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vadersangel · 3 months ago

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Goosebumps - Roman Godfrey x Reader - Oneshot

Synopsis: Roman Godfrey may look dominant, but slowly peeling the layers might reveal his most secretive desires. What started as a joke during Truth or Dare ended up uncovering a deeply rooted desire.

Genre: smut smut smut, switch/sub-ish Roman Godfrey (more like he's discovering a kink for being called a good boy)

Trigger Warnings: unprotected sex, piv, foul language.

Word count: 2230

"I can buy the building, burn the building Take your bitch, rebuild the building Just to fuck some more Put the pussy on a pedestal Put the pussy on a high horse That pussy to die for That pussy to die for" 一 Travis Scott

Roman Godfrey sees himself as a dominant man. In all his 6'4 glory, towering above everyone else, heir to an empire and practically the owner of Hemlock Grove, it’s easy to understand why he perceives himself the way he does. People were either bewitched by him, feared him or wanted to be him; and almost nobody was neutral to his presence. Reactions, he loves reactions, if they are good or bad is utterly irrelevant–he needs people to react to him in any way, in every way. It should have been a warning sign to me that maybe his dominant facade was just that, a facade. A facade to hide his craving for validation, a facade to hide that deep down he wanted desperately, more than anything, to be recognized as something.

I often caught myself observing Roman. Analysing him with a certain degree of scientific curiosity. I wanted to know what made him tick. Obviously, I was neither blind nor immune to his charms, but I was better than the average person at hiding my desires. My ability to conceal the extent of my interest in him granted me a few privileges. Being in his group of friends–and, therefore, going to the same parties–was one of these privileges. That’s how I ended up in Brooke Bluebell’s garage; Peter, Ashley, Brooke, Andrew and Roman, all of us sitting on the floor around a small coffee table. We were playing a combination of Truth or Dare and Spin The Bottle; we were spinning a bottle to decide who would be next to choose between truth or dare.

With a cigarette between his lips and eyes glistening from all the alcohol, Roman spun the empty beer bottle. When it stopped, the bottom pointed at me and its mouth pointed at Roman. He had been choosing dare for the past three rounds in which the bottle pointed at him.

“What’s it gonna be, Roman?” I asked nonchalantly before taking a sip of my beer, looking into his eyes with the tiniest amount of defiance.

“Duh, what do you think?” His eyes rolled at me.

“Dare it is…” I said in a sing-song voice as my fingers drummed on the table. He adjusted in his place, trying to get more comfortable. He was looking at me in silence, waiting to see what the challenge would be.

I pursed my lips, tilting my head as I scanned him, considering my options.

“Come on, speak!” Roman was getting impatient.

I took another sip of my beer, clearing my throat and the idea finally formed in my mind.

“Moan like a slut.” I said, my voice sounding innocent enough, but I couldn’t fight the devilish grin that spread across my face. And the grin widened further as Peter and the others howled and burst out laughing.

“No way!” Peter laughed, his eyes darting from Roman to me and back to Roman.

Roman was staring at me, dumbfounded, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decide whether I was serious or just messing with him. He shook his head, laughed and snorted.

“Why? Does it get you off?” Roman teased me, leaning forward to look deeper into my eyes.

“Are you doing it or is it too much for you?” I retorted, not losing a beat.

“For how long?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” I frowned at his question.

“How long do you want me to moan like a slut for you?” His tone changed just a little when he said the words for you, so subtly I doubted anyone else noticed how his voice dropped an octave.

“Mhmm… Thirty seconds?” I suggested, shrugging at him.

Roman raised his chin in defiance, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back against the couch behind him. I knew the challenge was accepted and that he would make a show out of it. He chugged the rest of his beer, closed his eyes, parted his lips and the sound that he let out was nothing short of downright obscene. At first, it sounded pained and raw, coming from the depths of his chest. Then it became breathy, erratic, soft like a whisper, escaping his luscious lips in short desperate gasps. The sound curled in the air, ragged with need. It was an imitation of desire, but it sounded all too real…

“A-ah, please, oh God! Don’t stop! Fuck!” He hissed at last, before slowly opening his eyes and staring directly at me with blown out pupils and red cheeks.

Everyone was laughing, dying of secondhand embarrassment, but I was transfixed. I swallowed dryly and it took me at least five seconds to compose myself. Roman noticed. He obviously noticed. But he was also good at pretending.

“Good boy…” I said mockingly as I finally laughed along with the others. For the briefest of seconds I saw a different kind of darkness flickering in those green eyes of his. But the game went on.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

Two weeks later I was at the Godfrey Estate, Roman and I sitting on those sun loungers in his empty indoor pool as he skillfully rolled a joint between his slender fingers. I was sure he had learned that particular way of rolling a joint from Peter. His phone buzzed on the table between our seats. Roman chewed the insides of his cheeks staring at the screen for a second before huffing in annoyance,

“Peter’s not coming…” He practically threw his phone back on the small table.

“At last, just the two of us!” I shrugged.

Roman lit up his joint, offering me a drag, which I declined. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, leaning back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling, as he inhaled the smoke deeply, allowing it to fill his lungs and sighing in pleasure. That innocent sound took me right back to two weeks ago, the memory of him moaning so deliciously flooding my senses like ocean waves, dragging me to the depths of an unknown feeling that only Roman was capable of stirring within me. My eyes wandered over his body, taking in the way his tank top clung to his toned chest and abs, and moving further down to the outline of his shaft in his jeans. His legs spread further, invitingly, as my mind swirled with a variety of deranged scenarios. As I lost myself in thoughts, it went completely over my head that Roman’s eyes were now glued on me. And had he not audibly coughed I would have never been pulled out of my trance, nor would I know that he knew exactly what I was looking at. When I finally looked at his face, his eyes were dark, narrowed as he analysed me with the same curiosity I had always analysed him.

I was clearly not thinking things through when I got up from my lounger to sit on his, by his side. He remained silent, as if speaking could break the spell that enveloped us at that moment. The tension in the air, that electricity that seemed to be passing from my body to his, was both strong and fragile at the same time. I pressed the palm of my hand over his already hardening clothed bulge, the confines of his jeans visibly becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. I pressed my index finger against his tip in circular motions, my throat drying up painfully at the sight of his eyes closing while he tilted his head back. From what everyone had always said about Roman–and word travelled fast in the hallways and locker rooms of Hemlock High–I expected him to snap, grab me by the hair and just take what he wanted, but then his breathing hitched in his chest and a low strangled moan that he had obviously been trying to suppress escaped his lips. And he let out another strained moan when my other hand slid down his torso, my long nails scrapping the fabric that separated us. I teasingly played with the hem of his tank top before sliding my hand underneath it, touching his impossibly warm skin as his muscles twitched under my palm. Roman got harder when my nails dug into the flesh of his abs. His breathing got increasingly more labored as I continued to touch him, tantalizingly slowly, savoring every single reaction of his.

Roman’s large hand went to my knee, slowly moving up underneath my skirt, his palm sweaty and warm as his fingers teased my inner thighs until he finally slid the tip of his index finger over my clit through my underwear. At the feeling of the damp fabric of my lacy panties, he hummed in satisfaction. I closed my eyes with pleasure as he drew circular patterns over my bundle of nerves, imitating the way I was caressing his tip. Then I felt a very small wet spot through his jeans and my eyes snapped open.

“You’re leaking for me?” I asked condescendingly, with a satisfied smile on my face.

“Quit the teasing!” He practically groaned, his hips buckling up against my palm.

I leaned closer to his mouth, our lips only inches apart now, so close I could taste his minty breath in my mouth.

“Why? You seem to be enjoying it…”

He lifted his hand, probably to grab me, but I intercepted his movement, grabbing his wrist and pinning it down on the lounger. I didn’t have the delusion of being stronger than him–he was much bigger and stronger and sure as hell capable of manhandling me and pinning me down if he wanted to–but I had an inkling that he would allow me to do as I pleased and I was right. He let me pin his wrist down with little to no resistance.

My other hand went to cup his face and I closed the gap between us, claiming his lips with mine. My tongue slid into his mouth, the flavor that was entirely his taking over me, awakening a primal need for more. More of his taste, more of his body, more of his touch… More, more, more… And he gave me more, moaning into my mouth, inhaling my scent, grazing my bottom lip with his teeth and biting at it hard–just a little too hard–but it was heavenly. He pulled my panties to the side and slid one finger into my wetness as our tongues clashed devouring each other hungrily because we had both been starving for each other. I began to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans, my lips moving from his mouth, through his jawline, to his neck. I found the most sensitive spot, the one that made him shudder, and I bit at it hard enough to make him wince. The sound went straight to my throbbing clit and my walls clenched around his finger.

I finally managed to free his arousal from his jeans and boxers with a little of his help and Roman withdrew his fingers from my core to grab each of my thighs and move me to straddle him. His fingers dug into my skin so hard I knew it would bruise, but I couldn’t care less. I wanted him to mark me just as much as I wanted to mark him. I want him covered with my hickeys, I wanted myself covered in his.

Once more, he pulled my panties to the side, positioning his swollen tip against my dripping entrance. I could feel him throbbing as I sat down on his cock, slowly taking in every inch of him. One of Roman’s hands went to grab a fistful of my hair as the other went to my shoulder and he forced me down faster, harder. I gasped and he groaned as my walls clenched tightly against his length. When he was buried deep inside me, so deep I could feel his tip against my cervix, I leaned in closer to his ear, my lips brushing his earlobe as I spoke,

“Good boy…”

I felt the skin of his arms prickle with goosebumps and he whined with his cock twitching inside of me. So I began to bounce harder, faster, purposefully clenching my walls around him, dripping wet and equally as desperate as I knew he was; he was sweating, panting, out of breath, closing his eyes shut and buckling his hips up in an attempt to thrust into me harder. His hands clung to my waist as he helped me move up and down.

“Please…” He finally begged, out of breath, and I thought he meant to ask me to move faster, but that was not it. His breathing caught in his throat and when his pleading eyes opened I knew even before he spoke, “Please, say that again…”

I smiled wickedly at him,

“My sweet, sweet good boy… Cum for me, will you?”

My condescending tone seemed to do it for him because he came almost instantly with his face buried in the crotch of my neck. Hard. Filling me up in a way that made me feel glad to be on birth control. Roman was shuddering and whining, his hands digging into the flesh of my thighs while I rode him down his high.

Then he looked up into my eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, dilated pupils and an evil smile on his face,

“My. Fucking. Turn.” And he flipped us over.

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #mine #fanfic #smut #dividers by cafekitsune #cafekitsune

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codename-adler · 7 months ago

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[Day 01]

@allforthegamebingo ; Angst Edition

slipping on ice - breaking bones - unable to move || “you should have never come here.”

Jean x Aaron // T

———

“You should have never come here.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let Jeremy call me.”

Aaron knew this one decision would be met with fight after fight from everyone involved, and not. First Andrew, because of course. And Aaron wasn’t even asking for the Maserati, Matt’s truck would be just fine. Matt didn’t need to know the distance he’d make with it, at least not yet. It’s not as if he was driving all the way to California. He would never do that. Of course not. Nobody’s worth that much gas…

Luckily the Trojans were playing their eponymous rivals, USC Columbia, where Aaron and Andrew would probably have gone to were it not for Exy and Coach Wymack. Aaron personally disliked thinking about it. This other version of him wandering around, who was probably free of murder and all the other dogshit that went down in just the one year.

And it looked like this season was about to be eventful as well, to say the least. Though nothing could rival the clearly toxic hatred between the two South Carolina teams, and though the Foxes had had nothing to show for a while before thoroughly humiliating the USC Gamecocks (which, why), Jean Moreau’s transfer seemed to have heightened the hate-stakes for everyone. The face-off had been brutal, and dirty. Not many players would be on Saint Nicholas’s Nice List this holiday season.

Especially not the guy who broke three of Jean’s fingers.

There was no way his move had been anything other than intentional. You don’t move your racquet backwards like that once the ball has left your opponent’s net. Yet that #26, Valdekis, has snapped the end of his stick in a wide arch behind his back, while he’d already shoved Jean against the plexiglass. His larger, heavier stick caught Jean’s fingers against the wall, continuing its arch unbothered while the fingers bent backwards far past what the human body allowed. Pop, they went.

Aaron had watched the slow-motion recap one time too many. Trying to convince the med student part of himself, as well as the backliner part, that the fingers could be fine, surely. He wasn’t even close to being convinced when Jeremy called. That’s when he knew it was no longer a matter of if, but how bad?

“He won’t let any of the nurses approach him,” Jeremy had shakily uttered through the phone instead of his usual cheery greeting.

“Not even Davis?” Aaron had responded immediately, taking it in stride. He mentally pushed away the thought of how incriminating it was that he knew the Trojans’ staff by heart, as well as how Jean felt about them, and they about him. He needed that space to go into panic over the fact that this injury was apparently not like the others Jean had suffered since his transfer.

“No one,” Jeremy repeated. His voice was so much quieter than normal. It deafened Aaron like a drum beat on his very heart nonetheless.

