#even as an adult i still act like this ughhhhh

[rubbish78]

Matt Willis in Busted's music video 'Nineties'

[indecenthoney]

Five more minutes...

----------------------------------------------

Don't you fucking hate it when someone wakes you up on your day off? The one time. One time you get to finally sleep in and throw all the worries of the world into the trash. Just for someone to ruin it. I mean I understand having to wake up because of an emergency or a meeting. But to be woken up, so I don't sleep the day away? Bullshit. It's the fucking summer. Can't I get-

"Five more minutes... Pleassssse... Ugh... I know... I know it's way past afternoon... I intended on sleeping in, on purpose... Listen... I've been working my ass off at college and my crappy ass job for monthsss... Now that I'm finally back home... I think I deserve a little more shut-eye... Now... Get out of my room... or you're going to regret it..."

After some deliberation, I finally decided to head home during the summer. It definitely beats working my life away and going straight back into classes. I couldn't fathom taking another year of torture. Not to mention, I would finally be able to eat some home-cooked meals, catch up with friends, and possibly hit up a few bars. If I'm lucky, I might even be able to hook up with someone during my stay. Although, I forgot to factor in one teeny tiny detail. The sole reason I ever left in the first place. The demon that resided in my neighborhood now pestering me over a couple minutes in bed. That demon, or well childhood friend of mine had always topped me in every single thing I had ever done. At some point, you can get sick of always being compared to. Now that I'm back in town, she has nothing better to do than to dote on me. Constantly breathing down my neck over every single thing that I do. I'm starting to think she gets some kind of sick kick from parading me around like some sort of dog.

"Ughhhhh... Shut upppppppp... Don't you have anything better to do? It's been years... Get a boyfriend or something... Like... what're you hanging around here for? My mom asked you to... What? Dude... Okay, listen... We're adults now... You don't have to listen to every request they make... My mom only keeps you around hoping we finally get along again... Year after year she has tried to get us to reconnect... And we both know it's not going to happen... No... There are no buts in this situation... Just let it go... You don't have to kiss my parent's ass just to prove you're better than me... They know that... I know that... and you know that... You always joined all the clubs I was in to prove a point... I gain literally nothing from being with you... You're better than me... I get it... Happy? Now leave... Good night..."

Looking back at it, I was ashamed to act so out of character. I guess it really got to me after seeing her face after so long. The breaking point was when she had the audacity to try and pull the blankets off of me. Blinded by anger, I pulled and wrestled her onto my bed. The both of us flailing around without a word. After some time, I was able to completely pin her down. Her shirt disheveled and raised high enough to see her breasts. The blankets draped over us like a fort we had once made as kids. Our exhausted breaths heating the enclosed space around us. My morning wood placed atop her short shorts twitching eagerly along her.

"Well... I'll let you go as soon as you stop flipping out... Yeah yeah... You're still as annoying as ever... Huh? Excuse me... I'm the one that should be pissed... Bothering me so early in the damn morning... What are you freaking about now? What? It's just morning wood... It happens... Fucking perv... Yeah, you... Why're you staring so much...? Hahahah... You think this is because of you? You give yourself too much credit... You could never turn me on... Then again... It's been quite a while since I had any action... And hole is a hole... Right? Aw... Don't wanna? But you promised to take care of me... No? And what're you gonna do about it? Push me off with those frail arms? Sure you can beat me in everything else but at the end of the day... I'm still bigger than you..."

The tip of my cock pitched a tent so effortlessly. Every whimper or sign of resistance urged me to tease her even further. And in turn, the silence grew louder knowing she had no other choice but to take it. It was supposed to be a little scare. Or so I thought. But seeing that she was finally put in her place brought out a different side of me. To top it all off, the overwhelming sensation brought upon the back of my head grinding against her needy cunt was just insatiable. Poking my tip against her opening only for pieces of cloth to divide me from theoretical heaven. It drove me crazy. Even if it was her. Even if she did annoy the living fuck out of me, I couldn't quite help myself. I would be lying if I didn't find her the least bit attractive.

"Hey now... Hush... Any louder and they'll hear us... What would my family think if they found you moaning like an absolute slut? Aww... And what're you gonna do about it? Tell? Thanks to you... I honestly have nothing to lose... They already see me as a failure... What's one more fuck up? Stop? Why? Is Little Miss Perfect getting wet? No? Then why don't we take these off? And have ourselves a little look... Not wet? Really? You promise? Then you have nothing to hide, do you? Well... A little too late for that... I'm not going to take the word of a liar... You heard me... Lying to my face... Right right... Sooooo this wet spot on your shorts is all my imagination, huh? Really? Then what's this? Hahaha... You're absolutely soaked... Fuck..."

Upon exposing her dirty little secret, she sought solace in the palms of her hands. Retreating as much as she could from my line of sight. Her bare cunt leaking and in full view, awaiting the endless ridicule that was to befall her. But to her surprise, there was no bullying. No jab. Nor sly compliment. Nothing. She peeked through spread fingers, only to find my lips pressed against hers. Soft kisses woven and sealed. Each one more welcoming than the last. And in time, her advances were all her own. Clinging so desperately to that addictive rhythm. Kiss. Lick. Suck. Mindlessly waltzing between each before falling victim to her own bliss. To her realization, I had long stopped my approach; watching her enjoy herself. She soon crumbled under her embarrassment.

"Having fun, are we? Hahahah... Hey hey... C'mon there's nothing to be embarrassed about... What's with the hostility? It's just a few kisses... Whatttt? I'm not saying anything... Me? A tease? Never.... Get off? Wowwwww... So rude... After all that eager kissing? You really are heartless... And here I thought we were finally hitting it off... Hahahah... C'mon bestie... What's five more minutes? Hm? Hahahah... God... It was just five minutes... You couldn't give me five... fucking... minutes.... Now look at you... Hahahah... Pathetic... You did this to yourself, hun... Now I'm gonna have you take responsibility for it..."

My body lined along hers; her sight fixed on the drip and drop of my my own saliva coating my member. A quick concoction of spit and juices. With pressed thighs, my cock fit so perfectly betwixt her. A constant, yet steady motion of thrusts, leading me to leak pre-cum in the process. And still, her eyes fixated on the comings and goings of my cock eagerly fucking her thighs. Her face tainted with shades of red. Hastening my rhythm. There sudden bursts of moans took place as the tip snagged along her clit. All due to the animalistic type of fucking that was prone to error. To thrust and fuck without remorse only to catch and chase that orgasm I so desperately needed.

"Look at us finally getting along... Who would've thought it'd take fucking your thighs for us to stop bickering? What's with the look? Shouldn't you be happy? You can finally be of some use... With thighs this soft, I might get addicted to using you... Mmph... Fuck... I'm so close... Hey... I want you to clean it up... You heard me... Open your mouth and let me shoot it in... We can't go downstairs with you covered in cum, can we? Unless that's what you're into... Hahahah... No? Fine fine... I guess I'll just stick it in... Save us the mess, right? You don't want that either? Well, you better make up your mind cause I'm close... Mm... Oh? Atta girl... Stick that tongue out... F-fuck... Mmph... Look at me... Yeah, I want you to fucking look at me... There we go... You ready? Yeah? Ughh... Fuck..."

A trail of cum ran down her tongue and through the valley of her breasts. Hesitant fingers glided down licking up each and every drop of me. An unknown side that came so naturally to this prim and proper girl. Despite her reserved demeanor, she would flawlessly complete such a degrading task. In awe, I wanted more of her. To see more of her. Yet we were suddenly interrupted by the thundering footsteps that seemed to be heading to my room. I quickly put on the clothes I had on the night before. Instructing her to stay hidden under the covers until the coast was clear.

"Just follow my lead, alright? Oh! Hey mom... We were just about to head down... I know I know... But we were talking and... we decided to start over again... I thought it was really sweet for her to get me in the morning... so I invited her to hang out with me during the summer... It's actually a good thing she was here cause I can't get outta bed even with an alarm... Right? Isn't she the sweetest? So responsible... So yeah... She's going to drop by every morning and wake me up... Mhm! Alright alright Mom... No need to get emotional... We're good now... Oh! Her? She was just feeling a little dizzy... I'm making her rest for a few before we head down... Yeah, I'll take care of her... Mhm mhm... Yeah... Okay! See you in few minutes... Hahahah... That was close... C'mon, get yourself cleaned up... I don't know about you but... I'm looking forward to tomorrow morning..."

And won't you look at that, this is starting to look like a very promising summer.

---------------------------------------------------------

With much love,

Honey

[fuck-customers]

☎️ IF YOU ARE CALLING A BANK, WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU ASSUME THAT YOU DON’T NEED YOUR CARD/ACCOUNT NUMBER PRESENT?? Not all banks can pull up your account with your phone number and even so, there’s still most likely a reason for you to have that information anyhow. It’s beyond aggrivating when I ask for a person’s card number and they go “…. *siiiiigh* ughhhhh let me go get iiiiit”. Like, don’t give me attitude and act like I’m inconvencing you when you know damn well you should’ve been a responsible adult and had that ready. And of course it’s hardly ever people in their 20’s-30’s that I run into that with. The age bracket almost always is people 40+. You’ve been doing this for years. You know this. Don’t act like this is a new thing banks are doing and just get off your lazy ass and have your shit ready without acting like a child.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[dynamoe]

part one | part two | part three | part four | → FIVE ← | index | AO3 | words: 5222

⚠️TW: alcohol, bullying, mental anguish, attempted intimacy, injury + blood

🗿 FROM DISTANT STAR TO THIS HERE BAR 🍹

“Why are we here?” Billy sulked, his voice raw and hoarse.

The distant sounds of vibes and conga drums punctuated by bird calls played on the house music. The dim room was lit only with gently glowing lamps made from taxidermied puffer fish and boat floats, each casting pools of colored light on dusty bamboo structures and overgrown ferns. Empty, and neglected, the faux island paradise had fallen on hard times. Only one or two patrons were feeling the call of the Pacific in a landlocked cinder block room with a dropped acoustic tile ceiling.

“It’s a rite of passage to get wicked fuckin’ drunk in public after heartbreak,” White reassured as he pulled a pineapple wedge from the rim of his glass, “It’s good for the soul.”

← back to 2021's Master Billy & Mr. White

“Why couldn’t we just get drunk at home?” Billy slumped on the bamboo-framed bar top, resting his head on his hands.

“The package store’s closed. All we had left was Bailey’s and margarita mix and I’m not making that mistake twice.”

Billy wiggled his extra-long straw in the Scorpion Bowl in front of him, a rum punch intended to be shared by a whole table served in a wide bowl surmounted by a ceramic volcano shooting blue sparks into the air, an element of risk to a room soaked in high proof rum and festooned with flammable raffia skirts.

“No one comes in here anymore but if some schmoe starts staring, just pretend you’re part of the decor. Act like an audio-animatronic pygmy.”

Billy raised a middle finger an inch from Pete’s face. “Fuck off. Why would I be a pygmy? Pygmies live in the Congo Basin of Sub-Saharan Africa.This place has a vaguely pan-Polynesian aesthetic.”

“Well, they say the Gods must be crazy!”

“That was a Kalahari bushman,” Billy muttered, “That’s 2500 miles away from the Congo. I know you’re literally the whitest guy alive but can you not lump all tropical-zone-dwelling people in one category?”

“Political Correctness gone mad!”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“No idea,” Pete admitted, “I heard it on cable news a couple times and it seems to make people who own flag bandanas really mad.”

“Ughhhhh. I just want to go home and go to bed,” Billy moaned, slumping even further onto the bar top, hard enough to stamp an impression of wickerwork onto his palms and cheek.

Pete launched his counter-argument to keep Billy where he could see him (and out of another marathon crying jag in the trailer’s shower), “C’mon, pally— all the drinks here taste like that Del Monte fruit salad from a can!” Pete swigged from a ceramic skull mug with a Carmen-Miranda's-worth of fruit garnishing where the crown would have been, “And take those stupid glasses off. I keep waiting for Mr. Peabody to burst in and shove you into the Wayback Machine.”

Billy took off the glasses Alison gave him, flung them onto the table.

“What I’m curious to see is, at the end of the night, you break down sobbing or get fighty,” Pete bit the maraschino cherry off the end of a tiny plastic sword.

“You're a terrible friend, White” Billy stated the obvious, “You're supposed to be making me feel better not insulting me to my face.”

“I called it on the first day you met this girl,” White said, “It always ends badly. That’s why you should never love anyone. You only get hurt.”

“That’s awful advice. Never? Just be alone forever?”

“No.You got me and you got the company! And science.”

“I can’t fuck science.”

