#because i complained about a friend going on about long covid

[thewomanwithmissingfingers]

Guess ill just dump it on my tumblr lol

[californiaquail]

cannot fucking wait to get this new covid vaccine shoot me tf up ‼️‼️

[lukeywritesstuff]

jack being in love with quinn’s best friend and maybe he finally gets the girl

Brothers Best Friend

Jack Hughes x Reader, Quinn Hughes x Platonic!Reader

Description: Mr. Jack Rowden is in love with his older brothers life long best friend.

Note: Jacks pov because sometimes I just like writing male pov. Also if I miss any ndtp boys ignore it there’s too many for me to remember them all 😍😍😍.

Warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, brotherly banter and fights, underage drinking, no Covid off scene sex.

Ever since we were kids Quinn has had this best friend, Y/N, ever since they met in like 2011 they’ve been best friends. They met when our babysitter brought Quinn, Luke and I to a park and since then the girls spent every day at our house after school, and since about 2014, I’ve been borderline in love with her. Her hair, her eyes, her smile, her body, her style, everything. Even things that have changed over the years due to growth and experimentation with fashion. I love it all. And yes I know. She doesn’t do it for me or any other men. But it still makes me happy to see her so confident and happy.

:-:-:-:

Fast forward to 2020, Quinn and I just bought our lake house, and us, Luke, Trevor, Cole, Matt, Alex, and Y/N have been here for a week. Since the season for us just ended we’ve just been relaxing and resting before we get partying and having fun.

The first weeks of summer consisted of me hanging out with the ndtp guys of my year, Luke with some of his friends and Quinn with Y/N, Brady and Josh. Then when we all got more comfortable within the living situations we started by bringing in alcohol and starting smaller parties with Luke only being 17 sometimes we’ll send him to our parents for a weekend because yeah I’m underage too but partying at 19 is better than partying at 17. At least I’m legal in SOME countries nearby and a legal adult too so I’m responsible for myself.

The first few parties were quite uneventful, until we decided to actually incorporate the lake and have a ‘lake party’ instead of a ‘pool party’ so when everyone showed up in swimsuits, it turned into a horny haven. This wasn’t the first time I saw Y/N in a bikini, but I guess with the alcohol in my system I had the courage to stare more and actually talk to her and get her to ‘dance’ with me.

The music was loud and sexual, her ass was against my crotch as we danced (grinded) on each other. The party was in full swing and everything just felt amazing. Until the next morning… I woke up to my arms around a naked y/n, and a massive hangover between my ears. My head pounded and my ears were ringing, but there was a gorgeous girl in my arms so I can’t complain.

:-:-:-:

Mid August, when all the partying is done, and we relax for a few weeks before going back to our respective cities where we play hockey and/or go to school. I’m sat on a devils beach chair with y/n on my lap, Luke’s on a Michigan one, Quinn’s on a Canucks one, Cole’s on a USA one and Trevor I guess bought a Ducks one for some reason and he’s on that.

:-:-:-:-:

Ever since that summer, the summer of 2020, THEE summer of 2020, i haven’t been happier. I have my dream girl, my dream job, any parents, siblings and friends are all healthy and happy with where they are in life and my life is honestly perfect right now and as I said, I can’t be happier!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨 (the more emojis the faster we get out of the covid season right? RIGHT? /lh) 🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 i continue to be so invested in this i need to see buck/shannon besties growth their dynamic is fascinating 💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐 i love lesbians 🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮 cranberry my beloved (also see above about getting through the pandemic times) ➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰ TIME LOOP YES fantastic i'll take 14 of them

Hellllooo!

We are out of covid season now for switcheroo!

30 for 🚨:

---

Eddie knows he made the right call staying home from Texas, based on how much Christopher misses Buck. It’s not exactly surprising. He and Buck are obviously really close, and Buck has been involved in one way or another since Eddie and Chris even met. They were all separated for a long time during lockdown, and Chris is just getting used to them all being back together. So, again, it makes sense that Buck leaving for special deployment to fight wildfires upsets him. Eddie just didn’t realize how profoundly he would miss him. 

“When is he coming home?” 

“How much longer?”

“Can I call him?”

The questions are frequent. Whiny. Insistent. Eddie tries to be as patient and understanding as he can with all of them. 

“Buddy, you know he’s working really hard right now. He’ll call you as soon as he can.”

Buck does call, as much as he can. He can’t speak for long when he does, and most of that time is spent speaking to Christopher. Eddie tries not to be frustrated with the monopolization of his boyfriend, with the understanding that Chris is clearly going through some anxiety about him being gone. 

Eddie figures out why one day while he’s off work, and overhears Chris speaking during online class. It’s been a bit of a rocky start to the school year. Christopher’s one teacher left to take a principal position at another school at the last minute, meaning they needed a new teacher a few weeks into the term. The new teacher is, apparently, making them all go around and introduce themselves with a brief explanation about them. When Eddie realizes this, he can’t help but pause outside his son’s door, curious to listen to what he will say. 

“Okay, Christopher,” he hears the teacher prompt. “You’re next.” 

“Okay,” Christopher says, happy to be speaking. Eddie would be nervous to talk in front of the class at that age. He’d be worried about saying something stupid. He loves that Chris is bold. “I’m Chris."

---

27 for 🔼:

Thank you! I am really excited to write them a dynamic from scratch pretty much!

---

“And the fact that I haven’t talked about any of this at all really. So, sorry you had to be first.”

Buck is quiet for a moment. 

“Uh, you don’t have anyone to talk to about all this?” He asks after a moment. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What is happening to her internal filter? The last thing she wants is Eddie angry with her because she’s complaining about her choices and their personal business to his friends. 

“Not really,” she answers. “But, hey. Forget I said anything, okay? I’m really not trying to dump on you.”

Buck shakes his head. “Seriously, Shannon, it’s fine.”

Before she can embarrass herself any further, the receptionist calls Buck for his appointment. Or, not Buck. Evan Buckley. His full name, she supposes. Maybe she spent long enough in Texas that she just assumed Buck was the whole deal. 

“Talk to you next time,” Buck smiles at her, kindly. He’s far too kind. 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Good luck in there.”

“You, too.”

She’s never been so relieved to watch someone walk away.

---

27 for 💐:

---

Mainly, though, she is caught off guard by the small bouquet of flowers in April’s hand. A delicate, sweet collection of daisies and other precious little blossoms. May’s heart stutters a little. 

“Did you bring me flowers?” May asks, breathless. 

“Yeah, of course,” April smiles. “What’s the saying?”

“What saying?” May raises an eyebrow.

“April showers bring May flowers,” April recites.

May laughs. “You are so corny.”

April shrugs, smirking. 

“Are you a rainstorm?” May asks. 

“Mm, I’m a Cancer sun,” April offers. “So, close enough?”

May laughs brightly.

“Do you like them?” April asks.

May reaches forward to take the flowers. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. Do we have a vase?”

April’s expression falls. “I didn’t even consider that.”

“Let’s look at our options,” May chuckles.

---

27 for 🦮:

---

“How soon?” Buck asks. “How soon can you come home?”

“Well, that’s the thing… Twenty seconds?” 

“What?” Buck gasps.

“I was kind of hoping to be here when Chris wakes up?” Eddie says. “I’m in the driveway.” 

“I’m in the backyard,” Buck tells him. “With Cran.”

Buck hears the sounds of Eddie getting out of the truck, shutting the door behind him. He hears it over the phone, and in the distance. Oh, shit. It’s real. He’s really here. 

“Be right there,” Eddie says.

Buck walks towards the back gate, Cranberry trotting alongside him. He sees the lock on the gate click open. His heart rate begins to soar. The gate pushes open and in steps Eddie. Eddie, dressed in jeans and an LAFD tee shirt, looking just as gorgeous as always. Except, maybe even more, because of the brilliant smile on his face. 

“Hey,” Buck exhales. 

“Hey,” Eddie replies, eyes fucking glittering.

Buck steps towards Eddie, hands shaking, unsure what he gets to do now that he can actually reach out and touch him.

---

42 for ➰:

---

“Mm, but it doesn’t really match,” Buck responds. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I think you might be too worried about a clock, Buck.”

“I’m not worried about it. It just doesn’t make sense.”

He likes things to make sense, even if only in his own logic. 

“Okay, well, we can figure out the clock or we can enjoy our day,” Eddie says. “Starting with a big breakfast?”

Buck smirks. “You sure know how to get through to me.”

➰

Half an hour later, they’re sitting on a big patio eating a complimentary hotel breakfast. Chris looks mildly zombified, like he can’t believe he’s awake this early. Nevermind the fact he wakes up way earlier than this for school. Eddie is indulging in a very big breakfast - more than he’d normally go for, Buck thinks. He’s practically dumping sugar in his coffee. 

“You’re not going to sleep tonight,” Buck warns him. Eddie is usually a black coffee type guy, or very minimal sugar. He always complains too much of it gives him insomnia. 

“It’ll be fine,” Eddie shrugs. 

Buck eats waffles contentedly. The hotel has an insanely gorgeous view of the ocean. The early morning light only makes it all the more fantastic. Buck could stare at it forever. It’s beyond what they have in L.A.

“We should come back here again,” Buck says. “Some other time. A long weekend wasn’t enough.”

Eddie smiles warmly at him. 

“Anytime you want,” he says. 

Buck feels a pang of giddiness ripple through him. Eddie has been so much more hopeful and open lately. Buck knows it’s not all about their relationship. Therapy and mending things with Christopher are also a huge part of that. But it’s impossible to deny that being together has made each of them a bit… Lighter? Freer? Buck certainly feels a lot more settled. 

“I guess we’re never going back to work, then,” Buck winks. 

Eddie chuckles. 

“Can you guys stop while I’m eating?” Chris begs. 

“We didn’t do anything!” Buck protests.

[hengqarae]

to the victor go the spoils

PAIRING ❄ lee chan x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 11.3k GENRE ❄ chan is a bartender au, romance, smut (minors dni), mutual pining, angst WARNINGS ❄ legal alcohol consumption, making out, swearing, oral (f receiving), not proofread

chan is the bartender at your favorite restaurant, and you're his favorite patron: the person that comes in every single week with a new guy, always wearing the same perfume and always ordering the same thing, always complaining to him about the losers that your father keeps setting you up with. he'll lose his mind soon if he keeps having to watch you on these shitty dates. how much longer until he's declared the winner and you finally choose him?

PLAYLIST ❄ love language by sza / go crazy by leslie odom jr. / vanilla by kai / lies by marina and the diamonds / what can i do by reneé rapp / nervous by john legend / chance with you by mehro / maroon by taylor swift / toy by block b FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ thanks for reading <3 the beginning is stronger than the end because i got covid in the midst of this and lost my motivation, but i hope you enjoy it regardless! have a safe and fun transition into the new year, if you observe it :)

Chan thinks that he must be losing his mind. 

He started bartending when he was in college, just as soon as he was legally able to do so. Known for having a competitive streak, the fact that he needed to pass a test to obtain licensure to serve alcohol spurred him on more than it should have. He was even more motivated when his friend, Soonyoung, wasn’t able to pass it himself. He landed a job at one of the more upscale restaurants almost immediately and being downtown meant that the people were more affluent and, thus, more generous. It was a total win for him, and nearly three years later, he’s still around. Chan only really bartends on weekends, reserving his weekdays to get his schoolwork done. In all honestly, he doesn’t need the job. He’s never needed it, but he’s stuck around for so long because he enjoys meeting different types of people; he likes hearing the deep, dark secrets that spill out once enough alcohol has been consumed; and he really appreciates the ego boost that he gets every time an older woman comes in and tips him generously, just because they think he’s cute. 

It’s not his job that’s making him feel like he’s losing his mind. He likes his job, and he’ll be satisfied with the time he’s spent behind his bar once he finally graduates and moves on to something more applicable to his degree. No, he feels like he’s losing his mind because of one specific patron. There’s this one gorgeous individual that comes in every Friday night, always meeting a different man, but always wearing the same floral perfume and wearing the same silver necklace that dangles around their neck, resting on their sternum, glinting in the dim lights of the restaurant. This person always arrives early and sits at the bar, talking with Chan about school, about their family, about how poorly they know their date will go. They’re always sitting at the same table, one of the ones closest to the bar, and they always order the same thing. The dates always last two hours and not one minute longer, and Chan always feels a sense of longer after they bid him farewell and leave the restaurant, the scent of their perfume never lingering for long enough. 

Chan is absolutely enamored with this one individual, but he’d rather plead insanity than admit that. 

“Hi Chan,” You sigh, sliding onto the barstool that was situated directly in front of him. You shift until you’re comfortable, placing your bag on the counter. Chan, in the middle of washing and drying his shaker, offers you a smile without actually looking up at you. His heart has been racing since he caught sight of you walking in, and he’s afraid that if he looks at you, it’ll induce a heart attack. He could already tell from across the restaurant that you looked good, even better than usual. You smell even better than usual, too. He’s sure that nothing has actually changed, though, and that serves as just another sign that he’s losing his mind. “How was your week?” 

You follow his movements with your eyes as he places the shaker on the counter, throwing his hand towel over his shoulder and wiping his forehead with the back of one of his hands. One of his rings catches the light and you’re drawn to his hand, shifting uncomfortably on your stool when you notice how pretty his hands are. It takes you another minute to notice, but his hair’s lighter this week than it was last week. He must have had more free time than usual, dying it and all. “It was okay. I lost a bet and had to dye my hair. I’m also considering sleeping with my neuroscience professor so that I pass the class. “ 

“Your exam didn’t go well, then?” Chan shakes his head. “Is she cute, at least?” 

“Yeah, he’s pretty easy on the eyes!” 

He’s able to make you laugh so effortlessly. You throw your head back, hands gripping the countertop so that you don’t lose your balance and slide off your seat. Chan smiles to himself, turning so that he can start mixing you up a drink. This week, like every other week, you were going to get whatever he decided to give you. It’s not like he charged you for drinks anyway. When you finally settle your laughter, wiping away a tear that had started to collect at your waterline, you watch him make his drink. You smoothen your expression when you realize the fond smile that was plastered on your face for everybody to see, and your heart aches when you think about leaving Chan to sit through another dry, humorless, boring date for two hours. 