“You want me to come?” Aaron asked, because he would, he was already moving, he needed Jeremy to call him stupid and tell him to sit his ass down.

“Yes please,” Jeremy replied, breath shuttering, delivering Aaron’s fast pass to GO! Collect 200$!

And so Andrew fought him without a word, then Neil because, Neil, then Kevin, and the USC Columbia staff, and the Trojans’ staff, and finally Jeremy took over for him. The captain let him in the locker room, which was empty except for a giant backliner trying to make himself infinitely small. Jeremy nodded at Aaron as Dermott and Alvarez waited for him in the doorway, arms open and ready to catch the shaken striker.

Aaron approached the corner of the room, tightening his grip on the “first aid” duffel he’d put together before he left Fox Tower. His steps echoed and Jean felt them.

“I told everyone, and I’m saying it again: my hand is fine, it’s nothing, I can still play. I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything,” Jean bit out without turning around.

“If your hand’s fine after that foul play then I’m shitting rainbows right now,” Aaron spoke.

Jean whirled around, his face contorted in picture perfect affront.

“How the fuck are you here,” Jean said with venom.

“Drove here,” Aaron answered blandly, taking none of the crap Jean was trying to scare him away with.

“You are not needed here. You are not wanted. Turn back around and go away,” Jean weakly barked.

“If you’ll let Davis do his job, sure.”

Aaron thought Jean’s cold front was thing of the past between them, but apparently he could still bite at him, and it could still hurt. Aaron tried not to let it sting.

Jean remained silent. The impasse was foiled with the hum of the harsh neon lights and the pulsating pain shooting up his fingers. He could hear Aaron’s breaths too, calm but a little shallow. All of this was bad. Very bad. Aaron being here reflected how ill-adjusted Jean really was, and that would not do, not for the Trojans, not for the press, and certainly not for Lord Moriyama.

“You should never have come here,” Jean bit out.

“Then you shouldn’t have let Jeremy call me,” Aaron talked back.

Jean lifted his head at that.

“Yeah, Jean. You’re scaring the crap out of him. It’s bad. I know it’s bad. But you and I both know you’ve been worse when you landed in Palmetto. And you and I both know I’ve seen the worst when I had to take over from Abby during the nights. So why don’t you let me look at your hand, see how ‘fine’ it is, and I can help you fix it and put you back on the track. Then I’ll be on my merry way.”

Jean looked at him for a long time. Aaron stood still, letting him search for what he was looking for, hoping he’d find it. No matter the world outside, Jeremy and the Trojans, the Foxes, the fans, the press, Ichirou… Time felt frozen here. The urgency had passed and gone away. He was with Jean, now. He got to him in time. He was here, now, ready to fix him, and nothing else mattered. Aaron could wait. It was Jean’s call, now.

When Jean’s stormy eyes settled back into Aaron’s ember ones, he nodded. “Okay. You can look.”

Aaron put down his duffel on the bench.

“Can I let your team know that we’re gonna start treatment? I don’t want them busting in thinking we killed each other because it’s taking us some time,” Aaron asked Jean.

Jean nodded again, something strange in his gaze.

Aaron moved quickly to the door and slipped outside. The whole team turned to face him in sync, eyes wide and expectant. Aaron was too impressed to address this nervous crowd, so he turned to Jeremy and spoke to him only. “Jean agreed to let me treat him. It might take a while. Do whatever you have to do to be ready to leave as soon as he’s patched up, and to minimize rumours. Don’t- Don’t come in. He’ll meet you when we’re done. Jeremy? He’ll be okay, alright? I’ll do my best. But he’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

Aaron saw Jeremy’s shoulders lose some of the enormous stress weighing down on them. That was enough. He didn’t wait for an answer and moved back inside. He was met with Jean’s eyes immediately. He’d been waiting anxiously, but patiently.

He moved swiftly, taking out all the stuff he brought from home and displaying them methodically on the bench beside Jean’s. He then straddled that bench and sat down facing Jean. He extended his own hand, open to the sky. Then he waited.

Jean slowly revealed his left hand, bringing it towards Aaron from where he’d cradled it against his side. His glove had already been removed. Aaron saw all of the damage in an instant.

It was bad. But it was okay.

Before taking Jean’s hand, Aaron spoke. Speaking was the easy part here. “You know what’s what already, this is only for me, so you can tune me out,” Aaron explained quietly. “Alright. It’s a beautiful night to save some bones. Skin’s not broken, that’s good. Members are heavily bruised and swollen, but no blood or loss of circulation. Phalanges of three middle fingers are bent out of shape, but remain connected to the palm. Also good. No need to pop ‘em back in place. A simple three-finger brace should be good to avoid further damage until proper scans in Cali.”

Jean listened. He remembered how it had been in that dark little room in Palmetto. In the beginning. He remembered how Abby trained Aaron, made him say everything he was doing and why, so she could be sure he was doing the right thing. Even when Abby stopped showing up and let Aaron do the night rounds, he would still voice what he was seeing and doing, step by step. It was those whispers that saved Jean. At first they might have been a distraction, something to focus on instead of the pain and the anxiety and the devil voice in his head, but the more he actively listened, the more Jean understood the words. He was never left in the dark about what Aaron was doing to him. Everything was always as he said, nothing more, nothing less. Every shot, pill, liquid, cream, they all came with Aaron’s quiet voice explaining the what and when and how, and why. For the first time in his life, Jean was in full possession of his medical history, minute by minute.

Aaron didn’t have a local anesthetic, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the pain that scared Jean. When his fingers snapped on the court, the sudden explosion of pain had been terrifying, yes, but it was the few seconds after, when he’d blacked out, that did him in. Because, for a moment, he was back under there, in the Nest. When Grayson broke his fingers. When Riko broke them too. When he was forced to break them himself.

Smalls would set them straight quickly, quietly, exasperatedly, every time, and tape the fingers together, until next time.

Davis was okay. He warned Jean every time something uncomfortable had to be done, apologizing once, then urging Jean to take care. It was unfair of Jean to compare him to either Smalls or Aaron. But he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he wished Aaron had never happened. He set the bar too high.

Often, Jean would message Aaron about one thing or another that he felt was wrong, but loathed going to the Trojans Med Center to ask for help. Aaron always answered. Unless it was something unusually serious, Aaron always placed the solution in Jean’s hands.

Go to the pharmacy and look for Claritin in the flu section, box is blue with clouds on it. Look for the non drowsy one. Take one pill every 24h. Unfortunately Cali is the kingdom of year-round allergies. Don’t worry.

Take a bowl large enough for both your feet and fill it with ice cold water. After 15 minutes of soaking, your blood should have stopped flowing to your head only and travelled back down. If that doesn’t stop the migraine, try caffeine supplements. If that doesn’t work either, you should ask Davis for a prescription. Migraines are no joke, Jean.

No, you won’t die if you accidentally took your antidepressant twice today. Just let someone else know, Davis or Jeremy or Cat, so they can be there if you start feeling unusual, but I doubt it. Just don’t take your dose tomorrow and drink a lot of water, be sure to properly feed yourself. Happens a lot, it’ll be okay.

And here he was, in the flesh. His flowing words like a lullaby for Jean.

“We’re gonna have to put that brace on, now. Do you have anything to hold for your other hand? It’s gonna feel like a bitch,” Aaron finally said to Jean.

Jean looked around, briefly held up his jersey, then shook his head. Aaron took it in stride and searched around in his duffel. He pulled out a small orange thing and placed it in Jean’s right hand. Jean looked down at it and pressed lightly with his fingers. He looked back up at Aaron, unimpressed.

“Fox stress ball,” Aaron winked at him, knowing Jean was hating it.

Then the hard part started. The taping was painful, but Jean handled it, knowing what was coming would be infinitely worse. Aaron’s calloused hands were ever so careful. When Jean focused on them, he could almost forget the ugly one they were treating.

When Aaron started to put the metal bands in place, Jean wished he’d kept his mouth guard. He feared his jaw would shatter, yet he couldn’t stop biting down. It hurt. He didn’t want to close his eyes, scared to wind up back in the past, but he didn’t want the tears to escape either. He started trembling.

“I know, I’m sorry. I know, I know,” Aaron whispered, trying to work faster.

Jean had no strength left. The stress ball was shit, and he wanted to let go, and he wanted to cry, and he wanted comfort, damn it.

All at once Jean’s control snapped. He slumped down and bit his lips. His bowed head landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Jean? Jean, talk to me. Jean?” Aaron said, starting to panic.

Jean only burrowed his head deeper into Aaron’s shoulder. He tried to breathe in, but a sob escaped his throat and made him choke on it as it echoed into the empty locker room.

Aaron freed one of his occupied hands to cradle Jean’s head against him. Jean’s hair was still wet from the grueling match and the following hardships. Aaron turned his face so he could talk into Jean’s ear. “I’m sorry. We’re almost done. Stay there, okay? Bite down on my shirt, you’re gonna break your teeth like that. Okay, Jean? Okay?”

Jean barely nodded against Aaron’s neck. He mouthed at Aaron’s sweater until he had enough cloth to bite down on. His nose brushed along the skin under there and suddenly Jean could smell an entire new world. He took a deep breath, filling his throat with it.

Aaron’s sweatshirt was getting wetter and wetter, and his neck felt humid too, and he could also feel Jean’s mouth, but he pushed on, working to get Jean out of this mess as soon as possible. He was sure none of his clinicals would ever be this hard.

And suddenly it was over. The brace was in place.

Aaron released the breath he was holding, his shoulders slumping, Jean’s head going down with them. He carefully held Jean’s injured hand in one of his own, freeing his other to return to Jean’s hair.

“Hey, we’re done. Hard part’s over. You made it. You’re good, Jean,” Aaron whispered into his ear, emotional somehow.

Jean released Aaron’s shirt from his mouth, but didn’t move otherwise. Aaron carded his fingers through the dark curls, letting Jean have his moment, and indulging a bit, too.

When Jean finally lifted his head away from Aaron, his eyes were dark. Aaron tried to remove his hand, but couldn’t quite manage to let go. His finger rested on the side of Jean’s face, rubbing small circles into his skin and scalp. Any minute, now, he would let go. Any minute.

Aaron squeezed one last time, preparing to untangle his hand. But before he could, Jean took a hold of his chin. His fingers, though unharmed, trembled. Jean leaned down. And down, and down, until his lips landed home, right on Aaron’s.

Aaron tightened his hold.

So did Jean.

No balm had ever soothed either of them this good. There was no medicine like this kiss.

They were tired, hungry, scared. Their lips on one another fixed all of that.

Jean sighed into the kiss, and it almost brought Aaron to tears. He couldn’t get enough. There was a hint of blood on his tongue, from Jean’s mouth, and he savoured it like it was the last drop of water on earth. Jean pushed into Aaron, wanting more, wanting it all. They separated for a second, inhaling each other, before Jean dived back in deeper. He no longer felt his broken hand. He only tasted Aaron, felt him, smelled him, consumed him.

Aaron would have let him swallow him whole. When they finally had to stop, lest they passed out, they stayed in orbit of each other, so close another collision was inevitably imminent. Jean’s thumb traced Aaron’s mouth, their foreheads resting against one another. Aaron mouthed at Jean’s finger with butterfly kisses and small flicks of his tongue. Within their bubble, Aaron quietly spoke.

“Should I go tell the good news to your team?”

Jean looked down at his bandaged hand, then up at Aaron’s lips. “Which one?” he replied, eyes glimmering.

Aaron kissed him again, unable to stop himself. He pulled away with a trembling smile.

“Any one. Any one you want.”

#a little late but have at it #allforthegamebingo #allforthebingo #aftgwinteradvent #angst edition #jeanaaron #jean moreau #aaron minyard #jeremy knox #aftg #all for the game #the sunshine court #my fics #the foxhole court

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lifemod17 · 7 months ago

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The time has come for me to yap about Hymn To Virgil from Hozier's Unreal Unearth: Unending

12/06/2024

THE PRODUCTION?!!?! I tip my hat to the incredibly talented producers Jeff Gitty, Bekon, and Some Fuckin Guy™ named Andrew idk

I think they did an incredible job balancing out the tasteful use of vocal effects and letting his natural voice soar! mans was BELTING. also the runs?? he is a runner he is a track star

I am in love with the off kilter flow he gets into during the verses!!! he doesn't do that very often but man oh man, does he smash it out of the park

THE MASSIVE WAVE OF THE CHOIR VOCALS. opening the song with this modulated choir- it immediately ropes you in. drown me in that ethereal sea of gorgeous sounds please and thank you. YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS- it was bugging me that the intro sounded familiar but I couldn't remember what -> IT'S LIKE THE INTRO FOR Through Me (The Flood)!!!

the synths?? FORGIVE HIM FATHER FOR HE HAS SYNTH!!

the keys are so gentle yet haunting. there is no better way I can describe it other than it is HAUNTINGLY BEAUTIFUL.

the lyrics are insane but I mean, it's Hozier. when has the lyrics been NOT heartbreaking, soul crushing, breathtaking, yearning levels of insane?