“Not YET,” Pete said cryptically, his eyes lowered suggestively. Billy shuddered at the implication.

“It’s fine,” Billy tried to reassure himself as much as Pete, “I’m fine. We’re still friends. It’s fine.”

“Fully grown-up-type adult guys chasing after underage girls? You know who does that? Insecure assholes with small pricks,” Pete scowled, “Ted Nugent, Billy. Jailbait! Are you Ted Nugent?”

“I didn’t seek her out because she’s in high school,” Billy insisted, “I’m not, like, a chicken-hawk. Is that the word?”

“‘Chicken-hawk’ is for gay dudes who diddle little boys, Billy.”

“Well, I don’t know the term for what you’re accusing me of. Lechery?”

“Joey Buttafuoco? Jerry Lee Lewis? Gary Puckett & the Union Gap?” Pete broke into song, “Whoa, oh, oh, young gahll/Get awt of my maind/My love fah you is way outta line/ Bettah run, gahl…”

“It’s not even like that,” Billy cut him off, “She thinks I’m a kid. How can I be a predator when she thinks I’m a freshman following an upperclassman around, begging her to ask me to the Sadie Hawkins Dance or some bullshit.”

“You showed her your ID? Your real one, not the fake one we made to get discounts.”

“That’s what STARTED all this. I tried to rent Barry Lyndon and she said it was a fake ID. Now I’m an emotional wreck. This is all Kubrick’s fault.”

“Wang Dang Sweet Poontang, Billy!” Pete belted, “Just hook up with someone your own age, fer Pete’s sakes.”

“Ok. Sure. I’ll just pop over to MTV Spring Break and have my pick of the class of ‘95,” Billy said sarcastically, “I’ll probably never have a girlfriend. I’ll die a virgin.”

“Cheer up, pal. You never know. One day you might meet a perv with a specific set of overlapping kinks.”

“Great. I can be the pseudo-toyboy methadone to an ACTUAL pedophile who can’t get the genuine Black Tar child-sex,” Billy said grimly, disgusting himself as he said it.

Pete remained buoyant, “You could just hire an escort.”

“I don’t want that,” Billy snapped angrily.

“Fine. I’ll get you a cantaloupe and a greased garbage bag. You can have a three-way with the microwave.”

Billy blushed furiously red. Pete wasn’t supposed to know about that. He made sure Pete was out of town that weekend.

“It’s inevitable. I was always going to end up having to pay. Look at me. Toulouse-Lautrec was a rich, famous artist with a huge dong and he still had to pay for whores,” Billy sniffed, indignant, “...AND he was a foot taller than me.”

Pete called to the bartender, “Hey Tiny Bubbles, gimme another Bali Hai and something blue and on-fire for the kid,” He slammed a 50 dollar bill on the bar top.

“Where’d you get that money? Why do you have money?”

“I earned it in less than 60 minutes, if you can believe it,” Pete fanned out his takings from the day’s donations. A couple hundred at least.

Billy thought and then looked stricken.“Oh my God. White, are you a prostitute?”

“No! Christ! The radio show. The radio show I broadcast every night. Fans sent me money.”

“People who don’t know you are sending you $50 in the mail. Why?”

“My listeners send money to support my broadcast, same as the PBS pledge drive you send money to so you can watch dork shows like NOVA and a million hours of Ken Burns talking about baseball.”

“Oh, I liked Baseball,” Billy reminisced, momentarily distracted from his own problems, “I mean, I don’t like actual baseball— I mean the documentary called Baseball.”

“They actually don’t seem to listen for the songs; they listen because they like to hear me talk.”

“They all got some kind of Cliff Clavin fetish?”

“Watch it, Mushmouth.”

“The only difference between the way I talk and the way you talk is you have 15 million idiots clumped in the Mid-Atlantic enabling you,” Billy snarled, “So you have a ‘regional dialect’ but I have a ‘speech disorder.’”

“The sassy assassin assassinates sassily,” rattled off White easily.

“Schay a rhotic R, you Masschhole shithead,” Billy threatened, stabbing a finger in his face, “I fucking dare you.”

“I’m not even from Massachusetts, dipshit. Massaaachhhhuuettes…” White stretched out each of the esses to rub it in.

They glowered at each other and went back to their drinks in silence. The CD playing the house music started skipping noticeably. The bartender switched it out for a different album with less soothing atmosphere; some kind of Putamayo Greatest Hits that sounded like the entire Tower Records World Music Section shoved into a blender.

“A girl like that, she’s never going to understand you—” White pronounced like it was indisputable truth, “Understand us. What it’s like to be a—”

“A ‘freak,’ right?” Billy finished mockingly, “That’s classic cult leader psychological shit. Isolate and indoctrinate. It’s gaslighting, dude.”

“No, it’s the voice of experience, pally,” White said, “I’m saving you from the bullshit I had to live through but you didn’t wanna listen.”

Billy sighed with irritation, “I’m sorry a girl you liked made fun of you being pigmentally-challenged in college but that’s not representative of everyone in the entire world.”

White shook his head sagely, “I was exactly where you were. I was you, pally. Maybe a lot less smart but overall less genetically fucked… and I was a big fat sucker believing she actually liked me for me.”

“So if I fall for a girl with no arms you’d be OK with it?” Billy proposed, “When I start a long distance romance with Koo-Koo the Birdgirl, because she’s one-of-us one-of-us, we’re all good?”

Pete twirled the little paper umbrella that came with his drink, making a sour expression.

“Admit you’d find some other reason I shouldn’t be dating her,” Billy accused, “You don’t want me to date anyone!”

“I want you to avoid being put in this situation again and again because you wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s a rigged game, Billy! You’re never gonna win!”

“In the beginning of the conversation I’m taking advantage of HER because I’m a scumbag targeting a child but now you’re back to arguing she’s taking advantage of ME because I’m an unlovable freak and she’s normal?” Billy summarized Pete’s points. 

“Learn not to give a shit and you won’t end up hurt!” Pete shouted back, his personal philosophy in a nutshell.

“This was never about me. You’re objecting just to object because you’re terrified I’m going to go off to live my life instead of sticking around to be your fucking little sidekick.”

Pete knew he was spewing toxic bullshit but it’s how he got through life. He also knew Billy would never agree to it. Billy felt everything too much. He was either furious or ecstatic about everything, and switched between those on a dime. He was so squishy and vulnerable and big-hearted. No malice anywhere in him. 

“At least you can stop pretending to be this Alison girl’s friend,” Pete offered, “Since you got a hard ‘no’ there’s no point in sniffing around.”

“I wasn’t pretending. She was my friend. Is my friend,” Billy argued.

“Why bother?” Pete droned.

“Because I like spending time with her. I enjoy her company. I wasn’t just trying to manipulate her into having sex with me. That would be sociopathic.”

“Yeah right. No one can be friends with a girl. Even girls can’t be friends with girls,” Pete said snidely.

“I can and I will and I AM. I’m GOING to be a friend and I have no ulterior motives.

“It’s your funeral, fella.”

Billy jumped up from his stool and walked out, knocking over the dregs of his Scorpion Bowl. The Sterno flame in the volcano slid over the bar, setting two napkins and the edge of a woven palm mat ablaze. The bartender calmly approached with an extinguisher, sprayed down the area and Pete.

“Happens all the time,” the bartender shrugged.

“Yeah, I figured,” Pete said, wiping fire-retardant foam from his sleeve.

🍦DÉTENTE: The Good Humor Thaw🍦

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” Alison admitted, taking a bite of the ice cream sandwich.

Billy shrugged. He knew her well enough to read the subtle shades of difference between a frown of discomfort from her baseline resting neutral glower. He deduced by an almost imperceptible angle at the corner of her mouth she was feeling unsettled just being in proximity to him.

“We're friends,” Billy said casually, underlining the thesis of this entire conversation, “I said I’d be a friend and I meant it.”

They parked across from the Air Force Academy Chapel— neutral ground— and sat on the hood of the cooling Death Angel station wagon. The peace-offering with which they broke bread was a pair of freezer-burned ice cream sandwiches bought at a gas station.

“I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that I’m totally over it, but I’m not trying to trick you. Or guilt trip you,” Billy elaborated as the triangular planes of the Air Force Chapel caught the waning rays of the setting sun.

“Do you think when they designed this thing they meant it to look like the blade guard on hair-clippers?” Alison asked, “Because all Air Force cadets all have buzz cuts.”

“Casting 'God' as the universal barber?” Billy further hypothesized, turning his head to the stacked isosceles triangles of the chapel made of glass and aluminum, “There's been worse metaphors in religion.”

As dusk settled the modernist non-denominational house of any-and-all-supreme beings lit up in a gentle lavender wash, looking even more alien on the Academy campus.

“So, we're still gonna be friends?” Alison repeated, her head still turned to the chapel so Billy couldn't read her expression and her tone didn't give any clues to how she felt about it.

“I can’t make you like me if you don’t. That’s not your fault. So why sacrifice a friendship that’s working just because I can’t get everything I want.”

“That’s, like, unsettlingly mature of you,” Alison said in either sarcasm or awe or a little of both.

“I am a scientist and I approached it rationally.”

“It's my birthday tomorrow,” Alison said, still emotionally flat.

Billy was caught off guard. She'd never mentioned it before and this was one of those key data points friends needed to have on file for awkward commemoration, or so it seemed in sitcoms. He knew White's birthday was either in January or in June but he seemed to change it whenever he wanted Billy to pick up a check. His birthday had come and gone before he even met Alison so it wasn't relevant.

“Happy birthday,” Billy said weakly, “I should have put a candle in your ice cream sandwich.”

Alison shrugged him off, “I'm not doing anything to celebrate it now, but I still want to do that road trip for spring break.”

“But driving all the way to Graceland’s probably not in the cards, but I was looking up some weird stuff in Roadside America. There’s a dinosaur theme park owned by a cult about 5 hours north of here.

“Wow,” Billy said, overwhelmed. Her awkwardness dissipated by enthusiasm for crap yet again.

“And some atom bomb testing grounds on the way, plus we'd dive through the county with more alleged alien abductions per capita than anywhere else in the country. There's probably a sign or something for that to take photos of.”

“Sounds amazing. I'm in. Just tell me when.”

Alison smiled, he could see just the edge of her face illuminated by reflected light from the chapel, “Awesome. I'd hate to miss out doing something big and dumb on my last ever Spring Break.”

“Give me your list of sites and I'll plan a route on the Trip-Tik,” Billy offered, “I'm good at navigating.”

The colors of the Chapel's under-lighting shifted from lavender to blue to a greenish turquoise as they were talking. They finished their ice cream sandwiches and admired its planes, calm in having their status quo restored.

“There’s a comic book signing downtown on Thursday. Wanna go?”

“Comic books? Like superheroes?” Billy asked incredulously, “Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“No, no, no,” Alison reassured him, “They’re indie comics so it’s more about depression and hating things, not anything exciting actually happening.”

“Oh, is that good?”

“They're all Canadian for some reason, the comic book authors coming in to talk about their work and sign. I want to see if they're as ugly as they draw themselves in their comics.”

Billy sighed, “Sure. Sounds good”

He got a reset. Like he never even said that he jerked off to her in a bowling alley bathroom or cried for three hours in a shower after she turned him down. Memory-holed. Those things didn’t happen. Everything’s COOL. Cool cool cool. Right?

🎒THREE O'CLOCK HIGH/LOW 🎒

She told him to meet her at her school at four and they’d drive to the book signing from there. He took the bus after his shift at the library. He arrived early but didn’t think he should just walk in. He hung back outside the school grounds on the other side of a chain-link fence. He found a bus stop bench to wait on that had an ad for her mother Twinkle’s Real Estate business printed on it, her hungry-looking grimace demanding all bus patrons sell their homes and win their future through her machinations.

Boring suburban high schools in boring suburbs. Half-formed teenagers milling around in twos and threes towards their cars or the bus after the bell went. Billy graduated ten years ago but high schools still smelled the same— of cafeteria pizza, BO, and industrial cleaning products. There were small differences of course. His high school was private and everybody wore a uniform. Back then there was more Mr. Mister and Lionel Richie coming out of car stereos, but otherwise it felt the same.

He spotted Alison come out the main building doors way across the parking lot. He leapt onto the bench and waved but she kept looking down, hunched over with books in her arms. A “don’t fuck with me” scowl on her face so angry he could see it from fifty feet away. She looked like a different person and completely miserable. Billy decided to risk it and go closer to the school to catch her attention.

He never felt that five year age gap between them more vividly when they were hanging out and she started going off on how “everyone hated her” at school, complaining about how everyone was “a total bitch.” 

