#feels CRAZY like no i’m still a young grad student i’m still new

[fieldsofbone]

year 5 of my phd starts today 😵‍💫

[adenei]

Ch. 1 - How to Win a Witch in 10 Days

AO3 | FFN

Summary: “She’s going to find some unsuspecting wizard, get him to fall for her, and then do all the things that turn men away to get him to break things off! Won’t it be the best way to see what witches do that drives men crazy?” But what happens when the man in question is a blast from Lily Evans's past? A Jily Magical AU based on the romantic comedy "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

Thursday, Pt. 1

Lily Evans sits down at her desk. It’s a typical Thursday morning at the office of Witch Weekly for the ‘How To’ columnist. Parchment is strewn about everywhere due to a hasty departure the night before, but with a flick of her wand, the papers arrange themselves into neat piles. Satisfied with the restored order, she turns to her magical typewriter and the most recent article that lies next to it: How To Make the Transition from Hogwarts Graduate to Adult.

She smiles at her hard work and hopes that this time Amelia will go for her pitch. A new batch of Hogwarts students graduated last week, and this was the type of information she would have loved to have when she finished her education three years ago. Being a Muggleborn made the transition into life as an independent witch more difficult. There aren’t many resources to help young adults find their way in magical society, and even though she met with Professor McGonagall numerous times about her future, the meetings weren’t as helpful as Lily preferred.

Perhaps this is why Lily lives in a small flat in muggle London and commutes to the office via taxi or apparition to Diagon Alley every day, depending on her mood. She tucks the article safely into a desk drawer before setting about her first task of the day: coming up with new ideas for future articles. Grabbing a blank piece of parchment, Lily begins brainstorming as more how to article ideas begin flitting through her mind.

Lily always knew she wanted to be a writer. The excitement she felt after securing a job at the highly respected go-to magazine for witches was only to be rivaled with receiving her Hogwarts letter at the age of eleven. At least, that’s how she used to feel. Now, she’s stuck in a perpetual wheel of pushing out article after article on how to incorporate the newest beauty, fashion, and health trends that flow into the magical world faster than a Cornish Pixie prison break.

Lily shakes her head as she writes down another idea: How To Secure an Interview for the Job of Your Dreams. She’s sick of all the superficial fluff she’s been writing for the past two years. It’s time for something more.

“Morning!” Alice chirps as she passes Lily’s cubicle.

“Good morning!” Lily gives Alice a warm smile in return.

Alice Fortescue is one of her closest colleagues and friends at the publishing company. That’s the one perk of this job, working with some amazing people.

“Amelia called a staff meeting in thirty minutes. Have you seen Marlene?”

Lily feels as if a bludger has knocked the wind out of her. She was so preoccupied this morning that she didn’t realize her best friend of ten years wasn’t at her desk.

“No, she hasn’t shown up yet,” Lily worries.

Marlene has recently been dumped—again—and she is never one to take a break-up lightly, even if said relationship only lasted a few weeks.

Alice sighs. “I’ll get the coffee, you floo to her place?”

Lily nods and grabs her bag, following Alice toward the exit. She digs a knut out of her purse and places it into the slot before grabbing a handful of floo powder. It’s common courtesy to donate money to replace the office’s stock if you use it for anything other than transportation to or from your residence.

She tosses the powder into the fireplace and steps into the green flames, announcing Marlene’s address in a clear, firm voice. Lily prepares herself for the sensation of the ground dropping out from below her as she free falls into the imaginary slide that transports her where she needs to go. The trip is short, and within seconds she is stepping out of the fireplace into Marlene’s flat.

“Marly? You here?” Lily calls.

Her best friend tiptoes out of the kitchen, still in her dressing gown. She’s carrying a cup of tea close to her face to hide her puffy eyes.

“Oh, Marly, I’m so sorry,” Lily reaches out to comfort her friend with a hug.

Lily takes the cup of tea from her hands and steers Marlene to her bedroom. “I know how hard break-ups can be, but we’ve got a staff meeting in twenty minutes, and I’m not going to let you lose your job over another lousy guy.”

Lily doesn’t notice Marlene crawling back into bed as she busies herself with sifting through outfits in her friend’s closet.

“But what we had was special, Lil! I really thought he was different! He could have been the one!”

“How long were you seeing him?” Lily asks, trying to recall any details of Marlene’s latest fling.

“Only a week,” she pouts.

Lily freezes midway through pulling a dress from the closet. She knows this is Marlene’s M.O. but Lily still can’t help but feel frustrated.

“Marly, really—”

“Don’t! I know what you’re thinking, but he was special, I’m telling you! We even had sex and everything. It was magical. I cried…”

“You what? Marly, tell me it was just a glisten of tears,” Lily wills her friend to say it isn’t as bad as she thinks.

“Oh no, I full-on bawled,” Marlene responds, not even attempting to lie, “told him I loved him, too.”

Lily wishes her best friend is kidding but they have been friends long enough for Lily to know that she’s not. With a silent sigh, Lily switches gears. She realizes she can’t take the sympathetic route anymore. No, Marlene needs tough love. She strolls over to the bed with the outfit in hand and plops down.

“Marlene, I know you’re a hopeless romantic looking for your Prince Charming, but in order to find him, you’re going to have to put yourself together and get back out there. You’re not going to find him wallowing in bed all day. Now come on, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get dressed so we can get to work and not piss off Amelia. Alice is out getting coffee right now.”

Lily yanks back the bedspread, forcing Marlene to get up, albeit begrudgingly.

There, one potential crisis averted for the day.

Ten minutes later, Lily floos back to the office after ensuring Marlene goes first. They run into Alice on their way back to their desks, and there’s just enough time for Alice to dole out the coffees before grabbing their notes and heading down the hall to their boss’s extravagant office.

Amelia Bones is the no-nonsense editor-in-chief of Witch Weekly, who is well respected by her staff. Her office is spacious yet welcoming and not at all like what one might expect. Where a conference table and chairs should be, Amelia has sofas and squashy chairs, similar to the Gryffindor common room. When the writers meet to go over stories for upcoming publications, they gather there. The three girls barely make it in time, taking their seats on the sofa nearest Ms. Bones. It’s the only empty spot left.

Amelia clears her throat. It’s all she needs to do to command the attention of her staff. “Alright, let’s get started everyone. We need to go over assignments for the July issue. Dorcas, what are you thinking this month?”

Dorcas, the office suck-up, bounces up and down in her seat as she lays out her laundry list of articles. “I’ve got an exposé on gilly water with an exclusive interview from a mermaid who says it will help keep you thin, but I haven’t come up with a title yet. And Traveling by Portkey: What to Pack and Not to Pack. Then, I’ve also got an interview set up with Madam Malkin, who details the latest robe trends. Oh! And I almost forgot about my outline of A Look Into a Day in the Life of The Hobgoblins!”