This was the reason you always made sure to arrive early at the restaurant. You always insisted on driving yourself, you always made sure to arrive thirty minutes early, and you always soaked in as much time as you could get with Chan before you were subjected to yet another torturous date that your father had planned out for you. Your dates were never able to hold a conversation as well as Chan could. With him, words flowed naturally. He didn’t talk about himself too much, and he remembered anything that you told him, and you had considered, on multiple occasions, skipping your dates in favor of sitting with Chan through your shift. Up until now, you had never been able to find the courage to do so. 

Only recently, you had realized that maybe, possibly, you had started to harbor a little crush on him. Keeping that in consideration, it was unlikely that you would ever find the courage to engage in anything further with him. Your weekly chats were doomed to remain as weekly, thirty-minute occurrences, no matter how much more of him you found yourself craving. 

“What about you? How was your week?” 

“It was okay.” You echo his words, eyes trailing his movements again as he sets your drink in front of you. He steps away to tend to the other patrons, and your heart aches again as you watch him laugh and flirt with the females perched at the bar. You aren’t jealous, per se – you've known Chan for long enough to be able to recognize his fake, polite smiles from his genuine ones, and you’re able to find some comfortable in the fact that the smiles he gives you are different from the one he’s offering to those other customers right now. You hum quietly and take a sip of your cocktail, eyebrows knitting together as you taste it. When Chan returns, you ask what he made you. 

“It’s called a Painkiller.” He grins, grabbing the bottle of rum he had mixed in to show you what he had used. “I figured you were going to need one. Today is lucky number seventeen, right?” 

You raise your eyebrows, a smile growing on your face. “How did you remember that?” 

“It’s a good number.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the other side of the bar. “So, your week was okay? Why’s that?” 

You sigh, massaging your temples to prevent the headache that tended to appear whenever you recounted everything that was stressing you out. “I have my thesis proposal in a few weeks, and my defense closer to the end of the semester, but my dad is still incessant on setting me up on these dates. He wants me to be engaged by graduation, but I don’t even know if I want to be married. It feels like a war of attrition.” 

“Should I make you another one? A little stronger?” 

He’s just joking, evident by his grin, but you almost want to take him up on his offer. Tonight’s date, whose name you couldn’t even recall, was projected to be especially bad. The guys that your dad seemed to like the most always ended up being the worst. You straighten yourself back up with another sigh, and Chan curses under his breath as you offer him a tired smile that makes his stomach somersault in response. Your lipstick smudges against the glass as you take another sip of your drink, and he thinks that the shade you’re wearing tonight would look good on him, too. 

Just not on his lips. 

“It’s so tiring.” You take another long sip of your drink, your tongue poking out to collect the liquid that had gotten caught at the corner of your mouth. Chan has to look away, face nearly contorting in pain as he feels himself straining against his pants. He’s thankful to be hidden behind the bar tonight; you looked and smelled even better up close. He’s more thankful that your outfit is a little more conservative than what you had worn last week. That white outfit had revealed just enough to put his imagination into overdrive. He was still thinking about how good you had looked. He had jacked himself off to thoughts of removing the outfit, draping it carefully over the back of his desk chair before fucking you into his mattress, more times than he’d feel comfortable admitting to anyone. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a few breaths to keep from getting hard again, turning around only when he’s ready. You had descended into a rant about your love life, and he wishes that he hadn’t entered the conversation that you were having with yourself. 

“--like, what if I don’t want to be married? That’s not crazy, it’s almost 2023! I haven’t even had sex in months because my dad keeps setting me up with losers. It’s not for lack of trying, either; these stupid dates occupy all of my free time, and the only redeeming part of these dates are the free meals and being able to sit with you beforehand. I’m exhausted, though, Chan. Seriously. I-I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be meeting tonight! My dad says that he really likes him, but I don’t even know what his name is. It’s either Minho, or Mingyu... it could be Minhyung, too, though. I don’t--” 

As much as Chan would enjoy talking about your sex life with you, his attention is brought from you to the door of the restaurant, and he straightens up as a young man walks into the space. There’s no doubt that he’s your date, Minho or Mingyu or Minhyung or whatever, if his Armani suit, Rolex watch, and excess of hair gel is anything to go by. Chan clears his throat, looking from the man to you and then back as the man continues his trek toward the bar. “Should I start a tab for you?” 

That was code. You straighten your own posture, taking a deep breath before turning in your seat, a saccharine smile decorating your features. Chan knows you too well by now to be fooled by the mask that you slip on whenever you’re on a date. He collects your bag as you’re led away by your date, tucking it underneath the bar while he starts washing some glasses. The sight of you getting whisked away had become nausea-inducing for him, and tonight was no exception. As soon as you had taken your date’s hand, Chan had looked away to avoid getting sick. He keeps an inconspicuous eye on you as your date pulls out your chair for you, busying himself as you get your date started. He knows that you’d much rather be spending your time with him – you'd said so just earlier, after all – but he can’t help the dull ache in his chest at the sight of seeing you with another man. 

The only consolation for him was that he would see you again in a week’s time, laughing once again at his jokes, further exacerbating the symptoms of his lovesickness. He mutters under his breath as he finishes cleaning his glasses, setting them on the countertop to dry. He offers one final glance in your direction, his chest clenching when he sees that you’re already looking at him, in a plea for help that you both know he can’t answer. 

The bar gets crowded as the night continues, and Chan occupies himself with other patrons. He’s trying to compartmentalize, trying to forget that you were somewhere else in the restaurant, but it’s hard; with every fake laugh that he hears from you, a warmth blooms in his chest. He’s the only person in the whole joint that has ever made you genuinely laugh, and he carries that knowledge with pride. 

Two hours come and go, and just like clockwork, you bid goodbye to your date. It was unusual for you to settle back at the bar following your dates, but you chose to do so tonight. Chan knows that usually, you’re so tired from listening to your dates talk about themselves without reprieve that you just bid Chan farewell and leave immediately after your dates. He’s happy that you’re back, but there’s always a fear that lingers in the back of his mind that one day, the reason that you’ve come back is to tell him that you had a really good date and that you’d be going on another one with the same guy. He hasn’t prepared himself for when that day comes. 

“That fucking sucked,” You groan, covering your face with your hands. Chan tries, and fails, to bite back a smile, setting a glass of water down in front of you. You grumble a quiet thanks, sipping your water as the bartender floats around behind the bar, checking in and cashing out his patrons. You lean back as best as you can while sitting on a barstool, watching him as he starts cleaning up. His shift should be over soon. You always scheduled your dates halfway through Chan’s shifts so that, whenever you stuck around, you could walk out with him. It felt like a reward for getting through the awful date in the first place. 

Your breath hitches every time that Chan breezes past you, and you curse yourself for that. While your date with Minhyuk – you had learned his name, finally – hadn't been the worst date that you’d ever experienced, he was definitely getting struck from your father’s (dwindling) list of potential sons-in-law. You try to wrack your brain and figure out how many people were left on that list. Once you reach the end, you’ll need to find a new reason to come to the restaurant every week; having a crush on one of the bartenders, you’d rationalized, was not a good enough reason to come all the way downtown every Friday. 

It feels like your heart is being squeezed when you dare to look to your left and see Chan flirting with one of his female customers. Her fingers are dancing on his chest, and you nearly fall off your stool when she dares to unbutton his shirt a little more. You know that you can’t fault him for someone else’s behavior, but if generous tips meant that you could help him out of his shirt, you’d start bringing some cash with you. 

“Gimme a few more minutes!” Chan offers in passing, causing you to perk up a little. It was cathartic, spending time with him. Your dates were draining but being with Chan had the opposite effect. You felt like being with him recharged you, like you could endure another two hours with another loser if you had time with him in between. Two hours with one of your father’s dates felt like a torturous eternity, but two hours felt like ten minutes with Chan. It didn’t feel fair. 

Your stomach does a flip when Chen rounds the bar. The sleeves of his black button-down have been pushed up to his elbows, and his shirt is unbuttoned dangerously low. You knit your eyebrows together, beckoning him closer so that you can button him back up. He laughs quietly as you do it, and you hope that by ignoring the warmth that’s flooding into your face, he won’t notice it. You use his shoulder to steady yourself as you dismount from your stool, smiling as he offers you your bag. You take it, slipping it over your shoulder, tailing him as the two of you make your exit out of the restaurant. He bids farewell to the remaining staff, holding open doors for you until you’ve both made it into the elevator. 

Chan’s heart is thudding heavily against his ribcage, and he hopes that the elevator music is loud enough that you can’t hear it. This wasn’t a weekly occurrence, per se, but it was still rare that he was afforded the opportunity to walk you back to your car. His fingers itch to reach for you, to pin you against the wall of the elevator and to press his lips on every inch of your exposed skin, but he refrains. Instead, he leans against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, while you stand, rigid, next to him, wringing your hands together. It’s not necessarily awkward, but you’re suddenly missing the bar that usually separates the two of you. Conversation flowed easier when you were able to sit safely on the other side of the bar. 

“How was your date? Bad, you said? N-No, wait, you said that it ‘fucking sucked,’ right?” 

You groan, shaking your head at the reminder of why you had come to the restaurant in the first place – something that had been lost as you sat at the bar, daydreaming about what it would be like to go on a date with Chan instead. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It would be so easy to just, like, tolerate someone, right? I don’t know why I can’t just find someone that I can tolerate and call it a day.” 

“You have standards. Big deal.” He scoffs, trailing after you once the elevator opens. Your pace is slow as the two of you meander through the parking garage, in pursuit of a goal (your car) but with no sense of urgency. You shake your head, letting your hands fall to your sides. 

“Standards are one thing, Chan, but I haven’t had sex in months, and I haven’t even kissed anyone in weeks. I’m just so worn out from all these shitty dates. Between writing my thesis, studying and reading for my classes, and then carving out three hours every Friday night to listen to a different loser talk about himself and his stocks, I feel like I’m on a downward trajectory.” 

Chan’s eyebrows raise, but he quickly smoothens his expression because you’re turning to look at him, expectant, like he should be offering something insight or helpful. He has nothing prepared. As soon as you mentioned kissing, he started thinking about how it’d be to have you pinned against the flat surface, to have your lips on his. He clears his throat. “W-Why haven’t you been kissing your dates?” 

“I used to!” You groan, propping your hands on your hips. “I used to, but then they’d always call me the next day. So, I stopped kissing on the first date, and they stopped thinking that there would be a second date. None of them were any good, either! It was like kissing cement.” 

“Soft yet firm?” 

“Cold and wet.” 

“God, where did your dad find these guys? Reddit?” 

You laugh, and it echoes through the parking garage, and Chan feels light on his feet. He tucks his hands into his pockets, looking down at the asphalt as the two of you continue your stroll. He’s considering his options of what he could say next, and suddenly, he wishes that he’d thrown back a shot or two during his shift. “Y-You can teach someone how to be a better kisser, though. I don’t think that should be, like, a dealbreaker.” 

“I mean, sure. Yeah, that’s true. It’s... less about the actual kiss, though. Y’know?” Chan knits his eyebrows together, confused, and you sigh before elaborating. “Like... I didn’t feel anything. There should be sparks or something, but there was nothing like that. It’d probably be more gratifying to kiss a piece of cardboard.” You catch a glimpse of a column and an image of Chan pushing you up against it, lips fiery against yourself, causes you to grimace. If only. 

Chan hums in response, at a loss for words, afraid that there’s nothing left that he could offer to the conversation unless you were looking for him to get on his knees to beg, to plead, for you to give him a chance. He was a good kisser and everything! You stop walking and he lifts his head, his heart falling as he realizes that the two of you have reached your destination. He’d wasted all of his precious time convincing you that you should be less harsh on your dates if they were bad at something teachable. 

How nice of him. 

“Thanks for walking me.” You say, eyes fixating on the strands of hair that had come undone and that were resting in front of Chan’s eyes. You're itching to reach forward and sweep them out of his face, but you refrain. 

“You’re welcome.” 

The two of you lapse into silence, staring at each other. There’s a warmth that’s creeping across your body, starting in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was tactless to talk about kissing other men in front of Chan, but a small part of you had been hoping that he would contribute differently. Maybe he would offer to kiss you. Maybe you could fulfill your desire to have his hands on you. Maybe he would press his lips against yours, and there’d be fireworks, and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about coming to the restaurant to see him instead of going on your stupid dates. 

Chan is kind. He’s handsome. He’s gentle, and he’s funny, and he’s sexy, and there’s nothing more that you want in this moment than to have his tongue down your throat. 

He forces a smile, nodding before turning on his heel, but you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his forearm. He turns back to you, eyebrows quirked upward. It’s sitting there, right at the tip of your tongue. Can you kiss me? Can we kiss? 

You aren’t able to convince yourself to verbalize your desire, though. Instead, you open your mouth, and then close it, and release him. “S-Sorry.” 

“Are you okay?” 

No, I’m not okay, but it would make it better if you kissed me. “Yeah! I’m good. Sorry.” 

He doesn’t seem convinced, and he hesitates to say or do anything else. He’s providing you with a window of opportunity, but you aren’t ready to take it. You want to take it – God, you want him pressed against you so badly – but you just aren’t ready. You’ll suppress your feelings, at least for another week. Maybe you’d have the courage next time that you see him. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yeah. Yeah! I’m sure. I’ll see you next week.” 

He knows you too well to accept the fake smile that you offer him, but he’s too dejected to say anything. Next week. On another date. Another date with a different man. What did he need to do to show you that he was better than all of your stupid dates, combined? 

“Okay.” He offers you a fake smile in return. “Goodnight.” 

+ + +

You should have kissed Chan. 

It was pathetic, the way that you got home that night, unable to stop thinking about him. You couldn’t stop imagining him, imagining what could have been, even after slipping your fingers into your underwear and making yourself cum... twice. You had hoped that you could scratch the itch and it would go away; that was not the case. You touched yourself while imagining that it was him, deep and slow, planting wet kisses along the column of your throat while your hands roamed all over his body. Even after orgasming, you still felt unsatisfied. 

