’t help his smile as he types up a reply.

“Focus, boss. The bastard should be here any minute.”

Rolling his eyes, Alec shoves his phone into his pants pocket and it’s at just that minute that the room’s phone rings. Alec picks it up on the third ring.

“Lightwood,” he says brusquely.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lightwood. There’s a. . . Victor Aldertree here and he insists that he has an invitation to your unit. What should I tell him, sir?”

Ale hears the disapproval in the concierge’s tone but bites back his laugh. It was almost unheard of for any media to ever be allowed on the grounds, though for purposes like the one Alec had set up were the only exception.

“I have an appointment scheduled with him for an interview,” Alec confirms. “Send him up-- with an escort. Between you and me, he’ll only be here twenty minutes or so and then he’ll need escorted off the property.”

“Very good, sir.”

Hanging up, Alec leans back in his chair and sends Underhill an amused look. “Ready?”

“More than,” Underhill says grimly. “I can’t believe that he really thinks you’re going to give him an exclusive interview after the shit he’s pulled.”

“He’s a reporter, Underhill. He probably can’t see past the million dollar story that’s landed in his lap.”

A knock sounds on the hotel door and Underhill stands to answer. Alec, for his part, crosses one leg over another and settles in for his meeting, taking a leisurely sip of his whiskey.

Underhill swings the door open and Aldertree appears, looking pompously pressed in a subtly patterned blazer.

He walks right into the suite without hesitation and Alec nods to the bellman behind him as Underhill slips him a tip.

Switching his gaze to the bloodthirsty little reporter in front of him, Alec inclines his head. “Mr. Aldertree.”

“Alec.” The two of them shake hands and Alec barely buries his ire at being greeted so casually. Aldertree, the smug bastard, takes a seat at the table opposite Alec and Underhill seats himself between them.

Alec tilts his head to his friend. “This is Underhill. My lawyer.”

At that, Aldertree looks a little startled, though he waves it off just a moment later.

What a fool, Alec thinks. Aldertree thought Underhill was just here to prevent Alec from incriminating himself in anything too embarrassing.

Alec watches as Aldertree takes out his phone and opens his recording app, starting the audio. Alec lets him get situated, taking out his little pen and notebook, relaxing in his chair as if he has all the time in the world.

Finally, Aldertree says, “Alright, gentlemen, should we get started?”

Alec pauses for a few beats and studies Aldertree. The journalist was a thorn in his side and he’s looking forward to the next several minutes.

“Ready whenever you are, Mr. Aldertree.”

Aldertree dives right in and goes straight for the throat. “When did you start dating Magnus Bane and did you know from the start that he was ill gotten goods?”

Alec’s temper spikes but he doesn’t need the look Underhill throws him to keep his control. His expression doesn’t change from its bland pleasantness as he reaches over and grabs the reporter’s phone from the table before Aldertree even knows what’s happening.

Ignoring Aldertree’s squawks of distress, Alec presses the red button to stop recording and then deletes the file.

He looks up to meet Aldertree’s incredulous face. “You’re not here for an exclusive, Aldertree. Quite the contrary.”

Underhill flips open the folder in front of him, perusing its contents that Alec knows he’s already memorized, letting Alec have a few minutes.

Leaning over the table oh so slightly, Alec’s voice is soft as he asks, “You got quite the story didn’t you? You found out that I was dating someone. I don’t know who your inside source is but it doesn’t matter-- you took whatever they had to say and you ran with it. You ran all the way to the fucking bank with a story on me.”

Settling back in his chair, Alec throws back a swallow of whiskey, setting the glass back down on the table with a hard thud in the otherwise still room.

“Now normally,” Alec continues conversationally, “I’d let you scamper off with your tidy little check and you’d just be another annoying reporter on my shit list. But this isn’t normal, Aldertree. You brought someone else into this.”

Aldertree looks admirably unfazed by Alec’s little rambling speech, though Alec sees the way his eyes widen imperceptibly at the mention of his boyfriend.

“That’s right. You can sling all the shit you want at my name. It’ll take more than some goddamn two bit reporter to bring me down. You had the nerve to go after my boyfriend though, Aldertree, and that I won’t tolerate. You don’t mess with what’s mine and you can imagine how Magnus felt when he read his past in a fucking tabloid.”

“I’m a journalist,” Aldertree says firmly. “It’s my duty to report the news, especially when people are keeping secrets.”

Tsking, Alec reaches for his glass and tips it toward his guest. “Ah, but you don’t get it, do you, Aldertree? Some things are off limits-- especially when you have the means and the spite to make sure they stay that way.”

Aldertree raises his head and casts a defiant look at Alec, scornful. “What are you going to do, then? The story’s already out. Everyone knows that your boyfriend is just using you for your money and that when he’s done with you, he’ll walk away without a backwards glance.”

Now it’s the reporter’s turn to look pityingly at Alec. “You’re too fucking stupid to realize that you’re just another arrogant celebrity falling into a trap laid by someone smarter than you. Don’t blame me for sounding the alarm-- you should be thanking me.”

Alec smiles thinly. “I should be thanking you,” Alec repeats thoughtfully. “What should I thank you for first? Almost ruining my relationship? Making my boyfriend feel like shit? Revealing our relationship-- that we were obviously keeping out of the press-- to the world? You’re right,” Alec says, marveling. “There really is so much to thank you for, you snide little bastard.”

Nodding towards Underhill, Alec continues, “You fucked up, though. Didn’t you?”

“How,” Aldertree asks, crossing his arms in front of him. Alec sees the flash of panic in his eyes and his mouth tilts up, just a little.

“You’re a reporter but you’re still bound by the law. You’re not infallible. I read your article, you see. I read it a few times. That’s when I realized that you weren’t just a bottom feeding son of a bitch-- you went above and beyond to get your scoop and I promise, that’ll be your downfall.”

Alec leans close, makes sure that he has Aldertree’s undivided attention as he slowly says, “I’ve consulted with my lawyer and it turns out that it’s a felony to break into sealed records. I don’t know who you bribed, but you broke the law when you looked at Magnus’s juvie record. That’s grounds for immediate prosecution and I’d go a step further and say it’d mean your job at Idris News.”

“You can’t do that,” Aldertree accuses. “That’s illegal.”

At that, Underhill looks up from the folder. “I’m sorry, what’s illegal? Telling someone that they’ve broken the law? We’ve done nothing but inform you of something you already knew.”

“What do you want,” Aldertree gets out through gritted teeth.

“What do we want? That’s a bit like trying to close the barn door after the horse has escaped, isn’t it? But for sake of argument, I’ll tell you anyway.”

Smiling, Alec relaxes in his seat and considers the man in front of him. “I want to ruin you. I want to make you pay for hurting someone that I care very much about. No one is content with just me anymore,” Alec says drolly. “They’re going after those closest to me and that is something I will never tolerate.”

