#a big fuck u to whoever posted a NOT-kiss of us on Instagram!! it’s one thing to send it to ur bro as a heads up but to post on ig for every

[tinycoffeeroom]

just friends | lando norris

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

part 2 !

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📍 sass cafe, monaco

👤 bffstagram, landonorris liked by bffstagram, landonorris and 59,203 others

y/nstagram dj lando came out of retirement for the night🤠

landonorris 😎 only for you xx ↳ y/nstagram i'm honoured mr norris 🫡 ↳ fan i love my besties who don't know they're my besties

bffstagram bro my tummy hurts ↳ y/nstagram i'm coming round with coffee and croissants you big baby ↳ bffstagram i love my gf ♥️ y/nstagram

fan i wanna party with y/nlando so BAD dude ↳ y/nstagram if you ever find yourself in monaco hmu xx

user ew flipping off the camera so ladylike ↳ y/nstagram idk your mum quite likes my fingers 🫶 ↳ fan ☠️☠️☠️ i love her

fan bffstagram is so hot, i need her ↳ bffstagram thank u babycakes 💗

liked by bffstagram, lilymhe and 69,928 others

y/nstagram rainy days in monaco 🌧️

lilymhe i deserve financial compensation for the emotional turmoil tfios sent me through ↳ y/nstagram don't,,, sat and sobbed my eyes out at the last 100 pages

fan how to lose a guy in 10 days... tfios... who hurt you y/n? ↳ y/nstagram hahahah nothing like that! i promise i'm all good!

bffstagram i still have a headache from crying at that book, next time i choose what we're reading for book club ↳ y/nstagram BORINGGGGG who doesn't love doomed romance? ↳ fan you guys have a book club? thats so cute 😭 ↳ y/nstagram yep! it's me, bff, kika, lily and flavy!! ↳ alexandrasaintmleux and no one thought to invite me?? ↳ y/nstagram come join us babe!! ❤️

landonorris wow, didn't take you for a sappy romance reader ↳ y/nstagram there's a lot you don't know about me comment deleted ↳ y/nstagram tfios can make even the iciest bitch cry (it's me, i'm the icy bitch)

landonorris also answer ur damn texts ↳ y/nstagram sorry idk how to read suddenly ↳ fan The Lando Norris gets aired, there's hope for the rest of the bitchless community ↳ landonorris dude...

liked by fan, fan and 103,028 others

f1gossip Eagle eyed Sass Cafe goers managed to capture Lando Norris getting cosy with an unknown blonde girl. Rumoured girlfriend Y/N L/N was nowhere to be seen. Trouble in paradise for the young duo?

fan delete this rn y'all are fucking up my y/nlando chances

fan rumoured girlfriend?? i thought they were just friends ↳ fan that's what they both say, but they're always very close whenever they've been seen out together ↳ fan i'm pretty sure there was like a super grainy photo of them kissing but you can't really tell if it's either of them ↳ fan hey how about we don't speculate on people's love lives???

fan y/n has been absent from social media for like a month too ... its so over for us y/nlando'ers

fan her instagram is girlstagram! from what i could see before she went private, she posted a selfie of her and lando and they looked very close ↳ fan damn the fbi needs to hire you or smth

liked by bffstagram, estebanocon and 65,928 others

y/nstagram thuggin it out (i've listened to your best american girl 34 times today i think bffstagram is about to smother me with a pillow)

fan um who hurt my bestie ???

fan whoever hurt y/n must die at the hand of my sword

fan lando norris i am in your walls FIX THIS

bffstagram i would never smother you xx also come out of ur room it is boring as FUCK out here ↳ y/nstagram damn cant a girl go through it in peace? ↳ bffstagram absolutely not, i have wine and nibbles get out here NEOOWWW or i'm breaking into ur room ↳ y/nstagram the door is open babygirl

fan ik this is a parasocial friendship but are you ok y/n? ☹️ we love you ↳ y/nstagram oh sweetie ❤️ i'll be fine, sometimes you just gotta be a lil sad y'know? thank you for asking, ily ❤️ ↳ fan ily, take care of yourself 🥺 ♥️ y/nstagram

estebanocon chérie, i don't know what's wrong but i hope you're ok! lets grab coffee soon, flavy misses you! ☺️ ↳ y/nstagram thank u este 🫶🥺 text me when you're free! tell flavy i love her 💗 ↳ flavy.barla i love you too 💕 ♥️ y/nstagram

fan no lando like, i have one (1) fear ↳ fan do not even speak that into the universe

fan after f1gossips post, i have my speculations ↳ fan dude, if he fumbled y/n he really will be lando nowins

liked by flavy.barla, francisca.c.gomes and 10 others

y/npriv absolutely not thuggin it out lads

flavy.barla chouchou (sweetheart) 💔 that's it, me and este are taking you out for lunch tomorrow ↳ y/nstagram nooo don't let me ruin your date time!! ↳ flavy.barla nope it's already done! este's booked that little restaurant you like on pl. du casino ↳ y/nstagram le salon rose?? oh i could do a little weep, i love you guys 😭 ↳ flavy.barla we love you so so much y/n 💕

lilymhe i will hit him with my golf clubs ↳ y/nstagram i haven't even mentioned anyone? ↳ lilymhe we all know their name rhymes with bando borris ↳ y/nstagram wdym we all know? who else knows? ↳ flavy.barla ... me ↳ alexandrasaintmleux ^ ↳ francisca.c.gomes ^ ↳ lilynzeimer ^ ↳ heidiberger_ ^ ↳ carmenmmundt ^ ↳ kellypiquet ^ ↳ iamrebeccad ^ ↳ y/nstagram ok ok i get it damn

kellypiquet want me to ask max to rear end him with his race car? ↳ y/nstagram as if max would ever be behind lando ↳ kellypiquet 😳😳😳 ↳ y/nstagram i may l*ve him but i am also a realist ↳ y/nstagram ok no i do feel bad

y/nstagram uploaded to their story

[caption 1: love of my life, apple of my eye, the thelma to my louise 💖 @/flavy.barla] [caption 2: damn stole my girl from right in front of me 😔 @/estebanocon @/flavy.barla]

seen by landonorris, flavy.barla and 67,394 others

flavy.barla mon ange (my angel), you know you're the only one for me 💕 ↳ y/nstagram tell that to your giant of a boyfriend :(

estebanocon i'm not a giant 😠 ↳ y/nstagram stop reading flavy's messages weirdo ↳ y/nstagram but on a real note, thank you for dinner, i really needed it ↳ estebanocon of course, i'm not sure what lando's done but we hate seeing you so sad ↳ y/nstagram who said it had anything to do with lando? ↳ estebanocon whenever me and flavy have an argument she pulls out the mitski lyrics, i know the signs ↳ y/nstagram that's different, you and flavy are dating ↳ estebanocon and you and lando aren't???? ↳ y/nstagram what? no? we're just friends ↳ estebanocon oh mon amie naïve (my naive friend) friends don't look at each other the way the two of you do

landonorris can we talk? seen

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anyone interested in a part 2?

[theworld-accordingtocasey]

A Serpents Kiss |

part of @alreadyblondenow​ “dear 127″ collaboration!

pairing: Yuta x fem!reader, Xiaojun x fem!reader

warnings: explicit smut (penetrative sex, oral sex (m and f recieving)) language, slight infidelity (if you can call it that i guess) people being assholes, implied spying/stalking

word count: 13k

Keep reading

[janeyseymour]

"the wrath of mama seymour- or whatever the hell I’ve been labelled as" -Jane

Jane takes it upon herself to handle some nasty comments one particular account has been leaving the queens.