Maybe, if you had kissed him, your curiosity would have been squashed. Maybe there wouldn’t have been any sparks. Maybe he could have told you that he wasn’t interested, and you would have been able to return to the platonic relationship that you’d had before you’d fallen in love with him. Maybe you would lose out on Chan but, eventually, you’d meet someone that you could tolerate. 

Or, maybe, you would have kissed, and it would have become something more. Maybe you could have asked him to take you in your backseat and he would have, deep and slow, fogging up the windows. Maybe you could have ignited the spark that’s always been there, and you would be able to convince your father that you were happy, that you didn’t need to meet anybody else. 

That’s why it’s Saturday night, the very next day, and you’re contemplating getting dressed up and going down to the restaurant. You didn’t have a date – you never scheduled dates outside of your Friday nights. You would be getting dressed up and fighting traffic just so that you could sit at the bar and talk to Chan. Just so, for one more night than usual, you could bask in the attention that he gave you. You could take advantage of his availability and take more than you deserved from him. 

Your body trembles at the thought of seeing him again. You could wear something more revealing; you could dress up even nicer than usual, and you could tempt him. You could dangle yourself in front of him and see if he, too, has an itch to scratch. 

But would that be fair to him? 

No, it wouldn’t. You might as well be throwing yourself at him, showing your tits and forcing him to look. Chan is a sweet guy. He’s kind and gentle, he’s funny and he’s compassionate, and you don’t need to stoop to the level of some of his other patrons, the ones that touch him and flirt with him and make him work even harder for his tips. As much as you’d love to have your hands on him, to flirt with him (and have him flirt back), you know it wouldn’t be fair to him. You’re friends now, after everything. 

You’re friends. That’s how you rationalize showing up to the restaurant in a hoodie instead. 

He spots you as soon as you walk in, smiling and laughing with the hostess, and your heartrate quickens as you cross the space. His eyes are on you the entire time, like he can’t believe that you’re real. It’s Saturday night, right? You wouldn’t be wearing that on a date, right? 

“I never thought I’d see the day.” He laughs, nervously, arms crossing over his chest as you situate yourself on your usual barstool. Why are you here right now? Should he be worried? 

You offer a bashful smile in response, face already feeling warm under his gaze. “Jenn said the same thing.” Chan continues staring at you, still trying to gauge if you were a mirage or not. You adjust the strings of your hoodie, shifting uncomfortably on your stool. “W-What?” 

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” He starts, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I just don’t know if I should be worried that you’re here right now. This is out of character for you.” 

“I just wanted to see you.” You scoff, suddenly scrambling to add to that once you realize how it sounded. “T-To hang out with you for m-more than, like, thirty minutes.” 

Chan keeps his expression even, but internally, he’s screaming gleefully. Still, he can’t hide the small smile that blooms on his face. “Are you drinking tonight?” 

You hold up hands up, absolving yourself from the responsibility of choosing a drink. “I have no free will here, Chan. You know that.” 

“If you had done better research before showing up and asking for a ‘blue motherfucker,’ whatever the hell that even is, then I wouldn’t have taken away your freedom of choice.” He scoffs, turning around to start concocting you a drink. Today, you’ll get a vodka martini, just to keep things simple. Chan still isn’t fully convinced that he should be happy that you’ve come by, even though the warm feeling in his chest says otherwise. 

You’re grateful to be able to take your drink and gulp it down. Hopefully, the alcohol will loosen you up. You’re practically buzzing, as if you were being risky or adventurous by visiting the restaurant just to see Chan, outside of your normal routine. He’s alarmed that you’re drinking so much right from the start, and so he leans forward, resting his arms on the bar top and speaking as low as he can. “Are you okay? Seriously.” 

“Stop harassing me.” You frown, waving him off. “I’m fine, Chan. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

He’s not convinced, but still, he steps away and takes some time to check in with the other customers. It was slow for a Saturday night; you were surprised, and also thankful, that there were barstools open. Had you not been able to sit at the bar, you probably would’ve turned around and driven home. There was no reason to come to this place if you weren’t going to be able to see Chan. 

“I’m just worried.” Chan sighs, sliding back in front of you. You groan and he holds his hands up. “Look, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you on any day other than a Friday, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes, too. I’m trying to figure out if this is one of the signs of the apocalypse. There’s gotta be something you aren’t telling me.” 

“I already told you that I came to hang out with you.” 

“I’m not worth that.” 

“Says who?” 

You realize what you’ve said only after the words tumble out of your lips. You’re quick to raise your glass back to your lips, turning your face away. If Chan heard you, he doesn’t act like it. Instead, he clucks his tongue at you and steps away to tend to one of the waitresses that had approved the bar. You feel like you can stop holding your breath only after he’s stepped out of your zone of proximity. 

Chan heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear, and now he’s afraid that his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he won’t be able to hear anything else that anyone might tell him tonight. He fumbles his way through two Cosmopolitan orders and chooses to clean his spills immediately so that he has some time to even out his breathing before he faces you again. You really came all the way downtown to see him? It doesn’t seem real to him. Was this an episode of Punk’d? 

He’s gone for long enough that you start to panic. You hadn’t betrayed yourself that badly, so why was he keeping his distance? Maybe he’s known all along that you have a crush on him, and maybe you just confirmed it for it, and now, you’ve ruined your friendship and any possibility of becoming more than friends, which means you can’t come back to the restaurant anymore and-- 

“Do you want another, or do you want something different?” 

Chan gestures to your drink. You look down, see it’s empty, and realize that you hadn’t even realized you had finished it off. “Surprise me.” Preferably, with something stronger. 

Your knowledge of cocktails and liquor in general was, admittedly, poor. However, you feel proud of yourself when you’re able to identify what Chan has made you before he even hands it to you. In fact, if you had to pick a favorite cocktail, you’d probably say Shirley Temple. Chan notices how wide you smile when he sets your drink down, and he makes a mental note to add Shirley Temples into your rotation of drinks. 

“How much longer ‘til you’re off?” You ask, stirring your drink. Chan takes a moment to check his watch. 

“In... eight minutes.” 

You raise your eyebrows, checking the time for yourself on your phone. You had intended to leave your apartment right at seven, but it was already almost nine. You must have spent more time than you realized to deliberate coming here or not. “What are you doing after you’re off?” 

“Usually, I’d be going home. Unless...” Your heartrate quickens in anticipation. Chan takes a breath, steeling himself. “I have another neuroscience exam coming up in a few weeks. What are the odds you’d want to help me study?” 

“I’m better at human anatomy, but I can try.” 

Chan realizes what you’ve said before you do, and he’s laughing so hard that he has to turn around to compose himself. You groan, rubbing your temples, a nervous smile decorating your features. If you had only used a different tone, you could’ve taken the opportunity to try and flirt with Chan. Instead, he wipes tears from his eyes, still laughing quietly. You’re left to ruminate while he starts his final rounds, cashing out patrons and bidding his farewells with a newfound pep in his step. You don’t notice, too focused on cursing yourself internally. 

You’re forced to chug down your drink only when you notice that Chan is already rounding the bar. He gapes at you before laughing again. “You’re gonna be so drunk later.” 

“I’ll be fine.” You huff, taking his outstretched hand to help yourself down from your stool. You almost whine at the loss of touch when he pulls his hand back, but your chest flutters when he settles behind you, hand pressing against your lower back to usher you through the restaurant that had finally started to become crowded. He bids one final farewell to Jenn, the hostess, his cheeks burning as she gestures between the two of you and winks. Chan’s thankful that you didn’t notice. 

He knows that it’s only a matter of time until your intoxication hits, and since he’s never seen you drunk before, he needs to get you to a more controlled setting. Chan can only assume that you’re a lightweight based on the partying stories you’ve told him, and his hand had been a little heavier tonight than usual – he was going to blame that on you, breaking your routine and thoroughly shaking him up. 

“This is the part where I find out that you’re actually a murderer, right?” You tease, rocking back and forth on your heels as the elevator makes it descent. 

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not a murderer.” 

“Unfortunately?” 

“That’s what I said,” He’s nonchalant as you follow him out and back into the parking garage. You’re getting déjà vu, but you’re trying your best to swallow down the same urges that you had last night. Instead, you’re quiet as you follow him through the garage to his car. Chan hums quietly to himself, his hands tucked into his pockets again. Only once you’ve reached his car does he pull them out, opening the passenger door for you. You quirk your eyebrows at him, an amused smile ghosting your lips. The tips of his ears bloom red almost immediately. “D-Don’t look at me like that!” 

“Like what?” You laugh, feigning innocence as he closes the door, and you twist to buckle yourself in. He shakes his head at you again, climbing in and getting the car started. Almost immediately, his fingers itch to reach out and lace with yours, but he swallows thickly, choosing to ignore that urge. “Your car will be safe here while we’re gone.” 

“This means that you’re committing to bringing me back here, though. No matter when we finish tonight.” 

Chan holds up one of his hands while he eases his steering wheel with the other. “I promise to uphold that commitment.” 

“You’re annoying.” You scoff, without any real bite to your words. Chan smiles in response, and soon, the car lapses into silence. The radio of his car plays softly while he navigates the car through downtown, but to your surprise, he’s pulling into another garage only a few minutes later. “Wait, do you live downtown?” 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Yes, actually. Why aren’t you walking to work?” 

“Because it’s winter. Plus, I don’t want to get kidnapped.” 

“Why would you get kidnapped?” 

“Cute people get kidnapped.” 

“So why are you worried?” 

Chan sucks in a breath before he reaches over and pinches your thigh. You swat him away, laughing, warning him that he was going to crash if he didn’t pay attention to the road. Begrudgingly, he returns both of his hands to the steering wheel, but not without muttering a few insults back at you under his breath. You left that slide since you’d instigated it, but if it meant he’d put his hands on you, you’d probably try to rile him up a little more time. 

He parks the car without any further hitches. He lets you open your door for yourself while he opens up the backseat, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt with a backpack slung over his shoulder; he looked less like Chan the bartender and more like Chan the student. 

He looked good either way, but being a student yourself, you’re a little more partial to the latter. 

It’s nice, being able to spend time with Chan outside of your... arrangement. Each time that the two of you fall quiet, it feels less and less awkward. The two of you stand closer to each other in the elevator this time, and even though the desire to ask him to stick his tongue down your throat is ever-present, it’s not as prominent. Chan is your friend. He’s your sexy, intelligent friend, and you’ve gotten off to thoughts of him fucking you with his tongue more times than you’d like to admit, but you feel happy, being invited to see this other part of his life. 

“How are you feeling? Drunk yet?” 

You shake your head, tailing after him as he lets himself into his apartment. Your first impression is that it’s clean, cleaner than you had expected from a college boy. After slipping your shoes off, you follow him into his living room, beelining for the pictures that were hanging on one of the walls. “Holy shit, is this you?” 

“Don’t look at that!” He whines, grabbing you by your shoulders and turning you around. He shuffles you back toward the couch despite your protests. “You’re here to help me study. You are not here to look at my pictures from high school.” 

“Your hair was so bad!” 

“Do you want some water?” 

You ignore him in favor of advancing toward his pictures again and he groans, grabbing you by your waist and dragging you back to the couch. You were definitely starting to feel the effects of the liquor, whether you realized it or not. “I’m going to tie you to the couch if you don’t stop.” 

That’d be hot. Please do. “Fine, fine! I’ll look at them next time.” 

Next time. That makes Chan’s stomach do a somersault. He can’t fight the smile that blooms on his face, sitting cross-legged on the floor and opening his backpack. You mimic his sitting position, tucking your legs under one another. He holds out a stack of index cards, holding them out for you. You take them, shuffling through them while Chan continues to dig through his bag. Once you look at him again, he’s wearing glasses, and you have to refrain from moaning out loud at how good he looks. 

“Read me the cards. Does your vision go blurry when you’re drunk?” 

“I’m not drunk, Chan!” You huff, lifting the first index card closer to your face to read it. “Broca’s Area?” 

“Um... it’s where someone can, like, recognize something, but they can’t speak.” 

“Hemisphere?” 

“Left.” 

“Is this the kind of study session where I’m supposed to remove a piece of clothing for everything that you answer correctly?” Chan’s eyes widen at your proposition, and you just laugh, setting the first card down next to you and moving onto another one. “Just kidding. Wernicke’s Area?” 

“Th-That’s -- fuck, you distracted me – it's, like, the opposite of Broca’s Area. S-So, the language production component is still intact, but the words don’t really make sense.” 

“Hemisphere?” 

“Also left.” 

You hum quietly in approval, picking another index card from your stack. “Hemispheric lateralization?” 

“Okay, so, we have the left and the right hemispheres, right? Basically, the brain isn’t symmetrical. The left hemisphere doesn’t function the exact same way as the right hemisphere, and vice versa. The left hemisphere is responsible for certain things, like language production and stuff, but the right hemisphere is responsible for other things, like visual stuff.” You simply nod while Chan tries to fully answer the question, as if you have any idea what he’s talking about. Maybe with a clearer mind, you could contribute a little bit better. “There’s this whole debate about being left-brained or being right-brained, and also about how people are determined to be left-handed or right-handed.” 

You look at the backside of the index card for a few beats before giving up. “I don’t know if you answered the question or not.” 

“Because you’re drunk, or because I didn’t answer it correctly?” 

He takes the card from you. His fingers brush with yours, and you suddenly feel like you’re on fire. “I think I’m a little drunk, actually.” 

“That’s crazy!” He smiles, reading the card, his tone indicating that he does not find it to be crazy. “Do you want some water now?” 

No, I think I just want to kiss you. 

“W-What?” 

“What?” You realize too late that you’d said that out loud and gasp, covering your mouth. Chan is equally surprised, eyebrows raised as far as they could physically go, and for a few moments, the two of you stare at each other like that. 

Calmly, Chan clears his throat. There’s a hint of smile on his face that, unfortunately, you aren’t able to catch. “W-We can revisit that when you’re sober.” He wishes that he could be a little less polite in this situation – adrenaline is pumping through his veins at your sudden confession, and he wants nothing more than to pin you to the couch and give you exactly what you’d just asked for. But you’re drunk, and even though he knows that he’s not going to be able to retain any more information, all that he can do is continue studying while waiting for you to sober up. Hopefully, you’ll still want to kiss him when you aren’t being driven by your own intoxication. Chan, personally, has never needed alcohol to get the urge to kiss you, and he hopes that the same can be said for you by the end of the night. 