Alec’s expression is pleasant as he softly asks, “Do you want to know something, Aldertree? I get what I want. I suppose that your editor is reading an anonymous letter as we speak that tells just how you managed to piece together such an interesting story. Oh, and I lied about not knowing who you bribed-- he’s sitting in an interrogation room right now explaining why he hacked police records in The States and I’d imagine he’s singing like a bird right about now about just who asked him to do it.”

Alec watches as the realizations batter Aldertree and feels blazing satisfaction at the way he seems to deflate.

“You chose the wrong story, Aldertree. And now you’ll pay the price. By the time I'm finished with you, you won't be able to get a media job in Siberia.”

“You bastard,” Aldertree whispers furiously.

Alec shrugs negligently. “Don’t blame me for your own fuck-ups. Now get out. I don’t ever want to hear your name again.”

“This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me,” the reporter blusters.

Underhill stands, buttoning his jacket. “Is that a threat, Mr. Aldertree,” he asks coolly and Alec watches as Aldertree gnashes his teeth.

“Of course not,” the man gets out and sends them both a withering glance before he’s striding to the door and wrenching it open. The same bellman appears and Alec watches, amused, as Aldertree is ushered away by the hotel staff.

The door swings shut and Underhill blows out a breath. “What a bitch.”

Barking out a laugh, Alec stands and walks the few feet to the couch, collapsing on it with a groan. “It certainly wasn’t a hardship. Did you see his face when he realized I’d put the pieces together?”

“Priceless,” Underhill agrees and slouches in his chair, pouring a second glass of whiskey and throwing half of it back in one bracing swallow.

The two of them relax in the quiet of the room before Alec sighs heavily. “I have interviews this afternoon and a dinner with a few of the London executives from the label.”

“Woe is you,” Underhill mutters and just raises a brow at the narrow-eyed glance Alec throws him.

Looking at his watch, Underhill hums. “My flight’s scheduled for later this evening. I think I’ll do a little sightseeing before I have the driver take me to the airport.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay a few days? It seems a little excessive that you’d come all the way here just for a single meeting, without even taking advantage of a little vacation.”

“What can I say,” Underhill shrugs. “Adrian couldn’t get out of work on such short notice and I miss him.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Alec waves his friend’s answer away and they both laugh as Alec stands and they shake hands, leaning in for a quick hug. “Go ahead and get out of here. I know you like to visit the National Gallery when you’re in town and go to that pub. I’ll see you back in New York.”

“Sounds good, boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Alec heads to the bedroom while Underhill gathers his papers. His friend leaves just a few minutes later and Alec sighs in the quiet now that he’s alone.

He has an hour until he needs to go downstairs and meet his driver for the next round of interviews and Alec spends that time texting Magnus. It’s nothing serious and Alec laughs out loud as they argue about who Peyton should have ended up with on One Tree Hill. Alec spares a few minutes to change into another outfit-- something a little more formal that will work well for wherever the label takes him tonight, and then he’s off again.

He’s definitely feeling the effects of his overnight flight and being on the go since he landed but he reasons that he only has a few hours left before he can crash for a solid eight hours-- ten if he’s lucky.

His room phone rings-- downstairs notifying him that his driver’s arrived-- and Alec runs a hand through his hair as he grabs his room key and wallet, shoving them into his pocket.

Alec walks out of his room, ready to face the lions.

Eager, even.

Because, as the elevator moves swiftly down to the lobby, Alec sits comfortable in the knowledge that he’s at the top of his game. His career has recovered quite nicely from the crisis earlier in the summer and he has a man back in The States that he’s crazy about.

Everything has worked out quite nicely-- better than he could’ve ever expected-- and Alec’s been playing this game so long that sometimes he wonders if he didn't invent it.

This is the life he’s chosen for himself and he loves it-- thorns and all. As Alec runs through the news outlets and magazines that he’ll be talking to this afternoon, he smiles a little.

This life isn’t for everyone but it’s the only one Alec wants. The truth is, he’s always loved it, always enjoyed playing the game and thumbing his nose at anyone who said that he wouldn’t make it.

Magnus landed in his life unexpectedly but he fits in a way that surprises Alec. It’s unforgivably early, but Alec likes the space Magnus takes up in his life. Alec never thought something like this was meant for him but he knows he’d fight to keep it with everything he has.

Yeah, Alec thinks as he slides his sunglasses on and approaches the car with the driver holding the rear door open for him.

He wouldn’t change a thing.

[mimzilla]

Hi there! Three questions: What things do you think Gon and Killua need to work on respectively before they reunite? Do you think they are keeping in touch? And how do you hope/imagine their reunion and post reunion bond to play out?

I’m going to append this other ask onto these three questions, because it links up with the third one pretty neatly!

tl;dr: This is so long I’m dying Squirtle

Actual tl;dr: Gon’s had a failed coming-of-age story arc, and is at the beginning of a new one about who he wants to be. Killua’s arc focuses on his dependence on other people’s approval, so he needs to develop an identity separate from what others need from him. I think they aren’t actively not talking to each other, and I hope Alluka knocks some sense into these ridiculous boys.

Mild warning for minor post-ending-of-the-anime manga spoilers.

Busting out the big guns right at the start, huh? I’m doing my stretches. Let’s dance.

Gon is really interesting to think about, because his ‘hero’s journey’ is… done. He had a goal, struggled to overcome insurmountable odds to meet it, did overcome them through determination and sacrifice, and returned home in the end. So now what? He’s lost his Nen, which Hunters are said to need in order to truly be Hunters, but having taken the exam he’s also a Hunter for life. He’s landed in a grey area, not quite a Hunter and not quite a civilian. And I certainly hope he doesn’t just do the same stuff over again, because that would be kind of boring.

What I want for Gon is for the narrative to explore his story as a coming-of-age arc, because while his hero’s journey has reached the end of its circle his coming-of-age story has only just hit its climactic point. These stories follow a different arc, where the protagonist starts out suffering an emotional loss that compels them to journey in search of answers; they struggle through obstacles that contribute to their maturation; and in the end, their greatest obstacle is to overcome their own perspective on the question they’re asking.

Gon starts out with a very obvious emotional loss: he learns that Ging chose to leave him behind on Whale Island. The answer he’s seeking is to the question “What is it Ging is searching for that is more important than me?” He matures both in terms of his strength (learning Nen and developing his own fighting style) and in terms of encountering/being confronted by worldviews different from his own (e.g. meeting all his friends for the former, the Troupe truly loving one another and Pitou being more than a mindless killer for the latter). He doesn’t overcome the climactic last challenge, in fact he fails rather spectacularly. He can’t let go of his own perspective on the world, and as a result he hurts both himself and his most intimate friend.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s a good thing. It’s brilliant. The series builds a stunning structure of Jenga blocks atop Gon’s black-and-white perspective that wobbles (the Troupe love each other) and has new pieces added to it through the story (the Greed Island players killing each other is an expected part of the game), but doesn’t topple until he’s faced with a truth almost impossible to carry that kicks his foundation out from under him.