WC: 3072

For the most part, the queens got rave reviews, and their queendom was full of love and support. Every once in a while though, the queens got some hate, specifically Anna of Cleves and Jane Seymour- the two queens who arguably had it the least bad. While the others got hate sometimes, it was never anything that the queens would deem as true. Some might tell Katherine or Anne that they were “whores”, but the two knew this was not true. History might have depicted them as this, but they lived their lives. They knew they weren’t. Anne had actively tried to reject the king, and Katherine was forced into her situations. What these people had said about Jane and Anna was true- or at least those two thought so.

The fourth queen wasn’t one to put up with the comments. She would openly complain about them to the other queens, and she had even made it a point to call out the hateful comments that she got. Jane Seymour wasn’t like this.

The silver queen, hot-tempered and not so kind in her first life, knew that if she had said anything, it would only fuel the hate comments. So, she stayed quiet about it, letting these comments eat at her slowly.

“You’re responsible for Anne’s death. Don’t you feel even the slightest bit guilty about that? Bitch.”

“We all know the “i’m a kind sweet mum” act is fake. If you’re a bitch, just show it and let us hate you.”

“You don’t even deserve to be in the show. You had it the easiest.”

“The only one he truly loved? He only loved you because you had a son. But that son died before he could even do anything. After you died, you still failed. You don’t deserve to be remembered as queen, and you definitely don’t deserve to be in the likes of the other queens.”

That one hurt. That one comment hurt. The third queen did what she could to let it roll off her shoulders, but to no avail. That comment made her stomach flip.

Still, she did her best to stay kind, finally deciding to put out a video on her Instagram in attempts to stop the hate coming her way.

“Hi queendom. It’s Jane,” she said as sweetly as she could. “I’m here to address something with all of you. As we know, the idea of the queendom is to build others up, not tear them down. Now, I know we all know I say in my song that I’m unbreakable.” She paused, mulling over how she was going to word this. Her tone lowered a bit as she spoke quietly, “But the truth is, I’m not.” Her voice broke a bit as she said this. “I see every comment you all leave. I see every direct message, every private message, all of it. The kind comments are so lovely, and I appreciate them all so much. The not-so-kind comments are few and far between, and for that I’m thankful, but the ones that I do see hurt. I think we all just need a reminder to be kind to one another. Please remember the golden rules we were all taught: treat people the way that you want to be treated. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. That’s all I have to say for today, but I’ll leave you with this- you are enough. I’m sending you all so much love! Thank you.” She blew a kiss to the phone and waved before turning the camera off. 

Almost immediately, fans started outpouring love to the third queen.

Roseamongstthethorns: i just wanna know who said something mean to jane because we are going to have some words

Sixqueenswalkintoabar: @janeyseymour we love u pls know that

AnnieBoleyn: whos talkin shit on my janey. I’ll fight em for u

Jane rolled her eyes at the green queen’s comment before replying.

JaneySeymour: @annieboleyn, i’m just speaking in general terms. Also, language dear.

AnnieBoleyn: @janeyseymour i say what i want #sorrynotsorry

Catherine_Aragon: you chaotic gremlin @annieboleyn

Jane laughed a bit at what Catherine had commented when she saw a notification pop up. A direct message from the account that had left that one particularly nasty comment.

Stop acting like you don’t talk shit on people. All you did was talk shit on Anne in your last life. That’s what got you the “queenly position” that you clearly didn’t deserve in the first place. Right? Just shut up bitch.

And so, Jane shut up. She ended up deleting her last post where all she did was try to address the issue, something that the other queens did quite often. She almost deleted her entire page accidentally (or not-so-accidentally if you asked the third queen).

“Janey! What are you trying to do: delete your whole account?” Anne teased. 

“N-No,” the silver queen stammered out. “I-I uh, was just trying to delete a post. I guess I just hit the wrong button. Could you show me how?” She feigned confusion. It worked- the blonde was always asking for social media guidance anyway. 

Everyday, this hateful account would send her messages. And every single day, against her better judgement, she opened the messages. The silver queen would roll her eyes and try to go on with her day, but it was affecting her, and the other queens were starting to take notice. 

“Mum?” Katherine tried to get her adoptive mother’s attention. “Are you okay?” She had glanced at Jane, who was staring at her phone with tears in her eyes. 

“Hmm?” The blonde lifted her gaze to the pink haired queen. “Oh.” She blinked away the tears. “I’m just fine dear. Just-”

“Are you having some trouble reading what’s on your screen?” The fifth queen was trying to be helpful. It was known in the house that the blonde wasn’t the most educated when it came to reading and writing. It was also known that Jane sometimes had a hard time reading what was on her screen if she didn’t have her glasses. “Here. I can help you.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing. I just-” The blonde was interrupted when the youngest queen took the phone out of her hand and read over the message on the screen, a horrified look appearing on her face. 

“This fucking account,” Katherine huffed. 

“Kit,” Jane sighed, never one for cursing unless necessary.

“Mum, this is necessary. This account has been harassing all of us.”

“Have they really been?” Jane’s interest piqued. Kat nodded her head. “Interesting.”

Over the next few days, Jane stayed quiet on social media. She saw the tweets and the comments on her “most recent post” asking why she deleted the video of her talking about being kind. Before she made her next move, she had to speak to the other queens. 

“Hey Lina?” Jane asked one night as she was making dinner, the first queen accompanying her. 

“What’s up Jane?”

“Kat told me about this horrid account and how they’ve been sending all of us hate messages. Do you mind if I take a look at what they’ve been sending you?”

“If you want, but you have to promise you won’t go all Mum.”

“I- I can’t promise that, but I’ll do my best.” The Hispanic handed over her phone, the messages already on screen. The first queen knew the exact account she was alluding to.

Queenly my ass. If you were so queenly, Henry wouldn’t have gone through all of the trouble he went through to divorce your sorry ass.

“What the-” 

“It’s really not a big deal mija. Whoever this is, they don’t matter. Just leave it be.”

“Annie?” Jane wandered into the second queen’s room as they were all winding down for bed that night.

“What’s up Janey? Need some makeup remover again?” the green queen laughed as she scrounged her room for the wipes that the third queen asked for every once in a while.

“Actually, no. I bought a big thing of them the other day. I came to ask about something else.”

“Oh. What’s up?” Anne unceremoniously threw herself down on her bed. 

“Kit and Lina were telling me about this awful account that has been-”

“Do you want to see the messages?” The blonde nodded, and the green queen threw her phone at the blonde. 

You deserved to be beheaded, you whore. You should’ve never been queen in the first place, chasing after the king and getting him to divorce Catherine. How does it feel to be so wanted for such a short amount of time before all you were was another body?

“Annie, know that is not true.”

“I know Janey. Why do you think I’ve just ignored it? He’s not worth any of our time anyway.”

“I mean, he’s going right against the entire reason for our show.”

“Yeah, but he’s just not worth it. Don’t go all Mama Bear on him, okay?” Jane shrugged.

“Cleves?” Jane made her way into the kitchen first thing in the morning. “Are you back from your run yet?” She pulled her robe close to her body, muffling a yawn as she reached for the coffee pot.

“Seymour, you’re up early,” the fourth queen noted as she walked in through the back door.

“Well you know we’re both the earliest risers. Anyway, I have a question for you.”

“You wanna see my phone to check for any messages from that one shit account on Instagram?”

“How- how did you know?” Jane sputtered, flabbergasted.

“I heard you talking to Aragon and Boleyn. Here.” Anna tossed the blonde her phone.

“I don’t have my glasses with me. Oh boy.” Jane squinted her eyes to see the text on the phone.

Ugly bitch. How’s it feel following the only queen he truly loved, only to be rejected 6 months later? Shouldn’t even be compared to the other five. No idea how you managed to get yourself into the group, you irrelevant bitch.

“What he said isn’t true Cleves. You earned your place here.”

“What he said isn’t far from the truth Seymour. I know I didn’t have it the worst. I arguably had it the best if we’re being honest.”