Lily needs to remember to keep her face passive as Dorcas prattles on. Does she do anything besides work? Who has time for four articles? She has to suppress the eye roll that’s threatening when she catches Alice’s glance. It’s evident her friend is sharing the same thoughts.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Lily, what’s our resident How To girl have in store for us this month?”

Here goes nothing…

“Well, actually, I’ve been working on this piece that I think will be a great spin on the How To article. It’s about helping recent Hogwarts graduates find their footing after they finish their seventh year.”

She gauges the room for reception and notices blank stares coming from the entire writing team. Fighting to keep her facial expression passive, Lily chances a glance at her boss, whose opinion is the one that matters most. There’s an uncomfortable churn in her stomach as a result.

Amelia clicks her tongue in a disapproving tone. “Lily, Lily, Lily. How many times do I have to tell you that most of our clientele are in their twenties and thirties? No one is going to want to read something like that! That’s what they have parents and families for! Besides, aren’t the Hogwarts professors supposed to help the young ones with their career choices? That’s not our wheelhouse.”

“But—”

Lily wants to bring up the Muggleborn perspective, but Amelia doesn’t give her the chance.

“Lily, your job is to write the How To column for Witch Weekly, not to help recent grads find their place in this world. I hired you to write fun, upbeat stories that will help witches in all aspects of their lives, and that is what I expect.” Lily’s shoulders droop in disappointment as Amelia wastes no time moving on to her next victim. “Marlene?”

“Oh, um, I—I’m still thinking—” Marlene stutters.

Lily notices Amelia’s hard stare and speaks up on her friend’s behalf.

“Amelia, Marlene’s going through a rough time right now. She got dumped.”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Marlene,” Amelia sympathizes as the rest of the group murmurs their respects to her unfortunate news.

Marlene grimaces as she explains, “Yes, I’m sorry, Amelia. I’ve been taking things a bit hard and haven’t really been eating. It’s just hard to move on when I thought he was—” she hiccups and Lily can tell she’s stifling a sob, “the one.”

“Hmm, yes, that is a predicament, isn’t it?” Amelia agrees before perking up. “Write about it.”

“What?”

“You can make an article out of that, can’t you?” Amelia asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“N-no! I can’t write about my personal life!” Marlene argues.

“If she won’t, I will,” Dorcas chimes in. She sounds too eager at the prospect of taking on a fifth article.

Amelia’s eyebrows crease as she ponders Dorcas’s proposition. Lily is horrified that Amelia is even considering this and decides to step in.

“Or I can!”

“What?” Marlene looks at her with wide eyes as Amelia trains her narrow gaze on Lily.

“How?” her boss wants to know.

“Well, I—I wouldn’t write about the break-up, per se, since that wouldn’t be a good How To article, but what if I turned it into something different?”

Lily is grasping at straws, trying to come up with something that would prevent her friend’s dirty laundry from being hung out to dry. She finds herself stuttering and stalling until suddenly, an idea pops in her head.

“What if I wrote the opposite of getting dumped? Well, it wouldn’t exactly be the opposite, but I’d find a guy and do all the classic things that women do that drive men away. Instead of trying to win the guy over, I’ll get him to dump me instead. Then readers will know what to do and what not to do.”

Lily watches her boss for any indication that she approves. Amelia’s pensive look quickly turns to a conspiring smile as she points her quill at Lily with a gleam in her eyes.

“That’s brilliant, Lily, absolutely brilliant! You think you can find a man, win him over and get him to dump you?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Lily doesn’t appreciate her boss’s insinuation that she’d be easy to break up with, but if it gets Amelia off Marlene’s back, she’ll take it.

“I can see it now. We’ll call it How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days.”

Lily is relieved, having succeeded in giving Marlene extra time to come up with a story, but the timeframe concerns her.

“Um, Amelia...why ten days?”

“Because we have to publish in eleven.”

She says this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it’s only after Lily processes Amelia’s words that she realizes how impossible it all seems. She hasn’t dated anyone in a while. No one is even on her radar to date.

Looks like my Thursday is now going to be spent looking for an unsuspecting suitor.

Lily stifles a sigh as she attempts to focus on the rest of the meeting, but her mind has other plans. She fixates on whether or not she’ll be able to pull this off. It seems impossible, but she has no choice. She has to at least try.

As they exit the meeting, Lily, Alice, and Marlene are trailing behind Amelia, who is on her way to fetch her next appointment.

“If I’m going to pull this off, I need to find a guy tonight,” Lily expresses to her friends.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help!” Alice reassures her. “Let’s go to that swanky bar after work. The prospect of this article calls for a finer crowd.”

“Abbott's?” Lily shoots an incredulous look at her friend.

At first, she wants to protest, but Alice has a point. Lily needs to dupe a guy who’s not just out for a one-night stand, and there are no promises that she’ll be able to find that at the Leaky. No, she needs to glam up and go all-out to find a guy. One that shows promise, but not too much promise because she can’t let herself fall for him anyway.

Her thoughts are cut off as Alice and Marlene both stop, causing her to stumble into them. She looks up to see the source of their delay. Amelia has reached her destination, which happens to be directly in front of them as she greets two women. Lily isn’t quite sure why they didn’t swerve and continue around them.

“...Ah, Narcissa, Andromeda, it’s so nice to meet you! Come with me to my office so we can discuss the ads for this issue. I’m hoping you can help us spice up our pages through your clientele.” Amelia turns and sees Lily and her colleagues standing there. A friendly smile crosses her face as the three realize they’ve been caught eavesdropping and scurry to get back to their cubicles.

Lily returns the smile and looks to the two women to see the blonde eyeing her, a sense of intrigue dancing in her eyes. She wonders what that’s about.

“Aren’t you the How To girl?” the blonde asks.

Lily’s not sure what she’s expecting the woman to say, but it’s not that. It takes her a moment to respond.

“Um, yes. It’s Lily, Lily Evans. Nice to meet you.”

Lily doesn’t bother to extend a polite hand because of the blonde’s now scrutinizing gaze. She’s ready to turn and walk away before the awkward conversation can continue, but Amelia stops in her tracks.

“Yes! Lily is wonderful, isn’t she? She’s just about to start on her newest article: How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. Doesn’t it sound exciting?”

The darker haired woman raises an eyebrow. “It does. What does that entail?”

Lily opens her mouth to speak, but Amelia cuts her off again. “She’s going to find some unsuspecting wizard, get him to fall for her, and then do all the things that turn men away to get him to break things off! Won’t it be the best way to see what witches do that drives men crazy?”

“That does sound interesting,” the blonde responds.

