#fabiola reading stuff

[fabbookreads]

august tbr ☀️

[the-canary]

recent buys

[littlequeenies]

The online Demri book is so good!! I've known about Demri for nearly 10 years now but there's stuff in there I hadn't read before, you did a great job. I would be so curious to know more about her flaws, as weird as that sounds. I think she's always come across as a perfect human which makes it feel she was almost supernatural. I have trouble articulating it fully in a short message, because I also know that loved ones would rather not speak poorly of her and want to focus on the good, and that should be respected. But I don't know, I think it would be nice to know about her more 'fully'. It seems alluded to in the book and it made me wonder. Flaws make people more relatable, she's always seemed unattainably perfect to me, even with the darkness and addiction. Anyway, great book, and I hope I explained this with the nuance and tact that I intended!

Hi anon, thank you for your question, it is very interesting indeed. We will first let her family and friends talk about the subject.

One aspect of Demri’s personality, according to Austin [Demri’s mom], was her inability to handle guilt. In Austin’s words, “If she offended you, and you didn’t have a cell phone or anything, she would start calling your house, waiting for you to get home to apologize.”

Kathleen Austin: Her concern for others was far beyond her concern for herself.

Barbara Dearaujo: She was constantly on the run. Not sure it was running scared but running for sure. Maybe she was afraid of missing out or just looking for the next thing to stimulate her. I have no clue what it was but I definitely could not keep up with her and whenever I tried or whoever tried we all would end up just as sick, lost and confused and most of us would tap out. She never tapped it seemed, no matter how horrible the circumstances got she could deal with it. Crazy. I wouldn’t call her suicidal but definitely self-destructive. Poor girl. Such a sad story. Demri always and forever a wild wood pixie.

Fabiola Gonzalez: The beautiful soul of Demri is she never had an ounce of hate in her heart. She loved everyone. She was so unconditional even when she was judged and even faulted on her own self-love. She was a good person. Better to others than she was to herself.

Krista Kay: She also had some rough times and went down a heartbreaking road. She was beautiful and complicated, and unforgettable, and human.

Krista Kay: Want to honor their [Demri's and Layne's] memory? Pursue your dreams and talents, lift up others, and take care of your body and mind.

Keli Lake: Demri is special to me because she inspired my self-confidence. It’s complicated since she lacked it herself. It’s like she gave it all away until she was depleted.

Rob Meiser: She was a good person with a big heart but she was fighting demons like most of us.

Jacque Nakken: She always wanted to make others happy, more than herself.

Elsa Schmolke: It’s all very sad but Demri was certainly loved but just so out of control nobody could help her.

Scott Spivey: Always kindness even when she struggled so hard with her demons.

Mara Wheelan: My dear soul sister, she extracted the truly beautiful parts of my soul and made me unafraid. She brought light into the depths of darkness from within. She loved all my ugliness and glorified my uniqueness.

Chay Wilkerson Moore: Demri was like a beautiful flower stuck in a tornado. She was very sweet, most of the time. Always yelled my name and hugged me, made me feel special, like she did most people. Very strong spirit, very bent on destruction, I don’t know why... [She was] The most powerful pretty little thing, with this profound sense of vulnerability that she seemed surrounded by. A princess in distress. I immediately felt the need to protect her in a brotherly way.

For what we've learnt about Demri trough all these years, and reading what her closest people said about the subject, is that she had a poor mental health. She had an addiction in the first place, an addiction usually is the consequence of a poor mental health. She may also was not very self-confident or self-conscious, she always wished the best for all the others but didn't apply to herself. Like Robbie Williams, sometimes the people that look the happiest, have the worst demons, and with no professional help, it is very difficult to fight them.

Maybe she went to drug therapy and I guess that included mental health therapy. But back in the day that was taboo. Still today it looks you are crazy or insane if you admit you go (or have been) to therapy (and I have been and still go!), so imagine back then. Plus if she didn't have the money nor the support, probably for her it was easier to escape her demons by actually taking the thing that caused them - the drugs.

I always find her story so tragic. So young. With so many people around that cared about her, and still she succumbed to drugs. I suppose is what Jerry Cantrell said about Layne. All the band members and his mum tried to help him, but they had their own struggles as well, and if ultimately he didn't want to be helped... there's not much you can do. I wish she could have let herself help.

The book is here for everyone to read it. Please, take care of yourself, look for help and support if you need it. Mental and emotional health are as important as physical health.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Usual culprits of Christian stories being bad:

A) absolute lack of substance. Either the author themselves doesn't really know the theological ideas they should be writing about, or if they do, they or their publishers prefer to cut them in favor of "reaching a wider audience". The result is so generic and watered down, that offends no one, but also pleases no one. If you pick some of the most famous and classic Christian novels, you will most definitely get the sense that the author had OpinionsTM. I may not agree with Charlotte Brontë's or Anne Brontë's theological ideas, but I most certainly find them in their work, and they put them there without any consideration of who might disagree or get offended. And that makes for engaging material.

B) This doesn't stop the books from being preachy, somehow. They are preachy about absolutely milquetoast stuff like being kind and reading your Bible and accepting Christ as your lord and savior. And this is because so much of it is written half as didactics and half as apologetics: the writer writers to present an instructive or edifying example to other Christians, but also DefendTM Christians and Christianity and show some hypothetical non-Christian reader wrong in their hypothetical negative assumptions about Christians and Christianity. I think one of my favorite things to present this contrast in is cardinal Wiseman's Fabiola vs St. John Henry Newman's Callista. Fabiola is not necessarily bad -it's inspiring and moving at many points- but this heavy didactic-apologetic intent is very, very felt. Whereas Newman's Callista is filled with Newman's own questions about what it means to be a Christian and a Catholic and how the communities and times in which you live influence the way you live your faith, how do they contribute to strengthen it or weaken it, etc, etc.

C) One of the severe consequences of the didactics-apologetics aproach, is the inability to take oneself (and fellow Christians as a whole) lightly. I remember this post that was going around about things that you shouldn't do in representing Catholic orders and Catholics because they are offensive, and it made me think of so many episodes of my life as a Catholic that belong in a comedy. That time it was the bishop's birthday, an old lady suggested having a cake with a picture of his face on top, and pastor commented "and who'll be the first to stab him on the face I wonder". That time I went to sing at the cathedral and there was this random abandoned cardboard cutout of St. John Paul II in the choir loft. That time I rode a van with nuns and a coffin. And the list goes on. Saints lives! We have blessed Carino, who was the murderer of St Peter of Verona. Like, yup, he was an assassin, but then circumstances happened and he ended up at a Dominican convent and liked the life so much he joined. The same order the guy he murdered belonged to. Not the only case. Bad Christian fiction absolutely refuses to admit the funny, the ridiculous, the actually strange and quirky in its Christian characters and their lives -it takes Christians way too seriously because instead of writing about people and their lives, it's writing didactics and apologetics.

The God's not Dead movies are such a case of study of... everything I just said turned up to 11, but I think it illustrates the humor aspect perfectly. It is aware that it needs a relief of tension with some comedy. But it cannot stop itself from being oh so preachy about it. So the humor is all about... a pastor being somewhat pessimistic and not upbeat 100% of the time. This is treated as a little joke, but just in case you are not aware that being a pessimist is wrong and bad, we will put pastor McOptimist to preach you about hope and faith and cheerfulness. That is exhausting.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Giovanni Guareschi's Don Camillo stories (and their excellent classic adaptations with Fernandel) are such beloved stories for those who know them because A) they have a clear idea of what they want to say. Don Camillo is always talking to Christ in the crucifix, and Christ answers. B) Don Camillo is not a perfect model Christian. He gets angry easily, he's vindictive and and a little vain sometimes. Those faults are evident for anyone and have a real impact in his life. They also don't stop him from being passionately dedicated to his vocation as a priest, generous, steady, and even tenderly affectionate sometimes. His struggles, triumphs and defeats as he stumbles through life are endearing, but the comical his faults produce are always around the corner to stop the narrative from being sacharine. C) The context in which Don Camillo lives isn't easy and clear cut either: the mayor of the town, Peppone, and a significant number of inhabitants, are communists. But Don Camillo and Peppone fought the war side by side. Many of these men and women he's known for a long time. He taught some of them music! The more-Catholic-than-the-Pope Miss Christina taught them all to read and make sums and pray! And it makes everything so complicated. And because of that it makes it compelling.

Clean Christian Romance ™️ , henceforth described as 'candyland fiction', does not elevate God as it ought. It uses cheap cookie-cutter characters, false stakes and prosperity gospel-like implications to produce a sugary sweet candy with all the right, pretty words, and none of the substance. In this essay I will

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Runaway Ride

Fandom: Never Have I Ever Pairing: Devi/Paxton Rating: T Word Count: 4889

Summary: Kamala gets herself into a pickle, Devi needs to go to her, and Paxton has a car. Problem-solving has never been so simple, but that's how it is when your new boyfriend is Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Throw in a little hand-holding on the highway and this family crisis might just be the best date Devi will ever have.

When they finally took a break from dancing—disconnecting hands from hips and shoulders, lips from lips—Devi stepped away in a dreamy headspace. She almost collided with Jonah, but he didn’t tell her to look where she was going, only offered a shrewd, indulgent smile.

Actually, everybody was treating her like that; every eye that caught hers on her way to the table where she’d left her stuff was unjudgmental, admiring, straight up fairy-godmotherly. Devi hadn’t received this much notice since her dad’s death and her subsequent paralysis. And those looks had been pitying, freaked out. Positive attention was new and cool and she wondered, as she grabbed her phone out of her turquoise clutch, whether her socials would show more of the same when she opened them. Would people have snapped stealthy pics of her and Paxton dancing now that she’d been vaulted into the pseudo-celebrity strata of the high school hierarchy? Would the Insta posts be captioned with hashtags of their ship name? Paxi? Daxton? Vishwall-Yoshumar?

Devi never got to check.

Unlocking her phone, she found two missed calls from her mother. Maybe two wouldn’t have seemed like a whole lot to someone else, but Devi knew that, in order for her mom to risk rudeness by stepping away from the company she was hosting at home not once but twice, she’d need to be pretty frantic. Two missed calls from Nalini Vishwakumar were the equivalent of six or seven from any other mother.

Skirting the edges of the gym as she headed away from DJ Humanoid—that nit-witted saboteur of slow dances—Devi was about to call her mom back when her screen changed to an incoming call from Kamala. She pressed her other hand to her ear and answered it.

“Hey. Do you know what’s going on with my mom? She called me twice and, honestly, she knows I’m at the d—”

“Devi, shut up. Sorry,” Kamala sighed. “But I may have kidnapped your history teacher and now I’m panicking a little.”

Devi stopped in her tracks.

“You did what? Why is the sound weird?”

As she was trying to identify the background noise coming from Kamala’s end, her eyes swept over the crowd of her classmates and landed on Fabiola’s. Her friend had been smiling, mid-sway as she held Eve from behind and chatted with Sasha, but it fell off her face like Devi off Dr. Jackson’s roof. Fab disentangled herself from her girlfriend and crossed the room to stand with Devi. She was frowning, silently asking for an explanation for Devi’s distress, but Devi didn’t really have one yet.

“We’re in his car on the highway,” her cousin was saying. “He was a little drunk, so I’m driving.”

Devi had imagined that Kamala was exaggerating, but no, this was really starting to sound like a kidnapping.

“You better be on hands-free right now,” she lectured. Then, because she wasn’t exactly a paragon of road safety herself—barely an hour ago, she’d walked right out in front of Paxton’s jeep—didn’t wait for confirmation. “What the hell happened? Context, Kamala!”