Alison didn’t really have any other friends or seem to want any. The complaints were so repetitive and so short-sighted. Everyone always thinks they’re “hated” in high school but it’s inside their heads. Every kid is self-obsessed; they don’t have the energy to hate anyone else, Billy concluded looking back on his own time served.

“Alischon!” Billy shouted trying to penetrate the cloud of loathing and get her attention. She was standing at a bank of lockers, putting books in and taking books out. A passing student accidentally-on-purpose smacked their hand into the open locker door, slamming it on her head. 

“I’m here! I made it,” Billy announced, running up to her.

Alison seemed startled, “Billy!”

“You told me to meet you at your car, but I was a little early. I saw you from up there,” Billy pointed to the bus bench.

Alison scowled and then closed her eyes hard like she was having a migraine.

“I should have waited.“ Billy realized what was going on. His enthusiasm flagged, “You’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Alison let out a breath, trying to bridge her in-school and out-of-school modes, “Of course not, chowderhead,” she threw all the books in the locker and closed it.

She squatted to meet him at eye-level and said in a low mumble, “I don’t like who I am when I’m here. I didn’t want you to see it.”

He didn’t entirely buy it, but observed she did seem uncharacteristically tense. She hugged him and Billy could feel a tremor in her arms. Someone running down the hall threw a bag of wet garbage at her, catching Billy on the side of the head.

“I fucking hate this place,” Alison stated, pushing a banana peel off of Billy’s ear.

“Is it Bring Your Little Brother To School Day?” mocked a thick-necked teenager wearing a baseball cap and a Big Johnson t-shirt, “Gonna show him the ropes of being a LOOOOOSER.” Three other guys leaning on his Jeep behind him hooted and laughed.

Billy tried to look away. He was causing problems. Ignore them. Just walk towards the car.

Another kid in a CO-ED NAKED LACROSSE t-shirt blocked Billy’s path and picked him up, dangling him by the arm.“He don’t look like a zipperhead. Your dad sleepin’ around on your mama, Kahan?”

“Beat him like a red-headed stepchild!” heckled another in the background.

“Leave him alone!” Alison shouted. She looked like a wild animal.

The bullies got the reaction they wanted. He dangled Billy above her grasp, “Aw, I’m not going to hurt your widdle baby brother. He’d rather be with me instead of a stank-pussy garbage witch like you.”

“Surely there’s a better way to resolve this,” Billy offered weakly from mid-air, feeling his shoulder get more dislocated by the minute.

“Put him DOWN.” Alison roared, the monotone and the ironic distance gone, “MOTHERFUCKERS! I’LL KILL YOU.”

“Man, what a face. Looking like shit runs in the family. I’ll put a bag on his head while I’m fucking him up the ass.” His posse howled with laughter.

Alison wanted to rip his throat out with her teeth. Dig out his eyes with her fingernails. Leap up and kick his head clean off his body. But she couldn’t do any of that in real life. She could just look at the ground and shake with fury. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”

The bullies looked at each other. Was that it? Boring. 

She just stood and looked at the ground muttering, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

The one holding Billy threw him on the pavement and the pack walked off, sniggering to themselves.

Billy ran to her, still hunched over looking down. The pain in his shoulder was killing him but he was worried about her, “Alischon…”

She felt so angry and so wronged it just came out. To get the last word and school them into shame.

She stood up and whipped around suddenly to the departing mob and shouted “He’s not my brother he’s my BOYFRIEND, YOU ASSHOLES!”

Billy lit up, “Really?”

This wasn’t the “Eddie Murphy shutting down a heckler at the taping of Delirious” material she needed to make this mic-drop moment work. If anything, it was exactly the opposite.

“Kahan’s a pedo!” the teenager in the Big Johnson shirt roared, laughing.

“Kahan’s fucking her brother!” another meathead yelled.

“IN-CEST! IN-CEST! IN-CEST!” The whole group chanted as they walked in silence the rest of the way to the car. 

Alison slipped behind the wheel and collapsed into the seat, a thousand yard stare and then let out a muffled scream with her fist crammed in her mouth.

Billy wanted to help but didn’t know what to do, “I’m sorry I made it worse.”

She pulled her asthma inhaler from her pocket, shook it violently and took a long hit. Her eyes still looked feral, switching between panic and rage

“You didn’t. If you weren’t here they’d be yelling at me about something else. Calling me a lezbo or a Satanist or… chanting some other two-syllable word,” she muttered through gritted teeth, “Every damn day. Four years of this.”

“Can’t you complain to a teacher?”

“No one cares,” She stuck the key in the ignition and the Angel of Death Wagon rumbled to noisy life, “Fuck this place. Let’s just go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

💋 WILLIAM, IT WAS REALLY NOTHING 🚑

They drove in silence for a while. Going to a book signing seemed strange after what happened. 

Billy cleared his throat, “What you said, um, am I really your boyfriend?”

“I dunno. Sorta?”

“Not an answer.”

She looked at the road, avoiding meeting his glance as Billy’s one eye bored into her.

“Am I?”

“When those assholes picked on you I suddenly thought what if you really got hurt. If they put you in the hospital or, like, KILLED you—”

“School bullies don’t commit murder in cold-blood, Alischon,” Billy quipped lightly, “In a public places. With witnesses.”

Alison looked down at him, tears welling in the corner of her eyes, “I fuckin’ lost it. I had to say something. You got killed because you were with me. It’s my fault.”

“I wasn’t killed. I’m still alive!”

“It’s not fair to you. I’m a fucking mess of person with a dog-shit life and no one deserves to be sucked into to that. I can’t do that to a boy with their whole life ahead of them. A kid can’t handle that.”

“I’m not a FUCKING kid,” Billy shouted, “I’m not a kid! You know that but you won’t admit it.”

“I’m a bad person and I’m bad at this,” Alison struggled for words. The anger was receding the further they got from school but she still felt frantic, “I can’t do ‘sincerity’ or ‘emotions.’ I don’t feel what other people feel. I’m broken.“

“Just pull over. We need to talk about this.”

“I need a friend. I need you to be that for me. If you were gone, I’ll probably kill myself before graduation.”

“Alischon, GODDAMNIT, pull over!”

She approached a scenic overlook spot on the side of the highway with room enough to park. She swerved the Death Boat into one of the slots and the car idled noisily. 

“So if I say ‘yeah’ and it all falls apart— and it always does— then I’ve lost the only person in the world who doesn’t want to force me to eat shit —LITERALLY EAT SHIT— every day of my life. Some dumbass ‘hurt feelings’ argument and all of a sudden we hate each other forever…” 

She ran out of ways to look away and had to face him, the panic was all over her face, “You matter to me too much to risk it. I can’t survive this alone.”

He had started to see what was going on behind all the defense mechanisms and why she was how she was, “I’m not going to abandon you.”

“You will. Eventually everyone does,” Alison stated emotionlessly, “But I need you to hold on until graduation. Until I can escape.”

“But… maybe… I need you, too,” Billy said. She looked up, confused. She hadn’t considered anything from his side. “I’m not a hero flying in to save you from your life. I’m just some guy,” Billy demurred, 

“Why the fuck would you want to be with me?”

“You look me in the eye when you talk to me. You treat me like a person you’re happy to see and want to have around. You’re as mean and insulting to me as you would be to anyone else.” 

“That’s kind of a low bar, isn’t it?” Alison asked.

“Low bars seem pretty high to me,” Billy shrugged.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have any money because you’re a classic mark for a gold digger.”

“If a gold digger made me feel like you make me feel, I’d give them every penny I had and it would be worth it.”

Alison smiled despite her wet eyes and her panic jitters.

“It’s not a rescue mission,” Billy reassured her, “It’s mutually-assured destruction.”

A long pause. The car sputtered. 

Billy threw caution to the wind. “Fuck it.” He leaned over to the driver’s seat, put his hands on the sides of her face and slammed his mouth onto hers in an intensely-felt, terribly-executed kiss. 

The impact of his forehead slamming into her made a hard crack that resonated like a bat hitting a home run at the bottom of a cistern.

He attacked her mouth like a horse eating an apple. She attempted to kiss him back, less forcefully, but was overpowered. He sucked on her lip like he was siphoning from a gas tank using a hose with a knot in it. Her hand searched blindly for her asthma inhaler. Then he tasted iron.

As she pulled away he noticed the smear of blood below her mouth. It was still trickling in a stream out of an open tear in her skin. “I think you split my lip.”

“Oh God. OH GOD. I’m so sorry,” Billy looked horrified, “Are you OK?”

“It’ll stop soon,” she found some paper napkins stuffed in a cup holder, dabbed at her bloody lower lip. Then her finger felt the point of impact on her forehead starting to swell into a goose egg.

“Good enthusiasm, needs to be directed better,” she tried to reassure him with a smile but stopped in pain “Ow. I think I just tore it more.”

They were just a few minutes away and she seemed lucid enough to drive, so they made it to the trailer. 

Billy burst through the front door startling Pete washing a dish. She followed meekly after, a little wobbly from blood loss.

“Sit there,” Billy ordered her onto the couch, all business, and scrambled with purpose back to his room.

Pete looked over. Alison had dried blood all over her mouth and shirt and a spreading, fist-sized bruise between her eyes, like a bindi that exploded.

Pete just stared at her. “What the hell happened to you? Did Billy do THAT?”

“I-It’s my own fault,” Alison emoted skittishly, “He demands his dinner on the table as soon as he’s home from the office and he works so hard at the Patriarchy Factory. It’s his duty as husband to slap his wife around as discipline—”

“BILLY, WHAT DID YOU DO?” Pete shouted at the back room.

Billy returned with a first aid kit and a flashlight. He gave Alison some gauze for her lip.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Billy asked, opening his textbook to the chapter on diagnosing head trauma.

“Carbon Monoxide leak in the building. They sent us home early.”

“Follow my finger,” Billy told Alison, moving his index finger in a line and watching her pupils.

“Can you drive her car?” Billy said to White under his breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

Pete glanced doubtfully at the smoking clunker outside, “Do I want to?”

“We should take her to the hospital to get her checked.”

“Jesus, Billy. What happened?”

“I accidentally head-butted her. I can see a hematoma on the surface, but I need an x-ray to see if I did any real damage.” 

“You gotta register this thing as a deadly weapon,” Pete tapped his forehead, “There’s blood all over her mouth. Your head didn’t do that.”

“I kissed her,” Billy said flatly.

“You kissed her.”

Billy looked up and nodded.

“The ER’s gonna have to put that on the admission form as cause of injury, y’know.”

Against all medical ethics, Billy felt secretly proud to have official, legal documentation of what the best thing that ever happened to him (and what he assumed must have been a personal low-point for her). 

They sat together for three hours waiting at the ER to get checked. He stayed by her side, holding her hand. She was fine. Just surface injuries. The bruise lingered on her face for more than a week, a visual reminder the first time kissed a girl and she kissed him back.

“Happy Birthday, Alischon."

part one | part two | part three | part four | → part five ← | index save your eyes, read on archive of our own

Chapter title is a reference to After School Specials and Welcome to the Dollhouse's Special People's Club.

"Package store" or "Packie" is New Englandish for liquor store.

The Air Force Academy Chapel does look like the end of hair clippers, right?

These chapters seem to get longer and longer. The word counts of each installment seems to grow like bacteria, eventually they will blot out the sun and kill all life on this planet.

Part 1 - 3389 words

Part 2 - 5012 words

Part 3 - 1878 words

Part 4 - 7503 words

In its fifth installment, Tomorrow's Just Another Day (23,145 words) is now almost as long as Boy Genius is at nine (24,812 words)

Brevity is not my strong suit.

(more notes as I think of them)

← back to 2021's Billy & White

[breezymichelle99]

2AM | Pierre Luc Dubois

Summary: You fight with Pierre Luc before a game. There had been too much stress with playoffs lately that he doesn’t realize he’s being an ass. but he finds a way to make it up to you. 

Warnings: angst, cursing, couple fighting, Relationship struggles, Crying, I'm sorrys, Female recieveing, sort of Hand Job, domish PLD, dirty talk, Threat of Orgasm Denial, Sweet PLD, (not really a warning lol.) 

You and Pierre Luc had been together for 2 ½ years. You'd been with him through his struggles with Columbus and through being traded to Winnipeg. You'd follow him anywhere. And he had never been more grateful to have you by his side through it all. But with the Jets making it into the Stanley Cup Playoffs the pressure had never been greater for the team or for Pierre. 