“Yes, fascinating,” agrees the brunette in a bored tone.

Lily doesn’t appreciate their judgemental stares and chooses to dismiss herself. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you,” she lies as she continues on toward her office.

The day is young, but she no longer has time to waste. She needs to develop her plan before setting out to find a wizard later in the evening. This is turning out to be the most peculiar assignment yet, but if Lily can pull it off, then maybe Amelia will give her a chance on the other articles she has in her queue.

You’ve got this, Evans. Now get to work.

[bisexualoftheblade-old]

how many wips do you have? like what are they all, and not the number of wips in a fandom? what are all the names?

okay. fuck you. fuck you so much. fuck you.

i’m putting this under a read more cut no one else deserves to see this shit. a lot of these are requests, and for those i will just write out the request itself

Shadowhunters:

domestic polycule fluff with tem, jessa, and will because im not a coward

Supernatural

- hehe hoho i request destiel hehehe

- request 61/? cai cai cai cai i need you to rewrite the destiel scene but yk. GOOD. not like i'm in the know about the spn fandom or anything, it's been years for me. but DO IT

Bright Sessions

- caleb/adam grisha AU

- mark bryant vs. united states aka sue the AM

- caleb/adam college fluff

Umbrella Acaademy

- request 31/? i want a ben and klaus drabble please spare me some brotherly bickering

- AND SO BEGINS NIGHT 4 with request 13/? oooh oooh can i get a raymond and allison playlist??? i think their vibes together would SLAP

- hi there night 2 is technically morning 3 but who's counting not me anyway request 5/? can i get a ben moodboard? gotta rep my tua bb

Percy Jackson

- request 9/? can i get a percabeth moodboard or quote edit?? like god they're the og couple goals take me back to high school cai

- For the 100 follower things :D Jercy getting caught in the rain

- request 29/? a drabble about literally anything to do with pjo. i’ll be happy with anyone and anything i’m love these children

- *somersaults in like I’m a real fancy acrobat* hello ello ello may I request some camp half blood chaos possible involving *does a flip* ✨side characters✨ <3

Penumbra Podcast 

- request 52/? drabble about the penumbra podcast. this is for ren bc ren likes it and i don't actually know anything about it. juno? i think? that's the one ren likes. write it for ren

- Tpp ghost hunting / buzzfeed unsolved au

- sad juno smut

- final resting place fic go brrrr

Marvel

- request 6/? i'm going to my roots y'all can i get a spider-man playlist? if not a playlist then i'd honestly be happy with literally anything involving spider-man

- request 15/? i'm going crazy this is recorded evidence of me actually losing it ANYWAY can i get a quote edit for something from iron man? literally anything that man says is gold so cai's choice :D he deserved better in endgame i'm still bitter

- request 42/? do another spidey thing that differs from the other spidey thing

- request 73/? you have Opinions. rant about infinity way and/or endgame. go.

- request 74/? quote edit for deadpool!!

- spideytorch relationship character study

- peter parker as a tired grad student monitoring the young avengers (send help)

Six of Crows

- okay listen i wasn't going to request anything bc i worry about you but also? if you want to/have the time hit me with a playlist for our girl nina zenik

- request 43/? fuckin give me the ending anya should have had. she is alive and with her new son and having a great time

- request 45/? inej moodboard?

- request 47/? will you make literally any meme of your choosing for six of crows?

- request 48/? write a drabble for kaz, my favorite bastard

- okay so i don't actually like nina or mattias that much but i still wanna hear about your thoughts (and also see if you'll change my mind)

- kaz brekker turning 18 fic. birthday party, everyone singing, whole shebang. i need it stat

- religious trauma fic aka i started shipping kaz/alina/inej and i can’t stop

- kaz trauma soup (he has D.I.D. and you can’t prove me wrong)

- my two redacted fics for @grishaversebigbang​

- wesper fake dating

- six of crows bright sessions crossover: everyone gets therapy

TMA

- uhh... s1 gang having a nice time? melanie getting to have some Pride™️? some "fun" horror thing?

- request 7/? spare steph and jason bonding? please sir? spare some for a humble child such as myself?

- okay so this was meant for night 3 but i had midterm shit SO this is honorary night 3 let's DO THIS request 8/? i want a moodboard of extremely out of context magnus archives shit like i mean confuse the FUCK out of me i don't go here i know Nothing about it

- request 11/? OKAY so i need tim stoker meeting tim drake now i need my timmy to meet your tim plus i want to see character differences no i'm not trying to create a tim stoker in my head so i can read a's fic while NOT thinking of tim drake whaaaaaat you're crazy

- request 18(i think)/? i need a quote edit of every time within the first like. 15 eps of tam where jon is like “sounds fake but go off” thank u bb

- request 40/? i challenge you to write a tma drabble based only on the episodes i've heard. i'm currently halfway through episode 23

- Jon being lovingly bullied into taking a break. I'm aware this has been written a million times but it is one of my favorite things.

- spiral!sasha AU

- extinction martin go brrrrr

- high school era timsasha. they've both been friends for years, and everyone always asks when they will be a couple. they decide to fake date, to prove everyone wrong and show what a bad couple they would be. turns out that's a bit trickier than they thought

- after sasha comes back, tim is broken. he can't let go, scared that if he looks away for even a minute he'll lose her again. sasha suggests shibari as a way for him to give up control

- sasha pov mag 19 au, sacrificing herself to save the others, knows that if she gives herself up to the not!them it will let the others live

- this is the "tim finds a polaroid of sasha" trope

- early archives days,, long nights in research,,, clothes sharing,, somft. late nights and falling asleep at their desks warm and safe in the other's presence

- two parts: timsasha as kids, each picking a constellation that is "theirs". just soft kid antics. tim at sasha's grave glancing up to see their constellations

- continuing your job’s a joke (you’re broke)

DC Comics

- TIMSTEPH HADESTOWN AU,,,

- my redacted fic for @batfam-big-bang​

- request for you to get a decent amount of sleep? serious answer, dickkori, SAL's Venus

- request 4/? timsteph morning after 👀 mayhaps?

- a concept: nonbinary stephanie brown

- teehee hi mom, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but can i request damian angst for your accomplishments 100 followers?

- hi you can ignore my first request if you want, or you can ignore this one. but bls possibly write some bikini ra’s? -the bikini bitch

- request 27/? jay is asking through me for a jondami playlist but tbh i also want it so win win yk?

- "I don't know how to help you but I can help you find someone who does" with bruce and jason? im just craving bruce being a good day to jason for once

- “I am putting you in time out because you need to understand the consequences of your actions.” with steph and jason as dumbass disaster bi best friends pretty please?

- request 32/? timsteph patrol date!!!

- request 33/? timsteph *gala* date? mayhaps??

