#cause acting doesn't pay enough to live off full-time even at this level!

[theabigailthorn]

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[gayleviticus]

i think dantes plan for gaining the philosophers stone in fma 03 feels kindve awkward on a plot level, because yu'd expect the logical synthesis of 'philosophers stone is made of people' and 'causing wars to make the stone' would be 'amestris is genociding people in order to directly churn them into a Stone'

so the fact 03 instead goes for the more convoluted 'war and disaster makes people desperate for the Stone which means they will massacre others to make it' seems a really weird and unnecessary bump in the road plotwise against the straightforward elegance of 'cause war to make the stone yourself'. and yes, there is a plot reason given for it (or at least implied?): making the Stone requires both great skill and is very dangerous, so Dante doesn't want to do it herself. but I get the feeling that surely after 500 years and with a military dictatorship full of state alchemists at her disposal she could have found a more reliable method for having others make the Stone than 'cause trouble and hope someone is both smart and reckless enough to make it'

BUT I think it's another one of those 03 writing decisions that is messy plotwise but extremely interesting theme wise, because I think it helps tie together a lot of the big threads to do with war and equivalent exchange. the philosophers stone is a fabled treasure that lets you bypass equivalent exchange; except that's not true at all because making it requires the tremendous cost of thousands of human lives.

im having a bit of a hard time piecing my thoughts together here but i think eds line towards the finale about how there's no war we aren't involved is really important. the elrics began their journey believing in the fairy tale philosophers stone and joined the genocidal military because it was convenient to them. they believed that equivalent exchange would mean all their hard work would pay off eventually, but I think in another sense they didn't really understand that equivalent exchange means actions have consequences. just as the prosperity of powerful nations and its citizens comes from imperialism, so too does the magic of the philosophers stone stem directly from violence and bloodshed of war.

but the thing is, if dantes plan was just to have the military make the stone directly from war and massacre... it would be s typical evil bad guy plot and nasty and evil but nothing to do with our heroes. but the fact her plan relies on individuals seeking the stone changes things up I think - if ed and al were just a bit more ruthless that could very much have been them. The War for the philosophers stone very much has something to do with them. it's not an evil scheme they're helplessly embroiled in as victims.

and the fact this then means scar turns the tables on the military to make them into a Stone is also v interesting because it manages to be such a nuanced depiction. the elrics are clearly against it. but 03 often depicts the elrics as wrong and naive in their ideals, and it's undeniable the amestrian soldiers have done terrible terrible things in liore. scar is no longer even really an anti villain, but an anti hero, and his final act is to bequeath the stone as a gift to alphonse. but at the same time, even if we find scars motives here deeply sympathetic - the fact is it's still exactly what Dante wanted, all the same.

and so I think the Liore arc manages to have this really nuanced and open to interpretation depiction of violence and vengeance and killing that doesn't feel preachy but also doesn't flinch from being very upfront about the stakes. if we want to celebrate scar killing 7000 soldiers as an unambiguously good thing there's the awkward fact that Dante doesn't care who dies to make the Stone as long as it gets made. But it's hard to disapprovingly tut tut about how killing is bad and revenge is bad when characters like scar and Rose are so sympathetic and understandable.

not to mention of course the fact that Dante herself fully rejects the concept of equivalent exchange and hence of taking responsibility for her actions, even as she fancies herself as humanity's guardian. she wants other people to do the work for her and then swoop in just so she can live a little bit longer. she herself never comes even close to paying the price for the Stone.

[thatonebirdwrites]

<3 to this. All of us are valid and wonderful as we are. All of us are deserving of love, trust, acceptance, and have our needs met. I'll share some thoughts about dynamic disability related to my own experiences: I use a wheelchair at times or a rollator. Sometimes my arm crutches. It honestly depends on the day. Sometimes I simply don't have the stamina, energy, of even working legs to walk at all, so I'm stuck with my wheelchair. When I say working legs, I mean legs that can actually hold my weight. There are some days they just can't no matter what I do. Yes, I have done physical therapy, but that can't cure what I have. It can only help me maintain what little muscle I have left and help me learn balancing tricks. That's about it. The frustrating aspect of this is when I encounter people that harass me -- yes HARASS -- because I can walk six to ten feet on my good days. They get in my face about me "faking" my disability, which is emotional and verbal harassment. They have no idea what my story is or who I am. They judged me by their misguided and false notions of what disability is, and they are engaging in tremendous harm. Sometimes these people threaten to "report" me to... whoever. Do Not EVER report a disabled person who you think is "faking" it. The claims of "faking" are rooted in this falsehood that one can tell who is disabled by looking at them. This is false. You can't. No one can. Only that person knows if they are disabled or not. This myth causes some people to feel emboldened in harassing others out of this idea that disabled people don't deserve basic services.

Everyone deserves basic services such as healthcare, food, water, housing, Internet. No one should ever be denied this, and I wish people would stop threatening the lives of others by threatening to take away the things we need to live. That's really harmful and atrocious behavior.

Disability is NOT a bad thing. There's nothing inherently wrong with being disabled. We are human beings worthy of care, respect, love, and acceptance like any abled-bodied person.

Anyone at anytime can become disabled for any reason. This isn't something to fear.

Instead, we should be fixing the systems that harm disabled people with draconian measures and forcing us to live below poverty level in ways that hurt us further. Disability benefits is less than minimum wage. It hasn't been changed in over thirty years in the USA, and it's so underneath the poverty level, that most of us have to engage in mutual aid and fundraising just to get enough to pay for housing and food. We are not the cause of debt -- that's the bailouts to multi-million corporations and their shitty tax breaks. Go yell at them, not us. Often, when people try to report us for "faking" it based on shitty myths, this can often cause our disability or other services to be denied. That denial cuts us off from what we need to survive, which can and has killed some of us. This isn't some game. Do Not EVER report anyone as 'faking' it. No one can truly know the full story of another person unless you talk with them and they share it. So since no one can know that, stop acting like you can figure it out with one glance. You can't.

Instead, BELIEVE the person, and trust they know what is best for their body. I know, this seems like such a hard thing to do these days, but I promise if everyone treated people in this kind and affirming way, the world would be a lot less shitty. Yes, this is a rant, but I've had far too many people judge me because I can get out of my wheelchair, stagger ten feet, and collapse into bed or chair. Great, I can walk ten feet, but that's my limit. Just because I can do that, doesn't mean I'm faking it. It means that's my limit. That's all my body allows of me that day. A LOT of illnesses are actually dynamic illnesses, meaning what our limits are can fluctuate throughout the day or week. So what we are capable of doing isn't always easy to predict. This is why it's much, much better for everyone to BELIEVE disabled people when we say what our limits are. To BELIEVE us when we use mobility devices. And to mind your businesses. Our needs matter as much as anyone else. We are deserving of care and love as much as anyone else. We deserve to THRIVE. Let us thrive. Thanks for reading.

Shoutout to ambulatory wheelchair users who can walk a long way, whether aided or unaided. To people who can hike up a mountain one day, but another day can’t even get out of bed; you still deserve to use a wheelchair, you are not faking your disability. When you have a fluctuating disability, it’s hard to feel like your needs are important, but they are.

(Yes this post is about me. Don’t clown on this post, if you don’t relate just scroll away)

[yapposrantcafe]

Grab a chair, a beverage, and get ready to either love or hate me.

This blog is a place for me to be honest about how I feel about many things I find disturbing in the world or society these days. You see I'm a disabled middle-aged woman with a grown daughter and eldery mother living with me.

Stress, conflict, and different ways of seeing the world prevail daily here. I'll let you guess which one of our residences likes to stir the proverbial pot and cause the other two to be miserable. This person finds it fun apparently. It's not a happy place to live. Simply being family doesn't automatically equal happiness when amongst each other. It's simply a roof over our heads and a place to survive.

We are not rich but we manage to never miss a meal. Two of Three of us have college degrees that aren't being used. One on social securitiy, one on disability, and one working part time paying only for gas my car.

I should mention that my daughters father died 3 yrs ago and left her financially well off. Not like Trump, Bill Gates, or other stupidly rich people. But enough to put a roof on my house before it became serious, level garage before it collapsed, new fence in backyard to stop dogs from escaping after losing one on the road, and some of the property cleared so we could expand yard. Some invested for her senior years means it's one less thing I need to worry about.

I don't charge my daughter rent because of the money she spent to save the house, I forgot windows and gutters she had replaced, but I would appreciate some help with the housework.

Again, I'm disabled. Seizures, Daily migraines causing my brain to eat it's white matter like MS but in different areas, random weakness of limbs, Central Nervous System (CNS) that short circuits and throws my motor skills out of sorts, anxiety, panic attacks, and depression, all that to be topped off by a pretty much non-existent immune system that's kept me on antibiotics for the last 6 months.

Now you know my situation. I live with people whom I seem to annoy by my mere presence and I'm starting to feel the same way about them. I can't open my mouth without being wrong even if the dog I'm petting is blond, and I call him blondie. I'm not sure how this is wrong but wow does it set off my daughter. Now my mother just says what she thinks is wrong with my daughter, and myself, and how we should act and what we should be doing that we're not.

I feel stuck. I'd sign this house over to my daughter in a heartbeat and rent a tiny apartment somewhere but I'd have to take my mother and both pomskies so it'd not be much of an improvement since I can't drive, and neither can my mother who has bad sight.

Now you know a bit of my situation and the reason I want, no need, to write this blog. You see i keep a journal for my personal stuff to try and help me stay sane but there's another problem that involves the people around me, even those who aren't related. If I have an opinion or thought on a topic they become aggressively upset and it starts a conflict.

I don't do conflict unless absolutely needed. It stresses me out and causes my health to deteriorate rapidly. So, I try to avoid it when possible. This would be the reason I'm sitting in my room with the dogs napping on my bed writing this someplace no one will likely find it or give a damn if they do run across it.

This, my personal journal, meditation, and other stress management techniques in my room are my only solace these days. I'm fighting to correct my health and waiting to find out if I qualify for IVIg therapy to boost my immune system. It's expensive so if insurance doesn't ok it I will live on antibiotics till I build a resistance and finally pass from some respiratory something.

Everything is so full of stress I will take any outlet to depressurize it and wait till I've hopefully saved enough for another long weekend just by myself in 6 months if I don't have another seizure.

[mid-weast]

Will you keep it down? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You and Jungkook attend the same university and have been neighbors for 3 months now. It drives you crazy that he plays loud music at 2AM, and it drives him crazy that you barely acknowledge his presence.

Pairing: Jungkook x Female!Reader; Black!Reader

Words: 2.6K

Genre: enemies to lovers, student!jungkook, student!reader, fluff, mention of smut, angst? (in the form of bickering back and forth).

Authors note: Hi hi! This is the first fic I’ve ever written so if it’s bad I’m sorry. Also it is unedited so if there's grammar / spelling mistakes I'm sorry again! Also this is catered toward the reader being Black but I hope it can be enjoyed by everyone. Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated ok love u bye!

“Y/N? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??!? Open this door RIGHT NOW!”

Even though you were studying in your room, his knocks were so loud you nearly jumped out of your skin. You had expected a reaction, but not a full-on explosion.

You and Jungkook have been apartment neighbors for about three months now, and a constant problem is that he blares his music hella loud late at night. Of course he’s a music major so he listens to music a lot, but at this point you don’t care. It doesn’t even seem like he’s working on composition homework anyway, just being an asshole with no regard for his neighbors peace. Now don’t get yourself wrong, you're not just some uptight bitch who complains about everything. Well, you do have several pet peeves but over the years of going to school in Korea you’ve picked and chosen your battles very wisely. In most cases you let things slide. You wouldn’t care at all about someone playing the music loudly, but it is 2 AM, and while you’re up studying you know a lot of your other neighbors are trying to sleep.

You tiptoe toward your front door and twist the knob slowly. You only open the door wide enough to be able to see his face. It’s not that you’re scared that you’re in danger or anything, and you rarely back down from people giving you a hard time. But you were tired, wearing a big ass t- shirt and short shorts (your regular sleep attire), and it was late at night. So if anything was going to pop off you felt pretty vulnerable. Even though you’re the same age, he towers over you and you find his size kinda intimidating.

As usual, you have to crane your neck to see his face, and your view of him is limited by the narrowness in which

you opened the door.

“Can I help you, lil boy?”

From what you can see of him, right away you can tell that he is pissed. Dawning his usual attire of a black sweatshirt with the hood up, black sweats, and stomp a hoe boots, he stood extremely close to your apartment door with his arms crossed. His usually wide, puppy dog eyes are now pressed in narrow slits. His normally pouty lips are formed in a hard line, and his jaw is so clenched you could carve an ice sculpture with his jawline.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You called the cops on me? Are you INSANE???" Jungkook shouts.

Obviously he's mad, and despite the amount of times you've gone back and forth he's never raised your voice at you. The old you would have screamed back at him, but over time you've tried to respond to anger with calmness. Also, you were a little scared because this mf is kind of big.

"I already told you if you keep blaring your music at 2AM, I was going to do something about it!" You respond in a hushed whisper, slightly concerned that your elderly neighbors will be even more disturbed by the noise. "I've told you this a million times, and you barely do anything about it. If anything, it's gotten worse like you're doing it on purpose. People are trying to sleep and I'm trying to study, why is this so hard for you to understand?"

He sucks his teeth. "You're such a little snitch. And I've already told YOU that YOU can't tell me what to do."

"I know I can't...but they can," you nod toward the exit, referring to the police officers that most likely just left out that way with a tiny smirk growing on your face.

If it was possible, he clenched his jaw even harder and you think that he's going to pop a blood vessel. He pushes his way into your apartment, which sends you stumbling back and you grab the door handle to regain your balance. This causes you to close the door shut.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're-"

He steps right up to you and leans down into your face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, seriously??? Why are you such an annoying little brat? Just because you're a nerd with no friends who gets no play doesn't mean you can take your bitterness out on me.”

You have to laugh in his face at this point because hello??? First of all, who is he talking to? Second of all, you have told him a BUNCH of times to turn his music down late at night. You didn't think that was too much to ask. As far as you were concerned, being aware of your noise level when you live in an apartment is the universal bare minimum for being a human being.

"ME? Who do you think YOU are? Actually let me tell you. You're an entitled little rich boy who thinks he runs the world. I don't give a fuck about how popular you are on campus, how many people fall at your feet to be around you, and how many hoes you have, you cant talk to ME like that. And how are you going to try and tell me about myself when it's too much of a task for you to be a decent neighbor? I've never done anything to blatantly bother you, so why can you just.." You started to panic because usually when you raise your voice out of anger, your voice cracks and tears threaten to pool out of your eyes, but you tried to get a grip and not back down..."why can you just be nice to me so we can live in peace? Is that too hard for you???"

He looked kind of taken aback by your question. Being nice to you? It never crossed his mind. Also, you kind of had a point. When the semester started and you both moved in on the same day, you would shoot him a small, friendly smile in passing but you never seemed interested in getting to know him. He always wondered why that was. It's not that he had a problem talking with girls, since all he had to do was breathe and girls would come flocking around him, but you would flat out ignore him. Even at all the major parties at the beginning of the year and on Thursday nights when students take over the clubs in the city, you'd barely even acknowledge him. He KNEW that you had seen him too, since you would make eye contact, but you acted like he was just another guy at the club.

And he'd be lying if he said you weren't fine. You had thick thighs, a beautiful face, nice curves, and always wore outfits that hugged you in the right places. He always wondered what it would feel like to wrap his arms around your body and press it against his own. He would constantly sneak peaks of you throughout the night at the club, but something stirred in him when he saw that you were chatting up other guys. Was he...jealous? Jealous that you were so eager to pay attention to these dudes who, in his opinion, were decent looking but they were nowhere near his level, and you never even gave him a second thought? One night he even saw you leaving with a man he knew through mutual friends, and he had to physically stop himself from breaking the glass he was holding, because that guy, while objectively handsome, was nothing compared to him. Jungkook wasn't blatantly cocky, but he let his talent, charm, and looks speak for themselves. He was THEE Jeon Jungkook, and nothing ever really bothered him....except you.

Was he....interested in you? Nah, that can't be it. You were some random chick who happened to be his neighbor, who also is one of the only girls he's met that doesn't give two fucks about even having small talk with him, and that infuriated him for some reason. So the first time you came knocking on his door in an adorable pink satin pajama set with a matching bonnet complaining about his loud music, he knew the game he had to play.

He's still standing over you, centimeters away from you face, but you notice that his eyes soften a little and so does his jaw. He unclenches the fists he was holding crossed against his chest

You continue, “I don't care what you do, and I'm DEFINITELY trying to run your messy ass life. Believe me," you scoff, "you don't have enough money to pay me to do that. But when your dickhole behavior fucks with MY life is when it's a problem. And it's BEEN a problem."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, little girl, maybe I should call you little mouse now, since now I know that you'll go squeaking to the cops now, don't fuck with me or my music again.”

Without moving your head you look him up and down with a confused expression. "Am I supposed to be scared of you? No seriously, you look like you cry during Disney movies while wearing footie pajamas, and now here you are throwing a fit because I forced you to stop bothering the entire wing with your music?"

Girl...what are you saying??? This man just barged into YOUR place, is in your face, and is strong enough to pick you up and throw you, and you’re insulting him? But you figured if he's going to be rude, you'll throw it right back because you're tired of his bullshit.

Whatever softness he was feeling for a fleeting moment immediately left, and annoyance once again washed over. He straightens up a bit and puts on that annoying confident smirk he wears when he thinks he's won arguments between you two.

"You should be nicer to me, all it will take is for me to tweet one thing about you, and you'll be the most hated person on campus."

At this point, any suspicions that you had about him annoying you on purpose were confirmed. You've concluded that this mf is a bully and you, small and shy but not one to take mess, will put him in his place to-motherfucking-night.

You take a step toward him, now crossing your arms tightly against your chest, but he doesn't even move a hair backwards.

"Clearly you need a rude awakening so here it is. I don't know what type of people you've dealt with all your life, always saying yes to you, letting you boss them around and taking whatever bullshit you dish out, but let me tell you I am not the one. Never have been and never will be. Unlike the other fools around here who cream their pants at the mention of your name, I don't care about who you are. You'll respect ME and MY peace as long as we're neighbors, you get me?"

Now y/n, you have never so boldly stood up to someone, where did that come from, babes? You've tried to not let this entitled little boy get to you this whole time, but with him standing in front of you in the middle of your apartment with that extremely annoying, yet handsome, smirk on his face, and after all the crap he's said tonight, he had you all the way fucked up.

After you said that, he just laughed and looked away. Now you’re standing there fuming and confused...was there a joke you missed? You were being dead serious!

"Something funny?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.

"Nothing, just thinking about how I want to face fuck that annoying little mouth of yours so you finally shut up.”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor. You've never had a guy say something so blatantly rude and vulgar literally inches away from your face. But again, you weren't going to back down.

"Oh really?" Scoffing and tilting your head to the side a bit while narrowing your eyes even more, "I'd very much like to do the same. Maybe then you'll learn your place."

"Oh please, princess, you probably blanch when someone around you even mentions the word sex." He chuckles and leans down close toward your face again and cocks his head to the side, scrunching his nose and in a pouty voice said, "you're fooling no one, but keep trying, maybe you'll get there.”

You're even more annoyed than you were before, if that was even possible. But if he wanted to play this game, you might as well go there with him. It's true, you were a bit more prudent than more, but it pissed you off that he could tell. Regardless, you do know some things to say that could have him leaving with his tail between his legs.

You pouted your lips and in a babying tone said, “Aww sweetheart you have no idea. You think you're big and bad but like I said, you probably cry watching Disney movies. The same way you'd be crying, begging me to let you cum down my throat as I mercilessly toy with your cock for hours.”

Now it's his turn to go pale. Y/n, his stuck up neighbor who has barely even spared him five seconds of her time just threatened to edge him into submission? He has to pinch himself because he must be dreaming....

“Well I-“

“But I don't even think we’d make it that far, hun” you continue, “because in order to humble your egotistical, disrespectful ass, I'm gonna have to ride your face until you suffocate. And when the paramedics come and I have to explain how you died, I won't even hesitate to tell them that you were a punk ass loser who LITERALLY drowned in my pussy!”

You don’t know who this person speaking is, but it is not you. All of the pent up hostility you’ve held towards him just flooded out of you and you couldn’t stop the words from coming out. To be honest you shocked yourself, but you still stood there with your arms crossed and your face unfaltering, just waiting for him to say something smart back.

He stared at you silently, eyes wider than you’ve seen before and his mouth hung slightly open. He wasn’t expecting you to respond with so much fire, but now he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the image you painted came true. His brain said fuck it, and his lips crashed down onto yours. The kiss is sloppy but passionate, and you swore you heard him quietly whimper.

When he feels you starting to kiss back, he smirks into the kiss. Your lips are moving against each other in tandem, and all thoughts about how much you despise the prick fades away. As you uncrossed your arms and placed them on his chest, you could feel his heart beating wildly. Was he as nervous as you were this whole time? You wonder. You knew he was a player, so he was experienced. But the thought that you made him nervous gave you a tiny confidence boost. His hands slowly slide up the sides of your body to sneak behind your back, to pull you further into his chest. As much as your brain was telling you to resist him and push him away, you couldn't help but fall victim to how soft his lips felt against yours. Suddenly you feel airborne as he swiftly reaches down behind your thighs and picks you up. You instinctively gasp but he doesn’t miss a beat, simply biting your lower lip and locking your lips together again.

“Maybe we should test that scenario of yours, and if it comes true, that wouldn’t be the worst way for me to go” he says, doing that annoying but soul-crushingly handsome smirk he likes to wear as he carries you off to your bedroom.

[kitsu-katsu]

Since I wasn't able to liveblog, I'll just lateblog in one post

My bust lateblog:

(I promise no coherence here, only on the spot ramble right before I sleep. Might turn some of these into full posts later)

We're starting off strong already, both c!Techno and c!Phil are gonna be here, I'm probably gonna come out of this wanting to commit murder

Nooooo... Not him remembering the burger van as a bad idea, I'm gonna cry :(

Him... His expressions. I'm- I WANNA SOB! HE'S SO FUCKING SAD

Kdkdlwlslsknskqjqnwlqlw I am going to break down <3 he's blaming himself!! On his competitiveness!! And how petty he was with Quackity! I'm-

HE'S NOT DOING GOOD PHIL! HE SAID BEING FINE WAS LIKE METHOD ACTING!! PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR SON'S DEPLORABLE MENTAL STATE YOU STUPID BIRD!