"If I held in my hands everything gold could buy I'd still not have a thing worth giving you You tell me the sun is shining in paradise And I have to watch your lips turn blue I would burn the world to bring some heat to you"

as for the part that I absolutely lost my mind to last night, you ask? around the 14 second mark, it happens for just one second- maybe even half a second- but it's the part where the first vocal run is introduced. it rises in a crescendo OR SO YOU THINK, because it doesn't even GET to finish! it gets cut off by the bass and drums!!! and then the first verse starts!!! That's like some Labrinth type of production I AM OBSESSED it's such a small detail that could easily be overlooked, but to me that part was an instant stank face moment I squealed and startled my cats. The way it starts off quiet and gradually gets louder only for it be cut off... And this all happens in the span of one (1) second... I immediately felt the depression leaving my body.

I would love to see this song be used in a movie because it is just too damn epic, it is nothing short of cinematic. Hymn To Virgil is the type of song that needs to be played loud. thems the rules.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #unreal unearth: unending #hymn to virgil #postpone that funeral #!!!!#i am aware i already made that synth joke before but i love it so much okay #Spotify #Premium DJ #<- going in the song recs tag because GO LISTEN TO IT

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angelofthemornings · 1 month ago

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Thing that's been nagging me: why do Americans think of ourselves as not being a literary or artistic culture? (Compared to, say, the popular image of the French.) We put a lot of ENTIRE MEDIUMS on the map (hip-hop, sequential art) and we've made incredible contributions to everything short of really culturally specific stuff like kabuki theatre. (Even among really culturally specific stuff, sometimes: I used to be in a taiko drum group and modern taiko drumming was influenced by jazz.) (Man, the Japanese are crazy about jazz. You're welcome.)

Aside from the fact that most of what I mentioned is considered either "low art" (thank you to comic book content laws for ruining THE ENTIRE FUCKING MEDIUM and condemning it to the "stuff for kids and immature adults" ghetto in the popular imagination) (this is changing) (slowly) or associated with the world's least favorite race (God forbid we take anything Black people do seriously), we've always had heavy hitters who work in a more prestigious medium, like playwrights, Criterion Collection-worthy film directors, and authors. (We will argue over whether this is because of America's unnerving cultural reach or genuine quality at a later date.)

There's probably some more subtle historical reason (if you have a degree in this topic, reblog and tell me) like America not being a stop on the Grand Tour or whatever - I bet the old-timey European conception of which countries are artistic and which are colonies to plunder has more to do with it than I think - but I think it has something to do with how little we respect artists. I volunteer with Ukrainian refugees and the fact that I've published some writing is a Big Deal to the people I've mentioned it to. Like, genuine admiration and "ooh I've never met a whole writer before", I'm not missing some form of sarcasm here. (I think.) I lightheartedly said to one that I don't mention writing poetry often because it makes me look like a pretentious asshole and she couldn't wrap her head around it. (Meanwhile, I don't think I've ever once mentioned my work on Reddit without someone making fun of me in the replies. Demographics of that site are about half American, so presumably at least half of the people making fun of me are Yanks.) We can't even tolerate people playing guitars at parties without people going "Look at that pretentious prick showing off" and yes, not being able to stand party guitarists *is* culturally specific. Get a bunch of Slavs together and *somebody* is pulling out a guitar.

And now I'm wondering why that is, and I'm gonna look towards the couple of semesters during which I studied for an archaeology/anthropology degree for an answer.

In anthropology, there's a general idea that the easier an environment is to live in, the more time people have to develop a complex cosmology and make advances in their art. There's an argument to be had here over what counts as complexity or "advanced" art, but you're going to have to bear with me here for a minute. I think America is just a tougher place to live than most of the "artistic" countries, historically and up to the present - not because of harsh natural environments, although white people's stubborn insistence on doing stuff like farming the European way sure *made* them harsh according to a settler POV, but it's largely due to pressures from religion and capitalism - so we developed values that helped us under conditions like the industrial revolution, forming dust bowls in our agrarian regions, and being surrounded by fucking Calvinists.

(It was not exactly fun to be like an English guy during the industrial revolution either, to the extent that the north of that country is STILL underrepresented in the arts, but England had a strong enough gentry that there were always people there to sit around writing poetry. America's gentry, in the sense of people who are wealthy from sitting around as part of a rich family, is a way more recent thing. Andrew Carnegie started out a dirt poor Scottish immigrant, Rockefeller himself began his career as a bookkeeper's assistant, Sam Walton grew up on a failing farm...etc.) (Ukraine's always been a little rough too, but there a lot of reasons behind why they value artistic expression to a greater degree that I won't go into just now, especially because I'm not tooooo familiar with Ukraine's artistic culture. Suffice it to say that much of it's because it's been a firm part of asserting and preserving a uniquely Ukrainian identity, to the extent that there's a famous writer whose pen name translates into "Lesya the Ukrainian." I imagine Soviet influence is a factor there too - art was taken deathly seriously in the USSR as a tool for either social advancement or social discord and "writer" was like a wholeass job. They literally had a union. The US didn't have pressures like that to make up for the "harsh environment.")

So, it's interesting to think about and I want to hear what other people have to say.

#long post #sorry - feeling chatty

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andy-writes-books · 2 months ago

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the title is still tbd but im so close to getting one

anyways heres chapters 1-12, warning its a long read

The story began in a meadow, drenched in freezing rain. A little boy ran through the tall grass, soaked to the bone, his footsteps slipping in the mud. Thunder cracked above, and he flinched, dropping to his knees and covering his head.

“Help!” he cried out, his voice swallowed by the storm. But no one answered.

The rain came harder; each drop a needle on his skin. The boy—Daniel, though no one was around to call his name—stumbled toward a shape in the distance. A house, old and slanted, hunched like it had weathered a thousand storms.

Desperate, Daniel knocked. The wooden door creaked open a few inches, and a boy around his age peeked out, eyes wide.

“Hi,” Daniel said between shivers. “My name is Daniel. Danny, for short.” He hesitated, the rain sliding down his face. “Can I… can I come in for a bit?”

The boy blinked, then nodded. “Lemme ask my mam.”

He vanished into the house, and for a moment, Danny thought he had imagined him. But soon the door opened wider, and the boy waved him in.

“I’m Andrew,” he said. “We’ve lived here forever, just me and my ma.”

Danny stepped inside, his shoes squelching on the floorboards. The warmth hit him like a wave. In the next moment, a kind-faced woman appeared with a blanket and a set of dry clothes.

“Here,” she said gently, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. “You’re safe now.”

Over the next hour, Danny thawed by the fireplace, sipping a mug of warm tea as his soaked clothes hung by the hearth. Andrew sat across from him, legs crossed, watching quietly as the rain continued to beat against the windows.

“You live out here all by yourself?” Danny asked. Andrew shrugged. “Just me and my ma. She does not like cities. Says they are too loud.” He tilted his head. “Where do you live?”

Danny’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Nowhere really. I was just... walking. Got caught in the storm.”

Andrew did not press. He just nodded, then got up and returned with a battered board game.

“You ever play this?” he asked.

Danny shook his head.

“Well, you’re about to lose,” Andrew grinned.

Days passed, then weeks. Danny returned to the little house more often, until it felt less like visiting and more like arriving home. Sometimes he helped Andrew’s mom in the kitchen. Sometimes he and Andrew ran through the meadow when the sun was out, daring each other to jump in the creek. Other times, they lay on their backs in the grass, naming shapes in the clouds.

When school started again, Danny enrolled. It was not official—just enough to keep him busy, to keep him close. Andrew helped him catch up on classes, especially math, which Danny hated, and literature, which they both secretly loved.

The years moved quietly, comfortably.

By the time they were juniors in high school, Danny and Andrew had become inseparable. You rarely saw one without the other. They still read books in the living room, still shared music and late-night snacks and quiet silences that said more than most words.

One afternoon, they were lying on Andrew’s bedroom floor, music playing low from a speaker. A storm rolled softly in the background, not unlike the one years ago—but now it felt distant, safe, like something that could not touch them anymore.

“Hey, Andrew?” Danny said, turning to his side.

Andrew glanced at him. “Yeah?”

Danny hesitated. “Do you think we’ll ever get girlfriends?”

Andrew was quiet. His fingers drummed against his stomach; eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I’m not sure I want one,” he said finally, voice low.

Danny blinked. “What do you mean?”

Andrew looked at him then, not angry, not sad—just searching. “I don’t like girls that way, Danny.”

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft hum of the storm outside.

“You don’t… want to date anyone?” Danny asked, confused.

Andrew exhaled, rubbing his face. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Danny opened his mouth, then closed it. The music kept playing. The storm kept moving.

They said nothing else for a while, just let the silence do what words could not.

A few weeks passed.

They did not talk about that afternoon again, though it lingered in the air like the scent of rain long after a storm. Danny did not press. He was not sure what to say, or if he even understood. But he kept coming back to Andrew’s house, and Andrew kept opening the door.

One Friday after school, Danny arrived a little early. Andrew was not in the living room, and his mom told him to head upstairs.

“Just got back from town,” she said. “You boys behave.”

Danny grinned and jogged up the stairs two at a time.

He pushed open the door to Andrew’s room—and paused.

The light from the window cast a warm glow over everything. On the far wall, above the bookshelf where they kept their shared collection of sci-fi and fantasy paperbacks, a new addition stood out: a small, fabric pride flag, pinned neatly beside a poster of their favorite band.

Danny blinked at it, unsure why it made his chest feel tight.

He did not say anything when Andrew walked in a minute later, earbuds still hanging around his neck. But Andrew noticed where he was looking.

“Oh. Yes,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… just put it up yesterday.”

Danny nodded slowly. “It looks good there.”

Andrew looked at him—cautious, bracing himself.

Danny sat down on the bed and leaned back on his hands. “You ever think we’ll still be friends after high school?”

Andrew sat beside him, shoulders barely touching. “I hope so.”

Another pause. The kind that used to feel casual but now felt like it carried something unspoken.

Danny glanced back at the flag, then at Andrew. “I am glad you told me. Even if I did not get it at first.”

Andrew gave a small smile. “You did not freak out. That is more than most people would do.”

Danny smiled back, a little awkward, a little unsure—but sincere. “You are my best friend. That is not changing.”

Outside, the storm clouds drifted away. Light streamed in through the window, soft and golden.

In the quiet that followed, nothing needed to be said.

Chapter Two — The Space Between

Danny kept thinking about the flag.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what it meant—he did. He’d seen it before, on TV, in school assemblies, in passing on Instagram posts from people he didn’t follow but maybe lingered on a bit too long.

But seeing it in Andrew’s room, above the bookshelf they’d built together last winter, was something else entirely. It wasn’t political or performative. It was quiet. Unshaken. True.

Since that day, something had shifted—not in Andrew, but in him. The air between them wasn’t heavier. Just… different. Like a word hanging on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be spoken aloud.

Danny hadn’t brought it up again. Not because he was uncomfortable, but because he didn’t know what he would say.

And truthfully, a part of him was scared of whatever it might mean.

They kept falling into routine.

It was early May now. The meadow had grown wild again, swaying with tall grass and blooming with purple wildflowers they never learned the names of. They spent their Saturdays there—sometimes doing nothing at all.

That weekend, Danny lay flat on his back in the grass, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky. Andrew was beside him, one arm thrown over his eyes, humming the tune to a song they’d played earlier.

“Do you think people ever really know who they are?” Danny asked suddenly.

Andrew didn’t move for a moment. Then he peeked over at Danny. “What brought that on?”

Danny shrugged, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between his fingers. “I don’t know. I guess I just feel like... I’ve been going through the motions, doing what I’m supposed to. But what if that’s not who I actually am?”

Andrew sat up slowly, resting his arms on his knees. “You mean like school, or... something else?”

Danny didn’t meet his eyes.

“Kind of everything,” he admitted. “I’ve been thinking about... you. About the flag. About the way you told me, and how it made me think maybe I’ve been ignoring something.”

Andrew didn’t say anything at first. He let the breeze move around them, carrying the weight of Danny’s words like seeds in the wind.

“You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” he said gently. “I didn’t.”

Danny finally looked at him. “You were brave.”

Andrew laughed, but there was no mockery in it. “No. I was terrified. I just got tired of hiding.”

Danny nodded, lying back down in the grass. “I’m not hiding. I just... don’t know what I’m looking for yet.”

Andrew lay beside him again. Close, but not touching.

And they stayed like that for a long time, the quiet between them saying more than either of them knew how to put into words.

The days blurred into the long, golden stretch of early summer. They worked small jobs in town—Andrew helping at the local library, Danny mowing lawns for extra cash. They met at Andrew’s every afternoon, like always.

One day, Andrew’s mom asked Danny to stay for dinner.

They sat around the table, eating spaghetti with too much garlic and laughing at an old story Andrew’s mom talked about when the boys were smaller—when Danny had first knocked on their door, soaked and shivering.

“You looked like a lost puppy,” she teased, nudging him with a smile.

Danny grinned. “I probably smelled like one too.”

Andrew smiled quietly beside him, but didn’t say anything.