- request 37/? tim drake drabble but make it Edgy cai

- request 39/? drabble of a prank war between tim and damian

- joyfire cuddly fluff please? or like just any outlaw fluff if joyfire isnt your thing (feel free to add every member of the outlaws, dont feel like u gotta stick with jason, kori, roy i love them all)

- barbara and robin! jason fluff? bonding over books or something?

- request 62/? i need a drabble about the chaotic trio jason, tim, and steph i'm love them ty

- request 63/? batfam x mcu crossover. batfam meets ironfam. give me ALL the cliches. ALL OF THEM

- request 64/? young justice x young avengers - jay cuz idk SHIT about the young avengers

- request 66/? jondami moodboard pls and ty

- request 67/? timsteph moodboard!!!!!!

- request 69/? HEHEHE kinky 😏 i would v much like a timsteph drabble of the almost first time. does that make sense? like i don't want you to go all the way NSFW cuz i know that's against the rules and i'm a rule follower. but like they *almost* go all the way. this could be fade to black or some shit i don't care just make it a lil steamy and have Fun

- i request damian angst! all of it

- hmm... maybe i request? jondami?

- mayhaps,,,,some batfam,,,,,committing crimes? ily be gay do crime <3 - lu

- How about a ficlet with Steph and Cass?

Found Family Bingo Prompts

- no powers au

- tunnel

- first day

- join the club

- hurt/comfort

- experiment

- playing favorites

- hold on

- possession

- 10 o’clock

- singing

- road

- snitch

- curfew

- timer

- fantasy au

- zombie au

- dreams

- campfire

- are you okay

- movie night

- games

- scared

Miscellaneous

- a request: Write A Drabble, Coward

- is it too late to request a moodboard for me?

- request 20/? i’m going off book because i’m in a Chaotic Mood™️ can you just absolutely vibe check me like go off cai demolish me

- request 21/? i formally request that you pick a favorite cai. i don’t care what that favorite pertains to, just pick a favorite something

- request 23/? roast me

- request 24/? can i have a buzzfeed unsolved spoopy playlist but spoiler alert it’s not spoopy bc shane doesn’t believe does this make sense it has been a Day™️

- request 25/50 i want a jake and amy fic make it Soft cai i’m love them b99 is so good

- request 28/? i know nothing about the lord of the rings so make something that will confuse the shit out of me

- request 34/? malvie and jaylos moodboards 😈

- request 35/? a moodboard for the bbb mods!! perceive all of us!!!

- request 36/? moodboard for the tua mods too???? mayhaps??

- request 41/? doctor WHO? idk but i want a drabble of him and the one character i know from doctor who which is rose

- request 46/? make an alignment meme with our group, have fun!!!

- request 49/? i want you to kin assign me a character from every fandom you can/want to. go feral

- request 50!!!!/? this is a special request. the most special request. can you make a bastards tbh playlist? i want our vibes encapsulated. i want us in music form. i want to hear those songs and be like "that's me and cai" and smile.

- requests 51/? i know jack shit about good omens. explain it to me in the most confusing way possible. make me know less by the end than i know now

- request 53/? can you write a mel aesthetic? i'm Curious

- request 54/? give me a list of book recs cai i want some good book recs pls

- request 56/? edit a picture of US together too

- request 58/? oooh can i have a disney edit? like. hm. i just really love disney and i want anything to do with disney. like a quote or an aesthetic or an aesthetic edit i just want disney.

- request 59/? i would v much like a recipe for carbonara. i've never had it but it sounds fucking delicious

- request 60/? ooh hey can i get a makeup tutorial? i know you like makeup, i'm shit at doing makeup. teach me

- request 65/? i need the most emo playlist you can make that vibes with dear evan hansen thank you

- request 68/? i want a superwholock moodboard. this can be serious, with the actual fandoms in mind, or literally what the era felt like. the insanity. the horror.

- request 70/? ooh ooh ooh do you have a good bread recipe?? i wanna get that bread

- request 71/? i want a playlist with the vibes of summoning a demon. please don't ask questions. i don't have answers. and if i do, no i don't.

- For the requests, how about writing something based on a friend?

- request 75/? MMMM i want literally anything to do with natasha, pierre, and the great comet of 1812

- request 76/? i want some healthy recipes. help a girl out

- a feral bbb quote or two?

- you perceive my plant but now I dare thee to perceive mine own visage

- okay this is a two for one request. 1. you did the bee movie script so now we need a shrek two script edit 2. sleep please

- Pansexual mb for my lil queer soul?

- my (probably) final request is just for you to ramble about something, i don't really care what

- HI ILY CONGRATS AS WELL CAUSE IM LATE BUT CONGRATS. could i request a pirates of the caribbean (or just pirates) or whatever you what to do, free range.

- mood board for the beluga whales who got brought to the animal sanctuary in Iceland please?

- 100 follower request: Moodboard for my stuffed cow Oaky?

[kisskissbanggang]

Hello Stranger

[14K Words/1Hr. Read - Teacher!Bang Chan x Admin!Female Reader - Fake Relationships, Guest Appearances, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn, New Teachers, Vanilla, Office Sex, Allusions To Troubling Subjects]

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You should’ve expected a phone call when you read the email. At least then you would be somewhat prepared for the verbal lashing you were currently receiving from one of your greatest teachers. 

“I’m sorry, but — wait, you know what? No I’m not, I’m not sorry — but I am not staying here with this dumpster fire waiting to happen! He’s wrecking the department — Johnny, let me talk — and I didn’t even want him here to begin with. Congratulations, ma’am, you torpedoed my program I worked so hard to build.”

Doyoung paused, waiting for you to call his bluff, to appeal to his good side as usual. He was right. He’d done so much for his school — for the district, really, and this was getting out of hand. Johnny could be heard behind him, the poor principal having apparently had his desk phone wrestled away from him to begin with. 

“Mr. Kim,” you spoke into the phone, mustering all the confidence you had in you, “what do you want me to do? I mean it. Tell me what you want.”

“He goes or I go,” Doyoung dramatically laid out into your ear. Johnny could be heard trying to console the raving teacher before Doyoung apparently ducked him every few seconds. “I’m losing my mind. I have 150 students becoming fucking hypnotized and they’re influencing their peers like the plague.”

“Besides losing either of you,” you carefully negotiated, “what do you want me to do? I value your input; I always have. Dig into the meat with me here, please.”

“I will not teach beside some noble renegade who wears hoodies to class and asks his students to call him by his first name. I won’t teach in the same building, nor in the same school. This is dangerous, and you know it is. For all the money you’re throwing at PR this year you could be putting it in your students.”