You, on the other hand, are mortified. The alcohol is only just starting to hit you, and you had started off strong by telling Chan that you wanted to kiss him. You’re afraid now that you’re going to end up saying something even more embarrassing – that you love him, that you’d always loved him, or that you want him to fuck you until you’re seeing stars. Any of those things would certainly result in your own demise, and the destruction of your friendship, and for that, you’re terrified. 

For better or for worse, you and Chan get through the rest of the index cards without any additional love confessions. 

“How are we feeling now?” He asks, setting down a glass of water on the table after he finally convinced you to take some. To answer his question, you’re dizzy. You don’t dare try to stand up, but you’re also starting to feel tired. Crashing on Chan’s couch was definitely not what you had planned to do tonight. 

“My head hurts.” You groan, massaging your temples. 

“Drink your water, then.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because.” You huff, grimacing at the thought of putting any additional liquids into your body tonight. Chan quirks an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his chest. You shake your head. “I don’t want it.” 

“Yeah, but you need it.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re gonna have a monster hangover.” 

“I’ll be fine, Chan.” 

“I’ll kiss you if you drink it all.” 

Truthfully, Chan is not this bold. He’s been longing for you since he met you, but he knows that he doesn’t have a shot in hell. Your dad wants you to be with a particular type of person, the kind of person that he is not, even if Chan knows that he deserves you more than any of the guys you’d seen so far. He deserves you, and you deserve someone that can make you happy, to keep you laughing, and that will take care of you. He knows this, and he’s been waiting for you to figure it out, too. 

He knows why you told him that you wanted to kiss him. He can easily think back to the night before, when you had been complaining about the physical contact (and lack thereof) that you’d suffered since being forced on all of these dates. Chan is convenient for you, and he’s safe, and fuck, if he can’t have you completely, then he’s willing to settle. 

“Y-You’re blackmailing me.” You huff, snatching the glass of water and drinking from it, nevertheless. You choose to look away, to focus on drinking the water and not on Chan and the kiss he had just promised you. You’d make yourself choke if you thought too hard about that. 

“No, I’m bribing you.” 

You’re already feeling better by the time that you finish your water, and the expectant way that you look up at Chan drives his heart rate up. Still, he’s a man of his word. He takes a seat on the couch next to you, laughing quietly when you close your eyes, tilting your face toward him. He cups your face with both of his hands, holding you still while he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You scoff, eyes flying open, grabbing his wrists. 

“That is not the kind of kiss that I wanted, and you know that.” 

“You’re still drunk! I can’t kiss you.” 

“Fine, then stay still.” 

Chan’s heart is pounding so quickly that he’s afraid he’s going to blast off. You, on the other hand, are eerily calm. Time almost feels like it’s standing still as you lean in, slow that you can offer Chan an out if he wants to take it. He doesn’t, and that’s how you’re able to press your lips against his. It’s a chaste kiss, devoid of any tongue or teeth or movement, but Chan is practically trembling against your lips. He wants to pull you onto his lap. He wants to let his hands snake underneath your sweatshirt and roam across your skin. He wants to stop holding back, but he can’t. Not right now. 

You pull away after a few moments, still slow, offering him a chance to chase your lips. Your heart falls when he doesn’t, but you do your best to keep your expression even. You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at him. 

He clears his throat. “More water?” 

Only if you kiss me again. “Yes, please.” 

+ + +

You don’t remember much about that night with Chan. You remember the kiss, and you remember going through his neuroscience flashcards again, but that’s it; any additional details have been buried in your consciousness, and when you woke up in your own bed the next morning, you have no idea what course of events led you there. You can only assume that they involved Chan. 

And that’s why, contrary to how you usually felt in the days leading up to your weekly visit to the restaurant, you’re nervous tonight. Debilitatingly nervous. You don’t feel excited at the thought of visiting Chan. You don’t want to spend your whole date feeling his eyes on you. You’re afraid to face him, all because of what you can remember from last weekend. You kissed him, and he didn’t kiss back. You had forced yourself on him and you weren’t ready to face the consequences of that tonight. 

That’s why you don’t come to the restaurant early. You meet your date in the parking lot and walk in together, and you burn with shame as you walk through the restaurant to a different table than usual. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you, practically burning a hole through you. You don’t dare to twist in your seat and look in his direction. You don’t get up, even when you need to use the restroom. You keep your eyes glued to your date the whole time. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, or the fact that you hadn’t had a meaningful conversation beforehand to tide you over, but this date was especially bad. You can’t even remember his name when everything is said and done, after two torturous hours have passed. 

Your date was awful, and you don’t know if you did the right thing by avoiding Chan, but at least it was over. Maybe you could start having your dates at a different restaurant. Maybe you would be able to peacefully disappear from Chan’s life, and convince yourself that it was never love in the first place, and-- 

“So, you’re hiding from me now?” 

The voice makes you freeze, fingers stilling in your bag since you’ve been searching for your keys. You don’t need to look up to confirm what you already know. Instead, you stay in place, a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach. “I-I’m not hiding.” 

“Then look at me.” 

That you can’t do. Chan scoffs, shaking his head even though you don’t see it. Internally, he’s pissed off. He, too, has been overthinking everything since Saturday night. He should’ve just kissed you, properly, like you’d asked. He should have just scratched the itch that had been plaguing him for months, taking advantage of your drunken state to confess how he really feels about you. He’d make mistakes, but he wasn’t expecting everything to backfire on him so badly. Were you upset with him for not going further with you? Had he done something wrong? Maybe, but does that excuse your actions tonight? Absolutely not. 

“What did I do?” 

“Nothing!” You scoff this time, squeezing your eyes shut. That same feeling of shame, that burning feeling, was beginning to overtake you. “Y-You didn’t do anything. I did something wrong.” 

“What, by kissing me?” 

“Yes!” 

That hurts Chan, but for reasons different than you realize. His expression falls, and the prolonged silence is why you finally dare to look at him. The expression on his face squeezes your heart, and you scramble to try and rectify things as best as you. “I-I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was drunk, and I-I forced myself on you, and I’m sorry.” 

“You...” He trails off, clenching his jaw. That’s what you think? “I-I don’t--” He doesn’t know how to respond, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that the two of you are on different pages. “I wanted to kiss you, too.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” Your words come out louder and clearer than you had expected. Chan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to calm his own irritation, but unable to look past the fact that you’d ignored him all night because of a misunderstanding. 

“You were drunk.” 

“It was just a kiss!” Your own anger is starting to flare up. You’d been led to feel like you had seriously crossed a boundary, but as it turns out, Chan was just chivalrous to a fault. How annoying. 

“You were drunk, and I was not, and that wouldn’t have been okay!” 

“It was just a kiss, Chan!” 

“Fine, since you’re telling me that it shouldn’t have mattered--” Chan is quick to bridge the distance between the two of you, cupping your face with one of his hands and gripping your hip with the other. He pulls you flush against him and then leans in, pressing his lips against yours. For a few moments, you don’t know what to do; it’s not a matter of whether you should kiss him back, but you don’t know if you and him need to talk through anything else. Ultimately, you decide that talking can wait and you wrap your fingers around his forearms. 

You pull away just enough to dive back in, lips slotting between Chan’s. Your hold on him couldn’t get any tighter as he holds your head in place, capturing your lips again and again and again. Once bitten and twice shy, you wait for him to slip his tongue into your mouth to go deeper with things. The feeling of your mouth against Chan’s, your tongue sliding against him, quickly becomes intoxicating, but your desire to taste him trumps your desire for air. It isn’t until your lungs are burning that you finally break away, just enough to breathe. Your lips, swollen and chapped, remain pressed against his even as you pant quietly, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your hip was tight enough to bruise, but when he finally realizes and relaxes his hold, he rubs his thumb against you to soothe the dull ache. 

Chan doesn’t know when he’s supposed to release you, and truthfully, he doesn’t want to. He’s aware of how un-romantic it is, standing in the middle of a parking garage, clinging onto each other like this, but Chan will take whatever he can get from you. He isn’t involved in the revolving door of those stuffy businessmen that your father has been forcing you to date. He’s just... Chan, the bartender that’s in love with you. And he knows that fact won’t be able to sustain the relationship that he wants to have with you. 

Where do you go from here? Neither of you have any idea. 

“Chan...” You sigh. You’ve finally gotten exactly what you wanted from him, and unfortunately, you’re still craving more. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy, and the feeling of being pressed against him is intoxicating. You’re afraid you’ll never be able to pull away from him. 

“Don’t say my name like that. It’s dangerous.” 

“Dangerous for who?” 

“For you.” 

You’re glad that Chan is holding you and supporting you, because otherwise, you might’ve keeled over at his response. You can’t count the number of times that you’d thought about Chan while touching yourself, fingers playing with your clit while imagining that it was him instead. There’s a carnal desire that has been driving a large part of your interactions with Chan, and yet, in this moment, you don’t have those same urges. Right now, you want tender touches and soft kisses. You want him to keep you grounded, to hold you and to never release you. 

You want what you can’t have. 

“Should we keep standing here like this, or should we go back to my place?” 

You sigh deeply, and from that response, Chan knows what’s coming next. He’s gotten a taste of you, just enough to get addicted, and now... 

“I still have a date scheduled for next week.” You say, reaching up to thread your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck. “And the week after that, too, I think.” Your heart practically splits and shatters at the look at Chan gives you, but you spill out the rest of your thoughts as quickly as you can. “I-I’m going to talk to my dad. Tomorrow. Just... wait for me, okay?” 

Chan has always waited for you, so it shouldn’t be a problem. 

+ + +

It’s definitely causing problems for Chan, still having to watch you on your stupid little dates. 

He shouldn’t be jealous, he knows that. You’ve already made it painfully obvious that you want him, and he’s still had a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that he can finally call you ‘his’ -- almost. 

You’d asked for time so that you could talk to your date, to tell him that you’d found someone and that you were done with the dates. Your dad hadn’t taken the news well, insisting that you needed to marry within your family’s tax bracket, that your marriage needed to help the family politically and fiscally. Chan didn’t know the rest of the details because you’d been too distraught to recount them, but he knew that you were still bound to go on your dates. He’s been understanding, but that doesn’t stop the ugly jealousy that rises in his throat whenever one of your dates leans in too close, gets too touchy. 

Tonight, as he’s done every other night, he’ll just look away. He’ll take a deep breath. He’ll tend to his patrons and avert his eyes, even though he’s dying to get another look at you. Then, after his shift, he’ll go back with you to your apartment and remind you that you love him, that you’ve always loved him, and that he’s always felt the exact same way about you. 

“How was your date?” Chan asks. It’s much later in the evening now. The two of you had gone back to your apartment. He’d tidied up your living room and kitchen while you changed out of your date outfit and taken off your makeup. Eventually, once both of you were ready, you’d both slumped on the couch. Chan was on you in an instant, touching you after another torturous evening of only being able to look at you. One of his hands is splayed against your head, his fingers pressing against the upward curve of your jaw while his palm cups the underside of it. He’s pressing wet, feverish kisses against the other side of your neck when he pauses to ask about your date. He doesn’t really care, though. 

“Terrible.” You sigh, leaning in against his hand to grant him better access to your neck. He responses positively to this, dragging his tongue against your skin. You groan lowly as a result, clutching his t-shirt a little tighter. “I thought about you the whole time.” 

“The whole time?” His tone is patronizing, but the words go straight to your cunt. “What were you thinking about?” 

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh that bubbles up as Chan sucks a patch of skin between his lips. “Y-You. This.” 

“Yeah?” The feeling of his teeth forces a hiss through your lips, followed by his laughter. You would consider withholding the details of your thoughts from earlier if the desire to reenact them wasn’t so overpowering. 

“Don’t tease.” You huff, threading your fingers through the hair near the back of his neck so that you can hold him a little closer to you. “I-I was thinking about being rescued from my date. You, meeting me in the bathroom and fucking me against the mirror.” 

Chan has to still his movements so that he can fully process your words. The same thoughts now race through his mind, and he groans against your throat. He would be toast if he ever tried anything at the restaurant, but he could still indulge the thought – especially if those same thoughts were keeping you sane through your dates. He drags his hands down to your hips, squeezing and pulling you closer to him on the couch. 

You’re folded underneath him in a matter of sixty seconds. 

“F-Fuck, Chan--” He’s moving so fast that you don’t even realize he’d shimmied his way to between your thighs until he pauses, hands planted atop your thighs. Your heart is racing, and your lungs feel constricted, and as badly as you want this, there’s something terrifying about each and every new step that you take into this uncharted territory with him. You’ve been dreaming about having Chan inside of you, in every way possible, since you met him; your dreams never considered anything beyond that, though. “W-We-- hold on--” 

“This doesn’t have to be c-committal.” Chan rasps, eyes flickering between yours and your core, likely indicated by a wet patch on your shorts. “I-I just really want to taste you, this doesn’t h-have to be anything-- y-you said--” 

You want it so bad that you’re afraid to give yourself any additional time to overthink and ruin things. “P-Please, Chan, I want you.” He tugs your shorts down only enough for access to your cunt, flattening his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. He rubs his hands up and down your thighs as he goes in for another taste, hot and wet and separated by such a thin layer. Your cries for more are weak but unnecessary; he hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling them aside for full access. His mouth is watering at the sight of you, and the moment that he gets his first real taste of you is one that he’ll cherish for eternity. 

Chan eats your pussy like a man starved. You know that you don’t imagine the ripping sound that you hear before your underwear ends up on the floor, but then Chan immediately crams his tongue inside of you and fucks you with it, and you accept his form of apology. He pulls away only to press himself flush against you, slurping and sucking against your slit and collecting all of the arousal that’s been pooling out of you. You swear that your grip on his hair can’t get any tighter until he kneads your clit with his tongue, and then you’re pulling even harder. 

“Chan, y-yes, fuck, p-please--” 

“K-Keep saying that--” He groans into your pussy, and you involuntarily roll your hips in response to the vibration of his words against your folds. “--my n-name.” 