And your relationship was beginning to feel the stress of the season. Pierre had been extremely short with you lately and you were beginning to lose your patients with him. He was leaving for the arena, and usually you'd be drooling all over his pregame look but the two of you had been fighting all morning and you weren't In the mood to find him even remotely attractive right now.

But no matter how upset you were with him you still wanted to tell him you loved him and to have a good game, so you swallowed your pride and did so. He looked at you with sad eyes. Surprised by your words. "I love you Pierre Luc, please have a good game." You whisper. He kissed your forehead but said nothing in return, leaving you in silence. 

"Ughhhhh why was he so god damn frustrating." You slammed your fist onto the counter. You hated fighting with him because you were both so stubborn that it took forever for either one to give up and apologize and usually it was you because you couldn't stand it. You went to the bedroom to change before heading to the arena, to show your support for your boyfriend regardless of how mad you were at him. You threw on your "13 Dubois" jersey with black Jeans and cute booties, grabbed your bag, and headed out.

You got to the rink and walked down towards the ice hoping that getting around his teammates would have changed his attitude but it didn't. LB, the Jets goalie skated over towards you and began chatting with you. You thought nothing of it as you laughed at his jokes, touching his arm gently as he told you something Hilarious that Pierre had said to him earlier that day.. You stop laughing when you see the death glare you were getting from Pierre. A whistle blew in the distance, LB said goodbye, you shouted have a good game and then you were greeted by one angry PLD. “What the Fuck was that?” he shouts at you making a scene. “What was what? I was talking to YOUR teammate about YOU!!!!.” you shout back. “It’s not like I was making out with him or something like Jesus Christ, maybe if you wouldn’t have slammed the door in my face when you left tonight, and talked to me like an adult , then I wouldn’t have to talk to someone else.” you yell..eyes from around the arena gravitating towards you two. “So now this is my fault?...” you interrupt him, “You are acting like I was standing out there on the ice kissing him, YOU are my boyfriend Pierre, even if you are acting like a jackass right now you still are the love of my life. I'm not going to sit here and have you talk to me like this, I'll be at home when you decide you wanna grow up.” you shout at him once more as you head out of the arena. 

“Babe.” you hear him call to you but you just keep making your way out of the arena before you cause an even bigger scene. “Dubois.” you hear the coach yell at him, you look back to see him watching you leave the arena. You get back to your car and you sit there behind the steering wheel for a few minutes trying to catch your breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You loved that man, so fucking much. Like if you didn’t you wouldn’t have uprooted your life in Columbus to follow him here. You understood there would be difficult times, and things wouldn’t always be fun but it seems like lately you hated each other more than you loved each other and that wasn’t something you were proud of. 

You got home and you threw your purse onto the counter, stomping up stairs to remove your shoes and jeans. Crawling into bed at 7pm because you were just sad and upset and you didn’t want to be in this stupid fight with Pierre anymore. As you laid there in bed in his jersey you thought about how you two never use to fight, ever…how you always use to communicate with each other, and when you didn’t agree you worked it out, it just seemed lately that everything was a fight and you knew it was because of the high pressure of the season but you HATED it! 

You pulled Pierre’s pillow from his side of the bed into your chest, quietly sobbing. How did you get here, alone in bed crying instead of cheering wildly at the playoff game. You fell asleep in tears not even bothering to turn on the game or care if they won or lost because at this point Jets Hockey was ruining your relationship and you were not a fan. 

Pierre played like crap. He hated when you were mad at him, and maybe you were right if he stopped acting like an asshole and like everything was always your fault, Maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in this position; down by a goal and you nowhere to be found. You were the best girl he had ever known; you always rolled with the punches and you never ever gave up on him, and you loved him; always. You followed him to Winnipeg without question, took care of him when he got injured right after being traded, had his back when no one else did but for some reason he continued to feel the need to push you away when things got stressful for him. He knew he fucked up today, he knew it deep down in his soul and he also knew he deserved to play like shit tonight even if it was costing his team. 

The buzzer sounded at the end of the 3rd period; the Jets losing. Pierre slammed his fist against the wall as he skated off the ice into the tunnel.  He headed in but did not change. The rest of his teammates headed for home and he headed back onto the ice. He needed to clear his head before he went home. It was almost 1am before someone from the arena staff came out and told him he needed to go home. He hadn’t realized the time. “I'm sorry.” he says, grabbing his gear and heading back into the locker room. He took a quick shower, and turned out the locker room lights as he headed for home. He tried to call you but there was no answer. If you were mad at him before you were probably really mad at him now, thinking he wasn’t coming home. 

When he got home all the lights were off and you were nowhere to be found. He saw your purse thrown on the counter and knew you must be here somewhere. He left his bag by the door along with his shoes. He hung his suit coat on the back of the chair and he headed up to the bedroom, where he found you sound asleep in his jersey. The Dim light from the tv glowing in the background. He smiled. He turned off the tv and climbed into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tight and kissing slowly on your neck. He hears you begin to wake up. “I'm mad at you.” you groan quietly. You hear him chuckle as you finally open your eyes to look at him. 

You look over at the clock on the bedside table. 2AM. “Did you just get home?” you ask him as you rollover in his arms looking into his gorgeous eyes. He smiles half heartedly. “Yeah, I worked out after the game. I needed to clear my head.” he says with a loud sigh. There was a long silence before he began to speak again. “I'm sorry.” he admits. His long fingers tracing over your cheek. You melt into his touch. 

He notices that you’ve been crying. Fucking idiot. He thinks to himself. “Pierre…” you pause because he stops you with a long passionate kiss, slowly he pulls his lips from yours as he begins to speak again. “I'm sorry.” he repeats. “I was a complete asshole, not just at the arena but this morning too. I've been under a lot of stress lately with playoffs and not producing as much for the team as I should be and I took everything out on you and I fucked up. You are my world, babe. Literally. I love you so fucking much and you deserve a better boyfriend then you’ve been getting lately and I promise to get my shit together. I fucking swear because I can’t lose you.” his eyes are staring at you so lovingly and so sadly that you felt bad for leaving him at the arena tonight. 

“You will never lose me baby.” you whisper, running your hand over his cheek as he looks down at you.. “I know it’s been tough lately, I know you’ve been struggling but you can NOT shut me out! I love you, Pierre alright, no matter what.. Even when you're acting like an ass, which by the way you should apologize to LB he was just being nice to me.” you say with a smile. “I don’t want you to have to go through these things alone okay, just talk to me I've got your back, always. I’m sorry for yelling at you and I'm sorry that I make it tough for you to love me sometimes because I'm so stubborn, but I really just want what’s best for you..” your words trail off with a moan as Pierre’s kissing you again shutting you up. 

You feel his warm hands under your jersey attempting to pull it over your head but gives up momentarily to try another tactic. “Pierre.” you whisper quietly. “Come on babe, you can’t stay mad at me forever.” he whispers onto your skin as he slowly begins kissing down your thigh now. “Mmm, I can try.” you groan as you feel his long fingers hook under the elastic of your panties pulling them down and tossing them to the floor beside the bed. He is looking up at you from between your thighs now. “We’ll see about that.” he smirks as he licks his lips. 

He knew there was one sure fire way to get you to forgive him. Your hands fell into his curls as he licked a long strip from your clit to your entrance. “Ohhhh Piereeeeee.” you moan loudly pulling his curls between your fingers. You feel him smirk against you as his tongue continues to work. “Fuck baby, your so wet for me already.” he couldn’t help but smile knowing alll too well you couldn’t resist him. You moan his name once again as his thumb begins slowly stroking slow even circles over your clit. “Fuck Babe.” you call arching your hips into him. “GOD Pierre I'm…” without another word he’d make you cum.”Fuck you taste so good.” he moans savoring the taste of you on his tongue.  “Lean up.” he demands seconds later. You do as you're told. He practically rips his jersey off of your body, tossing it to the floor. His lips kissing up your body till he reaches your lips, your taste yourself and moan into his mouth.your hands grip his shoulders as you feel him on your thigh. You reach between your bodies. He groans loudly against your neck. 

“Mmm you want to be inside me don’t you baby.” you moan in his ear as you palm him between your bodies. “Yes, please baby, please.” he begs and you smile as your hand continues to work him. His head drops into the crook of your neck as he moans biting your collarbone. “Fuck please baby.” you smirk listening to him beg for you now. You bite his neck, sucking a deep purple bruise into his skin that you knew would get you in trouble in the morning. 

You wondered how long he’d let you make him beg before he’d had enough; turns out he wasn’t a very patient man. He grabbed wrist roughly, shoving it above your head. “Enough teasing.” he growls. Your eyes light up. “Or what?” you challenge him. There was silence for a minute as he thought about what your punishment would be for being such an insubordinate little brat… “baby girl if you don’t learn to behave I’ll have you right on the edge so many times with no sense of release you’ll be begging me to let you cum.” His voice was deep and dark and raspy and almost made you cum like a command. 

You swallowed hard. “I'm sorry.” you whimper. “What did you say?” he asks, eyes boring holes into your body, with how intense they were looking at you. “I'm sorry, sir.” you repeat your answer with a smirk. “That’s what I thought.” he says with a cocky grin that had you almost begging for him now. His long fingers teased your nipples as he paid you back for teasing him. “Mmm Baby.” you moan. “I want you Pierre.” you beg for him. “Say it again.” his voice is a growl on your skin. “I want you inside me, Pierre please.” you beg him again. He’s getting everything he wants as he listens to your words again and again as you repeat them.   

“As you wish baby.” he groans as you feel him deep inside of you in a second. “Fuckk.” you cry out as your hips collide with his rough and sloppy, both needy for each other. Your nails are digging deeper into his shoulder blades with every thrust. You wrap your legs around him pushing him deeper into you making you both moan out loud into the darkness of your bedroom. “I love how my cock feels so deep inside of you, how you take every inch of me so fucking well.” His words are dirty and sexy and for a moment you almost don’t recognize this Pierre but something about this commanding side of him, demanding every single inch of you had you falling even more in love with him.  

“Fuck Pierre, cum inside me please.” your words barely make it out of your mouth as you find yourself tightening around him. “Fuck baby, cum for me, cum all over my cock.” he growls fucking you harder into the mattress, the rythm of his hips was erratic and careless and despreate for you to cum. You toss your head back into the pillow as you scream his name as he fills you up. “Fuck baby.” he moans his head tossing back as his rythm slows and practically stills inside of you. Bodies hot and sweaty, breathing erratic and uneven. He lays there a few minutes savoring how he feels inside of you before he pulls out of you. You whine. He can’t help but smile. 

He leans down to kiss your forehead as you lay naked and satisfied in his bed. “I love you and I’m so sorry.” he says. You feel the bed move as he leaves it, returning a few minutes later with a towel to clean you up. You kiss him slowly as you get up, placing the towel in the hamper as you walk to the bathroom. You notice a set of your own deep purple hickeys on your neck and chest. Your fingers trace them gently. You clean up a bit more and slide on one of Pierre’s Winnipeg Jets T-shirts before returning to bed with him. You crawl into his arms, head on his chest. 

“I hate fighting with you.” you say looking up into his gorgeous eyes. He smiles. “Me too baby I really do. It sucks but it’s because we’re both so damn stubborn.” he chuckles. You knew he was right. You smile.   “True.” you sigh. “I know that things are stressful right now, and the last thing I want to do is add more stress.” you say, leaving soft kisses on his chest, his fingers running through your tangled hair. “I know babe. I need to learn to stop shutting you out and just talk to you about shit going on instead of just taking it out on you.” he pauses because he sees you smiling. “I mean you taking it out on me isn’t all bad.” you smirk. He leans down and captures your lips with his, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. 

He stops kissing you. “I love you Pierre Luc Dubois. I hope you never ever forget that.” you whisper as you try not to yawn. It is well after 2 am now and the two of you have another busy day tomorrow. “I love you more my love, forever and always.” he whispers, leaving soft kisses in your hair. “Forever and always.” you quietly repeat as you fall asleep on his chest. He pulls you into his arms tighter, snuggling his body in with yours as he too would fall asleep. The future in Winnipeg looking very bright for you both. 

The end.

[xhanisai]

For your Kiss Au, how do Glaciator, Befana, Kung Food, Puppeteer, and Bubbler go? Honestly I really want Bubbler

Oh wow that’s quite a list :’DDDD Let’s stick with one at a time Puppeteer 2.0 BUBBLER! (I rewatched the episode to refresh my memory) 

The episode starts off with Marinette, Nino and Alya spamming Adrien with birthday wishes on his phone. Marinette’s messages have lots of hearts and jokes in them, making Adrien’s heart melt. He still doesn’t accept the smelly camembert from Plagg. 