Later that night, as they washed dishes together, Danny glanced at Andrew and said, “Your mom’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a parent.”

Andrew dried a plate and looked over. “She thinks of you like family.”

Danny didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

A few nights later, they sat on the roof again—something they hadn’t done in a while. The stars were sharp and clear, and the air smelled like cut grass and summer dust.

They shared a blanket, shoulder to shoulder. Andrew passed Danny a thermos of tea, and Danny held it in his hands without drinking.

“I think I might not be straight,” he said, the words coming out softly, but not unsure.

Andrew turned toward him slowly, waiting.

“I don’t know what I am,” Danny continued. “It’s not just about attraction or whatever. It’s like... when I’m with you, I feel more like me than I do when I’m trying to pretend to like other people.”

Andrew didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked up to the stars, and then back to Danny.

“Okay,” he said. Not surprised. Not pressed. Just a present.

Danny breathed out slowly.

“I think I’ve always known,” he added, “but I didn’t want to look too closely. Because once you say it aloud, it’s real. You can’t go back.”

Andrew leaned a little closer. “You don’t need to go back. You just need to go forward.”

They sat like that, quiet under the sky, the blanket wrapped around both of them, hearts beating in rhythm.

Danny glanced sideways, and this time, his gaze lingered.

“Is it weird,” he asked quietly, “that I don’t feel scared when I’m with you?”

Andrew smiled. “No. That’s how you know it’s right.”

Danny nodded, leaned his head against Andrew’s shoulder, and closed his eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was pretending to be someone else.

He felt real. Whole. And maybe, just maybe loved.

Chapter 3- More Than a Label

Danny started having dreams.

They weren’t big or dramatic—no sweeping revelations or neon signs pointing to who he was. Just soft, half-formed things. Moments. Glimpses.

In one, he and Andrew were laughing under the stars, fingers brushing by accident, then on purpose. In another, he stood in front of a mirror, saying something he couldn’t hear but somehow understood. Sometimes he woke up with a weight in his chest he couldn’t name, like something important had almost surfaced, but slipped away before he could catch it.

He began to notice things he hadn’t before.

The way he felt lighter around Andrew, how the quiet wasn’t empty when they were together. How, when girls at school flirted with him, he didn’t feel nervous or excited—just... expected. Like he was playing a part in someone else’s story.

He remembered kissing a girl once, last year at a party. Everyone had cheered, and she’d laughed into his mouth, tasting like cheap soda and breath mints. He’d smiled because he was supposed to. But afterward, he’d felt... nothing. No spark. No flutter. Just a vague sense of having failed at something invisible.

At the time, he thought that meant he was just awkward.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

One afternoon, Danny sat on the swing set behind the library where Andrew volunteered. It was overgrown and barely used, but it was quiet, and that’s what he needed.

He took out his phone and opened the browser. His search history was already filled with questions he hadn’t told anyone about:

What does bisexual mean?

Can you know you're queer even if you’ve never dated?

How do you come out if you're still figuring it out?

He scrolled past definitions and Reddit threads and blog posts from people who had felt just like him: uncertain, late to understand, afraid they were faking it.

"It’s not about labels," one post had said. "It’s about finding the words that make you feel less alone."

Danny stared at that sentence for a long time.

Less alone.

That was what it was, wasn’t it? This strange ache in his chest, this push and pull inside his head—it wasn’t about being gay or bi or anything else, not really. It was about being tired of pretending he wasn’t confused. Tired of not knowing what was okay to feel.

That evening, back at Andrew’s, they sat on the floor of his bedroom, surrounded by crumpled papers and empty soda cans. They were supposed to be working on a history project, but their books sat unopened.

Danny held one of Andrew’s pens, clicking it repeatedly.

“Do you think labels matter?” he asked.

Andrew looked up from where he was sketching in the margin of his notebook. “Sometimes. But only if they help. Why?”

Danny took a breath. “Because I think I want one. But I’m scared of picking the wrong one. What if I say I’m bi and then I realize I’m not? Or what if I never figure it out completely?”

Andrew was quiet for a second. “Do you feel something when you think about liking boys?”

Danny looked at him and then went away. “Yeah. I feel... like it makes sense. Like I’m not lying to myself.”

“Then that’s enough. You don’t need to carve it in stone.”

Danny nodded, heart pounding in a strange, hopeful way. “I think I’m queer. Like, I don’t know all the words yet. But that one feels... safe. Like a space I fit in.”

Andrew smiled. “Then start there.”

That night, after dinner, Danny borrowed Andrew’s hoodie and walked home slowly, cutting through the meadow.

He thought about who he was, not who he was supposed to be.

He thought about the pride flag in Andrew’s room. About the way Andrew had just said OKAY when Danny came out. About the quiet steadiness of that moment, and the way his chest had loosened, like a door opening somewhere inside him.

And for the first time, the word queer didn’t feel like a question.

It felt like a beginning.

Chapter Four — New Faces, New Questions

Danny’s world had always felt small. Quiet. Contained.

It wasn’t that he hated the familiar. He liked the stillness of the meadow, the warmth of Andrew’s house, the soft rhythm of their easy friendship. But lately, it had begun to feel like a comfortable cage. A cocoon, perhaps. One he wasn’t sure he was ready to leave but knew deep down he would.

The thing was, Danny didn’t know what else was out there. He didn’t know what he’d been missing.

It started with the new kid.

Diana—or D, as they liked to be called—was one of those people who at once stood out. Not because they were loud or attention-seeking, but because they had an aura of confidence that seemed out of place in their quiet town. D had brightly dyed hair that changed every week and a wardrobe that spoke in loud, unashamed colors. They wore pride pins on their backpack and shoes. They had that kind of calm, unapologetic self-assurance that made Danny feel both intrigued and, if he was honest, a little unsure of himself.

D was the first openly queer person Danny had ever met who wasn’t Andrew.

They met one afternoon in the library, where Danny was flipping through a book for his history project. He glanced up and saw D standing by the stacks, scanning the shelves with a slight smile.

"Looking for something specific?" Danny asked, trying not to sound too awkward.

D looked up, their smile widening. “Actually, yes. I was hoping I could find some materials on queer history. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find anything decent at this school.”

Danny froze, heart pounding in his chest. He had never talked about this openly with anyone who wasn’t Andrew.

But D just shrugged, clearly not fazed by the fact that they were talking about something most people kept quiet. “I’m D, by the way,” they added, holding out their hand. “New kid. I guess I should be glad we even have a library here.”

Danny took their hand, a little stunned. “Danny. I’ve, uh, never met someone—like, who’s open about being queer.”

D raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? That’s common around here. People tend to keep their heads down. But I’m not really into the whole ‘shame’ thing.” They grinned. “It’s 2025, man. Time to start living our truth.”

Danny laughed, a little nervous, but also… relieved? “Yeah, I think I get that. You’re, uh, not from around here, are you?”

“Not exactly.” D leaned against the bookshelf, their expression thoughtful. “But I think this place needs a little shaking up. And it seems like you might, too.”

Before Danny could respond, they shrugged and waved a hand. “I’ll leave you to it. But if you ever wanna talk or—y’know—learn more about queer history, let me know. We should be talking about it more. All of us.”

After that encounter, Danny started seeing D more often, usually in the library or after school when he walked home. Sometimes, D would nod hello, other times they’d strike up a conversation, talking about queer literature or politics or the latest TV show with LGBTQ+ characters. Danny found himself listening, fascinated, but also a little overwhelmed by how much more D knew about it all.

It wasn’t just D, though. It seemed like queer people were suddenly everywhere. Or maybe they were always there, and he’d just never noticed.

One day, after school, Danny was walking out the side door when he saw a teacher talking to D near the parking lot. He recognized the teacher—it was Ms. Thompson, the history teacher.

She was someone who always struck Danny as a little different, but in a way that felt comfortable. She was kind, easygoing, and always had quiet confidence about her. Danny overheard her once in class talking about being an ally, but it wasn’t what she ever brought up unless it was necessary.

Now, he saw her laughing with D, the two of them chatting casually about something he couldn’t hear. The laughter, though, was clear enough.

When they noticed Danny walking toward them, D waved. “Hey, Danny! This is Ms. Thompson. She’s a total badass when it comes to queer history.”

Danny froze. Ms. Thompson?

He hadn’t expected her to be anything but a teacher to him, but now it felt like there was a layer to her he’d never seen.

“Hey, Danny,” Ms. Thompson greeted with a warm smile. “D was just telling me how you’re working on a history project. If you ever want to chat about anything—don’t hesitate to ask.”

Danny’s mouth went dry, and he nodded. “Uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Later that night, sitting on Andrew’s roof again, Danny told him about D and Ms. Thompson.

“They seem… cool,” Danny said slowly. “Like, open. About everything.”

Andrew leaned back against the roof, looking at the stars. “Yeah, Ms. Thompson’s been kind of like that. She’s never openly talked about being queer, but she’s definitely not the type to pretend like it doesn’t exist. I think she’s, like, our secret ally or something.”

Danny took that in, thinking about how people like Ms. Thompson and D had found the courage to just… be. To express themselves. To speak up. To exist without apology.

“I think I’m ready for more of that,” Danny said quietly. “To not just feel like I’m hiding or pretending. I’m not saying I want to come out to everyone tomorrow, but... I don’t know. It feels different now.”

Andrew turned to him, eyes serious but soft. “Whatever you need, man. I’m here.”

Chapter Five — Finding the Words

The days started blending together, but each one felt like a small shift—a new chapter in a book Danny hadn’t realized he was writing.

He spent more time with D, who was quickly becoming the type of person Danny could talk to about things he’d never had the words for before. It wasn’t just the casual, everyday banter; it was real conversations. About identity. About queerness. About what it meant to exist outside the expectations of everyone else.

Danny had learned a lot from D already. Like how to recognize microaggressions that often went unnoticed, or how to read between the lines when people claimed to be “open-minded” but didn’t actually do anything to be supportive. D had a way of making everything sound simple, but Danny understood that it wasn’t.

The real work came in figuring it out.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped low over the meadow, Danny and D sat under the trees near the library. Danny was taking notes for their history project, but his mind kept drifting. D was flipping through a dog-eared copy of Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, a graphic novel about identity, family, and queer history.

“Do you think people ever get all the way figured out?” Danny asked suddenly, his voice low.

D glanced up from their book, their eyes knowing. “Nope. And honestly? That’s kind of the point. It’s not about being ‘done.’ It’s about being okay with the fact that you’ll always be figuring it out.”

Danny nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. For a moment, he felt like the weight of the world was lifted. He didn’t have to have everything planned. He didn’t have to have a perfect label or a clear-cut answer. He could just be.

The following week, Danny found himself sitting in Ms. Thompson’s classroom during lunch, his legs swinging nervously beneath the desk. It wasn’t the first time they’d talked after class, but it felt different now—more serious.

Ms. Thompson wasn’t like the other teachers. She never gave off that “I’m the adult, you’re the student” vibe. Instead, she treated them like equals—like people. And today, her office was like a safe space, a quiet sanctuary where they could have real conversations about things that mattered.

“So,” Ms. Thompson began, setting down the pile of papers she’d been grading. “How’s the project going?”

Danny shifted in his seat. “Good. I think I’m starting to figure out what I want to say, but I—”

“You’re stuck,” she finished for him with a knowing smile.

Danny blinked. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Ms. Thompson leaned forward, her expression gentle. “You don’t need to have all the answers yet, Danny. History doesn’t always follow a straight line. Just like your identity doesn’t.”

He couldn’t help it—he laughed, a small, quiet sound. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy. But it’s important. Don’t rush yourself to figure it out. You’re allowed to be where you are.”

But even with Ms. Thompson’s words in his mind, Danny still struggled. It wasn’t the thinking about his identity that tripped him up—it was the act of saying it.

One night, after a few hours of silently sitting in Andrew’s room, Danny turned to his best friend, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Andrew, what do you think about the idea of being—” he stopped. “I don’t even know if I can say it yet.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“Being queer,” Danny blurted, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his pants. “Like, for real. It’s not just a phase. I’m not confused. I’m just... I don’t know how to say it out loud.”

Andrew was quiet for a long time. It wasn’t the first time they’d talked about this, but this time it felt different—like they were standing on the edge of something big.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready, Danny,” Andrew said, his voice soft but steady. “But I think you’ve already figured it out. You just need to let yourself believe it.”

Danny felt something shift in his chest. Something lighter. “Yeah. Maybe I have.”

A few weeks later, things began to change even more.

D introduced Danny to a small group of other queer students. They met in the library after school, a small but tight-knit group of people who had each come to understand their own identities in different ways. Some were out, some were still figuring it out, but there was a sense of camaraderie, of solidarity.

Danny still felt like he was stepping carefully, uncertain where he fit, but he was more willing to open up. D had made it clear that there was no rush, no pressure. It was a space for self-discovery, for learning, for being.

One of the students in the group, Lila, was a few years older and openly bisexual. She became one of Danny’s confidants, explaining how she’d struggled with similar fears and doubts, but had eventually learned to embrace the fluidity of her identity.