“Please don’t let what he said get to you.”

“Hey Cath?” Jane wandered into the writer’s room late at night, two mugs of tea in hand.

“What’s up Jane? Can't sleep?”

“Not really. I’ve had a few things on my mind lately.”

“That account that’s just been shitting on all of us lately?” The sixth queen looked at the blonde knowingly. Jane just nodded.

“Here.” Cathy handed over.

What other stories do you have to claim? How about the one where you allowed your husband to groom Elizabeth, Anne’s precious daughter, and you joined in? Why don’t you reclaim that one, you sick twisted bastard?

“He’s-” Jane started.

“He’s not wrong.”

“Anne’s forgiven you for that.”

“She has, but I’ll never forgive myself. Is there a reason you’re so invested in this one account?”

“They’ve sent some not so kind things to me in the past few days.”

“Hey Kat?” Jane nudged the girl sitting next to her. When she heard a hum, she continued, “Can you tell me what that one account was saying to you?”

“Oh, it’s really nothing far from what other hate messages I’ve gotten.”

“Can I see? Only if you want to show me. You don’t have to of course.” The pink haired queen silently passed her phone over. The blonde adjusted the glasses on her face before she began to read. 

You whore. You deserved to die. And I hope you felt that axe come down on your neck.

“Oh my god.” Jane was disgusted. 

Did you really think you posting a stupid video of yourself speaking about being kind would stop me? It won’t. You six are all terrible women and it’s honestly deplorable that you would paint yourselves to be angels and use your stories to embrace the power of women when you know you have no power. You never did. You were all terrible people in your past lives. There is no way you changed that much in your present life. Worthless bitches. 

To say the blonde was fuming was an understatement.

The next day, Jane went live- something she had never done before. It took her a few tries, but she was able to figure it out without any help from her fellow queens.

“Hello sweet queendom,” Jane said sweetly as she still tried to adjust her camera. “The other queens are out for the day, so I figured I would go live. We’re just going to wait a bit until a few more people get here, but then I have something that I’d like to say.”

The third queen greeted as many fans as she could as they made her way into the live, but she kept her eyes peeled for the one account that was sending them all hatred. As soon as she saw them enter, the warmth and love that had been in her eyes vanished.

“Ah, okay. I think we can get this started.”

Roseamongstthethorns: Why did you delete the video of you telling people to spread kindness?

“Well Rose, that’s actually why you’re all here right now. I have something to say about the hate that the fellow queens and I have been getting. So listen up, because I’m only going to say this once. Do you hear that, instagrammer1549?” She knew she was being ballsy calling out this one particular account, but there were no names attached to the account. She wasn’t doing anything to put this person full of hatred in danger. 

“We can all deal with some of the not so kind comments that are thrown our way. We as queens choose to ignore them and carry on with what we do because we love what we do. We support each other, and we hope that using our voices and sharing a part of our story will help empower other women to share their stories too. We’re all in this together. However, when you start coming at us for things that we couldn’t prevent, like... dying... let’s say, it is absolutely disgusting. Catherine couldn’t prevent being divorced. She handled that situation like a queen, even going as far to get down on her hands and knees and beg Henry to let her know what she did wrong. Anne refused the king for years. I couldn’t help that I died, and I certainly couldn’t help that my son, who you have no right to talk about, was plagued with a sickness that took him much too soon from this earth. You have no right to talk to Anna like that. She was beautiful then, and she is beautiful now. And even if she wasn’t so beautiful on the outside, she is so much more beautiful on the inside than you could ever be. You sending those comments does not help your case much. Katherine was forced into those relationships. She was a mere child, and we all know that children can not consent. How very dare you go and tell a young woman that you hope she felt it as the axe came down on her neck. What kind of, as you called Cathy, “sick, twisted bastard” says something like that to a nineteen year old? And finally, how dare you bring up horrid stories from our past and plague Cathy with the guilt of something that happened almost 500 years ago.”

Sixtudorqueens: okay Jane, go off. We support.

“None of us are perfect. We all know our imperfections, and we’ve all made peace with it. Yes, we all did some very questionable things in our past. What happened then, while we all are horrified at our past behaviors, we have forgiven each other because we know the truth of our story. We did what we had to do to survive. But, the six of us as a group have made such wonderful process in this life, and we are truly coming out of it better than we ever could have by ourselves. Those girls are my family. Say what you want about me. I don’t care. I have a family to help me build myself back up when haters tear me down and my heart is broken. But, so help me god, if I hear of one more person coming after any of our children or my sisters again for something so personal- well,” Jane laughed bitterly. “-quite frankly, you don't want to know what will happen. Keep your disgusting comments to yourself.”

The comment section blew up, and the amount of likes her live was getting was astronomical. 

Sixqueenswalkintoabar: okay mama seymour, GO OFF!

Roseamongsttthethorns: YES JANE. @instagrammer1549, there is a special place in hell for you.

Catherine_Aragon: Jane I thought we talked about not going Mum.

“Lina, I bit my tongue for long enough. It had to be said. On that note,” Jane paused to take a deep breath, the warmth that usually radiated off of her returning. “For the rest of the queendom who has shown us nothing but love and kindness, thank you. We really do see every message, comment and twitt-”

Sixtudorqueens: tweets*

“Tweet,” Jane corrected herself. “So thank you for that kindness. For now, I’m ending this live, but I do hope that you will all remember what I’ve said. Please, only spread kindness. That’s the, as Anne and Kat say, “vibe” that we’ve created for the queendom. If you don’t have anything nice to say, perhaps just don’t say anything at all. Please remember that you have a voice. Please remember to use that voice to spread kindness and love, not hatred. The world already has enough of that in the world. No need to create more.” With that, Jane ended the live.

“So,” Anne bit back a smirk at the dinner table that night.

“We all saw your live Seymour,” Anna bit the bullet and spoke about what they were all thinking.

“Kind of impressed you could figure that out without one of us Mum,” Katherine smiled slightly. “I'm proud of you.”

“What I said had to be said,” Jane affirmed as she took a bite of her dinner. “You don’t come after my family and not feel the wrath of “Mama Seymour” or whatever the hell I’ve been labelled as.”

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 19 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  Prepare your feels, guys.  I apologize in advance because it gets a bit dark. TW: mention of abuse, alcohol abuse, death

“So, like…how old were you when you learned how to skate?” Bee asked nervously as her leg was tucked between Morgan’s thighs.  

“Three,” he said, concentrating more on tightening and fastening the skate on her foot; he wanted to make sure it wasn’t too tight so her feet had enough room to breathe, but so tight as to suffocate them.  It was a delicate balance.  

“So you’ve had a little bit of practice then,” she said, making a bad joke.  Morgan looked up at her, a smirk on his face.   “Sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be nervous, Bumblebee,” he said, tightening the laces one last time.  “It’s not like I’m gonna throw you out there and let you fend for yourself.”

“I know,” she nodded her head, looking out at the rink in Hollyburn Country Club and all the people skating on it already.  “I’m just nervous about making a complete ass of myself.”

“Impossible.”

“How so?”

“Cause you’ve got a great teacher,” he winked, grabbing her other leg and putting it between his thighs.  “How does the first skate feel?”

“Good.”

“Yoohoo!  Over here!” they both heard Shirley’s voice call from beside them.  She had her phone in her hand, pointed towards them.  “Smile for the camera!”  They did as they were told, and she snapped a cute picture, giving them thumbs up before walking back towards Andy, who was waiting for her at the entrance to the ice.  

From behind Morgan, Connor knocked on the glass, and Bee could hear him yell “Hurry up!” through the glass before skating away.  She giggled as she watched Morgan tie up the skate and set her foot down.  “How does that one feel?”

“Good.  You promise not to let go?” she asked as she stood up.  