Him and Ranboo were friends :((( And he genuinely wanted to be better and good and live up to Ranboo telling him he was an alright person and- I'm not ok. He thinks even just cookies are too good for him-

YOU HAVEN'T PEAKED, YOU'VE REACHED YOUR LOWEST YOU WRECK (Affectionate)

He still sees everyone watching him as crazy and evil. He doesn't see their grant of forgiveness as genuine in the least and the one good person who was open to watching him honestly as an alright guy died because of a petty plan he came up with gone wrong. A plan he wasn't able to save his one friend from...

"He's still ok". Please. When he sees Ghostboo...

NOOOOO... Now he's convinced that Ranboo was also just scared of him from the start and saying things out of fear... And the fact that with cc!Ranboo's comments about c!Ranboo being a people pleaser right after that one time he said Wilbur was a pretty alright person... The fact that c!Wilbur could be right...

He can't expect forgiveness to be his end goal, but that has never been his end goal, and this is Phil watching crimeboys' trouble through a myopic lens again. He sees it as so surface level, just like when he told Tommy to be ashamed of having hesitated. Being forgiven isn't Wilbur's end goal, it's being redeemed. His end goal is to become in the general consensus and most of all in his own mind, "a pretty alright guy". Because he hasn't stopped seeing himself as a villain, because to him being better now is "like method acting". His end goal is for people to not look at him like he's crazy and going to cause damage at any moment, to stop feeling like he's in social limbo and like every interaction with him is powered by fear. Is why he's so quick to accept that Tubbo won't forgive him and is more than willing to work to earn back that trust

HE'S TRYING!! HE'S FUCKING TRYING AND HE DOESN'T FEEL LIKE HE CAN DO ENOUGH!! AND THAT'S TOO MUCH BECAUSE IF HE'S JUST SUPPOSED TO "LET IT GO", THEN HE'S DOOMED TO ETERNAL SOCIAL LIMBO!!

Letting them go is how he's gonna end up isolating himself for a full arc, isn't it?...

Fuck, that framing of Tommy. I am hurt. I am damaged severely by these brothers, why are they so-

God. Wilbur and Techno haven't seen each other since Pogtopia. That's... Yeah

THE TRAIN TRACK... WHERE WILBUR STOOD BEHIND KNOWING HOW THAT DAY WOULD END...

He still stands on him doing the right thing in Pogtopia and the war. He still stands by Ghostbur's words of Phil doing something good by killing him. I need this to be touched upon in detail like I need air to live, you don't understand, I need Wilbur to realize his father killing him is fucked up and regarding his own suicide as a good thing isn't right-

Ahem. Hi I'm Kitsu and I'm never letting Techno get away with being placed as the righteous wronged one in Pogtopia when he was told time and time again that they wanted to remake L'manburg and when he was himself the one to posit himself as "only on the side of violence" with the pit. Where Wilbur could rationalize trusting Techno because he knew Techno was predictable: If there was violence, then Techno would fight. Techno could've said no, but Techno only said "violence is the only universal language". This man wasn't used in Pogtopia

But also, this is Wilbur and he blames himself for everything, rationalizing things to be his fault always and this is Techno who can't bare the idea of being even slightly morally wrong, so it's completely in character ksjslalsl

"I wanted to blow it all up with you all inside" - This is red festival mood Wilbur talking. And we know outside of his rationalizing that this is false. Biggest case in point: That one time where he said loud and clear that he wanted to "end it" in the button room, full of TNT, but didn't, because he couldn't bare the idea of hurting Tommy and Quackity in the process. He only wanted to end himself and his creation, but despite his harshest words, this man could never bare to hurt his friends. He's words over weapons to the core

"That guy" was your most manic moments in the middle of your depression, Wilbur

He needs people to know that he's trying to be better. That he isn't lost, crazy and evil. That's what he's always wanted

Wilbur comes back from a big heartfelt apology to Tommy Is Stuck 2: Electric Boogaloo. Crimeboys at their prime

He's gotta find Ranboo... :(

THE FUCKING FRAMING WITH TOMMY CONTINUES LSJSLSKLSJWKSKSKSLQ CRIMEBOYS. I AM UNWELL

Far away... Who's he going to?... Tubbo? Fundy?

GHOSTBUR???? KSJSOAJALJQLQJQ. THE WAY THAT TOMMY FALTERED TOO. WHAT. GHOSTBUR? IS HE GONNA GO TO GHOSTBUR'S GRAVE?? I'M GONNA PASS AWAY-

ARE THEY GONNA GO TO LOGSTEDSHIRE?? FOR FRIEND??? FOR GHOSTBUR??????? WITH XD???????????? KSJSLKSLQKALMW I AM SO /POS

Oh. Damn. Bye Tommy's area, it's all obsidian o7

AGHHHHH... WILBUR SOOT YOU LEAVE ME IN SUSPENSE WITH A WORD TO TOMMY IMPLYING WHATEVER YOU'RE GONNA DO NEXT ONCE AGAIN. I NEED MORE NOW

Alright, gonna go to sleep now for real, tomorrow I'll make structured posts

[crackinglamb]

You Have Chosen Nydha To Be Your Companion!

Hopping off @little-lightning-lavellan's idea to take a DA:I OC and turn them into a companion, may I present Banal'ras Nydha (from Hope Is a Fragile Thing) and her wiki page.

General

Banal'ras Nydha looks human, although there is something that doesn't seem quite right about her. She has dark hair and skin and startlingly green eyes, and speaks with a low, raspy voice. It is often difficult to find her in a room. Nydha first appears, and is available to recruit, in the Temple of Sacred Ashes before attempting to close the Breach. She offers knowledge and combat tactics against demons. If dismissed, or never spoken to, she will then be spotted in Haven behind Solas's cabin. She will not be available to recruit at that time, although once the Inquisition is relocated to Skyhold, she will make an offer to travel with the Inquisitor. If dismissed again, she will become a non-interactive NPC in the Rotunda, usually found near the mural or atop the scaffolding. If she is never recruited, she will disappear from Skyhold after the final battle with Corypheus.

Nydha is not romanceable by any Inquisitor, but can engage in a relationship with Solas if a female Dalish Inquisitor has not done so. She is friendly and bonds well with most of the other party members, especially Cole, Dorian and, of course, Solas. She prefers diplomacy and tends towards mediation rather than confrontation. If a Dalish Inquisitor has romanced Solas, and has high approval, Nydha will offer comfort and sympathy upon termination of the relationship. If low approval, Nydha has nothing to say.

She has strong opinions on the plight of elves, slaves and mages. She is supportive of any measures that would improve the lives of them. Her early banter with Dorian revolves around debating Tevinter's practices and trying to get him to see a better way. She will also speak with Iron Bull about the shortcomings of the Qun, although never with the same level of disdain as Solas. While she never openly mocks the Chantry or Andrastianism, she isn't a strong supporter or believer and has no opinion on who becomes Divine.

Location

In Haven, Nydha can be found behind Solas's cabin, usually in the darkest corner. Once the Inquisition relocates to Skyhold, she can be found in either the Arcane Library or the Rotunda.

Approval

Nydha's approval level is based upon empathy. An Inquisitor who is helpful, respectful and curious will gain approval. Nydha has no opinion on quests such as Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts or the outcome of Here Lies the Abyss, but approves diplomatic resolutions to judgments. She will greatly approve allying with the Free Mages, and only slightly approve conscripting the Templars. Conscription of the Free Mages or allying with the Templars will result in full disapproval. She will greatly approve Iron Bull becoming Tal-Vashoth and keeping Cole as a spirit. Actions that are ruthless or cruel will lose approval.

A high approval Inquisitor will learn that Nydha was born in another world and 'crossed over' through the Veil when the Breach opened. She will tell the Inquisitor that her name was given to her as a gift from someone she met in the Fade. She does not, however, say that it is Solas (see below for unique Trespasser dialogue). She will say that her name means 'Shadow of Night', according to her translation. A Dalish Inquisitor can have special dialogue to recognize the name as being Elvish and can question how a human came to have it. Nydha will answer that it is because the native language of the Fade is Elvish, a remnant from when elves held all of Thedas before human arrival.

A low approval Inquisitor will not learn this part of her history and she will remain an enigma. If approval falls to zero, she will refuse to speak to the Inquisitor, although she does not leave and is still available as a companion.

Quests

Survivor In the Shadows – the quest for meeting Nydha initially at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It begins upon speaking with her, and ends with either recruitment or dismissal.

From the Ashes – only available after either In Hushed Whispers or Champions of the Just, but before completion of In Your Heart Shall Burn, Nydha will ask the Herald to accompany her back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to search for her few belongings. The Herald will find a journal, a bundle of unusual clothes and a single unmarked vial. Nydha will approve completing this quest.

A Better Form – Nydha will ask for help in stabilizing her corporeal body if Dagna is brought into the Inquisition. Resolution of this quest will involve having Dagna create a unique amulet that will act as a permanent grounding source, rather like a lightning rod. Components for this amulet are: 1 blank rune stone, 1 wisp essence, and either 5 dawnstone or 5 volcanic aurum (both imbue constitution bonuses). It will act as an Amulet of Power, granting Nydha an extra skill point. This is the only time such an ability will be available to her. This will also allow her to wear other amulets throughout the remainder of the game. She, and Solas, will greatly approve completing this quest.

Twice-Born – available during the Jaws of Hakkon DLC. Nydha, if in the party, will ask to speak with the Augur of Stone-Bear Hold once relations with the hold have been established. If she is not among the Inquisitor's party, she will be found in the main scout camp near Professor Kenric. What the two speak about will be unknown, but at the end of the quest, Nydha will inform the Inquisitor that she has been given the legend-mark Twice-Born from the hold's 'gods'. Cole will greatly approve completing this quest, regardless of whether or not he is in the party.

Note: This quest is not dependent upon approval, but is the only time she will speak with a zeroed out Inquisitor, should that level of low approval be reached.

Ability Tree/Specialization

Nydha is technically a rogue, and can utilize either a bow or double daggers. She has an autolevel preference for the Subterfuge tree, and has an additional, unique starting skill in Fade Cloak. This does not require further leveling to be active. It is the only skill that cannot be deactivated from her skillset.

She can specialize in either Tempest or Rift Mage, due to her nature as a being from the Fade. She is not otherwise a mage. Her decision on specialization can be influenced, as she will ask the Inquisitor's opinion. If no opinion is given, she will default to taking Tempest.

Combat comments

“Come get some!”

“Catch me if you can!”

(If specialized in Tempest) “Burn, baby, burn.”

(If specialized in Rift Mage) “Ooh, the stuff of nightmares.”

Kills an enemy

“Another one bites the dust.”

“Cool story, bro.”

“Then perish.”

Low Health

“This was not on my agenda today.”

“A little help?”

Low Health (Companions)

For all general companions: “I have your back.”

If in a romance with Solas: “Take a breather, fenorain.”

Fallen Companions

For all general companions: “I'll make them pay!”

If in a romance with Solas: “NO!”

Location Comments

Ferelden:

Hinterlands: “Why is it so big? Why is everything so big?”

Fallow Mire: “I have mud in unmentionable places. Can we go now?”

Storm Coast: “I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and sky.”

If companions question her: “It's just from a poem I once read.”

Orlais:

Exalted Plains: “So much death. Can't you feel it?”

Emerald Graves: “This forest is old. Very old.” [laughs] “I always wanted to say that in proper context.”

Emprise du Lion: “Stay away from the bloody lyrium. And wear a hat.”

At Suledin Keep after Imshael, if Solas is in the party: “Ir abelas, lethallin.” (If romanced) Ir abelas, fenorain.”

Solas's reply (only translated if the Inquisitor is Dalish): “Ma serannas. Ea lam'an.” (It is in the past)

At the Pools of the Sun, regarding the trio of dragons: “Can't we just leave them alone? They really won't hurt anyone if we keep our distance.”

Hissing Waste: “You know, if you ignore the endless vista of sand, it's really quite beautiful. In a bleak kind of way.”

Western Approach: “Hot. Hot and blighted. I need a drink.”

Forbidden Oasis, upon reaching the second camp: “That's it, I'm never leaving.”

Arbor Wilds: “Mind your footing. This place is full of secrets.”

In Val Royeaux: “Pretty place.”

Frostback Basin: “I could stay here forever. Even with the varmints.”

The Descent: “Nice and dark, just the way I like it.”

At the Wellspring: “Wow...that's amazing.”

Trespasser: “Now it all ends, my friend.”

If the Inquisitor questions the statement: “You'll see soon enough.”

Companion/Advisor comments

Varric – Gotta watch out for Spooky, there's something about her I can't put my finger on.

Cassandra – She is an able fighter, but I would not trust her out of my sight, which is far too often.

Solas – She is secretive by nature, but I would assure you that she means no harm.

Iron Bull – She's a tricky one. Good fighter, lotta secrets. Good at keeping them too. I don't think I've cracked a single one that she didn't tell me herself.

Dorian – She's fascinating. I am not at liberty to say why, of course, if you don't already know.

Cole – Bright as the sun and scattered as the stars. She wants to help, just like I do.

Vivienne – She seems capable enough, my dear. But I would not dare to trust her. She is an accomplished player of the Game, for all her smiles and good cheer.

Sera – She's as bad as Creepy, although she's better at jokes. She's better at hiding than I am!

Blackwall – She knows something. She knows too many somethings.

Josephine – She keeps to herself and has caused no diplomatic incidents. I wish I could say the same for some of the others gathered here.

Leliana – I find it curious that I cannot find any solid evidence of her existence before the Conclave, but that does not automatically mark her a spy. However, her nature makes me no more inclined to trust her. I would be wary of her.

Cullen – Who? Oh, the...shadowy...person. I hear she can handle herself. I can't say I've spoken with her, so I don't have an opinion.

Trespasser

There is a unique dialogue tree available to the Inquisitor while speaking with Solas if Nydha was recruited as a companion.

“Did you know about Nydha?”

“Yes, I am the one who gave her her name. I found her while I yet slept, and she became corporeal after the Breach.”

(First branch) “Is she one of your agents?”

“No. She has only ever been my friend.”

(Special, if not romanced) “Your friend? It seemed to be more than that.”

“In another world, perhaps.”

(Second branch) “Is she joining you?”

“No, I would not wish her on this path.”

(Third branch) “She knew this whole time. Why didn't she tell me?”

“She had her reasons for not telling you. (If high approval) I hope you will not hold them against her.”

Regardless of approval, Nydha disappears after the Exalted Council. She settles in the Frostback Basin among the Avvar. A high approval Inquisitor will receive correspondence from her from time to time, but she will refuse to come back to the 'civilized' nations of Thedas, preferring privacy and isolation.

Trivia

If in the party during Here Lies the Abyss, the Nightmare demon will speak to her in Elvish. Her reply is a scoff and nothing else.

Nydha can be a third option at the Vir'Abelasan if she is in the party. If she is chosen to drink from the Well, Abelas does not object, although he will still point out that she will be bound as they are. If Nydha drinks, she will summon Flemeth and work with the Inquisitor to tame the dragon for the final confrontation with Corypheus. If she is in the party during Trespasser, she will be able to provide the password to the spirit guards, preventing a fight.

If Morrigan is allowed to attack Abelas, she will attempt to defend him and will argue that the witch is not worthy of the knowledge she seeks if brutality is her only way to get it. If there is a peaceful alliance with the Sentinels and Morrigan is chosen to drink, Nydha will slightly disapprove but hold her tongue on the matter.

If the Inquisitor drank from the Well, and succeeds in finding enough clues to determine that Solas is Fen'Harel, Nydha will appear saddened when the Inquisitor rebuts to the Viddasala that they already know. She will state that this was what she'd been waiting for. The Inquisitor will have the option to accuse her of knowing the whole time. She will answer yes, but she won't explain.

If Nydha is never recruited, and remains an NPC in the Rotunda, one will hear her occasionally speak with Solas. These conversations range in topic from books they are reading to the mural. Never about Inquisition business. There is a slight chance to hear them speaking in Elvish, and their words are not translated, regardless of Inquisitor's race. Solas's replies appear to be noncommittal.

Nydha will remark upon the Inquisitor's romantic choices, usually with something supportive and a hope that they are happy together. She will also comment something generally pleasant about each companion if asked. The exception to this is if Iron Bull remains Ben-Hassrath. Nydha will caution the Inquisitor to be careful of telling him too much since his loyalty is now unknown.

It can be implied from various interactions and from high approval conversation that Nydha was in fact aware of everything that would happen during the course of the game. She never gives a reason for keeping her silence on matters pertaining to what foreknowledge she had, although any input given during the game events is sound and often given in such a way so as not to risk suspicion.

It can also be implied that regardless of what Solas says during Trespasser, Nydha has actually left the Inquisition to join his ranks, or at least does not stand opposed to him. This is not confirmed, however, and according to her epilogue card, she is enjoying a quiet life in the Frostback Basin with no intention of ever interfering with Thedosian politics or events again.

[buddha-in-disguise]

I'm not going to review the season finale in quite the same way as I've usually written something afterwards. I'm ultra tired due to distinct lack of sleep. So it is more truncated than I'd intended. Also unedited so advance apologies if something makes no sense or is misspelled etc.

The episode was facing the challenge of not only being edited after COVID-19 shut down production, but what was intended to be the penultimate episode became the finale. So I'm trying to take that into consideration.

First part in Kara's loft. It was choppy. Don't get me wrong, I had nothing against the humour, or the scenes in general. Although they missed the glaring opportunity to place a "flew here on a bus," moment! It felt pretty disappointing they didn't recognise what has become an iconic line within the SG fandom, and made it even more iconic.

Before the bus though, back at the loft, considering that Lena had literally only just arrived at Kara's, with all that entails, it felt completely out of place for that context. Did it have been overwhelming heavy at that point? Absolutely not. But it was too close to slapstick at times for me and internally I was cringing. I admit, I'm not sure where they could've put it in, but perhaps if they'd just lowered it a fraction, made it a little more subtle a couple of times, it would've helped for me.

Some of the dialogue (especially early on) was also all over the place for me. It did get better as the episode wore on, but I wonder how much was the need to redo parts of the episode because of COVID-19? Unless they think to put an episode as intended in a future season DVD (perhaps S6 DVD), or someone gives us full details via an interview we will probably never know.

Which brought me to one piece of dialogue that I wish they'd not put in at all!

In 5.18, as I've spoken about a lot on Twitter especially, the way Lex screams into Lena's face, and Lena's flinch, and how that had been me 20 odd years ago. They then had the line as Lena talks to Kara; "Go ahead. Scream at me if you have to, I know I deserve it."

I know for many, they'd just see it as a line to use, but .... for many of us who have suffered abuse, who recognised (& in some instances were triggered) by last weeks episode, to not have acknowledged why that line was so problematic is worrying. It heavily suggests they're not going to address Lena's trauma and abuse because they really don't understand it (& again, if anyone believes she didn't suffer trauma and abuse, but accept others in SG do, go away with your bias from my page), but considering they haven't addressed much of Kara's trauma, particularly watching Argo destroyed again, being stuck for months during Crisis like they were, etc - then I guess it isn't a surprise.

But it is uncomfortable as hell to watch a line like that glossed over.

Overall though, I did enjoy the episode. Once that 1st half was over, especially (baring a few moments, including watching Alex do her badass Mission Impossible meet Cirque du Soleil moment because that was awesome) it felt much more like SG of previous seasons. So that was great.

Watching Lena as she watched Alex and Kara hug behind her was so emotional. Watching siblings love unconditionally. Something she thought she had with Lex, only to realise he hadn't changed at all. Lena didn't need to say anything, as once again Katie's acting brought all the emotion Lena was feeling to the fore.

Having Lena and Alex mirror they choice of words in regards Kara was pretty iconic. Then having Alex whisper, "Jinx." really made it work.

Seeing Dreamer in her element, including some great lines again. "I can't believe you left to fight Earth, Wind & Fire without us." "Guess they didn't take the bait? Maybe you should've been meaner?" As they begin the fight with J'onn, M'gann Alex and Dreamer - Alex to Dreamer: "You ready?" Dreamer. "Nope." Alex. "Me neither." Dreamer at her best imo.

Kelly going all, damn my girlfriend is hot & I want sex right now despite the circumstances was pretty cute and funny.

The Kara and Lena monologues being in unison. Now that was pretty amazing and one of the best parts of the whole episode imo.. But again, you feel as if they're matching Lena and Kara together with those scenes as a couple.

Lena not only protecting Kara, but stopped Andrea from going down a dark path as Acrata. Was also great.

Last frame of Lillian. Does it turn out she is the head of Leviathan? Because again they laid out more than once the leader was a woman. It has been noted several times now in different episodes. I was hoping Lena's biological mother, considering she knew of the legend of Acrata, but it is now looking more likely this reincarnation of Lillian is who it is, unless it is a character we've not been introduced to, but I highly doubt that.

The 2nd half of the episode was what we missed so much this season. In fact aspects throughout the episode were missing for too much this season.

This includes the women being the focal point of it. Brainy though absolutely rightly taking a strong subplot to what else was going on. J'onn ably supported by M'gann. M'gann who managed to advise Nia on embracing her dreams and not trying to avoid part of them. Dansen actually working together and both being badass in their own way (after all, this is something I've advocated for much of the season, & while fantastic to see, it never should've taken this long. Now where have we heard that before?)

But we still have glaring unanswered questions that I can't imagine would've been answered in 5.20.

Every indication since 5.17 is Kelly knows Kara is Supergirl. Yet we don't know for certain, because they've failed to show us how or when. I've said before, considering every other person who knows Kara is Supergirl, we had them tripping over themselves to explain to the audience how it happened. I'm pretty annoyed that we as the audience don't get given the same courtesy with Kelly. This is why so many of us feel short changed on some characters this season. The really aggravating thing is would only take a few lines to clear it up!