Marinette does the make the scarf for him as well as some passion fruit macarons, a recipe she perfected all night just for him. She has some doubts however, wondering if these gifts are too much or too little and if she’ll ruin the team dynamic or scare him- cue an overthinking Marinette and an Alya trying to calm her down.

Everytime she tries to give the gift, Marinette dumbly chickens out and avoids Adrien, much to his dismay. He was already upset that his father didn’t even see him or even acknowledge him, also refusing his request for a party so seeing Marinette run off every time he’s nearby really crushed him. He wondered if he was doing anything wrong, reaching far-fetched conclusions. 

“Plagg! What if she moves away to London or Hawaii so that she never has to see my face again?? Then I’ll be alone forever, Le Papillon will take over Paris, Chloe will be insufferable and I’ll be ALONE FOREVER!”

“You said that twice,”

“I’M DESTINED TO MARRY LONELINESS!” 

Luckily, Nino was quick to console the brooding blonde, telling him that maybe Marinette is up to something. Something for Adrien’s birthday. Adrien smiles at this, having some hope.

Things go similarly to canon; Nino tries convincing Adrien’s father for a party but gets rejected and called a bad influence, banned from entering the residence. (Gabriel is very cold in the beginning of the AU but slowly warms up). Nino gets akumatised the next moment. 

When Le Bubbleur shows his presence along with the classmates, Adrien debates on whether to call Marinette for the transformation or to listen to Plagg and enjoy what’s possibly the only party he’d ever get.

He makes the rash decision in going for the party, still misunderstood by Marinette’s avoidance today. Poor Marinette on the other hand was running through Paris like a mad woman, following the bubble trail with Adrien’s present in hand. 

As soon as Chloe’s request for a slow dance gets granted, Adrien immediately yeets himself away, out of the party with a big “NOPE!”, calling Marinette ASAP to alert her of the akuma’s location. He was hidden outside the house where there’s no cameras. 

“So what made you think it’s a good idea to tell me this half an hour after he came to your house whilst I was scouring the other side of Paris like a headless chicken?” Her deadpanned tone sent a figurative arrow through Adrien’s body, sagging with so much guilt. How could he have let his selfishness get to him?

“I know, I’m sorry. I messed up- I just thought that I’d enjoy it whilst it lasts because it’ll never happen again. Ughhhhh...I’m such a spoilt brat...” The model was now hitting his head against the wall, hoping it’d knock some sense into him. “And you were acting all jumpy today, running away from me. I thought I did something to offend you or you hated me-”

“I could never hate you! Minou! It’s impossible to hate you.” Marinette’s voice turned soft and Adrien could tell that she was furrowing her eyebrows right now right this second. “I’m so sorry I made you think that. I was planning something in all honesty but kept on chickening out...”

“Oh? Don’t apologise, M’Lady. You know how I can get dramatic sometimes. And what are you planning? Something special for me?”

“Well~ considering how you partied with your akumatised best friend instead of calling me right away, I think you can make do without the special macarons I made.”

“NO! MARINETTE! YOU CANNOT TREAT YOUR ELDERS LIKE THAT! Talk about disrespectful...”

“Looks like Tikki is in for a treat tonight, isn’t that right?” The high pitched giggle from the red kwami was like torture to the boy.

“I’d do anything for your forgiveness, please, ANYTHING. Just don’t give my macarons to Tikki, my sweet, dear, amazing, wonderful, princess, knightress in shining spandex!” Plagg was close to gagging at his charge’s theatrics. Why is he always stuck with the sappy ones?

“Hahahah! Alright then, I just need you to turn around,”

“Turn around? Why-”

Suddenly, a soft, familiar pair of lips crashed into his whilst the small body collided into his. Arms wrapped around his neck romantically that Adrien couldn’t help but swoon internally. He was quick to respond, clasping his arms around Marinette’s waist and tilt his head slightly to deepen the kiss, ignorant to their bodies transforming into their heroic gears. 

Supple cotton was replaced with a silky yet cool material. Gelled up blonde locks was replaced with fluffy, untamed hair. The feel of their lips against each others transformed into an indescribable feeling that only comes along when they’re their vigilant personas. 

Ladybug was the first to pull, eyes still fluttered closed and lips pursed. Her gloss was smudged, leaving a residue on his lips and the boy couldn’t help but smirk victoriously. 

“Happy Birthday, Adrien,” She breathed out. This broke whatever sense Chat’s mind had because before they knew it, his legs turned to jelly, making him melt into Ladybug’s arms. Literally. 

“Best. Birthday. EVER.” Chat purred out dreamily, causing his lover to laugh heartily and set him back on his feet. Then, he saw the wrapped up present that Marinette placed on the side along with a box with the patisserie logo on it. Ladybug turned to see where he was staring, only to blush and look away, putting two pointer fingers together.

“T-T-There’s more stuff to give you but we really need to get to the akuma. Otherwise all the adults in Paris will be floating in space.” The words spilled out of her mouth faster than she could process, anxious once again. 

The anxiety was melted away by the touch of his gloved hand resting on her cheek, making Ladybug look back at him. A beautiful, loving smile was resting on his lips, eyelids lowered with fondness as his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. 

Chat Noir brought their lips together once more, not deterred by Ladybug’s surprised squeak. This kiss was much shorter than the first one but it carried a sweetness that could rival the macarons in its box. Chat let his hand caress her cheek once more before pulling away. His warm gaze never leaving his face whilst Ladybug felt her heart skip many beats. Their love grew for each other even more.

“Thank you, Marinette,” 

So! They easily defeat Le Bubbleur, their trust in each other having grown, impacted towards their dynamics. Their moves were much more fluid and their gestures were easier to read. 

After the battle, before everyone could go home, Gabriel steps out. His face was stern and Nathalie wore a matching one. Everyone held their breaths but Adrien simply kept an arm in front of both Nino and Marinette. Much to his surprise, Gabriel’s lips turned into a small smile, handing a present into Adrien’s hands. He wishes his son happy birthday, apologises to Nino for overreacting and clears Adrien’s schedule for the rest of the day so that he can party or have fun with his friends. 

Giddy and delighted, Adrien embraces his father, tears of happiness running down his cheeks as he repeated “Thank you Father”. Everyone melts at this scene and even Gabriel embraces him back. The gift turned out to be a hand sewn cardigan “The amount of cat related jackets you own is appalling,”. 

Adrien makes the most of this, introducing his father to his friends properly whilst everyone else mingles in the party. When Gabriel saw the happiness on Adrien’s face when he opened Marinette’s gifts, he knew that that’s his future daughter-in-law. Operation Adrinette commenced. He made Nathalie write that down. 

Being a weeb at heart, Adrien wraps the scarf around both his neck and Marinette’s, their hands clasped and cheeks flushed. Everyone took pictures of them like that. Adrien has one framed in his room. 

 T H E  E N D

I’m so sorry I went overboard ahahahah! I just couldn’t help myself lol. Hope you enjoy~!

[staliasjeronica]

Riverdale S4 Ep10 Thoughts *Spoilers*

- Spirit Week is always one of the best weeks of school. It was always so fun because people would actually dress up in whatever the theme was for the day and as someone who wasn’t popular, it made me feel like I belonged, even if for a day 🥺🥺 Also, i’m still wondering how convenient it is that Stonewall, a rich private school, is into football and not, like, tennis or some boring shit (sorry to anyone to plays tennis lol I just don’t like sports and it was the first sport that came to mind)

- “Ace reporter Betty Cooper” mmhmkay… Jughead it’s cute that you’re hyping her up but if you call butting into everyone’s business with no regard for people’s personal space or feelings, then sure, she’s an ace reporter.

- Don’t EVER not go to a college because of your significant other. If Jughead doesn’t go because of Betty……...

- VEGGIE IS SPEAKING?! Also patenting takes years so Hiram shouldn’t be able to have patented it, but um anyways I’ll let it slip because the writers ****

- CHONI BEING THE CUTEST COUPLE AS ALWAYS AND ALL THEY’RE DOING IS HOLIND HANDS UGHHHHH 

- Barchie content YESSSS!! THEY REMEMBERED THAT THEY’RE BEST FRIENDS!!!

- AND Beggie content??? 👀👀👀 God imagine the flavor

- Suddenly Monroe and Reggie are besties umm yess?? We love that growth since last time we saw them Reggie was jealous of Monroe and now they’re a three man squad

- Wait Frank is… living at the center?? AND HAS BEEN FOR WEEKS AND MARY DOESN’T KNOW??? Jesus Christ… 

- Betty… isn’t trying to keep Jughead back? The ooc is doing right… LET JUGHEAD GO TO YALE!!

- Can we not have adults coming at teenagers like??? What is Ras’s obsession with it?? It’s boring, give them something else to do

- It’s so sad how Bret and Betty have more chemistry than Betty and Jughead… maybe it’s because Bret isn’t going to be her step brother <3

- Can Veronica, a teenager, not be selling alcohol??? Can we stop this pLEASE… give my baby better plots!!! she deserves it!! let cami show off her talent

- BRET GIVING JUGHEAD A LAPTOP AND THAT CUTE SMIRK………. STOP SETTING ME UP FOR FAILURE I KNOW HE’S THE BAD GUY AND THAT JUGHEAD IS ONLY ALLOWED TO BE WITH HIS STEP SISTER BUT PLEASEEE

- I know the Vixen’s are Cheryl’s but why is she so adamant to lead them? I just want normal Cheryl and cute, healthy Choni please like it’s NOT that hard to write good, interesting plots….. and have characters grow… We are sick of adults being in weird, unrealistic rivalries with teenagers!!!!

- IS THAT THE GUY FROM CAOS?! Whoever, though,,, he cuteee 👀

- I just realized that Jughead was so disgusted at the idea of a cult (farm and g&g when it was mixed in the beginning) but is now in a cult. Oh, sorry… “secret society” 

- DONNA :((( BABYYYYYYYYY!!! Also the fact that they all have to share these traumas each time a new person comes in :((((

- BRET HAS A MICKEY MILKOVICH VIBE I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL OR WHAT TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION

- Jughead looks so guilty aw my poor baby (low-key could barely understand what he was saying but like I understood the basis so um)

- TONI HAS SPOKEN?! And, of course, it’s for Toni calling after Cheryl. Why can’t it be for something normal? Why is this dumb cheryl-vs-coach thing a plot? It’s normal for coaches to lead cheerleading teams, not the head cheer captain (at least, they help but they’re not in control of every little thing) why couldn’t we have had Toni reigning Cheryl in to calm her down and stop her from this unnecessary warpath?

- not another fucking fight… bring back the serpents it was much more interesting 

- “Wait, you box?” Frank asks as he was living in the fucking center… with boxing shit everywhere… 

- OHHHH SO NOWWWWWW BETTY CARES ABOUT GENUINE CONFESSIONS AND PROOF? Since the fuck when?? She has to be in control of everything, and therefore is impulsive and doesn’t think. before she does anything. She has NEVER cared to get proof before setting her mind on something and trying to get a confession (which also isn’t her job in the first place)

- So now Betty likes Veronica’s “femme fatale” aura… usually she slut shames her for it smh but now that it’s convenient… mmhm much to think about.

- An adult that actually grounds their kids I—wow, never knew Riverdale could do that.

- If Veronica gets hurt going undercover, I’m going to literally end someone. like Betty already did this kind of shit to Cheryl and all she got was a half-assed, forced apology I think (or did I just imagine that?)

- Suddenly Bret is a sleazy asshole telling some random girl to undress and go to his room? He has NEVER acted like this before… but the plot calls for it 🙄🙄 it’s like when Sweet Pea and Fangs, out of NOWHERE were being sexist towards the pretty poisons

- JERONICA CRUMBS WE LOVE TO SEE IT!!!! I LITERALLY FEEL LIKE I’M BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE!! The power they have over a five second scene

- Betty, your relationship with Jughead is BASED on lies and keeping secrets. And BH finally having an actual fight felt so… genuine. Sad it lasted for two seconds.

- CAN HIRAM JUST DIE PLEASE THIS PLOT IS SO DUMBBBBBBBBBBB WE DON’T CARE THAT HIRAM IS A WHINY, OBSESSED LITTLE BITCH

- Hiram just said he went straight LMAO SUREEEEEEE HIRAM!! Finally, Veronica stands her ground and stays on that path damn it took FOUR FUCKING SEASONS.

- Yeah, Dupont, Betty and jughead’s relationship is more like sibling love so <3

- IF FRANK OFFERS MONROE SOMETHING ILLEGAL…. OH MY GODDDD NOOOOO WHY DOES EVERY ADULT—

- “No, it’s better” (her article/exposé) Betty, I don’t even care that what you wrote is actually a good exposé but you acting all high and mighty automatically makes me want to side with Mr. Honey.