It’s really hard to actually accept and believe that the people who hurt you aren’t purely malicious. I don’t want to get into real world examples all that much, but suffice to say that ‘good’ people are capable of doing evil things and people with intensely bigoted views are also fully able to feel genuine love for others. It doesn’t mean they’re secretly actually not bigoted, or their views should be discarded as superfluous to who they are. It just means they’re people. Cruel people are still fully people.

Continuing on with the anime talk…

So Gon’s tower of metaphorical Jenga blocks has fallen. The prospective climax of his coming-of-age story falters and falls into a valley. Soon after, the climax of his hero’s journey… is abruptly handed to him. He doesn’t find Ging, Ging’s just there. Neither of them are ready to meet this way, for good reason; according to a standard story structure, Ging flat-out shouldn’t be there yet. Gon’s not ready to meet him, hasn’t completely faced the challenge of finding him, hasn’t come into his own. It’s jarring, out of place. It’s doesn’t match up to the structure of a hero’s journey.

But as another obstacle in a coming-of-age story, it’s perfect. Gon has seen enough of the world and learned enough to approach the question “What did Ging leave me in favor of?” anew. And here’s Ging, able to answer it directly.

Gon’s emotional collapse at the end of the Chimera Ant arc is beautiful (narratively speaking…) because it functions as a new coming-of-age story’s beginning. He knows what it’s like to be a Hunter, has experienced its joys and agonies for himself. He can answer the question he started out with, and does form the bond with Ging he’s sought from the start. But his story doesn’t end, because he hasn’t come of age yet.

He befriends Ging… but that’s all. The validation and intimacy he chased after isn’t quite there. He doesn’t even feel much drive to stay with Ging for long, and says the only thing that could convince him to chase Ging for any longer would be being able to feel how powerful a Nen user Ging is, which Gon can no longer do. Meeting Ging doesn’t truly conclude either of Gon’s arcs, and Gon is now home again, where the hero’s journey both ends and begins. Because Gon went through his emotional crisis, he has the tools to recognize the new question before him.

We know that Ging has accomplished great things. He’s restored sprawling ruins and uncovered who knows how many historical secrets that might otherwise have been lost forever. Satotz looks up to him as an inspiration and a mysterious figure within the Hunter Association. He’s influential enough to be partially in control of the Hunter Association (until he peaces out, anyway). He also acts like an asshole to basically everybody, is hugely manipulative, and makes the two people with the closest familial ties to him chase his footsteps to prove themselves worthy of his respect.

Gon, with his new perspective, faces a new question.

“Do I want to live my life like Ging has lived his?”

That sure was long-winded, wasn’t it? Phew. It only sort of answers the question, too. Whoops. Moving on…

There’s a character trait among Aristotelian tragic heroes that if one wants to sound smart is called “Hamartia” and if one wants to be understood is called a “fatal flaw”. I’m not going to adhere exactly to the fatal flaw as it works in Aristotelian plays, but suffice to say that a fatal flaw is a trait the hero possesses that leads them to their own downfall. For example, Gon’s black-and-white worldview is a fatal flaw that leads him to his breakdown.

Killua’s fatal flaw is basing his own self-worth on being important to other people.

Killua never really struggles with specifically not being an assassin. He just decides to stop. The ground-in bloodlust and mechanical killing instinct that rear their heads on rare occasion seem quite firmly within his control. It’s something else that’s held over from his childhood and the way his family raised him: being used as a tool.

Writing that first bit took a bit out of me, energy-wise, so I’ll just cliff notes this one, maybe...

Killua is, shall we say, in the habit of thinking of himself as something useful to other people

Even as powerful assassins, the Zoldycks largely just do what whoever hires them tell them to do

Illumi’s needle is a direct example of this

His goals from the start have just been “Escape his family” and “Help Gon achieve his goal of meeting Ging”

His second goal has now been achieved: he helped Gon meet Ging. This is one of the reasons playing into his decision to leave, since staying would get Gon mixed up in his primary goal of escaping/getting rid of the other Zoldycks. Alluka’s... “supplanting”? That’s not the right word for it but whatever, Gon in Killua’s priority list is emblematic of this

His helping Gon is different from his doing what his family tells him because he actively wants to help Gon. Just wanted to make that point

All the same, his affection for Gon is part of what keeps him in this self-destructive mindset

That Alluka can directly empathize with this mindset, having been held captive and literally having magic powers that depend on other people making wishes, means (I hope) that she and Killua together can have some adventures and grow into their own autonomy

Were I to posit a coming-of-age story question for Killua to be searching for an answer to, it would probably be something like “Separate from what other people need from me, what do I want to do with my life?”

 As for the other stuff-

I don’t think they’re keeping in touch, at least not regularly, but I think they definitely do both have an understanding that they can call on each other for help if they need it. Gon references what Kite tells him - that whatever changes have happened, they still are and always will be friends. And friends help each other when it’s needed! Killua does his tsundere thing and makes a fuss to Ikalgo about Ikalgo so much as thanking Killua for his help, because to Killua it’s not something that even needs saying. Of course he’ll help his friends. This no doubt still holds for his friendship with Gon. So maybe not sending each other weekly updates, but I also don’t think they’d deliberately avoid speaking to each other.

I’d say that both Gon and Killua agreed to split up with the understanding that it wouldn’t be the last time they’d see each other. Whether either of them have an outright plan to link up again and travel together indefinitely, it’s hard to say; I kind of doubt it, mostly because there hasn’t been much discussion for either of them on practical long-term plans. Killua has escaping his family, but he’ll need something to do after that as well. Gon’s back on Whale Island doing homework (bless his heart), and now that he’s met Ging who knows where he’ll turn his eyes next.

Personally, I really want Alluka to play an important role in getting Killua to a place where he can be totally secure and happy with Gon again. Partly because she’s already proven herself capable of asserting herself and setting him straight, partly because she needs some good ass character development herself (and her establishing independence would be huge in helping Killua establish HIS), partly because she has that great line about letting Killua go play with Gon again once she’s had her fill.

It’s kind of hard for me to say what exactly I want their reunion to be like because it relies so heavily on what they do in the meantime, and there’s not much to work with there yet. I love drama, so some dramatic circumstances and tension would be nice. A big ol’ emotionally cathartic payoff when they see each other again.

I guess I can’t really offer anything concrete in the way of their post-reunion bond, firstly because it’s hard to imagine them interacting in a way that’s really different from their canon relationship, and secondly because if I start going down that road it’ll be fanfiction city, baby. And I live there, but if we’re talking about stuff I actually consider canon… who knows! I’m looking forward to it.

[catspupil]

Recovery - developing an inner administrator

I’ve been thinking a lot and I have decided to write down some feelings (and a year’s retrospective).

CW: suicide, self harm

Wow it’s nearly a year to the day that I called a suicide helpline. I haven’t gone back through my posts from last just yet, and I wanted to just write how I feel right now. This wasn’t intentional, just pure coincidence, but worth noting.