Now onto Alex. This ties in with J'onn. Where are they getting the money to survive? Did J'onn manage to accumulate enough over all the years he was on Earth to finance everything & pay Alex a wage? No clue.

Also, are Kelly & Alex living together? Or do they have keys to each others apartments? Yes, Kelly was at Alex's in 5.17 so the answer is pretty much yes, but nothing has been said! We knew more about Brainy & Nia's living arrangements from 5a than we do Kelly & Alex.

Kara's trauma. Lena's abuse & trauma. See above.

Lastly, the one most I know want (except a few vocally against), leaning towards Supercorp becoming canon. Again for another season, we end up with the, 'Maybe they'll do it next season.' being said. Particularly as in 5a they really went all out on Supercorp parallels to Clois and at times Dansen, plus even a little on Brainia. But unless something pretty fundamental changes behind the scenes, they're going to recognise what their biggest draw is, keep baiting but never fully go into it. And that is what I fear the most. When you've got media, even non-Supergirl fans saying it, but the show refusing to acknowledge it - that could be their legacy, and it will not look good or have a lot of fans look back kindly on them for it.

The 4 seasons it took for Lena to find out Kara was Supergirl was, in the end, terribly executed. This waxing and waning as well of; is Lena good or bad? Will she follow in the Luthor footsteps?

She is flawed. She's made some pretty awful mistakes. But now they're said she is good. She isn't evil or a villain. So now that line they've drawn needs to stay there! No more ambiguity on her character being a villain.

But you know what's not good? Feeling you can't trust the show to draw a line under that aspect of the character. That doesn't mean you have to have any one of them not be flawed, or to even cross some lines (they've all done it at some point, some moreso than others, but not one character is innocent).

When the show is now generating that level of mistrust on how they could handle future events, that is a problem.

Season 5 overall (particularly 5b) was absolutely horrendously bad. It had some moments of sheer brilliance (either individual scenes, or some episodes), but the rest was just flat out awful. Irrelevant. Messy. No cohesion. 5b became too much of the Lex Luthor show. Certain character additions were vastly unpopular and definitely caused down turns in viewer numbers (& again, from far more than a section of fandom). As did keeping Lena away from everyone for so long.

To sum up. Season 5 was a disaster.

Season 6 needs to have considerably different direction to even try & pull back some viewers (if they can at all). Distrust is rife.

The worst is no-one in the cast deserved this, especially as they're so talented. Some of the performances, even with how poor much of the season was, have been magnificent. But as the saying goes, you can't make a silk purse out of a sows ear.

I've never been so relieved a season is finally over. We'll watch our favourite episodes for sure, of which there aren't many, but a full rewatch of the season we normally do will not be happening. Some episodes were better off consigned to the trash.

[heathendolan]

Boys Will Be Bugs -- Lemon Boy Series [E.D]

Summary: Ethan’s mean and bitter for a lot of reasons, but none of them have to do with the shy bookworm who shows him was a real friend is. / A better look at how Ethan really feels about… well, everything. From his impressionable and incredibly sensitive toddler years to the end of college, it’s his turn to talk.

Warnings: MAKES WAY MORE SENSE IF YOU’VE READ LEMON BOY + 888 FIRST !!!

A/N: hi everybody, i feel like i’m new again and i’m as nervous as i was when i first published on here lmfao. i heard cavetown’s ‘boys will be bugs’ a few weeks ago and just about exploded with how accurate it was for ethan and was completely inspired to write a part from his narrative. also, this anon also did me solid with this request, so thank you so fkn much!! extended author’s note here, cause i have mucho to say. mmkay. love y’all 

WC: 23.2K+ || masterlist || PLAYLIST

SERIES | 1: Lemon Boy | 1½: Banana Bread | 2: 888 | 3½: It’s U

Ethan isn't right. He isn't wrong. Well, his parents say he's isn't--but his teachers say he's 'a little... different', and Ethan knows just what that means. He knows that when they say things like "Ethan just doesn't fit well with the other kids," in hushed voices at the semiannual kindergarten parent-teacher conferences, they're implying that he's the problem, and moreover that he's noncompliant to some degree. They only confirm this theory when they say things like "Ethan, go build blocks with Jacob and Cory," knowing full and well that he'd much rather sit underneath the tented blanket-walls of his own personal fort and read The BFG. Teachers call his fort 'antisocial'. Ethan calls his fort 'exclusive'. (He read that word in Charlotte's Web once). (He hopes he's using it right). (And pronouncing it right, for that matter).

Ethan feels a little like a BFG--Big Friendly Giant--and it isn't because he's oversized or anything, because he's actually a bit of a runt, like Wilbur the pig. He's like a Big Friendly Giant in the sense that he feels really alone in a sea of kindergarten boys, ones that are bent on perfecting spiral throws and effective tackles. Grayson, his twin, is sort of like that; Ethan thinks his daddy probably likes him better than Ethan for that reason. Ethan's more like his mommy. He likes to read (and he's happy to tell you that he's already at a second-grade reading level, thank you very much), and he likes to read a lot.  (Hence the fort.) And even if he didn't like to read (which he does), he would prefer building blocks in isolation. Ethan's sensitive--another word he learned in Charlotte's Web. The other kids are mean, even when Ethan knows they aren't trying to be. So when he misses his mommy and Jacob Kronwell says, 'suck it up', he bursts into tears, and that's alright. And on that note, what does 'rub some dirt on it' even mean? His daddy says boys just gotta be tough, but why? Why would Ethan ever choose football over a reclusive reading hut if he doesn't even like football all that much? To look cool? Ethan doesn't care about being cool. He cares about getting to the end of this chapter and lunch. And so what if he cries? He just can't help it--he feels better when he cries, and he's not going to stop just cause Jacob says he acts like a girl. That's hardly an insult--last time he checked, his sister Cameron was the coolest person he knew.  Ethan hopes first grade is better.

- Ethan loves summer. Summer is almost better than The Adventures of Captain Underpants. (Almost). His mom takes him to the library almost every day. The first time they walked hand in hand into the big building, Ethan's jaw fell to the floor; how on Earth had they been hiding all these books from him? He was frozen solid in place with shock while his mom chatted away with the librarian, carrying polite small talk about how 'simply stunning this colonial architecture was' and how she was 'heartbroken she hadn't been here sooner'. Ethan thinks she's overcompensating with compliments because they only moved to Allentown about a year ago. He noticed it a few months ago when she talked to the checkout clerk at the local grocery store for a full hour about the rising prices of milk. He asked her why she did that. She told him that was how people made friends. Ethan thinks anybody that only wants to be friends with his mom because she can jab about milk for an hour is stupid, but he's not allowed to use that word yet. Now is not the time for jabbing about milk or colonial architecture Ethan decides, and he wiggles right out of his mother's grip and clambers over to the kid's section, completely ignoring the way his mom calls his name and apologizes meekly to the librarian. He doesn't care what the librarian thinks about him. He cares about books. And there's so many of them. He has to crane his neck just to catch a glimpse of the tower of shelves with books, upon books, upon books. He sees all of the books that are in his scholastic book fair catalog and then some. The priest at his church talks about heaven a lot, and Ethan thinks he found it. His mom is hot on his trail though, because she scoops him up in her arms and balances him on her hip, pulling him in snug and warm. Ethan loves his mom and all the affection she gives, and he wraps his arms around her neck. "See one you like?" she asks, kissing his temple. Some of the kids in his kindergarten class hate being picked up by their mom, and Ethan doesn't really get that. They would always say things like 'Mom, stop,' and 'go away' and he doesn't understand; his mom was by far his best friend. And probably his only friend, besides Gray. And Cam. And Dad. And they said things like 'you still call your mom 'mommy'?', and that's why Ethan loves summer the most, because he can be himself without those comments. "Yeah," Ethan says, poking generally at the whole stack of books. "I wanna read them all." His mom merely chuckles and nods. "Alright, we have all summer," she says. "Grab one and we'll read it, and then we'll return it and grab a new one." Ethan reaches blindly and grabs the first one he can wrap his stubby fingers around. "James and the Giant Peach?" she clarifies. "You know that's from the same guy who wrote The BFG, right?"  Ethan already knows this one is going to be his new favorite.  - Kids are mean. Ethan thinks just about half his classmates are minions of Count Olaf, the villain in his newest literary obsession, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Ethan feels a bit like one of the Baudelaire children. Not because his parents died in a house fire or that he's been relocated to various relatives, each stranger than the last, and most certainly not because he's inheriting a gazillion dollars (because that part is super untrue. His family's sort of struggling right now). He feels like a Baudelaire child because it seems like everywhere he turns is a dead end full of people that want to kill him. Okay, maybe 'kill' isn't the right term, but God, it feels like it when Riley Johnson purposely trips him in dodgeball--especially when they're on the same frickin' team. (Ethan's in second grade now, so he's allowed to use that word). (Not around his mom though, but his dad's okay with it). (However, the phrase 'shut up' is one hundred and ten percent off limits). And Cory Willson, frankly, is nearly confirmed to be the spawn of satan. He flicked a meatball at Ethan at lunch on the first day of school--picture day. And that stain took two separate washes to get out of his nice white polo. But Cory is simply a grain of salt on Ethan's plate of problems.  And Jacob Kronwell? Well, Jacob Kronwell is the twelve ounce, medium-rare steak and the side of mashed potatoes. He's probably the steamed vegetables in this metaphor, too. Jacob Kronwell is Ethan Dolan's personal Count Olaf. He is no spawn of Satan, he is Satan, with a capital S.  It started in kindergarten, and it hasn't stopped yet. If anything, it has only gotten worse. It began with exclusion, name-calling, and stealing his pencils without asking. Ethan could tune out being called a girl (and honestly, didn't mind all that much if he's honest). Ethan can't ignore Jacob when he steals his books and throws them into Mr. Franken’s yard, the most feared (and coincidentally--or not--most elderly) neighbor in all of Allentown. Ethan has had to fork over a lot of toys and allowances to pay the library fees. And it didn't stop there. Jacob figured out early on that being the largest kid in second grade included a lot of benefits, serious benefits. Not only was he the best at football (and baseball, and basketball, and dodgeball), but he was really good at wrestling. Ethan would know; he's been the test subject of Jacob's poorly rehearsed WWE moves since Jacob discovered America's most violent live-action soap opera. But Jacob's getting more creative every month, and now that he's seen A Christmas Story, Ethan's been forced to stick his tongue to a pole in the middle of a New Jersey winter and, subsequently, Ethan's been sent home with half of a (very bloody) tongue. Jacob wasn't generous enough to let his mutilated tongue heal before he made him do it again. Grayson's lucky--so lucky--that he can play football. And it is ironic--so ironic--that Grayson gets off scot-free because of it. It's a god blessed frickin' miracle that Grayson hasn't been mistaken for Ethan and been given a swirly yet. Or had a huge chunk cut out of his hair with scissors. Or been trapped in a locker. Ethan's practically defenseless; he doesn't have many friends (besides Grayson, Mom, Dad, and Cam) and he's pretty small, and Jacob knows that. That's what makes Ethan such easy prey. And he's created this stigma towards Ethan that's circulated through the whole school at this point. He overheard him telling Holly Brinkins that he picks and eats his boogers. No one wants to be friends with that kind of outcast, not even kindergarteners--and they actually pick and eat their boogers. Ethan's not too lonely though. He already has all he needs: his family, a colossal stack of fifth-grade-reading-level books (and he's only eight!), and Ginger, the frickin' best dog in the whole wide world. His mom let him pick out a dog from the local humane society so that he'd have his very own friend, and it was the best gift ever. So who needs friends or school lunch on most days? Jacob can eat two helpings all he wants, Ethan doesn't even like the school's mystery meat. - "What'd'ya wanna do when you get older, E?" Grayson asks as they hike up the alpine mountain in the forest behind their house. Ethan knows it's technically a hill, and not even a big one at that, but listen: he just discovered the word 'alpine' and it sounds kinda cool on his tongue, and he's got chicken legs. It feels like Mount Everest to him. "The King of Narnia, no doubt," he responds, a wheeze in his words and an ache in his calves. The walk to their hidden (and super cool) basin seems to stretch longer every single day. Grayson's cut out for this with his quarterback physique--even if it is only little league--but Ethan... Ethan's a little bit of a 'NAF.' Jacob told him so. "Ethan," Grayson grumbles, twisting his head towards him to pointedly roll his eyes. "I'm serious. Be a little more realistic." "I don't know Grayson, what do you want to be?" Ethan asks. "Tom Brady." "I see you're taking a pragmatic approach as well," Ethan scoffs, kicking a stray rock into the jungle. Sometimes Ethan sits outside in this forest of his and reads and pretends the bluejays that chirp are really some tropical parrots from Lord of the Flies. In all reality, he could sit inside next to their new parakeet, Gizmo, and get the same effect, but he's decided to permanently hate that bird ever since they had to get rid of Ginger. He's been bitter ever since. He doesn't care if Grayson can't control the fact that he's allergic. "See," Grayson sighs, halting in the dirt path, "when you say shit like 'pragmatic' you make me wanna to kick you. I don't even know what that means." Grayson and Ethan are not allowed to say words like 'shit', 'fuck', 'damn', or 'Jesus' yet, and certainly not phrases like 'ass-clown', but they’ve made a sworn truce to never tattle. They even spit and shook hands, so it's practically motherfuckin' law.  Ethan scowls at him. "Probably cause you're dyslexic." Grayson is already winding up when Ethan cowers, and Grayson knows to just give it up. Ethan deals with enough during the school year.  "E, I'm just saying. If you didn't say words like that, maybe you wouldn't get beat up. Well, at least, not by me," Grayson hurries out, knowing it's a sore subject, Ethan getting beat up. "Oh right, because that's the reason I get my ass kicked," Ethan grumbles, trudging past Grayson. Grayson is quick to catch up, following on Ethan's heels like a troubled puppy. "Look, all I wanted to know was what you wanted to be when you were older." Ethan knows Grayson doesn't mean to be mean. Ethan thinks most kids actually don't mean to be mean; it's sixth grade, everybody's already got their friend groups. It's not that anybody's excluding him at this point, it's just that no one's including him. People discarded the term 'cooties' a long time ago, and nobody thinks he picks and eats his boogers anymore. People just grew up together without Ethan. He's adjusted. He's alright. But Jacob's still a fucking asshole. He isn't violent anymore--he abandoned hair pulling, foot stomping, and locker stuffing around fourth grade when Ethan got to be as big as him. He's just mean. He leans up behind him and tells him that Chloe Krass will never like him back and that Grayson would never be friends with him if he wasn't forced to be. And it sucks, because it's true. It is absolutely true. He'd rather give Jacob his lunch for the rest of his life than have him stomp on his heart. Ethan's sensitive--he always has been. And you know what? It's dumb that people feed off of his sensitivity. It's fucking bullshit.  "Gonna make fun of me?" Ethan tests, giving Grayson a sideways glance and lifting his chin protectively. "No," Grayson insists.  "Alright. I... I wanna write books," Ethan admits, his chin lifted high in the air for some faux-confidence. He casts a glance at Grayson and finds that Grayson's face has disappointment painted all over it. Grayson's brows are drawn tight together, ready to chastise him, and he's opened his mouth to say, "Ethan," irritably.  "And if you don't like that," Ethan growls out quickly, "then you can go fuck yourself, Grayson." Grayson's shock is all Ethan needs to prove he's figured out a loophole to this drama, and Ethan speeds off towards the pond feeling a little bigger, a little stronger, and a hell of a lot tougher. - Ethan's underneath his comforter with his head buried under his pillow, his entire body numb. It feels like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, what happened today. "Mom, it wasn't his fault! You know how terrible Jacob is to him," Grayson defends in the kitchen, screaming frustratedly. "Jacob Kronwell's father is threatening to sue, Grayson. Do you think they're going to take the side of the kid who beat another kid to a bloody pulp? This is so much bigger than you think it is," his mom hisses back, slapping her palm against the granite table. "Lord knows what will happen. Your brother's definitely expelled. We can't afford to be sued." He can hear his mother's voice crackle with tears. He doesn't want her to cry. He doesn't even know how it happened. One moment he was washing his hands in the boys bathroom, the next he was being circled, the next he was having his head shoved into the bowl of a toilet for the hundredth time, and then a moment later he had Jacob on the ground with blood gushing from his nose. And he just kept kicking, and kicking, and kicking until he felt the principal dragging him out of the bathroom. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, and the part of his brain surged out with how unfair his life in Allentown has been so far, and he just let go of all the anger pent up inside him. Jacob had been torturing him for eight years, and for what? Why? It was so fucking unfair. He knows what he did was wrong, but he doesn't really regret it. Not at all, actually.  "Mom, you don't get it! Jacob's the worst!" Grayson yelled still, crying himself. Everybody was crying and it was all Ethan's fault. "Your father's going to have to find a new job," his mom whined. "your brother's going to be expelled. I don't know what we're going to do. I don't know what we're going to do," she pressed on, her voice shaking.  Ethan felt like his chest was caving, or his stomach was twisting into an impossibly tight knot, or his skin was on fire. Jacob's always been right: Ethan's a fuck up, a waste of space, a piece of shit, trash, garbage, stupid, worthless. "Honey, it's going to be okay," his dad says from the kitchen. "I don't know what we'll do either. But it'll work out." "Are we going to have to change schools?" Cameron asks. "I only have a few months left before graduation, can we just stay? Please?" There's an awkward pause that probably answers the million dollar question: they are going to have to move, Cameron's going to have to graduate with a bunch of strangers, their dad's going to have to find a new job, their mom's going to have to open a different shop. All because of Ethan. All because of Ethan. - "So I just got off the phone with Scott Kronwell and he's decided to drop all charges if we get the hell out of dodge," Ethan's dad says the following Monday. It's just Ethan, his mom, and his dad in the kitchen for lunch; Ethan's been suspended for seven days. Not that he minds; he sort of sees it as an early spring break. Any time spent away from school is good for Ethan. "What's that mean?" his mom asks before she bites into her sandwich. "Well," his dad sighs, pinching his eyes together with his index and thumb fingers. "I told him how a bunch of teachers have been emailing me willing to testify against Jacob for bullying, which is pretty stupid if you ask me, because that means they saw how he was treating E and didn't do shit. I think it spooked Scott, because the guy basically threatened me. Said we have two weeks to move districts or he'll press charges. Such a dick. Ethan, I'm kind of glad you beat up his kid." "Sean," his mom scolds, her lips in a tight line. "Thanks," Ethan mumbles with a faint grin. If his dad approves, he really doesn't regret it. "Luckily, we're in a good place financially to just get up and leave. But no Bora Bora in December," his dad sighs, staring blankly at the table. Ethan knows Cameron's going to be pissed. First, she has to move schools with three months of high school left, then she gets robbed of her dream vacation? Ethan will be sleeping with one eye open. His mom sighs with both relief and grief and lays her head on her arms. "Ethan, no more fighting, okay?" she asks weakly, lifting her head only enough to stare at him with pleading eyes. He never wants to see his mom make that face again. "I won't," Ethan promises, and means it. He never wants to lose control like that again; it's been a week and he still can't remember a damn thing about what happened. He dislikes that side of himself the most--and Ethan hates just about every bit of himself.  - Ethan likes their new house a lot. He gets his own room, it's big, it's old, and it's probably haunted. It's perfect. There's a river in the forest behind this house, too. It's got a waterfall at the beginning, about a mile north of his house, and if he treks down the stream, he can find a cluster of miniature cliffs just waiting to be jumped off of. The river seems deep enough to swim in and venture through and it probably has a ton of cool rocks in the shallower parts. He and Grayson spend most of their summer there unless they're at the local beach like they are now. "I think the kids at our school are scared of you," Grayson says, skipping a slippery stone across the still lake. The boys watch it bounce once, twice, thrice before dipping beneath the water.  "So?" Ethan snipes. He's had to put a lot of work into being scary. He thinks he'll have frown lines by twenty-five if he keeps glaring at everybody. "Well, I don't think you're going to make many friends if you don't say anything to anyone," Grayson shrugs, plucking another rock from the sand and skipping it even farther than the last.  "Not like anyone wants to be my friend anyway," Ethan retorts. That was a stupid thing to say on Grayson's behalf. It seemed like people were afraid of Ethan the moment he stepped foot in Long Valley, but he's beginning to think that might be Ethan's intentions. He gets it; it's better to be feared than bullied, but the boys in their grade are getting more comfortable with him. Grayson's doing just fine. He's already decided he'll play football this coming fall and he's made a few friends through lacrosse, but he's never had problems making friends. "You could always hang out with me and my friends..." Grayson offers meekly. "I heard your friend Carter call me a mute back in May. No thanks," he nips. It's a lost cause, and all Grayson can really do is pray that someone, anyone will befriend Ethan. He's not asking for too much he doesn't think. Is he? 

​​​​​​-

Ethan slides into his seat at the kitchen island, Romeo and Juliet in his grip and a blanket draped around his shoulders. Grayson’s cooking up something terrible—but arguably edible—for them as an after-school snack, rushing around the kitchen far too much for Ethan to focus on the already complicated book. He had heard that girl (Y/N) mumble something negative under her breath when it came to Shakespeare, and he has to agree—his novels were complete garbage.

“So, how was the first day of school,” Grayson sing-songs sardonically, popping his hip out like their mom.

Ethan shrugs lamely, taking a sip of his water. “S’alright.”

“And what about that girl, (Y/N)?” Grayson prods, waggling his eyebrows. Ethan sputters on his water, coughing and encouraging Grayson’s teasing. With a smirk, Grayson continues, “She’s pretty cute, huh? She seems into you.”

Ethan glares at him once he stops hacking, wiping his mouth on the fabric of his blanket. “Not funny,” he says.

She is pretty cute—and pretty kind, too. He couldn’t get it out of his head all day, the way she just asked him about his tattoo—talked to him, with genuine interest and curiosity. And furthermore, she’s smart. He couldn’t believe she’d read the entire list too, willingly. Ethan read it over the summer out of pure boredom and because his dad wouldn’t stop harping him about it, but she seemed like she really enjoyed reading. And she wasn’t a snob about it either, she seemed a little shy and humble—unlike Tanya. Ethan’s already floated off into his own daydream of their first conversation, right in the middle of the hallway with her papers askew when Grayson calls out his name impatiently.