- NOOO LET JUGHEAD GO TO YALE DAMMIT :((( It’ll let us have our college!Jeronica au come to life please and thanks

- AS IF THE COACH CAN’T SEE CHERYL’S SHADOW ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR SJSJJSJSJS????

- VERONICA DOING CHERYL’S “FACT” THING UGH WE LOVE CHERONICA!! God I’m gonna have to listen to this random song and dance for no reason again just because I watched it earlier……. it would have been less cringey if they didn’t have to say “daddy”

- That guttural stonewall scream gives me Turbo from Daybreak vibes and uhhh I low-key love it

- Also it’s good to see Kevin 🥺🥺🥺 sad he has no lines but what’s new

- I JUST REALIZED THAT ARCHIE IS BLEEDING :( I’m low-key not really paying attention because sports is boring to me but I looked up from typing these up and saw and I have no idea what happened but um

- “He’s a grown man” (Frank to Archie, about Monroe) MONROE ISN’T A GROWN MAN??? HE’S A TEENAGER??? Also not them talking about Monroe taking DRUGS… OUT LOUD………

- Archie with that sweaty hair part thoooo 👀👀👀

- Betty’s condescending voice Jesus fucking christ when talking to Bret about how they may have won, but she’s not done digging into Stonewall… HOWEVER, BRET AND BETTY’S CHEMISTRY AND THE ENEMIES TO LOVERS POSSIBILITY UGHHHHH I THOUGHT OF IT AS A JOKE AT FIRST A WHILE AGO BUT LIKE…. 

- Reggie keys Hiram’s car and leaves Veronica’s… flyer? It looked liked? In his gas tank. Either they cut out the reaction scene or them setting it up but like… nothing happened.

- Yes, Archie, those drugs helped Monroe play the game and changed his life, but it could have complications later. Meaning it’s not permanent and then later his leg will be even MORE screwed up but sure, be happy that it made him happy…….. 

- I love a Cheronica team up!!! The best idea possible even though it’s two teenagers making RUM but whatever it’s different and actually interesting so let’s HOPE they don’t fuck it up (we know that somehow they will, most likely by having Hiram sabotage after Veronica blabs about her fucking plans even though we all know she’s smarter than that. Blame bad writing)

- MR. HONEY DON’T FEED INTO BETTY’S ANNOYING COMPETITIVE TENDENCIES WHERE SHE HAS TO BE RIGHT WHYYYY… this quiz ep has the ability to be good but I know it’s going to be everybody else being dumbed down to make Betty look good like always smh (as if Cheryl, Veronica, and Toni aren’t smart as fuck)

- not FP giving his own son alcohol despite many episodes ago refusing to let him…????? make it make sense

- high key forgot about this bs jughead is dead thing…also why does Betty  look like she was fake crying over his stuff lmao

- Imagine if a plotwist happened and like Bret and Jughead had become a thing and he knew that Betty killed him and all that shit… but sucks we’re stuck with incest </3

- WAIT… BETTY IS ALSO GOING TO YALE???? HOW??? SHE WAS LITERALLY REJECTED???

- What angers me about Riverdale’s plots is that they genuinely could be great, but they either overuse them or dramatize it SO much that it kills any possible enjoyment. I want to enjoy Betty and Bret for some reason squaring off even though Bret is a part of JUGHEAD’S plot but like there’s already so many square offs and it’s so annoying and repetitive… anyways lets go Bret so he can put Betty down a peg or two or five even though we all know Betty’s suddenly going to become the smartest bitch alive because she’s on this dumb pedestal!! Hey so like… is there a way to break the pedestal Betty’s placed on because I am SICK

[norskheks]

This is apropos of nothing, but....

My mom does this thing where she "hides" food in the fridge or cupboard. Like it'll be something she wants to save for herself or a future recipe, and she'll convince herself that if she puts it behind enough other things, nobody will find it.

Instead of, you know, saying something or labeling it.

Of course it doesn't work, because we're all adults in the house (even though my dad often doesn't act like it; case in point, he is now watching and quoting The Waterboy). And then she gets annoyed. And when I say, "What did you expect if you didn't label it?", she says, "Oh, I know, it doesn't really matter, I just hoped maybe it would still be there."

WHAT KIND OF INDIRECT PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE BULLSHIT IS THIS!!!!

Also, she just got annoyed when she said she "looked like a Joad", and I said, if you're using the name as an insult, maybe there wasn't a very deep analysis of the book/movie? Like there were reasons they looked like they did? (*cough* capitalism *cough*) And she said, "It's an old family term, I don't wanna have to think about every little thing I say."

First of all, I'm sure a lot of words were old family terms we don't fucking use any more.

Also, UGHHHHH WHITE PEOPLE (ESP BOOMERS)

Because god forbid any of us fucking THINK about what we say! That would be so inconvenient!

Can you tell my mom's driving me a liiiittle bit nuts these days? 🤪😤🤬

[dustydreamsanddirtyscars]

Get out of this dark space post: How sad. Sam is questioning. Looking for an answer. A plan. And Dean doesn’t have one so Sam is disgusted? Disappointed? Aggravated? What Dean does have which Sam foolishly either didn’t see or brushed off - is faith. In them. “WE will.” They are running blind and don’t really know what their next step should be but Dean still believes that there is a way. He may get sidelined or find at times that he has to fake it til he makes it but for Part 1/2

Dean Winchester there is ‘always a way’ and that’s why I love this character. Is Sam forgetting that while Dean didn’t have to deal with Lucifer that he did have his own Hell to contend with or is Sammy’s pain/experience once again the worst pain to ever be pained. Sam uncharacteristically opened up. When he became dismissive Dean just went with the flow rather than say something to cause him to clam up. It looked like Sams attitude hit him where it hurts.  2/3. Oops.   

Hey there dear!

Seems like tumblr is pretty hungry for messages again since the last ask that I guess you had typed up wasn’t delivered, but I think from these two asks I get the jist of what you were saying. :)       

First and foremost, yes, Dean’s faith and his will to try again and again, rising everytime he falls, getting back up every time he feels like couldn’t possibly walk another step is also one of the many many reasons I love Dean as a character so much. With that out of the way, I think that that is a character trait that Sam doesn’t possess in quite the same way. We also saw that in the beginning of the season when Dean was more openly showing how depressed and exhausted he was. It’s hard for both brothers to get through to the other in these moments, but I think - and I don’t mean this is any kind of judging way, but simply as in how this transpires to me through what I see on screen - in contrast to Sam, Dean actually listens to Sam when he struggles and tries to support him emotionally whereas I see that as something Sam truly struggles with and simply isn’t capable of in the same way (this is part of the famous show vs. tell and misconceptions about the brothers that I have been writing about multiple times with how Sam is TOLD to supposedly be more prone to being emotional and good with words and listening etc., but all those things are actually things we SEE with Dean opposed to Sam.. His reaction to Dean being that way has of course a notion of worry, but also something like annoyance (and worse in the beginning of the season also with placing blame and guilt on Dean for feeling like he didn’t have as much of a connection to their mom as Dean did, which is ridiculous all in itself as S12 only showed Mary having interest in her youngest - seriously, I am still so angry about that entire therapy scene because there is just so much wrong with that episode), because if Dean isn’t stable himself and falls away for a bit, isn’t the rock that everyone can rely and count on, Sam lacks his support and has to shoulder more himself and that is something I think is really difficult for him and something he himself would never voice and likely isn’t even aware of. Sam in this regard is very self-centered.

And this kind of character trait sort of bleeds in many different aspects in the brothers’ relationship and imo also shows in the ending scene. Again, because I know I’ll likely have Sam stans all over my inbox with hate due to this reply, I don’t place judgment, but Sam’s self-centered-ness is also a key element of the entire show, because right from the start it was always “all about Sam”. Just like Dean didn’t exist to Mary when he tried to save her in late S12 until he started talking about Sam’s trauma (not his own, no, because apparently that doesn’t count for the writers and anyone. Ughhhhh seriously, I’ll never forgive Dabb what he did there and how disgustingly it made clear how he and the writing teams thinks about and treats Dean), basically all his life from age 4 onward was “Sam is the one that matters”, look out for him, do this, do that, you and your wishes matter least. And of course that kind of message didn’t just have an effect on Dean growing up and shaping him, it also had an effect on Sam too. For Dean the way he was raised determines a lot of his feelings of inadequacy, his fself loathing, his lack of self esteem, etc. because from early years onwards he was asked to function and not be a kid basically. Sam grew up much more sheltered due to Dean making good on those promises to his dad to always look out for his little brother and keep him safe. So in this regard the way the brothers grew up, Sam was fortunate enough to develop a much stronger sense of self. He learnt that he is the center of attention and that continued throughout all his adult life, which is why to me it is surprising that Sam only truly connects with people when he can someone make it about himself. Of course it is normal to connect with people more who you share certain things with, but if you compare Sam’s connecting to people with Dean it is drastically different. To me Dean is much more “organic” for lack of a better word in that regard. He truly feels for and connects with people in any kind, not only when he can see himself in them - which often times is a key aspect to Sam caring about others. We saw that with Magda or this season with Jack and right now also with how Rowena managed to manipualte Sam through forging a connection through shared trauma.

So, given the way the brothers grew up and what they learnt in that time, it makes sense that Sam is the way he is and that Dean is the way he is. The thing however is, what one can gloss over with a kid or teenager who shows this annoyance etc. over finding out someone else doesn’t have an answer either and can’t support him the way he would need, is much tougher with an adult. And Sam is an adult after all, so his reactions for that reason to me often times come off very petty and unthankful. Again: I don’t hate on Sam here, but this is how the show imo has been written and set up and how they have portrayed the brothers over the years.

I know I have already written an awful lot, but this preface and long sort of “analysis” imo is vital in order for me to explain how I feel and read the ending scene between the brothers. And yes, I think you can read Sam’s exasperated expressions as disappointment and aggrevation, which is more than uncalled for and absolutely unnescessary, but it is a reaction that makes sense given the established character triats and the character’s development. To me Sam’s “eye roll” there is more than a little annoying tbh, because it once more feels a little like Sam is placing blame on Dean for how he feels (like in the beginning of the season already) - but when I keep all that I have written about before in mind then Sam acting this way to me captures perfectly that Sam realizes that Dean cannot - as he was able to as a kid for example and Sam begged for something else to eat long enough until Dean gave in - give him an answer. He cannot lift the burden Sam feels and it’s also not Dean’s place needing to do that (though he does show more than a lot of support for Sam here, the way he listens and tries to back Sam up with words - which is why the way Sam dismisses him stings and hurts so much and yeah makes me a little angry), but Sam grew up with not having to shoulder these things alone that when Dean can’t be his “stone number one”, because Dean himself would need some support and healing, he reacts this way, because then it depends on himself to pull himself up by his bootstraps.

So yeah, in contrast to Sam who “fooled and lied to himself” at the beginning of the season with having faith to keep going, Dean actually here shows real faith despite not having a clue how to make things better, because he is honest and he tries. And I think that is the reason Dean takes Sam’s indeed uncalled for leaving very personal and seems really hurt and disappointed (and he has the right to be both) - because in a way Sam’s leaving feels a bit like Sam subconsciously blames Dean for how things are (I don’t think he actively knows that or is even aware of that tbh, but if I was Dean and Sam walked out on me like that when they have not been on edge with one another like they were in S9, but were pretty okay-ish, then this reaction would have left me feeling like I am not good enough (something Dean is thinking already anyway), I am a failure cause I can’t help and that I am to blame for all being wrong. Yes, I think despite knowing they aren’t a 100 % on top of things, Dean had counted on at least being able to count on them being a team - but Sam’s leaving and him rather sharing with Rowena than Dean, must have left him questioning if he may have been wrong in believing that.

And last but not least, the talk about Sam’s Hell trauma. I don’t have any issues if that is re-addressed as long as it is not played as this “Oh Sam had it soooo much worse than Dean, Dean’s Hell was basically Disneyland”, because that is freaking disgusting. Trauma isn’t something to make a competition about, trauma just is and it is awful for anyone at any given time. So yes, I  don’t mind that Sam’s trauma was brought up. I will be mightily pissed however if Dean’s time will not get the same attention later on as well.

Okay, sorry for the long ramble, sorry if I piss anyone of with this, but I truly see this as a discussion and voicing of how something traspires to me than hating on something or someone... Anyway... Hope I gave somewhat of a satisfying answer, dear anon!