First things first though, I made myself some tea and a pretty good sandwich, because self-care is an ingrained habit, goddamnit.

Without reading my posts from last year, I can think about how I felt in the abstract sense but internally feels very far removed from that period. I no longer feel trapped. Sure, I have debt, and sure I still have anxieties (can’t seem to stay in a decent relationship? Have I done enough? Why did I say that and that and that?) but it’s different now. 

To backtrack: I spent a lot of this past year going to regularly scheduled strength conditioning with a good and patient trainer. I have in recent months started using a step counter and water tracker on my phone. I think it’s stupid that I need to until I needed to be reminded to drink a lot more water. I changed my style a bit (side shave, I love it). 

I went to therapy. For months. Even though it really didn’t help me financially, still better than spending that money on stupid shit, which I am 100% certain I would have done. I have had to deal with seeing the ex that was also my manager every weekday since the breakup. I moved department to a manager who is the best mentor and manager I could have asked for, at least for a day job. I still have to see but not interact with the ex, and he does not hold any power over me. Thankfully. (He still has a key to my apartment which I would like returned, but would like that without having to interact with him.)

I have the freedom to be where I want to be now. Now it’s a choice. Which is a good thing to know too. Because if it’s a choice, I can choose to be elsewhere if I want to. Knowing that I can is all I need. 

I still go into my own head. I still cry. It’s just that now, I don’t wrap anxiety around it to compound and tangle my energy further. If I have to have a cry, I will, and I see it as a car wash for the soul. I don’t hate myself for having feelings as much. Also car washes are great. 

I can see a lot more things with a sense of humour now, even if it’s rueful or sad. Like, sheesh, worst time for a call to drop is when you’re on a suicide helpline. I remember how awful it felt before I called them. Like a part of me went outside of myself and was standing above me, telling me to just do it, end it. And it really felt like there was nobody who could stand in that way. Honestly, there wasn’t really. Because I could always think around whatever people told me about myself. I was determined to not see any good or love or warmth. 

It didn’t help that at the time I chose to rely on a person who did not have the strength to help me when I needed it. Who withheld physical affection, conversation, even eye contact by the end, and considered it better than ending the relationship with me, because I might kill myself if he did. Who chose to not respond to messages, or ignore plans, because of how I was. I felt too trapped and afraid I would be fired (I know, idiocy) if I got mad, and then at the same time, was dealing with visa/deportation issues. So overall a bad time for me. 

Sometimes I still feel cold inside, but I see a lot more times when a big sad is brewing, or how often it’s merely I wasn’t taking enough care of myself. My body didn’t notice the physical signs because I was so used to pushing myself beyond the levels of comfort. Not necessarily to achieve anything, just because of poor self-discipline. I work around it a good bit. Even tonight, took a half-hour nap this evening because I wanted to have energy to work during my productive hours. Tonight my productivity goes to this because I think it’s important, but I intend to get some practice in too. 

Also seeing things as little blocks, little decisions, and every little block is a victory. Even if I do a little, every day, there’s still more there than there was before. 

But this is the important realisation I had about mental recovery:

It’s like therapy and routine and all that sort of formed a bouncer in my head. Or a bored administrator. All these feelings have to check in to see if they have an appointment, to see if they’re valid. Otherwise they get to wait in the waiting room until they go away.  

It’s not repression, it’s not forced positivity. It’s checking in with feelings before they are allowed to overwhelm you. And if these weird little assholes are filling up my waiting room, there’s usually a reason, and even NAMING that reason can make them fuck off. Make them self-conscious and examine their toes and mumble some excuse. Even that moment when I said out loud to a stranger on a helpline that I wanted to die, I felt relief. Even though between that point in time and five minutes prior to that barely anything had changed in my life, it still felt like my head had broken the surface of the water. A gasp of air. 

Anxiety for me is when there is no action. It’s when there’s a decision or action I am putting off or ignoring. It could be as simple as not going for a walk that day. Once I started addressing that, it began to happen a lot less. Even noticing tension in my jaw, or ankle, or shoulders, or checking in with myself, helped a bunch. 

Even when there are bad days, I’m not as paralysed. I don’t lie in bed a whole day without food and water until I finally get up out of desperation. It’s good. I don’t know how many weekends I spent doing that, in all honesty. 

I know and accept what hurts me and why some things still hurt. I understand that some scars fade quickly if you admit them and some take longer. I know that forgiveness has to be for everybody involved, including yourself, and sometimes there will be a voice screaming you’re shit and it’s the only one in a chorus of people telling you they like you. The liking voices seem like a whisper compared to that one asshole heckler talking about how fucking awful you are at whatever it is you’re doing. 

Even now I feel it, because cliche, but I’m writing anyway, because cliches to words are like the masters to art, the greats to music, words and phrases grow up wishing they could become a cliche. 

I can breathe. I can respect my own needs and trust my own story. I know it’s taken nearly 30 years, fuck, and I hate blaming childhood trauma, but goddamn if you go on for long enough with people telling you to suck it up, you don’t have a problem, well...trying to go against that wasn’t easy for me. It shocked me how much resistance I met from family members to go to therapy. 

I think I’m a lot more recovered, but I see depression and anxiety as more of a long-term illness, perhaps lifelong. It can be managed and maintained carefully, but I don’t think I would or could ever expect it to completely go away, no matter how good the life/company/accomplishments. And honestly, my life is pretty great in a lot of ways right now. There are things I want and will always want but I’m closer to those now than I was before, and that’s important. I’ve come to terms with the fact that there are a lot of things in life I may never have, and that’s okay, it doesn’t make any part of my life or experiences less valid. 

Consciously choosing to give less of a shit in certain situations, retaining some detachment, is a blissful independence from a lot of unnecessary anxiety. Making less comparisons that aren’t even applicable helped, too. I just ran out of fucks. I still have a few but it’s nice to have less. This is my goal:

I can’t decide if this should be a separate post, but I wanted to add: I have a lot of things I want to achieve, but what I want to be is kind. Overall good. Able to do something that speaks to people or helps them. Because it can’t be just me that feels the way I do. 

The thing is that being kind and good to other people is pretty fucking hollow if you can’t be those to yourself, too. Which for me was the hard part. Once you start doing that you need less from people and what you give can be better. Rather than being a sponge for support that you can’t seem to retain, dependent on approval or validation from external sources. 

This is a long and rambling post. TL:DR, I’m better than I was, and I’m trying to be better still. Thanks too to friends who kept being there for me through everything and who I’m sometimes too busy to respond to, but I love you. 

UPDATE: this is the original post. I’m glad I didn’t read it first. 

[kimdaily]

I looked through your blog to see what was going on and, damn, it's like people forget you're a real life person, too. It always sucks to see big blogs like you I admire feeling stressed because of Tumblr. Like people need to realize that while this is a bangtan/namjoon blog, this is also a personal blog and you're not going to have the answers to every single question. (And I honestly don't understand anons who continue to follow you if they're only going to send hate).