“Well, as soon as I snuck out of the house—”

“But why did you sneak out?!”

“Devi, I can’t talk about that right now!” Devi’s eyebrows shot up at the clear and abnormal hysteria in her cousin’s voice. “I ran out of the house,” Kamala continued, “totally directionless, and the first thing that popped into my head was Manish’s invitation for me to come to karaoke…”

“Ew, what the fuck, don’t call Mr. K that.”

What? Fab mouthed at her, but Devi shook her head.

“That is his name and what he asked me to call him. Anyway,” Kamala said, sounding strained, “I went to your school and met up with him and now I’m driving his car and I think I might have shut my sari in the car door, but I’m scared to pull over and check because if I stop the car, I’m going to have to confront things and I think I’d rather not do that yet.”

“Kamala,” Devi said in a heavy, careful voice. “You have to pull over. I totally get what you’re saying because it sounds like something I might do—minus the part where you kidnapped Mr. K—” Fabiola’s eyes went dramatically wide as she was adjusting her tiara. “—but this isn’t you. You don’t run away from your obligations and elope with my teachers!”

“Manish and I didn’t elope. It isn’t in any way romantic.”

“For sure though? It’s not?” Devi heard another voice in the car ask.

“Mr. K, back off! Kamala’s in the middle of a crisis!” she shouted. “And please be drunk enough to forget that I yelled at you.”

“Devi, what should I do?” Kamala asked, sounding desperate in a sad way now.

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ok, well, which direction are you heading in?”

“Um, either north or south.”

“You’re a disaster,” Devi muttered.

“What was that?”

“Uh… I said, don’t drive any faster. Try to read the next sign you pass so you can tell me where you are.”

“Alright,” Kamala said.

Devi tilted her phone away from her mouth so her cousin wouldn’t hear her frustrated sigh. She locked eyes with Fabiola.

“Kamala panicked at her engagement dinner and ran off with Mr. K. They’re either headed for Mexico or Canada, but I’ll know more in a minute.”

Fab blinked.

“Wow.”

“I know. It’s a lot. And this is me talking,” Devi emphasized.

“I don’t know if you would do anything this big. Mainly because you don’t have a driver’s license.”

“True.”

“Santa Barbara in twenty-six miles,” Kamala said in her ear.

“Damn, you made good time.”

“The traffic was quite manageable.”

“Try to calm down a little and get off the highway when you can. Don’t go past Santa Barbara. I’m coming to talk you down in person,” Devi said. “Oh, and don’t answer any of my mom’s calls; she’ll just stress you out.”

“That doesn’t seem very responsible. How about I send her a text when I stop to let her know I’m ok?”

Devi rolled her eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Devi. But how will you get here?”

“Let me worry about that. Text me when you stop so I know exactly where I’m going.”

“I will.”

“’K. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Devi hung up and sighed massively, slumping into the wall and feeling a streamer crumple against her back. She and Fabiola stared at each other.

“What are you gonna do?” Fab asked.

“Be the hero my family needs, but not the one they deserve.”

“Are you misquoting Batman to justify doing something reckless?”

“First of all, rescuing Kamala isn’t reckless, and second of all, the movie isn’t called Batman, it’s The Dark Knight. Young-ish Christian Bale, hello.”

Fabiola pointed a finger at her own face.

“Young-ish out-of-touch lesbian, hello. At least I was close.”

Devi sighed again while Fab smiled sadly at her in obvious sympathy.

“It’s after ten at night. How am I gonna get to Santa Barbara?”

“Assuming you’re not going to ask your mom—”

“No.”

“Then you need a ride.”

“You need a ride? I’ll drive you.”

It was Paxton, walking up and tentatively taking Devi’s hand while darting uncertain glances at Fabiola. Devi felt her entire face light up.

“You don’t want to know where or why?” she teased.

His expression said those were insignificant details. Wow. Devi’d never had a fantasy where Paxton joined forces with her, bounty hunter-style, to track down a flighty Kamala, but this felt oddly romantic. Passionate even? They’d see where the night took them.

“You wouldn’t wanna leave the dance unless it was serious,” Paxton reasoned. “So, I’ll drive you. You wanna go now?”

“I guess we better. Lemme just grab my…”

“I’ll get it,” Fab said, raising a hand like the nerd she was as she volunteered.

She darted back through the dancers to grab Devi’s things and Devi watched their classmates part for their Cricket Queen. She was so proud of Fab. Also, she felt kinda bad for ditching such a momentous occasion. But Kamala needed her, and would totally do the same for her if she ever went off the deep end and kidnapped a dude while fleeing a proposal. Not that Devi could see herself fleeing a proposal (she glanced at Paxton as she thought this, then quickly away, thinking, Way too soon!). Carrying out a kidnapping? With a sufficiently convincing pro-and-con list, anything was possible.

“Basically, Kamala freaked and drove to Santa Barbara with a drunken Mr. K,” Devi said, because Paxton might not have asked to be informed, but she wanted him to know what he was getting himself into. Beyond that, she wanted to give him the chance to say, No way, Devi. I came here to look hot and dance up on you, nothing more.

“Oh shit,” was what he said.

“Damn right, oh shit. You still want to drive? This is going to take a while.”

She should probably have felt guilty about trying to subtly persuade him with her eyes, but not only was Paxton the least complicated option, he was also her first choice. If she maintained eye contact long enough, Devi figured it might trigger some kind of boyfriend override that made going for a long drive at night just as appealing as staying here and dancing with her butt pressed thrillingly to his groin when the teacher-chaperones weren’t looking.

“As long as we can hit up the bathrooms first. I was going to, but then I got talking to Trent, and then Marcus was doing a handstand…”

“Definitely,” Devi assured him. “Good call. Empty the tank. Oh, actually, that reminds me… how much gas do you have in your jeep? If we need to stop at a gas station, I’ll have to factor that in to the ETA I give Kamala.”

Paxton shook his head at her, smiling in what she liked to think was affectionate amusement.

“I filled it up on the way here. I needed a minute to, uh…” To her epic astonishment, he ducked his head self-consciously, cheeks pinking. “You know. Get my shit together. Up here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “I wanted to show up for you, like, completely. You know?”

Right as Devi was at dangerously high risk of sagging to the floor in blissful bonelessness, Fabiola sprang to her side, shoving the rest of her possessions at her.

“Ok, ok!” Devi said, harried.

She had to dump it all on the bathroom counter a minute later anyway, but after she’d done her pre-road trip pee, she came out and gave Fab a better thank-you.

“Your Highness,” Paxton told Fabiola with a nod.

Fab nodded back, smiling wryly.

“Prosecutor.”

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Devi assessed, “but we gotta go! Say congrats to Eve for me again!”

“Sure. Drive safe!”

Devi and Paxton pushed through the doors together, striding quickly with his hand wrapped around hers. In the parking lot, she glanced sideways to see him digging his keychain out of his front pocket.

“Oh,” she said, “so I wasn’t just feeling that you were very happy to dance with me.”

Until they got into the jeep, it was too dark to see whether she’d gotten him to blush again, but she liked to think that she had. He was definitely smiling.

They got in and Devi carefully tucked her skirt around her legs, mind on Kamala’s cautionary tale. At least it was until Paxton leaned forward to shrug out of his jacket and she saw his shoulder muscles jump beneath his fitted button-down, his narrow black tie swinging forward. Dang. Fifty shades of Hall-Yoshida.

“Santa Barbara?” Paxton double-checked once he was settled behind the wheel, steering out of the student lot.

“Santa Barbara.”

Until they were on the highway and heading out of Los Angeles, Devi did her best to keep her worry about Kamala’s situation contained to the way she flapped her phone against her thigh. Usually, she was stressing about the problems right in front of her (when she wasn’t blatantly ignoring them, only to have that approach bite her in the ass later), but with whatever was going on with Kamala, she kinda had to look ahead.

Had she wanted Kamala to get engaged to Prashant that badly? Well, the best thing about Prashant was that you never knew when having additional hot relatives would be to your benefit. (Devi was already hoping that Mr. K would get over the more nerve-wracking elements of this night and just remember having fun with her stunning cousin… and that this could possibly translate into at least a month of generous grades, if she could somehow spin these shenanigans as an intentional blind date arranged by herself.) However, an engaged Kamala was wholly different from a married Kamala. She wouldn’t be around to watch nonsensical episodes of Riverdale, or be duped into hijinks, or listen to Devi when her mom was too tired, or bitch about her shitty lab-mates in exchange for sitting through Devi bitching about her complicated feelings on the subject of Aneesa dating her ex. She wouldn’t live with them anymore, and the family that had begun to miraculously fill out after her dad had died would be back down to three. And the other two members of it would be old (Sorry, Mom, she thought) and not at all prepared to champion her dating life or the cleavage-accentuating formal dress currently buoying it.

So, yeah, Devi was looking ahead—eyes glazed over as the yellow lights of cars slipped around them to prevent her vision from fully adjusting to the blue-black sky—and feeling more than a little nervous and scared of the Kamala-shaped hole she’d have in her life if her dazzling, dorky cousin left her house for one she might eventually fill with the most beautiful children the world had ever seen.

Thankfully, Paxton was there. It startled her when he took one hand off the wheel and felt across her lap to grab hers, loosely interlacing their fingers. Devi quit hitting her phone against her leg. She sent off their updated location to Kamala and then let her phone fall flat.

“Did she say where she was?” Her boyfriend’s voice was quiet in the car and she realized for the first time that her head had been too crammed with thoughts to put on any music.

“Carpinteria State Beach. Do you know the exit?”

“We’ll find it.”

“And if you want me to drive while you rest on the way back…”

Paxton laughed.

“No way. Safety first.”

“Says the guy driving one-handed,” Devi countered, not that she was eager to surrender the hand warming hers.

He turned his head just long enough to shoot her a look.

“Whoa, pal, eyes on the road!” she said. (She had a half-baked plan to call her boyfriend ‘pal’ a few times and thereby de-weaponize the word in a memory that still felt like a fading bruise, an almost-gone sore spot in who she and Paxton were before they were openly a them.)

“Sorry,” he said, staring out the windshield again. He grinned. “You look gorgeous.”

“Really?”

“So gorgeous.” Paxton’s voice was softer this time, the underlying laugh it had carried since she’d offered to drive his jeep drained out of it. It was nearly a sigh.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“You know, I feel fucking awful for hitting you with my car, but I still think I mighta felt worse if I’d walked in and seen you dancing with somebody else.”

Devi twisted their hands, touching the back of his to her thigh so she was sandwiching it between leg and palm for a moment, aiming for reassuring.

“I wanna say I would never be that flaky, but my previous offenses speak for themselves.”

“So does doing this with me.”

“Uh,” she droned, “to recap, you left a fun thing to do a huge favour for me. You’re talking about it like this is my act of redemption. I feel like if you examine it for a sec, you’ll see how I’m actually kind of a dick for accepting your help.”

“I want us to be together,” he said bluntly. “Here we are. Together.”

“It’s that simple?”

“I don’t see why it can’t be.”

“Huh. I think you’re really gonna be good for my tendency to overcomplicate a situation.”

Paxton laughed and unthreaded his fingers from Devi’s. But it wasn’t to release her for pointing out that this date was, in actual fact, the coordinated response to a family crisis; his fingertips moved lightly over her palm, momentarily trapped when her fingers flinched inward in reaction to how it tickled, then traced along the thin skin of her inner wrist. He wasn’t trying to pull away. He was lingering. Though his touch when he sunk his hand into her hair or drew her closer by her waist had always been fairly gentle, it had often had the faint aggression of hastiness to it, clutching her as they made out in her room, always listening for footsteps in the hallway. How Paxton touched her now was pure, exploratory tenderness. It made the hairs on the back of Devi’s neck stand up as a wave of shivers rushed up her spine and crested somewhere around the nape of her neck.