“Just like swimming,” he nodded his head, getting onto the ice before her.  “Bend your knees a little bit, okay?  You can’t start with stiff knees.”

Bee held on to Morgan’s hands as she stepped out onto the ice, slipping almost automatically, unable to keep her balance.  Morgan’s strong arms pulled her back up as she yelped in fear.  “Heeeeyyy hey hey hey, calm down, calm down.  Take it slow.  You can’t be Connor McDavid right away.”

“Who’s Connor McDavid?”

“Forget it,” he laughed.  “Just stand, okay?  Forget trying to make strides.  Just stand and get used to the feeling of the blades under your feet.”

Bee listened intently to Morgan as he patiently, painstakingly, taught her how to skate.  She clung onto his hands for dear life half the time, pleading for him not to let go, and he was so patient with her, not once telling her to let go unless she was ready.  When she finally was, he was her biggest fan, cheering her on as he skated backwards and she skated towards him.  Eventually, she grew confident enough to skate away from the boards, not relying on them to save her in case she fell and had to get up.  She was even skating with her hands relaxed at her sides and not straight out to help her keep her balance.  She even held hands with Morgan as he slowed down to skate with her, helping her stop and turn when she got too close to the boards.  She wasn’t exactly Connor McDavid – whoever that was – but she was gliding along the ice nonetheless.  She couldn’t believe she’d waited 23 years to skate.  

After about an hour and a half, Bee was tired and Shirley had approached Morgan to tell him some kids were waiting for him to get his autograph and a picture.  Bee gave him a quick kiss before she skated off and Morgan skated towards the kids.  She sat on the same bench as she had before when Morgan was fastening her skates, resting her legs as she watched him pose for picture after picture.  She felt her phone buzz from her back pocket and moved to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Angie’s voice was heard on the other end.  “What are you up to right now?” she asked.  They had been texting throughout Bee’s time there, so Angie didn’t need to ask how everything was going.  

“Just watching Morgan sign some autographs,” she said.

“He took you to an autograph signing?”

“No no.  We’re at the country club his family are members of, and all the kids swarmed him on the ice after he taught me how to skate.”

“A country club?  That’s adorable,” Angie said quickly.  “Um, listen.  I’m calling you to ask you for a favour.”

“What favour is that?” Bee asked, worried about Angie’s quick tone.

“I think it’s time to put your Instagram on private now, and I’d delete everyone you don’t know personally.”

Bee’s heart skipped a beat.  She and Angie had talked about the messages, but this was the first time Angie had cautioned her to go private.  Usually, Angie contributed a ‘fuck them’ or ‘You should put on all the most expensive stuff you bought and take a picture with Morgan and caption it go to hell’.  She’d never sounded so serious about it a she did now.  “Why?”

“Listen, I don’t want to freak you out, but they’re adding me now, and asking me questions about you.  I’m not saying they’re harassing me – quite the opposite actually because I’m the one telling them to fuck off – but I don’t want them to start doing that to anyone else,” she explained.  “I think it’s great that you don’t care about what they have to say, but I don’t want them bothering more and more people.”

“Yeah.  Yeah of course,” Bee said absent-mindedly.  “Fuck Angie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said.  “They’re desperate and they don’t know boundaries.  When everybody shares everything on social media, they think they’re entitled to see everything about your life, and they don’t get that they’re not.”

“Exactly.”

“Just be careful.  Work on it as soon as possible.  Again, I know you don’t care about what they have to say, but I think now is the time to cut them off.”

“Yeah.  Yeah okay,” Bee gulped.  “Angie, what did they say to you?  Was it horrible?”

“No, nothing like that.  They’ve just been asking question about you, like what you do and if you’re dating Morgan.  One girl asked if I had any pictures of you two together.  It was really weird.  But I told them all to fuck off.”

“Angie, I feel horrible.”

“Don’t feel horrible because they don’t know boundaries.  It was fine if it was just one or two of them, but then there was a horde and it just became annoying,” she explained.  “And you know me, I’m a petty person – at least I can be.  If I were you, I’d post a single picture of you and Morgan before you go private and delete everyone.  Kick ‘em where it really hurts.”

Bee couldn’t help but laugh at her suggestion.  “I’ll think about it.”

***

Later that day, during their last night in Vancouver, Bee found herself at dinner with Morgan and his parents at the exclusive Gotham Restaurant in downtown Vancouver.  Morgan wanted to go out with a bang, apparently, because caviar was $150, then they had to get a round of oysters, the bottle of cabernet franc from Napa Valley was $345, and Bee’s filet and lobster with mashed potatoes and asparagus was a $100 plate alone.  He told the waiter everything like it was an order at McDonalds.  Though she was somewhat getting used to the big spending – at least to her standards – this was pretty extravagant.  But all she could do was blink and smile as she tallied the expense of everyone’s order.  Maybe she should have become a waitress instead, because theirs was going to get one hell of a tip tonight.  

Despite trying to feel accustomed to the extravagance around her, she was genuinely having fun with Morgan and his parents.  They were sharing stories of Morgan’s youth and what he was like as a kid, and Shirley kept sharing pictures she had on her phone of him as a kid (“I always keep some on here in case Hockey Night in Canada wants to do a quick something on him when the Leafs come to town.”).  Andy and Shirley even went so far as to tell embarrassing stories of what he would call about during his first year in Toronto when he was attempting to cook for himself.  Bee learned that he was completely useless, and that eventually the calls stopped because he just admitted defeat and ordered most of his food.

As they continued to laugh and share stories, Bee felt her phone buzz from inside her bag.  She decided to ignore it at first, but not even one minute later it was buzzing again, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore.  She quickly unclasped her purse and looked at her phone.  In large caps lock font, ‘TORONTO POLICE SERVICES’ flashed on her screen.  

Her heart began to race.  She looked up quickly at Andy and Shirley, and looked down at her phone screen again.  She couldn’t tell them that that the police were calling her, but she needed a way out.  She had to think fast.  “I’m really sorry,” she announced, getting up from her seat quickly.  “I’m really sorry, but U of T is calling me.  I have to take this.”

“That’s alright honey,” Shirley smiled.  Bee was thankful they had already finished their meal and were just waiting on their dessert orders anyway.  “You go ahead.  I’ll make sure Morgan doesn’t eat your crème brulee.”

Bee made a beeline away from the table and swiped across her screen to answer the phone call so she wouldn’t lose it again.  She made her way towards the long hallway that led to the washrooms, hoping she’d get decent service and enough silence to be able to hear.  “Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking with Ms. Briony McTavish?”

“Speaking.”

“Ms. McTavish, my name is Greg Campbell.  I’m calling from the Toronto Police Department, 51 Division.  Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”

Bee furrowed her brows.  “Uh, of course.  Is everything okay?” she asked.  She didn’t remember doing anything illegal, and the only other reason they could be calling her was the break and enter from November.  She figured since so much time had passed, they never found anything.

“Ms. McTavish, are you currently residing in Toronto?”

“Y-Yes…” she answered.  “I mean, I’m not in Toronto right now – I’m in Vancouver visiting my boyfriend’s parents – but yes, I live permanently in Toronto,” she explained.

“And Ms. McTavish, according to records I have on file here, you were legally emancipated from your mother, Ms. Sharon McTavish, when you were sixteen years old.”

Bee’s body stiffened at the mention of her mother.  “Yes I was.  My mother was a serious alcoholic.”

“Have you been in touch with your mother since you were emancipated from her?”

“No,” Bee said definitively.  “She barely showed love or affection throughout my whole life with her, and I thought it best for my mental health not to keep in contact with her after the emancipation.  She has never tried to contact me either.”

“Ms. McTavish, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with these questions – I just need to get the specifics of the case --”

“What case is that?”