Anonymous said:@ the people who are sending negative comments and suggesting this blog to be deleted etc. - First of all, I’m sorry that people like you have to exist. Try to imagine being dragged by dozens of anonymous assholes every single day in a place that’s supposed to be enjoyable? Please go invest your time and energy into learning how to become better human beings, bc it’s honestly so lame to be investing so much into making someone’s day even worse than it already is. Sab, stay strong

kjjownsme said:I love your blog and everything you do for those of us who enjoy your comments and content but you owe no one a damn thing.

visualseokjin said:‘take a break. like permanently.’ lmao people are so fucking rude. i’m sorry for them and sorry that u have to deal with them. i just wanted to pop in and say that your presence and everything you do for this fandom is so appreciated ;; and i hope the bad apples don’t manage to push you away from something that you love.

Anonymous said:The people who say you’ve been mean and rude can go fuck themselves tbh - you’ve are soft and cute and so sweet you don’t deserve this shit

Anonymous said:I will be sad but understanding if you decide to delete. I came to this blog for bts, stayed for you, and now I check your blog everyday. You could just reblog pictures of walls and I’d still have notifications on and get hype every time you post. Your posts regarding school and stress comfort me and your bangtan posts distract me from my own stress from school. I appreciate you and this blog so much- thank you for putting up with bullshit messages and negativity for so long. 

mxbebes said:been following you for a while now and i would say i’d miss you on my dash a lot of u left ♥ if that’s the choice you need/want to make i support you but if it’s over uncertainty about posting what you want all i can offer is the advice to screw anyone who tries to dictate what you want to put on /your/ blog maybe turn of asks/anons for a while if it gets to much or get into the habit of blocking the assbags who seem entitled to tell u what to post ♥ anyway ily a lot u would be missed if u left

Anonymous said:Hey I love your blog but if you think deactivating would put you in a better mental state then maybe that’s what’s more important. But I hope you know that you’re an amazing person who’s blog has done some good. I always glossed over Namjoon until I saw you and your posts. Now he’s one of my favorites. I’m sorry anons have affected your enjoyment on here. Just know you’ve got followers who care about how you feel, whether that means you leaving or not.

baepsaeling said:i haven’t been following you for very long but honestly the amount of shit you’re getting is ridiculous. but since you say Tumblr is your getaway place - maybe throw this blog on hiatus and start a smaller blog for the time? in either case, please don’t be afraid to give yourself a break. we all need one, occasionally. i hope stuff is gonna clear up and you’ll feel better soon! 💖

Anonymous said:hello please stay strong you’re my fav namjoon stan. if you really cant take it, take a break for a little bit and come back for us please? We love you

bukedo said:Hello~ I’d like to say that i’ve only started following you recently and up to this point i haven’t regretted anything of it, as a blog for Namjoonie you have been one of the best and i understand why you are upset/mad and tbh i would be too … I always look everything up before i ask around and only ask when i don’t find any answers. All the things about Namjoonie are very easy to find and people shouldn’t keep bothering you 💜 (Stay perfect ! 💜💜)

Anonymous said:You’re super amazing, your blog is super amazing and tbh all the salty haters just need to go get lives… I mean at what point do you think its ok to harass someone on tumblr… I mean, it’s tumblr… If you’re going to be a lil bish at least get of anon and have the guts to say it to someones face.

lunalilymoon said:i’m so so sorry i love you and your blog and namjoon but do what is best for you ❤

gogomaki said:Hon… please stay strong! I love you! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

Anonymous said:I don’t know what has happened and I don’t need too. I’m sorry for whatever has happened and I believe you deserve a break… ❤❤

Anonymous said:@ the people who are always buggin you for updates or askin what namjoon did: there is this lovely site called google where you can get most if not all the answers ur lookin for plus there are like 3456658 different update blogs that would probably love to take ur questions. shocking i know. also if some of yall hate namjoon so much what tf are you doin on an obvious namjoon stan blog talking shit like are you stupid?? and sab can be as sassy as she wants shes a fucking human with emotions okay!

Anonymous said:i want u to feel better, but i know nothing i say can. just… always try to look on the bright side of things, okay? as corny as that i

Anonymous said:Delete your blog then. I never saw you as someone holding every action Namjoon did I saw you as an actual human being. A human being who breaks down who stresses out who gets angry. Who has EMOTIONS. I’m sending this and I’m not going to sugar coat shit and tell you it gets better. Because nothing ever does unless you work through it. If you delete your account, don’t do it then regret it. Im sending this in as anon cause you may not answer but I’m not going to give you a sugarcoated response

hoshyoung said:Please remember that your own mental amd physical health is more important than running this blog. I know lots of people will support whatever decision you make, including myself. We just want you to be happy and healthy No matter what, I wish you all the happiness in the world!! 💕💕💕💕💕 (I’m sorry for all of the people who are being selfish and rude, you deseve so much more than that)

Anonymous said:hi bae~ i literally just got online and was ??? omg why is my ult namjoon blog stressing??? so i read what you said and i feel so sorry for you :((( i can’t imagine getting so many asks about someone you stan, especially negative asks. i get so exhausted just reading someone being nasty / bringing up joon’s past, so i can’t imagine how tired and frustrated you must be to have all that in your askbox. i just wanted to drop in to say that i love you very much!!! [ 1/2 

Anonymous said:I’m so sorry. I used to be one of your old anons that checked on you and also talked to you a lot, but I guess I haven’t been doing a good job of that lately. I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten off of my lazy ass and come check on you, because you’re very important to me. I think you’re absolutely amazing, and you’re so kind and nice to everyone. I hate that you feel this way, I know how hard you’ve worked. But if you decide to stay, I promise to start writing you cute messages again. I love you ❤❤

Anonymous said:Sab I’m sorry you have to go through with this negativity! I love your blog and love you personality! And i don’t know if this will lighten your mood even just a tad but I have a random question for you: who do you Stan more Ryan or Kumamon?

Anonymous said:I’m sorry you’re not having a great time on Tumblr as of late for a variety of factors and that people are belittling your comments down to a sentence. Just wanted to say hi, and send you my well wishes. I love seeing you on my dash, both kpop related content and otherwise. It’s nice seeing the blogger behind the blog. Also, you have a superb playlist. I hope your crazy school project does well, despite that I know you’re not thrilled about being part of the whole thing. #Sabjoon2k17

thornyrosebush3 said:I know I’ve never messaged you before (anxiety) but I just wanted to let you know that whatever decision you make will be okay. If you do delete your blog to make the pressure and stress go away, that is okay. I’m not here to tell you ‘not to delete your blog, everything will be okay’ because I want you to feel comfortable no matter what decision you make. -M.