“What?” he grumbles.

“I’m serious dude, she’s into you! Heard her talking to her friends at lunch,” Grayson pushes, raising his eyebrows. “She’s got a crush on you. Big one, too.”

Ethan feels a blush creep up the back of his neck and he scratches it. It’s impossible. It’s simply impossible. ”Shut up," he says, his voice cracky.

Grayson pops a few pieces of bread into the toaster and pushes down on the handle. “No dude, I'm not kidding. Like, all her friends knew about it and they were like, teasing her and stuff. They wanted to hear all about her conversation with you."

Ethan's fighting to keep the shock off his face. A girl like that? Having a crush on a guy like him? It defied all laws of logic.

"Whatever," Ethan chokes out, feeling butterflies parade through his stomach. He doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining the notion with himself—this is frankly pure lunacy.

"She's hot dude. If you knew what was good for you, you would jump on that," Grayson shrugs nonchalantly.

Ethan's cheeks grow even hotter at his comment. With his mouth gaping like a fish’s, he sputters, "I-I'm not going to jump on that, what the fuck Grays-"

"That's not what I meant!" Grayson laughs, shaking his head. "I just mean, she's going to have a bunch of guys' attention. She does seem kind of quiet, though."

Defensively, Ethan thinks, what does that have to do with anything? But, in an effort to stay discreet, he just shrugs for the umpteenth time.

"Whatcha boys talking about?" Ethan's dad asks as he walks into the kitchen, surfing through the refrigerator for a good snack. A flash of heat decorates Ethan’s cheeks again and his eyes widen as he mentally prays, begs, pleads for Grayson to just keep his gigantic mouth shut on this one.

“Ethan’s giant crush,” Grayson teases, squinting smugly at Ethan. Behind his dad's back, Ethan gives Grayson the middle finger and mouths 'fuck you'.

"(Y/N), huh?" his dad replies easily, already well aware of who they’re talking about. Ethan’s jaw just about hits the floor. Grayson begins snickering loudly as he butters his freshly baked toast, and Ethan briefly weighs the pros and cons of vaulting himself over the kitchen island and just strangling him quiet. But before he can make a proper decision, his dad’s continuing. ”Ethan, she's one smart cookie. The whole list! Blew my mind," he says with a shake of his head.

Ethan doesn't note that he himself had also read the list, because he knows it's different. “Yep,” he mutters, tapping his fingers along the granite.

“So you have a crush on her?” his dad asks, peering over his shoulder from where he hovers in the refrigerator’s doorway.  

Ethan says, "No!" the same time Grayson says, "Yes."

"I'll keep that in mind, Kiddo," his dad says.

Ethan just whines, already so very aware of how humiliating it will be to have his dad prod at him. But deep down—deep, deep, deep down—he hopes by some miracle it'll be beneficial because it's true; Ethan would be crazy to not have a crush on her. He already knows he's in deep when he catches himself smiling for the thousandth time that day over their measly conversation in the hall.

-

Ethan’s never been so bored in his life. No, that isn’t true, and yes, it is incredibly dramatic, but he means it, okay? With Grayson at football camp for a week and Cameron working overtime at the ice cream parlor, Ethan’s feeling stir crazy while he stares up at his ceiling fan and watches it spin round and around and around and around. He knows he could go for a swim down by the riverbed, but he’s done that the last two days. And sure, he could shoot hoops in the driveway, but what’s the fun in doing that alone? It’s only been a day and a half since Grayson’s left, and he thinks he might just die before next Monday comes around. He’ll never admit how attached he is to him.

He huffs and he puffs and he sighs and he whimpers, but nothing comes to mind. He feels a frenzy in the pit of his stomach, one that’s begging him to just move, and he hops upright, ready to pace around his room if it means getting some of this energy out. He jumps up and down—even throws in a few jumping jacks just for some spice—but it’s useless; he needs interest.

His mind wonders off to (Y/N) again like it has every single hour of every single day since summer began. He wonders, for the gazillionth time, how she’s spending this unusually hot July day, what she’s doing, where she’s doing whatever she’s doing. Ethan realizes these thoughts only make him antsier because the idea of (Y/N) alone makes him nervous in general, so he smacks his forehead childishly to swat away the thoughts. She’s probably reading. But reading what?

Harry Potter, of course, unless she’s marking off the Composition reading list one by one. But who would want to do that on a day like today? He’s sure she’s spending it with a book in her hand and probably sunning at the local beach, her peers alongside her. She’s quiet, but not unsocial; the gaggle of girls she has are nice—well, nice enough—and murderously loyal, it seems. Ethan approves of her friend group most out of the entire student body; sometimes they say hello to him, and that’s more than 99% of the mass population would ever do for him.

The way she talks about those Harry Potters, Ethan would think they’re magic. Well, duh, he thinks. But they’re children’s books—what could possibly be so good?

Ethan knows what he’s going to do today.

He hauls himself to the local library, a good four miles away (which is more than enough for him to rid himself of some of this boyish energy he has), and checks out the first two books. Then he cracks the spine of the first one and begins reading and walking on his way home.

His first impression is terrible; he hates the Dursleys, and Harry is frankly quite bland. But before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages just to find out what happens next, and then he’s scrunching his nose bitterly at characters he hates and grinning whenever Hagrid is featured in a chapter. He’s decided to hate Severus Snape until his dying breath and he’s almost certain he’d be sorted into Slytherin and he has full intentions to name his first child Ron whether it’s a boy or a girl—and it’s only been five chapters. He gets it—he totally freakin’ gets why she loves these books so much. He feels like a kid again. He’s so lost in the plot that he brings his book to the dinner table and flips pages between forkfuls.

“Ethan!” his mom shouts, smacking her palm against the table.

Ethan jumps, startled. “What?” he asks innocently, his heart still racing from his abrupt interruption.

"Honey, I've called your name eight times!" she laughs, eyeing him disbelievingly.

"Sorry," he mumbles around a bite of steak, already turning back to his story.

"Nuh-uh, it's dinner time, put the book away," his mom warns, a quirk in her eyebrow and discipline clear in her voice. Ethan shrinks in his chair and dog-ears his page, reluctant but compliant.

"What are you reading?" his dad asks, tilting his head to try and make out the title. "Oh, Miss (Y/N)'s favorite book, I see," he smirks.

Ethan frowns as his jaw falls. "How did you-"

"Oh please, you two weren't all that quiet when you were flirting up a storm in my English class. I'm pretty sure I know just as much about her as you do," he snorts, shaking his head and shoveling in another bite of meat.

Ethan pouts into his plate, embarrassed and annoyed. So what if he wanted to read her favorite books? They were friends. He was allowed.

"Are you talking about (Y/N)?" Cameron pipes up from across the table, a smug smile on her lips.

"Save it, Cam," Ethan grumbles, feeling sour.

"So you don't want to hear all about her visit to the ice cream parlor today?" Cameron quips, speaking theatrically loftily. "Because her friends sure had a lot to say about you..."

Ethan ponders over whether he should play it cool or embrace his excitement. "What'd they say?" he squeaks quickly, sounding more desperate than he's ever heard himself.

His family chuckles at his eagerness and eyes one another. Normally this would really irk him, but he has bigger interests.

"Oh, just that she talks about you all the time," Cameron sings. "She didn't say as much as I said, though."

Ethan's blood runs cold in his system. "W-what did you say?"

"Oh, just that you never shut up about her and that you have a huge crush on her," Cameron smirks, squinting evilly at him across the table.

Ethan's read Dante's Inferno and he is absolutely, positively, 1000% certain that he has just entered the ninth ring of hell. Oh my God. Oh my God.

"Cameron!" he shrieks, hopping from his spot. He doesn't even realize he's grabbed his steak knife along for defense, but suddenly everyone's rising from their seats and demanding he calms down. Ethan feels hot tears spring in his eyes; his friend, his only willing friend knows about his stupid dumb crush. She's never going to talk to him again. She's never going to-

Ethan thinks he's going to pass out.

"Dude, chill out! I already told you she likes you too!" Cameron shouts back, her hands raised defensively.

Ethan's sensitive. His whole family knows it, but even they're shocked when his bottom lip begins to wobble and a tear slips down his cheek. He's so glad Grayson isn't here to see him cry like a fucking baby.

"E, c'mon," Cameron coaxes, looking at him with bewilderment. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"Easy for you to say!" Ethan screams, collapsing in his chair. She's going to hate him, she's going to hate him, she's going to hate him. She does some charity work, befriends the freak, and then she realizes she has to deal with his obsessive crush? Why wouldn't she walk away? This isn't even fair--he would have kept his mouth shut about his stupid crush for life if it meant keeping her as a friend. "She's my only friend!"

The dinner table falls quiet; Ethan's unpopularity has always been the elephant in the room. Ethan's scrubbing the hot tears away from his cheeks and grinding his teeth together to keep the emotion better at bay but it isn't any use; the thought of (Y/N) joining the army of people absolutely disgusted with Ethan is too much; he has to cry.

He knows Cam had good intentions; she's just being a sister. But what's done is done, and he doesn't think he can look (Y/N) in the eye ever again.

Cameron slips out of her chair and over to Ethan, cuddling his frame close to hers. Ethan cries into her shoulder pathetically, and he knows this is all so unusual for his family, seeing him weep so openly like this, but this is just too much. He doesn't know what he'll do when he sees her in a month. He thinks about homeschooling.

"Ethan," Cameron whispers. "She looked excited. She clearly likes you too."

Ethan shoves away at her shoulder, angry all over again. "Cameron, don't try and soothe the wound. The damage is done."

Cameron scoffs, stands, and folds her arms over her chest. "Okay Princess, I was being gentle, but now you're just being a prima donna. She likes you. Accept that you're likable."

"That's not even funny, Cameron," Ethan whimpers, another wave of self-hatred washing ashore.

"Honey," his mom coos, "(Y/N) would be very lucky to have a boy like you."

Ethan's getting angrier by the second, and he's about ready to stomp off with his plate and his book and his pride. The realization that his family has just seen him sob over a girl makes his cheeks melt with shame.

"And you would be lucky to have a girl like (Y/N)," his dad pipes up. "I'm telling you guys, her Scarlett Letter analysis was just out of this w-"

Cameron groans loudly, stuffing her face in her palms. "Would you shut up about her Scarlett Letter analysis!"

Lisa gasps beside her. "Cameron June! Do not speak to your father like that."

"Well seriously, he mentions it like every day!" she quacks back.

"Well, it's worth talking about! I mean really Ethan, that girl is going to win a Pulitzer Prize one day and I want her last name to be Dolan when she does," his dad urges, raising his eyebrow and biting a forkful of steak.

Ethan snorts goodheartedly, still anxious but exhausted from emotion more than anything. In an effort to escape the conversation and his family, he excuses himself and tucks himself in his room, ready to devour his book again.

He loves this book. He loves this book. It's maybe the best he's ever read. He's flying through the pages so quickly he has to reread some parts to really enjoy it properly. It's edging ten in the evening and he's just about to venture into the Forbidden Forest with Harry and Malfoy when he hears a soft knock on his door.

"Hey," Cameron mutters, peaking her head in.

Ethan folds his novel in his lap, prepared to have a forced heart to heart with his offender. "Mom send you up here?" he asks rhetorically.

Cameron cracks a grin and nods. "Yeah, but I wanted to say sorry anyway. So..." she trails off shifting between her feet. "...Sorry."

"Thanks," Ethan snorts.

Cameron hobbles over and plops herself on the edge of his bed, plucking the story from his comforter. "These are such good books," she nods, leafing through a few pages to get an idea of where he is in the plot.

"I know, I can't believe I've never read them. The way (Y/N) talks about these books, you'd think they hung the stars in the sky," Ethan murmurs, chuckling to himself.

Cameron purses her lips and gives him a sidelong glance. "She seems pretty cool, sort of shy, but sweet."

Ethan's brows furrow together. "I don't get why people always say that like it's a bad thing," he deadpans, encouraging her to rethink her statement. "She's shy, so what? She's really nice."

Cameron giggles and shakes her head. "Look at you, all defensive," she prods, ruffling his hair. Ethan's beginning to regret ever inviting her into his room. Cameron smiles more to herself and says, "I'm happy you have a crush, it's, er... healthy. And I think she's a good person to have a crush on--she's super cute."

Ethan laughs to himself and decides to let his guard down, if only for a moment. "Tell me about it."

Cameron's lips spread so wide her teeth peek out from under them. The two are quiet for a minute, and it isn't awkward. Ethan doesn't hate his sister, even if she ruined his only friendship.

As if reading his thoughts, Cameron stirs the pot some more. ”Ethan, she likes you, okay? And maybe you don't see that, but I know it," Cameron swears, grabbing his hand where it lays on the bed.

Ethan yanks it away, uncaring of his blunt rejection. "You don't know shit," he grouches.

"E," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Trust me, she does. I'm a girl, I know how they act. And you know what? Quit being so bitter. No one likes a pessimist."

I know, Ethan thinks, That's the problem.

"So suck it up, or... or you'll have to deal with my two friends, lefty and righty," Cameron threatens, waving her fists around 'threateningly'. Ethan thinks she needs a lesson or two on intimidation.

He chuckles, which clearly bruises her ego, because she begins tickling him torturously, and after half an hour of a tickling war, all is forgiven. Cameron eventually deserts him with his book and Ethan returns to his own little literature world, more excited than he’s ever been about a series.

-

Miraculously, when Ethan sees (Y/N) on the first day of school, she doesn’t hate him or his newly dyed purple stripe. She actually calls him hot, and Ethan knows that he’ll absolutely never get over it. He’s made it through a month of school with her by his side, the two as close as what he imagines a best friend would be like. He hasn’t had one besides Grayson, and he knows that that doesn’t count. But things are going alright, and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Well, except for every other person involved in his school. Since everyone had survived their first year of high school, they were much less skittish and much meaner. Ethan’s had comments thrown his way every single day since the start, and he’s even been shoved once or twice, just like he’s seen in movies. He’s seriously wondering if they’ll lock him in a locker soon. He hasn’t experienced that since eighth grade.

But Ethan isn’t going to let that happen. He’s bulked up over the summer—gained a few inches and more than a dozen pounds—and he knows how to fight. Obviously, bites a voice in the back of his head. You almost killed a kid.

Ethan worries about the day when (Y/N) finds that out, that he'd nearly been expelled for almost murdering Jacob Kronwell at the innocent age of thirteen. He shudders at the thought and stuffs it down, down, down and just prays she never finds out.

Career day is, by far, the least interesting school-fueled 'holiday' Ethan can imagine, and he's considering spirit day and all its pep-fest activities. Career day is just tedious, plain and simple. It annoys the faculty, it annoys the students, and infinitely more importantly, it annoys Ethan because he knows what he wants to do. He wants to write books, and Long Valley was seriously lacking world-renowned authors and best-selling novelists, which meant the other teachers, scrambling for anything to jam-pack his day, would tell him to visit the journalism booth or the English teacher division, which in itself was completely useless. His own dad was an English teacher--if he had questions, he could ask them over spaghetti tonight.   

And then there was that bit where he had to listen to certain people drone on and on about their solid, reliable plans of being 'The Next Michael Jordan' or 'The Next Tom Brady' or, most unrealistic of all, 'The Next Kim Kardashian.' Ethan seriously doubts that if they don't have a booth for creative writing, they won't have a booth for the profound artistry of face-tuning or the ambitious marketing strategies for FitTea Tummy. But that's just Ethan.

It's not like he's going to find out anyway; he plans to lock himself away in his dad's quaint English room for most of the afternoon, lower the lights, draw the blinds, and stuff himself in the beanbag tucked in the corner just for him and finish Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. He has been fervently reading them ever since he stole the first copy from the library, and he's really edging towards the climax of this one. He's dug it out every spare second, reading between class periods and during his lunch. They truly are very, very good books.

When he arrives at school that morning, it as chaotic as he had imagined; every student is swarming about the halls, jabbing about what professions they'll bore themselves with for a few hours. He assumes they'll be too preoccupied to bother with their typical harsh stares and obvious gossip, but he's hardly made it to his locker when Cole Eptom eyes him quizzically from a few slots down. "Hey Dolan," he calls, nodding his head.

Ethan debates momentarily over whether he should tune him out or give Cole the benefit of the doubt and engage in what could only be small talk or torture. Suppressing a sigh, Ethan turns to look Cole's way with a raised eyebrow.

"That pink hair's fucking queer," Cole sneers, shutting his locker and marching off with his monochromatic Career Day pamphlet and his enormous, inflated ego.

It shouldn't bother Ethan. He knew last night when he spontaneously bought a box of hot pink hair dye and painted the bleached tuff above his eyes that he'd get a few stares. He thinks he's seen Cole wear the same pair of basketball shorts every day for the past month, and Cole himself said that jeans would only be reserved for five star restaurants. Cole doesn't know shit about fashion, and furthermore, Cole's hideous. And mean. His opinion shouldn't bother Ethan.

It does.

Ethan's feeling sourer than normal today, with Career Day's boisterous chatter infiltrating his ears (even after he'd stuffed them with headphones and extremely loud music) and the unending sly and taunting comments about his hair. It felt like every pair of eyes that existed in this building were zeroing in on the fuchsia tuft blanketing his forehead.

Queer. Queer. Queer. Queer.

He heard Cole's comment over and over and over again in his head and had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to keep his nausea at bay. What was he thinking, dying his hair bubblegum pink? What was he thinking? He wasn't. Ethan never thinks, he just does, and that is why he didn't have many friends. Impulsive and stupid were such a terrible combination. Ethan wouldn't touch himself with a ten-foot pole.

He's being harsh on himself, he knows he is, but he can't help it now. Fuck, it feels like his clothes don't fit him right, like they're too small and woven with needle-sharp fragments of glass. And it's hot in his sweatshirt, too warm and suffocating and it's boiling beneath the base of his neck, right where his collar starts, and only then does he realize just how tight it feels around his throat-

"Hello!" (Y/N) calls, looking bewildered. She smacks his arm as she sidles up next him by his locker. "How the fuck can't you hear me?"

Ethan's not one for cliches, but he almost immediately feels at least half of the weight burdening his shoulders float off, off, off at the sight of her. She's similarly cozied up in an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves falling past the tips of her fingers, and he wonders briefly if her hands are cold. He hopes not.

"Sorry," Ethan mumbles, chewing on his lip. "I'm just... stressed."

Ethan thinks stressed might be a better word than anxious, because then she'd ask questions because she cares. She cares a lot about Ethan, and he knows it, and he feels the weight drift off his shoulders some more.

"Well, your hair looks great," she says, blushing terribly. Her cheeks are scorned a bright pink, nearly mimicking the neon tuft dangling above Ethan's eyes.

"No it doesn't," he grumbles, glaring up at the strands.

"No, it does," she pushes, though her voice is squeaky and weak. "H-Hot pink for a hot guy, right?"

And then her face is scrunching up, embarrassment etching her features adorably, and slapping her palm against her forehead. She looks tortured with her eyes screwed shut and her neck flushed a deep red, she's tucking in on herself with humiliation and Ethan's hardly able to contain his grin. He doesn't try, just lets his lips split over his teeth, big and wide, and chuckles.

"Hot pink for a hot guy," Ethan agrees, smirking with kind eyes down at her shielded figure.

She peaks through her fingers to glare at him and smacks his shoulder, and she looks so sweet and gentle. His heart begins thumping and thumping in his chest, so loud it drowns out all the snide comments he's had thrown at him this morning. He chokes back the feelings, whatever feelings these are, and shakes his head, leaning back against his locker confidently.

"Oh, fuck off," she mumbles, crossing her arms.

"You sound more and more like me every day," he laughs, poking her side teasingly. "Lemon girl."

"Not a chance," she replies loftily, rolling her eyes. Ethan loves this side of her more than anything; it is sound proof that she is completely comfortable around him, despite the way she acts so constantly nervous. "I actually wake up on the right side of the bed sometimes, which can't be said for you."

In return, Ethan rolls his own eyes with a smile. "Right," he snorts, "but today is clearly not one of those days."

"No," she groans, falling forward and pressing her forehead on the ball of his shoulder. "I feel so sick. Feel my forehead. Sympathize."

Ethan laughs outright and scrubs a hand down her back. "Poor (Y/N)," he simpers dramatically. "Don't tell me it's the plague."

She burrows her head deeper into his figure and he prays she can't feel the way his heart rate picks up considerably. "Just might be."

"Look, if you die on me, I'll have to befriend that Tara chick from Comp just to spite you in the afterlife," he says, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

With an absent-mind he realizes, uncaringly, that they probably look quite cozy to any of the students passing by in the hallway, with Ethan cradling her comfortably and her nose buried in his collarbone. He doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all.

"You wouldn't dare," she threatens, her words muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. "I'd fuckin' haunt you until you died, and then I'd kick your ass from beyond the grave."

Ethan's glad she's tucked into him so she can't see the way he's biting back laughter.

"You know I could kick your ass, right?" she pushes.

"Of course," he complies.

All too soon she's uncurling from him, wiping her sleeve over her nose, and sniffling. "What career day things are you going to?" she asks, digging her pamphlet out of her backpack and scanning it.

"Dunno," he says, shrugging lamely. He knows he isn't attending any of them, but he's saving his breath. "What about you?"

She frowns bitterly and squints at the paper. "You're kidding me. There's a booth for Veterinary Acupuncture but not a single booth for creative writing?" She has disgust painted all over her pretty features when she says, "E, I'm sorry. That's fucked up."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" Ethan asks surprisedly.

"Cause, I know you wanna write when you get older and it's twisted that they don't have anything catering to that. I mean seriously they- oh my god, they have a booth for Clown Academy but not-!"

"How'd you know that?" Ethan asks with a furrow in his brow.

He can't ever remember sharing that with anyone, not besides Grayson, and that was years ago. He wouldn't share that with anyone. He'd never want to.

"Says right here on the brochure, Clown Academy, right above Counseling."

"No, not- not the clown academy thing, that I wanted to write."

She lifts a brow, puzzled. "You told me," she elaborates obviously. "That's why you got that little pen tattoo next to Grayson's birthday, right? You told me on the last day of school last year."