You sigh his name again, untangling one of your hands from his arm to drape it across your face, eyes falling shut as you focus on the feelings of Chan’s tongue laving over your clit again and again. It feels even better than you had imagined it would, soft and slow and warm. Each involuntary clench of your thighs against his head is met with firm hands prying you back open, and the few times that you’ve dared to look down at Chan, you’ve been brought closer and closer to your orgasm. There are two reasons for the feverishness that’s overtaken your body: because you’re with Chan, and because you’ve never wanted anyone the way that you’ve wanted him. 

Your orgasm rips you out of your bliss. It’s like you’ve been struck by the lightning, the way that your body writhes and shudders while Chan sits back, his lazy grin covered in your slick, admiring his work as you fall apart. He tells himself that, if this ever happens again, he should record you; the sound of you moaning his name is what he hopes will play on an endless loop for him in his afterlife. 

His touches are soft as you come down from your high, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him down to meet your lips, groaning softly when you taste yourself on his tongue. At the risk of doing too much too quickly, though, Chan pulls away from the kiss once he senses it’s about to escalate again. 

“W-We— s-sorry, I--” 

You’re, admittedly, disappointed, but you pull him back down into your arms, nuzzling your face into his neck this time. He relaxes in your hold, and the two of you lapse into a silence punctuated by the ticking of a nearby clock and each other’s heartbeats. Even in the comfortable silence, you still feel compelled to say your piece, though. 

“I really like you, Chan.” 

He only hums in response. He hopes that you can’t feel his heartrate increase as he lays against you. You wouldn’t break up with him right after he fucked you with his tongue, right? Of course, he knows that you wouldn’t, and yet... 

“We’re gonna be together soon, okay? I promise. I-I'll find a way to stop the stupid dates, and then we can be together. That’s all I wanted to say.” 

God, he hopes that you can find a way to keep your word. 

+ + +

Truthfully, Chan can’t figure out if he’s lost his mind or not. He still thinks that he might be stuck in his own fantasies, dreaming up a life with you that doesn’t really exist. 

Even as he helps you carry boxes from your apartment out to the moving van that you rented out, he’s not sure that this is reality. He pinches his fingers as he sets down one of the boxes in the truck, and still, he thinks that he’s imagined the pain. You plant a kiss on his cheek as you breeze past him and back into the building, and yet, he still can’t fathom that things had ended up as they have. 

You’d actually been able to keep your promise. He still can’t believe that. 

After months and months of dating in secret, you had managed to convince your dad that the family could survive without the nepotism marriage that he desperately desired. It had taken a few sabotaged dates where you’d spewed on and on about your sex with Chan, and countless conversations where you begged and pleaded with him to see things the way that you did, and somehow, Chan ended up victorious. You were someone that he only deserved in his dreams, and somehow, he had found a way to dream while he was awake. 

He has to take moments to ground himself, to let himself remember that you are real, that you do love him back. That’s how you find him on your trip back to the van, zoned out and staring at the ground. He doesn’t snap out of it even as you slam the doors of the van shut. Only when you hug him from behind, cheek pressed against the center of his back, hands sliding along his chest does he finally descend from the clouds. You inhale deeply against him, smiling involuntarily at the scent of him that you were expecting to fully engrain to memory soon enough. 

“Hey. Sorry.” 

“Daydreaming again?” 

Chan laughs, turning in your arms so that he can hold you, too. “Trying to convince myself that this is real.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be real, Chan?” 

“Because since I met you, I knew that I loved you. But that didn’t matter until recently.” When you open your mouth to reply, to scold him because he could’ve said something sooner, he shakes his head. “I always hoped that you’d be mine. I just didn’t think it was realistic.” 

“It was never us against the world. Just... us against my dad.” 

“Yeah, well, regardless of that,” Chan kisses you softly, pulling away only far enough to put distance between your lips as he speaks again. “I feel like I beat the world, and your dad, and won the most precious gift in the process.” 

“You won?” 

“I did. I won you.” 

“Do I need to remind you that I’m not a prize?” 

“You’re my prize.” 

[ao3cassandraic]

I'm a little confused, what trouble did the Internet Archive get into exactly?

By this I mean, is it going down? Or is it just dealing with politics behind the scenes?

(I occasionally find the Internet Archive to be useful, so I hope it doesn't disappear)

Okay, so, it helps to have context here. First, IA.

IA has its fingers in several pies:

the Wayback Machine (and allied services such as Archive-It) for website preservation

software (including game) preservation

print digitization, which started (I think) as an add-on to software preservation (because manuals matter!) and expanded to pretty much whatever print IA could get its hands on

a lending system for the above digitized collection, known as the "Open Library"

lately, machine-learning tools intended to operate over its digitized-print collections (it's still building this out, I've seen some of the grant applications) -- nothing generative-AI-like yet that I know of, however

A lot of this work is only dubiously and uncertainly within the scope of US copyright. (N.b. IANAL, IANYL, I am certainly not Internet Archive's lawyer, TINLA.) IA takes refuge largely in audacity, and in the centrality of the Wayback Machine to web preservation generally. So they have been known to pull the "if we lose this legal case totally unrelated to web preservation and have to pay gonzo fines, Wayback is in peril!" ripcord.

Is this true? Hell if I know, I don't audit IA's books. I doubt it, though.

What they're in trouble for -- what an appeals court shot them all the way down for yesterday -- is what they did with their Open Library of digitized print books, many of them in-copyright, during COVID lockdown. And to understand all that, we have to untangle some things about US copyright. Ugh, somebody hand me a read-more link.

Why can libraries lend print books, vinyl, cassettes, CDs, and DVDs in the US? Because of a legal doctrine called "the first sale right," which goes like this: if you have a legally-produced physical object containing copyrighted material, you can do whatever the fuck you want with that physical object with zero copyright implications --other than reproduce/copy or perform it (which does have copyright implications, complex ones).

You can (yes) burn it. You can lend it to a friend, or an enemy, or a random stranger. You can give it away. You can throw it away. You can resell it. You can hang it on your wall or in your window. You can make an art installation with it. And the copyright owner cannot win a copyright-based lawsuit over any of this, even if they hate what you're doing! Even if it competes with them selling new copies (as the resale market absolutely does, and as some jerkfaced copyright owners -- usually corporations, not authors! -- love to complain that libraries do)!

Here's the thing, though, and it's an important thing so I'm gonna big-type it:

The right of first sale does not apply to anything digital ever.

Not ebooks (digitized or born-digital, doesn't matter). Not streaming anything. Not paywalled online news or research.

When libraries offer these to patrons, it's through contracts with publishers or aggregators. Long story short, a lot of these contracts are ridiculously restrictive (not to mention expensive) to the point of cartoonish evil, but it's what we have to work with.

The idea behind Controlled Digital Lending is "if libraries purchased a physical item legally, we should get to lend the item to one person at a time as we always have, and it shouldn't actually matter whether what we lend is the physical item or a digital version of it, as long as only one or the other is out to a patron at a given time."

Which is an untested legal theory! I can't tell you whether it's legal! Nobody can! The case law doesn't exist! Yeah yeah, there's relevant past cases in both directions having to do with accessibility or Google Books or whatever, but a specific precedential ruling on CDL is not a thing that presently exists.

No, not even now. Because what IA did with its Open Library during lockdown, and got slapped down for by the court, is not CDL as defined above. IA didn't hold to one-person-at-a-time-per-book. They tried to make a fair-use argument for what they actually did (that is, not for actual CDL), and the court was not having it.

The thing is, IA's stumblebummed legal fuckup means that actual CDL, as actual libraries (n.b. the IA is not an actual library or an actual archives, I will happily die on this hill, I loathe IA like poison and do not want to admit them to my profession, IA people have dissed me and my work TO MY ACTUAL PHYSICAL FACE and they only love libraries or librarians when trying to hide behind us) were trying to design and implement it, now faces additional legal hurdles. Any court looking at an actual CDL program has to take into account IA getting slapped down. And that's if we can even find a library or library consortium with deep enough pockets and hardcore enough legal representation to even defend such a case.

The thing also is, IA just issued Big Publishing a gilt-edged invitation to use this precedent to sue actual libraries, especially academic libraries, over other things we do. (I'm gonna pass over exactly what in silence because I do not want to give those fuckers ideas, but... there have been past lawsuits, look 'em up.) THANKS, BREWSTER. THANKS EVER SO. Asshole.

For a calmer take than mine, check out Library Futures, which to their credit has not given up all hope for CDL.

This IS the short version of all this nonsense, believe me. I used to teach a whole entire three-credit graduate-level course in the long version. (Which IA would doubtless diss to my face if they knew about it.)

[writingonleaves]

remember thinking that i got this right - brady skjei

pairing: brady skjei x original female character

warnings: swearing, slight angst, fluff, not proofread

title: “lie to me” by 5 seconds of summer

word count: 2.4k

author’s note: lie to me is my most played song of all time, therefore, i decided to write this in two hours. it’s different than my usual. i think i’m happy with it. hope you all enjoy and lmk what you think!!

*****

Monet Shemer has got to be hallucinating.

There’s no way, as she’s drinking a Downeast, that Brady fucking Skjei is at the same East Village dive bar as her right now.

She blinks three times, even looks away, taking a hefty drink of her cider. But nope, it’s him. And it’s just her luck that he catches her eye this time. She seems him physically react, and before she knows it, she watches him excuse himself from the group he’s with and walk over to where she’s sitting. All Monet can do is watch him as he approaches, eyes scanning over his gray t-shirt, his salt and pepper hair and his eyes that, to her, have always held a distinct sparkle.

It’s been three years since she’s seen him this close in person. It feels like yesterday.

“Hi Moe,” he says, slipping into the seat next to her and placing his beer on the countertop.

“Hey.”

“Small world, huh?”

A bit too small, in Monet’s opinion. She laughs nervously. “Seems like it.”

“Are you here alone?”

She shakes her head, nodding to her two friends out on the dance floor, one of who is grinding against another girl right now. “Girl in the pink dress and black dress are my coworkers. You?”

“Remember Mike Reilly?” She looks over his shoulder and can’t help but grin at the familiar face, as well as a few others from their University of Minnesota days. “He’s getting married next week in Long Beach.”

“Good for him,” she says genuinely.

“Yeah,” Brady swallows. “It’s been awhile.”

“Three years.”

“Three years.” He repeats softly, and the look in his eyes has Monet taking another big sip of her cider. “Has it really been that long?”

“Yup.” Because what else can Monet really say? It’s been three years since she left this very city heartbroken, when a weekend trip watching Brady play at Madison Square Garden had turned into a teary-eyed breakup that had her crying on the whole flight back to Chicago. Three years since she’s been in a relationship that’s meant anything to her.

And fuck, it hurts so much more now, with him in front of her, because she knows that it didn’t affect him the same. They still have mutual friends back from college. She knew he started dating someone six months after they broke up.

(She also knows that they broke up over a year ago. But that doesn’t really mean anything.)

“How have you been?” Brady asks, and he asks it so earnestly that Monet can’t even get annoyed. “You work in New York now?”

She bites her lip at the underlying question in his voice. “Yeah. Same company as before. Just transferred offices and a different sector.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did you move out here?”

She hesitates. “A few months before COVID.”

She watches the realization settle on his face. He was still playing for the Rangers then. “And you didn’t reach out?”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t feel inclined to reach out to the person who broke my heart.”

His breath hitches and Monet is slightly satisfied. Good. He closes his eyes for a second. “You know that I didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t mean it hurt any less.”

“I guess not,” he breathes out. “I meant every word I said that night, Moe. I really am sorry that it turned out the way it did.”

Now Monet feels guilty at her sudden coldness, because it had been mutual and Brady had seemed distraught about it at the time. She smiles weakly. “How have you been? You like Raleigh?”

Brady shrugs. “I do. The guys are great. We’ve been making playoffs consistently. I can’t complain too much. Not as many options for coffee as here though.”

Monet snorts before she can stop herself. “You finally branched out of your go-to Starbucks?”

He laughs and Monet feels her heart breaking at the sound. “Busted. I’m trying to.”

“Uh huh. You know their cold brew is disgusting.”

“And the sugar-filled frappacinos you got were any better?” He smirks as she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“You don’t get to be a coffee snob to me when all you like is beer.” She knows it’s a weak retort, considering she’s drinking a cider and the IPA in his hands is actually one of her favorites.

And he knows it too, as he snorts. He takes a sip without breaking eye contact, and it makes her stomach warm. Three fucking years later and he still has this effect on her. “You look beautiful,” he says softly.

She snorts. “I did come here straight from work, so that’s definetly not true. But thanks.”

“You always had the ability to make anything look stunning.”

Monet squeezes her eyes shut, because fucking hell, he can’t just say shit like that. “Brady.”

“I’m sorry,” at least he looks apologetic. “That was out of line.”

“It was,” she says. She feels suffocated. She needs to get out of here. Where are Carey and Emma?

To her luck, they suddenly appear right in front of her. Carey’s holding Emma up by the shoulders with a grimace. “Hey, I think I’m gonna take this one home.”

Monet can’t help but chuckle. “You need help?”

Carey waves her friend off. “Nah, I’ll make sure she gets in her apartment.” How nice it must be to live in the same building as one of your closest friends. Carey unsubtely eyes Brady, who’s looking at Emma in mild concern. Stupid Brady and his good manners. “Hi. I’m Carey.”

“Brady.”

Monet sees the flash of recognition come across Carey’s face. Carey’s never met Brady, but she knows enough. “You good to get back on your own, Moe?”

“Yeah.”

Carey looks between Monet and Brady. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She appreciates her friend’s concern, but it’s not needed. Brady is a lot of things. Inconsiderate isn’t one of them.

Carey nods as Emma’s head lolls on her shoulder. “See you around, maybe?” She directs towards Brady.

“Hopefully,” Brady says with a smile. Monet tries not to read into that as she eyes her friends’ backs. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. She just needs to sleep it off. She got dumped last week.”

“Ah,” Brady nods in understanding. “That’s never fun.”

She clears her throat. “You should get back to your friends.” Once upon a time, Monet may have even considered some of them their friends. But that was before.

He waves her off. “They’re fine without me.”