He must’ve felt that wave break, the foamy aftereffects in some tic of her arm or quickening of her pulse while his fingers skimmed gradually up the inside of her arm towards her elbow, because he chanced another quick glance at her.

“That feels good,” she explained.

Paxton looked forward, nodding slowly, and shifted in the driver’s seat.

“Good.”

She thought it must have felt good for him too, knowing he’d made her shiver.

—

The miles were flicking past for Paxton—another, another, another, as fast and steady as the dashed lines painted between the lanes, his arms cutting the water on the front crawl. He wanted Devi, beside him, to believe that he was paying attention to his driving, but he was honestly kinda zoned out. Like that time he’d swum to San Diego, he let his body go through the motions (in this case, twitching the wheel, putting on cruise control when traffic thinned so he didn’t have to focus on the pedals) while his mind floated freely.

Where it floated was to his girlfriend.

At ten years old, he’d been the last kid in his swim class to jump off the 10m board. It was optional—a treat after getting water up their noses turning somersaults below the surface and doing egg-beater legs in between—but all the other boys in the group had done it eagerly, shrieking on their way down to sloppy pencil dives. Paxton had climbed the stairs all the way to the top easily enough, even stepped onto the wide platform, bordered by metal railings and rough under his bare feet. He’d walked out to the end and frozen to find himself so high above the pool.

He hadn’t feared the water, he’d feared the air. Being so exposed on his own at the end of the diving board. Eventually, he’d retreated, then surprised the coach waiting down at the poolside by turning around and taking the jump at a run. Few memories felt as good as the sensation of giving himself back to gravity and letting it reunite him with the water. He’d just had to get past the exposure.

Same thing tonight, going to find Devi at the dance. Holding her hand in his had been him reaching the platform, but when they stood together, just inside the school’s doors, Paxton hadn’t known for sure whether he would take the leap or retreat. And not just for a running start this time, but in a way that turned his sixteen-year-old present self back into one of those nervous ten-year-olds who wimped out and had to take the coward’s way down—descending each step they’d climbed. He might not have run, and yet he hadn’t needed to back up and race into their relationship either. Momentum hadn’t carried them inside for everyone they knew to see them. It had been a calm approach, even if he’d been shaking on the inside when he saw Trent staring at them.

So maybe Paxton had learned something in the last six years, or maybe it was harder to feel exposed with somebody right next to you.

She really did look gorgeous, like he’d said, and because he didn’t want her to worry about his focus if she spotted him gazing at the side of her face while she texted her cousin, the glances he stole were of the knee region. Her dress’s overlay sparkled when the high lights of eighteen-wheelers passed them and the specific teal of the dress itself reminded him of a river he’d swum in once during an out-of-state family vacation. Natural and deep and fresh, and exasperating for his parents because he’d accidentally doggy-paddled himself all the way to a small waterfall and hadn’t heard them calling him back for dinner around the campfire. He felt all that about Devi, except for hoping for a different reaction from his parents when they met her.

Holy shit. He was going to have to introduce his girlfriend to his embarrassing hippy parents. But then, she’d already met Rebecca, so maybe they were set? A sister’s approval should count for a ton.

No, no, no, Devi would have to meet his parents. He was doing this. The two of them were doing this. Paxton exhaled determinedly through his nose and made himself concentrate on the remaining miles he needed to cover. His mind, anyway. His hand continued to stroke and search, covering his girlfriend’s hand with his until he had her fingers tucked away protectively under his own, and then caressing all the way up to the crook of her elbow so suddenly that she made a noise between a laugh and a yelp because he’d unintentionally tickled her. Man, she was cute.

The very end of their journey required the most concentration from Paxton; he finally took back his hand to have both on the wheel as he steered them off the highway and Devi’s got lonely or something, because it chased across to where he was sitting and landed on his thigh. His jaw clenched. He could feel the heat of her palm through his pantleg and congratulated himself on being a driving legend for driving smoothly to where they needed to park for beach access.

Devi had a pink sweater that she put on, but Paxton grabbed his jacket out of the back as well in case she needed it. It was almost midnight and a breeze rolled up off the water, rippling his tie and swishing Devi’s dress. He didn’t have to ask what they should do next—there was just one other car parked nearby and Devi’s cousin was already standing outside of it, raising a hand to wave sheepishly as they got out of his jeep.

“Here,” he said, holding out his jacket for his girlfriend to put her arms through the sleeves. “You guys talk. I’ll be down at the beach.”

Devi turned her back to him as she accepted the jacket, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of concern.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You’ll want privacy. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

“Just don’t swim away, ok?” she requested. “I don’t think I can handle more than one rescue mission per night.”

Paxton could tell by her expression that it wasn’t entirely a joke. He grinned and gripped his lapels, now on Devi, reeling her in.

“I promise. You’d probably take the opportunity to try to drive the jeep home, and I don’t want to risk that.”

“Me committing grand theft auto or me getting hurt?”

“I bet they tested you for smartness,” he said, “but you think they have a test for being a smartass? You’d score high, Vishwakumar.”

“I know, I know, you don’t want me to get hurt.”

She was so infuriatingly flippant, rolling her big brown eyes at him.

“That’s right,” Paxton said plainly. There he was, up on the platform again.

Devi straightened his tie and let her hand rest flat on his chest. He remembered how overwhelmed she’d looked the first time he’d placed her palm there, right on his skin. Even now, it almost made him laugh.

“Ok,” she said, and he was surrendering himself to the sweet strength of gravity, propelled down to the beach while Devi stayed to talk to Kamala.

—

Devi had heard that there were tidepools here, and she was nervous about stepping into one and spearing some aquatic animal on her high heel. Well, she couldn’t magically improve her night vision, but she could take her shoes off and remove the possibility of impalement. They dangled from her fingers as she picked her way down to the beach.

Her boyfriend was sitting in the sand, staring out at the ocean. It just looked so romantic—with the stars the sky was too bright to see at home, and the waves, and the back of Paxton’s white shirt in the moonlight—that Devi decided to slip into the scene without saying anything at all.

A mistake. Paxton gasped and jumped. Apparently, he hadn’t heard her over the noise of the water.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said.

He sighed and smiled, getting to his feet.

“How’d it go?”

“I think it went well. She was feeling calm enough to drive, so she’s on her way home now. She’s gonna cover for me until we get back.”

“That’s good… but what about Mr. Kulkarni?”

“He was passed out in the passenger’s seat,” Devi stated. “I guess he’s kind of a lightweight? Kamala said she’s going to drive back to our school and leave him and his car in the parking lot. She’s planning to call my mom for a ride home. If it were me, I think I’d take the bus and try to sneak back into the house as quietly as possible, but Kamala still has a lot to learn about how to thoroughly dodge your problems.”

“And maybe about how to climb to the second floor of your house from the outside?” Paxton suggested with a meaningful smirk.

She did her best to return it, but the odds were that it didn’t look nearly as sexy on her. Then again, she had moonlight and midnight and well-displayed cleavage on her side.

“How’d you learn to do that so quietly anyway?” Devi asked, tossing her shoes to the sand and stepping forward to boldly wrap her arms around Paxton’s waist.

He’d had his hands in his pockets, but as soon as she’d begun to move towards him, he’d pulled them out. His arms encircled her, his hands on the back of his own black jacket. Although Devi wanted to offer him the jacket back—he felt slightly chilly through his shirt—she didn’t want the two of them to separate. Besides, body heat was a thing. This was practically what it was for. So Devi just pressed herself closer, breathing the scent of the ocean and Paxton’s fading cologne.

“Trent,” he said.

“Yeah, actually, that checks out.”

Were there boundaries between warming someone up while having a conversation and just hugging them? It wasn’t clear to Devi, but it felt good when they both went quiet for a while. She stood unevenly on the cold sand and listened to the thud of Paxton’s heart.

“You never said yes,” he said eventually, quietly.

“Yes to what?”

“I told you I came to the dance as your boyfriend and you never actually agreed to be my girlfriend. We kinda just started making out.”

Devi lifted her cheek from his chest so she could look at him. He didn’t appear disappointed, more like he was making an observation. Maybe he’d been reflecting, out here in the dark, while she and Kamala had talked.

“In my books, that’s an obvious yes,” she said, grinning. “What more do you need?”

She could see him trying not to smile.

“A little atmosphere would be nice,” Paxton said. “Maybe a long drive, or the beach. A full moon. Romance me, Vishwakumar.”

Devi vibrated with silent laughter. Or her heart was just beating really, really freaking hard.

“Sounds like you’ve got some pretty big expectations there.”

“And stars,” he added. “There should be a shitload of stars.”

With that, he took one hand off her back to point far above them. Devi tipped her head back, the light of the stars a friendly blur as she tried to pick one to settle on, just one. Paxton’s face coming forward to hover over hers blotted them out. Her boyfriend kissed her, light and ghosting and then firm and slow.

“On the other hand,” he said, pulling back a little, “I think we were onto something with the making out.”

Devi smiled and dug her toes into the sand to make herself taller, lips at the ready and realigned with his.

“We did set a precedent.”

[justaniche]

Hey! I’m dying for more Daxton. I seriously can’t wait for season 2. Can you write something about Nalini realizing Paxton is good for Devi? Like he takes care of her/protects her and helps her deal with her trauma

Thanks!!

Hi!

omg let me say first, anon, thank you for this ask. youre the first person to take me up on my offer to write stuff for you so thank you again.

A little bit about this writing piece before I actually show it to you, there was a point when I was writing it when I wasn’t sure if it was going to reach 1K words but there was a point where the words just start to flow and I can proudly say it is 2.1K and that is not a lot but based on what I thought it was going to end up being it has come along way. and this is one of my first-ish never have I ever work of writing. I think it’s the first I’ve written entirely off the top of my head. My other ones are either not posted or it’s my work inspired by the episodes and its just everything through Paxton‘s point of view so it’s a bit different.

this is getting sort of long so anyway, without further ado. here it is. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think and if you like it please feel free to send me another!

Nalini had just about had it. The day’s raging dumpster fire began with traffic that resulted in her being late to work. If that wasn’t bad enough, a patient she saw a couple days ago came back complaining that her treatment caused a breakout. After a follow-up, she discovered the patient hadn’t changed any of their habits despite her advice! So was it really the treatment, or the fact that they don’t wash their face? All that suffices to say when Nalini got home she was already on a very short fuse. Kamala was out for school and let her family know she wouldn’t be home for dinner so it was known by both Devi and Nalini that they would be cooking without her today. Nalini gave Devi specific instructions so that, regardless of how late her day ran, they could have dinner at a reasonable time. Devi did not follow those instructions. Nalini came home to the door unlocked, closed but unlocked, the house a mess, and Devi’s part of dinner not made. No matter how many breaths she took, Nalini was mad. No, mad didn’t quite cover it. She silently walked up the stairs, hell-bent on seeing what caused this disaster, and if she didn’t like the reason she planned to riff for the rest of the night. But approaching Devi’s door she found it ajar. She peeked inside, and that's where she found them.