Greg hesitated on the other end.  “Ms. McTavish, I regret to inform you that your mother has passed away.  She was found dead on the morning of Friday, January 25th due to cirrhosis of the liver.”

Bee went quiet.  Her mother was dead.  Found dead.  Dead due to cirrhosis of the liver.  Dead.  Morning of Friday.  Whale watching.  She was whale watching and her mother was dead.  The silence between the two was long before Bee verbalized her first thought out loud.  “She’s dead.”

“Yes ma’am.  She passed away early Friday morning.  Her body was found by a volunteer at the homeless shelter where she was staying that night.”

If it was possible, her body stiffened even more.  “She was homeless?”

“Well, temporarily.  She was at the Fred Victor Homeless Shelter here in Moss Park.  According to the facilitators she was in-between housing, but that’s where she was,” Greg said.

Bee took a sharp breath in hearing that name again.  She took a moment to collect herself before trying to formulate a thought other than ‘She’s dead’.  “Um…so, what are my next steps then?”

“Well Ms. McTavish, you were the only person listed as being of relation to Sharon, so you automatically become in charge of her estate,” Greg explained.  Bee was thoroughly surprised she was still listed under anything to do with her mother, even after the emancipation.  “There is…not much, as you can imagine, but some decisions still have to be made.  And as the defacto executor of her estate, you may choose the next steps – if you would like her buried, or cremated…”

“Um…” Bee looked quickly back at Morgan and his parents sitting at the table.  His mom was taking a sip of wine while Morgan was nodding at something his dad was saying.  Morgan broke out into a grin soon after, as did his dad.  Morgan looked over to Bee’s empty seat.  “When…I mean, when do I have to make these decisions?”

“Well I understand that you’re in Vancouver, but is there an expected date for your return?”

“Um, I’ll be back Friday night, actually.”

“Well, then I will give you my contact information, and when you get back, I can meet with you at the station and explain your next options,” Greg offered kindly.  “I don’t want to rush you to make decisions, and I know you were clearly not close with your mother and haven’t been in contact with her for a while, but do you think there will be a funeral service?”

“No.”

“Or a burial?”

“Cremation. I don’t…I don’t want anything fancy.”

“Alright Ms. McTavish.  We will speak when you’re back in Toronto.”

Bee hung up the phone, looking down at it until the screen went dark and she couldn’t even formulate a coherent thought about the conversation she just had.  Her mother was dead.  Her mother – whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to for seven years – was dead.  Her mother, the serious alcoholic.  The emotional abuser.  The not-a-mother-at-all.  She tried to compose herself, even though she wasn’t crying at all, as she looked back at Morgan and his parents.  They were still laughing about something.  

She returned to the table, trying to mask her uneasiness at the phone conversation she just had.  She pulled out her chair, getting the attention of everyone.  “Everything okay?” Andy asked as she settled back into her seat.

“Everything’s fine,” she nodded her head quickly, tucking herself in and stuffing her phone back into her bag.  

“You sure?  Who was it?” Morgan asked, grabbing her hand gently underneath the table.  

“It was just a registrar from U of T,” she lied, smiling at him.  “Just wanted to confirm something on my transcript before they printed my copy for the interview.”

She could feel his thumb rubbing her hand gently as his dad recapped the story he had been telling quickly before continuing it.  She felt bad about lying, but there was no way in hell she was going to say something and ruin such a perfect night.  Though she smiled and laughed along, squeezing Morgan’s hand as it rested on her thigh, all she could think about was the image of her mom lying on a bed in a homeless shelter.

Dead.

***

When they arrived back at the Rielly house that night after dinner, Bee made sure to pack up her belongings, save for what she was going to need tomorrow morning and wear on the flight.  To be respectful to Morgan’s parents, she and Morgan had stayed in their respective rooms the entire trip, not daring to try to sneak into each other’s, but tonight he was with her, helping her pack and getting everything ready.  His parents had already called it a night and were in their room at the opposite end of the house.  The house was so big that they probably wouldn’t even have known or heard if either of them had snuck into the other’s room at night.  

To be completely honest, Bee wanted nothing more than that to happen tonight.  She didn’t know what she was feeling in relation to the news she got after dinner, but she knew that she didn’t want to be alone.  She knew that she wanted Morgan with her, around her in some capacity.  

When they were finished packing everything and had changed into their pajamas, Morgan watched as Bee stared at the wall absent-mindedly, something obviously bothering her.  He came up behind her and sat on the bed beside her, giving her a quick kiss on the temple and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder.  “Briony…” he mumbled against her skin.

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure it was just U of T that called at dinner?” Morgan asked.

She knew he would ask sooner or later.  She’d tried not to let anything show, but besides Angie, there was nobody more in tune with her emotions than Morgan.  She knew he’d pick up on it.  “Why?”

“Listen, I don’t mean to pry.  It’s just I noticed that you were a bit different since you got back.  My mom noticed it too because she’s sensitive about these things but she didn’t want to say anything.  Is…is everything okay?”

Bee let out a shaky breath, one that, truthfully, she had been holding in since she got the call.  “Mo…”

He grabbed her had and brought it up to his lips to kiss it gently.  “What’s the matter, Bumblebee?  Tell me.”

“It wasn’t U of T that called.”

“Okay.  Who was it?”

“It was a guy named Greg Campbell.  He’s a police officer with 51 Division in Toronto.”

Morgan looked at her skeptically.  “You’re telling me after all this time they found your stuff?”

“No…it’s not…” she shook her head.  She let out another shaky breath before continuing.  “Um, he called me to tell me my mom passed away.  A volunteer at a homeless shelter found her, and she died from cirrhosis of the liver.”

Bee could practically see Morgan’s heart fall into his stomach.  He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but nothing came out for a while, until, “Oh my God, Briony…wh…why didn’t you say something?”

“I wasn’t going to say something at dinner with your parents,” she said.

“Briony, your mother passed away.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.  She’s dead, and I always knew she was going to die from the alcoholism, so this isn’t as much of a surprise to me as you think it is,” she explained.  “I don’t…I’m not upset by this.  I haven’t spoken to her in seven years.  She was abusive.”

It was the first time she had said the words so definitively out loud.  She was abusive.  They weren’t pretty words, but they needed to be said.  And Morgan needed to hear them.  It was the reason she wasn’t crying.  She couldn’t feel sadness or sympathy for her abuser, or for a woman who wasted her life on alcohol instead of caring for her daughter.  

Morgan had no choice but to accept what she was saying.  He could tell her ‘But that’s your mom’ over and over again until he was blue in the face, but it wasn’t going to have an effect on Bee.  To Bee, Sharon wasn’t a mom.  There was nothing that could convince her that she was.  And truthfully, Morgan knew she was right.  And if that’s the way Bee felt, then that’s the way he felt about it too.  If she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, then he would try not to make a big deal out of it either.  “She…cirrhosis of the liver?  What is that?”

“It’s complicated, but just know it’s not good.  It’s a common by-product of severe alcoholism,” she explained.  “But the fact of the matter is that she died.  When we go back to Toronto, I have to deal with her funeral and her estate.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said automatically.

“You don’t--”

“I want to,” he interrupted her.  “What did I tell you?  You don’t have to go through this stuff alone anymore.  We’re going to go through this stuff together.”

Bee looked at him.  All 6’1” of him, blonde hair, blue eyes, muscles tucked into pajama shorts and an old t-shirt.  He was so boyish and so handsome and he had his pick of any girl in Toronto and he managed to choose the one with the fucked up childhood and alcoholic mother who had just died.  And he was still here after learning all that.  He still flew her to Vancouver to meet his parents.  He still volunteered to see a dead alcoholic’s body ravaged by cirrhosis.  She didn’t deserve him.  “Morgan?”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you…can you just like, hold me?”