She traces the rim of her glass. “What do you want, Brady?”

He looks a bit hurt, though with a hint of understanding. “I-I thought I was seeing things earlier when I saw you. But then I realized it was really you and I just, I don’t know. I couldn’t not talk to you, you know?” His gaze drops to the bottle in his hands. “Do you hate me?”

Monet is taken aback by that. She didn’t think it was in Brady to get vulnerable in a random dive bar on a Friday night. When they were younger, it took a lot for Brady’s voice to reach this level of trembling.

But that’s just it. When they were younger.

“No,” she admits. “No, I don’t. I don’t think I ever could.”

“You should,” he whispers. “Sometimes I still do for pushing you away three years ago.”

“Then why did you never reach out?” She flashes back to those months after, endless nights donimated by tears, what-ifs flooding her brain and mornings where she wished she was still his.

“I don’t know,” he clasps his hands together, laying them on the table. “I almost did a couple of times. But I always stopped myself. I guess…I guess I convinced myself that since I was the one pushed you away that I couldn’t be the one to reach out first.”

“So it’s because you were too proud?” She sees him swallow and not respond. She sighs.

“I know, I know,” his shoulders deflate. “Why did you never reach out?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

“You were wrong.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

Silence falls between them, the sounds of Bruce Springsteen echoing through the crowded bar. She watches him pick at his nails and has an urge to cover her hands with his so that he’ll stop.

“I miss you,” she blurts out. Brady lifts his head up to meet her gaze immediately. She forges on. “I wish I didn’t. I mean, three years, right? That’s kind of pathetic. But I do. Miss you, that is. Even as just a friend.” She laughs humorlessly. “I even tagged along with Emma last season to a game at MSG when the Rangers were playing the Canes. I never intended on reaching out, but I just wanted to see you play.”

“Moe.”

“I don’t expect you to feel the same,” she says firmly. Or as firmly as she can with a frog in her throat. “And I mean that. I’m me. And you’re you. I get it.”

“Don’t say that.”

She shrugs. “I’m not saying anything that-”

“I mean it,” Brady says fiercely, a fire in his eyes that used to only appear when he was really passionate about something. “Monet, you’re-you’re spectacular. You’re kind to everyone. You’re incredibly smart. You always put others before yourself. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. Still to this day.”

Now her eyes start watering. “That’s…uh, thank you. That’s really nice of you to say.”

He chuckles, shaking his head at her slightly with a fond look on his face. “You just proved my point.” The smile drops as he leans forward, serious expression on his face. “I miss you too. I still-I still think of you everytime I see lilies. Or when we play in Chicago, though I guess you’re here now. My grandma still asks about you and gets very dissapointed when I don’t have any updates outside of your Instagram. When I go back home, I always picture you sitting at the back porch with my mom talking about the books you’ve both been reading. I could go on.” He lets out a deep breath to center himself. “My point is, is that I don’t think I could ever love someone the way I loved you. And I tried. Fuck me, I tried. But no one ever came close.”

Somewhere deep down, Monet knew a confession like this was coming. He would’ve walked away from this conversation right at the start otherwise. Her heart hurts, realizing how much they still know about each other. She stares down at her hands, biting her lip as he tentatively puts one of his over hers. She doesn’t pull away.

“So now what?” Monet whispers. “We both miss each other. We…I’m here and you’re in Raleigh.”

He snorts. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing — that one of the main factors that drove them apart was because she had been working in Chicago and he was in New York, where she is now. But he’s not here anymore.

“It’s not ideal,” he says.

“When has it ever been?” She shoots back.

“Remember when you came out to New York and the night before you were supposed to leave, I convinced you to change your flight so you could stay a few extra days?”

She blinks at the abrupt topic change. “Yeah. That was, like, one of the times I skipped class. You were a bad influence.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs with a light smile. “I remember the next morning, watching you sleep and thinking that I got this right. Somehow, I had the dream of playing hockey for a living and I had the perfect girl next to me. After we broke up, I didn’t know if I’d be able to have that again. But you’re here telling me that maybe there’s a chance. I’m not letting that go.”

Something about that and the way he says it makes her intertwine their hands as she gives his hand a squeeze.

“Brady, I don’t know if I can do it again,” she says. “I don’t know if I can put myself through all of that if the outcome could be…this. What the last three years were to me.”

“It’ll be different this time,” he says confidently. “We’re both older. A bit wiser. It’ll be different.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“Maybe,” he repeats. “But I’ve missed you. I love you. That has to count for something, right? Please let it count for something.”

Monet swallows. Love? Missing is fine, but love? That’s not something to just throw around.

(And the thing is, she knows that he knows that. He’s not throwing it around just to do so)

“Do you remember what you got me for our third anniversary?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Uh, the framed pressed flowers?”

Of course he remembers. Her lips quirk up. He had gone somewhere to press flowers from bouquets that he had gifted her in the past. It’s still the msot thoughtful present she’s ever received.

“Yeah.”

“What about them?”

“I still have it hung up in my living room.”

The confession has Brady’s eyes gleaming. “Let me take you out to dinner, please.” He pleads gently.

One second. Then two. And then: “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She nods, a smile threatening to spill out her lips. “Yeah. Okay. Are you around tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” he responds quickly.

She laughs at his eagerness. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Even if I had plans, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Brady.”

He shrugs with a light smirk. “What?”

She just rolls her eyes. She bites her lip, one more question burning through her mind. “And after?”

“Hm?”

“After. If it goes well.” The “if” is hilarious, because she and him both know it will. “I’m here and you’re going back to Minny for the off season, I assume. And then you’re back down in Raleigh.”

“We’ll work it out.” He says it so confidently that Monet can’t help but believe him.

Monet takes one last look at him. He stares at her so lovingly and rubs his thumb over hers.

(The next night, when she opens the door of her apartment with Brady, looking incredibly handsome in a white button-up with lillies in his hands, she lets herself go and kisses him.

He’s right. They’ll work it out.)

[thelooniemoonie]

Look at how far we've come (Happy 25th birthday to me!)

I'm gonna put some of my thoughts under the cut here, so if you wanna hear me reflect or get personal for a second feel free to scroll past. (CW: mentions of suicide, and other dark topics)

I'm writing this the day or so before queuing this so by the time you read it it will be my birthday but I'm writing this on like. Wednesday

And...well? I guess I'm turning 25? I know it's technically a big milestone because it's like 25% through your life or whatever, but it feels....kinda weird? Like, "oh, I guess I'm turning 25."

I don't quite know how to explain how I'm feeling. It's not necessarily bad? I know we live in a world that puts a lot of unnecessary pressure on age and getting older, but i don't really care about that kinda stuff like getting grey hairs or wrinkles. But this is a new feeling.

It's more like....the feeling of realization once you reflect a bit. A lot of stuff has happened over the past few years, but once you actually turn and look back all of the events you lived through, you kinda realize how much you've grown. Going step by step, day by day, and only realizing once you turn around that you've climbed an entire mountain.

Back when I was 12 years old, I attempted to kill myself.

At the time, the future felt like a dark fog with nothing ahead in sight. I was living in dangerous abusive conditions with my father, severely depressed, and actively spiralling with my own identity, let alone my place in the world. The future was nonexistent.

Now...when I reflect back on that period of my life, it feels like worlds away now.

(Also don't worry if you're reading this and feel concern for me, I haven't felt any suicidal feelings in practically a decade now. I'm sure as hard things may seem sometimes, I genuinely am miles away from that headspace and do not intend to hurt myself in any way.)

It's kinda weird knowing back when I was younger (which isn't that long ago, to be fair) that I already felt like my life was over. Like I just wasn't gonna get into university, I was gonna drop out, I'm gonna have to navigate the entire trajectory of my life in that deep fog.....

.....and now realizing where I am? It's weird. Like I didn't plan for any of this. I should be dead. I'm just winging this entire thing.

But.... it's also realizing that I'm gonna be fine.

To be perfectly honest, this year has been kinda rough for me. While I don't talk about my personal life too much on here I was pretty miserable the first 4 months due to getting screwed over during the start of my Masters, plus not seeing my irl friends for a while hasn't been ideal either. (I also feel kinda shitty complaining about these things in general, as I'm well aware these kinds of opportunities are things not everyone is able to get, and I know there's friends and others that have it worse off than me, so I just kinda keep that shit to myself)

But I've also come a long way haven't I? I've managed to graduate in the middle of a pandemic, managed to land a job helping the covid pandemic in my province, got my drivers licence, made memories with the ones I love and meeting new people, slowly becoming more independent and now doing climate change research for my Masters degree? It's...something.

It's kinda the feeling of your world being very small, like a tiny space where the fog obscures anything outside your view, and slowly it fading away and your world getting bigger. Like sure I can't 100% see the future, but it's important to reflect on knowing what that world was like before.

I wish I had something poetic here or a message or life lesson to articulate my thoughts. But that doesn't really work here. (I'm also being careful to focus on positive aspects of my life here, as it wouldn't really be great to focus on the more negative aspects, like that time I almost died again (this time not on purpose, I promise) in a car crash in 2020 or a really bad breakup I had with a group of friends. But I suppose that's just life, isn't it? You really get a wide variety of experiences, good or bad)

I can't really say my life is 100% improved at this point either, things still aren't perfect as I'm still living with my mom, a closeted queer, and I'm sure there's a lot that I still need to learn and considering, the uh, well (vaguely gestures at all the current events going on right now) stuff....going on........there's still a lot of work to be done.

Dandelions in the spring. A shining moon on a dark night. The first seedling after a forest fire. Fading scars. Light from a birthday candle held in your hands, carrying wishes in the wind long after they burn out.

Hope, I guess.

Anyway if you read this far here's my official adult™ tips from my experience:

If you wear jewellery that tarnishes quickly line a bowl with tinfoil shiny side up, place jewellery in the bowl with equal parts baking soda and salt, and pour boiling water over everything and leave for 5 minutes

Invest in a cushion that supports your tailbone. You have no idea how many office chairs have shit ergonomic design.

[try-and-try-and-try-again]

This is really random but I feel like I want to get it out and I don’t know where/who to so I’m getting it out here.

I am quite upset by my dad at the moment. In many ways he is wonderful. He supports me so much, more than he should have to. I feel bad that soon after he retired he basically ended up dropping his retirement plans and becoming my almost full-time carer but he has never complained and in fact continues to say he is proud of me and does so much.

However some of his views really bother me.

1. On Palestine - every time anyone mentions the atrocities going on he says everyone’s oversimplifying things. That Israel are not acting unacceptably, they are retaliating and defending themselves from Hamas. That Palestine started it etc. As if it makes what they seem to be doing less atrocious. I never know how to respond to him. He just insists everyone else is wrong.

2. On Covid vaccines - he attributes almost every death that happens at the moment to complications of the Covid vaccines (and says this is being covered up on purpose). He says it must be the case because people have died from blood clots etc. following vaccination but I feel like he is cherry picking data. He says they should never have been rolled out, the pandemic was an exercise in controlling people and making the vaccine/pharmaceutical industry large profits. Yes, governments did act questionably and wealthy people made a disgusting amount of money from the situation but to say that’s what the pandemic was all about when so many people died of Covid, especially at the beginning and everyone was so terrified… I feel like he is missing something. (Also he joined a rather sketchy seeming website called ‘Lockdown Sceptics’ which seemed to be used by lots of questionable figures).

3. Climate change - he says climate scientists are spreading panic, also humans can’t possibly be expected to drastically change their lifestyles, it isn’t fair so we should carry on business as usual. When I looked round environmental science departments at universities he’d try to pick arguments with climate scientists (when he has a college qualification in horticulture). When he was younger he used to be in Friends of the Earth. Now this.

4. Trans issues - he says it’s good that waiting lists for GICs are stupidly stupidly long and it’s really hard to access them because gender affirming care is not to be taken lightly and people are just confused about themselves and should be forced to take time to make decisions (but 7+ years for an initial consultation to just discuss things? Really? And what about all the time before asking to go to a GIC?). He says the Cass report does have validity. He says the new rules about no gender neutral bathrooms in new buildings and segregating trans people in hospitals are not unreasonable. (He also recently changed his mind about accepting my coming out as non-binary which kind of hurts).

5. Science - he says science in general, and particularly the medical field, is not trustworthy. That it is all funded and influenced by the government and Big Pharma and other corrupt corporations even if no conflicting interests are declared so no research is reliable. And he says “science isn’t about facts, it’s about debate” and that no one is letting things be debated. He is not a scientist. Why is he so sure he can claim this? He preached the words of YouTube ‘experts’ who make claims about things in fields they are not qualified in and YouTube doctors who say mainstream medicine is completely wrong and give diet and lifestyle advice etc. that personally I find quite unsettling. He says ‘well x says the data actually shows this’ and I say ‘have you actually looked at this data yourself?’. He says ‘no’ - he just blindly trusts these YouTube ‘experts’ opinions.

He is 76. And spends entire days trawling through Google on his laptop. I don’t know if that is worth mentioning. I don’t know, so many of his views sit uncomfortably with me and I just don’t know what to do or what to say to him. And he upsets my sister too because of some of these things so maybe it’s not just me being overly sensitive and wrong.

[smolwritingchick]

Smol Brainstorm: So Many Factors

Summary: Jungkook asks for insight on marriage

Author's Note: This idea randomly popped into my head after seeing a Tik Tok. I always thought about Jungkook talking with Jennie's manager, Diana, first regarding wanting to pop the question before asking Jennie's parents for their blessing. Just a random brainstorm. I feel like this would happen around early 2021.

------

"Your phone call sounded urgent. Everything okay?" Diana asked with a smile as she sat across from Jungkook for lunch.

"Yes. I felt like you are the best person to discuss this with before going to Jennie's parents," he replied with a nervous smile.

"Oh? What do you want to discuss?"

"I've been thinking of the future of my relationship with Jennie and I wanted your advice about it,"

"Ah...thinking of popping the question?" her smile widened while he felt a bit shy and nodded.