He did. He remembers it now, faint and vague, but he's gobsmacked she'd remember such a thing. Almost as gobsmacked as he is that he told her.

"Right..." he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. He ducks his head and says, "Yeah, no, it's stupid that they don't have anything."

"Stupid's one word for it," she continues, shaking her head and glowering at the sheet she's holding. "Kind of bothers me too since I want to do something with writing."

"Really?" Ethan asks, his head popping up to meet her eyes. "You want to write? Like what? Like journalism? Or like books? Or-"

"Easy tiger, you're talking to a girl half drugged up on DayQuil," she giggles, quirking a brow.

Ethan feels himself flood with embarrassment once he realizes how ridiculously giddy he sounded just then. He just cares a lot, okay? And he bets her writing is simply stunning, he could probably read it forever if she let-

Ethan feels panic rise up in his throat and all through his chest when he realizes there's no prospect of "forever" with a girl like her. Ethan reminds himself that this friendship is a stroke of luck--practically a miracle, considering everyone else sees what Ethan sees in himself--and that he can't even pray for anything more than a high school friendship with her. And that's that.

(Y/N) is completely oblivious to his storm of emotions as she says, "Dunno yet, could be something with romance--I'm big on cheesy novels," with a giggle. "But I've got three more years of high school, maybe by then I'll have dreams of law or med school or being a swimming pig island guide. We'll see."

Maybe you'll be mine, Ethan thinks before he can stop himself. He nearly slaps himself in the face. Stop it, we just had this conversation, he thinks. And after thinking that, he realizes he's talking to himself. Freak.

"But anyway, I'm gonna drop my stuff off at my locker and then head to the gym, wanna walk me down?" she offers.

Ethan, as much as he would absolutely love even another second with her, realizes he must ditch her for that cozy book nook in his dad's room that'll host him all day. So, he says, "Would, but I've gotta piss and then talk to my dad."

Her nose scrunches adorably and he feels his stomach swoop. "Could you be less, uh, gross?"

"Never, you love it," he shrugs.

Momentarily, her friendly expression caves and she looks as though she's been caught in the act of something with her flushed skin and doe eyes. "Right," she squeaks. "Well, I'll see you around."

The two part ways and Ethan immediately jogs to his dad's room feeling the best kind of tired and excited to snuggle up under the blanket he's stashed under his dad's desk. He burrows himself in the bean bag and cracks the spine of his Harry Potter and gets to work, ignorant to the hours that slip by or the chaos that is most definitely ensuing in the gymnasium.

His dad stops in once or twice to check on him and backhandedly scold him for ditching such a fantastic and beneficial expo, saying things like 'It's such a shame kids don't attend such a well-stacked organization,' and 'the journalism department has some gifted staff members that have such fantastic brochures.' It is snooze worthy for Ethan, especially in comparison to the duel between Harry and Voldemort that he's reading about.

Around noon Ethan is forced to get up and stretch, moan and groan as the joints in his back pop and shift from his fetal position in his bean bag, because, for starters, he's absolutely famished and, for enders, he's just finished one of the best books he's ever read in his whole entire life. He can totally understand why (Y/N) gushes about them so much.

On his walk to the library, he thinks about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios in Florida, and wonders how much two plane tickets and passes would be, just to see her face light up when she takes her first sip of butterbeer. Or better yet, when she flicks her newly purchased wand around in her newly purchased robes and jumps up and down like the kid she is at heart. Or, even better yet, how she'd spill every bit of knowledge she had about the books before, during, and after their little adventure, all throughout the plane ride there and all throughout the plane ride home. It's just too perfect--it is exactly what she deserves.

And then Ethan catches himself grinning almost wolfishly his smile is so big, and he shakes his head like a cartoon character trying to rid himself of these crazed thoughts, because there are so many complications. One, he is broke as can be, two, his mother is incredibly strict and would never let him whisk away his giant crush to paradise, some 15 states away, and three, he doubts (Y/N) would ever want to go with him. He imagines she'd want to go--just not with him. And that is understandable, so as his fantasy explodes with a mournful pop!, he hurries into the library and grabs the cleanest copy of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix and dashes out. Clearly, the smell of books--which he has already associated with (Y/N) for some unrelated reason--is too intoxicating for a clear mind.

After chomping away at the lunch he'd packed that morning, Ethan again nestles himself in his bean bag chair, ready to float from reality between the pages of what is undoubtedly his next favorite book. However, just as he's flicking open the cover, a tentative knock sounds at the door.

"Mr. Dolan?" calls a voice, one sweet like honey, from outside the room. "Mr. Dolan, you in there?"

Ethan quickly shoves the book underneath the bean bag before clearing throat and lowering his voice comically, "Come in."

"Mr. Dolan, I'm sorry to interrupt your lun-" (Y/N) stops dead in her tracks when she realizes there is no Mr. Dolan, well, no Sean by any means, but that Ethan's looking at her expectantly. "Where's Mr. Dolan?" she asks.

"He's right here," Ethan says, gesturing to his comfy figure in his comfy bean bag.

Her lips crack into a grin and she says, "No, you dummy, I mean your dad. Is he on his lunch break? And why are you in here? I was wondering why I hadn't seen you at Career Day."

Ethan shrugs lamely and surveys her; if he didn't think she looked like an angel, he would have thought she looked like hell: she had deep, dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin had paled even more throughout the day, the base of her nose scrubbed from rubbing it all day and her lips parted and cracked from mouth-breathing. Her clothes even look more rumply, like she's been curling up every spare second she's gotten.

"Go home," is all he says, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "You look like you're dying."

"Ugh, I am," she complains, folding her face in between her two palms. "I seriously think I might have something bad. My body's killing me."

"Then go home," Ethan encourages again, frowning sadly.

"Can't," she says, "got things to do."

Ethan rolls his eyes irritatedly, annoyed with her ambition when she is so obviously sick. "No, I'm not asking."

"Me neither," she shrugs. "Not like I can drive home anyway, I just have to tough today out."

"Well... well, don't go back to career day, the last thing you need is all that activity. And you could get a lot of people sick..." Ethan mumbles, fumbling for a decent excuse to just get her to stay in this room with him so he can ensure she doesn't die or something. Obviously.

"I'll be fine, I don't have another option," she says, sniffling.

"Hang out in here!" Ethan blurts, his words loud and unpredicted. "I- I mean, you can take the bean bag, and I'll lay on the floor, and I can set up a movie on the SmartBoard or something, okay? You shouldn't deal with all that- that activity for Career Day, and like I said, you could still get people sick."

She's watching him with amusement, and Ethan feels his embarrassment grow. But soon enough, she's asking still, "And what about you? What if I get you sick?"

Ethan could not care less about her getting him sick. He doesn't think he's ever felt so apathetic about a risk. "I'm just one person," he defends weakly.

"But an important one," she singsongs, but she's already working her way over to his beanbag. "But I'm sold. Put on a John Hughes movie--Pretty In Pink!" she cries, clapping her hands. "Just like you! Because of the new, pretty and pink hair you've got. Get it?"

Ethan's almost forgotten his latest hair alteration, and chuckles. She thinks he's pretty in pink?

As he's clicking away at the computer and setting up her film of choice, she asks, "Hey, is this your Harry Potter book?!"

He spins around to find her holding the copy he had stuffed under the beanbag and feels nervous for some reason. He hasn't told her he's reading the series, because he likes the way she explains things when she thinks he doesn't already know them, like a really excited kid. So, he says "Psh, no!”

As if that wasn't the shittiest way to tell a lie.

It doesn't seem dishonest to her, because she says, "Ugh, E, you gotta read them. Whoever was reading this has great taste."

"Not much of a reader," he snorts sarcastically, finally starting the film and heading back over to her to curl up on the floor.

"Whatever," she laughs, patting his head--too kind to ever smack him hard enough. "I'll read them to you. You have to find out how great these books are."

Ethan thinks about how wonderful that would be, her reading to him, and feels his heart flutter. Ethan Dolan is a fifteen year old boy who has just felt his heart flutter. He knows he's in much, much too deep. "Alright," he squeaks. "I'm holding you to that."

And then they watch the movie, and Ethan isn't even bothered when she coughs through half of it.

-

“Is it weird to get (Y/N) a present?” Ethan blurts as he waltzes into Grayson’s room, opting to pace back and forth anxiously instead of seating himself on his bed.

Grayson yanks out of one his earbuds and cocks a brow. He was all snuggled up under his comforter and enjoying the ache that comes with an overstuffed belly after Thanksgiving, ready to doze off any minute. He would be annoyed with Ethan, but he looks like a nervous wreck as he walks back and forth across his rug, and Grayson really likes (Y/N). Not to mention, he knows how much (Y/N) means to Ethan, as a friend and as the love of his life, so he knows this is serious.

“Um…” Grayson mumbles, processing his question.

“Um means no, right?” Ethan squawks, halting in his footsteps. “Right? I just- I know that it’s dumb, but listen, I have the perfect idea and-“

Grayson laughs in disbelief and shakes his head. “You’ve got it so bad.”

“I know!” Ethan growls viciously, and Grayson’s almost scared. “I know, okay! But that’s not what this is about!”

Grayson isn’t trying to be rude, he’s just stating the obvious. Anyone that’s almost in tears over stress because of a Christmas present—with the holiday still a month away—clearly cares a lot. Ethan’s never bought Christmas presents for anyone else but Gray, Cam, their parents, and their grandparents before, so this is a whole new milestone for him. But, Grayson realizes nobody else has ever really cared about Ethan. “Okay, okay,” Grayson says softly, removing his other earbud and folding his hands on his lap. “What’s your idea?”

Ethan whines and scampers over to his bed, looking more vulnerable than Grayson’s ever seen him in his life. Once Ethan’s seated criss-crossed, he takes a deep breath he begins rambling again. “So, her favorite books ever are the Harry Potters, and JK Rowling just came out with limited house edition versions of the Philospher’s Stone. I just think that’d be so perfect for her—a limited edition of her favorite book. But here’s the problem, I don’t know what house she’s in! And I can’t ask, because if I ask then-“

“Well, how about I ask her?” Grayson offers, fighting a crooked smile off his lips.

“No,” Ethan says, shaking his head. “No, this needs to be a complete surprise. You’ve never even talked about the Harry Potters with her. I just need to get them all.”

Grayson blinks in shock. “Get them all? That’s your solution? E, that’s like at least $80.”

“$100,” Ethan mumbles around the nail he’s nibbling on. “Not including shipping and handling.”

“$100! You can’t drop $100 on (Y/N)’s Christmas present!” Grayson stammers, bewildered and gobsmacked.

“Well, why not?” Ethan grumbles, glaring at his lap.

“Ethan,” Grayson breathes, his face collapsing in his hands. “Why do you want to spend $100 on her Christmas present?” Ethan shrugs his shoulders lazily, distancing himself from Grayson emotionally. He can practically see the guards going up. He sighs as he says, “I’m not judging bro, I just want to know.”

“She’d just really like it,” Ethan elaborates, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“She’d probably really like a bar of chocolate, Ethan. Anything you get her she’ll love. Do you really want to make a dent in your bank account like that over some girl?”

Grayson can see he’s struck a nerve, and he knows just how before the words even come out of Ethan’s mouth. “She isn’t just some girl, are you serious? This is my best friend. This is my only friend.”

Grayson scratches at the back of his neck. “Is this to make her like you? Do you think she’s going to like if you buy her stuff?”

It came out wrong. It came out wrong, but he still meant it. What does Ethan think he’s doing?

“Fuck you, Grayson,” Ethan bites out before hopping off the mattress and stomping towards the door.

“Bro, come back here, you know that’s not what I- Ethan, stop being a bitch,” Grayson grumbles, sliding out from his bed and chasing Ethan into his own room. The walk is uncomfortable with Grayson’s overstuffed gut, but he knows he needs to tend to Ethan’s giant, sensitive heart. Upon arrival, Grayson finds that Ethan’s actually locked the door on him. He knocks once, twice, three times without an answer before he just bangs his head against the wood. “You’re such a child.”

“And you’re such a dick,” Ethan snarks from the other side.

Ethan knows he’s overreacting, but Grayson knows better than to say things like that; he’s done it before and received the same treatment. It’s not fair that everyone always treats her like she’s average or disposable—Ethan would buy her the world if he could, and Grayson damn well knows it. Moreover, Ethan doesn’t expect anything in return from her; not a gift, not a relationship, not even a thanks. He just loves that he has someone to care for, even platonically. He’s never had this kind of opportunity. He’s never had this kind of friendship.

“Look, I’m sorry about calling your friend, er, ‘some girl’. And I’m sorry for the other part, too. But seriously E, do you really want to spend all that money? You don’t even have a job. This is like, birthday money and stuff…” Grayson tries, wincing.

“Yep,” Ethan replies flatly.

Exhaling a deep sigh, Grayson shakes his head against the wood. “Have you made up your mind?” he asks rhetorically.

Ethan doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.

After a pause, Grayson sighs once more. “I’ll grab your wallet.”

-

“Ethan,” his dad calls, stomping his feet off of snow on the welcome mat in the foyer. “Gotta gift for ya.”

Ethan frowns where he sits on the couch with Grayson by his side, a pair of festive elf hats adorning both of their heads for Christmas day. “Me?” he asks incredulously, spinning in his spot.

“Is there another Ethan living in this house?” his dad asks with an eye roll before tossing him the package. It’s about as big as a shoebox, if not a little bigger, and there’s a glinting metallic red bow on the face of its white wrapping paper. He knows immediately that it’s from (Y/N) somehow.

He feels nervous. What if she was returning the books for some reason? It wasn’t heavy enough for that, but maybe she kept her preferred house and returned the rest… or maybe it’s just a letter softly letting him down, that his present was out of line and that she’s seen through his lies this past year and that she knows for certain he’s in love with her. Ethan let’s his mind whirl around torturously for a full minute.

Grayson can tell what Ethan’s thinking as he watches his brother stare at the wrapping paper with wide eyes and an anxious frown, so he says, “Ethan, just open the damn box.”

“Grayson!” his mother chastises from the couch across the coffee table. “No swearing! And on Christmas too?!”

Grayson barely holds back his eye roll. “Sorry, but look at this idiot. He’s about to have an anxiety attack over a gift!”

His snarky comment awakes Ethan from his terrible daydream and Ethan elbows his side. “Shut up,” he growls. “I’m going upstairs to open this.”

Grayson leans in close so his family can’t hear him. “What, think it might be lingerie?” he snickers.

Ethan’s cheeks burst with color and he gapes. “No!” he shouts, pushing off the couch and running to his room, ignoring the way Grayson cackles maniacally behind him.

He seals himself away in his space, hops into his bed and flicks on his bedside lamp. His hands are shaking with the suspense of it and he has to tell himself to calm down twice. Then he counts to three and begins tearing at the paper, shredding it and splitting open the tape that boxes it.

It’s simple, but so perfect. He grabs the plush T-rex tucked inside, chuckling when he realizes it’s a token from their conversation on the last day of freshman year in advanced English. He squeezes it to his body and hugs it so tight it hurts.

Then he pulls out the giant box of sour patch kids candy and laughs at the note, ‘For a sweet n sour kind of guy.’ Then he finds two bookmarks, one with lemons patterning the front and the second is just blank with a polaroid the two of them took at their local bowling alley taped on top. He feels his throat begin to choke up with emotion and his heart’s beating really, really fast.

Lastly, he digs out the two prompt books from the bottom with stickers that boast ‘Over 2000 prompts inside!’. On the cover of the first is a sticky note that says, ‘Hopefully you can find some inspiration in here.’

And beneath it all is a tiny note on three-holed paper written in blue ink.

Merry Christmas Ethy. Never make me cry like that again, okay? I almost sobbed to death. You mean the world to me and are a great friend. Give the fam a hug for me.

Ethan’s crying. He’s crying so hard that he thinks he’ll never stop because she is such a good friend. She’s too good for him, and she doesn’t know it, and he never wants her to figure that out because he wants her for life. Friend, girlfriend, whatever. It doesn’t matter as long as she’s around him.

His mom knocks on the door gently from outside his room, hearing his wails all the way from the staircase. “Etee?” she calls. “Can I come in?”

Ethan makes a noise of approval through his choking sobs, and she enters the room, fearing the worst.

But then she sees him hugging a stuffed animal undoubtedly gifted by (Y/N) and her heart swells three times its size. She is so proud of her Ethan, and she is so proud of her (Y/N) now, too. She loves that girl like her own.

Ethan’s mom sneaks over and wraps him up in a hug and squeezes him once because she loves him, twice because she loves his best friend, and three times because it’s Christmas, and makes a mental note to find a gift for (Y/N) next Christmas, too.

-

Entering the final weeks of his junior year, Ethan's beginning to relax, finally. Him and (Y/N) have been best friends for over a year now and spend just about every waking minute together, going to movies every weekend, bowling every Tuesday, swimming in the summer, sledding in the snow; the two could have fun in a cardboard box at this point. They know each other like the back of their hands, and they've grown so close even Grayson's beginning to get jealous of the amount of time they spend together. But Grayson--and everyone else--knows that it is only because they are so blindly in love with one another. He'll let them be ignorant for a little bit longer.

Ethan's situated in the rigid reigns of his unassigned-assigned seat in the very back of his college interpersonal communications class, pencil in hand, brows sloped together and feeling low as he ever could.

The assignment was simple. He was confirming or denying personality traits and ranking them on a scale from one to ten with one being inaccurate and ten being suitable. For example, Ethan's eyes hardly ghosted over the phrase '3. I am sociable' before his pencil darted over to the one column and jotted down the number 3 since the phrase 'sociable' was practically an antonym for 'Ethan Dolan'. The assignment is generic enough, but for some reason, Ethan feels targeted. He supposes he should put number '4. I am paranoid' under column eight.

Ethan's hard on himself. And he thinks that, after placing '6. I am revolting' under column nine, he should probably lighten up, but he agrees, okay? And he is anxious, he is argumentative, he's immature and impatient and cowardly. The further he skims down this list, the more cons he agrees with. However, there's a fair balance of disagreement: he certainly isn't affectionate, charming, or humorous and he certainly is not, er, 'happy-go-lucky'. He's being honest with himself--and that's what this activity is all about.

But it hurts. Ethan's foot is bobbing so fast against the rung of his chair his whole desk is practically vibrating and his throat feels tight and he feels cold, cold and cold-hearted. Before long, he's listing phrases like '11. I am snobbish' under category ten without a second thought.

'16. I am sensitive.'

Ethan's pencil hovers. He isn't sensitive. He is not sensitive, not anymore; his skin has thickened over the years, hardened with scars by the paper cuts of snide remarks and deep gashes of his own cruel thoughts. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even cried. His heart was practically dry ice at this point.

That's not true. You are still weak. You are still so weak.

Ethan feels his own insult slide down the length of his spine, cold and humiliating and it leaves his cheeks burning because it's true. He doesn't cry and that doesn't mean shit. He is still pathetic and lowly and he knows it, he knows better than to lie to himself like this. There is no place for dishonesty in his own mind--it is quick to reprimand him. He puts the number 16 under ten.

'17. I am lovable.'

His eyes pinch shut, stinging with tears, and he groans inwardly, aching with the pure cruelty of it. He can't think of a less applicable phrase. He ditches the one column completely and creates an entirely new scale, zero, and writes 17 twice.

He's hardly noticed that he's hunched over, his hand buried in his mop of hair and protectively shielding his vulnerable, tearful eyes. He's tucking in on himself until he's small, cowering under the weight of his thoughts. It hurts. It hurts.

He doesn't know where this wave of emotion came from, but he's digging his nails into his palm in order to distract him enough while the teacher's speaking.

"Now, the second part of the assignment is to see how other people rank you. I'll hand out a second copy and you will give it to them and give them the same instructions with you in mind," Ms. Stogerson says as the bell chimes overhead. "Bring it back tomorrow!" she cries as people file out of the room.

Ethan is last to leave with a heavy heart and a head full of heavy thoughts. He's practically sleep walking to his locker, his mind's so far away, and he jumps when (Y/N) puts a hand on his arm.

"Hey, you okay?" she asks gently, her eyebrows slung together with worry.

No. "Yeah, course," Ethan mumbles, staring down at his sheet littered with personal, personal insults. "Listen, um, you busy during study hall?" he asks.

She shakes her head no and waits for him to continue.

He sighs and nibbles on his lip. "Could you help me out with an assignment maybe?"

"Of course," she smiles easily. Ethan was dreading her response. He really, really, really doesn't want to do this. "What's the assignment?" she asks as he twists the lock on his locker.

"Um," he drags on, "it's kind of a weird one. You're supposed to like, rank me. Well, okay," he grumbles, ducking his head into his cubby for a moment of privacy. He sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping the tears that still well in his eyes will soak back. "It's, uh..."

"Ethy? You okay? Seriously," she pushes, grabbing his forearm where it holds the rail of his door.

"Yeah," he tries, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and then steels himself. "Yes, I'm fine," he says with more certainty. "Basically, you have to rank my character traits from one to ten, with one being inaccurate, five being average, and ten being accurate. So like... so for instance, if the sentence was 'I am athletic', you'd rank me at like, a one since I'm not athletic at all. Get it?"

She squints at him and nods, tipping her head towards the classroom so they can begin walking. "Yeah, I get it, but I wouldn't rank you at a one. You might not be in sports, but I'm pretty sure you could kick someone's ass, and I saw you in gym class; you singlehandedly won capture-the-football for your team. I'd put you at like, an eight," she shrugs.

Ethan hadn't considered that. He really wasn't all that unathletic when he really thought about it. He frowns at his sheet. "Well... alright. But, you get it then?"

"Yeah, sounds like a piece of cake," she says and snags the sheet out of his hand.

Once they seat themselves in their study hall, (Y/N) breaks out her pencil and begins jotting down on the worksheet, and Ethan's almost sweating he's so anxious from what she'll say about him.

He knows she won't cut him down, she never has. But this is pure honesty, this says everything about what she thinks of him, how highly she sees him; it's as if he's asking her each question. Do you think I'm honest? Do you think I'm unique? Do you think I'm approachable? And she'll answer him.

It's an exercise based on self-evaluation and the mirror theory, and Ethan's supposed to find out if he sees in himself what others see in him. But he doesn't care what people think about him, he just cares what she thinks about him.