“It’s not about being one thing or the other,” she told him one afternoon while they all sat in a circle. “It’s about finding the space in between, and knowing that wherever you are is okay.”

Danny felt a sense of peace when she said that. The idea that he didn’t have to fit into any one box, that he could just be Danny, no qualifiers needed—was liberating.

One Friday afternoon, after meeting with D and Lila at the library, Danny found himself standing in front of the mirror at home, staring at his reflection.

He had started the day feeling unsure—unsure about himself, unsure about the words he wanted to say—but now, looking at himself, he felt something new.

He wasn’t finished. He wasn’t perfect.

But maybe he didn’t need to be.

Chapter Six — Unspoken

The first time Danny kissed Andrew, it wasn’t planned.

It wasn’t dramatic or sweeping. There were no fireworks, no grand declarations. It was just… quiet. Like the air between them had shifted, and their closeness had morphed into something that neither of them could quite define.

They were sitting on Andrew’s bed, flipping through old comic books and listening to music. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the floor. It was a lazy, typical afternoon. The kind they’d had countless times before.

But this time, there was something different about it. An electric hum in the air. Something unspoken, like a thread between them that had slowly pulled taut.

Danny had been staring at Andrew for longer than usual, watching the way his fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the book, the way his lips pressed together when he was deep in thought. Andrew looked up, and their eyes met. For a moment, it felt like the world slowed down, like there was no one else but the two of them.

“What?” Andrew asked, his voice soft, a little confused.

Danny opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. How could he explain it when he barely understood it himself?

Instead, without thinking, Danny leaned forward and kissed Andrew. Just a gentle brush of lips—a soft, brief contact that sent a shock of warmth through Danny’s chest.

He pulled away immediately, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his heart pounding. “I didn’t mean—”

Andrew was frozen for a moment, eyes wide, and then slowly, he reached up, touching his lips with his fingers, almost as if he were confirming that it had really happened.

Danny scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I—”

But Andrew’s voice stopped him.

“Danny,” he said, calm but unsure. “It’s okay. I—I don’t know what that was, either. But…” He hesitated, looking up at Danny with something that was both vulnerable and searching. “I’m glad it was you.”

Danny’s chest tightened at the words. He wanted to say something, anything, to explain what was going on inside him, but everything felt tangled. It was easier to keep quiet, to hold the space between them like a delicate thread.

Andrew sat up, eyes searching Danny’s face. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Danny nodded, but inside, he was a whirlwind. His heart beat faster than he thought was possible, and he felt dizzy in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement or fear, but he knew something had shifted—something important.

“I think I’m figuring it out,” Danny whispered.

Andrew looked at him for a long moment, his expression soft. “Figuring what out?”

Danny didn’t know how to put it into words. He didn’t know how to explain it—how Andrew made him feel in a way no one else did. How their bond felt like more than just friendship, more than something he could easily label.

“Everything,” Danny said finally. “Who I am. What I feel.”

That night, Danny lay awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over in his head. His mind was racing. The kiss had been everything and nothing at once—just a moment, yet it had changed everything between them.

He thought about how Andrew had looked at him afterward—like he was still trying to figure out what that moment meant. And Danny realized that maybe he wasn’t the only one unsure. Maybe Andrew, too, was piecing together what their friendship was becoming.

The next day, at school, things felt… different. Not in a bad way, but there was a weight to the air between them, a silence that hung in the spaces where there used to be ease. They still hung out like they always did—meeting after school to walk home, sharing headphones, making each other laugh—but something was unspoken. Both of them were tiptoeing around it.

At lunch, as they sat at their usual table, Danny picked at his food, not really hungry.

“So…” Andrew said finally, his voice hesitant. “Last night…”

Danny looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

Andrew shrugged, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “I just… I guess I wanted to say that I don’t know what that meant, but I’m okay with it. I just need to know if you’re okay with it.”

Danny’s heart raced again. The simplicity of Andrew’s words caught him off guard. It wasn’t an apology or an accusation. Just a question. Just a statement that they were both figuring this out together.

“I am,” Danny said softly. “I think I’ve been figuring it out for a while.”

Andrew nodded slowly, as if taking it all in. Then he smiled, that easy, familiar smile that Danny had always loved. “Good. Me too.”

They ate the rest of their lunch in comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts, but the air between them felt lighter now. Less tense. Like a weight had been lifted, even if neither of them had all the answers yet.

Later that afternoon, after school, they ended up back at Andrew’s house. This time, though, Danny wasn’t sure if things would go back to normal or if they would take another step forward. Maybe they didn’t have to have it all figured out right away.

As they sat side by side on Andrew’s bed, the weight of the earlier conversation still lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like something was finally shifting inside Danny—like he was beginning to come to terms with the fact that he didn’t have to have all the answers. That maybe he wasn’t as lost as he’d once thought. That maybe the person who had been there all along—the person he had grown closest to—wasn’t just his best friend anymore.

“Do you think we’re allowed to take our time with this?” Danny asked, his voice soft.

Andrew turned to look at him, his expression warm and patient. “Of course we are. We don’t have to rush anything.”

Danny nodded, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. Maybe they didn’t need all the answers. Maybe the best part of their relationship was the fact that they didn’t need to define it right now. Not everything had to have a label or a finish line.

For the first time in a long time, Danny felt like he could finally take a deep breath.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Chapter Seven — Redefining Us

The air between Danny and Andrew was thick with questions. Neither of them had really talked about what had happened the night before—the kiss that had neither been planned nor expected. But it had been there, unspoken, hanging in the quiet spaces between them.

Danny couldn’t stop thinking about it. He kept replaying it in his mind, wondering if it had meant something. If it had meant more than just a fleeting, impulsive gesture. His heart raced every time he thought about it, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed, irrevocably, between them.

But what was it? What did it mean?

He wasn’t sure about anything yet. He still didn’t have all the answers. Sometimes, it felt like he was still figuring out who he was, who he wanted to be, who he loved.

What did it mean to love someone? What did it mean to be in love?

And what if that person was Andrew? His best friend. The one who had been there for him through everything—the good, the bad, the quiet moments, and the loud ones.

It was Saturday, and the sun was warm on the meadow, casting long shadows on the ground as they walked side by side. The air smelled of wet grass and fresh earth, and the sounds of birds and wind felt strangely comforting.

Danny wasn’t sure why he suggested the walk. Maybe it was the pressure of the unspoken words between them. Maybe it was because, in the past, when they needed to talk, this was where they always came—out here, away from everyone, where everything felt simpler.

They didn’t talk much as they walked. There was an unspoken understanding between them that the silence was okay—that the words could wait. But Danny could feel Andrew’s presence, close enough that he could almost hear Andrew’s thoughts.

Finally, as they reached the old oak tree near the edge of the meadow, Danny stopped. He didn’t know why he stopped. Maybe because he felt like the moment had come. The moment when everything would finally shift.

“Andrew,” Danny said quietly, his voice steady but carrying the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “About last night…”

Andrew turned to face him, his eyes calm and patient, like he’d been waiting for this. “Yeah?”

Danny swallowed, his throat dry. He looked down at the ground, unsure of how to start. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, exactly. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Andrew stayed silent, giving him space.

“I’m still figuring out who I am,” Danny continued. “I don’t have it all figured out. I don’t have a label or a perfect definition for myself yet. But when you… when you kissed me back last night…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I felt something, Andrew. Something real. I don’t know what it means, but I can’t ignore it.”

Andrew’s face softened. “Danny, you don’t have to have all the answers right now. You’re allowed to take your time. You’re not alone in this.”

Danny’s eyes met Andrew’s, and for the first time, he saw something in Andrew’s gaze that made his heart flutter. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t impatience. It was understanding. Patience. Support.

“I think… I think I might be falling for you,” Danny said, the words coming out in a rush, but somehow still feeling like the most natural thing in the world. “And I’m scared, Andrew. I don’t know if that’s okay. I don’t know if it’s right. But it feels right. Does that make sense?”

Andrew stepped closer, his smile small but real. “Yeah, it makes sense. I’ve known for a while, Danny. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to figure it out all at once.”

Danny looked up at him, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He didn’t need to have everything figured out. He didn’t need to be perfect. He just needed to be himself, to take his time, and to trust Andrew.

“Are you… okay with it?” Danny asked, voice barely above a whisper, still uncertain.

Andrew took a deep breath, his hand brushing against Danny’s. “Of course I am. I’ve been waiting for you to get here. You’re my best friend. And if something more happens between us, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat. He felt a warmth spread through his chest—a warmth that wasn’t just from the sun, but from something deeper, something unspoken, yet understood.

Without thinking, Danny took a step forward, his hand gently finding Andrew’s.

“Can we just…” Danny trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The way Andrew looked at him, the way their fingers intertwined, said everything.

Andrew nodded. “Yeah. Just this.”

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, they kissed again. This time, it was slow and gentle, as if they were both savoring the moment. There were no grand declarations. No fireworks. Just the simple, quiet connection of two people learning what it meant to be something more than what they had been.

When they pulled apart, neither of them spoke for a moment, but the air between them was no longer heavy with questions. It was filled with something new—a kind of understanding, a quiet certainty.

“I think I’m ready,” Danny whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “To be with you. To figure this out.”

Andrew smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Danny’s face. “You don’t have to figure it all out, Danny. I’m just happy you’re with me. Right now. Right here.”

As they sat down under the oak tree, hands still intertwined, Danny realized that maybe he didn’t need all the answers. Maybe the only thing that mattered right now was that he was with Andrew. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Chapter Eight — Facing the World Together

The days following that afternoon in the meadow felt different—lighter, somehow. For the first time in a long time, Danny found himself walking through school with a new sense of confidence. It wasn’t about being out to everyone, not yet. But there was something quietly empowering in the way he carried himself now, something that told him he was no longer hiding from himself.

And Andrew was with him every step of the way, his presence a steady source of comfort and strength.

They sat together at lunch, like they always had, but now the casual touches—his hand brushing against Andrew’s as they reached for their food, the way Andrew’s arm would rest lightly against Danny’s—felt different. There was a softness to it, an intimacy that hadn’t been there before.

Danny could feel the shift. The way Andrew’s smile made his heart race, the way his words felt like a promise. It wasn’t just friendship anymore. It was something more. Something deep and real, and though Danny wasn’t sure how to name it yet, he knew it was important.

But despite the warmth that grew between them, things weren’t all smooth sailing.

It was Friday afternoon, and they were walking home from school when they were stopped by a group of students they’d known for years—some of Andrew’s friends from drama club. Danny was still getting used to the new dynamic of their relationship, and the idea of people knowing about them felt both thrilling and terrifying.

“Hey, Andrew!” one of the guys, Zach, called out. He was the lead in the school’s upcoming play, and he was friendly, always the loudest voice in the group. “Got a minute?”

Andrew glanced at Danny, and there was a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Danny’s chest tightened, and he felt a rush of nerves. But Andrew nodded, stepping forward.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Andrew asked, his voice steady.

Zach hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking from Andrew to Danny. “We were just wondering…” He seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that you two are hanging out a lot these days. You know, since the kiss last week… Is it official or what?”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected them to bring it up so directly. He didn’t know what to say. Was it official? What did that even mean?

Andrew, however, was unfazed. He leaned back slightly, his smile easy and confident. “Yeah, we’re figuring things out. No big deal.” His voice was calm, but there was a hint of defensiveness in it that Danny hadn’t heard before.

“Cool, cool,” Zach said with a wink. “I guess I’m just asking because people are starting to talk, you know? High school’s a little… unpredictable with stuff like this.”

Danny shifted uncomfortably. “Talk?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice steady.

Zach shrugged, clearly trying to be casual about it. “Nothing bad, just people noticing, you know? It’s all good, just don’t let it get to you. People are curious, that’s all.”

Danny’s stomach churned. The weight of it—the idea of people talking, gossiping—settled like a stone in his chest.

“I’m not worried about it,” Andrew said, squeezing Danny’s hand. “We’re fine. But thanks for the heads-up, Zach.”

Zach nodded and smiled. “No problem, man. Just wanted to make sure you two were good.”

As they walked away, Danny felt a rush of mixed emotions. On one hand, he was grateful for Andrew’s calm response. On the other, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were going to change. Maybe not for the better. Not immediately, at least.

Later that evening, Danny found himself sitting in the living room, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the encounter. He was scrolling through his phone when Andrew called.

“Hey,” Danny answered, his voice hesitant. “You okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” Andrew said, his tone softer than usual. “I know that was weird. I didn’t mean for it to be uncomfortable.”

Danny exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know. It’s just… strange. Like, I know we’re still figuring things out, but I don’t want to feel like I’m on display for everyone.”

Andrew was silent for a moment. “I get it. I do. It’s not easy being out in high school. It’s tough for everyone. But you know you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, right?”

Danny nodded, even though Andrew couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I know. I just don’t know if I’m ready for the whole world to know about us.”

“And you don’t have to be,” Andrew reassured him. “We’ll take it slow. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

The words felt like a balm to Danny’s anxious mind. He appreciated that Andrew understood, that he wasn’t rushing him into anything. They were doing this on their terms, at their own pace.