You hated that Doyoung was right. This was not a great start to the year. A sigh escaped that you had not meant for, and Doyoung audibly steeled himself on the other end of the receiver. He was waiting now. 

“I’m coming down there,” you announced. Apparently Johnny heard you, a god fucking dammit being heard behind Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung, however, was sated. 

“Fine,” he replied, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was surprised he got anywhere. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

And like that, Doyoung hung up. You slumped down in your chair, having been pacing your otherwise pristine office for the past 15 minutes which had felt more like 15 hours. You were fussily rearranging your desk, trying to calm yourself back down when your assistant finally felt it was safe enough to poke her head into your office. 

“Ma’am—” Yeji greeted before you held up a hand to stop her. You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. 

“How many more calls this week?”

“Only four,” she replied. A relieved sigh softened your tense shoulders as she set the personnel file you requested on your desk. 

You felt so old now, run ragged by all the mayhem, but it wasn’t so long ago that you were young yourself. Even then, you still were according to most standards. You were the youngest assistant superintendent to ever serve the district, a set of magnet schools within the city comprised of one private Montessori primary school, one public STEM-focused junior high, and one private-public hybrid high school of the arts. You pined for the ultimate position, but that chair was long occupied by Mr. Simmons, a token favorite of the school board. He called you dear and was always acting like some big man pitying a little girl. However, this didn’t mean you hadn’t tried like hell to make an impression. 

Your first three years had been a terrific uphill trajectory. In year one, you brought on Doyoung to replace the retiring choir teacher and head of the music department at the high school. To date, he’d brought in more accolades than his predecessor did in twice the time. For your second year, you collaborated with your junior high on an agricultural enrichment program that offset food costs district wide to the point you could improve offerings in all three cafeterias. This year, you re-established the district PTA. Doyoung’s rabid Booster Club and the parents of the junior high’s robotics team made up the first meeting, and more and more parents had joined since. 

So it only seemed fair that this year was your first true hurdle. It had been such an innocent decision: you took a proposed program from the junior high and adapted it for your high school students. A music production and distribution program was a clean, sleek idea that was sure to impress the PTA and enrich the lives of your students in their already affluent music department and work as a dual credit with the business side of the class. What you hadn’t betted on, however, was what exactly a young teacher could get into in a high school setting. 

Chris Bang wasn’t naive — you were sure of it, looking at his portfolio. He’d cut his teeth independently producing from a young age and gathering a loyal following online. This was a concept you understood well enough, but had a time and a half explaining to anyone older than you, it seemed. Anyone older than you, but also especially Doyoung, who was very fiercely proud of his hard work to get his double Masters in Choral Conducting and Music Theory at 21 and didn’t have the patience for homegrown prodigies. You couldn’t blame Doyoung, really, even with his dramatics. His competition choir was a force to be reckoned with — surprisingly disciplined, endlessly talented, and ravenously competitive — and now two of his students were wrapped up in all this, too, and that was just the extent you were aware of. 

You tapped out an IM to Yeji from your desktop, asking her to come back into your office, and she dutifully popped in a few seconds later. She pulled up a chair in front of your desk as you rested your head in your hands for a moment. “Tell me, Yeji,” you sighed, “what’s your read on this?”

“Well, ma’am,” she mulled it over, “it’s not great. It’s awful, really. But it’s hard to tell by now what’s real, what’s a cry for attention, or what feels real but is actually just the zeitgeist. You know how this is, what it can turn into.”

You did. You’d remembered your own whirlwind feelings at a similar age, even just out of high school. Strangers and dissenters had a hard time believing it, but before you had assumed the role of meticulously poised and proper, you were frustratingly belligerent and stubborn like many of your peers when you were younger. It was easy to recall how real, how present every moment was at the time, but you didn’t even remember the whole story now. In fact, you hadn’t thought of that story in ages, but you were suddenly reminded of the smell of pine trees and sugar, the cool electricity of being out past midnight. It was quite possibly the most excited you’d ever felt, but now you couldn’t remember the fine details, the corners sanded down to curves over time. To your students, these letters were the most exciting and dramatic thing to ever happen to them, and if they would remember the details later on would depend on how you handled the situation. 

The first letter surfaced just a week before, and online of all places. A full declaration of this girl’s undying love for Chris and all of the very, very, very inappropriate things she wanted to do with him, found in an envelope on the keyboard outside his office and posted online before he could ever see it. The next letter was eventually found two days later, apparently picked up from where it had missed the trash can: a 17 year old boy, feeling emboldened enough to finally profess who he was — gay, madly in love with Chris, and willing to risk it all. A third was stolen from a girl’s backpack from some bullies and she had been a wreck, so sure that Chris had picked one of the other two and she’d missed her chance. That girl hadn’t returned to school yet. Who knew what else was going on in the hallways, in the cafeteria and bathrooms, in the parking lot after school? 

Four more parents contacted your office, according to Yeji. Four more letters. And now Doyoung was threatening to quit, for added reasons you hadn’t even been aware of. You flipped through Chris’ personnel file, hoping not to find any red flags, but hopefully find any reason this spiraled out of control, anything other than tumultuous teenage life wreaking havoc on your students. 

Your sigh renewed in spades as you glanced at your assistant again. “Who do you remember most from high school?”

Yeji’s eyes were cast downward as she thought about it. “Other than my friends? Probably the student teacher in my auto class,” she blissfully reminisced. “The teacher would sleep half the time and the student teacher would just teach us whatever we wanted to know and what we needed to know for tests. I remember I had the biggest crush because of that.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Yeji gave an apologetic smile. “What about you?”

Her question knocked you off your feet for a moment. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting it, but you immediately had an answer. “Aside from friends? Weirdly enough,” you began, “someone I didn’t meet until graduation.”

As sickly sentimental as the thought of it was, it was true. You didn’t even remember that boy’s name anymore, but you’d met exactly three times before you left for college. He had been hanging out by the bonfire on the beach at a grad party no one had expected to get so crazy. You couldn’t remember your conversation, but you could remember his bleached hair tucked under a beanie catching your eye as he sat by himself, his friends apparently wreaking havoc on their own somewhere. His lip ring was crooked, and in a fit of beer-buzzed confidence you’d fixed it for him while you talked about the phony gravitas of graduation. You’d almost kissed him, too, connecting over things that seemed way more kismet than they probably were when your friends finally made you walk home with them. 

You gathered up the rest of your patience and courage as you bid Yeji goodbye until your return and headed out to your car in the lot, making the tedious journey to the high school. The handsomely vintage architecture was charmingly modern inside the gates and within its walls, but not overly so. However, this also meant the school was a hike and a maze to navigate through to find the music department. You were distracted, though, missing a turn here or there and having to turn back a couple times now that you were suddenly remembering your clandestine romance from years ago. What was his name? It wasn’t even that long ago. Had so much really happened since then? You wracked your brain. He had a reasonably fresh and nice scratcher tattoo on his bicep, you remembered, but you couldn’t remember what it was for some reason, just like his name. He had to have said it in one of these memory bites. 