"Are you almost done?" Ethan mumbles, fidgeting with his hands.

She gives him a sidelong glance and a grin. "Yes, Mr. Impatient. Just... one... more. There," she says, sliding the sheet his way.

Ethan can't believe it. He really can't believe any of it. "You ranked me as a 10 on the attractive scale?" he gapes, bringing the paper close to his face to see if his vision had deceived him.

When he turns to look at her, she's blushing terribly but shrugging nonchalantly, as if she doesn't care if he knows that she thinks he's a ten. Ethan could throw a party.

"And another ten for charming? And a ten for humorous? And a nine for kind? Are you out of your mind?" he snorts, scanning her list. "Those are ones and twos on my list."

She blinks at him with horror. "How?" she asks incredulously.

"Charming? When am I ever charming?" he pushes.

"Er, well..." she says, avoiding his eyes entirely.

"And when am I funny?" he asks still.

"Oh, you know that you're funny, don't be stupid," she deadpans. "You make me laugh all the time. Let me see your list." Before Ethan can stuff it in her binder, away from her reach, she snags it and begins reviewing it studiously. Her frown deepens and deepens and her eyes get the look as if she's just seen animal abuse first hand, and Ethan hates it. He hates her sympathy, he hates her need to console him because he doesn't need it. He doesn't need sympathy.

"Ethan, how can you even say you're snobbish? When the fuck are you snobbish?" she mumbles, shaking her head.

"Well, I don't talk to anyone in this school besides you. I think that's kind of snobby of me," he shrugs, chewing on a hangnail.

"Ethan, you don't talk to anyone because they're all a bunch of assholes. I would be concerned if you did talk to them. Give me that," she says, grabbing his pencil from his hand and erasing his work. "We're doing this together."

"Why are you erasing revolting? That belongs in column ten!" he cries, grasping for the pencil.

"You're out of your mind, you are anything but revolting," she growls back, still erasing. "Now, why do you think you're irresponsible? You have a 4.0, Ethan."

He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders lamely. "I don't know, I forgot to lock my locker one time and Kyle Henz sprayed shaving cream all over my books. If I'd remembered to lock it, that wouldn't have happened, you know?"

(Y/N)'s jaw clenches next to him and her knuckles turn white where they hold the pencil. "Well, Kyle Henz is a piece of shit, and that isn't your fault. You're responsible. It's going in column eight. I'll admit you're insecure, I'll leave that in column ten, but you shouldn't be. You are... so great," she says, shaking her head like she can't believe anyone like Ethan would be hard on themselves.

She makes him want to not be so hard on himself. She makes him want to believe in himself like she believes in him.

They go down the list until Ethan actually agrees with her on some. He doesn't know why he thought he was insensitive or bossy or dishonest because he just isn't. He is plenty of insulting words, but he isn't any of those, or half of the words he said he was an hour ago. (Y/N) makes an effort to give him an example with each one, why he's polite, why he's kind, why he's interesting, and it lifts his spirits higher than they've been in a long, long time.

"Why'd you pick me for this assignment?" she asks as the hour draws to an end.

Ethan doesn't really know. It's not because she was the first person he saw, because he would have picked her anyway. After a moment, he chews on his lip and murmurs, "You know me better than anyone else."

"Even Gray?"

"Even Gray," he nods.

She grins big at him and nods to herself. "Well, I know you better than anyone else, and look at what I think of you," she says, tapping to her sheet full of positives.

Ethan guesses that's one way to look at it.

They share a look, a look they share too often, a look that makes Ethan think that maybe she feels the same way too, a look that makes him believe that someday they could work out. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and the bell chimes overhead, and the moment's lost to reality.

"See you after school," she says to him breathlessly.

All Ethan can do is nod and watch her hurry out of the study hall room.

-

Ethan never does things right for too long. A year and a half of friendship was much, much more than he could have ever asked for, so he doesn't know why he's shocked. He doesn't know why he's even hurt.

He walks into his home robotically, his feet carrying him to his parents' room without him even knowing it. He doesn't even register that he's there until he hears his mom's gasp and feels her hands cradling his face. "Ethan Grant, how did you get that?" she asks.

He knows she's talking about the black eye that's marking the left half of his face, and he tries to answer her, but all that comes out is, "I think I lost (Y/N)."

He needs to talk about this. He needs to cry about this. He feels like something is eating him alive, starting with his heart; his heart, it hurts so bad.

"Honey, what do you mean? What do you mean you think you lost (Y/N)?" his mom asks, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone and staring up at him with worry all over her features.

He just falls on her, lets her hold him like a child, and thinks about the times they used to go to the library and read together. He misses that innocence, that simpleness right now. He doesn't want to be so sad. Ethan is shaking with sobs and chokes on his own cries and sniffing loudly, trying to see through his blurry vision and calm down. He begins to hyperventilate and his mom leads him out into the living room, wrapping him in a blanket and attempting to console him, but it is very little use because Ethan is heartbroken.

He is absolutely heartbroken.

-

Ethan can hardly open his eyes the next morning, they're so puffy. He's still on the couch, and his mom is still by his side. He blinks blearily and looks around to find himself draped in a thick comforter and a cup of tea on the coffee table, still steaming. His mom looks as sad as him, and he can feel the disappointment radiating off of her. Whether it's from him fighting or him losing (Y/N), he doesn't know, but he hates it. It feels like another weight on him.

She cards her fingers through his tousled bangs and smiles sadly at him. "There's a delivery for you," she whispers to him, "from (Y/N)."

The name alone sends his heart jolting, and tears flood his eyes uninvited. He sniffs and nods, sitting up from his spot and propping himself up on his elbows. His mom leaps from her seat and pads into the foyer, her slippers scuffling on the marble floors, and returns soon enough with a laundry tote overflowing with books.

Ethan's brows furrow on his forehead, but he doesn't ask any questions. She simply drops it at his feet and leaves him alone with it.

Ethan wipes his eyes with the back of his fist and stretches a sore arm out to grab the first book within reach. He picks up the Great Gatsby and finds a sticky note on the cover. 'Here's something you haven't told me'.

Ethan reads and rereads it a few times, but it doesn't make any more sense the sixth or seventh time. So, he just cracks the spine and opens it to the first chapter. Ethan doesn't know what he's expecting, but nothing’s out of the ordinary for the first three pages and after a while he forgets what he's looking for and just reads instead. He's convinced he'll never hate a character from a first impression more than he'll hate Daisy Buchanan, and his annoyance grows bigger and bigger as he keeps reading. He figures he ought to just finish the chapter--even though he knows how it'll end--now that he's started it, and as he flips to the final page, he's glad he did. He skips over the paragraph and just reads the scribbled pen at the bottom in the space beneath the last paragraph.

I think Ethan would hate Daisy. Well, I hate Daisy. I hate her so fucking much.

Ethan laughs outright, even if it comes out a little strangled with his hoarse voice, at (Y/N)'s bluntness. She was shy and reserved in real life, but in her own fictional world, she was as bold as anyone he’d ever met.

I can't even figure out how Ethan made it past the first chapter with how shitty it is. I feel like his dad told him to read it, so he did, and he just ended up loving it, because if I didn't know the great reputation this book had, I would throw it in the garbage after the first chapter. I hate Daisy Buchanan. She’s a ditz.

She's absolutely right; Ethan only read it because his dad told him to. And he hates Daisy, he hates her so goddamn much from the start. But he's giddy with the realization that (Y/N) probably writes something at the end of every chapter, and begins leafing through the pages to find out what more is on her mind. On most pages after that, he finds highlighted quotes and margin notes and even little doodles, all pertaining to her thoughts on the book and what she thinks Ethan thinks, and most of the time, they're spot on.

After a while, he discards The Great Gatsby and grabs The Perks of Being a Wallflower and finds that it's similarly stained almost completely in highlighter and pen ink. Every single book in the overflowing laundry tote is well-worn, well-read, and well-marked. Ethan realizes after the eighth book that these are all of his favorites.

It's well into the evening when he stops searching each book and reading all the thoughts she took the time to scribble down. She knows him better than anyone in the world, better than Cameron, better than his dad, better than Grayson, better than his mom. She knows him better than anyone and she still loves him. She loves him like a friend, and maybe even more, and Ethan figures now is a better time than ever to just spit it out--he is so fucking in love with her, and he's going to tell her.

-

It's been six months and a day since that god-awful day, and six months since (Y/N) became Ethan's. That's one hell of a silver lining.

Her, Ethan, and the other four Dolans are seated around the Dolan's porch with oversized pumpkins in their laps and carving tools in their hands, sipping hot cocoa and eating recently decorated sugar cookies. Ethan can't think of a better way to spend his Halloween.

It means a lot to him because (Y/N) was invited to at least three parties and her friends were threatening to kidnap her if she didn't show up herself, and she turned them all down. She knows it's Ethan's favorite holiday, and she knows he doesn't like parties. She wouldn't have wanted to go without him, anyway.

"Ethy, pass me the scooper," she demands, making grabby hands at his toolset.

Ethan passes it along to her without a snarky comment because he's overjoyed. Nothing can bring him down.

"(Y/N), did we ever tell you about the time Ethan cried over you at the dinner table?" Cameron smirks, glaring smugly at Ethan.

Ethan lied. This can definitely bring him down. "Why no," (Y/N) drawls, grinning toothily, "you haven't Cammy. Fill me in."

"Absolutely not," Ethan growls. He raises the kitchen knife next to his pumpkin only half-jokingly. "Shut it."

But Cameron has no interest in keeping quiet. In fact, she's inviting everyone to chime in if they so please. "Dad? You remember that? Mom?"

"Of course," his mom giggles, her eyes lighting up happily. "Sean, you remember that right? Right after Cam met her at the ice cream parlor?"

"Remember that (Y/N)?" Cameron laughs, reaching over to grab her arm in delight. "When you and all your friends stopped in and we met? Well I told Ethan that I told you that he had a crush on you, and I swear to God I've never seen the kid cry so hard in my life, he was sobbing," she snorts, leaning forward as she wheezes.

"Oh my God, and he was reading the first Harry Potter and we were teasing him and he was getting so upset," his mom joins. Ethan's fuming. He's fuming!

"Stop," Ethan barks, glaring down at his pumpkin.

"That's not the first or last time he'd cry over you, either," Grayson scoffs, shaking his head. "When he picked out your Christmas present sophomore year, he was almost in tears he was so nervous."

Ethan's about ready to just leave, head inside and lock himself in his room with the way his girlfriend's giggling along and everyone's mocking him and his sensitivity. He opens his mouth to shout something obscene, but (Y/N) starts talking. "That's definitely not as embarrassing as the times that I've cried. When he first got that lavender stripe in his hair, my friends told me some other girl was going to snatch him right from me and I went home and sobbed to my mom," she laughs, covers her mouth and shaking her head. "She literally had to give me NyQuil because I cried all night."

His whole family bursts into a chorus of laughter; his dad's holding his stomach, his mom's wiping tears, and Cameron and Grayson are staring at each other with complete mirth.

"A-and then," she continues, her giggles breaking up her words, "on the last day of school freshman year, I cried all night long because I wasn't going to see Ethan for three whole months. I didn't even know him yet!"

Ethan finds himself chuckling deep in his chest too with a big wide grin, and he clears his throat.  "You're kidding," he snorts, jabbing her shoulder with his elbow.

"No, I'm not," she says with a giggle, shaking her head. "I think I cried like, a dozen times over you. Just too in love, I guess," she smiles sweetly.

Ethan doesn't know why he was so worried about being embarrassed around her--he knows she'll never judge him. And he knows she loves him too, so what's his problem?

The laughter dies down after awhile and everyone returns to their pumpkin carving, debating over the best slasher horror movie and which one they'll watch later. Ethan knows he'll be so scared he can't sleep, but that doesn't actually bother him all that much. His reality's so much better than any of his dreams, anyway.

-

Ethan's graduated. He is finally fucking graduated. He's never felt so good in his life.

He feels like someone's uncuffed his handcuffs, untied his reigns, or some other analogy for breathing a fresh breath of freedom. He can't remember anything ever being so physically relieving, outside of the moment (Y/N) confessed her love for him too. On second thought, there is something better than graduation, and it's standing in his driveway.

That thing is plopped on the pavement, with its limbs stretched out and its bare feet tickling the sidewalk at the end with a baby blue bit of chalk in its hand, writing in bubble letters 'WELCOME!'. Its got its tongue poking out of its lips and its hair is falling sideways around it and it’s looking absolutely stunning in its best sundress. Ethan can't believe he ever thought, even dramatically, anything as simple as graduation was as good as it.

And it, of course, is (Y/N). She's already spent the morning hanging streamers around the garage and setting up poster boards of Ethan and Grayson with Lisa and carrying out gigantic tupperware with large portions of food and sneaking a cupcake (Ethan saw) out of the dessert stand. And all for a graduation party that isn't even her own.

Ethan is anxious--which is a phrase that is often said and even oftener felt by him. But that does not mean he does not feel any less nauseous, any less dizzy, or any less on edge than he has all those times before; if anything, he is feeling more anxious than he has in months, because Ethan is less than popular at Long Valley, and half of the school is going to be coming to his house on his territory and they are going to be just as cruel as usual. And there's nothing Ethan can do; in fact, he's supposed to welcome them.

They've all been invited by Grayson, the twin who can actually speak, the twin who is a social butterfly. And Ethan gets it--it's not Grayson's fault he's likable. But he's been a little bitter ever since Grayson warned him that Cole Eptom and Alex Peterson were invited and attending. Where's Grayson's loyalty? This has been a clear violation of the Bro-Code, and he knows it.

More than this, it'll just be awkward. It'll be awkward when everyone's rushing up to Grayson and hanging off the edge of his every word, and no one is coming up to Ethan. And that's how it has always been, but it's frankly unfair and downright impolite when the celebration is about Ethan too, after all. He feels a little like his name is in fine print on their cheesy graduation banner.

(Y/N) stands up from where she was lying on the cement and claps the chalk off her palms. She stares down at her masterpiece with a frown and then swipes her tongue across her thumb and smudges out a bit of the W, and then grins contently and looks to Ethan for confirmation. Ethan doesn’t really care what it looks like if he’s honest, but he gives her two thumbs up and a big wide grin. She’s smiling, and that’s all that really matters.

She patters over to him, her white sandals scraping against the pavement and her matching white dress flowing with her body, and sidles up next to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. “You excited?” she asks.

Of course he isn’t. “Yeah, should be fun,” Ethan says.

She snorts disbelievingly and shakes her head. “No you aren’t, I haven’t seen you smile all morning.”

Ethan throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in tighter, kissing the top of her head. “That’s cause you’ve been busy helping and not paying me any attention. At all.”

She sneaks out from under his hold and slides her fingers up his jawline, eager to pull him in for a chaste kiss. They end up forgetting the ‘chaste’ part and making out in the driveway, oblivious to the commotion going about around them—the tables being set up, the decorative plants being vased, the food being set—and get lost in the feeling of each other. Ethan thinks it’s the best distraction he could have thought of. Their moment is so quickly ruined though when he feels a tiny bar--which he soon realizes is a carrot from the veggie tray--pelt the back of his neck, and he flinches and pulls away.

“Are you guys serious!” Grayson calls from the garage, his arms outstretched with dubiety. “We have a graduation party, dumbass!”

Ethan grumbles and pulls (Y/N) flush to his chest, both arms secure around her shoulders, and lifts his chin over his shoulder to pierce his twin with a glare. “Not for another half hour, fuck off.”

“It starts in five minutes, Ethan. For fuck’s sake, Grandma could walk up any second and see you guys tongue-fucking each other.”

“Or, Grandma could walk up and hear you using foul language, Grayson Bailey,” Grandma Adrianne scolds, her frown etching deep crevices in her face. Ethan’s never felt so smug as he does when he watches Grayson’s life flash before his eyes.

“Grandma Adrianne!” Grayson chokes out, faux-cheeriness in his strangled voice. “When did you-“

“Save it, you’re lucky I don’t tell your mother to wash your mouth out with soap,” she grumbles, waving him away. She’s quick to hurry up behind (Y/N) and snatch her from Ethan, pulling her into her arms and swaying the two of them back and forth. Ethan almost wants to be offended that she’s chosen his own girlfriend over him, but his belly feels warm with the reality that his family loves (Y/N) just as much as he does—some days, he actually thinks they might love her more. But that is a ridiculous thought. “Hi, Honey,” Grandma Adrianne says to her, patting her back. “How have you been? You takin’ care of my Etee?”

(Y/N) pulls away and holds onto her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You know it, Lord knows what would happen if I wasn’t,” she says with an eyeroll.

“Good. We need you and Lisa by him always, the little devil.”

“Hey!” Ethan calls, his arms flying out defensively.

“Oh trust me, you aren’t near as bad as your brother over there,” Grandma Adrianne assures, waddling over to hug Ethan. She squeezes him tight and kisses his cheek, and Ethan smiles. “Quite the potty-mouth. Where do you even find words like ‘tongue-fu-‘“

“Grandma,” Ethan laughs.

“I’m not kidding, he’s in hot water with me. I told you boys no swearing, it’s unnecessary.”

“Lucky for you, I am a saint,” Ethan fibs, winking at (Y/N) over Grandma Adrianne’s shoulder. She rolls her eyes playfully in return and shakes her head, a blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah right, Kid,” Grandma says. “Now where did Grayson run off to? I bet he’s hiding,” she says and chases him into the kitchen where he is undoubtedly cowering.

Ethan takes the spare moment of privacy to kiss (Y/N) one last time, sadly chastely, and burrow his nose in the crook of her neck despite the way he has to dip down. He feels protected by her in a way he can’t explain—he knows she’d never leave him defenseless, nonetheless hurt him, because she has had that opportunity for years and yet, she has been nothing but kind, gentle, patient, and caring. Ethan’s reminded by this when she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear and whispers, “You’re going to be fine. Breathe easy. You’ve got this,” even though he hasn’t spoken a word of his churning anxiety. She just knows.

After that, Grandma Bernadette and Poppy John hobble in, followed by the twins’ little cousins, all eager to speak to the boys and snag a cupcake or two. However, after that files in their chemistry teacher, a girl Ethan doesn’t quite know, and half of the soccer team, all of which hardly grant Ethan so much as a glance. It doesn’t bother him; (Y/N) is secure by his side, chatting off his ear and playing iSpy.

But it keeps happening, just like Ethan knew it would. His history teacher is polite enough to say hello and ask him how it feels to be a graduate, but other than that, the dozens of people filling his garage are practically seeing right through him, while Grayson has a lengthy line just waiting to talk to him. His mother is sheepish, trying her best to entertain him with small talk until she’s hauled away by a visitor, and his dad is busy talking to his fellow coworkers. It’s just Ethan and (Y/N), ignoring the elephant in the room—Ethan is so, so unpopular.

He’s not letting it get to him. He isn’t going to. This is way too common for him to get all worked up today—there’s nothing different about today than yesterday, or the day before that, or any of the days at school. Grayson is simply more likable, Ethan knows that. Ethan knows that if he wasn’t so fucking quiet, so fucking grouchy, maybe, just maybe people would talk to him. But then he thinks about six-year-old-Ethan, neither grouchy nor particularly quiet, who was still just as unlikable. Is there something wrong with him? Is there just a wavelength that surrounds him, so negative and intolerant that people won’t even speak to him at his own graduation party? Because, in all honesty, today is different. Today is about Ethan just as much as it is about Grayson, but people are still avoiding him like the black plague. And these are nice people—people who have manners, who are polite enough to know to at least acknowledge his presence. What the fuck is wrong with Ethan?

(Y/N) squeezes his hand beside him, a frown on her lips and curiosity in her doe eyes. “What’s wrong?” she whispers, leaning in close.

“Nothing,” Ethan breathes, sighing breathily. “Nothing at all.”

She knows better, and he knows that she knows. But he's close, so close to tearing up in his garage in front of the cluster of people to his left, hanging off of Grayson's every word.

It was so unfair. He knows it's pointless to be asked where he's attending college since him and Grayson are going to the same place, he knows it's pointless to be asked who he's rooming with, but they could ask him about his major, they could ask him if he wanted to study abroad, they could ask him so many other questions. He did not deserve this.

Or did he? There must be a reason people hate him so quickly, almost inherently. It was as if everyone just knew to hate him. Hating Ethan seems like a knee jerk reflex for the mass population.

It can't be his looks--he sees the way girls fawn over Grayson, and he looks just like him. It can't be his last name, because everyone loves Cameron and his dad and his mom and Grayson. He's mulling over why, why, why people hated him so much they won't even speak to him at his own graduation party. He's mulling over why so much, that he hardly notices (Y/N) poking his side.

"Hey, Ethy," she says tentatively, jabbing him. "Someone's here to see you," she coos.

Ethan lifts his gaze slowly to stare at the woman in front of him--(Y/N)'s mom. He only realizes he's been frowning so bitterly at the ground when he begins to smile, ready to speak to one of his favorite people. "Hi!" he cheers, dropping (Y/N)'s hand to throw her mom in a hug. "Thank you for coming!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Honey," she giggles in his ear, squeezing him back. "Gonna miss it?" she jokes, pointing to the pair of caps and diplomas on the table.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head. "Not a bit," he says.

"Good, those people suck," she whispers to him, discreetly thumbing to the crowd by Grayson.

Ethan smiles happily and nods in full agreement. "You can hop in line and talk to Grayson if you want," Ethan says politely, cocking his head to where Grayson's chatting away with a member of the volleyball team.

(Y/N)'s mom rolls her eyes. "He looks busy," she says flatly. "Besides, we have to go over more important matters; what flavor are the cupcakes?"

Ethan chuckles and grabs (Y/N)'s hand again, the knot in his stomach unwinding. "Red velvet with cream cheese frosting, just for (Y/N) here." He looks down to see his girlfriend is already munching on what seems to be her third cupcake, a speck of frosting dotting the tip of her nose. He swipes it off with a grin and licks his finger.

(Y/N)'s mom has already grabbed two and is in a hurry to make it to the food line. "Ethan, I hope you don't mind, but (Y/N) and I invited a few people. I already talked to your mom and she said it's fine," (Y/N)'s mom calls to him, stacking chips and sandwiches on her paper plate.