After winning his swim meet, Paxton was on top of the world. The school day had been what it tended to be, light. Filled with class and hanging with his friends in the hotpocket. But that was hours ago. It was early evening when he saw her, Devi Vishwakumar, they had sort of become friends over recent weeks but given the up and down nature of their relationship, Paxton was always very aware of her. Devi had a way of grabbing Paxton’s attention. He was always trying to figure her out. Of course she made a hell of a first impression, first couple of impressions actually. Devi was sorely different from anyone else in his circle and Paxton wasn’t yet sure how he felt about the sudden invasion. He pretended he didn’t but after unintentionally watching her Paxton began to notice Devi’s change in mood sometimes. Like right now, from where Paxton was he saw the set of her shoulders. The tension was apparent as Devi stalked across the school grounds. Confusion flooded Paxton’s mind and before another thought could register, he was jogging towards her.

“ Hey, Vishwakumar, wait up! ” He called towards her but she didn’t stop

Devi cast a look over her shoulder, her voice was muffled when she spoke, “Uh, Hi Paxton, I can’t talk.” her voice cracks, “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Paxton slows down for a second as he takes in the situation, Devi speeds up.

“Are you okay?”

Devi breaks into a dead sprint and Paxton doesn’t think, he just follows.

Devi was doing okay. Today was harder than most for a reason she couldn’t name but Devi was making it through. That was until last period art class. The teacher gave a simple assignment, and that was to paint your happiest memory. Immediately when the words left his mouth, a memory came flooding into Devi's mind like a tidal wave.

Devi was 8 when her father convinced her mother that going to a Californian beach as a family would be an adventure. Devi barely remembers the build-up, it was a haze of packing sandwiches and equipment. Leaving the house, only to discover something had been forgotten. A car ride that seemed to stretch into forever. But the beach was magnificent. At least it was in Devi’s memory. It was a gloomy day, the threat of rain looming, so the beach’s visitors were far and few in between. Devi remembers that feeling of warm sand under her feet. She remembers those first fragile steps into the tide, only to rush back as the ocean crashed forward chasing her back to shore. She could see her mom, in the distance, setting up their makeshift camp for the day. She was more content watching her family than participating. The ocean was vast and blue and terrifying. Devi could not urge herself to take more than a few steps. Devi doesn’t know how her dad saw her distress but it was like he could read her mind. He grabbed her and lifted her high then settled Devi on his shoulders. He insisted that she was safe there, she was too high for the ocean to ever reach. He held her hand as he walked slowly but confidently further into the waves. He stopped just as the water kissed her mid-calf but it was enough. From way up here, with her father by her side, the ocean wasn’t anything to fear, it was something to marvel at.

Devi had a firm picture in her mind of her happiest memory and it was her family’s adventure at the beach. But Devi couldn’t make a move to make this image a reality. Sadness crept up on her and got a vice grip on her heart. Her vision blurred and she couldn’t breathe. How had she ever breathed before? Was it always this hard? The bell rang, signaling the end of the day but Devi was on autopilot. Eleanor and Fabiola felt miles away, whenever they’d focus in the daze of her mind, the grip on her heart tightened and dragged her back to darkness. Devi doesn’t know if she said goodbye to her best friends,

She blinked, band began

She inhaled, band was over

She stood, the sun was setting

She gazed, the stress stiffened her movements as she walked around campus. Where was she headed?

Devi was desperate for light, for clarity.

“ Hey, Vishwakumar, wait up! ” The sudden noise broke the muddle, if only for now, she was again aware of the devastation and loss weighing on her mind and on her heart.

She recognized that voice and it was getting closer, she glanced over her shoulder. Paxton, no no no, she didn’t want anyone to see this least of all her newest and most popular friend, “Uh, Hi Paxton, I can’t talk.” Why was her voice cracking? “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Devi finally knew where she wanted to go as she increased her speed.

“Are you okay?” Paxton’s question was the final straw, she couldn’t stop her tears and they fell uncontrollably past her cheeks. Paxton was going to catch up, and Devi was crumbling by the second. So Devi did the only thing she could. She ran, ignoring the echo of the beating steps behind her.

Nalini could hardly comprehend the scene playing in front of her. Devi, her only child, her entire world, looked so small folded up on the floor in front of her bed. Devi was always so strong, with a personality larger than life. She always seemed bigger than her stature, always taking up more space. Nalini's anger from the day deflates, leaving no trace it was ever there to begin with. Nalini tears her eyes away from the form of her daughter to take in the room. It was dark but the other figure inhabiting the room was clear as day. Paxton sat before Devi, his body language soft. He had one hand on the arms Devi wrapped around herself as he spoke to her gently. Paxton’s volume was soft as a whisper, any louder would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Witnessing this scene felt like a secret and the longer Nalini stood there the guiltier she felt. Devi never expressed emotions this deeply to her. Everyday problems with her friends or tests or Ben Gross, yes. But Devi never shared this.

Nalini's mind was going a million miles an hour as he crept back down the steps and began cooking dinner. She knew Devi would refuse but she needed to have something ready, just in case. When everything was mostly done, she was quiet as she moved around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal. Nalini knew he was trying to walk silently but she still caught Paxton as he descended the steps. Nalini kept her back to him as she called, giving Paxton an out if he needed.

“Paxton?”

“Um...yes, Hi Mrs. Vishwakumar” at the acknowledgment, Nalini felt comfortable enough to turn around.

Paxton was standing in the doorway, shuffling in obvious discomfort. What he expected her to say she didn’t know. Gods, neither did Nalini. Questions flew through her mind faster than she could catch them. She didn’t want to ask him about what happened, Nalini wanted Devi to share when, if, she was ready. Nalini realized, amongst these questions, that she didn’t know Paxton. Here was this kid, late in the evening comforting her daughter. She couldn’t even be upset that they were home alone when she recalled how broken Devi looked. All Nalini had done thus far was judge Paxton, he looked like a jock so she thought him dumb. She made these assumptions about him, that he’d peak in high school or that he was shallow or that he was a walking STI, but they were just that. Assumptions. This kid stayed with her daughter for she didn’t even know how long, she’d been cooking for close to an hour so it was at least that.

All these guesses and judgments were useless when she stood in front of him. Paxton had a rigid set to his limbs, Nalini thought it was probably from sitting in one position for so long, and he was still dressed in gym clothes. Paxton looked new in Nalini’s eyes and she regretted never wanting to know him before now. Nalini didn’t know where to begin, she wondered if he’d eaten.

“Would you like something to eat?” Nalini's silent prayer must’ve been heard because he accepted. She was being given another chance. She quickly worked around the familiar space, grabbing one of the good containers and piling more food than necessary, successfully straining the unyielding plastic. She was handing the meal over when she paused, they both had a hand on the object between them but Nalini couldn’t let go, not yet.

“Thank you, Paxton, really, I don’t know what happened and I won’t ask but I saw what you did for Devi.” Paxton had the decency to look a little shocked. He hadn’t heard anything. Paxton was too absorbed before. His mind was a broken record repeating only, Devi.

The moment shatters when the front door opened, “I’m home!” Kamala’s voice fills the silent home. With the trance broken, Nalini’s hold on the container falters and she drops her hand allowing Paxton to leave. Words were failing him so all Paxton could give was a tightlipped smile in response.

“Thanks for the dinner.” Paxton’s smile was looser now and that gave Nalini courage.

Kamala was unloaded the day around her but Nalini was focused on making this right, “You’re welcome to come by Paxton, anytime.” She could only hope Paxton knew just how much she meant those words. His smile was burdened but bright, he nodded strongly and then he was out the door.

Kamala was fixing the table for a very late dinner when she called for Devi to join, Nalini hoped she would. “Who was that? And why was he here so late?” Pure curiosity laced Kamala’s voice.

“Paxton is one of Devi’s friends. He’s a good kid.”

Those details were all she could provide before Devi came bouncing down the steps. Nalini couldn’t be sure if it was the fact of what she saw or reality but Devi’s movements looked heavier than they normally were.

“What’s up guys?” Devi’s voice feigned casualness, “Dang mom, isn’t it late for a thousand-course meal?” She questioned as she took in the lack of clear surfaces on the dinner table.

Nalini just brushed it off, indicating for everyone to take a seat. “So how was everyone’s day?”

Nalini wasn’t looking for Devi to share but this was her family. She would always want to hear how they were, plus it was tradition. As they consumed insane amounts of food they were bound to regret eating this late at night, everything felt so normal and easy. But something had shifted in Nalini today and even though it was new and she was scared to death of this person entering Devi’s life with the propensity to hurt her. Nalini can’t say she minded too much because it was Paxton. He had proven himself worthy of a chance, and Nalini wouldn’t soon forget it.

[peterpan-in-neverland]

Chapters: 1/10

Fandom: Never Have I Ever

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar

Characters: Devi Vishwakumar, Ben Gross, Fabiola Torres, Eleanor Wong

Additional Tags: Gift Giving, Multichapter, Unreliable Narrator, Cute Kids, They're all dorks, also just a reminder that kids are people and not little weird robots, tags will be updated as this fic goes on

Summary: “Why don’t you have friends?” Devi asks, unable to stop herself. Her amma says that her inability to keep her thoughts to herself is going to get her into trouble someday, but she knows how to throw a punch. She is not really that worried.

But then, Ben makes a face just short of heartbroken, and she thinks that maybe her big mouth has gotten her into trouble after all.

“I don’t know,” he says, and shrugs. “Maybe I’m just not the kind of person who has friends. I’ve read about them…like, in newspapers and stuff.”

Devi blows a raspberry, awkward. “I mean, I’ll be your friend, but then you’d be losing out on your branding as the guy without friends,” she teases. The tips of her fingers shake, giving away her nerves. “Really, it’s up to you.”

He smiles, his whole face lifting with it, a glow like the sun. “Yeah, I want you to be my friend—or, I want to be your friend, I-I want us to be friends.” The words come out in an awkward stammer, and he gestures wildly, hands fluttering.

--

OR; Ben and Devi are best friends, and they give each other a lot of gifts

[the-canary]

@phen0l

No Longer Human

Ningen Shikkaku (人間失格)

Release Date :2019

Based on the true story of novelist Osamu Dazai.

Osamu Dazai (Shun Oguri) is the one of the most popular author in Japan, but he is absorbed in alcohol and love. He is married and has two lovers.

[catty-words]

it's me again! i haven't really seen any analysis/meta/discussion abt NHIE (i'm pretty new to the fandom) and i really liked your last answer to my q so i was wondering if u had any thoughts on ben/devi as a relationship (not necessarily just the romantic aspect of it but like as a whole) and paxton\devi as a relationship as well and like ur thoughts on all that. sorry if this is werid!

The short version? I love them both and find it really cool that season one gives both relationships a complete arc. As for the long version…

Devi/Paxton: Popular guy gradually comes to appreciate all nerdy girl has to offer is a cute trope, right? Right. Of course, the thing I love the most about it in Never Have I Ever is that behind that cuteness is a lot of dysfunction. Devi chooses to pin all her post-trauma hopes and dreams on Paxton not only because his image holds enough power over the school to overshadow her stint in a wheelchair, but also because he has no idea who she is. He walks past her without seeing her at his swim meet. He’s clean across the parking lot and has not even the tiniest inkling of an idea that he’s about to distract Devi from her trauma long enough to get her walking again. He doesn’t remember that she sits behind him in history class.

And that appeals to Devi because, at the beginning of the season, she’s not looking for intimacy or true connection with Paxton. She’s looking for the image of normalcy. She’s looking to rebrand. So when Dr. Ryan convinces her that getting a boyfriend, any boyfriend, is not the way to do it, Devi—not wanting to completely give up her plan and fueled by Ben’s recent exacerbation of her insecurities—swerves right past the true point of Dr. Ryan’s words to set her sights on having sex.