The second time you’d met, he’d been handing out flyers on the boardwalk for his own show at a rave in a warehouse on the other side of town, out where the beach met the woods. He’d seen you before you’d seen him, and he had popped up with a greeting of Hello, stranger. He had made you promise to be there, which is where you met the third and final time later that night. He greeted you again the same way. Hello, stranger. You’d thought it was cute then, and still did, which must be why you still remembered that detail, at least. He liked your shoes, your worn work boots you’d picked up at a thrift store and refused to get rid of despite all the times your parents asked. 

Those warehouse shows were always nuts, all sorts of vendors arriving who were willing to shack up with any event that passed through. He had bought you cotton candy from one of these vendors when you met him after his set and you chatted as you walked along the tree line, talking about his dreams of becoming rich and famous on his own terms. He kissed you, once, and you tasted his lip ring and spun sugar for weeks. You found yourself wondering now if he ever did become rich and famous. 

Doyoung gave you a passing glance in the hall as you stalked towards Chris’s classroom: he looked impatient but thrilled and, sure enough, well dressed in his usual suit and tie. You wondered if this new staff member was exactly what Doyoung was fear mongering. Maybe it was simply a difference in values. This was Chris’ first year teaching professionally, you remembered, and now you felt miserably guilty. What a horrible way to start a career. You hadn’t even visited your new teacher since he began, but just the door outside his room was a mess. Doyoung’s fretting made more sense now. Even though you’d only gotten four phone calls, Chris’s classroom door was plastered in letters. 

The door creaked and fluttered as you opened it and peeked your head inside. The room was devoid of any human presence. For a space that needed to serve multiple purposes, it was sparsely filled except for classroom materials and equipment. Regular desks and chairs filled the floor as opposed to risers or music stands like in the other department classrooms, but there was still a soundproof practice room in the back of the room, and only the recording equipment stored around the room gave any hint to the classroom’s purpose. To deal with the mess after the third letter, a sub was leading Chris’s classes in the library, but you at least expected to find him here himself, or at least some posters or framed photos. You peeked inside the small office at the head of the classroom, finding it just as empty as well, but with some more personality. A few extra milk crates of visibly nicer vinyl records for sampling and listening were stacked beside the desk along with a nicer record player than what was by his desk out in the classroom. Some books sat on a shelf with a modest cactus in the corner, and finally some photos: Chris shaking hands and smiling with tons of industry players and friends, and occasionally appearing in one of those hoodies Doyoung had been warning of. He did own suits, apparently. Multiple. And he looked good in them. 

A polite cough surprised you at the door of the office. 

You whirled around, the sun outside silhouetting Chris as he stared at you in his dimly lit office. “My office hours are cancelled this week. May I help you?”

It was your turn to cough, clearing your throat. He was certainly young. He was certainly handsome, his grimace pronouncing the charming dimples in his cheeks. He certainly didn’t dress like a teacher. Chris stood in the doorway of his own office, looking at you curiously in his hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He even had a backpack hung on his shoulder and a bag of greasy fast food in his hands. He suddenly looked down at it, embarrassed. 

“I, er, wore out my welcome in the teacher’s lounge, it seems,” he sighed out a sullen laugh. “And I needed some fresh air.”

“Mr. Bang, I—“

“Call me Chris,” he insisted with a tired grin. Your heart shamefully thumped at how friendly and cute he was. It was easier to pretend you didn’t hear him. He stepped around you and dropped down into his desk chair. He silently gestured at his food, appearing to ask if you were alright if he ate while you talked. You nodded. He dug into the bag and cheekily offered you a fry. You coolly shook your head. 

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but as assistant superintendent—“

Chris sputtered, standing up from his chair as he choked down the fry he’d just put in his mouth. “Ma’am,” he gasped finally, “I didn’t—“

“I know,” you nodded again. You waved up a hand in understanding. “Please, sit back down. I wanted to come by and see how you’re doing, considering the current state of affairs.”

Chris stayed standing, uneasy and fidgeting. “Alright, what do you want? Is this it? Please don’t suggest I need an attorney, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“What?” You asked, surprised. 

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Chris lamented, “but I’ve gotten dozens of emails and messages through the school portal from parents and students asking me if I did anything, and it’s doing my head in.”

“They’re what?!” You hadn’t even considered anyone actually thought the teacher was guilty of anything. He nodded gravely. 

“Read the letters outside!” His demand came out brokenly as he pointed behind you. “They’re begging me and taunting me to do all sorts of shit. Confess, quit, fuck them — all sorts of awful trash that I never even imagined. I just wanted to teach. I don’t know why the hell this is happening to me.”

You had no idea about any harassment. This looked bad. It looked bad to your students, their parents, the staff — everyone. You pulled out your phone from your purse and brought up the PR rep’s number, now on your speed dial. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Of course I didn’t—“ he sputtered before you cut him off. 

“I wasn’t asking, Mr. Bang. You didn’t do anything and I believe you. A good superintendent would support good staff. Your first few months brought nothing but praise past my office.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris quietly said. He finally sat down as you dialed the rep. She would be by shortly. You found another chair hiding under a pile of books and cds and moved them so you could sit. Chris was looking at you oddly now as you hung up, sitting closer than you’d normally like in the small office. You shifted uncomfortably. Chris offered you a fry again before you stiffly refused once more. He shrugged and began inhaling his food in earnest. 

“Hungry?” You asked sarcastically, instantly regretting it. There was no sense in kicking him while he was down. 

“Emotional eater,” he clarified around a mouthful, equally sarcastic in your resumed awkward silence. You considered the young teacher in front of you. If you recalled the personnel file, he wasn’t just a brand new teacher, he was new to the area as well. A rumor apparently spread among the students and even some of your staff that he had been running away from something, but you never paid that any attention until you were actually in the same room with him. He caught you zoning out in his direction, an eyebrow raised as he paused on his mouthful of food, and you sheepishly pulled out your phone and checked your agenda until your rep finally found you hiding out together in the tiny office. 

Ryujin had become your go-to girl since the school year started but even more so over the past week. Public relations for a school district should never have to become very high-maintenance work, but Ryujin was quickly proving herself over-qualified for the job. She stood in the doorway, tall and cool in her confidence despite her short stature as she looked over the situation. 

“Stand up,” she simply directed Chris. 