Anonymous said:I really would like to get to know you more and chat with you because I honestly think you are such a wonderful person. But I feel like I would be imposing on you by chatting with you like a friend I feel as if it would be rude because it’s almost like being overcomfortable? But I love your blog and would love to get know you ☺️

Anonymous said:Project start flooding your asks with nice things so that you don’t have to read all that sh*t is a go . :)

bangtan-world said:I love a human being, and that human being is called Sabrina.❤

Anonymous said:I give you so much props for the amount of patience you have and I’m sorry that you have to deal with annoying/rude anons :( anyone that sends you hate can come and fight me! Pls keep being an amazing ❤️

Anonymous said:I’m sorry for all the things your going through. If I could do something I would. Here a change from all the things your getting. How are you? Hope you have a good night/day.

Anonymous said:Are you going to start a new account? Because like you said it wouldn’t be fair for you to have to start over because of hate. But I really love your blog and I understand and really hope that your okay.

hobismole said:😩 your selfie killed me why are you so freaking beautiful?? Also I’m sorry that people are treating you like this you deserve so much better! Don’t worry too much about what other people think and do whatever decision you feel is right for and your blog 💞

Anonymous said:hellooooo, just dropping by to say that i appreciate you & your blog very much! im new to BTS and your blog is among the first few ones that i followed. :) dont let the haters get you down, there’s plenty of us here who like & appreciate you! \o/

Anonymous said:I think you should just turn off anon asks so if people want to really know the answer to their shitty questions they have to be willing to have their identity known (and I know that me being on anon writing this is ironic 😂)

Anonymous said:I’ve just come back from a tumblr hiatus to see you sad and!! No!! I’m so sorry people are not treating you and your blog how they should and it’s pushed you to feel like wanting to delete. I hope you know you’ll be missed but if you feel it’s what you have to do we understand!! Stay strong like we know you can and do what you feel is best!!

Anonymous said:What’s your favourite nose shape? Mines the ones that look kinda too long but are turned up at the end and are really cute. Hope you can get over the negativity

Anonymous said:Your own mental health and comfort is important too. while i can’t give any concrete solutions for you, at least know that there is this anon who supports your decision either way. stay healthy and safe 'kay?

Anonymous said:we’ll miss you darling. please be safe and do what is healthy for you because that is the most important thing! i’m sure you’ll get many more nice messages before you go besides this one but if not i’ll keep sending these until you feel better! if you want to come back we’re always here. much love, a quiet anon who loves seeing you on their dash ❤️

Anonymous said:I’m sorry your blog is surrounded by so much negativity. In an attempt to at least make you smile, or get to know you, what kind of things do you like? Movies, tv shows, Kpop groups, artists? I’d be more than happy to ask you things about yourself 💕

i-am-wordaholic said:Do what u have to do sweety. Don’t hand over ur peace of mind for anyone. If that means closing the acc then… that sucks but it’ll have to be. You wouldn’t want Namjoonie to keep doing smth that makes him unhappy cuz he feels he owes it to ppl, right? So, don’t do it to urself either. Fighting!!!

reprobateravenclaw said:Oh. My. God. Wtf? Like I get it's nice to be nice and stuff, but honestly, you don't have to be. You can just tell someone to fuck off when you don't wanna discuss smth. You don't hold any sort of responsible behaviour to anyone. Yeah sure, be nice and all, but slam them to the pits of hell if you wanna/need to. Just saying. Take it easy. Being mean isn't always bad when it comes to you. Like, if you're someone who cares about what people say to you,its essential to know when to be a bitch.

Anonymous said:hey :) i saw all those posts you just made, honestly i have no idea what happened to you but don't give up on tumblr if it's the thing that made you happy once (if this makes sense...) there's still a lot of us that appreciate everything you do! ily x

Anonymous said:hi! i've never sent any asks before so i Hope This Is Okay but i saw what was going on and i'm so sorry that that's been happening to you. that sounds Ultra Mega Shitty and :( if you want to delete/deactivate i wont stop u if u think its the right thing for u b/c ur happiness + health are the Most Important !! i just wanted to tell u that i love ur blog lots and lots!! you're one of the first bts blogs i ever followed :') thank u for blessing my dash and being a Gr8 :') i hope ur doing well!! :)

Anonymous said:I just saw you're going through all this shit. I have followed you for awhile and I'm like so invested in your life in a weird way? It's hard to explain. I just want you to be able to breathe a little and not feel so overwhelmed. I know how life can make you feel like you're barely keeping your head above water. I hope you get some rest and are able to just chill a little from all this. Love you!!

thank you guys so much, I genuinely want to thank you all of such kind things. tomorrow is a new day, we’ll put all this in the past and look forward to better days. 

I care about you all so much and hope you have a fantastic bright day, thank you so much again I wish I could hug you all for sending me such nice things it means more than I think you could ever understand. I love you, you guys are the reason I come on everyday hopeful and a full heart. 

again sorry  for everything, I just it’s been weighing heavy on me for the past two or so months and I sadly finally cracked and had to let it out. 

[considerdaydreaming]

Update.

April 23rd 2019.

It's been a while eh?

It's 5:09 in the morning, I've been up since 3:45, thinking about some shit. So much has happened I don't even know where to be begin. Let's start with family.

My uncle who assaulted me as a child got bone cancer and died. My grandmother lost blood circulation in her lower body and is risking amputation and will most likely die in the next year or so. What can I say, life is going peachy!

The reason I am up is because my body woke me up, I guess to think about some shit.

I've been conflicted. So terribly conflicted. I came on here to vent my feelings and the first thing that I see is the last thing that I posted. I feel like there are so many signs telling me to end my relationship but it's just so hard. It's so hard. One part of me knows that it would be the better choice for myself, my friends can see it, my sister can see it everyone can see it. But they only say that because they don't know him like I do. They don't see the things that I see in him. Or do they feel the way I feel about him. They didn't wake up next to him every morning or watch TV with him every afternoon, smoke up together and vent to each other. They don't understand me like he does. Who am I going to speak to when I am conflicted? When I am freaking out about school or money? Who is going to understand me like he does?

I feel like everyone is biased because they only know my perspective of things and I only talk about him when I am upset with him, they've never hung out with him or gotten to know him because he is a very private person. I feel like it is so easy to say just leave him, when they aren't the person that woke up next to him or the person that I see every day. If I told my sister to leave her boyfriend, I know for a fact she wouldn't. And I've told my mom to leave her boyfriend before and she hasn't, in fact, she chose him over me. I hate to admit it, but I kind of understand why now. It's so hard to let go, to not have that person in your space, even if the relationship is almost toxic.

I just don't know anymore. I did something horrible to him too, it was his birth on the 20th and I left him alone. I don't know if he went out or not, but I left him there by himself and that is what kills me.