[lavidademarimar]

~ Catch up on Praia, the first part of the story of Jack x Elena ~

~ Masterlist ~

Elena opened the door to her flat and it seemed no one was there. She rolled her suitcase into her room, and fell with a thud on her bed. Her phone vibrated. She grunted and took it out of her pocket. 

Jack: Did ye make it home all right?

“Does he have a GPS on me?” Elena wondered out loud. 

A knock on the door brought Elena back to reality. “Jell-o? You back?” a man’s voice came from the other side. 

“Yeah, come in! I’m here.”

Carlos, Elena’s roommate made his way into the room. He is also Venezuelan, and considerably taller than her. He hugged her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re so fucking tanned. I’m so jealous.”

“The beach life is the best life. Shame we left home.”

“Yeah, but we escaped communism, so we kind of won.”

“True.”

He sat on the sofa in Elena’s room. “Did you just get in? How you feeling? Do you want to get fries and you can tell me all about your trip?”

“Give me an hour to shower. I should also unpack,” said Elena, pointing at her messy suitcase.

“I’ll go get the food and we’ll have it here,” Carlos said. 

“Ugh, even better. You’re the best.”

Carlos and Elena were the best of friends. They had been since 2006. Elena was sure Jack would hate his guts. 

“So, you’re dating a Scot that lives in London?” Carlos asked, sceptical. They were sat in their little dining room table.

“Pretty much,” said Elena, dipping a fry in Samourai sauce. 

“And in a couple of days his best friend is staying with us because he has work here?” Carlos really had no idea what was going on. Every new information made his question the entire trip, even more than Elena had done on the flight back.

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry. Did you get married and didn’t invite me? Because I will fucking lose it right now,” Carlos was dumbfounded. 

“Yeah, I guess when you say it like that it sounds weird,” Elena shrugged. 

The door to their apartment opened and a shorter man walked in. This is Andres, their other best friend.

“Hey! You’re back!” He walked over to Elena, gave her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. 

“No, dude, and wait until you hear what she has to say. She got married in Portugal and didn’t invite us.”

Andres grabbed a chair and sat next to them. “What?”

“I’m seeing this guy,” said Elena. 

“What?”

“I met a Scot in Portugal and we had two weeks of fantastic sex. We didn’t want to leave it, so we’re going to try and see if we can manage seeing each other.”

“Yes, that will most definitely work,” said Andres, deadpan, not believing a word Elena said, standing up and grabbing a beer from their refrigerator.

“What makes you believe he doesn’t have a girlfriend back in London?” asked Carlos.

“He’s the insanely jealous type, so I doubt he likes to share with anyone. This includes himself.” The words came out of her mouth before she could truly grasp what she was doing. Elena had been surrounded by boys her whole life, and they always got possessive about her. These boys, their group from high school, were the worst. By saying Jack was the jealous type, he immediately became a target. 

“Oh god, Elena, seriously? Are you going out with a prick? Again? Can we let you go on holiday in peace?” Andres shook his head, annoyed.

“Let me guess, Olivia encouraged this,” said Carlos with a hint of disdain. Those two had dated in Venezuela before everyone went their separate ways, and it didn’t end very well. 

“She would have actually married me if Lucy hadn’t intervened,” Elena laughed. 

“His best friend is coming next week and staying here with us,” Carlos announced to Andres, who clearly did not approve of everything he had heard for the last hour. 

“Guys, I have absolutely no faith in this, okay? I honestly don’t think this is going to work, but he’s great and the sex is amazing, so if I can get some regular dick without the commitment of having to see someone once a week, I’m going to take it.”

“I am absolutely unconvinced. When is he coming to introduce himself?” Carlos asked. 

“I told him I’d tell him when he could come. I wanted to settle back into my real life before he’d show up.”

“A sensible choice,” said Andres.

After what felt hours of Judgement Day, Elena was finally on her bed, naked. Summer in Brussels was awful, and the heat unbearable. She was glad she’d bought a fan when they were still cheap and that made it less horrible. She was reading on her iPad when her phone vibrated again. She knew who it was.

Jack: Birdie, I haven’t heard from ye all day. Are ye okay?

She had another one that made her giggle.

Tom: Mate, could you please just tell him you’re fine. He’s been making us miserable with his shitty mood. 

Elena: Joke’s on you for living with him. 

Tom: Fuck off! 

Elena: I dare you to tell him I replied to your messages but not his. 

Tom: No thanks. I need to be alive next week. I hope you’re cleaning the sofa I’ll be sleeping on. 

Elena: Yes, I hope you’re keeping the allowance they gave you because you’re taking me out to dinner.

Tom: of course, love. I’ve the money on me. I arrive Thursday morning. 

Elena: fantastic, just in time to mingle with the young adults and get drunk at Plux. 

Tom: Plux?

Elena: You’ll see what I mean. Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m going to reply to your friend now. 

Tom: See you soon xx

Elena: Hey, made it home okay. I was catching up with Carlos and Andres. How was your day?

The phone vibrated almost immediately. 

Jack: This is yer roommate and your neighbour, no?

Elena: Yes. Best friends from school. 

Jack: My day was less than thrilling. Coming back to this fucked weather made me miss Portugal already. 

Elena: How’s settling in with your new flatmates?

Jack: I have no idea why the bloody fuck I thought this would be a good idea for all of us. 

Elena: LMAO that well?

Jack: I am going to murder Harry before the year is over. Remember this.  

Elena: you’ll go to jail :(

Jack: would ye miss me?

Elena: who would I tell that I’m naked right now in my empty double bed?

Jack video-called Elena. She picked up.

“Very smooth. Very very smooth,” said Elena laughing loudly.

“Let me see ye, please.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to get used to this happening every night,” she said sternly.

“Birdie, please,” his voice begging made Elena close her thighs to create a bit of friction but was cut off by a muffled sound that came from Jack’s door and some banging. 

“What’s that?” Elena asked. 

Jack let out an exasperated sigh. “Let me show you.”

Jack switched the camera and the door opened to reveal Harry with a bottle of wine in his hand, wearing nothing but boxers.

“Mate, what are you doing? Come drink with us.”

“I’m on the phone.”

“Who are you talking to? Is it Elena?! BIIIIIIIRDIEEEEEEEEE!!!” Harry screamed, grabbed the mobile and left Jack’s room. “How are you? How was your flight back? Are you knackered? Boys, say hi to Elena!” Harry was bubblier than usual. How he always managed to have that amount of energy was beyond Elena’s belief.

Fionn waved and laughed at how angry Jack was behind Harry. 

“I’ve spoken with her today, I don’t need to see her again,” said Tom.

“Hey, Thomas, I resent your tone,” said Elena, stifling laughter. 

“Sorry, love. I don��t want to get sick of you. I’m spending a week with you next week.”

“True.”

Harry whined. “I’d forgot Tommy gets to see you next week! When am I going? Why are you ignoring me? Why is Tom your favourite?”

Elena laughed. She knew Harry loved to push Jack’s buttons and he was unbelievably successful doing so. “I am not ignoring you! I’m talking to you right now. Tom is my favourite because he’s not bloody drunk all the time screaming ‘More wine!’ every five minutes.”

Harry put his hand on his chest, acting as if he were hurt. “Mate, that fucking Portuguese wine is delicious.”

“Harry, mate, could I please have my phone back?” Jack was seething. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. See you soon, love. If you don’t tell me when I can go, I’ll just show up at your doorstep. I’m sure Jacky would love it.”

Elena shook her head. “Jacky can love whatever he wants. You’re his friend, not mine, babe. It’s his poor choice in friendships being judged here, not mine.”

The boys laughed loudly. 

“You see why I love her? See you soon.” Harry handed the mobile back to Jack, who ripped it from his hands and locked himself up in his bedroom. 

“Why did you move in with them? You can afford a place of your own,” Elena laughed. She didn’t understand why Jack insisted on torturing himself like that in the first place. He loved his uni mates but he was very much his own person at that point, being the oldest of the bunch. 

“I know, but I spent a lot of my savings in Shanghai, so I want to get that money back and then get me a place of my own.”

“Ah, the expat bubble. A true gem,” said Elena, deadpan.

Jack laughed. “I miss yer smart mouth.”

“Where do you miss it?”

Jack coughed. “What?”

“Where do you miss my smart mouth?” Elena repeated. She turned on her pink nightlight, an IKEA cheap purchase that made her room look like a weird 80s porn movie. She flipped the camera so Jack could see her body. “I could show you where I miss your mouth,” Elena said as she caressed her thighs and moaned softly. 

He stood up and locked his bedroom door before making his way onto the bed again. 

“I don’t want to risk Harry coming in to me wanking to ye,” huffed Jack.

Elena laughed. “You don’t have to apologise for that, babe. Now… where were we?”

“Show me where ye miss me.”

“Well, my boobs don’t really miss you because they can move freely now, so I won’t show you those.”

Jack laughed. “Best pillows in the world. How do ye make Skype sex funny and arousing?”

“I am a girl of many talents, as you know.”

“Show me yer talents. Touch yerself.”

“Where?”

“Ye know where.”

“I think you’re going to have to… guide me…” her voice trailed off and Jack started grunting. 

“Circle yer clit.”

“I want to see your cock now.”

“Yer wish is my command.” Jack flipped the camera and he was already naked from the waist down. His member hard just by the sound of Elena’s voice. 

“Ughhhhh hi babyyyyy I miss you so much already. My mouth is not the same without you in it.”

Jack laughed and squirmed as precum leaked out of him. “How the fuck do ye manage to turn me on so much?”

“I want to see you wanking. I don’t want to see your cock by itself if I’m not there taking care of it.”

Jack started pumping himself and Elena teased him until both released in a calm but necessary orgasm. Skype sex would never be the same thing. 

“I miss ye already.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Jack sighed. “Yer regretting it already, aren’t ye?”

“Why do you think you can read me like an open book?” Elena said defensively.

“Because ye are.”

“I just don’t see it working out.”

Jack sighed again. “Birdie, why don’t we try one day at a time? We’ll be fine. Just… don’t overthink it.”

Elena sighed. “Good night, Jack.” 

She hung up. 

Jack had forgot he had made a mess earlier and stood up to clean himself up. After changing and a cold shower, he unlocked the door to his room and faced his new flatmates, who were in a circle, laughing and drinking the wine Harry had brought back. As soon as they saw his face, Harry stood and got another glass of wine. Jack sat next to him and shook his head. 

“It’s okay, mate. I’ll talk to her when I see her,” said Tom. 

“Mate, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy, knowing how she is,” said Fionn. 

“One day at a time, mate. She’s the most challenging bird you’ve been with to date, but don’t worry. We’ll help you get on and be victorious!” Harry put his arm around Jack’s shoulders and gave him a kiss on his temple. 

For a minute, Jack had remembered why he had decided to move with his mates. 

Day one back had proved challenging already, and he wasn’t going to Brussels for another two weeks.

NEXT: Casablanca Picnics

A/N: This would be the first instalment of the Praia sequel. I’m not really sure how many parts it will be, even though I have a general idea where I want to take the story. Let me know what you thiiiiiink :) <3

[stelamaris]

Diagon Alley - QHPRA

@alluringcliche @feelsandotps @thepeverellthree @wearywanderer

Yay, one of my favourite chapters!

I wonder if Harry’s had dreams before about someone coming to take him away from the Dursleys and then woken up to find it wasn’t real. Poor child.

Hagrid, please, it’s not Harry’s fault that he doesn’t know anything about Gringotts.

Haha, who’d have thought Harry would be the one breaking into Gringotts six years later? How time flies...

For someone who was expelled from Hogwarts fairly early, Hagrid seems to know quite a bit of magic. I wonder if Dumbledore gave him lessons.

I’d like to point out that Harry remembers this brief conversation about dragons months later when Hagrid acts all secretive, for all those people who think Harry’s stupid or unobservant.

What do you think Hagrid was knitting? A jumper for himself? Something for Fang? The possibilities are endless!

Note that the list includes black robes and that’s it. No shirts, jumpers, ties... *side-eyes the movie people* I do wonder what happened to the hats, given all the running around they do at Hogwarts.

The rule about broomsticks being in all caps makes me think that this often gets broken.

“Can we buy all this in London?” Yes, and you don’t even have to go to Diagon Alley! ;p

I don’t care how impressive Gringotts is, they’ve still got an old, abused dragon down there. >:(

As I’ve said before, discretion is not exactly Hagrid’s strong point.

Dumbledore had the key to the Potters’ vault, more proof that he has some legal standing in regards to Harry.

Stalagmite = comes from the ground; stalactite = from the ceiling

Wonder how many people have died in Gringotts vaults

Oh yaaaay, Draco time /sarcasm

So everybody else recognises Harry (including the twins) but Draco doesn’t. Interesting.