He gave you a quick glance, not moving until you nodded. Chris set his food down and stood, hands in his hoodie pockets as Ryujin circled him. He warily shied away from her prodding as she pinched and pulled at his clothes, looking at tags and labels. She fiddled with the cute studs in his ears, tugged on the strings of his hoodie to draw him more to her level, and ruffled his dark, fluffy hair to look for showing roots or product. Ryujin looked at you now. “This isn’t so bad,” she told you decidedly. 

Chris was confused, left about ten miles behind the conversation. “Why—“

“What do we do?” You asked. Chris looked wildly between both of you as you decided his fate without him. “We’re dealing with harassment now.”

“Of course we are,” Ryujin nodded thoughtfully, “I mean, look at him.”

“Hey!” Chris rightfully looked offended, even as you held up a calming hand to settle him down. Ryujin impatiently waited for you to let her continue. 

“He doesn’t look like a teacher, he doesn’t act like a teacher, he’s under 30, and— I’m sorry— he’s cute. He was bound to get eaten alive when his students are only a few years younger than him and he has no experience.”

“So,” you reiterated, “what do we do?”

“He can go back to teaching,” Ryujin ruled, “but he has to look and act the part. No more first-name basis, no more street clothes.”

“This is so ridiculous!” Chris laughed in disbelief. 

Both you and Ryujin glared at him now before she continued. “He’ll have to make a statement first. I’ll write it, of course. He can speak at the next PTA meeting. But —“ she turned to face him for once, “you shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a spouse? A partner? Some boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Now you shared Chris’ confused look. “Why does that matter?”

Ryujin folded her arms. “I don’t mince words. Sympathy, mostly. For anyone worrying, he’ll clearly appear to have support. For anyone who is doubting him, he clearly appears to have a loyal and loving presence in his life that can attest to Mr. Bang never having any nefarious predilection for his students and never intending to inspire any regrettable actions. It’s ultimately a similar reason to why I suggested you should wear a wedding ring.”

Your face heated up once again at being outed in front of your staff member. Ryujin had suggested a fake wedding ring ages ago when you first hired her. The moment you were appointed, parents instantly began doubting you. Even Superintendent Simmons, a parent himself, questioned you at your third interview. How could you — a young woman with no spouse and no children of your own — ever deign to understand what it’s like to raise and nurture one? The sheer stubbornness that you felt in response to that sentiment made you refuse such a placating notion as a fake wedding ring. Chris seemed to notice your embarrassment before he piped up himself, almost seeming to want to change the subject back for your sake. 

“No,” Chris said simply, “I’m single and fine with it.”

“Look,” Ryujin rolled her eyes, “that is fine. Find a fake, then. It just needs to look real. It’s not fair, but these parents will assume you’re a better person if you’re not single in this situation. They need to see that you’re a loving and committed professional who just wants to teach and nurture young minds. The next PTA meeting is this Thursday night. Today is Tuesday, so you have a little time, but not much. Consider it, and I’ll have an optional line in your statement for whatever you decide. Do you have a suit?”

“For funerals and weddings,” Chris grumbled. 

“A sweater is fine then,” Ryujin shrugged. She put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “This is going to be fine. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You’re leaving?” You realized with thorough embarrassment that you sounded distressed. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed, “the Superintendent wants a meeting about his son or something. You will be fine. Keep me updated.”

Ryujin ghosted out the door as fast as she’d come, and Chris reeled. “The nerve! I can’t believe her, can you?”

“Yes,” you nodded seriously, “I can. She’s right.”

“Oh, come on!” Chris blustered. You stood back up now, gathering your bag in the crook of your arm and straightening the carefully pressed collar of your suit jacket. 

“I don’t want to see you have to end your career so soon, Mr. Bang,” you sympathized as you pulled out a business card from your purse and handed it to him. “Again, I’ve only heard good things about you until all this. Call me if you need anything. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Things settled for one day. And then Thursday morning happened. Yeji was pale as you entered the office in the morning. 

“John called from his cell.” 

You checked your watch. First period was just starting at the high school. 

God dammit. 

You jogged into your office, grabbed the phone, and dialed him back. Johnny was out of breath. “I have a situation,” he panted into the phone. You could hear shouting behind him. Specifically, you could hear Doyoung shouting behind him. God dammit. 

The tires on your car screeched as you peeled out of the parking lot of the admin building, tearing across town and barely breathing until you passed through Johnny’s office on your way into the building. He was icing his cheek with a cold pack from the nurse, his tie loose and slack around his neck and his suit jacket haphazardly slung over the back of his chair. Before you could say anything, he just shook his head with a disappointed laugh before returning to work at his computer. You walked quickly through the hallway, students watching you from their first period classrooms until you reached the music department. Taeil, the band teacher, closed Doyoung’s door behind him as he saw you in the hall. 

“Ma’am,” the teacher greeted, thoroughly exhausted, “I wouldn’t go in there. We already called a sub for the rest of the day and I took Doyoung’s kids to the library for independent study.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” you thanked him graciously, “do you have any idea what happened?” Taeil shrugged helplessly. His tie was crooked as well, his rolled sleeves uneven. You looked over at Chris’ room, open to the hall. Letters had shuffled off the door and onto the hallway floor. “Take care of Doyoung,” you instructed Taeil, “make sure he’s okay and that he gets home alright.”

Taeil nodded and let himself back into Doyoung’s classroom as you carefully approached Chris’. The room was dark, books and papers strewn across the floor. You cautiously switched on the light, only to find the teacher slumped in his chair at the head of the room, icing his own face with a metal water bottle. He silently glanced at you and sighed as you rushed over to check on him. You set your purse on his desk and gingerly pulled the water bottle away, sharing Chris’ sigh as you saw the bruise on his cheek. It felt a bit gross to still find him so frustratingly handsome in this moment. 

“What happened?” You softly asked him. Chris sank into the chair and gave a dejected shrug, helpless to recollect. And he didn’t get much of a chance to even try, as a commotion erupted in the empty hallway. Doyoung stood fuming in the doorway with Taeil futilely attempting to pull him away. 

“So you are here,” Doyoung grimaced at you before he shot a glare at Taeil, “why are you lying for her? Everyone is treating me like I’m insane and I’ve had it.” He stormed over, only stopped as you turned to press a confrontational hand to his chest. Doyoung had quite the busted lip. 

“Mr. Kim, I know tensions are high—” you began staunchly before Doyoung steamrolled you. 

“Do you?! Do you even know what happened?” He leaned to the side, staring daggers into Chris. “Tell her, you sorry excuse of a—“

“I’m telling you, Kim, just like I have been telling you,” Chris glowered, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about! You’re the one who came in here looking to start a fight.”

“You’re a goddamn liar!” Doyoung shouted. You put your hands on his shoulders, making him look at you. 

“Tell me, then, Mr. Kim.”