“C’mere, Bumblebee,” he moved to hold her in his arms as he tucked them both into bed.  She used his chest as a pillow as he wrapped both his arms around her.  “I love you Briony.  We’re going to get through this together.”

“I love you too.  And I know we will,” she said, looking up at him.

He gave her a quick kiss.  “I don’t know what you’re feeling right now, and I know I won’t be able to understand, but you’re allowed to feel whatever you want,” he said.  “I know that she was your mom, but she was a horrible mom, so there’s gonna be, like, a range of emotions.  But you’re allowed to feel it all.  Don’t think you’re not.”

“I’ll be okay, Mo,” she said, giving him another quick kiss before relaxing her head on his chest.  He ran his fingers through her hair soothingly, reducing all the stiffness and pent up emotion she had in her.  She knew he would try to stay awake as long as possible, just in case she said anything or wanted to talk about it further, but after a while, she felt his heartbeat steady, and she knew he was asleep.

***

Bee had slept all of twenty minutes at most.  When she looked over at the alarm clock and it read 3am, she sighed heavily.  She didn’t know what to do.  She wanted to sleep, she really did, but every time she closed her eyes and her mind started to drift, an image from her childhood would reappear, and she’d snap her eyes open and be wide awake again.  Images of her mom passed out on the couch when she got home from school; of sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, watching her mom open another bottle on the kitchen counter; of looking up at her mom sleeping on the bed in the homeless shelter while she was sleeping on the floor using her backpack as a pillow.  

Slowly but surely, she manoeuvred herself out of Morgan’s grasp, sitting on the edge of the bed for a while, staring out the window into the pristine darkness of the West Vancouver sky.  Her mother was dead.  She always knew she would have to say that one day, but she didn’t imagine it being so soon.  A small part of her actually thought she wouldn’t have to say that one day, because nobody would contact her to tell her, so she wouldn’t know at all.  But she knew now, and she couldn’t get it out of her head.  

After coming to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she thought going to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water was a better alternative to looking out of a window into darkness.  She tip-toed quietly down the stairs and made her way there, grabbing a glass and trying to figure out how to work the built-in icemaker on the Rielly’s new fridge that looked like it belonged in space rather than a house.  When she couldn’t figure it out, she resorted to just getting water from the tap and drinking it warm.  

“Are you okay?” Bee suddenly heard a voice whisper.  She jumped dramatically, turning around to see Andy standing at the entrance of the kitchen in his pajamas with a bathrobe on.

“Oh God.  I’m sorry.  You scared me,” her hand went over her heart.  

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, laughing a bit.  “You thirsty?”

“Uh, yeah…” she said, looking down at the glass of tap water in her hand.  “I couldn’t figure out how to use your space fridge to get ice though.”

Andy snorted.  “Maybe we should go back to using ice trays,” he laughed, pulling open the fridge door to get out the orange juice.  He grabbed a glass and set it down on the table, pulling out a chair.  “Sit, honey.”

Bee didn’t want to say no.  There was no reason she could have, anyway, so she took the invitation and sat in a seat opposite of him as he poured orange juice into his cup.  She watched as he took a long gulp, swallowing almost half of the juice he just poured, before he focused his attention back to her.  “Was everything okay after dinner?”

Bee tried to look away from him but she couldn’t.  He was staring right at her and she was sitting across from him and there was no way in hell she could deny him an answer.  The only thing she could do was prolong it.  “Why do you ask?”

Andy shuffled a bit in his seat.  “Listen.  I don’t mean to pry,” he said, starting the conversation the exact same way Morgan did.  God, now she really knew where he got it from.  “Shirley and I just noticed a little bit of a…shift when you came back.  I just want to make sure everything is okay.”

She decided to just come right out with it.  “How much has Morgan told you about my mom?”

Andy looked taken aback by the question.  It wasn’t like she was trying to call his bluff or anything – she knew Morgan had told his parents about it, as evident from the conversation she had with Shirley on their first day here – but she wondered if he talked about it more with his mom, or if Shirley told Andy.  His answer was important because it determined how she would start and handle the conversation.  “Morgan’s told me about her addiction issues.  How she was an alcoholic,” he clarified.  “A pretty severe one, it seemed.  And how you guys moved around a lot because of it.”

Bee nodded her head.  “Well, that phone call at dinner was from a police officer named Greg Campbell.  He called to let me know my mom passed away.  She was found dead in a homeless shelter due to cirrhosis of the liver.”

Andy stayed quiet.  It wasn’t a lot of information to take in, but it was a stab in the heart nonetheless.  Over the past few days he’d been able to see how happy she made his son, and it was something he loved to see.  To hear that she had gotten a phone call like that, on her last night of what was supposed to be a vacation, was horrible.  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said solemnly.

“And that’s the thing – I’m not,” she admitted for the first time out loud.  “I know…I know that sounds harsh and rude and completely…inhuman, but I’m not sad about it.  I’m not sorry.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t be sorry for someone that never acted like a real mother,” she said gingerly.  She ran the risk of exposing her entire heart and soul to her boyfriend’s father over the kitchen table at three o’clock in the morning, but right now, she didn’t care.  “She was never loving.  She was never caring.  She never did anything to prove herself worthy of the title of being called mom.  She cared more about herself and her addiction than she ever did me.”

“That’s understandable --”

“Plus,” she inadvertently interrupted him, “she never worked to make herself better.  I can’t feel sad for a person that caused me so much pain in my life, regardless of whether or not she was my mother.  She never acted like it.  And after not seeing her for almost seven years, I don’t even feel a connection to her anymore.  Quite frankly, even when I was living with her, I hardly did.”

“I get it, Briony.  I get it as much as I can get it,” he said.  She was thankful he acknowledged that he could never truly know.  “I know how much pain she caused you and I know she didn’t make your life easy.  You don’t have to feel sympathy or sadness.  She doesn’t deserve that from you and I get it.  But you have to be feeling something.”

Bee was scared to reveal what she was really feeling.  She knew if she verbalized it, if she put it out in the open, that it would become real.  It would no longer just be something she felt internally, something she could lie about to people’s faces to make them think she was fine.  “I feel…I feel relief,” she finally admitted, to herself and to Andy.  A stray tear fell down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.  One tear was too many to shed.  “I feel like I giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders.  I feel like it’s finally…over.  That I can move on.  I don’t have to think about her anymore.  I won’t toss and turn at night thinking about what has happened to me.  I won’t lie awake thinking about what she could be doing or who she could be with or what she could have been up to these seven years, if the alcoholism got worse, if she got into anything else.  I just…I don’t have to think about it anymore.  It’s done.  It’s done.”

Andy moved his chair so he was closer to her before putting a comforting hand on her forearm.  “It’s okay to feel that way.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.  Absolutely,” he said firmly, nodding his head.  “You have every right to feel that way and it is one hundred percent validated by what you went through, and don’t let anybody try to convince you otherwise.  She was an awful mother, and you separated yourself and got out of that situation as quickly as you could, and if anybody needs to be commended in this situation, it’s you.”

“There was one time…” she began, shaking her head to herself, wondering if she should even tell him the story.  The only other person she’d told was Angie – she hadn’t even told Morgan.  “There was one time, I must have been 11 or 12.  I was so angry at her one day.  We had no food in the apartment, nothing – I had been eating saltine crackers for dinner for at least four days.  She was standing at the kitchen counter opening another bottle of vodka she’d bought instead.  And I was so angry.  I asked her, ‘Why are you like this?’  And she looked at me – she didn’t even bother answering the question – she just looked at me and said, ‘You’re staring into your future, Bee.  It’s inevitable.  What I am is what you will be.’  And I told her that hell would freeze over before I became a degenerate like her.  And she grabbed…” Bee paused, remembering the moment so vividly in her mind, as if it had just happened yesterday, even going so far as to pretend to grab a glass with her hand for emphasis, “she grabbed the glass that was on the counter, and she hurled it straight towards my head.  I ducked, and it hit the fridge behind me and shattered all over the floor by my feet.  We stared at each other for a few seconds before I said, ‘I hate you with every fibre of my being’.  She didn’t even respond.  She didn’t even grab another glass either, she just took the bottle straight to the couch and began to swig it.”