A week later, the tension that Danny had felt began to ease, but things still weren’t back to “normal.” Some of Andrew’s friends were supportive, others were a little more distant. And some people in school started whispering when they passed by, eyes flicking to Danny and Andrew as if trying to figure out what was going on.

It didn’t help that the school’s gossip mill was relentless. People always had something to say about others’ lives, especially when it came to relationships. But Danny and Andrew were more solid than anyone gave them credit for.

One afternoon, Danny was standing by his locker when he overheard a conversation between two students, gossiping about the “gay couple” that had suddenly appeared at school. He felt his cheeks flush, his stomach knotting as he tried to pretend like he hadn’t heard. But when he turned to walk away, he almost collided with Andrew, who had been standing quietly behind him.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Did you hear that?”

Danny bit his lip. “Yeah. It’s… a little much, right?”

Andrew smiled, his hand finding Danny’s. “Don’t worry about it. They can talk all they want. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I guess,” Danny muttered, but the unease was still there, gnawing at him.

Andrew squeezed his hand gently, a reminder that they weren’t alone in this. That together, they could face whatever came their way.

“I’m proud of you,” Andrew said quietly. “For being you. You’re stronger than you think.”

Danny met his gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m proud of us. We’re doing this.”

And for the first time, Danny truly believed it. They were doing this. Together.

Chapter Nine — The Weight of the World

It was a Monday morning when Danny stepped into school for the first time since coming out as queer.

He hadn’t expected a parade or confetti, but he hadn’t expected this, either.

The whispers, the side-eye glances, the stares—they were louder than any words he could have heard. He’d been getting them for days, since he’d posted the simple message on social media: “I’m queer. No labels. Just me.”

It had felt freeing when he typed it out. Like for the first time in his life, he was saying something true to himself. The “labels” thing had never felt right—he wasn’t gay, or bi, or pan. He was still learning, still figuring it out. He didn’t need a category to fit into. He was just queer, and that had to be enough.

But the world didn’t see it that way.

Some people congratulated him—mostly Andrew’s friends and a few people from the LGBTQ+ group at school. They told him how brave he was. How much of an inspiration he was for being honest. But the others—those who had always been indifferent or even slightly hostile—they didn’t understand. And they made sure he knew it.

At lunch, Danny sat with Andrew at their usual spot. But this time, the usual laughter, the comfortable silences between bites of food, felt off. His mind kept racing, replaying the things people had said about him. His stomach churned. He didn’t want to eat. Not right now. Maybe not ever again.

“What’s up?” Andrew asked, raising an eyebrow as Danny pushed his food around on his tray.

Danny forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just not hungry.”

Andrew looked at him for a long moment. “You don’t look fine.”

Danny looked down at the half-empty tray and nodded. “I’m just… still adjusting. That’s all.”

But Andrew didn’t buy it. He knew Danny too well. He could see the way Danny’s shoulders were slumped, the way his eyes seemed unfocused, distant.

It wasn’t just the comments in the halls, though. It wasn’t just the slurs people muttered when they thought he couldn’t hear. It was the weight of everything. The pressure of trying to be something he wasn’t ready to be yet. The pressure of having to become something in the eyes of everyone else.

It was when he looked at himself in the mirror that he started seeing things differently. He didn’t like what he saw. His face had gotten thinner. He didn’t have the same spark in his eyes. His clothes, once loose and comfortable, now hung on him like a sad reminder of how much he’d shrunk in the past week.

Danny had always been a little self-conscious about his body—who wasn’t? But now, it seemed like the weight of everyone else’s judgment was physically manifesting. Every bite of food felt like a betrayal, a weakness he couldn’t afford. Every time he ate, it was like adding an extra burden to his already fragile state.

By the time they got home that evening, Danny was exhausted. He hadn’t eaten much, if anything, during the day, but he’d spent all of it trying to hold himself together. Trying not to let the comments and the whispers get to him.

As soon as he stepped into the house, he collapsed on the couch, his head buried in his hands.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered to himself, as if the admission could somehow lighten the burden.

But the exhaustion wasn’t just mental. It was physical, too. His body ached—his bones felt hollow, like they couldn’t hold him anymore. Every muscle, every joint, seemed to scream in protest when he tried to move. But he didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to feel. The world felt like it was crushing him, and the only control he had left was over how much he consumed.

He didn’t even realize how deep he was sinking into the pattern until Andrew came over later that night. He knocked softly on Danny’s bedroom door and then stepped in without waiting for an answer.

“Danny?” Andrew’s voice was gentle, but firm, like he knew something was wrong but wasn’t sure how to help yet.

Danny sat up, wiping his eyes quickly. He hadn’t expected Andrew to come over, but his heart twisted with relief. Andrew’s presence always felt like home.

Andrew walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning Danny’s face.

“Something’s wrong,” Andrew said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can tell.”

Danny opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His throat felt tight. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to face what was happening to him.

“Danny,” Andrew continued, his voice soft but insistent, “You’re not okay. And I know it’s been hard, but you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m fine,” Danny lied, shaking his head. “I’m just… tired. I’ll be fine.”

But Andrew didn’t back down. He reached out, taking Danny’s hand in his, his fingers warm and steady against Danny’s cold skin.

“No, you’re not fine, and I’m not going to pretend like you are,” Andrew said, his voice breaking the silence. “I can see it. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. You’re…” Andrew hesitated, swallowing hard. “You’re hurting yourself, and I don’t know how to help if you won’t let me.”

Danny blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Andrew interrupted gently. “You are. And it’s okay to admit it. But you have to let me help you.”

Tears welled up in Danny’s eyes. He didn’t want to break down. He didn’t want to be weak, but the pressure was suffocating. He could feel the tears coming, and before he could stop it, they spilled over, rolling down his cheeks in a slow, silent stream.

“I don’t know what to do,” Danny whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m just… so tired of all the hate. Of being who I am. I don’t know how to keep going like this.”

Andrew pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around Danny like he could shield him from everything.

“You don’t have to keep going like this,” Andrew whispered into Danny’s hair. “We’ll figure it out. Together. But you have to trust me. You have to let me help you.”

The next few days were hard. Danny didn’t magically heal, but with Andrew’s constant support, he started taking small steps toward recovery. He’d eat a little more at lunch, forcing himself to put food into his body, even when the voices in his head told him he didn’t deserve it.

He still didn’t have all the answers. He still wasn’t sure who he was in the eyes of the world. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t alone in the fight.

Chapter Ten — Out of the Shadows

The days following Danny’s post about being queer without a label were filled with a kind of silence that rattled him. The rumors were quieter, but the isolation still stung. He was spending more and more time at home, and every moment at school felt like a tightrope walk.

But one day, everything shifted.

It was during a third-period English class when Mr. Vargas, a newer teacher who had always been quietly kind to Danny, asked him to stay after class. Danny’s heart skipped as he lingered by his desk, unsure of what was about to happen. He couldn’t remember if he’d done something wrong, but the concerned look on Mr. Vargas’s face left him uneasy.

“Danny,” Mr. Vargas said, pushing up his glasses. “I wanted to check in on you. I know it’s been a tough couple of weeks, and I’ve noticed you’ve been… different.”

Danny swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. He had no intention of sharing anything with a teacher, let alone someone he didn’t know well. But something in Mr. Vargas’s gaze, soft but firm, made him pause.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Mr. Vargas added gently. “I’m part of the LGBTQ+ community. I’ve been where you are.”

Danny’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized Mr. Vargas was queer. He hadn’t even noticed the little rainbow pin on his lapel. The idea of being seen—truly seen—by someone who understood made Danny’s chest tighten.

“You… you’re queer?” Danny asked, his voice small.

Mr. Vargas chuckled lightly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m queer. And I’m not here to push you to talk if you don’t want to, but I just want you to know you’re not alone. If you ever need to talk, or just need someone to listen, I’m here.”

Danny stared at him, fighting the urge to tear up. No one had ever spoken to him like this. Sure, Andrew was always there, but this was different. This was someone who had lived through the confusion, the isolation, the pain—and survived.

“I… I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Danny admitted quietly, eyes downcast. “I just… I’m not sure where I fit in.”

“Don’t worry about fitting in,” Mr. Vargas said, his voice warm. “There’s no one way to be queer. You don’t have to define yourself until you’re ready, and even then, you don’t have to follow anyone else’s rules.”

Danny nodded slowly, the words sinking in. It felt like a small relief, a crack in the wall he’d been building around himself.

Later that week, Andrew invited Danny to come over after school, as usual. But this time, there was a surprise waiting for him.

“Hey,” Andrew greeted him at the door. “Come in! D’s here today.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. D was Andrew’s best friend from the LGBTQ+ club, someone who had been part of their circle for a while now but hadn’t hung out much with Danny. D had always been open about being non-binary, but Danny had never really had a chance to get to know them.

“D?” Danny asked as he stepped inside.

“Yeah, they’re here today,” Andrew confirmed. “They’ve been wanting to meet you for a while. And—well, their partner’s coming over later too.”

Danny followed Andrew into the living room, where D was already sitting with a book in hand, looking comfortable and relaxed, as though they’d always been part of the group. Their presence immediately gave the room a new energy.

“Hey, Danny!” D waved, their voice light and friendly. “Nice to finally hang out outside of the club.”

“Hey,” Danny said, a little awkwardly, but he gave them a smile. “I didn’t know you were here today.”

“Well, I was hoping we could all hang out,” D replied with a grin, tossing their book aside. “I’m glad you’re here. Andrew’s talked about you a lot.”

Andrew rolled his eyes playfully. “Only the good stuff, I promise.”

D laughed, and Danny felt a little more at ease. It was strange but nice to be welcomed so openly by D. Their easygoing nature helped Danny feel like they weren’t here to judge him, just to be part of something.

As they sat around the living room, laughing and talking about everything from music to books to random topics, Danny began to feel a sense of normalcy again. It was a feeling he hadn’t realized he’d missed—being around friends without constantly worrying about what people thought of him.

Soon, there was a knock on the door.

“That must be Eli,” D said, standing up and making their way to the door. “My partner.”

When they opened the door, Danny’s eyes widened. Eli was a tall, confident person with a warm smile and a style that seemed effortlessly cool. They greeted everyone warmly, and it didn’t take long before they were deep in conversation, joining the group as though they had always been there.

Danny couldn’t help but notice how easy and natural it all seemed—how D and Eli were comfortable with themselves and with each other. He’d never really had a chance to see what a healthy relationship looked like from the inside, and it was comforting in a way that made him feel like there was hope for his own future.

As the night went on, they played games and watched movies, but the most memorable part for Danny was the conversation that happened later, when the group had gathered in the kitchen to grab some snacks.

“You doing okay, Danny?” D asked, leaning against the counter. “You’ve been a little quiet.”

Danny hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… just thinking a lot, I guess.”

D gave him a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. We all get there in our own time.”

Eli, who had been listening quietly, added, “You know, labels are great, but they’re not everything. You don’t have to define yourself to anyone but you.”

Andrew, who had been sitting nearby, gave Danny a reassuring smile. “And when you’re ready, we’re all here for you. You’re not alone in this.”

Chapter 11 – "Unspoken Labels"

Danny wasn’t sure why it bothered him, but the more time he spent with Andrew, the more he couldn’t ignore it—the question that was hanging between them. What were they?

It wasn’t just about identity—though Danny was still figuring out what exactly that meant for him. It was about their relationship, the thing that was slowly, but surely, shifting into something more. They weren’t just friends anymore. But neither of them had said anything about it—neither of them had spoken the words that could define what was happening.

Danny couldn’t help but notice how their moments together felt different. There was a soft tension between them that hadn’t been there before—a quiet, unspoken intimacy that seemed to fill every silence.

One afternoon, they were walking home from school together. The sun had begun to set, casting a soft orange light over the sidewalk as they walked side by side.

“You know,” Andrew began, breaking the silence, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said before. About not needing a label.”

Danny glanced at him, a little taken aback. They’d talked about it before, but Andrew hadn’t brought it up since. “Yeah? What about it?”

“Well,” Andrew said, kicking a small rock down the street, “I guess I was just wondering… are we something? I mean… you and me.”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat. The question had been building in the air for weeks, but hearing Andrew say it out loud felt like an unspoken truth that neither of them had been willing to confront.

“I don’t know,” Danny admitted, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what we are. I mean, I know we’re not just friends, but… I’m not ready to put a label on it. Not yet.”

Andrew stopped walking for a moment, looking at Danny with an expression that was both curious and understanding. “It’s okay if you don’t want to put a label on it. I’m not saying we have to do that. I just… I think I’m trying to understand where we stand, you know?”

Danny’s chest tightened. He had been avoiding the conversation because he was afraid of where it might go. He wasn’t ready to define it, not even to himself. What if he couldn’t fit himself into a specific box? What if the label didn’t make sense for him? What if it ruined things with Andrew?

“I just… I don’t want you to think I’m confused about you,” Danny said, his voice wavering slightly. “I’m not confused about you—I’m just not sure where I fit in. With all of this. With me. And with us.”