"Yes. I've been thinking about it for so long now...I really want to ask her to marry me,"

"Aww...they grow up so fast. It was like just yesterday she was telling me that you confessed in her hotel room. Okay, let's talk about it,"

Jungkook smiled as he thought of Jennie. "Having conversations with her was always easy. She always knew the right things to say to get me to open up when we first met. And I could always confide in her for anything. I met my best friend. And we fell in love together. And it's been the best years of our lives. I want her as my wife. I want to grow a family with her. I want to be with her forever,"

Diana smiled at his words and nodded. "I see it. Jungkook, marriage is no joke. There are so many factors that go into making a successful relationship and marriage. Some advice my mom told me was that you shouldn't get married until your relationship gets tested. When you go through struggles together and see how you two can handle and overcome them. It's easier said than done,"

Jungkook nodded at her words as she continued, "Jungkook, I have had a lot of boyfriends before I met my husband. And I will say with my past boyfriends, we were all like, 'Oh we can get through anything together, I love you,' but again it was easier said than done. Because, when a roadblock happened, all my boyfriends were quick to give up and didn't want to do the work to overcome it. Some ended up breaking up with me while others I broke up with them. That was until I met my husband. I had to take care of my sick dad who was dealing with cancer at the time. So, I was helping with the medical bills and constantly making sure he was alright with the rest of my family. And he understood that and stood by me. Even aided me with that. He never complained about me spending more time with my family instead of him during that time. It was that moment of many when I told myself, I could marry this man,"

Diana let out a sigh as the memories came back. "I was always so scared to think that he would just want to leave like the others but he didn't. He stayed and he has been there for me, emotionally. And I wanted that the most. I didn't want to be in a relationship that was going to focus on physicality. That was the issue in my past relationships. The sex may be good but take away the sex, what do you have? Do you still have a connection with that person? What about emotion? Does your significant other make you feel loved? Safe? So many factors. And I saw that in my husband. And I see that in both you and Jennie. You don't know if you can overcome any obstacle until you officially go through it. You and Jennie have been through a lot and are still going strong. Your unique relationship announcement, avoiding the media trying to twist things to cause conflict between you two, covid, the protests and you being there emotionally for Jennie. The times you both were injured or sick, the tattoo shop situation, you both dealing with busy schedules and understanding the distance is temporary, the list goes on and you both have stood by each other. Everything you both have gone through you came out stronger and more in love,"

Jungkook smiled at that as he thought about the memories over the years. It had been a wild ride.

"I take marriage very seriously, Jungkook. It's not just a piece of paper. It's the real deal. You're certain you love this person and want to spend the rest of your life with them. There is so much into making a marriage work. You gotta have lots of conversations, like if you two want kids, when you want kids, where you want to continue to live. What do you want out of marriage? You've had those conversations in the past right?"

"Yes, we did,"

"And you've agreed to what you both discussed?"

"Yeah, we have,"

"That's a great start. And above all, you both are in an interracial relationship and have gone through a lot because of that. That right there is another huge deal. Family members can be so closed-minded and not accepting when it comes to that but you both remained strong and made it work. You two have had your ups and downs. But that's all love. Another thing that makes me believe you both are ready is that you two have set boundaries with everyone, including your families regarding your relationship. I always liked how firm you both are regarding your relationship. No one knows every single detail about you two. You share what you want to share and keep it lowkey but people still know you both are together. You two don't let the media or anyone control a narrative of what you both have. Continue that. You two have such a beautiful relationship and I am pleased to see you both remain so connected. You have my blessing for sure. I believe you two are ready for the next step. And I hope when you ask Jennie's parents for their blessing, they'll say yes too. I'll even help you with the ring shopping,"

[motsimages]

A friend of mine, wheelchair bound due to long covid, went to the doctor, had a crisis in the waiting room and the doctor told her that if she is in that state, she couldn't see her. Quite literally "if you are sick, I cannot see you". To which she had to insist to be seen because, as it turns out, it is a *chronic* sickness and she will not be healthy the next time she comes. All of this is on my friend's file, it's not the first time she goes to this clinic because this is actually the doctor who makes a report about whether or not she should be recognised as disabled. So she literally saw someone who cannot work in exactly the kind of crisis that prevents them from working and went "nah, I only deal with the healthy ones". The doctor who makes reports so people get disability benefits. In the same clinic where another doctor saw her without a crisis (but in a wheelchair and unable to walk) and deemed her fit to work and not deserving of the disabled status.

And I swear, I think some doctors forget that their whole reason for existing is that people get sick and need care. It's like they expect for healthy people to go see them, but then if you look too healthy, they will also complain because you are making it up or something. So what exactly is it with doctors like this?

[turtlecleric]

assumption - others have said in need of a hug (yes true) but also,

may not have been praised in the way that you deserved growing up and instead others tried to dim your light because they were envious or wanted to see you fail (->im here to tell you they suck ass. you're everything and more; skilled; determined; worthy; and i love you so so much and i am so so proud of you)

Did you know that I would die for you? Did you know that I love you so goddamn much? Did you?

This is way too much personal info that no one actually cares to know, probably, but. I'm sort of avoiding work on purpose at the moment and I'm having a really rough day. Who needs therapy when you have asks on Tumblr to rant in? (I'm joking, to be clear. Actual therapy is so valuable and important if you manage to find a competent professional who clicks well with you. The only reason I stopped going is because of Covid, time, and money.)

Warning: VERY long vent ahead, please do not feel obligated to read or respond

My dad was really good about praising me in ways that felt genuine, actually, though that made the times he /was/ upset with me all that much worse. My dad isn't perfect, and he's done some things and said some things that I'll never forgive, that I'll never be able to forget, but I would also do anything for him. I know he's there for me when I need it, I know he'll answer when I call, I know that he actually cares about me. He and maybe like two cousins are the only family I would never be able to cut off.

My mom... I guess it was just sort of the baseline bare minimum expectation that I would do things well, so when I /was/ praised it was just like... oh, good job sweetie! Proud of you! But it didn't feel... I don't know how to describe why but... I don't know. Now, when people tell me I do things well I always have that voice in my head that's like "they're just being nice, they don't actually think it's all that great, they expected you to do a much better job than this, actually, why did you even bother sharing? Why did you think this was something to be proud of?" I read way too far into things, interpreting neutral reactions, or even positive reactions that aren't as enthusiastic as I might have hoped for, as proof that people are simply being nice and don't really like what I do or make or say all that much. I always get stuck in this mindset that I'm not allowed to create mediocre content, like it all has to be Excellent or else it's Terrible.

I also remember in high school, posting some drawings on Facebook that I was really proud of. Two drawings, one with hands in chains and cut up and the other with healed hands glowing with holy light and cradling a cross. It was supposed to show the difference between life without God and life with God (I was... VERY religious as a teenager. I am now agnostic.), but she saw the first picture and freaked out, super pissed, yelling at me to take it down, to not embarrass her like that, because people were going to see that and think I was abused or depressed or something (haha... me? Depressed? Nahhhhh). And that was the moment when I knew I could never ever ever share anything even remotely dark with her, that if I ever were to express something that indicated I was anything other than good and happy and perfect then she would react similarly. She's also very judgemental regarding mental health, often made comments about how "people who are/do x are sick, there's just something wrong with them, make sure you stay away from people like that" while I'm sitting on the couch like... oof. That's me. So all my venting went to Tumblr where she couldn't see, and even now I mostly only vent on Tumblr and through writing. I have many wonderful friends that would gladly allow me to vent to them (I love you all so much I love you I love you I love you, thank you for being so kind), but I simply Cannot. I've had a friend before where it felt like all they did was complain, they were always so goddamn negative, and it became a chore to talk to them. I started to get angry every time they said or did something defeatist, I stopped enjoying talking or hanging out with them, and I refuse to be that person. Even if I'm told over and over that I don't come across that way, I'm so terrified of it that when I think about reaching out I start to think of that friend and about how I shouldn't bother people and I panic. Unless I've gotten to the point where I truly believe that nothing I do or say will ruin the friendship, then it's really hard to push through that fear. But that's so much harder than it used to be because I /did/ lose a friend that I thought I would have literally for the rest of my life, I was so 100% confident that we would be 80 years old still hanging out with each other and goofing around, so sure we could go through anything together and stay friends, I knew in my heart and soul that we would be friends until we died, and I was wrong. I was wrong. I also had a different friend who was always there for me, always praised me, always listened to me when I needed it and told me kind things and made sure I felt welcome and loved and viewed positively, and then he fucking assaulted me one night when he thought I was asleep.

Anyway. When I /did/ fail at things growing up, it was either punished more severely than necessary or straight up laughed at. Mom was very hot and cold, too, you could never tell what kind of mood she was going to be in that day. (She is still like this. It's well known in my family that you never know which version of her you're going to get.) Things are fine one moment and then suddenly I'm in trouble for something I didn't even realize I did wrong (like with the drawings), so I'm just. Terrified of not doing well enough at things, of disappointing people, of people being annoyed with me or upset with me over something I didn't even realize was rude or mean or wrong to begin with.

"Don't overstay your welcome; don't bother people" was pounded into my head. I can't express how often I start to say or type something and then think, "No one cares. Stop bothering people. You're being too much, you're being annoying, they're tired of you, just keep it to yourself." I'm working on it but. Yeah. Half the time I still just stop talking or backspace and stay quiet. Even typing this, I'm like... you should delete this. You're basically just begging for attention, and if anyone says anything about this to you then it'll only be because they felt obligated to and they're going to start seeing you as a whiny, pathetic, manipulative person, and they're going to get tired of you and roll their eyes every time you say anything, even if it's not you venting, or they'll see this and think about how stupid or weird it is for you to put this information out on the internet, and even this sentence right here is proof that they'd be right because you're aware of all these thoughts and you're still doing it.

But then another part of me thinks that if I can't even vent on my own blog on a post that literally no one is required to read that is also hidden under a readmore and clearly states that it's a vent post, then where /can/ I vent? And if someone else posted this, would I be this harsh on them? And what's so wrong with seeking attention and comfort? Why is that unforgivable in yourself but admirable in others? Why are you crying at work? Why aren't you doing your job? Why aren't you better? Why aren't you better?

[yellowstarwater]

Okay so this is going to be my overall thoughts on Clone High season 2!

A lot of people have and will continue to complain about how it’s not as good or as funny as season one and that’s both fair and unfair. As a fanfic writer I know how hard it can be to continue writing a story after not working on it for a long time especially after working on new projects. And the same can be said for the show runners here, a lot has changed since they first produced season one. This was something that if it wasn’t for COVID it might have never been revived, so I can forgive them for it not feeling exactly the same as before after all it was twenty years ago. Jokes that worked then wouldn’t work now, I get and respect that. With that being said it could have been better.

For one besides Abe in the first episode no one seems to struggle with adjusting to 2023! That kinda of doesn’t make sense, I get not wanting to bring it up all the time but side jokes and cutaways could have worked. I also found it weird that we barely see any foster parents this season, you’re telling me that the Clones from 2003 parents weren’t freaking out when they suddenly came home after being gone for twenty years! I mean it’s not like the foster parents were important to the story but they could have shown some kind of reaction to them just showing up again?!

Like wouldn’t it have been funny if the foster parents were like super protective of their kids when they came back to the point of putting tracking devices on their phones or something?! I don’t know maybe not that but something! Also is John Stamos alive or dead after what happened? It’s also never addressed!

I do like the inclusion of all the new characters though, they do really add some new elements to the show and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But again I expected this going into this season. Another thing that has changed is that besides Harriet no one seems to be trying to live up to or are pressured by expectations of their Clone parents. This was a running theme in season one for all the characters and yet this theme is just given to one person now? Sometimes the other clones might mention something but it’s very rare.

Now to get into the relationship that took up most of the season Joanfk, as a huge fan of the ship I was both excited and dreading to see how this relationship would develop. And that’s mostly because of the new intro, I personally don’t think the creators were ever going to make them a couple in 2003, they clearly seem to favor Abe/Joan which makes sense because during that time period the Friends to Lovers trope ruled most shows. I feel like Joanfk was done because they knew that a lot of the new fans wanted to see it, after all Joanfk shippers are one of the main reasons this show was not only revived but people kept talking about it until season two came out. I’m not gonna say that it’s not possible that they could get back together because Clone High is satire a parody of all the teen drama shows and movies it’s very possible that they could get back together again at some point. And honestly I hate the reason they gave for breaking them up being that JFK wasn’t smart enough both intellectually and emotionally for Joan to stay with him when throughout this season alone we can see that this isn’t even really true. I appreciate that they did this and even gave them a semi respectable breakup but (and I could be wrong) BUT clearly they’re not that into Joanfk. And yet still the biggest obstacle to Joanfk starts and ends with Joan not being sure how she feels about Abe (or even JFK sometimes) and not doing anything to resolve it.

Abe and Joan if the show had continued it’s run in 2003 this couple would have probably been end game, it’s the classic Friends to Lovers trope that the 90’s and early 2000’s loved. After all the show Friends basically coasted on this one trope as well as Saved by the Bell etc…Personally I think the Friends to Lovers trope can work if it’s done well Kim Possible is an example that I can think of that does this well and though some might not like Kim and Ron being endgame I think its actually done well and believable. And then there’s the times when I don’t think it’s done well (again this is just my opinion!) like with Danny Phantom. Don’t get me wrong Danny and Sam started off as cute and I did root for them…in season one after that the writers basically just dragged this trope out till the very end. And it didn’t help that (in my opinion) Valerie and Danny’s relationship was a lot more interesting. I mentioned this because Abe and Joan’s possible relationship seems to be something the writers want to drag out and this is bad because you could very easily lose your audience because of that. I get that dragging it out is part of the humor and satire but in a time where a lot of shows can easily be canceled (especially with the writers strike still going on) it’s not the best way to go. I will never like Abe and Joan being together as much as Joanfk (I really do think it’s the better relationship between the two of them despite what was said in episode seven) but I can at least get used to it and be happy for them if it’s not dragged out. Or they can make the three of them polyamorous I’m fine with that too!

The other couples are fine for the most part Confucius and Harriet will have their issues I can already see it but I am willing to give it a chance. Again the last episode (spoilers if you haven’t seen it) it makes sense that Harriet acted the way she did because again of all of the clones right now she seems to be the only one who feels any pressure about living up to her clone mother. And Confucius well he has rich foster parents even if he doesn’t qualify to get into a college he’ll be admitted it makes sense that he’s not worried about it or thinking about it.