It was clear Andy was uncomfortable.  To think that a parent could ever do that to a child was incomprehensible to him – it was incomprehensible to most people, not just him.  And yet, she had to live through it.  He quickly wiped a tear that had fallen onto his cheek.  “You were born for a life so much better than what you were placed in,” his voice was soft, still reflecting and picturing the scene she had painted for him in his mind.  

“That’s what I left behind.  That’s the weight that’s been lifted off my shoulders.  I don’t have to think about that anymore.”

“Did it ever happen again?  Did your mother ever hit you?” Andy asked.  

Bee shook her head vehemently.  “She was always too drunk.  It was more so emotional, if we’re referring to abuse.  And, you know, neglect.”

“You deserved so much better.  No child should have had to go through that,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’m so happy you found us Briony.  I’m so happy that you overcame that and you’re here with us now.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“There’s no reason to thank me.  You did it all yourself.  I’m just thankful that you’re part of our family now.”

A sob escaped her at his last comment.  She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she let go, letting the tears well up in her eyes despite telling herself she wouldn’t cry.  She didn’t want to shed tears over her mother, but she could shed tears over Andy saying something like that to her.  “You have no idea,” she said, shaking her head.  “You have no idea how amazing these last few days have been.  I’ve never felt so whole in my entire life.”

“I know sweetheart.  I can tell.”

“I can’t even begin to, like…” she couldn’t find the right words as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.  “I immediately felt this sense of like, warmness from the moment I met Morgan.  He made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore.  That I had somebody.  He’s been so good to me, Andy.  So patient.  You have to know how good he’s been.  So understanding.  You have to know you raised a good kid.”

“I know, sweetheart.  Morgan adores you.”

“And then this week happened and you and Shirley and Connor have just been so nice and I…I know it’s sad to say but the only other people I’ve felt that with is my best friend’s family.  But you guys are just so good, and I’ve had to pinch myself constantly this entire week.”

“I --”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that comment you just made, about being part of your family.  I don’t…I don’t know.  But I love Morgan so much, and I know he loves me, and I know I’m gonna spend the rest of my life thanking my lucky stars that all this happened.  And you have to know, you have to know, if hockey ended tomorrow I’d still love him with everything I have in me because he makes me feel so whole --”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, I know,” Andy stressed, grabbing hold of her hands and squeezing them tightly as she let out a quick ‘I’m not in it for that’.  “I know.  You don’t have to prove yourself to me.  I can see it.  Shirley and I – we can see it.”

“I just don’t want you to think --”

“I was never thinking that at all,” Andy shook his head.  “You’re the farthest thing from what you’re implying and I know how much you care about my son.”  He let go of her hands so she could wipe her remaining tears away.  “Listen to me.  You are deserving of every little good thing that comes your way, via my son or otherwise.  You can’t feel like you don’t deserve it.  Everybody deserves good things to happen to them.”  Bee nodded her head at his words, trying to internalize them as much as possible.  “You’re a great girl Briony, and you deserve the world.  Everybody around you sees it.  You just need to start seeing it too.”

Bee took a couple of minutes to calm down.  She knew that everything Andy had just said was right, and she needed that time to really take it in.  To accept it and own it and live with it as her new life mantra was going to be a separate battle, but right now, she needed to acknowledge the deeply intense heart-to-heart she’d just had, and how she felt much more clear about things – about her future – than she had coming into the conversation.  “Thank you for listening, Andy.”

He smiled.  “There’s no reason to thank me.  This is what dads are for, Briony.”

“I’m sorry if I --”

“Don’t apologize for a single thing,” he said.  “You just remember what I told you.  That’s the only thing you need to do here.  Remember that you are deserving of love.”

“Is everything okay?” Morgan’s voice, groggy and sleepy, was suddenly heard form the entrance of the kitchen.  He stood in his pajamas, taking in the scene before him.  

“Briony and I were just thirsty,” Andy said quickly, giving Bee a quick wink before getting up and putting his glass in the sink.  “She couldn’t work our space fridge to get ice, either.”

“We should go back to using ice trays,” Morgan quipped.  Briony couldn’t help but laugh – he and his father were truly the same person.  She walked towards him, a small smile creeping on her face.  He hoped that in his state, he wouldn’t notice that she had been crying, or that her eyes were red from the tears.  “You okay?” he whispered.  

“Yeah.  Let’s go back to bed,” she said, looking back at Andy.  “Thanks again, Andy.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he smiled as they disappeared down the hallway.

When they got back into bed, Bee cuddled closer to Morgan, draping her arm over his torso so she could feel the warmth of his body heat against hers.  “You sure everything is okay?” he whispered.

She nodded her head.  “Yeah.  Andy’s a really good dad,” was all she could say.

“He’s the best,” Morgan agreed, his eyes fluttering closed.  “He’s who I want to be.”

“You’re already there, baby,” she whispered before they both fell asleep.

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart - Part 3 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Soooo this chapter took a turn for the sad-bastardish, but I swear there will be less moodiness and more kissing in the future. Also I’m trying to use she/her pronouns in Drag Race, and he/him out of drag, but sometimes it all goes to hell, bear with me! Thanks to everyone who’s been so sweet about this fic so far.

Social media -

Is not Brock’s strength area. 

Detox used to hassle him about it before he even went on Drag Race, and he made a promise to himself that he would do a better job after.  Tell the world when he - ate a bowl of cereal or whatever. 

Post photos of his cats at the very least.

So when his manager comes to him with the expectation that he and Jose play up their relationship for the fans, Brock says: (nonononononononononono)

He says “fine.”

Jose’s in, apparently, and - well, Brock can only take that information second-hand because the two of them haven’t really.  Spoken. Recently. 

He says “fine” and then he goes on Jose’s Instagram and almost has a panic attack (because some people are so pretty it is unfair, some people are basically built to break your heart - from atoms to molecules to cells.

Jose in sweats and snapbacks. 

Vanessa in gloss and feathers. 

Each one feels like a hand around Brock’s throat.)

So. 

After about thirty minutes in the fetal position, Brock leaves it all in his manager’s hands (or whoever his manager is paying for social media these days.)  Someone adds flirty comments and cute photos to anything Jose posts, someone keeps the fans happy.  

Brock doesn’t need to see it.

It’s too soon (too much, too real) for him.

He tries to avoid Instagram; Twitter is about all he can handle (he knows his mom follows him and he doesn’t want to make her worry.)  He doesn’t read  any of the speculative articles about their relationship, but he is always extremely polite when he’s asked about it (just flirty enough to give the fans hope. Professional, friendly, not too fond. It’s a fine line, and he worries sometimes that his feelings rise a bit close to the surface.  That the people who know him best are going to watch one of these interviews, peer through the ice at his blue skin and see everything.)

Friends keep texting him.  Leaving him voicemails, asking him how he’s doing.  Brock ignores the ones he can, and responds whenever anyone seems a bit too concerned. Gotta make sure the outside world stays outside.

Clearly it’s all going to come out by the time the finale airs, and that’s just something Brock will have to be ready for.  Maybe he can do a European tour.  Or an Antarctic one.  They don’t have internet there, do they?

He’s wonderful, I love him, he says on ET Canada as if that doesn’t mean anything, as if it isn’t the first time he’s said ‘I love him’ out loud.