I adore the way the first season is driven entirely by Devi’s unabashed horniness. She thinks Paxton’s hot and gets to openly gaze at him. She has wholesome ‘I know nothing about sex other than I want this shirtless boy in my bed’ sex dreams. And I adore the way that, on the flip side of that very straightforward and relatable feeling, is how focusing exclusively on her desire for Paxton is shown to cause a lot of her problems. She both gets to indulge her fantasy and get so lost in it, it becomes actively harmful to her life.

Meanwhile, on Paxton’s side of things, we get to see him become very quickly interested in intimacy and true connection. When it becomes clear that Devi’s not actually able to indulge in casual sex—because as much as she might not be looking for true intimacy, she sure cannot bring herself to relax into the surface intimacies hooking up requires—Paxton draws the line for her (no, we shouldn’t keep trying to meet in my garage) but continues to seek out her friendship. Shortly after calling off their attempts to hookup, he chooses her to be in his group for a class project. He’s excited to see Devi show up for Trent’s party. He asks her what Ganesh Puja means to her. Moreover, he opens up a very vulnerable side of himself to her in his relationship with Rebecca.

So, yeah, there’s an obvious imbalance of power in the relationship, and it’s actually not weighted in Paxton’s favor as the trope would initially have you believe. Paxton falls for Devi’s boldness and her YOLO approach to living. He cares about her well-being, as demonstrated by him asking if she’s okay post-pool fall. For Devi, on the other hand, it’s not especially clear whether she realizes just how much she keeps looking at Paxton and seeing only her fantasy, only what he can offer her, instead of the hints of a real person with his own shit to deal with he keeps trying to give her. Look no further than the narration after their kiss—“She just snagged her first kiss from a teenage Adonis. As far as Devi’s concerned, that car ride just solved all her problems.” By the eleventh hour of the season, Paxton is well and truly interested in building a relationship with Devi, while Devi’s excited for their kiss not because Paxton has shown that he cares about her. She’s excited because what she’d wanted this whole time—the image boost of being with him—is well within her reach.

Now, it probably sounds like I think Devi’s callous for this, but not so!! I think it’s impressive, the way the season manages to clearly show Devi’s motivations as sympathetic while also refusing to fully endorse her actions. She’s for sure using Paxton, and it’s not an especially good look. But her desperate desire to be seen as normal—to be talked about for reasons of her choosing and not because life decided to knock her out with some serious shit for a while there—is so, so heartbreakingly accessible to me. Wanting to control your own narrative is a fascinating theme for a fictional character to explore. And the packaging this theme comes in—Devi’s witticisms and Devi’s yearning to have more time with her dad—is charming as hell, is human and heart-wrenching. I love Devi with all my heart. So I don’t dislike her for using Paxton. Also, I love Devi with all my heart, so I can totally relate to the way Paxton falls for her.

Devi/Ben: Rivals to…an undefined something else. Not as cutesy of a trope, which works perfectly because Devi and Ben—though they certainly have their moments that make me squeal—are not cute with each other. Their relationship is about challenge, about being held accountable because messing up is grounds for mockery. And with that accountability and that constant attention paid—I mean, even the point I made earlier, about Ben’s “unfuckable nerd” comment being present in Devi’s mind when she decides to ask Paxton if he wants to have sex, is proof of the way Devi and Ben constantly exert an influence on each other—comes unexpected vulnerability and intimacy.

Which, again, Devi is not looking for. But unlike with Paxton, Devi doesn’t have unrealistic expectations of her dynamic with Ben to get in the way when actual intimacy starts to develop, and therefore she has no readily accessible place to hide. For this reason, she actually ends up leaning on Ben a lot, leaning into the growing compassion between them, and accidentally stumbles into some mortifying ordeal of being known shit. All throughout season one, Devi is honest with Ben without being cornered into that honesty. He reads her mood in the second episode and surmises that her plan to “get railed” didn’t go well, and she lets him offer his Ben-flavored wisdom when just a couple minutes before, she made the choice to mislead her best friends. Ben is the first person she tells about not actually having sex with Paxton, where she has to be put on the spot by Eleanor’s mom to actually make the confession to Eleanor and Fabiola. She asks Ben if she can move in with him and spends a lot of the final episode talking out her feelings about her fight with Nalini and saying goodbye to her dad with him.

So yeah, there’s certainly an imbalance in their relationship, too. Devi leans more heavily on Ben than he gets to on her. Of course, she does have a lot more going on in her life than Ben does. Plus, this imbalance is not quite as insurmountable as the stuff with Paxton. Navigating it won’t be as big an obstacle. As it is, Devi gives Ben the sympathetic ear he needs on more than one occasion—in the kitchen in episode six and at the party in episode eight. He may have to specifically ask for her to shut up and listen in episode six—“I’m trying to be vulnerable here!”—but I think that’s more proof that they’re accidentally really well-suited for each other because of the way their rivalry has built accountability. Stop being a dick for a second, I have something important to share with you. It’s a parallel sense of isolation and image-contentiousness you’re battling. Doesn’t that make the burden of feeling these things just a little bit lighter?

Triangulation: In summation—Paxton kisses Devi to show her that he cares, that he’s not done with her, and she totally misses that in favor of idolizing the relationship they don’t fully have. Devi kisses Ben because he showed her he cares—he stayed!—and she wanted him to know she got the message. Which means, next season, Devi gets to make a choice between something she spent all of season one wanting and something she hadn’t at all expected to want. But, in either case, she gets to explore a relationship with a boy who cares deeply about her—which makes me really excited for her because, you guessed it! I love Devi with all my heart.

[songtoyou]

Chapter Three: Don’t Then

Paring: Ransom Drysdale x Fabiola Rossi (OC)

Story Rating: This story will mostly be rated 18+ as it is revolves around a relationship that is Dominant/submissive. For each chapter, I will do my best to rate it accordingly, but please know that the overall story will have very adult themes.

Chapter Rating: Rated R.

Warnings: Swearing, BDSM themes, public hand job.

Word Count: 3,019

Story Summary: Huge “Ransom” Drysdale always thought of himself as a powerful man. With his family’s money and status, Ransom could get away with anything. He had the power and control others would envy. Ransom could get any woman he wanted with a snap of his fingers. He was always in charge. He commanded attention. And he hated it. Never having a job in his life (thanks to his mother, father, and grandfather always there to supplement his bank account) or any real-life goals, Ransom felt incomplete and directionless. That is until Fabiola Rossi entered his life and turned it completely upside down.

Chapter summary: Fabiola and Ransom go on their first date. They are having a good time until someone stops by to ruin the evening. 

A/N: It has literally been a year since I have updated this story. I apologize about that and hope to not take as long for the next chapter.

Bold font indicates text messaging.

I do not permit any of my fics to be distributed on other sites without my permission.

Taglist:  @winchwm, @patzammit​

With any sexual partner, it is vital to maintain the separation of fantasy and reality. Sexual activities deemed “kinky” do not always result in instant gratification moments like movies, books, and television tend to show. Many considerations need to be involved when partaking in the acts of BDSM, such as personal feelings and possible risks. It is crucial for the Dominant to not put his or her Submissive in any uncomfortable scenarios and vice versa. BDSM interactions need to be steeped in solid communication, along with the collaboration of willingness to take personal responsibility for one’s actions and choices.

For Fabiola, she was determined to make sure that Ransom understands the essential aspects of BDSM interactions. Since he was new to BDSM, particularly as a submissive, it was her duty to help guide him throughout this unique experience. It was a responsibility that Fabiola never took for granted when it came to being a Domme. It was her duty to protect and guide her Subs when playing a scene. She loved being a Domme.

Currently, Fabiola was standing beside her closet, picking our different outfits to see what would look best for tonight. She wanted something casual and nothing too fancy. So, Fabiola opted for her dark red bandage dress with strappy side cutouts, a halter neck, and an open back with zipper closure that flattered her figure. She accompanied the dress with a black bicker chic crop jacket. Fabiola adorned the ensemble with black peep-toe ankle boots with lace embroidery and buckles, along with a black clutch. Her long hair was curled to cascade down her shoulders in waves, with red lips and dark eyeliner highlighting her facial features.

Fabiola instructed Ransom to pick her up at 8:00 PM at her apartment, and not a minute over. One thing she wanted to do was implement structure and consistency with Ransom. She desired to get him in the habit of being responsible and taking accountability. Fabiola figured that was the best place to start.

As Fabiola finished up getting ready, she heard her cellphone buzz. Thinking it was Ransom, she quickly reached for the device only to deflate. It wasn’t Ransom.

Jonathan: I need to see you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Fabiola. Please give me another chance.

Fabiola let out a frustrated groan when she read the message. Jonathan was her former boyfriend/submissive who appeared not to get the hint that things with them were over. The guy was too clingy for Fabiola to handle. He always wanted to be around her. He wanted more than what she was able to give him.

Fabiola: I can’t talk right now. I’m busy. 

Jonathan: Please! I need you!

Fabiola: NO! I told you that what we had is over. Now stop contacting me!

With a sigh, Fabiola put her phone in her clutch. ‘If you don’t want him to contact you, then block his number,’ Fabiola’s inner voice scolded her.

It wasn’t like Fabiola hadn’t thought about it. However, there was a part of her that couldn’t do it. She liked Jonathan. He was special to her. And some part of Fabiola still felt responsible for him.

She took out her phone and brought up the message chain.

Fabiola: Jonathan, I’m sorry. Look, I really can’t talk right now. How about tomorrow?

‘You’re an enabler!’ her inner voice yelled.

Jonathan: Yes! Thank you! Talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart. 😊

Fabiola rolled her eyes.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to stew over Jonathan’s messages for too long when the doorbell rang. She looked at the time, which read eight o’clock. She opened the door, and there was Ransom dressed to perfection. He wore all black from his jacket, shirt, slacks, and shoes. Very casual but still sophisticated. Fabiola could only guess Ransom’s clothes’ cost, which she knew each piece had to have been from a top designer.

“Hi,” Fabiola greeted. “You’re right on time.”

“I figured you’d count it against me if I didn’t,” Ransom confessed. He looked Fabiola up and down. “You look outstanding.”

“Thank you. So do you,” Fabiola complimented and walked out of her apartment to lock it up. 

Ransom offered Fabiola his arm, which she took, and walked her to his car. He would show that he could be a perfect gentleman since he was the one who recommended they go out for the night before returning to her place.

He wanted to relax but also show Fabiola a good time. Wining and dining women was one of Ransom’s specialties.

“So, where are we going?” Fabiola implored as she looked over at the man next to her.

“I figured I would take you to Yvonne’s. It’s a restaurant and bar. Nice atmosphere. Cool décor. You ever been?”

“No, never been,” she answered.

“I think you’ll like it.”

The remaining drive to the restaurant was quiet. It was as if neither knew what to bring up to start a conversation, which was not surprising. Ransom and Fabiola still didn’t know much about one another.

“How is your writing coming along since we last saw each other?” Fabiola probed as the quietness was getting to her. She figured asking Ransom about his writing was the safest conversation starter.

“Uh,” Ransom began as he steered his car through traffic. “It is…well, to be honest, I’m kind of stuck. I don’t know where to take the story next.”

Fabiola nodded in understanding. “Writer’s block. All too common. You know, some writers have shared with me how they combat writer’s block. You want to hear?”

“All ears.”

“Do you ever develop a list of favorite things your characters like, such as food, music, television shows, all that stuff? A writer told me they did that to help flesh out characters. That way, it helped to steer them where they needed to go within the story. Another writer told me that they would write one-shots where a character would do something different outside of the overall story. That way, you’re still getting your creative writing juices flowing instead of stewing and feeling bad about yourself for not writing,” Fabiola advised.