People who think Harry and Draco could have been friends need to read this scene. Any potential friendship was doomed from the moment Draco reminded him of Dudley.

Not even five minutes into the conversation and Draco is airing his pureblood prejudices for all to hear and this to a total stranger who’s just told him that his parents are dead. Which should have been a clue that it was Harry Potter but apparently Draco was too busy talking about himself to notice.

People also need to re-read the scene about the houses because Hagrid actually tries to say that Hufflepuff is more than its reputation but Harry interrupts him.

Harry getting all embarrassed about an actual birthday present, ughhhhh.

For God’s sake, Hagrid, it doesn’t matter whether cats make you sneeze, IT’S HARRY’S ANIMAL. I love Hedwig but honestly.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” DRINK!

It’s fascinating how Ollivander categorises people by their wands.

Ewww, someone teach this man about BOUNDARIES. He should NOT be touching Harry, let alone touching the scar.

I love that Hagrid’s wand was made of oak, it’s another indicator of his pure heart.

Skipping ahead for a moment, I really like this conversation between Hagrid and Harry about fitting in at Hogwarts. This is something that Hagrid does know about and it shows in his reassuring, sensitive manner.

‘He blinked and Hagrid had gone’ - does this mean Hagrid Disapparated??

Okay so there’s a particular sentence in this chapter that just INFURIATES me.

“After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great.”

WHAT THE HELL, OLLIVANDER.

Look, adults saying incredibly inappropriate and horrible things is one of the running themes of Harry Potter and most of the time I accept it because that’s sadly what happens in real life but THIS... 

This is literally a man saying “So the serial killer who murdered your parents and hundreds of others may have been a bad guy but look at what he ACHIEVED.” It’s like those idiots who say “okay so Hitler was racist scum but at least he fixed the German economy” which is a) wrong and b) NOT THE FUCKING POINT. Sorry for breaking Godwin’s Law but it enrages me! Moreover, this would be a really awful thing to say to anyone but to say this to an eleven year-old child who lost his parents because of this serial killer and was almost murdered himself... it’s the height of insensitivity. And yes, I know Ollivander doesn’t realise he’s being crass and insensitive but that just makes it worse.

I can only assume Hagrid didn’t hear him because whatever faults he may have, at least Hagrid’s fucking clear on the fact that Voldemort was evil.

[strawberryspeachy]

Like I super appreciate that there are people in my life who want to help me And it's possible they could and I could be all normal and shit if anything ever went well But at the moment Everyone who wants to help me keeps telling me to move out of my house Yes. My family is toxic Yes. My house is toxic Yes. I can't stay here forever nor do I want to But like what they all seem to be missinggg is I can't fucking afford it Like I'm glad for all you who are independent and can be content thinking about 10 years from now I did the whole work a shitty job to get experience thing - I applied to ALL the jobs before I served and they fucking ignored me. I'm almost 25 I'm not trying to work at the mall or something I'm all alone I have nothing going for me and I want to die I try to die all the time like it is something that I plan and think about as much as a typical person thinks about eating I've forgotten how fucked it is and talk about it like its normal cause it is to me Because the truth is I don't have the right kind of support You can't depend on your friends like you'd depend on family I don't have companionship I'm scum and no one likes me I don't have a good job and I apply every fucking day and get nothing out of it Just like how I applied myself for 22 years and here I am If my mother never moved into my house before I went to college everything would be slightly better but now that she's here she's made my grandfather expect a life in maid (a bad one) but someone that calls everyone for him and looks up everything and fixes shit and makes him food and cleans the dishes (badly) And IM NOT A PARENT I love my mom but I don't want to stay home and make her eat and give her her pills everyday My mother doesn't actually do much and the house wouldn't be as dirty without her but she's set this whole thing the way it is and im not trying to do all the shit my grown grandfather just refuses to do and I already watch my mom and clean up after her I don't want to to be on a timeschedual and having to cook her nasty fucking food that she'll eat I'm so sick of people telling me to get rid of my mother - yeah I wanted her gone before and I still can't stand her and she still sucks but getting rid of her now won't solve any problems it will only CAUSE ME problems And yeah my mom needs taken care of now and she probably will need a home eventually but not now. She won't be happy there and as the only person who converses with her I don't want to have to go somewhere else to hang out with her - it's not like the people who want me to put her in one are gonna visit her everyday And shaking everything up is not gonna suddenly make me realize 'Oh I've been being a child let me get a crap job like everyone else and adult now cause i have no other choice' like I just want to scream because yeah I've given up now The only thing I even do is lazily apply for jobs But yeah I've given up And how FUCKED UP IS IT THAT NOW PEOPLE WANNA HELP ME???? All those years that I tried so hard so fucking hard asking people questions trying to find ways to get shit done trying to work out my life so I wouldn't end up here all people did was go "Eh idk figure it out" But now people wanna tell me how to do shit?!?! And act like I just haven't tried hard enough While I stand here watching people who never tried at all succeeding thanks to others doing all their shit for them Ooohh they showed up at the place they were told to go and smiled - yeah they did a real good job Ughhhhh I really fucking hate everything If I were a rich white girl I'd be in charge of something right now and everyone would be telling me how awesome I am for not expecting hand-outs and that that's the reason I achieved all my success - because people like helping people who help themselves American social construct is lie full of shit

[ouraidengray4]

Why Ghosting on Someone Is a Totally Acceptable Move

There’s a saying in my family, and by that I mean, there’s a saying that my family absolutely neither invented nor claims to have, but my mom said it that one time and so it totally counts, and that is, "People plan, and God laughs."

We so rarely become the people we think we will, right? Five years ago, I was a struggling actress, engaged to be married, and if you had told me then that five years in the future, I would be an elementary school teacher and single, I probably would have laugh-cried… because somewhere deep down, I knew that’s where my relationship with both my job and my fiancé were invariably headed.

I always envisioned myself as strong and whip-smart, confident, brutally honest—the kind of person who tells it like it is and isn’t afraid of confrontation. The kind of person who tells you if something is unflattering, even if you’ve obviously already spent a lot of money on it and are currently wearing it in a very public place… Look, I still think that jumpsuit is super cute, and I don’t care if it makes me look like a potato.

This potato is wearing a jumpsuit that totally makes it look like a potato. Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park. The kind of person who, after a date that didn’t set off any sparks, just flat-out tells the guy that she isn’t feeling it, instead of refraining from answering texts and avoiding emails and gently fading into the abyss… well, guess what? Most of the time, I’m not her. I’m the potato who never replied to tell you how my day was going.

Ghosting, in fact, sort of represents the larger ways in which I have failed to become that person I always aspired to be, and for that, I am actually wildly relieved. I didn’t even know about ghosting five years ago, when I became single. I was just this clueless 28-year-old who didn’t know anything about dating, because I’d spent my entire adult life in a bad relationship I can’t actually tell you about here, because the last time I did, I got a butthurt email from my ex.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, the term "ghosting" means you aren’t digging someone you went out with once or a few times or whatever, and instead of letting them know that you aren’t digging them, you simply never text them again. I get the hate for ghosting, I do. It feels irresponsible, rude, lazy... the list goes on. Ghosting is supposed to be this real moral issue, like it’s not okay to just disappear after a date, with nary an explanation, causing the other party confusion.

Ghosting was probably really hard in the olden days, amiright? The… milliner’s son or whatever asks you to go on a carriage ride, and if you’re not digging on his vibe, maybe you learn he’s a cat person or doesn’t have a lot of grain in his silo or something, it’s not like you can just never get your hat… re-hatted again. No, you would probably just suck it up and marry him, have 1,000 children, and die a few years later of scarlet fever, because there wasn’t enough grain in his silo to afford a doctor.

I don't trust what's in that drink. Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park. Nowadays, however, if you are single and in your 30s like me, you’re probably on 5,000 dating sites, you’re double-booking yourself left and right, and you’ve stopped saving numbers in your phone, because your Cloud is full and you suspect that saving a bunch of contacts like F*ckboy and Weird Jeff has something to do with it. That’s modern dating, and I think ghosting is a natural byproduct of it, not a sign of callousness or thoughtlessness.

We aren’t beholden to the people we meet once over whiskey sours, thankfully, or we would all be crying over that guy from Tinder who seems really nice and even has a job and a car, but kind of sort of for some reason reminds you of that gross kid from high school and ughhhhh he seems really nice but you JUST CAN’T! And in the end, Are we not responsible for our own feelings? Ghosting should go like this: Person goes out on date. Person texts date the following day: How’s your day going? Person receives no reply. Person shrugs shoulders, perhaps says "bummer" to the mirror. Person goes back to swiping. It just doesn’t seem so complicated to me.

My mom used to tell me (another saying in our family, because my mother said it), "No one is thinking of your feelings; everyone is busy worrying about themselves." So if you were really digging on the person who didn’t text you back and can’t just go back to merrily swiping, go ahead and feel sad if someone ghosts on you… but let it be for your own sake, not because you have expectations of them. My advice, not based on personal experience at all: If someone you felt you really clicked with ghosts, go have a cry, eat a BLT, pop a Xannie, and binge-watch Ghost Adventures.

Your suffering should center around you, not the actions of someone else; suffering should be indulgent. Revel in that sh*t... then let it go, just like you need to let it go if someone doesn’t message you back. For a while there, on OkCupid (yeah, I’ve been single since that was a thing), I routinely failed to respond to messages from a particular gentleman whose face I happened to find unpalatable. One time, he sent another missive, saying: I know you read this. My premium subscription gives me read receipts, so I know you’re ignoring me.

I politely posited in response, Is not the entire premise of paying for read receipts to know when someone is ignoring you, so that you may more efficiently discern whether or not they’re interested?

He replied, Oh good, there you are. How’s your day going?

If you had told me five years ago that my failed acting career would prepare me for being single in my 30s, I would have punched you in the face. But I think how we handle ghosting has to do with how we handle rejection, and being an actor is all about rejection, which is why I think ghosting is maybe also related to the process of being an actor and trying to land a goddamn role.

If you spend a few months going out on 50 auditions, you’ll know what I mean: Try getting dressed up 50 times, making up 50 different excuses to leave work in the middle of the day, rehearsing 50 sets of lines over and over again, overanalyzing 50 different faces judging everything about you, going home, and waiting for 50 phone calls that never come. Do all that, then come back and cry to me about how that dude from Bumble who was definitely not his alleged 6’2″ never messaged you back. You won’t. You’ll be inured to the whole process.

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I know this is going to sound strange, because dating is supposed to be the most personal thing there is, but I actually think it’s the opposite, and so is acting, and this is why I feel the way I do. You want to know why you didn’t get the part? It wasn’t because you weren’t pretty enough, or thin enough, or good enough. It was because you reminded the casting director of a girl who broke his heart in middle school, or the producer has a cousin he really wants in the role instead, or you came in right before lunch and everyone was hangry and not even paying attention to you.

You can’t know someone after two drinks and a walk to your car any better than you can know someone in a five-minute audition. It never has anything to do with you. You don’t need someone’s feedback re: why a date didn’t do it for him; that does nothing for you. Dating, like art, is subjective. That’s why I don’t save numbers in my phone anymore, and I don’t mind when someone ghosts on me, and I’m definitely not going to read the comments section of this article; I just put my sh*t out there and then I let it go. I’m not sure if that sounds bitter, but to me, it feels like something gentler; the world works the way it works, some people will like my stuff, some people won’t. Unless the bearer of opinions is a cherished friend who’s telling you Yes, Mikayla, you really do look like a goddamn potato in that jumpsuit, the reasons people find to not dig you are irrelevant.

The spoons can say whatever they want, that jumpsuit is still excellent. Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park.

Dating is like trying flavors at Baskin Robbins and then just tossing those little spoons in the trash when you’re done, except it’s way less fun and more arduous, and sometimes a spoon climbs out of the trash and sends you a very long email about how inaccurate that satirical essay you published about your relationship was and how honest and kind he had always been to you and how he sincerely hopes you find peace with yourself someday.

If there’s any rule for ghosting, I think it might be this: If someone becomes sort of difficult to ghost on, as in, you are living with them or you share a dog with them or whatever, then maybe it’s no longer appropriate to incorporate ghosting as a means of escape. Otherwise, ghost away, even if just for efficiency’s sake. Your time is precious!

I would have loved to have ghosted on my ex, but the apartment lease was in my name. Of course, I really can’t talk about that.

Mikayla Park is a teacher/nonprofit creative person residing in the slums of Beverly Hills. Find her, and her two charming rescue dogs, everywhere at @mikaylapark.

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