Andrew nodded slowly, the understanding clear in his eyes. “I get that,” he said. “You don’t have to have everything figured out. Hell, I don’t even have all the answers. I just want to be with you, Danny. Whatever that looks like, label or not.”

Danny swallowed, trying to process what Andrew was saying. The weight of Andrew’s words—the reassurance, the simplicity of it—made him feel a little lighter. But there was still a part of him that held back, still a part of him that needed time. And that was okay, wasn’t it?

“I’m just not sure if I’m ready to… label myself as anything,” Danny continued. “I mean, I’m not gay, I don’t think I’m bi… I don’t even know if I’m pan. I’m just… queer? I guess. And I don’t want to rush anything, or make things weird with you.”

Andrew smiled softly, his hand brushing Danny’s arm briefly. “Danny, you don’t need to put a label on yourself just because you’re with me. You’re Danny, and that’s all that matters to me. I’m not looking for labels—I’m just looking for you.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Danny felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t have to fit into a box. He didn’t have to be anything other than himself, whatever that was.

Later that evening, they ended up at Andrew’s house, sitting on his bed with music playing softly in the background. The conversation shifted toward the complexities of identity again, as Andrew opened up a little more.

“You know,” Andrew began casually, “I’ve been out for a while now. But when I first started figuring things out, it was just as messy as what you’re feeling now. It wasn’t easy.”

Danny nodded, listening intently. He’d known Andrew was out, but hearing it from his perspective was different. Andrew had gone through his own process of figuring things out—and even though Andrew was comfortable with who he was, it didn’t mean everything had been clear-cut for him either.

“I had to come out to my parents, to my friends, and it took time for me to realize I wasn’t just… what society expected me to be,” Andrew continued. “I didn’t want to just fit into someone else’s idea of what being gay looked like. It took me a long time to feel comfortable saying I was gay and to claim that label.”

Danny thought about that for a moment. He was still in the middle of his journey, still unsure of what it all meant. But hearing Andrew’s perspective helped him realize something: labels weren’t necessarily meant to define you—they were meant to give you space to grow. If he didn’t have one yet, that was okay.

“What if… what if I’m not ready to label us?” Danny asked, voicing his worry again. “What if I’m just not there yet?”

Andrew took a deep breath. “Then we don’t label it. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. We can just… be.”

Danny smiled, a wave of relief flooding through him. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I think I can handle that.”

That weekend, the group gathered at D’s place for a quiet hangout. Eli had made homemade pizza, and D had brought out a few games. As the night went on, the topic of labels came up again—this time, more casually, as the group shared their own experiences.

“I don’t even know if I’m a ‘real’ queer person,” D said, fiddling with the edge of their hoodie. “Like, I don’t want to be that person who says they’re queer but doesn’t fit into the ‘expected’ box. It’s all so confusing sometimes.”

Eli smiled, placing a hand on D’s shoulder. “Who says you need to fit into any box? You’re queer, and that’s more than enough.”

Danny listened closely, feeling a bit lighter. Maybe he didn’t need to figure it all out right now. Maybe, for once, he could just exist without the pressure of labels—and still be valid.

Chapter 12 – "Unraveling the Layers"

Danny stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. The soft light from his lamp cast a warm glow over the room, but all he could focus on was the image in the glass. He touched the back of his neck absentmindedly, feeling the familiar weight of his hair against his skin, and the soft contours of his face.

He had always been Danny, always the "guy" in every situation—at school, with his family, with friends. It felt normal. Comfortable, even. But tonight, something felt different. There was a sense of disconnect that Danny couldn’t quite place, like he wasn’t looking at the person he truly was.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and the feeling of it against his fingertips didn’t feel the same. The way the world saw him, the way people called him a guy—did it really match who he was on the inside? Or was it just a part of the way the world had told him he was supposed to be?

His mind wandered, and before he could stop himself, the words he'd been too afraid to ask bubbled to the surface: Who am I?

Danny hadn’t given much thought to his gender identity, not until recently. His journey with figuring out his sexual identity had been messy and complicated, but it had also felt natural in the end. He was queer—he had accepted that, no problem. But gender? That was a whole different story. What did it mean to be a guy? Did it even matter to him?

He had always thought he was just like everyone else. A boy. A guy. But now, standing here, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was more complicated than that. Maybe he didn’t feel like he fit the mold. Or maybe there was more to his identity than just this label—man.

Danny wasn’t sure how to explain it. He had nothing against being a guy. But… maybe, just maybe, he didn’t feel entirely like one.

The next day at lunch, Danny sat with D and the others outside, trying to shake off the weird feeling that had lingered since last night. His mind still swirled with questions about gender, about labels, and if it was okay to ask them at all.

D seemed unusually relaxed, sipping their iced tea, their expression thoughtful.

“You ever feel like you’re just... not the thing people think you are?” D asked, looking at Danny over the rim of their cup.

Danny blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean like, I’ve been thinking a lot about gender recently,” D said, shrugging. “Like, I’ve always been this ‘girl,’ but I’ve realized I don’t feel like I fit in with the idea of being a girl. I don’t always feel like I’m ‘feminine.’ I don’t really feel ‘masculine’ either. I just feel like… me. And I’ve been questioning that. It’s freeing, but also kind of confusing at times.”

Danny swallowed, their words settling into his brain like a gentle rain. Could that be me?

“I think I get what you mean,” Danny said, unsure of how to express his own feelings. “I mean, I’ve always been ‘Danny,’ a guy. But lately, it feels like there’s something I’m not seeing about myself, like maybe I don’t fully fit the ‘guy’ thing. But… I don’t know. I don’t know what that means.”

D looked at him knowingly, their eyes kind, as if they understood exactly where Danny was coming from. “It’s okay to not know yet. You don’t have to have a label. I think the important thing is to explore how you feel, and not worry so much about fitting into some kind of box. You’re not alone in feeling this way.”

Danny nodded slowly, still absorbing what D had said. It felt like a weight had been lifted, just a little. Maybe he didn’t have to have everything figured out right now. Maybe he could just let himself be.

That evening, Danny couldn’t stop thinking about D’s words. He had spent so much time thinking about sexuality and labels—queer made sense to him, but gender? It still felt hazy.

Later that night, Danny found himself standing in his room again, staring at his closet. On impulse, he pulled out an old oversized t-shirt, paired it with a baggy flannel shirt, and threw on a pair of loose pants. The outfit wasn’t something he normally wore, but as he slipped into it, something inside him clicked.

When he looked in the mirror, he saw himself, but he also saw someone new. Someone a little different. Someone a little more comfortable. Free.

Danny took a long look at his reflection, running a hand over the loose fabric of the shirt. It didn’t feel like he was trying to perform some “guy” version of himself. For the first time, he wasn’t trying to conform to an idea of masculinity. This felt like him, like a side of him that was always there but had been hidden away.

But then the doubt crept in, like a shadow. What would Andrew think? What would his friends think? Would they even understand?

He shook his head, staring at his reflection one last time. It felt good, but the fear of judgment was still there. Maybe next time.

The following day, after school, Danny found himself at Andrew’s house, sitting on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. They had been hanging out for a while, listening to music, but Danny couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to talk.

“Andrew,” Danny said, his voice almost too quiet. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Andrew, who had been absorbed in his music, turned to face him. “Of course, what’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking about… gender.” Danny’s heart was pounding. It felt weird to even say it out loud. “I’m not really sure if I fit into the ‘guy’ thing. Like, I know I’ve always been Danny, and that’s just how people see me. But lately, I’m not so sure it feels right. I don’t feel like I fit into the idea of being a guy, but I don’t know if I feel like anything else either.”

Andrew listened intently, his gaze soft and understanding. After a long pause, he spoke.

“Danny, I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but it’s okay. You don’t have to fit into a mold. Gender isn’t something that’s one-size-fits-all. I think… I think it’s okay for you to question it. You don’t have to define yourself right away.”

Danny looked at him, searching his face for any sign of judgment, but found only compassion. “I don’t know what I want yet, Andrew. I just know I don’t want to be stuck with one label. I don’t want to have to fit into the ‘guy’ box if it’s not what feels right.”

Andrew reached out, placing his hand on Danny’s shoulder in a comforting way. “Danny, whatever you decide, you’re still you. If you want to take your time figuring things out, that’s okay. Labels don’t have to define us. We define who we are.”

Danny felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had been so afraid of disappointing Andrew, or of Andrew thinking that this was just a phase, but Andrew’s words calmed him.

The next afternoon, Danny stayed after school to speak with Mr. Vargas, the teacher who had been supportive when Danny first came out. He had always admired Mr. Vargas’s openness and wisdom.

“Mr. Vargas,” Danny began, his voice shaky, “I’ve been thinking a lot about gender. I mean, I know I identify as queer, but when it comes to gender… I’m not sure where I fit. I don’t feel like a ‘guy,’ but I don’t know if I feel like anything else either.”

Mr. Vargas smiled gently, the kind of smile that told Danny he wasn’t alone in his questioning.

“You know, Danny,” Mr. Vargas began, “you don’t have to know everything right now. Gender can be just as fluid and evolving as sexuality. It’s okay to question it, and it’s okay to not have all the answers. Labels don’t have to be definitive; you are still you, no matter how you identify.”

Danny exhaled, feeling lighter. “So, I don’t have to have everything figured out today?”

“Not at all. Take your time. Gender is a part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you in a way that feels limiting.”

As Danny walked home that evening, the weight that had been pressing on his chest seemed a little easier to bear. He still didn’t know exactly what his gender identity would look like, but he didn’t have to figure it out today.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could just be. And that was enough.

#artists on tumblr #bookworm #andy writes

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trafalgalar · 1 month ago

Text

Character Analysis: Carl Tanner from Whiplash

I wrote this a couple of months ago. Enjoy...

Do you guys remember in the movie, how the camera shifts to Carl when Fletcher says to Andrew, "The only reason you are a fucking core is because you misplaced a folder."

But oh man how I wish we were given the context.

*Long essay diving into Carl's character/journey, and a bit into Fletcher's and Andrew's incoming, bear with me*...

In the script; Carl actually "smiles" at Andrew getting roasted by Fletcher. This smiling occurs after Fletcher says "Johnny Utah" (Ryan) will be given the part, not Andrew.

After having had to endure the humiliating words Fletcher vomited at him, for example about how his father will look like a success story and all, the script says Andrew is now "beat".

Then, after seeing Carl smiling at the back, Andrew turns to Fletcher and confidently talks about it is my part and I will be the one on the stage.

The reason is, when you read the script, you can see that Andrew and Carl actually had some rivalry going on between them.

I've seen Whiplash just last week for the first time. I had heard Whiplash this, Whiplash that but I had never decided on to sit down and watch it. Then I saw the IG story of a Marine Biologist I follow named Poyraz Sinangil (he goes by the name Köjira on YT), and there was something related to Whiplash. I decided to give it a try and see what all that hype was about.

Although I remember I got real bored while watching Act I, it became my favourite movie and I'd seen more than 300 movies.

(For the record, I don't get bored while watching Act I of it anymore. And I've watched Whiplash more than 5 times already)

Why did I write this? It's because although Whiplash is my favourite movie, I still prefer its script to the masterpiece of a movie we got. Though, I admit there were some decisions made that I prefer the movie did better. Such as omitting the part during the dinner with the relatives scene where Andrew suddenly goes 🤓☝️ "In 1967 a scientist named....." 🤓☝️

It would have been better if they changed how Andrew delivered it and made it sound less nerdy, but I'm fine with how it was omitted from the movie altogether.

Though again, one of the scenes that I wish wasn't omitted was when Fletcher gives a speech to the audience, then he turns to his band and says "You guys mean the world to me, you know..." and he turns back to the audience and says he sees them as his own kids, as his family, and treats them the way his father treated him...

Anyways, now back to Carl vs Andrew rivalry, we got a couple of scenes in the script that was necessary to understand what was going on between them that Carl smiling after hearing Andrew won't get a chance to play, made Andrew even more determined that he will be the one playing on the stage, not that "Johnny Utah" (Ryan).

After the lost folder incident, we all know Andrew got to play instead of Carl. Upon this, Carl even lost the core drummer position.

The script says Carl was "burning holes with his eyes" while sitting behind Andrew who was playing the drums. I think the actor, Nate Lang, conveyed this very good during that scene even though he wasn't on the focus of the camera but still, it didn't feel like a rivalry so passionate. Until I read the script, I wasn't even feeling like there was even a rivalry between the two.

When Andrew was at the bus, while watching a Buddy Rich video, he got a text from Nicole and this was also in the movie. However, the movie decided not to let us hear the crucial voice message Carl had sent to Andrew at that exact time.

It goes as this:

"Neiman... You lost that folder on purpose. You *knew* I didn't know the chart by heart... *Answer* me... I've been core for *two years*. I've been drumming since I was three. I *earned* my spot you asshol-"

Then Andrew just hangs up.

Why was this crucial?, you may ask. Because right after Fletcher's speech to the audience is over after the band was done playing and winning after the lost folder incident, it was revealed that it was indeed because of a janitor that the folder was lost.*

Meaning it was pointless for Carl to even doubt Andrew and send that voice message.