Ethan's brows slump together and he looks down to (Y/N) who is carefully avoiding his gaze. "Uh, yeah I guess that's fine? Who'd you invite?"

There is no time to answer, however, because the entirety of (Y/N)'s extended family is ushering into the garage, squeezing past tables and chairs, forming their own line to speak to Ethan twice as long as Grayson's. People are beginning to stare as (Y/N)'s cousins argue over who gets to speak to him first, her aunts are already coddling him, and her grandparents are hobbling up to the front, claiming 'dibs'. Ethan's mom is grinning so big he thinks her dimples might be permanent, and Ethan's dad is hardly paying attention to his coworkers, and neither of them mind when the family leaves late into the afternoon after dozens and dozens of hugs and kisses and conversations with Ethan and only Ethan.

-

Ethan isn't nervous for his first day of class, he's not. He has no reason to be. No one cares about him at university, and that's just how he likes it.

Well, he’s a little nervous. Not because he thinks people will pick on him, but because he thinks everyone will care so little about him that no one will bother to speak to him. It’s definitely better than bullying still, Ethan thinks. He just wants a decent spot in his lecture hall.

The walk to campus is easy enough. It’s sunny and seventy-eight, the perfect temperature for an early September morning. He kicks a rock all the way down the sidewalk and keeps his head down to pass the time and distract him of his thoughts. Before he knows it, he’s yanking on the door to his building and nearing the hall, and he’s nervous. He’s nervous and he’ll admit it to himself, because there’s no way he can deny the frenzy in his stomach or the sweat dampening his hands.

He walks into the room and it’s bigger than he thought it would be and already flooded with students. There’s a spot open here and there, but he’d have to cross the sea of bodies in each row to get to it, and he feels himself overflow with anxiety.

“Hey, need a spot?” a guy a few rows up the stairs asks, waving his pencil.

The guy seems nice enough but kind of intimidating; he’s absolutely jacked. Ethan knows he’s probably not a dick like Cole Eptom or Alex Peterson or Jacob Kronwell, but if he happened to be, he could kick Ethan’s ass. Despite his paranoia, he offers a nervous grin and climbs the stairs to sit in the spot next to him.

“I’m Rocky,” the guy introduces himself, offering out a hand for Ethan to shake.

Ethan takes it firmly and smiles at him. “Ethan,” he says back.

Rocky taps his pencil against his open notebook and bounces his foot against the floor. “You know anything about, er, The Evolution of Roman Literature?” he asks, squinting at the syllabus they grabbed at the entrance.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head quickly. “I don’t know shit about the Romans in general,” Ethan snorts.

“God, me neither,” Rocky responds, laughing with him. “What hall are you in?”

“Krater,” Ethan nods. “I room with my brother, how about you?”

“Hey, I’m in Krater too!” Rocky cheers, grinning with a row of white, pearly teeth. Ethan worries that this guy is too attractive to be within a mile radius of (Y/N). “I room with my best friend from my hometown, Collin. He’s pretty cool, you should meet him.”

Ethan’s making friends. He doesn’t know the process all that well, but he’s doing okay, he thinks. This is what making friends is like.

“For sure,” Ethan nods, drumming his fingers against the table. “You, uh, gotta meet my twin Grayson, he’s nice enough. But he can’t cook for shit, just warning you.”

Rocky tips his head back and laughs, and Ethan feels himself easing up significantly. “You’re funny,” Rocky nods as if it he’s confirming it to himself. “Look, if you wanna stop by my room after class we can pick up Collin and Grayson and get some food—Collin just texted me that he found the best sushi place in New Jersey just downtown. You in?”

Ethan’s in.

-

“Pay up, bitch,” Charlotte shouts in Ethan’s face, waving a hand of rainbow money across his nose. He knows for sure that she’s tipsy if not drunk because Charlotte rarely swears. He has no idea how she is best friends with (Y/N), the swearer of the century.

Charlotte, Hera, Marcy, Carlos, Collin, Baasim, Christian, Rocky, Grayson, and of course, (Y/N) formed a circle in their too-tiny living room, cramped so close their knees overlapped. In the center was a monopoly board with eleven tokens (ten sterling silver pieces and a single, makeshift character—a stale cheez it—for Christian) all mapped out in different sections. Carlos was thriving, Baasim was nearly asleep, and Hera had been to jail four times. Everyone had cried from laughter twice. All was well.

“Fine,” Ethan grumbles, forking over a pink bill. “Fuck you.”

(Y/N) cuddles into his side, touchy from the liquor she had ingested, and tips her head on his shoulder.

“Can we get away from your PDA for one night? Just one? You guys make me sick,” Christian snorts, picking up his cheez it figurine and tossing it at Ethan’s forehead.

Ethan smirks and reaches down to squeeze (Y/N)’s ass for all to see and groan.

“This is ridiculous, I shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff every day,” Marcy says, though she’s tucked in Carlos’s lap comfily. (Y/N) glares at her and jabs her pointer finger at the couple, pointing out their hypocrisy.

“This is actually a miracle,” Ethan shrugs. “Pipsqueak here was shy as fuck in high school. She would never let me even touch her in public.”

“(Y/N)? Shy? I find that hard to believe,” Hera laughs, reaching over and pinching (Y/N)’s cheek lightly. She grabs Hera’s hand and kisses the knuckles, which sends everyone giggling all over again. She really must be feeling affectionate tonight.

“’S true though,” Grayson pipes up, nodding. “I knocked over (Y/N)’s books the first day of my freshman year and I thought she was going to have a heart attack or something.”

(Y/N) sits up and pins Grayson with a hazy glare. “Worth it,” she slurs out. “Otherwise I’d never have the guts to talk to my crushhhh,” she cheers, throwing her arms around Ethan’s neck. Everyone laughs and boos, groaning theatrically and pretending to throw up.

“Yeah, cause Ethan here was a punk back in the day,” Grayson says. It’s the first time they’ve ever mentioned Ethan’s bitterness in high school, but Ethan’s not worried. He has nothing to hide; these people are his family.

“Punk? Really?” Rocky pushes.

“Oh yeah, had a huge emo-phase,” Ethan snorts. “Used to have a neon stripe in my bangs,” he elaborates, pulling on the now natural-colored tuft. “Hot pink.”

The group gasps and shouts a collection of ‘No!’s through their laughter, their ribs all hurting with the idea of Ethan in pink.

“He was so pretty!” (Y/N) chimes from beside him. “Don’t laugh!”

But she’s giggling too, feeling giddy and carefree in the chorus of laughter. Ethan’s got his face in his hands with shame and Rocky leans over to throw him in a headlock, tearing him from (Y/N)’s grasp and scraping his fist against his scalp. They spend the night drunk on cheap beer and laughter, feeling broke but in good company in their sophomore year inside their overstuffed apartment.

-

(Y/N) is seated on the couch with her legs strewn out across Ethan’s lap, with his legs strewn out onto the coffee table. She has a bowl of Reese’s Puffs being spooned into her mouth, and she’s watching Tom and Jerry and wiggling her toes to the intro-song. Ethan’s nervous.

He’s just received a letter from Penguin publishing company offering him a position as an editing intern. He’s overjoyed, really, but he’s stressed about (Y/N). Where’s she going to go? What’s she going to do? Penguin’s all the way over in Manhattan, and it’s a tough area for fresh-starters. He’s absolutely amazed that they sought him out.

He can’t honestly think of a better start for himself. He’s not sure what he’s going to publish, but he’s sure he’s going to publish something, and working at the biggest publishing company in the world makes for good connections. Furthermore, he’ll get to read and critique for a job—two of his favorite things. He knows (Y/N) would love that job. So how does he explain that to her?

It’s not that she won’t be happy for him, she’ll be overjoyed. But she’ll probably be a bit jealous, a little insecure, a little confused as to why they didn’t pick her instead. Ethan’s just as lost as her; she has a better GPA than him and everything about her is just perfect.

The job’s rare too. It’s a highly competitive field, and Ethan was chosen alongside nine others to work in cubicles with stacks, upon stacks, upon stacks of manuscripts, and he couldn��t be more grateful.

But it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right having a secure job without knowing (Y/N) has one too. And they’ll have to move to Manhattan-

What if she gets an internship in West New Jersey? What if they’re completely split? Do they break up?

Absolutely not. As crazy as it sounds, Ethan would never take his dream job over her.

But what do they do? If she doesn’t have an internship, does she follow him to Manhattan and find work there? Manhattan’s huge, would she like it there? Charlotte’s committed to an internship over in Newark for magazine journalism, which wouldn’t be too far away from her. But was that enough? Was Ethan enough of a reason to want to move to Manhattan?

“What’s on your mind?” (Y/N) asked around her spoon, crunching on her cereal still.

“I got an internship at Penguin publishing company,” Ethan blurts thoughtlessly, his chest heaving breathlessly after his admission.

That was the worst way to say it. That was the absolute worst way to say it.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, scrubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I found out last week. I didn’t want to tell you yet because-“

“Me too!” (Y/N) screamed, setting down her cereal bowl and sitting upright. “Ethan, me too!”

But Ethan wasn’t listening, he was just rambling. “I just didn’t want you to be upset because I know it’s far away in Manhattan, I don’t-“

“Ethan,” she laughed, pulling at his arm.

“I will totally drop it if you don’t want to be in Manhattan. I will totally-“

“Ethan!” she shouted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Me too! I got an internship at Penguin, too!”

Ethan couldn’t have possibly heard her right. “What?” he breathes, setting his hands on either side of her face. “Really?” he asks, shifting excitedly in his spot.

“Yes!” she cries, leaning forward to peck his lips. “Yes, they sent me a letter last week, too. I didn’t want to tell you either,” she giggled.

“You’re kidding. You’re kidding!” he whooped, pulling her into him and hugging her oh-so-tight. Only ten candidates and two of them were himself and (Y/N)? This was god-sent.

“Not kidding at all. This way I can keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t flirt with the receptionist,” she teases, tapping his nose.

Ethan snorts and shakes his head, amazed she’d even suggest it with how obsessed he is with her. “Right,” he says. “you’ll definitely need to keep an eye on me.”

“Mhm,” she agrees, kissing his jawline.

“And we can spend our lunch break together,” Ethan grins, thinking of all the cool cafes he can take her out to. She gasps and smiles at him excitedly.

“You mean it? You won’t get sick of me, spending so much time together?”

Ethan’s never heard anything stupider.

-

Ethan doesn’t think Miami is the place for him, and luckily, he doesn’t think Miami is the place for (Y/N) either. It is most definitely the place for Carlos and Marcy though, that much he does know.

They’ve hardly made it to their Air BNB before everyone’s clambering around, scrambling to call dibs on rooms and wheeling their squeaky luggage around the marbled floors, wonkily up the stairs, and all around the halls; he needs some ibuprofen for his oncoming headache. (Y/N) looks the same next to him, with her hair tousled from the turbulence and her oversized clothes rumpled from curling up on Ethan’s shoulder during the flight. He’s no stranger to her post-flight daze; this is their fourth and final spring break trip. He knows how this will go hour by hour.

First, Charlotte is going to slip into her suit and dive headfirst into the pool before anyone can even unpack, and then she will convince everyone to ditch their tasks and join her. Then, they’ll get drunk while swimming (and in Hera’s case, sunning a good ten feet from the water) and let the first day slip away without a thought of their itinerary. Then, someone (Marcy) will beg to play Kings and then someone (Marcy) will get so belligerently drunk that someone (Marcy) will fall asleep in the tub and refuse to get out, and that someone’s fiance (Carlos) will have to carry them back to their room. However, the party will be far from over still, and Ethan and (Y/N) will be kept wide awake until the early hours of the morning, laughing until they have tears streaming down their faces with their best friends. He isn’t sure where, but he’s also certain that a pizza will be ordered somewhere amidst all that chaos.

“Has anyone seen my suitcase?” Charlotte shouts through the echoey halls of their gaudy mansion. (Thanks, Carlos’s parents’ money). “I need my swimsuit!”

A series of ‘no’s and a single ‘yes’ return her way, and Ethan decides at that moment that he needs an ibuprofen or he might just die. (Y/N) is curled up on her chair by the kitchen island, half asleep where she has her head propped on her palm. Ethan smiles to himself and pads over to the refrigerator to grab her a juice and an apple, knowing that’s what she’ll ask for any minute now.

“Ethy, can you grab me- oh, thanks,” she giggles as he slides her the snacks.

“Welcome, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, smirking triumphantly and raiding the cabinets for a bottle of ibuprofen. He checks over his shoulder just to ensure she’s grinning bashfully at her lap and feels funny all over when she is. He’ll never, never, never get tired of her.

“Think we’re gonna go clubbing tonight?” she asks him around a mouthful of crunchy apple.

Ethan laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Me neither,” she agrees with a grin. They know their best friends better than their own families.

Charlotte comes thundering down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the marble, and races out the backdoor by the kitchen, a towel in one hand and a portable speaker in the other. Ethan and (Y/N) share one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud.

“Enough!” Baasim wails as he rounds the corner, his swim trunks on a tacky white stripe of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, you guys have got to stop eye-fucking each other.”

“We aren’t eye-fucking each other,” (Y/N) laughs, breaking their gaze to flick Baasim’s bare shoulder. “If we were, Ethan’s dick would be standing straight out.”

Collin begins dramatically hacking up make-believe vomit when he enters the kitchen, groaning and rubbing his stomach. “Never mention Ethan’s dick around me again,” he states.

Christian nods in agreement. “But she’s right. They were probably just doing their gross ‘we’re totally going to be in love until we’re a hundred years old’ looks, and those are so much worse than their eye-fucking looks. Trust me, I’ve seen both many, many times.”

Baasim shakes his head sympathetically at Collin and they pout together. However, Grayson steps in quickly after them with a lot to say. “You two don’t know the fucking half of it,” he grumbles, a beer already in hand.

Ethan rolls his eyes before pointing to his drink. “Where did you get-“

“There’s a mini fridge in my room! Carlos’s parents must be fuckin’ stacked.”

“They are,” Carlos replies snobbishly, a towel over his shoulder. He lowers his sunglasses momentarily to wink at the crew and they all swat at him mindlessly, paying no mind to his ridiculous ego. Marcy’s on his arm and eager as always to get out and swim, so they follow Charlotte outside right away. Soon enough, everyone’s filing out into the fenced-in backyard and a little more than tipsy.

The first night goes exactly as planned. Well, not according to their itinerary, but according to Ethan’s: there was pizza, there were drunk-bathtub-slumbers, there was Kings, and there was no sleeping until well after four in the morning. But the second is more well-mapped because Hera informs everyone that she’s secured them all wristbands to the VIP section of the Rockwell, and nobody’s willing to pass up that opportunity. And it’s fun—Ethan’s not one to deny himself of a good time—but the group is itching to return the next night, and Ethan’s just not as stoked as everyone else.

“Dude, Rockwell is so fuckin’ steeze,” Rocky nods.

Ethan snorts at his comment and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m going to go tonight,” he shrugs, spooning a bite of Reese’s Puffs into his mouth.

It’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, but Rocky and Ethan are the only ones awake; last night’s wild rendezvous have left everyone drained and hung-over. Ethan’s already set out a bottle of Advil and two glasses of water by (Y/N)’s bedside table.

“Not going? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Rocky asks, squinting at him incredulously.

Ethan isn’t out of his fuckin’ mind, he just knows how to pace himself. They have six days in Miami and he has the party-endurance of an eighty-year-old man—two days of heavy drinking in a row means he must take a night off. “Nope,” Ethan says. “You’ll have to tell me everything tomorrow morning if you can remember it.”

Rocky shakes his head with raised brows and stares at his toast. “Last night was insane.”

“Too insane.”

“Too insane,” Rocky confirms. “This is the shit you tell your kids about.”

Ethan thinks about that for a moment and realizes him and Rocky are just different people. Spring break is fun, unforgettable even, but Ethan would never peg it as life-changing. He knows what he’s going to tell his kids about—the time (Y/N) laughed so hard she peed on Grayson’s dorm bed and told him she spilled apple juice on his sheets. He’s going to tell them about the time she and he played hide-and-go-seek in their freshman residence hall for five hours. He’s going to tell them about the first time she snorted while laughing around him and he got it on video, and then how she tripped while chasing him and nearly had to get stitches. What’s the point in talking about the nights you can’t even remember? He wants to talk about the things he’ll never forget.

“Definitely,” Ethan nods, too tired to disagree.

“Is (Y/N) going to stay here too then?” Rocky asks.

Ethan shrugs but then nods. “Probably. I’ll honestly be surprised if she can even function after last night—she drank more than me, and she’s kind of a lightweight,” he says, chuckling to himself. He thinks about the way he had seen her throwing back twice-spiked pina-coladas and grins so hard his dimples pop in his cheeks.

“Gross…” Rocky says aloud, scrunching his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Stop being so in love. Just get married already.”

Ethan’s no stranger to comments like these, and they don’t startle or unsettle him. He has full intentions, he just doesn’t know how, when, or where to pop the question. He doesn’t even have a ring yet. But he’s ready, so very ready—he’s been waiting since ninth grade.

"Soon," Ethan murmurs back.

"Really?" Rocky says, pausing mid-chew. "When do you think you're going to ask her?"

Ethan doesn't know. "Soon," is all he says.

Rocky seems to notice he shouldn't push anymore because he backs off the topic. Around two in the afternoon, people start sleep-walking into the kitchen and fetching themselves some food, acting more like zombies than humans. When it takes (Y/N) an extra hour to drag her body down the steps, Ethan knows for certain she'll be sticking in the Air BNB with him all night long.

"Good morning," Ethan whispers quietly to her, kissing her hair softly. He knows her temples are sensitive today, so he doesn't dare kiss any part of her forehead.

She doesn't reply, just nods in return.

"Good morning, (Y/N)!" Rocky cheers obnoxiously. Ethan fears homicide.

"Go fuck yourself," she growls back, covering her ears protectively and folding herself into Ethan. Everyone's amused by her grumpiness since she is usually such a cheerful friend, but she's not in the mood to entertain. She grabs a carton of strawberries from the refrigerator and Ethan's wrist and tugs both upstairs to their bedroom where the blinds are drawn completely closed. The air conditioning's blasting on high, the bed is fixed with thick, fuzzy blankets, and the sound of drizzling rain is playing from her phone's speaker. She slips off the sweatpants she was wearing and snuggles under the comforter in Ethan's giant tee. He knows she isn't leaving this room until well into the evening.

He doesn't mind a bit. He'd choose a quiet nap with her over all the parties, all the alcohol, all the friends in the world. He would rather spend an hour with her than a lifetime with his closest friends, and even that thought doesn't scare him. Because she's his best friend. She's his other half and his favorite girl in the world. He's actually excited to have the place to themselves tonight.

The two doze off, sent to sleep by their aching bodies and pounding headaches. When they awake they don't necessarily feel refreshed, but they feel a little less like death, and that's good enough to crawl out of their den and order a pizza. They munch and gossip and watch a collection of movies, giddy to be with each other and in paradise.

“Do you think she’s in it for his money?” Ethan whispers with a glint in his eye, his hands on top of her bare thighs and a smile on his lips.

She nods around her slice of pizza, the gooey cheese slipping off the crust and sending her cackling as she tries to catch it. She stares over at the screen for a moment, grinning at Ferris Bueller and all his antics, before swallowing. “I think they really love each other, just never more than they’ll love themselves. And the money is definitely a perk, I mean, look at this place,” she says, pointing to the high ceilings of the living room. “Could get lost in here.”

Ethan nods and grabs another piece from the box, chowing it down in a few bites. “No kidding. Carlos’s head is too big for his body, I think he’d marry a mirror if he could.”

It’s all lighthearted; Ethan would die for Carlos, and (Y/N) would die for Marcy. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

(Y/N) giggles and tangles her fingers with Ethan’s where they lie on her legs. “Bet they’ll buy this mansion and live in paradise forever.”

He nods and smiles and hopes it’s true. They deserve their own kind of happiness—it isn’t his place to judge. He’s already the happiest he could be. “Could you ever live in a place like this?”

She tears her gaze away from the movie and shrugs a shoulder. “Dunno. I don’t think I’d ever be opposed to a mansion, but I definitely don’t need it,” she snorts. “I’d be happy in a cardboard box if you’re in there with me.”

Ethan’s stomach swoops at the domesticity of her comment, the way she says it casually, confidently, comfortably like the thought doesn’t scare her one bit. “Good, ‘cause I can’t afford this,” he laughs, taking down the last bite of his pizza and falling into her arms. She chuckles and wraps him up, cradles him like the baby he is sometimes, and he lays comfortably between her legs with his head on her chest. They talk forever about nothing and their minds don’t stray to their friends crazy night out once.

Around two in the morning, they find themselves in the kitchen, (Y/N) propped up on the granite island with her legs dangling off the sides and Ethan raiding the cabinets. Music is playing off the speaker from Ethan’s phone, and they both have the case of the giggles. God, they’re so in love.

“Want some whip cream?” Ethan asks with his head buried in the refrigerator like an emu.

“Is that a question?” she replies, though it comes out funny with her mouth stuffed with doritos. He tosses her the bottle blindly and she catches it, tipping the bottle above her head and spraying a good glob past her lips. Then, she hears the opening chords of a guitar and she gasps, sending her coughing.

Ethan’s only a little concerned because she’s laughing so hard during all of it, but he turns to check on her. “Are you o-?”

“There once was a bittersweet man and they called him lemon boy,” (Y/N) sings, hopping down from her counter throne and smirking at him smugly.

“No,” Ethan groans, laughing outright and groaning into his hands.

“He was growing in my garden and I pulled him out by his hair, like a weed,” she taunts, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging. Ethan reaches out and pinches her side, and she scampers around the island to escape him, giggling still.

“(Y/N), don’t,” he whines, embarrassment flooding his features. He begins racing around the table to catch her and muffle her teasing, but she’s quick and bubbling with laughter.

“Lemon Boy and me started to get along, together,” she squeals, barely dodging his grabbing hands. “I helped him- Eek!”

“Quit it!” he calls through laughter, his fingers skimming the back of the giant tee shirt flowing from her back.