In all honesty, Ransom appreciated the advice. He was not used to kindness from another person who did not appear to want anything from him, at least not regarding his money or status. With Fabiola, he could tell that she was genuine with her advice offering.

After another fifteen minutes of mindless chitchat, Ransom pulled into a parking lot. He put the car in park and got out. Ransom hurried to the passenger door to help Fabiola out of the car, but she got out before he could open the door for her. 

“I’m sorry,” Fabiola giggled. “I never know if a guy is going to do that or not. I’ll let you open the door for me next time.”

With a chuckle, Ransom offered his arm once again and guided his date to the restaurant. Ransom was not kidding when he said that Yvonne’s décor was “cool.” Heck, it was more than that; it was fabulous. For Fabiola, it looked like gothic Alice in Wonderland, with its bookcases, elegant chandeliers, and other abstract lighting and art along the walls. Fabiola mainly got a kick out of the numerous skulls outlining the front of the bar.

“This place is amazing,” she gushed to Ransom.

“I had a feeling you would,” he smiled at her. Ransom was happy he was able to do something right.

They were greeted by the hostess and then escorted to their reserved table. 

“I’m so tempted to go up to those bookshelves and check out what they got,” Fabiola raved as she continued to take in her surroundings. 

Ransom tried to hold back his smile as he watched Fabiola. She looked like a kid in a candy store. He couldn’t fathom how this beautiful before him was a domme when she had the sweetest and, at times, goofy disposition. Fabiola was just who she was, carefree. Or at least that is what she presented on the outside. He wondered if she had any skeletons in her closet. 

He put down the wine/cocktail menu and leaned his arms on the table. “Tell me something, Ms. Rossi,” he began, “What makes you…tick?”

She quirked one of her perfectly tweezed eyebrows at Ransom, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what drives you crazy? What annoys you?”

“Oh, that is easy. The answer to that is stupid people. I have an extremely low tolerance to people who willingly choose to be ignorant,” she answered and grabbed the wine/cocktail menu. “What about you?”

“My family. They are the worst. You’d hate them for sure. But I won’t spoil the evening talking about them.”

“How about we order drinks,” Fabiola suggested as she continued to look at the drink menu. “Help us relax more, eh. What’s monkey shoulder?” she asked Ransom as she pointed to the drink that was called ‘Monkeys In A Pear Tree’ that had monkey shoulder, spiced pear, vanilla, almond, and orange bitters.

“It’s a blended malt scotch whiskey. It’s rather good. You should try it. Not with all that other shit in the drink, just the whiskey.”

“Yeah, I don’t need all that sugar. And I’m not a whiskey girl, unfortunately. I think I’ll go with a glass of wine,” Raina pointed out.

Ransom took the list back and perused the assortments of wine offerings. “How about I get us a bottle. Red or white?”

“Let’s go with red. You pick.”

Waving a waiter over, Ransom ordered a bottle of the red 2017 Syrah. It was a good wine. Not too sweet, but not too “woody” tasting as some would describe certain red wines. With their glasses filled, both opted to go for the shareable plate items—nothing too heavy, just enough to satisfy their stomachs. 

While they waited, Fabiola scooted her chair closer to Ransom. They were seated at a corner table with dim lighting. No one would be able to see what Fabiola was about to do. She placed one of her manicured hands on his thigh. Fabiola began to move her hand up and down. As Fabiola trailed her hand higher up Ransom’s thigh, she watched his face for any reaction that she should stop. When she didn’t see any hesitation from him, she rested her hand against the bulge in his pants. Fabiola squeezed it, and Ransom almost jumped from his seat. 

Ransom felt Fabiola begin to unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper. He looked around the restaurant to make sure no one was looking over at their table. Fabiola let out a little chuckle.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked him.

He shook his head ‘no.’ “I need you to voice it, Baby Hughie,” Fabiola ordered him in a low voice while she continued to rub him out. He stirred in his seat as she slipped a hand under his briefs.

“Don’t stop,” Ransom managed to breathe out. His cock was almost rock hard.

Fabiola continued to stroke him. Back and forth. Nice and slow. Agonizingly slow. Ransom began to move his hips to try to increase the friction against his cock. 

“Look at you. So needy. You want to cum, don’t you? Is that what you want? You want to cum in a public setting, Baby Hughie?” teased Fabiola as she leaned over and began to kiss Ransom from his neck to his ear. “I want to see how long I can tease you before you eventually beg me to let you cum.”

Even when the waiter brought their food (who was oblivious to what was going on under the table), Fabiola did not remove her hand from Ransom’s pants. She ate her food with her other hand while she continued to stroke his cock with the other. Sometimes Fabiola would bring her fork to Ransom’s mouth so he would eat when she noticed he was barely touching his food. 

When Ransom felt a thumb rub his tip, he let out a low groan. “I need to cum,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

“I know you do, but I’m not going to allow it,” was all Fabiola said and continued to eat her food. 

It was only when she was finished eating that she stopped stroking Ransom’s cock and removed her hand from his pants. She assisted in zipping and buckling Ransom back up to make sure he looked presentable. Fabiola stood up from the table. She handed Ransom one of the clean napkins. “Wipe the sweat from your forehead and drink some water. I’m going to go wash my hands.” 

As Ransom watched Fabiola’s retreating form, he leaned back in his chair and let out a loud sigh. Reaching for his wine glass, he downed the contact in one gulp and poured himself another. Ransom squeezed his own junk as it was still hard. He began to think about other things to stifle the hardness. ‘Family reunions. Aunt Joni in a bathing suit. Grandma in a bathing suit.’ Ransom throughout in his head. 

Unsurprisingly, they worked. His stiffened cock was beginning to recede. Gulping down another glass of wine, Ransom poured himself another. He didn’t quite know how to feel at that moment. He was unsatisfied with not being allowed to cum, but also intrigued with how turned he felt. 

The feeling of not being in control was all-new for Ransom. At that moment, it was Fabiola who called the shots. She told him that he was not allowed to cum. He noticed the chastising tone in her voice when she ordered him to wipe off his sweat and drink water. Normally, Ransom would scoff at someone commanding to do things, but there was something incredibly erotic when Fabiola did it. He picked up his napkin and began to wipe off the sweat from his forehead. He drank his water and waited for the woman, who excited and astounded him, to return.  

Unfortunately, Ransom’s euphoria came to a crashing halt when he heard, “Hey, son. What are you doing here?”

Ransom looked up to see his father, Richard Drysdale, standing before him. “What the Hell are you doing here?” Ransom retorted coldly. 

Ignoring his son’s cold tone and icy glare, Richard took it upon himself to take a seat at the table. He began picking the food off of the plates and took Ransom’s glass of wine to sip for himself. 

“You got a date?” Richard probed his son. 

Ransom let out a frustrated groan. He needed to get out of here. “Is mom here as well, or are you with one of your side pieces?” 

Before Richard could reply, Fabiola came back to the table. She was caught off guard by the new addition who was eating their food and drinking their wine. “Sorry I took so long. I got caught up talking to a woman who wanted to know where I purchased my shoes, then we got off tangent, and well…I’m back now. Who is this?”

“No one important,” Ransom replied.

Richard glared at his son but hid his animosity with a laugh. “He’s a kidder that one. Hi, I’m Richard Drysdale. Ransoms’ father,” he introduced himself. Richard stuck his hand out for Fabiola. Which she accepted with the hand that was previously stroking his son’s cock. 

“Fabiola Rossi.”

“Well, aren’t you beautiful,” Richard complimented. Ransom noticed a look in his father’s eyes. He knew that look. It was the look Richard always had when he wanted a woman that was not his wife. 

“Again, I ask, what are you doing here?” Ransom again asked his father.

Richard looked over at the bar with Ransom and Fabiola following suit. They saw Richard wave a young woman who waved back. “I’m here for a business dinner.”

“Bullshit.”

Ransom knew that his father was having an affair. Everyone in the family knew, except for Linda. But that was his mother. She would rather ignore the problems in her marriage and family while pretending everything is perfect. 

“Look, son, I didn’t mean to crash your date. I just stopped by to say ‘hi,’ that is it,” Richard pointed out.

Ransom merely scoffed. “Okay. You said your ‘hi,’ now leave.”

“Actually, Ransom, I think we should start heading out,” Fabiola spoke up while looking around for their waiter.

“I didn’t mean to cut your evening short,” said Richard as he got up from the table. He stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before bidding adieu and going back to his “business dinner.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ransom was more than annoyed; he was fuming. He was ready to blow, and Fabiola could see it. She watched as Ransom pulled out a couple of hundred bills from his wallet and stood up. She stood up as well gathered her jacket and clutch. Following Ransom’s lead out of the restaurant, Fabiola was only a few steps behind him as they walked to the car. He stopped in front passenger door side and turned around. He watched as Fabiola put on her jacket.  Her hair was lightly blowing in the night wind. His father was right; she was beautiful.

Moving towards Fabiola, Ransom ran his hands up and down her arms to help warm her up. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, indicating what happened in the restaurant with his father. “My dad…he isn’t someone I…”

“It’s fine, Ransom. Let’s not have him ruin the rest of our night. You still want to come over, right?”

Ransom leaned his forehead against Fabiola’s before pressing his lips against hers. He didn’t deepen the kiss and retreated after only a couple of seconds. Ransom went back to resting his forehead against Fabiola’s while she stroked his left cheek.

“Tell me what you want?” she asked him.

Ransom looked into her eyes like he was searching for something. He sighed at what felt like the hundredth time that night. “I don’t know what I want. That is the problem. All I do know is that I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be my dad.”

Fabiola nodded her head in understanding. “Don’t then.”

[cupcakesandtv]

Daxton + 1!!!

Also, do you think we could get a moment between them in which they are almost dating but devi is like "wait I have trauma and I am an emotional mess and I dont want to put him through that" so she tells paxton that she won't be with him and breaks things off between them and paxton is ofc upset because "don't you think I should decide what I can handle and what not?? I like you and want to get to know every part of you, not just the fun part" (or smth that would express how he wants her for who she really is) and she's like "oh damn, he actually cares about me" or smth like that?? Idk I just had an idea in my head and I like reading what you've got to say about daxton so yeah!

I know you handled the topic of devi thinking paxton will dump her bc of her handling her grief but this is like before they date so it's a bit different I guess......I'm sorry if it's the same!

Okay so...I tweaked the exact lines a little. I hope that’s okay! 

The morning was dragging. Paxton was sitting in English lit, a class he didn’t usually hate, but could not keep his attention on the teacher. Sure, he never was perfectly attentive, but lit wasn’t that bad. Mrs. Polk was an older lady with big coke bottle glasses and a hefty collection of scarves but she never called on him when he wasn’t paying attention to embarrass him in front of the class and she even told him that his papers had a “conversational feel” that she enjoyed so it wasn’t the worst class. If he had favorite classes, it might be up there. 

They were covering The Scarlet Letter and he’d watched Easy A enough times to get the point so Paxton checked out and was mentally in that warm spot reliving that time last fall when he actually got to kiss Devi Vishwakumar. It’s not like it was on constant repeat in his mind, he tried to save it for particularly boring moments. But in the last month or so it came up a lot because she was always around. Or he was always close to her. 