Frida and Cleo are perfect, I only wish there had been more hints of them throughout the season but in like two episodes the pace and execution of this relationship was done perfectly and believable. It’s one of the few couples that’s just cute and has nothing else messing with it. Was it fair that Frida let go of Joan to save Cleo, not really but it made sense that she would save her girlfriend, over her girl friend.

Okay now to talk about the characters one on one.

JFK continues to improve and grow despite this being a satire teen drama show, he makes male friends, is in a committed relationship with one person where he Doesn’t cheat or even thinks about anyone else all the time. (Only one episode sorta counts) It’s hard but he accepts Joan’s decision to break things off with him even though he really does love her to the point of wanting what is best for her even if it’s not him. He even becomes friends with Abe and encourages him to pursue someone he still very clearly loves. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out he was faking it in episode seven just to give Joan an excuse to leave because he was afraid he wasn’t enough to make her happy.

Cleo didn’t get enough screen time for someone who is a main character, and besides her relationship with Frida and squashing her beef with Joan. And the fact that most of the beef was between them fighting over Abe is strangely never brought up. She’s not given much to do throughout this season besides being Homecoming Queen. An episode where she has to navigate the world of social media like Instagram would have been interesting to see. Maybe in season three?

Frida is one of the new main characters and I think she fits well with the show so far. Again love her relationship with Cleo, but besides that I think she’ll be like voice of reason character going forward. Not much to say besides that because well this is her first season on the show!

Harriet another new main character and again seems to be the one dealing with the pressures of being a clone the most. Wanting to be great because her Clone mother was Harriet Tubman makes a lot of sense and I think it touches on a lot of people’s fears of not doing anything important with their lives. I looked forward to seeing how she grows.

Confucius another new main character who is just trying to gain the attention of his foster parents. It’s very clear that attention is what he wants out of anything. You can see it whenever they show him on FlipFlop, and again the fact that he’s not worried about college makes sense whether he doesn’t want to go or knows that his parents will pay for him eventually. I look forward to seeing how he develops.

Topher the last new main character, there is a lot that someone can say about him, I’m pretty sure he’s now the favorite character whether it’s because you love or hate him. Honestly I like that they have a character that’s awful, do I think he’s closeted…maybe but I do believe that one of the reasons he was “white leveraging” Abe is to keep Abe’s attention to himself. I don’t think he had any friends before Abe was thawed out and he probably wouldn’t be able to hang around the group if it wasn’t for him. So it makes sense that he would “white leverage” him from telling Joan how he felt because then Topher would no longer have an audience because Abe would likely spend all his time with Joan.

Abe learns a bit throughout the season but I don’t think he grows much until nearly the end. He spends most of season pinning over Joan and…that’s it he doesn’t become friends with JFK until the last episode and as far a we know the reason why he even realized that he loved Joan was because Cleo had made her look hot in season one. It’s never addressed why he suddenly loves her, and yeah that’s it. Sure he’s “punished for his behavior” in the first episode and it almost makes it seem that Joan and Abe won’t be friends this season but that is quickly forgotten by the end of the episode. Again I do think the Joan/Abe relationship will happen or at least be addressed between them but it’s likely that it will be dragged for a while. I will admit that the moments where they’re together just being friends is nice though.

Joan changes the most throughout this season whether you liked the changes or not. It starts with her dating JFK which while I enjoyed seeing, it was never addressed on why she accepted his offer in the first place. Sure they slept together at prom but there wasn’t enough done to explain within the show why she agreed to date him. (Honestly it’s like the show runners were like, the Joanfk fanfic writers did that for us we don’t have to explain ourselves!) Then she becomes friends with Frida and Harriet which I thought was nicely done, then she and Cleo come to an understanding! But her feelings for Abe linger throughout the season and something that I noticed after episode ten is that Joan is codependent, if she believes that she doesn’t have a boyfriend or friends to support her then she turns into a monster. Season three will either address what she did in the first episode or throughout the season either way she’ll be punished for it. Even if she did realize at the last minute that what she was doing was wrong.

The rest of the cast was fine Mr. B’s backstory was compelling, I don’t know why the writers felt that Scudworth needed a love interest but…it happened? Candide is interesting enough we’ll see how it goes. Sorry not saying more but this is pretty long already.

[weywookitswestwood]

LAST POST OF 2023 (A disclaimer, next few paragraphs is just me talking about life in general so feel free to skip if you like to)

Hi, my name is Kay. Though many of you here know me simply as “O” (it was kind of a pun for closer moots, cuz K.O.) But I don’t mind going by either, or K.O. for that matter.

Anyways, this year has been eventful, to say the least. It had its ups and it had its downs. I’m trying to figure out what to write here, actually. Got Covid for the first time, went to MoNH for the first time in forever, got to laugh with friends, lost a loved one, celebrated my 24th birthday, did Paint Night for the first time, got up to 22 chapters (hopefully 23 soon) of a long going passion project I hope to complete in the future.

I won’t lie, this year was nowhere as great as last year, both on my platform and in person. Now I try to avoid complaining about this a lot but my Instagram account took a blow this year, whether it was due to the algorithm changing or my lack of motivation, likely both. My account is my passion, I’ve been raising it since 2016 and when it tanked this time, it was really concerning because by this time I would somehow bounce back and I never did, I still never did. I would also like to mention that it wasn’t just me that got hit, but other fellow artists as well and for those guys if you’re reading this, this is for you: Never give up on your art, your writing, or just passions in general(unless they cause harm on yourself or others). The lack of exposure can be daunting, trust me it feels terrible, but it will never change how great an artist you are.

As for my personal life, I won’t get into much detail but for those that know, a really big thing happened earlier this year and it really impacted me. It was also a reality check for my health because I wasn’t taking care of my body and I was making myself scared about it and it just felt like a never ending cycle. I’ve been trying to make healthier choices, I take meds now again for my hyperlipidemia, exercise more(which I gotta get back on since I stopped when I got Covid) and cut back my calorie intake. Not only has it dropped my cholesterol(which is the main goal) but I was able to lose almost 30 pounds since the end of May(which will also help lower my cholesterol). I’ve been treating my anxiety as well and it has been much better than it was from late October to mid November when it took a nosedive from getting sick constantly. Right now, I think I’m in okay phase of my life, just working and trying to draw and write as much as I can. I wanna thank those who stuck around this year, I wish I could’ve posted more art and chapters, but hey, always room for this year.

[dismalrain]

This moral conflict consumes me

Disclaimer: My bad experience with naturopathy doesn't mean I don't think it has benefits for others. Because it stole my childhood from me doesn't mean I'm targeting you and your healing journey. Part of mine is sharing my experience so I can finally move on and feel like someone has heard my anguish.

I have a chronic illness, a disability, a condition that causes musculoskeletal pain. The pain has dictated my life since it started to get worse when I was 10-11. I went to my pediatrician and was told I had a temporary knee condition common in children and growing pains.

I continued to complain about the pain until I was around 13. She took me to a naturopathic. She was convinced they saved her from her rheumatoid arthritis up until a year or two ago. It's hard to tell because she went to functional doctors for a while. I'm 21 now. However, she has since gone on medication prescribed by her rheumatologist and is seeing improvement.

I was misdiagnosed multiple times with conditions that they put in my charts without ever telling me about. Diagnoses they never treated me for, such as Hashiomoto's. I was on a Lyme disease protocol consisting of four different antibiotics over the course of three years. Prescriptions like Malarone, a slew of vitamins (literally prescription high dose potassium), the paleo diet, and nasal sprays, and she would mix her own tinctures and never provide an ingredient list. Just write on a label stuck to the brown bottle what it was for and how many drops to take.

There was an increase of general practitioner doctors in my area not taking in new patients after COVID-19. Between the pain, anxiety, and paranoia associated with my OCD that was only just now being medicated; it took me until this year to get an appointment with the appropriate specialist to get the diagnosis my GP and I already were pretty confident I had. 6 of the months it took was just finding one that had availability and wanted to take me on. I live 6 hours from my rheumatologist. I had three different GPs say they were pretty confident with my diagnosis, I just needed the specialist confirmation.

So why did I have to spend my childhood suffering in extreme pain for Lymes disease I didn't have? Why did I have to take holistic sleeping medications, go on a diet, and drink mystery tinctures that cost over $100? Why did she give up on me when I was 16 and pass me on to a different person in her clinic if I had Lymes? If had any of the over a dozen diagnoses she had handwritten in my chart? Why did I have to suffer with a mother who was convinced that $20,000 in naturopathic medicine was worth it? Medical debt and useless medications.

She moved me to a functional doctor because she didn't believe in Western medicine still after the naturopathic failed for three years. I was put on a year-long homeopathic Lymes protocol and had weekly oxygen. I spent four years on Lyme disease protocols because I tested negative on the high end, tested barely positive, and then negative again.

I was on antibiotics for so long that my immune system started to fail. They told me it was a natural detoxification process. At the start of COVID-19, my immune system was failing and I wasn't producing white blood cells properly. She again, gave me a tincture she hand-made with no ingredient list. I became temporarily infertile during these 'treatments.' My body still hasn't recovered, I haven't been hungry in years, and I have no desire to eat and do it because I know I need to. I used to love food, I used to find comfort in the flavors and revel in getting to eat snacks. I don't even want to taste my food because it makes me nauseous. I miss loving to taste things. I miss savoring flavors.

I spent a decade struggling with pain that stole my friend, sent me into a depression, and put a financial strain on my family to the point that I've been blamed for years because my medical was too pricey. Only my partner loved me throughout. I wasn't even happy to have my diagnosis official from the right doctor because it's incurable. There's no way to reduce the pain other than gentle exercise. I'm going to be in pain for the rest of my life, but I had to go through all of the medical hope, suffering, and improper treatment because 'natural is best' because 'my body will heal itself'

All I feel is numb.

My heart is heavy because my body still hasn't recovered from the naturopath and functional medicine doctors and my body doesn't function properly so is it going to recover?

I want people to be able to do what they want with their medical pursuits. I want people to find hope in natural options. I want people to find the RIGHT doctor who won't overprescribe and give them the best they can without straining the body too much. I want people to have a holistic medical experience that accounts for the Western and natural. But to have two doctors in the same clinic misdiagnosis and mistreat me for so long. To have a functional medical doctor do the exact same. To have an incurable condition that doesn't have any proven naturopathic remedies to 'cure' it like they say the 'body always will' haunts me. When I see other preteens and teens in the office I hurt thinking that maybe they don't have a choice like I didn't because they can't afford copays and their parents might not believe like mine.

It haunts me to know that I didn't need to suffer but I did, for years with only more damage than good coming to my body. I attended the high school I work for now. I'm fully remote because the verbal abuse and nonconsensual touching of my in-pain body when I was younger made me feel unsafe. Then I was denied testing for my OCD because I was "performing well at school." I'm remote because I know I can help students in need but believe the teachers at the school don't give a single fuck about the disabled and exploited like I openly was when I was a student. But my teachers who didn't take my disability seriously, humiliated me for brain fog and chronic fatigue, and made me participate in competitive events when I was barely walking and not allowed accommodations, a lot have left 5-star reviews for the doctors that I feel ruined my life to an extent.

I mean temporarily infertile because I was overloaded with things my body didn't need and put on diets my body couldn't handle? Because I needed to combat an infectious virus I didn't have? They gave tinctures for our dog water for fucks sake. The functional doctor told us to put the homeopathic medicine in my chicken's water to protect them from fucking tapeworms. I feel like I'm crazy because they're not vets and they're convincing my mom to buy tinctures to 'shed gut-destroying tapeworms.'

I resent my mother. I basically raised my brother because she was already absentee in our youth, but to watch me deteriorate and keep paying when I said I hated those doctors, they didn't listen, they put me in more pain, they touched places that hurt until they hurt more and then said it was chiropractic healing.

I could've been on medicine that helped my pain all these years and simply wasn't because of this. Because of an obsession with Lyme disease. I'm so bitter and angry about this because I could've at least been working towards comfort all those years. Instead of waiting until I had an income to buy comfort items like icy hot, hand support, my partner bought my hot water bottle, and so on and so forth. My partner has been with me since we were in 10th and 11th grade. I don't think I would've survived all these experiences without him there promising to support me no matter the outcomes.

There's no happy ending. I'm numb and tired, I still haven't found a desire to eat, and I'm never going to know what it feels like to not be in pain. My joints have been hurting more and more every year and I think I'll need mobility support soon but don't know how to approach it, my hands have been hurting more and more and yet art is what helps me to maintain the headspace I need to not fall into codependent sniveling.

Thank you for reading. No matter the medical path you choose, I hope you find nothing but healing and happiness. No matter the diagnosis, I hope it takes you on the path to the most fulfilling life you can.

[queer-reader-07]

god it's hard to be the child of an immigrant sometimes. it's hard when you want to have the connection with your family you see your friends having with theirs but your family lives a continent and 3 fucking flights away. it's hard when all you want is another chance to see your ditian because you don't know how much longer he has and that chance is taken from you. it's hard when all you wanted was to taste your batian's food again and feel at home in the hammocks that swing on the veranda just one more time. it's hard. it's hard to see your friends drive to their grandparents house every sunday with their family and complain about how they wish they could just go out with their friends instead. it's hard because you wish you could do that. you wish you could just drive. you wish you could be like your cousins whose friends are welcome faces in your grandparent's home. you wish you could just drive over on a sunday. but instead they're 3 flights away. they're 2 days of travel away. they're a continent away and you can't seem to cross it.

i used to go every other year. they'd come up on the off years. but then covid happened and i didn't see my grandparents for 3 years. i didn't see my tias and tios and cousins for 4. and we finally went. i finally got to see them again in 2022 and then when we thought my batian and ditian would be back in 2023, the US denied my grandma's visa. i haven't seen my mom's side of the family since 2022. and maybe that doesn't seem that long to some people. but i used to see my grandparents every. single. year. i'd see the rest of my family every other year.

i hate that i can't see them. i hate that i can't hug them. i hate that i can't visit and laugh with them and spend time with them. i fucking hate it. i hate everything.