Brock keeps working (because he’s still a force of nature, even without a crown.)  He does shows across the mid-West, hosts club nights, dances the house down because he is a queen, damn it. He goes on tour with the First Wives Fight Club, let’s Ginger Minj distract him with the most offensive jokes Brock’s ever heard (and it’s good to feel outrage rather than longing, for a change. It’s good to do something different, something that’s not related to Drag Race and soft-skinned Puerto Ricans who won’t answer his calls.)

Or probably won’t.

Because Brock hasn’t called.  

It’s shady and pathetic and each day feels like pulling teeth out, but he’s trying to respect the boundaries Jose put up. They said their piece at the reunion before Brock died of blunt force trauma to the chest (it’s fine, he’s fine) and he’s not the kind of person to push someone to take him back.  

To beg someone to want him. 

He can’t say if it’s pride or fear that stops him every time he gets shit-faced and picks up his phone.  He can’t count the number of texts he’s written and then deleted.  And then re-written.

The night after the First Wives show in Vancouver, the other queens go out to whatever local club hasn’t been closed yet, and Brock goes for a run on the beach. It’s dark out, and after a couple of miles he stops, stretches, and sits cross-legged in the sand.  

The ocean reaches out for him, black-fingered and impetuous, dotted with the twinkling lights of oil tankers. 

Brock hasn’t had anything to drink.  There’s really no excuse when he takes his phone out of his pocket, scrolls to Jose’s number.

His thumb hovers over the keys, thinking thinking (over-thinking).

(I’m on the West coast and I’m miserable without you and I want to hear you laugh again even if it’s at me even if it’s mean I want to hear your voice and you killed it on Jimmy Kimmel and I’m losing my mind I think you’re incredible I think you’re hilarious and brilliant and I miss you I miss youImiss -)

“Damn it,” Brock hisses, because he’s smarter than this. He’s stronger than this (he wants that to be true.)

“I’ll be at Drag Con,” he texts before he can think too much about it. “Hope i see u.”

He waits.  He’ll probably delete it without sending.  He should delete it without sending because Jose doesn’t want to talk to him.

His thumb sits on the ‘Send’ key, barely touching it.  It’s such a pointless, empty message.  It doesn’t say any of the things he wants to say. 

This was easy once.  Talking to Jose was like breathing. What the fuck happened? (He knows what happened, and he resists the urge to throw his phone into the sea.)

After a few seconds, Brock deletes the message and puts his phone down. 

Then he picks it back up.

He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he mostly gave up in middle school.

This was easy once. 

(“When this is all over –“

“Oh Jesus, oh Mary, there she goes.” Vanjie at her station, rummaging through yards of tulle. “You wanna shack up or something? Get cats, turn me into a proper wifey?”

“Well.  I was thinking more like buy you dinner.”  Brooke doesn’t touch her, because the world is watching. Still - her eyes linger on the bones of Vanjie’s hands, her wrists, her jaw.  There is not a part of her body that doesn’t beg for contact, not a part of her that Brooke doesn’t want to touch.

“Ha, okay. But I’m a classy ho.  It’s gotta be Olive Garden at least, get me some unlimited breadsticks.”  

There’s a faint blush on her cheekbones even though she’s rolling her eyes, and it makes Brooke love her even more than –

Shit.

Shit.

She did not just think that word.  

They aren’t - there yet.  Brooke’s tired and stressed and her brain is clearly short-circuiting. It’s nothing.  It’s fine.

“That shut you up, hey? Olive Garden too bougie for you? Don’t worry, girl– when this is all over and I’m a honey-thousand dollars richer, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”)

He should have known then.

Stopped it all in its tracks before it got totally out of control. But he didn’t.

Brock lies back against the sand, breathes in the copper-sweet taste of the ocean.  

(That’s a star, right?) 

The waves roll in, and he can almost see stars.

* * *

Back in her hotel room, she’s running over choreography for Tuckpantistan in her head, counting under her breath (one and two and three and -) when a noise distracts her.  

A papery scratching at her hotel-room door.  When Brooke goes to investigate, she sees a folded note that’s been slid underneath it.

U up?

Then below it: Haha, JK. Got a PA to deliver this, some real high school shit. Thinking bout your pretty face. <3 <3 <3

It’s signed Papi and Brooke turns rose-petal pink with embarrassment and pleasure.  Fuck, she wishes she had her phone. Wishes she could FaceTime Vanjie any time she wanted, see her all bleary-eyed and soft and sleepy.  Just the thought of that image makes Brooke’s heart clench painfully, and she tries not to think about why.

Instead she takes out the notepad from the desk in the hotel room.

How do I know this is really you and not just a producer fucking with me?

She folds the paper into a flat square and writes Return to Sender on the front of it, before sliding it under her hotel room door. 

Then she immediately feels like an idiot.

This is ridiculous.  They aren’t teenagers.

Brooke goes back to rehearsing for tomorrow, and tells herself there isn’t a stupid smile on her face.  That would just be too undignified. 

About fifteen minutes later (not that Brooke was counting or paying attention or anything) she hears that same scratching sound, and goes back to the door.  A new piece of paper has been slid underneath it, and Brooke bites down on a grin.

You want a ring or some shit? 

Thought you’d like that, something only the real MISS VANESSA VANJIE MATEO would know. This PA’s real nice, I’ma take advantage of her. UNLESS SHE’S READING THIS. 

What you wearing?

Brooke snorts out a laugh (then covers her face and pretend that sound didn’t just come out of her.)  She sketches out a quick, terribly unsexy picture of herself (basically a beefy stickman in pajama pants and a t-shirt) then folds it up and sticks it back under the door.  This is the most bizarre flirtation she has ever taken part in, and - and she shouldn’t enjoy it as much as she does.

Vanjie’s reply includes a decidedly more X-rated stickman.

I better get some nudes next. Gotta occupy my time somehow besides missing on you.

Brooke laughs at the thought of the horrified PA that could be reading this.

You’ve seen it all in the werkroom anyway, she writes, And you could occupy your time with sleeping, maybe?

Brooke sends the note off, and gives up the ghost of rehearsing for a minute. She stretches out on her bed, arms against the headboard and bare feet nearly hanging off the end.  Story of her life, really.  She’s always felt like she’s too big, too tall, too much.  Compared to Vanessa, she’s like some sort of beast, stumbling around crushing beautiful, delicate things beneath her feet.  

Vanessa is beautiful. Brooke wouldn’t call her ‘delicate’ though, not by a long shot. She knows Vanjie well enough by now to know that she can hold her own.  

(She wonders how much of that attitude is for the show. What Vanjie’s like when she’s all alone.  Every so often there’s a moment where it seems like the other queen is letting her guard down, softening the sideways grin and adorable swagger that Brooke sees when the cameras are rolling. 

How much of that is protective, Brooke wonders.  How much of that swagger is self-defense?

How much of that humor is about survival.)

There is a reply not even ten minutes later: Nah girl, you’re keeping me up. Gonna think about you in those overalls all night, haha. When I can’t do shit tomorrow I’ll be blaming your fine self for messing with my head.

Brooke folds and unfolds Vanjie’s reply too many times, unwilling to put it down. She’s glad she can’t see herself, knows that she’s probably glowing with affection. She’s got a crush, right, just like she told them in the confessional.  That’s what this is. Just a massive, ridiculous crush. 

An impossible, stupid, hopeless crush.

I take no responsibility for that. 

But also your angel costume is the real problem here, how am I supposed to get anything done?  

Go to sleep and dream about my overalls, Miss Vaaaaanjie.

Brooke has had crushes before.  She’s always survived them.

When she slides her note back under the door she thinks that will be the end of it, but a reply comes later, clock nearing midnight and shadows sliding like fingers through the blinds.

Sweet dreams Brooky Poo.

Brooke holds the note against her chest, and laughs, and when she falls asleep she’s still smiling.  Her dreams are full of white feathers, falling gently as snow from the ceiling of her hotel room. Settling soft as a promise against Brooke’s open mouth.