They did another group project together in history and then she convinced him to go to Fabiola’s underground robot fight club (it was a short lived event because it turned out nerds were deeply attached to their robots and cried when other robots hurt theirs but it was fun) and he’d started sitting with her at lunch more often using the robot thing and his questions for Fab as an excuse. But sitting next to Devi, putting his leg close enough that her’s touched his, that was a really good thing. He liked it. It was nice. And Devi told funny stories about wild stuff that happened in class and how she got herself into these ridiculous situations and then how she got out of them. He loved listening to her tell stories. 

She kept ending up in his space a lot more at school. Or he kept ending up in hers. He didn’t really know who was doing what but he was very into it and he was hoping that eventually their hangouts might end in more kissing because he really liked her. 

Mrs. Polk went on about Hester Prynne and Paxton looked at the clock as he rubbed his thumb across his pointer, thinking about how he held Devi’s chin when he kissed her and how her skin was smooth. She smelled like chlorine from the pool she’d fallen in and that was definitely a thing that was stuck in his brain now whenever he was in the pool...which was bad because he was a swimmer. He was in the pool a lot. 

He stretched his arms above his head and sighed, looking over his shoulder just for something to do, when he saw a flash of Devi through the glass on the back door of the classroom. He looked at the clock again, still 20 minutes of class left, so he raised his hand, asked to go to the bathroom, discreetly picked up his bag so he wouldn’t have to come back, and slipped out the back door. 

Devi was standing at her locker, hiding almost, behind the metal locker door, and that didn’t seem right. By the time he made it to where she was, he could see her eyes were puffy and instantly, he was on guard. “What’s going on?” he asked, gently as he could, when he really wanted to ask if he should be shoving someone in a locker on her behalf. He’d love an excuse to shove Ben Gross into a locker.  

Devi swiped furiously at her cheeks and gave him a fake smile. “I’m fine, no big, uh, allergies.” 

Paxton looked around, they still had plenty of time before the bell would ring and the halls would fill so it seemed reasonable to press her a little. He reached into the side pocket of his backpack and handed her a travel tissue pouch his mom was always putting in his bag. She looked at him sort of skittish (now he was really concerned) and took the tissue to wipe her eyes. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, leaning against the locker. 

She hesitated and bit her lip, not that he was looking at her lips. Okay, he was. They were very soft and he had just been thinking about kissing her minutes ago, he was only human. “I, uh, I had to miss fourth for a doctor’s appointment,” Devi said cautiously, “Well, not a doctor’s appointment, a therapy appointment. I usually have them after school but there was a scheduling thing and it’s stupid anyways and half the time when I leave therapy now I’ve sobbed like a baby because it’s exhausting to talk about hard stuff and feel all those dumb feelings and…” she trailed off and looked away. 

“Are you embarrassed that you go to therapy?” he asked, moving his head to try and look her in the eyes. “Because therapy is normal. I went to therapy for like a year in the sixth grade and Trent had this kickass therapist that helped him through his parents’ divorce. Therapy is chill. I mean, it’s not chill. You’re right, it's exhausting, but it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And your dad straight up died. Therapy seems like a good call.” 

Devi let out a little laugh, but it sounded like she might cry again, she smiled anyway and sniffed. Then took another tissue from the pack and looked in her locker mirror, running the tissue under her eyes to clear the smudge of mascara that the tears caused. 

“I just…,” she took a deep breath and turned back to him. “Are you just being nice? Do you really mean that?”

“No, I mean it,” Paxton said quickly, but then he took a second to process what she’d said. “I wouldn’t say something just to be nice, well, okay yeah, maybe I would. But that’s because I want to be nice to you. I like you. Like last week you said something about Doja Cat and I said she was cool even though that one song is entirely overplayed but what difference does it make? What’s wrong with me wanting to be nice to you?” 

Devi tilted her head a little confused, but she smiled so he’d take it. 

“I don’t think we should hang out anymore,” she said, her smile fell and he couldn’t breathe like the time he took a soccer ball to the gut and had the wind knocked out of him. 

“What?” He stood up straight. A minute ago he thought he might take her hand to make her feel better and now this? “Did I do something wrong?”

She closed her eyes and he saw a few more tears fall and he couldn’t help it, even confused, he reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek gently. She leaned into his hand and he really didn’t understand what was happening. Devi was saying one thing and then acting like that. It was weird. She opened her eyes and sniffed again, brushing at the tears on her face. 

“Shit, no, like not at all. Ever. Except maybe that Doja Cat thing you just admitted to.” She gave him a watery laugh and then looked down, defeated. 

“Can I get a little context as to why you don’t want to be my friend anymore then?” Paxton asked, desperate for something he could fix to make this not be a thing. The last thing he wanted was to not be Devi’s friend. And he thought they were working towards more than friends so what was this about?

“I’m too much.” She looked up at him briefly and then looked away again. 

“Too much?” Paxton couldn’t imagine what she meant because he wanted all the Devi he could get. 

“You’ve already had to rescue me a bunch of times and I come with all this baggage and I cry about my dad way more than when I was just pretending it wasn’t real,” Devi took a breath and opened her mouth like she’d keep going but he couldn’t let her. 

“Who told you that? Because I’ve never actually been in a fight but I’d like to punch anyone who said that to you.” 

Her face was all scrunched up but it looked like she’d stopped crying at least, and she looked at him, searching his face. 

“Nobody said that to me, except me, I guess. I’m too much.” Devi frowned and Paxton shook his head. “The Devi at lunch or at school, that’s a big part of me, right? But there’s all these other parts of me. The funky feeling in my stomach when an ambulance goes by and the way my mom pinches my legs, terrified they’re gonna stop working again when I’m stressed. Who would want to be friends with that Devi?” 

Paxton raised his arm in the air, hand up. “What are you doing?” she asked, confused. 

“Oh, sorry, I was answering your question. I was raising my hand. I want to be friends with that Devi.” Paxton said confidently, hoping that would convince her. “I’d like to be more than friends with that Devi. The whole Devi. All the parts.” Devi smiled, sort of pitiful, but she smiled so he put his hand down. “You’re not too much,” he lowered his voice, and took her hand. He ran his thumb across the back of it while she looked up at him through her lashes, eyes unsure. “Here’s me telling you that you’re not too much. If somebody thinks you’re too much, maybe they’re just not enough?”

“That’s cheesy as hell,” she said, but there wasn’t any sting in her words. She reached for his cheek with her free hand, her thumb brushed across his lips and Paxton tried not to get carried away. He wanted to kiss her but she was having a moment and he would follow her lead. “It doesn’t bother you? That I’m too much? That I’m like this?” 

“Why don’t you let me decide what I can and can’t handle,” he answered. “I like you. If I can’t convince you otherwise, then fuck, I guess I like you being too much.” 

A smile bloomed on her face, it started on her left side, that’s where her smiles always started, yes, he knew that, no, he didn’t have time to be embarrassed by it because she was leaning in. She pressed her lips to his and he sighed like he was finally where he was supposed to be. Every other girl he’d ever kissed? Didn’t hold a candle to Devi. He thought maybe he’d just convinced himself of that after it happened the first time, he thought in his crush addled brain he’d imagined it, but no, she was still the best kiss he’d ever had. Her lips were softer, her skin was smoother, she made this little whimpering noise when he moved his tongue against hers. This was the only person he wanted to kiss. Right here. 

The bell rang and people started to pour into the halls, but Devi didn’t let go of his face and he didn’t open his eyes. She kept her lips on his until people started to hoot and holler around them and some poor kid needed to get to the locker next to hers. When she finally pulled away, she hid in the curve of his neck and giggled. He felt her breath against the skin there and he liked it. 

Paxton liked all of her. 

[fabbookreads]

Current Phantom of the Opera Book Collection

[the-canary]

Reading done in 2021

[ao3feed-nhie]

by peterpan_in_neverland

"His voice glides over her like honey, smooth and golden and intoxicating, and she’s realizing that honey is exactly what he smells like. Honey and lavender, and she isn’t sure when she found the scent on him endearing, but right now, it’s all she ever wants to smell."

OR five times Ben and Devi realize the other is human, and the one time it changes things

Words: 11615, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of have you ever felt things beyond the human language?

Fandoms: Never Have I Ever (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Ben Gross, Devi Vishwakumar, Mohan Vishwakumar, Principal Grubbs, Fabiola Torres, Brian Lakestone, Eleanor Wong, Nalini Vishwakumar, Kamala (Never Have I Ever)

Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar

Additional Tags: 5+1, my first ever 5+1 fic, im so excited, also im really sorry, but the fifth one is very pretty, and the rest of them kind of suck, i mean theyre good, read it, but like personally the fifth is my favourite, and it is the standard by which the others are measured, SO, take that as you will, but anyway here are some actual tags, Grief, poor understanding of the dolby theatre, poor understanding of bar mitzvahs, poor understanding of Triple-A (AAA?), and poor understanding of Indian foods, specifically Tamil, if you have any corretions for that stuff please let me know, i did some hardcore googling, but i still feel like im wrong, alright I think thats it, this was kind of a lot

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

SPANISH NAMES AND NAMING CONVENTIONS

Hello everybody, first of all, I think I’m gonna put all these info posts under the “#typicalspanish” tag if you want them to read all of them in my blog. So, today I’ve decided to talk about naming, because a really interesting thing I’ve always find unique about Spanish culture is how you can easily find where in Spain a person is just by looking at their names and surnames. I’ll also give a bit of info about the whole two surnames things, typical names, and stuff like that.

Let’s start!

So, first of all, Spaniards usually have 1 name and 2 surnames, although 2 names aren’t uncommon too (my mum is called Ana María, and my grand-father Pedro Antonio for example). About the 2 surnames, I know most of you probably know about all of this, but i’ll give a bit of an in-depth look for good measures. 

So, we have 2 surnames, the father first and then the mother one (although since a couple of years a law was passed and now they can go in whatever order the parents prefer!). The cool thing about this is that, even though your 2 first surnames are the ones that show up on your ID, and thus your official surnames, you have infinite surnames. Normally people get to know up to 8. I’ll show you how to find out these surnames and the order, because it can get a bit confusing. As an example, I’ll bring up my 8 surnames (as you’ll see they are really boring):

We first need to know the two surnames of the 4 grandparents. In my case, it would be:

PATERNAL: Beltrán García García & Francisca Martínez Rivera

MATERNAL: Pedro Antonio Martínez Parra & Ana María Cifuentes Gómez

Okay, now you have to think as a misogynist to have a correct order, because patriarchy. First go the grandparents and then the grandmothers, paternal first. 

So my 8 surnames would go like this: García Martínez Martínez Cifuentes García Parra Rivera Gómez

So yeah, it’s really cool to know 8 of your surnames. There’s even wich probably is the most successful Spanish film ever (which is in Netflix btw along with its second part and you should totally watch it), “8 apellidos vascos” (its English name is “Spanish Affair” but its literal translation is “8 Basque Surnames”) that has the surnames as part of the main plot.

About the surnames, let’s start with the most popular ones. My first surname is also the most common surname in Spain: García (in fact, the Spanish “John Smith” would be “Juan García”)

The patronymics are also really common and found throughout Spain, these are the surnames that end in “-ez”, like Martínez, Gómez, López, Hernández, Fernández, González, etc. They are the most common ones.

The most common names are probably for males Juan, José and Carlos (John, Joseph and Charles) and for females María and Ana (Mary and Anna).

Now I’ll proceed to go through all Spain, showing you the most common names and surnames of each region:

GALICIA

(note that these names / surnames are also extensive to places near Galicia)

-Names: For males some that come to my mind would be Roi, Efrén, Xosé, Nuño, Brais... For females, Sabela, Carmela, Fabiola, Lúa, Noa...

-Surnames: Basically anything that has a “ei”: Ferreiro, Barreira, Neira, Meira...