“It’s actually pretty easy, being nice, to a bitter boy like him,” she cheers, her hands raised above her head joyously with her eyes closed. Ethan pauses where he trails behind her and just waits for her to run into him blindly. She does, falls flat against his frame, and throws her arms around his neck in defeat. “So I got myself, a citrus friend!” she cries, swaying the two of them back and forth.

Ethan doesn’t have the heart to be even the least annoyed, because she is just perfect for him. It has been long, so, so long since he’s been bitter. He slides his hand up the back of her shirt and rubs his thumb over the ink below her shoulder blade, grinning to himself. Feels too good to be true sometimes. He takes her vulnerability as an opportunity to tickle her until she screams.

He has his hands around her sides, wiggling his fingers all around her tummy and her sides and under her arms, and she’s screeching and begging him to stop, but he loves the way she laughs so he doesn’t. He throws her over his shoulder and smacks her bum, races around the island some more and chuckles at the way she squeals. He feels like a kid with her and he never wants to grow up. 

He never wants to grow up.

“Lemon boy and I, we’re gonna live forever,” she sings still, hung upside down on him.

“Like Snufkin and Little My, we’ll get around, wherever,” he chimes in much to her delight. She smacks his back and pleads for him to put him down, that the turbulence on this ride is worse than their Spirit Airline flight down to Miami.

He obliges and lifts her back to her righteous spot on the island, sliding into the space between her legs. “Yeah we’re the bitterest guys around, and I got myself, a citrus friend,” she finishes, placing her palm on his bare chest and pressing his mouth to his cheek with a loud smack. They’re out of breath and still so giggly, but then they’re sharing one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud, and Ethan’s so happy that they have the house all to themselves tonight. It feels like a honeymoon.

“Love you,” he whispers and plants a kiss on her forehead in return. He means it more than ever.

“Love you more,” she murmurs back.

Ethan hears a series of beats and a single guitar strum before he realizes what song is drifting through the air. “Ever heard this song?” he asks quietly, his hands settling at her waist. She shakes her head and slips her arms around his neck, already rocking back and forth to the easy music. “’S called Japanese Denim. It’s one of my favorites,” he explains as he burrows his nose in her hair.

“Sing it to me,” she says.

Ethan isn’t much of a singer. It doesn’t matter. He wants her to know that he thinks of her during every cheesy love song.

He hums to the tune and begins his serenade. “You’re my four leaf clover, I’m so in love, so in love,” he rasps out, squeezing her tight to him. He takes the time to pull back and kiss her slow and soft, as sweet as their first time. “My blue jeans,” he coos. “Will last me all my life. So should we, I’m spending all this time…”

She runs her fingers through the bangs of his tousled hair and smooths her thumb over his cheekbone. She loves him and she’ll love him forever.

“I’m reaching Nirvana, goodbye sweet Rwanda,” he continues, chuckling as he speaks the next bit, “High school was never for me. I say let it be, let it be, Forever’s a long time.”

High school has never felt further away with Ethan so happy, so optimistic, so friendly, so sociable. He can’t even remember the names of the terrible people, the words of their comments, the spots where they bruised him, the dates that he cried. He can’t imagine where they are now, and he never wants to. High school gave him his most prized possession, his best friend, his future wife, his soulmate, his other half. He couldn’t be more grateful.

They sway softly, trapped in their one little world. They don’t even notice when the group comes home, quiet with hoarse throats and all boozed out. But they find the couple in the kitchen, dancing in place to a love song, more in love than they could ever hope for themselves. They’re tucked in on each other and mumbling about something the crew can’t hear, and none of them have the heart—not even Grayson or Baasim— to break up their moment, so they just grin to themselves and slip off to bed. They just hope they’re all part of their wedding in the near future.

If Ethan could hear their thoughts, he would tell them they don’t have to worry. He’s already decided to propose right after graduation. And he knows just how he’s going to do it.

-

NEXT: 3½ | It’s U

[iamcinema]

IAC Reviews #19: Wishbone (2000)

Hey, is anyone still alive out there? I hope so.

Coming off of last year was a disaster, and well, we didn't enter 2021 on the highest of notes. I guess you could say I've been burned out and not having a ton of motivation to do a lot, even with how much I've been grinding on Letterboxd over the past few months. I think I'm ready to come back, and since there's a storm is brewing outside, let's make today a movie night...and boy, do I have a treat for you.

I think I've made it kind of apparent that I have a weakness for terrible, low-budget, trash fires. There's something oddly charming about them where they always find a way to lure me in, and given the scene on Letterboxd, there's a bunch of SOV masochists out there waiting to get their next fix. While digging around for material to cross off my lists on titles to find and add, I was reminded of a terrible, low-budget film that was shot in my hometown over 20 years ago. I'm full of fear for what's to come, and you should be too.

________________________________________

Wishbone is a 2000 horror film directed by Timothy Gaer and co-created by Michael Fasciana, centering on a woman named Laurie who receives an unusual artifact from her eccentric aunt she acquired from a pawn dealer that causes those around her to disappear when they make wishes on it. Hmm, seems simple enough. Let's what we're in for, and I'm absolutely not ready because the IMDb page says this shit is over two hours long, despite a version on Youtube having it just a bit over 90 minutes. Let us pray.

Wishbone in One Gif:

This acting is might be the death of me, but I'm not sure what's going to be the catalyst that causes me to fall down the stairs and break my neck: the sound quality, the weird editing, or the music...oh, god what the fuck is the music doing? So much noise, noise noise!

Okay, so let's dig into this before I take too long of a break and I don't come back to this. I've already had to pause the movie a few times to catch my breath or just rewind and go back because there's a good amount that I keep missing because, apparently, the star of the film is the score and not Laurie. This is so, so slow. I've seen a lot of long horror movies, but at least with those, it feels like things are happening. Even Blood Lake had filler that did something to some degree, and with that, it was consistently bad. This movie doesn't even know what it wants to do. So, as a disclaimer, there's a good chance I'm probably missing some key details that I didn't hear because it seems that characterization isn't important if the music insists on talking over everyone.

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So, to date, this might be one of the worst horror movies (and movies in general) that I've ever seen and it might be one of the slowest things in the entire megaverse. This is over 90 minutes of, somehow, nothing and something happening simultaneously - if that makes any sense.

This takes its sweet ass time moving along and there's so little pay-off. The majority of the characters are either nameless or we aren't introduced to them in a way that matters enough for us to care about them. It's kind of like with Violent Shit and other low-budget slasher films where the majority of the characters serve no purpose but to be disposable. Next to the two main leads, Laurie and Joe, and maybe a few others, everyone is just forgettable and even then I couldn't honestly tell you anyone's name if it was explicitly brought up. IMDb isn't helpful either, and at this point it just makes me care even less. I'm not sure if my patience has been tested too much with this, but it's kind of sad that I'm more invested in seeing what the background characters are doing than Laurie and Joe - even though I can't really hear what the hell they're saying.

Yeah, I really can't move on without talking about the sound and the music. Why is it always the audio with these movies? This has an estimated budget of $100,000, or $154,779.43 today in August 2021. How do you have the ability to somehow not make this look like a potato for the most part, well for the day shots that is, but you don't have it in you to get a good mic and someone who knows how to mix and edit correctly? I would sort of understand if you spent the majority of the money on talent to cut corners, but this is just ridiculous. Did they use the cameras' built-in mics to catch the audio here?

I feel like I need to interrupt the movie constantly to tell them to speak up because if I turn up the volume, I'm just getting bombarded with this really weird soundtrack that doesn't fit. I shit you not, during one of the kill scenes, the music booming over it sounds like it was ripped from Kevin MacLeod's "lounge" library and then the reverse happens where ominous music is playing over a more touching scene - and that's not even a dig at Kevin as an artist. That's just how inappropriate and unfitting this editing is. The weird fucking thing about this specific kill scene is that it sounds like the audio is stacked, so there are two different instrumental tracks going on.

How do you fuck something as basic as tension up like that? The audio choices are so painfully inconsistent and it doesn't know what it wants to do. There are moments where you can hear the dialogue just fine, but then the music comes in out of nowhere to segway us into the next scene and it starts to muffle things out. If it isn't that, then the dialogue is just so soft that you'd think there was a pillow on the mic or we're hearing them from the opposite side of a sound-dampened room.

This is what I meant earlier when I said I apologize in advance if I miss anything crucial because I can't make out half of these conversations. So, I'm having to keep going back if I care enough or just having to pause and take breaks because there's only so much I can handle. This means that there's a good amount I'll blank on because I have to keep going back because I can't remember the majority of these no-named characters. Who the fuck are you people? Why am I supposed to care?

If I'm understanding the non-existent rules of the wishbone, you're connected to whoever dies in some way. So, why is any of this relevant to what's going on? If it's random, then it's another reason for me not to care just because some frat kids made a wish at some point. Again, who the hell are you and why am I supposed to lament over them? Why is there so much useless filler here? Did I mention that this is over 90 minutes long and there are *three* fucking party scenes? Party scenes are to Wishbone as ten-minute-long jetskiing and beer game scenes are to Blood Lake.

Oh, speaking of other shit that's annoying. Let's talk about general editing because the sound isn't the only thing that's a mess here.

I swear that almost every single scene in this ends with a fade-out/fade-in shot. Only one or two scenes come to mind where this doesn't happen, and the first time it did I thought my browser was freezing because it abruptly cut to black and then smash cuts to a party scene. I've never, ever seen a movie that abused this that much before and it's on par with something I would have seen made by a bunch of high school kids. So, when we have a moment where this doesn't happen and it plays out normally, it feels like a breath of fresh air. I'm sure this movie's run time could have been shaved down by at least a minute or two if this wasn't a problem, along with all the useless close-up shots that serve nothing to the plot.

It's such a waste of time. I'm so fucking tired. How was this movie's budget $100k? Did they spend most of it on renting the Scranton Police Department for a few shots or did it go towards their impromptu trip to Party City? I'm so tired and I don't care anymore.

Do you want to know what the real kicker is? With just barely twenty minutes left, the whole lore about the monkey's wishbone paw comes back and that's when Laurie and her friend Karen think something is weird. Isn't this whole realization trope that happens within the first or second act, not now with your Great Value brand version of the Dream Warriors?

Also, it's not specified how much time has gone by since the start, but it has to have been at least a week or two. It's incredibly weird how they paint the main characters and the unnamed background ones as such good friends that they don't think it's weird how almost all of them have disappeared - especially one girl who doesn't seem off-put that her boyfriend (or ex) disappeared after getting into an argument at one of the parties and none of his friends could reach him either at his own house.

The final showdown is an utter pain in the ass to get through because the conflict ends as abruptly as it starts and it's so unsatisfying. We get to see the face of our villain, I guess, and then more or less cut to our leads holding hands down the street set to the same looping lounge music we've been dealing with for over 90 damn minutes. Is everyone else who went with them dead? Did they live? Who cares! That's one thing the movie and I can agree on since we never see them again. We end on a shitty cliffhanger that's supposed to prepare us for a sequel, which thankfully never happened.

________________________________________

And that was Wishbone. Holy fucking shit, I've never been so thankful for a movie to be over in my life. It's 11:07 PM as of tinkering with some minor revisions and I've been in purgatory with this for over five hours, and yet, it feels like an entire lifetime has gone by.

I've raved about how bad Blood Lake was with its incredibly bad pacing, but this is next level awful and a testament to bad filmmaking if I've ever seen it. I expect a lot of the things I complained about from super amateur filmmakers who are shooting on an actual shoestring budget, not people who had that much money to fuck around with. How did they have that kind of a budget, and the most they can give us is bad audio, Windows Movie Maker levels of basic editing, three wrap parties, and a few crumbs of gore that we could see?

This was physically painful to see and I'm in much worse shape having endured it than I would have been if I sat through something liked Boardinghouse, and that has a two-and-a-half-hour-long version tied to it. This is just a marvel and I mean that in a so-bad-it's-bad way, not like how SOV enthusiasts who love this stuff pine over. If I had to give one thing going for it, one single granule of gold that I enjoyed from this, it's the limited shots we get of the area so I could make a game out of seeing what local spots I recognized. If playing I Spy is the only way for someone to endure your movie, then I don't know what else to say.

Wishbone is a hot mess where shit's happening, but also nothing is happening at the same time. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. In fact, I wish this movie never existed or would die in the ether and never return to our mortal realm ever again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go have a smoke and hope I don't get run over by a hearse tomorrow.

RATING: 0.5/10

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

If you don't agree, don't go

You can go to the state website and petition the state remove statues and do a shit ton of other things

I have said I don't agree with the removal of statues

One for the unknown true history

Secondly it's extremely dangerous

Statues are not designed to be removed, they're very heavy and made to withstand natural disasters and more.

People get wild and it's usually a lot of chaos and rarely fully organized

People use trucks to wreck into statues to destabilize them or to wrap the chains around to pull them down

The statues themselves become projectiles which csn then harm, maim, destroy and kill others.

A statue falling down will break, sending pieces of it flying and into the bodies of bystanders.

The guy with the skateboard in the video was attacking the guy with the gun to stop him from shooting and of course he was shot.

A better method would been asking him to remove the weapon and place it in his car. That was not shown on the video.

That doesnt mean that he deserved to be shot.

Guns have no place at places like these. In what brain frequency do you use that you would consider carrying a live fire arm to a rally by hand?

I see his outfit wasn't prepped for wearing a belt and so on but he could wore a shoulder harness to keep it holster

I also saw he had a small snub nose spinner barrel which to load takes a significant amount of time as opposed to inserting a magazine clip for s gun such as a glock or other type.

I prefer people have a loaded clip seperate from their gun if they will carry because it's safer for everyone and does require thinking twice,before shooting.

It literally takes seconds. Civilians are not trained to recognize life and death situations.

I'm,not saying that those that are trained know how to handle,but I'm saying it's,safer for,everyone to think twice before shooting

If it is a serious situation requiring shooting it does allow,that valuable time to set your eyes on the suspect while loading, most successful gun handlers can load while not looking.so to load while eyeing and locating target should allow calmness to overcome and allow a better shot

If i was a gun toter i would prefer to have my gun with me, of course. But brain use is important.

Obviously I'm not going to have it out.

Unless I'm going to use it.

If I have it, I wouldn't have it where it would be easily taken. Like just in my hand or on my back in a harness. I would have it protected so that I would have it available so that I could use it to protect me

So this guy should had been, disarmed as it would easily been able to since he was just holding it like a moron.

I'm not going to judge the individual actions.

Obviously this situation did not go well.

And obviously some things could gone different

Had Mr Skate board tried to disarm him before he moved, hit him in the gun to get it -- he could have shot someone in the crowd.

What he did was cause the moron with the gun to flee.

Did he know if he had a big van with a bazooka? No. Not if he wasn't CIA or a civilian paying close attention to intuition. But he did So he did go and attack him again.

Unfortunately then the moron decided to discharge his weapon 4 times. It is said.

And the person protecting the crowd with his green skateboard was shot.

There was a small crowd and luckily it was a round barrel which does only hold about 5 shots.

Thus making it a safer type of weapon as opposed to a clip which holds 8 or more.

The smaller crowd was in,extreme danger but the small crowd vs the large crowd is the #1 is the small crowd was following or was aware that he had a gun.

The larger crowd looking at the statue and their,friends and etc were not aware of the danger.

It doesn't mean the smaller group deserved to be shot -- it means they were aware so they were in active flight or fight.

So they were in their choice mode and in their civil liberties mode using their anger or fear wisely as possible.

So to engage the moron while he was in active flight or fight was fine but again at that situation, verbal discussion could have been used to prevent the shooting.

Like I said I'm not going to judge. He could been shot direct in the gut and killed instantly or the guy may been going to get larger automatic weapons with more ammunition.

And I am informed he was actually going to get more ammunition and weapons

I still feel that a de-escalation process could have been used to protect the Mr Skateboard.

At the same time no one else was harmed but him and the situation was resolved safely in all other ways.

So I can't judge as hindsight is 2020 and I was not there and obviously from what I was told a mass shooting was prevented

I don't like,heroes being shot at and being shot.

Because I can see an alternative doesn't mean that his actions,were any less Good.

I only look for an alternative because he, as the Hero was shot.

However it was very controlled and only he was shot.

Thus psychologically, Mr Skateboard had distracted the moron from his,task at,mass shooting enough to stop,him from doing so.

He blew,through almost,all,his rounds and,he knew,he would,need,his last round, or two in order to protect himself

Thus,he could,not shoot randomly into,the crowd

Then apparently he was held under citizens arrest until the cops came. Which could had caused another victim but it was successful. From news reports lacking information of another victim

So overall it was successful.

As I said I prefer my people not be shot. But they do wear bullet proof materials which is why they are fully covered head to toe just like Mr Skateboard was.

If he was carrying an automatic weapon with more ammunition then protocol is different than what did occur.

But a 5 to 6 bullet gun and with his clothing it could be seen what more he was likely holding... Its more important to instigate flight mode as opposed to killing instantly in the crowd of people.

Same with knives and so on

Removal is primary. Thus it cuts down on visibility and the PTSD and other sickness the crowd can suddenly be subdued to.

Most people whom want to mass shoot need secrecy. They need to not be identified and seen. So we identify and we notify they're seen. Hopefully flight occurs and not shooting.

So this was perfect as that is What occurred.

Mr Skateboard was the primary y'all saw.

But there were at least 10 more swarming to stand between the shooter and the crowd so they could be shot and not random people in the crowd. Those were unseen Heroes.

Not to only stand there and be shot But to disarm and deesclatate to protect everyone else.

My people are not actually taught to speak to destabilize or deesclatate. They have their research. They knew who he was and what was in his cargo van. They knew he must be removed from the streets.

To verbiage with him would to "befriend" him and not usually cause enough for arrest. It would be considered FBI work and not CIA work.

What i would said was "you need to put your gun in your pocket. People will kill you for having it out. There's a guy right over there on the other side in a pink shirt ready to kill anyone that looks like you. Hurry put it away"

Then i would killed him myself when he went back to his cargo van, where there was no to few witnesses. I probably would made up the color but i know at least 4 people would been staring at us hard so when he looked up he would been immediately intimidated. And the more he looked for the pink shirt that didn't exist the more hate he would see being stared back at him and he would stay less time.

And so thats why we don't teach or promote verbalige. It involves the heart. It means putting down a guard to where your own heart is exposed and you must in that moment truly care about that person.

Sure acting is applicable. But over time acting warps the mind and i dont want anyone to get mentally warped by my jobs. Action needs to be done and that action is disturbing enough, its the most mentally disturbing even for the most hardened minds.

So adding in words to twist shit. It isn't worth it to me.

But in this particular case i can see where word games would worked.

Now. The point in this case where it's different so its good... That our man was shot... Although not good.

Its public. The man was arrested. He happened to have previously ran for counsel for the state. He was a political candidate.

This is the year of the big Votes! (Rockthevote.org - register. Voting is this November!)

And so now everyone can see how critical their votes are this November.

Had we done it the way i know would prevented my working Hero to be injured -- no one would known. It would never been in the news. It would been a total secret CIA mission i may have off handed mentioned later one time to answer why he was missing. Because last time,he was seen was here with a cargo van full of weapons including a bazooka and.... You fill in the rest. Yeah.

So for political reasons and the election coming and intuitive and Great Tree advice it's very critical that it did occur this way -- for the public.

So what happened is that our Heroes leveled up. It was not that small Group of people in New Mexico it protected. But potieniently the whole entire world. All of our Heroes, Not just Mr Skateboard. By default he gets extra love and attention. And hey he deserves it. He fell and was shot. I know he's bruised and hurt. So he deserves that extra love and praise and all. But no one deserves any less. They all deserve all we got.

So it's very important to remember that bad people will volunteer or try to be in the government and do extra jobs in order to filter in their evil deeds.

People could say that i do it. And that is fine to see the process that looks like it. Because i do plan to insert what i want into the world. I do, 100%

And if you think paradise at an affordable price for all is evil then so be it.

So once again i thank my team and wish them all healthy well and safe. And extra healings to Mr Skateboard.

Now as far as my group being at a place I don't agree with the events taking place.

It doesn't matter. There are people just there whom are curious. And innocent.

They need protecting.

My people research areas people will be and they go where people will be.

People with people. That's all.

I hope you understand that.

My people will protect the idiot pulling the chain to destroy the statue from a random person as well as a mom and her children just experiencing history in,the making.

My people will not protect the idiot from himself nor the cops. If the,statue falls and he gets hurt and if no one else helps -- they must wait to allow others to assist, If no one else will then my team can render first aid if it is absolutely necessary unless it's time of death then they may go first to accelerate that.

But if it's a truly innocent idiot then they will help the person and tend the wounds until medic arrives.

If the cops intervene and want to arrest the idiot my people will stand back. Otherwise if it were me, they would intervene.

Like if I went and just got tired of watching them struggle and went over and said this is how you do it -- which my team also will do if the statue is in the progress and there is partial success and there's a danger, they may take over to help the statue falling with less damage and much safer for people around.

But an organiser that is doing it with ignorant destruction is not protected.

The organiser attracts all kinds of people. Innocent. People watching history. And evil..

So my good go to protect all. From mass casualties.

Then as each individual evil is extracted from the mass crowd they treat them as they individually deserve.

The group is protected as though they're all angels. As demons show themselves or people point them out then they're looked into the eyes and their karma is given.

That is their job.

So as I said it's difficult enough

To add engagement and to use the heart as opposed to physical force then can damage my CIA members.

They are CIA. CIA Is action orientated

FBI is verbal, talk.

Police are both as well as military

They investigate then act.

CIA gets the investigation research and has it from all sources in the entire world then act based on that research.

So the CIA is elite and different than any other organizations in the world.

FBI takes years. CIA takes 2 months at most to verify and then acts.

With the new SMS they can react with seconds.

They are exclusive.

And I appreciate them with my entire heart and I designed their jobs just like above, word for word.

So if you hate what they do then you hate a lot of me and you hate the world and you hate what,they are forced to do because the world has become so dangerous

I will protect them with my life. Because it is my life experiences and my love that determines how they act. What they do.

So I understand. I understand conflicting emotions

But what they do will not change.

[asksilverthehedgie-blog1]

Getting Older Doesn't Mean The Best Is Over!

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