Maybe I should give you some backstory. I remind you that this is just my version of what happened. So on Thursday, April 18th, we were supposed to see each other before I went to work, I got there and he called me saying he was still off island so I should just go to work because I would be late if I waited (I started in an hour). So I said whatever and I went to work. Mind you, the whole week before this event we have been seeing each other and it's been tense to say the least. So I was pissed but it was whatever. Now before this, just to give some context, we just moved into another place together. We used to live together before but some shit went down with our landlord so we had to move to a new place. I had moved out before and went to stay with my mom and most of our stuff was in storage. When he found a place, he put down the deposit and signed the lease under his own name and got one set of keys. He told me and I that week we moved most of our stuff in, everything in storage was moved to his new place. So both mines and his. So continuing, I was apprehensive about leaving my mom again because she had just gotten used to the idea of me being back, she had moved some things out of the guest room to make space for me which I really appreciated so I wanted to ease my way back into living with my bf.

Back to Thursday, so I went to work, pretty upset and then he texts me asking me to come see him after work. So I do, after work I make my way to his place (our place) and then on my way there I text him to see if he is awake. He's not. Now, he works 12 hour days starting at 6am off island, so I don't blame him for being tired. But I don't want to be the one to wake you up after a long day, I know I wouldn't want to be woken up. And even at that, I figured what's the point of me showing up now, at 11:30 at night, full of energy while I just woke you up? I didn't want to go to sleep just yet and we both had work in the morning anyways so I figured there was no point. So I decided I wasn't going to call, I was going to wait out front and text him until he answers. I waited about 20 minutes or so and still no reply. Then, it dawned on me. Why don't I have a key yet? I live here too and this could have been avoided if I had a key. So that automatically irritated me more. He never answered so I went home, to my mom's place.

I thought about it some more and I got more and more irritated about this. I got home and as I was about to fall asleep he calls me saying that he just woke up and he's sorry blah blah blah, I'll tell him we'll talk tmr. The next day arrives, Friday I believe and I am in full petty mode, I am ignoring the calls and texts and I am at work. So he asks me if I am coming by after work once again and I bring up the fact that I don't have a key yet. This is what escalated the situation. I let him know that I am pretty pissed about being stood up twice, that if he knew he was going to be tired or that he wasn't going to meet me on time, he should've let me know instead of wasting my time and my gas. I also brought up the fact that I still didn't have a key yet. He kept beating around the bush about the key and asking me if I was coming over or not. Eventually, I got super pissed and gave him an ultimatum have a key made or I am not coming over. Only once I said this did he agree to give me his keys so that I could make a copy. Not even that he would make one for me. He used to excuse that since he is paying the rent and that I am paying the utilities, "it would only be fair". The thing is, I don't care about the money, I care about the symbolism behind the key, everything to me is about the meaning behind the action. The fact that you are fighting so hard to avoid the conversation about the key makes me feel like you don't even want me to be there. To live with him. Also, why didn't you tell me all of this before I started to move unpack all of the boxes with my things in them? Why did you wait until now? On top of that in Thursday, when I asked to see him, I had to ask to see him, he didn't even ask to see me. Which is very opposite to our relationship. ANYWAYS. This happening on top of the past week just gave me maaaad sketchy vibes. So I told him. I let him know that the fact that I had to twist his arm to get this answer out of him doesn't even make me want to share the space with him anymore because I don't feel like he is committed. Anyways a whole bunch of words were exchanged which ended in him blocking me on Messenger. So, this sent me into rage mode and we stopped speaking. The next day was April 20, his birthday. I wanted to be with him so bad but I didn't see him and I texted him that morning letting him know that I hoped he had a good birthday and he invited me over for drinks and some joints. I didn't respond and then 4 or 5 hours later, being his petty self, he let me know that he was going out instead. Now kind you, this guy never goes out. In the two years we've been together, we've never gone to a restaurant or to a movie or anything like that... At our old place, we used to live by the water and we never even went for a walk by the water. That's how little we do together.

So anyways, once again I don't respond. It's 4/20 so after work I want to get my kind off of everything that is going on so I meet up with some of my friends and we blaze and we talk and we eat and chill, it was honestly a good time, but I thought about him a lot during this time. He called me a couple times during that period and I never answered. When I got home that night I wished Hima happy birthday. He never replied. I think that night was the last time he called me. I think the fact that I left him on his birthday really hurt him and that hurts me to know that I did something like that to him. Especially out of anger and pettiness. If someone did that to me I would break up with them.

On top of that he had accused me of living to him which really ticked me off because I am not a liar and being accused of one really hurts. The next day I find out that I am blocked on Instagram. So by this point I see that he is blocking me one by one on all social media. Yesterday, Monday, I texted him as I was supposed to go by his place to pick up some stuff. I asked him to let me know when I could stop by. No response.

Now I feel like I am at a crossroads and I don't know what to do. See, these petty as arguments happen constantly between us. Our arguments have always been similar to this. Minus the blocking. He usually only blocks me when I've really really pissed him off. But it's just the fact that we are this way to each other, the fact that some incident happened that caused me to lose all my trust in him even though it "wasn't his fault" and that he hadn't tried to gain it back. The fact that he says one thing through his words but his actions speak differently, the fact that we never go out and now the key thing? I don't know... But to be honest, when he first got the place, I was the one who wanted to take things slow, for my mom. But now that I am here, everyday. I see that my mom is never home, in fact she has her boyfriend to keep her company. And now, who do I have to keep me company? Who do I have to talk to? I only saw my friends when I was with him every 2 to 4 months. He doesn't see my family, but yet I see his at least once a week. I don't see the fairness. I don't see the compromise either.

I love him. I really really do. I see my future with him, when he is not a complete asshole, he is sweet and kind and I know he would do things for me if he could. It's just not the things that I want him to do for me. He loves me, I can tell. I just don't know if it is enough for him or for me. I feel like he can't resist being who he is at the end of the day. And who am I to change who is he is? I should accept him how he is, I shouldn't want him to change. It's just I believe he can have so much potential if he just tried and if he saw himself the way that I see him.

Anyways, I got to get up and get to work. There is so much more to say but I don't have the time. Maybe I will follow up in another post today.

Until then, Jo.

[justafastfoodknight]

I guess I should write about what’s been going on? because there’s a shitload and i kind of hate myself for not keeping up with it!!!?ok

so last week was our trip to San Fransisco. mind u i had posted that we had no place to stay and would most likely cancel the trip... well we found a place. On the first night we met up with M’s co-workers and got a hotel/motel. Juliette had texted me saying she really wanted to meet up so we made a plan to in the next couple of hours. I was so nervous cause I have never had a friend understand things like she understands me and this is legit all from memes and tidbits we’d message on IG in the past years. she said she was gonna pick me up and take me to eat with her friend. So i got the i’m outside text and there she was! it was legit surreal. So met her friend who was super tall but super chill. let me say i’m fat af and that we had to walk every fucking where. holy shit. so we walked and talked about living in SF and me in the Valley. We made it to the underground station, they call it Bart. and we started really talking... like how anxiety and depression has fucked with our mentality and how it effects our academics. she asked me what I wanted to do and i was like since HS it’s been the same thing: movies. but i have so many idea and i have resources but i don’t have friends who want to and i have a shell i can’t break out of to socialize and network to do anything... and i was like i feel like such a failure because i have such a burning passion and i’ve had time but nothing has come of it. and i swear it was so nice to have someone else who had this outlook like: tbh i’m not even worried. and it wasn’t even like she had a set plan so she wasn’t worried but more of: “why do i have to have a career at 30? i realized i can’t do school so i’m taking simple easy classes on things i like and i’ll see where that leads.. i’m trying to not let societies pressure tell me i need to be at a certain place by a certain age.” and then i had this epiphany right there with her and told her about how David lynch started painting and doing sculptures as a teen and how that actually landed him a scholarship to a film school where he fucking made Eraserhead. and i said that he even now, being 70 something has creative control of his work which is FUCKING rare but he legit stuck to his aesthetics no matter how long it took him and he’s still getting praised. 