EUSKADI / BASQUE COUNTRY AND NAVARRA:

These ones are probably the most distinct ones, thanks for the nightmare that is their language

-Names: For males the most typical are Koldo, Patxi, Aitor, Asier, Karlos... and the females ones can be either beautiful (Iria, Ainhoa, Amaia, Laia, Izaro, Ainara) or just plain weird (Garbiñe, Eneko, Edurne, Erentxun, Gabone)

-Surnames: They are easily recognizable, you’ll see why - Muguruza, Igartiburu, Arguiñano, Urdangarin, Goikoetxea, Uriarte, Arriaga

RURAL

This is of course not 100% accurate at all times, but people in the Meseta and rural zones tend to focus on specific names.

-Males: Really common and bland ones, like Juan, Pedro, José / Pepe , Antonio, or really obscure and old sounding like Anastasio, Celedonio, Atanasio, Wenceslao

-Females: Either 2 names including always a “María” like Ana María, María Antonia, María Eugenia, or names that mean actual words in Spanish and usually have a short form, of course with a “María” added to it, like María Angustias (Angustias is “Anguish”), María Dolores (Dolores is “Pain”, short form is Lola), Rosario (”Rosary”, short form Charo), Mercedes (”Mercy” or “Favour”, short form Merche), Milagros (”Miracles”, short form Mila)

POSH (PIJO):

I have experience in these types of names because I live in probably one of the poshest places in Spain so yeah

-Names: Cayetano / Cayetana is the most typical name, also for males Bertín, Borja and Mauro, and for females Candela, Claudia and Mercedes

-Surnames: Hyphenated surnames (García-Valenzuela) or introduced by “de” (de Miguel) are usually associated with nobles and rich people.

CATALONIA, VALENCIA AND BALEARIC ISLANDS

These ones are also very distinct. Also, some people here use “i” between their two surnames, it’s just a tradition there.

-Names: For males Pol, Enric, Jordi, Joan, Carles... For females Montserrat (short form Montse), Julia, Èlia, Mireia, Helena...

-Surnames: Pujol, Coll, Benavent, Bernabeu, Sempere, Torra, Puig, Puigdemont...

ANDALUCÍA AND MURCIA:

These are also not that common, is just that maybe they are most common in the south.

-Names: A lot of compound names, specially for males (Juan Antonio, José Miguel, Juan Manuel, etc.) also for males Paco (short name for Francisco). For females the most typical names are Isabel and Carmen, and also Lola (short name for Dolores).

-Surnames: There’s not really a trend but I’ve seen that surnames like Medina, Rivera, Molina... tend to come from the south.

Hope you liked it, please feel free to add others!

[thearrangment-phff]

LXIV.

August 2018

“Thank you for showing me around.”

“It’s no problem. I’ve been wanting to come to Wales since I got married anyhow,” replied Isabella.

“Why haven’t you until now?”

“Honeymoon, engagements, then of course the horrible pregnancy,” answered Isabella.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Elisabeth, Isabella’s second cousin as a Princess of Belgium.

“You can ask me anything.”

“Is there a reason why I’m being pushed to go on a date with your cousin Paul Louis?” asked Elisabeth.

“If I had any answers I would tell you, but I do not,” answered Isabella.

“I’m 16 years old and while I should be boy crazy, I’m not. I will one day rule Belgium and I have no time to be messing around with silly little boys right now.”

“While I don’t understand your position, I understand where your heart is coming from. I think you will make a fantastic queen and a worthy successor to your father. But I also understand that having a consort who understand our way of life would be the best option in the long run.”

“Paul Louis is 20. I don’t turn 17 for another couple of months. I’m not going to start a relationship with anyone who is years older than me.”

“Paul may not carry engagements but his parents do. He understands the lifestyle and he wouldn’t be a bad man to marry.”

“You do realize that Paul Louis is trying to date Zita right?”

“Which Zita?” asked Isabella.

“Bourbon-Parma,” replied Elisabeth.

“You have to give me more than that. There are too many Bourbons and too many Zita’s this family.”

“I think she’s Henri’s cousin. Your future brother-in-law Henri.”

“Paul Louis and Zita?” asked Isabella trying to imagine them together.

“Well I might be wrong and she might want Leopold. I don’t really spend a lot of time with them in the first place so you can't trust my word hundred percent.”

“I might have to talk with him, Leo, and Charlotte. It seems like so long since I’ve seen them anyhow. You grew up so fast so I can’t imagine seeing them again.”

“You are going to Belgium for uncle Baudouin’s anniversary right?” asked Elisabeth.

“Of course. Are they going?”

“Last time I heard they are. Even your grandmother Yolande is going and your aunt Margaretha with her family. It’s supposed to be a big thing,” answered Elisabeth.

“Uncle Baudouin meant a lot to many of people.”

“I think it’s amazing that Charles carries Uncle Baudouin’s name. It will remind him later on that he comes from the Belgian kings just as much as the English ones,” smiled Elisabeth.

“Have you talked with Joachim lately?” asked Isabella.

“He is fine. But you shouldn’t be asking about a former lover when you’re married.”

“Former lover? I can’t believe you just used those two words.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call him? You two were never a thing but at the same time you were something,” replied Elisabeth.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“Why? Because he’s my cousin? Or is because I’m younger than the two of you and not supposed to know about this kind of stuff?”

“Because I haven’t thought about him in so long but seeing you reminded me of him. I’m married with children, I don’t need to think about Joachim.”

“This isn’t helping but... he misses you. He got drunk one night and cried in Aunt Astrid’s arms saying how stupid he was. He still wants you and I know that telling you this is not fair because like you said you are married with children, but I think you deserve to know.”

Isabella looked at Elisabeth seeing her great-grandmother Queen Astrid of the Belgians in her face. It broke her heart hearing the stories of poor Queen Astrid by those all around her. All anyone had were stories and pictures because of how young she died, “Do I really deserve anything? I have a kind husband, wonderful children, and a life that many wish for...”

“Some people can have everything yet still feel empty. The year before aunt Fabiola died you came to Belgium. Your parents thought it would do you good to be with her and family, and of course with my cousin,” said Elisabeth.

“I remember that summer... everyone thought the Belgian coast would do me some good but in fact, it made everything worse. I spend more time with my head in the toilet than anything else,” laughed Isabella.

“I remember thinking during that time if he could not put a smile on your face then nothing could. You would spend all day in your rooms and then disappear at night. It hurt to see you like that in all honesty.”

“I hate that those are the memories you have of me, I-”

“Those aren’t all. I have many goods ones, better ones,” interrupted Elisabeth.

“I fear those will be my children's memories of me. The depression, the anxiety, and it’s no way to live. My children deserve better than having a mother like me.”

Isabella looked at her wine glass before staring at her phone. It read 02:29 so that meant she had been for the past 4 hours. By drinking she could no longer breastfeed her sons and because they were being breastfed someone else had to be found.

“What are you doing?”

Isabella turned around to see Harry at the door, “Drinking. What else does it look like?”

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” said Harry as he got closer and attempted to take away the glass.

“I am already on my second bottle so don’t bother.”

“I thought you had gone to sleep. You were exhausted today.”

“I was. That is why I decided to drink my sorrows away,” laughed Isabella.

“Can you walk or do I need to help you to your bed?” asked Harry.

“Join me. I can pull out the vodka or bourbon if you’d like.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on. Don’t you think we deserve it? We have newborn twins in the other room we need this Harry,” laughed Isabella.

“I’ll have some.”

“Great! You can have the bourbon.”

“What about the boys?” asked Harry.

“They have Gaelle and Olympia. They are fine. They’ll have someone taking care of them and I’m not breastfeeding anymore. Just loosen up Harry,” answered Isabella.

Harry was reluctant but he allowed Isabella to pour him a drink. One drink turned into two and next thing Harry remembers is Isabella smiling at him from the floor with the bottle of gin in her hands. He had never seen her so relaxed and it broke his heart a little to know that he would never truly know her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” asked Isabella with a small hiccup.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Harry.

“Uh... I guess?” laughed Isabella.

“Who was your first love?”

Isabella let out a loud groan, “Do I really have to answer this?”

“Yes.”

“Joachim but do I really even know what love is? How do I know Joachim was my first love? I’m still so young. Do you even know yours?”

“Chelsy I suppose. I dated her on and off for 7 years,” answered Harry.

“Joachim was my everything when I was little. I was pushed to Amedeo but he was... 6 years... older than me so he had no interest in a little girl. To my grandmother’s disappointment, I found Joachim more fun. It was always the two of us together and then stupid hormones came along.”

“He was your first everything?” asked Harry.

“Of course he was,” laughed Isabella.

“Did you ever regret anything with him?”

“In all honesty... I regret not marrying him when I was 18 and he proposed on a beach in France.”

Harry took another gulp of bourbon, “He proposed?”

“He did,” laughed Isabella as she took a sip of gin from the bottle.

“Obviously you said no because we wouldn’t be here if you did.”

“I was 18 and I was going to the states for uni. I told him to ask me again in 10 years because we were so young in the first place.”

“Then I came along,” said Harry.

“You did. Don’t think I hate you and regret the life we have now. Charlie and Bertie mean the world to me, I would never regret having them.”

“But your life would have been so different. It would have been better marrying your first love,” replied Harry.

“He wanted us to get married in Brussels surrounded by all our family. We had already named our kids. Astrid, Charlotte, Leopold, and Charles. We had our whole life planned out. We would live in Switzerland, he would work with our Habsburg family in banking, and I would work at the UN. We could’ve been happy,” smiled Isabella as a tear feel down her face.

“When I look at you sometimes, I hate myself. I feel like I stole your life from you,” confessed Harry.

Isabella looked at him with shook, “You don’t have to hate yourself. You act like I didn’t have a choice. I did and I choose you.”

“But the thing is... you shouldn’t have to choose me. You shouldn’t have been put in that position in the first place,” replied Harry.

Isabella crawled over to him and planted herself by his feet, on the floor, “You aren’t a bad guy. I could’ve married worse,” joked Isabella.

“You can still divorce me and marry Joachim,” suggested Harry.

“Why can’t you just accept that you and I are together! God! I thought I was difficult with my emotions changing all the time,” laughed Isabella.

Harry looked down at her for a couple of seconds before sliding down to be with her on the floor. Isabella continued to drink from the bottle of vodka and red wine and all Harry could do was look at her. She finally looked back at him and was about something before burping right in his face. Isabella busted out laughing and then wouldn’t stop apologizing to Harry.

There was this one moment where they both stared at each other. In a daze, Harry remembers kissing Isabella. He remembers undressing her on the bed as she continued to kiss him with a passion unlike before. Isabella remembers the feel of Harry’s beard on her body. But none of them remember the night clearly. So when Isabella wakes up late in the afternoon, she finds herself and Harry in the same bed. She didn’t raise any questions and simply walked back to her own bed, going back to sleep in the process.

When Harry awakens the next day he remembers Isabella, except she wasn’t in the bed when he woke up. His first thought was everything that happened last night was just a dream. Hours passed and Isabella and he was supposed to get ready to go to a performance of Hamilton. Harry found her in a long red dress with her hair done and feeding their eldest son as Gaelle fed Albert.

“Are you ready?” asked Harry

“Yes. You?”

“No breastfeeding right?”

“No. Can’t do that since I was drinking last night,” answered Isabella.

Harry wanted to ask her about last night and ask if they did anything but there were too many people in the room. He thought about asking her in the car ride to the theatre but then decided that wasn’t the right time either. Harry would simply have to ask questions when they got home.