But he did.

Carl saw Andrew as a threat. I'll explain it further.

*: It is not 100% certain if it was because of a janitor. The stage hand who approaches Carl and Andrew says, "I think".

It could have happened because of Fletcher as many people say. Fletcher might have hid it and test Carl's confidence to see if he would be OK playing without the chart, to see if Carl could be the next Buddy Rich/Charlie Parker...

It was *the* turning point for Carl and also for Andrew as well...

After losing the position as the core drummer, the script says these:

"Finally, Carl slides off, stunned, as Andrew takes his place... And, calmy tossing this off even though he knows how much it hurts..."

Right after this scene, the "hurt" Carl sends that voice message.

We had read that Carl's reaction to the reveal of the lost folder was only looking behind at Andrew. I wish we got more reaction from him though, to fully understand why he still doubted Andrew and continued to bash at him.

Why could it be? He didn't want to feel like he was at the fault for blaming Andrew?

We read that Carl graps a band member and says "Neiman lost my folder" to which the grapped member says, "Serious? Fletcher's going to *flip*."

We knew this too because Fletcher literally said he will stop being so polite if he sees one of those folders lying around unattended again.

And what happened to that folder? It was left unattended when Andrew decided to get some coke.

Also, before the second set, we read a quite annoyed Carl while playing. In the movie, these interactions were rushed and it was before the actual playing began. We only got to watch the band play, no words, anything.

Carl to Andrew:

"Stick Bag."

...

"Hurry Up."

...

"Hurry Up."

...

"*Page*".

"Damnit..."

Then, Fletcher approaches and whispers:

"Get it together, Tanner, I swear to God."

We read that Carl is "pissed" at Andrew.

This makes me wonder, how in the *flying fck* could Carl even think of handing the folder to Andrew?!?!? 😭🙏

He literally just witnessed Andrew wasn't helping quickly, he got a warning from Fletcher because of that exact reason,

he knew Fletcher would be angry if he saw an unattended folder and yet he handed it to Andrew, a 1st year (Freshman) student whom he most probably belittled/regarded not as high. Their first interaction is literally Carl demanding Andrew to tune the set and turn his pages. It says Carl "couldn't care less" about his name upon Andrew saying his name after Carl asked if he was the new alternate.

Now, let me write one more scene to see the rivalry between Andrew and Carl, and also to understand how Carl indeed saw Andrew as a threat that he was smiling when Fletcher scolded Andrew and told him he won't be playing on the stage.

This scene was half-omitted from the movie. I actually was about to flip when I read it. It literally *shows* you everything you need to know about the relationship and character dynamics between Carl, Andrew and Ryan.

So, Andrew gets on the stage after the car crash. Covered in blood and has broken fingers.

He tells Ryan to get off the fck1ng set. Ryan looks at Fletcher, Fletcher nods, almost smiling. It writes, "Seems he's having fun with this." 💀 Huh-

We read how much of a pain Andrew is in. He closes his eyes. "Tries to black out the anxiety... The pain... The stress that just keeps mounting and mounting..."

It writes that his ears literally started to ring and his left hand is barely keeping up.

Then his stick goes flying and slides under the hi-hat pedal.

In the movie, Andrew gets his stick by himself and so this problem is solved quickly.

It doesn't quite go like this in the script.

Andrew says "Stick..." but Carl stays still...

Andrew looks at him but Carl won't move.

Andrew panicks and turns to his old Nassau Band peer- Ryan.

Ryan at first hesitates. He doesn't want to think of himself as a saboteur. But then he looks at Carl, Carl looks back at him... and right then and there he makes his choice.

Andrew then literally begs to Ryan, says him "Please..." but neither Carl nor Ryan moves.

Then Andrew gets his stick by himself. His finger cracks and the bone is bent 90 degrees. He GASPS, almost cries out in pain.

Has to hold it in...

😭😭😭 OH MY FCK1NG GOD WHAT A SCENE WHAT A SCENE!!!! 👏👏👏

WHY WAS THIS NOT IN THE DAMN MOVIE?!?!?!

First, we see that Andrew is determined to see the good in people even though he has unintentionally and intentionally harmed them some way or another (especially after he knew he was literally seen as a saboteur in Carl's eyes because of that lost folder incident, and after he shouted at Ryan, saying fck u and to turn his pages and pushing him in front of the whole band, plus getting his place as the drummer on the stage) and still expects them to hand him his stick, is panicked when it turns out they won't budge.

We understand that Carl wants Andrew to fail (When you watch the movie that feeling isn't quite conveyed, I talked about this above. Though, I remember I read somewhere that him wearing green is a symbolism of his jealousy for Andrew, if so, that's pretty good thought of) we understand why he smiled when Andrew was told Ryan would play instead of him. (This also conveys that Ryan wasn't even deemed a competitor for Carl. This is also supported when Fletcher later says to Andrew that Ryan was just his (Andrew's) incentive. Ouch.)

We understand that Ryan actually felt bad (for his statues, not because he cared or pitied for Andrew, even though they were "old band peers". In the movie after Andrew tackles Fletcher to the ground, Ryan is one of the people seperating Andrew but in the script it writes security guards pulled him off, so we can conclude he continued to sit besides Carl), and he even considered helping but Carl manipulated (?) him into not doing so with just a look!

This also shows even though Carl didn't help Andrew and even prevented the help Andrew would possibly get, he didn't straight up sabotaged his playing.

(Most possibly) Because he had other options (aka Med School), opposite to Andrew, who literally asks "What do you mean?" when his father told him he still has other options besides jazz drumming. He just doesn't want any perspectives...

This story is such a tragedy for Carl. When Andrew asks what happened to Carl at the same scene where Fletcher says Ryan was just an incentive for him, he says Carl switched to Pre-Med. With a hint of smile, he adds, "I think he got discouraged."

Fck1ng bst/rd.

Carl was a 22 years old (meaning Senior? At his last year?) core drummer with 19 years old experience playing the drums. All his hard work paid for nothing just because this time Fletcher had found his real potential Buddy Rich/Charlie Parker and wanted him to push himself beyond his limits.

He sacrificed one student for this, played the other two like a pawn and f1cked up many others.

While talking to Andrew at the Jazz Club, he says, "... Maybe I seem to think my style is normal, but believe me, I don't."

He says this after they talk about how he got fired (?) upon how some kid exposed not so nice things about him.

So, by style, I reckon he means his teaching style.

So, that means he KNOWS what he has been doing is NOT normal. (By normal, I assume it means the ordinary/ubiquitous teaching styles, thus; the OK ones). He probably understood this when the news of his former student Sean's suicide came to him. (We know how the student had problems with anxiety and depression starting from the years when he was a student of Fletcher, so maybe Fletcher blamed himself for this?)

When Andrew confronts Fletcher after the call, it says that Fletcher was more *desperate* than angry when he got that news.

Why desperate?

BECAUSE HE LOST HIS FIRST (?) POTENTIAL CHARLIE PARKER!!!!!

HE WASN'T BLUFFING IN FRONT OF THE AUDIENCE AND THE BAND WHEN HE SAID THEY MEANT THE WORLD TO HIM!!!!

HE LITERALLY SAYS HIS AIM IS TO CREATE THE NEXT CHARLIE PARKER AND WHO'S GOING TO BE THAT? SOMEONE FROM HIS DAMN BAND!!!!!

He most probably knew Sean would do something like this, so he had already started to mold Andrew to be his next potential Charlie Parker WITHOUT changing his (teaching) style!

Andrew asks Fletcher what if the next Charlie Parker would be discouraged, there must be a line. (Most probably referring to teaching methods/style)

Fletcher answers "...The next Charlie Parker would never be discouraged."

Why do you think he smiles when he said Carl got discouraged!?!?!?!

This story.... Oh my god... The antagonist wins and creates the next Charlie Parker, his *only* Charlie Parker WITHOUT having to have changed his (teaching) style which we understand he had been doubting.

Fletcher is an antagonist with a strong flat arc. What do characters with a flat arc do? They change their world instead.

He wins, he will always think he won (as the director said) so he realizes his doubts on his (teaching) style was not necessary.

He got in the way of Carl, who gave up. Maybe he wouldn't have become the next Charlie Parker but who knows, maybe he could have become the figure that the next generation Jazz teachers would try to create; the next "Carl Tanner" they would say.... Maybe I'm exaggerating here but you got my point.

I like to think that (this is my headcanon) Carl was a better drummer but Andrew wouldn't be discouraged, Andrew also wouldn't cause Fletcher to change his (teaching) style. Look at it that way and see why Fletcher said Ryan was his (Andrew's) incentive, instead of for the both. (Andrew's and Carl's)

You may ask if Carl would ever cause Fletcher to look inwards and cause his style to change, I would answer yes. I know it seems for the past 4 years Carl was a student of Fletcher (it's not certain i think if Carl was always his student btw) and it seems there hasn't been any change in Fletcher's style (from what we hear from the lawyer lady whom Andrew and Jim talks to) but we know he became desperate and to me, almost vulnerable after hearing the suicide of his student Sean; Andrew sees Fletcher's eyes watering up. He doubted his style there.

And we know Carl was discouraged. So, Fletcher would think what has been going wrong with his students and would realise the problem was himself, his methods, his style... So maybe Carl could change him that way, opposite of Andrew who would push himself (harder) despite/due to the humiliation and anxiety he was facing and would continue to face in response to/because of Fletcher's style. Every student is motivated differently.

Oh and Andrew, our sweet Andrew... He also wins but hey- does he lose at the same time as everyone says he does?

The director said Andrew would be a sad, empty person and would die in his 30s of a drug overdose. He likens him to Charlie Parker, who had the same faith (he died aged 34, had mental health problems and was addicted to h.ro1n) but he is remembered as one of the bests. So it implies Andrew will also be remembered as one of the bests.

Although it may seem like a bittersweet or even a bad faith, wasn't this what he said he'd prefer to having lived a happy, long life but not being remembered?

Also, he was already a sad, empty person to me anyways. (Debatable, I know)

He had no social life, no friends. He thinks his relatives didn't understand him but Fletcher did (...bro💀 Also, Fletcher said to Andrew "Good job" after having a rehersal when Andrew accepted to play for his band in Act III (?). We were not sure if at the ending scene of the movie while Fletcher was smiling, he said these words or not but in the script, he did, so do whatever you wanna do with this fact.)

He dumped his girlfriend because of reasons, and he said he didn't know that man (referring to his father) when his father ran to him and the stage hand asked whether he knew that man or not. I wish this scene also could have found its place in the movie. It shows how Andrew saw the loser of a man he would have become had he not turned back on the stage and play further. (We saw some bits of how Jim was a "loser" such as him giving up on his dream of being a novelist; becoming a teacher instead, or how he said "Sorry" to the man who had bumped into his head with a popcorn bag)

And you see, he was chill lacking these social factors in his life. Although he tried to get his girl back, he didn't flip when he learned she had a new boyfriend, meaning possibly she wouldn't be coming back.

(Also, do you remember when I wrote that Andrew believed either Carl or Ryan would pass him his stick even though he was seen as a saboteur in Carl's eyes and even though he shouted fck you and said turn my pages at Ryan and pushed him and also got his place as the drummer on the stage?

It is nice to see the continuity that Andrew sees the good in people even though he has unintentionally (sometimes intentionally) harmed them some way or another. He most probably thought Nicole would give him a "second chance" even though he literally dumped him and acknowledged when Nicole said Andrew would treat her like shit and she is just some girl who doesn't know what she wants and will be forgotten.

I swear I'm not sure if Andrew is just innocent, an optimist or a fck1ng mörön.)

So, I would say that it seems our homeboy got a happy ending, even though it doesn't correlate with what I and what the overall society regards as "happy" :)

If you read this so far, thank you, and sağol. Whiplash deserves far more attention and analysis. I love everything about Whiplash and I want to add that I adore the fact that in the movie; only two brands of cymbals, both being Turkish 🇹🇷 brands, were used.

One being "Bosphorus" (the name of the strait seperating between European Istanbul and Asian Istanbul) which was used throughout the movie and the other being "Istanbul Agop" which was used only in Act III during the scenes of Caravan. (And Upswingin', of course)

It's like the placements of the brands were decided intentionally.

Throughout the movie, Andrew and Fletcher were at conflict with each other, they were seperated through conflict. There was the *Bosphorus* between them.

This peaked during this climax, the Caravan part, but right at the end, both were smiling and were happy with what they had achived. The conflict was over at the resolution. Both were happy they were "connected/not seperated", having overcome the conflict which objectively had driven both of them mad.

Thus, the Bosphorus was no more and finally, there was just the city, *Istanbul* .

Or maybe I'm just diving too much into this because of spare time. You never know.

Man.... I should have turned this shi into a video essay 😭🤣

It took me hours to write 💀

It seems I indeed have that spare time dawg 😭🙏 Whiplash deserves it ngl, it could drain all of my life energy and I'd still say thank you G

#whiplash #carltanner #andrew neiman #fletcher #movies #character analysis #drumming #musical #analysis

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