so yeah, then we got off the bart and walked a ton to this pizza place. trust i was tired af wanting to die from walking so much, and this line to get pizza was fucking insane. i was like are u sure we can even wait to eat cause i’m already tired. but we stuck it out and I HAVE NEVER EATEN PIZZA THAT FUCKING GREAT BEFORE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE I FUCKING SWEAR!! so we started talking about how everyone in our class has babies and is engaged and married or have careers and shit and then we got into it about TA. Mind you, no one but maybe 2 people know what i think about him regardless if we hang out or talking or whatever. so then i was saying how crazy baby fever is and then she said “yeah i had a serious case back in HS when I dated TA, i swear i would have had his child and married him right then and there no questions asked i loved him that much.” bitch my insides shattered. i mean yeah he has a gf, and yea i’d known that they dated, but i never knew it was that serious. and here’s a girl who’s friendship i really fucking value telling me she was IN LOVE LOVE LOVE with some dude I tell myself i’m going to marry or be with. it sounds fucking crazy and i sound like a fucking idiot because this is all theoretical but omg i was like girl-code says u can’t date a friends ex. i took it with a grain of salt and reminded myself of the past things that had happened (which i will get into) and was kind of like ok, chill the fuck out.

we then walked to the amoeba record store and talked about movies and music and she’s so talkative and funny bish i was so happy to be around her. she’s enigmatic and pure i loved that she always had shit to say. so we bought stuff and made our way back. on the train she said that she noticed i had a little crab symbolizing Cancer and she said that that’s why we understood each other so well because she is also one! I had no idea but i was like UR AN EMO WRECK LIKE ME!!! it makes a lot of sense actually. from how we act around people and how we think it’s pt fucking cool. so walking back to my hotel she said she was sorry for not offering to host us but she was in a super tiny space that she would even hate for her sisters to come and stay with her because it was just her big ass bed and almost no other space but she said she was moving in the next year so she said i’d have to come down more often and stay with her!! it sounds super gay, trust me i know! but i have not made friends in fucking years!! so getting back i go up and like i fucking said we walked for hours and Mel and her friends had plans to go to a gay club which i was all for earlier but now that i had blisters on my feet and had makeup running down my face i was like pjs on lay in bed, watch the proposal and fall the fuck asleep. her friends were really cool too though. like one is this super femme gay dude who is circling around the idea of doing drag so his makeup is BOMB AF!! and the other girls were a lesbian couple who spoke so softly but were the cutest thing ever. so they kept drinking and being loud but i tbh did not mind, and they got on their last coats and left. the next thing i remember it was 4 am and M was on top of me saying some crap about the club and sorry for being so loud. then i heard them say that the coke was working so well and that they had so much energy. M kept saying she wanted to run around the block and at thjis point i was so fucking tire di wouldn’t even get up to check up on her, plus i had cramps and it was honestly 40 degress in that room cause they left the air on. so we all knocked out and we woke up to 23498234092834092384 alarms and the snooze buttons like a million times omg it was so funny after. got breakfast, went down to the golden gate bridge, which is impossible to even comprehend, went bowling, got burritos, drove to lombard st. and then got dropped off at our hostel. there was a mix up and we ended up in different rooms. we met up outside and decided to walk to the venue to see how far it was... bitch it was 20 mins walking and another 10mins trying to find the entrance... but the second we turned the corner.. THE FUCKING MARQUEE SAID BRAND NEW SEPT. 11!!! BITCH I WAS SCREAMING AND PUSHING M BECAUSE HOLY SHIT!!!  we both got so excited!!!!! so we headed back and I said “i’m not taking chances i’mma wake up at 6 and be there by seven! i did not go through a fucking heart attack of a time to get here to NOT be front row.” so she said she was gonna meet up with a friend to get breakfast and that she would show up later. well I got there at 7 am and i was the first one for like 2 hours. honestly i have no idea how i do it, to pass the time i mean. like the show wasn’t until 9 and we spent all day outside just watching shit go by. but the people around us were super cool and raging BN fans which made me heart swell!! plus Jesse FUCKING LACEY walked right by us and was in an art supply store for hours!! i’m not even exaggerating but i heard he was on his phone the whole time and yeah. I didn’t wanna be that fan girl like before so i dropped it and just accepted it. so time came around to go in and right as i get into the part to scan my ticket it isn’t scanning.... i was like no!!!! hurry up i was being an asshole to the dude but he just let me go and my ass ran!!! i left M behind because i was deadset gonna save our spots and yeah we fucking made it center front row. let’s just say the show was a bit of a letdown. first: there was this huge screen in front which from far away looks incredible but from up front it’s just covering and outlining the band.. so that didn’t go up until half way and then came down again which was so fucking annoying!! plus!! they left off on an not so good song to end off on... i mean ur supposed to play an acoustic of best song last but no they did a hardcore one that left EVERYONE confused!! idk everyone after was like wtf tho!! but such a heartwarming part was singing Soco Amm with everyone in the crowd and knowing every word it was so fucking PURE!! During the wait outside before the show i decided to read up on the lyrics and facts which is my afvorite thing to do! i’m that bitch lol. but i was realling listening to the lyrics and Can’t Get it Out came on and i got so fucking teary-eyed holy shit i was shaking. the song about depression and feeling like a failure because nothing has been done although u love creating was so heartbreaking to hear. I decided it was my next tattoo so when this song came on and they played it my ass was crying and screaming at the top of my lungs. it was so good though cause i love love love the feeling of the crowd pushing me against the barricade cause it’s so reminiscent of my youth and shit i rarely ever do anymore. so the show ended and we left looking wrecked and flew back home.

now listening to Science Fiction i already have nostalgia and a fucking deeper love for Brand New i can’t stress it enough my heart will break the day they say it’s finally over ;~;

so work updates? um the shift at Urbane finally fucking left, it’s been months since he’s said he’d leave because things were “so fucked up there” but it was legit all rooted to him. so the manager and the dm sat down with him after multiple attempts to help him and told him he’d been demoted to kitchen cook. he got mad, and then later ranted that he wasn’t going to show up the next day... and he didn’t. legit everyone there is so much happier and less stressed out!! we all commented on the same thing it’s so nice!!