Doyoung shiftily looked back and forth between the two of you. “Tell you what, ma’am?” he grumbled. “Tell you that I had the joy of overhearing one of my brightest students talking with her friends during zero period, bragging about fucking in his practice room? Tell you that she’s just a freshman? Tell you that I caught her and her friends giggling as she wrote her own fucking letter?” 

Doyoung pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his suit jacket and shoved it into your hands. You looked back at Chris, his shaking eyes horrified as he was apparently hearing this all for the first time. 

“I admit, I took matters into my own hands. I flew off the handle. Why, though, would I come to you with all this first, ma’am?” Doyoung pleaded. You recognized the helpless heartache in his eyes, hating how much he was losing his students. “You wouldn’t come to me first if I asked for your help. You’d go straight to him.”

You glanced down at the notebook paper in your hands, catching glimpses of curly, naive confessions, and you looked back at Chris again. He didn’t look guilty. You didn’t want him to be. You wanted this all resolved, as cleanly as possible before you possibly wrecked the year before winter break. You thought fast. 

“I did go to him first, Mr. Kim,” you conceded, quiet yet confident, “and I apologize if my actions come across as selfish, but this ordeal has caused quite the strain on mine and Chris’ relationship, even more so since it’s still fairly new.”

Doyoung backed up, aghast as his eyes flicked between the two of you again. His normally soft gaze was pure hellfire. “You’re kidding me,” he shook his head in disbelief. He had no interest in waiting for a confirmation before he turned to storm off, herding Taeil along with him. 

Chris was staring at you when you turned back to face him, shocked as he was at your sudden plan. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

You pulled out your phone to dial Ryujin, but before you actually sent the call through, you bored your eyes into Chris, who was still wincing past the bruise on his face. “You still didn’t do anything?”

“Never,” he adamantly shook his head. 

“Good,” you nodded. “We will need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. My assistant will call you with details.” You plucked your purse up from his desk and shouldered it. Chris watched, still stunned as you made for the door. His continued stare made you pause, a hand on the door frame as you turned back to face him. “You’re innocent,” you explained, “but if you quit you’ll be proving everyone who’s doubting you right. It seems like no one is on your side except me, so if no one will do anything then I will. You’ll be fine, Mr. Bang.” With that, you regained your confidence once more to walk down the hall. You caught your breath before you tapped out a message for Ryujin on your phone. Somehow, you didn’t expect her to call you right away. 

“I’m sorry, but you what?!” Ryujin exclaimed, stooping you in your tracks from wherever she was. 

“You said he needs to find someone and make it look real!” You hissed, trying to keep your composure the best you could in the quiet hallway. 

“I didn’t mean you!”

You grumbled out a curse under your breath. “Well, it’s a bit too late for that clarification,” you bit out, “so what do I do now?”

Ryujin could be heard tapping on her cell phone as she spoke to you. “I’m on it,” she assured you, “and I’m sure you already figured you need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. We need to make sure you’re on the same page. I’m forwarding you the statement I wrote. Hang tight, I’m going to meet you at your place.”

Chris frowned at the suit laid out on top of your couch after you’d extracted it from its garment bag. Ryujin had brought it, on loan from some unnamed resource, complete with notecards of her prepared statement in the breast pocket. “Why does this also feel like proving everyone right for some reason,” he said uncomfortably. 

“What exactly is wrong?” You sighed. Chris fidgeted. He looked out of place in your apartment, his soft black hoodie and worn jeans contrasting starkly with your minimalist and meticulously organized sanctuary. His brows were furrowed with impending panic, but he looked determined. 

“I’m nervous,” he bemoaned, “tell it to me again.”

“We met over the summer at a cafe downtown,” you explained impatiently. 

“That’s so soon for someone like you to be backing up a pariah like me,” Chris laughed, almost on the verge of breakdown, apparently. He was choking down a milkshake. He’d brought you one too, of course, but when you politely refused he took it as a consolation prize. It was incredible to you that he seemed to be in such good shape for how much food he put down. Or, you realized, maybe a catastrophe of this caliber wasn’t very common for him. 

“Put on the suit, Mr. Bang,” you urged, “please?”

“Oh my god, you need to stop calling me that if we’re dating!” Chan nervously laughed again.

“Look, I’ll be just fine, I’ll be able to fix it when we’re in front of people,” you insisted, “but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? I’m having an entire escape plan thrust upon me and I’m trying to adjust.”

“Well,” you huffed as you found yourself meeting his level, “maybe you wouldn’t need this escape plan if you didn’t take such a lax approach to teaching.”

“Excuse me?” Chris asked, blindsided by your outburst. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what people are saying!” You doubled down in defense, squaring up against him as you impatiently folded your arms. 

“Why don’t you tell me, ma’am, what exactly people are saying about me?” Chris stood defiantly, toe to toe with you and daring you to follow through. You took the bait. 

“You know exactly what people are saying,” you challenged him, “that you refuse to take the role seriously because it’s easier that way. You give these students too much freedom, and you’re encouraging them to act out. Who needs homework? Who needs textbooks? Who needs seating charts? They call you by your first name and think you’re their best friend, that you’re one of them, only older, just like they wish they were! They live and die by your approval because you seem so cool and you don’t seem like a teacher.”

“Oh, so I don’t seem like a teacher now?” Chris scoffed. 

“They certainly don’t respect you like one,” you snapped. A deep pause coursed through you both like a cold breeze before he burst. 

“Well you sure as hell don’t respect me like one, so why the hell are you helping me?!” Chris shouted. 

“Well,” you mocked, quickly losing grip, “here I was thinking it was the right thing to do!” You heaved out a frustrated sigh, throwing your hands in the air and finally turning away as you couldn’t stand to look at him. 

However, you may have glossed over the in-progress milkshake that had been in his hands, now currently all over his hoodie and on the spotless hardwood floor of your apartment. 

“Oh, great!” Chris laughed incredulously. “I sure look like I could use the help now, Miss Assistant Superintendent. Guess I’ll put on the stupid suit so I don’t make a bigger fool out of myself at my public execution tonight.”

Your face regrettably heated up as Chris frustratedly tugged his hoodie off over his head, his shirt following right after as he fished the pressed white shirt out from within the suit jacket. He had an admittedly nice figure, his toned torso never being hinted at through his comfy wardrobe. A set of tattooed compass roses on his upper arm caught your attention, and you wished you didn’t find it attractively endearing. “I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he ranted, “no one would ever believe I’d date a stuck-up, uptight, tyrant like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you fumed as you turned away, not wanting to get distracted, “except no one would believe I’d ever date an arrogant ingrate like you.”

Chris could be heard pacing behind you as he buttoned the shirt, apparently pausing at your mantle over the fireplace. “I bet you were a nightmare as a student, a real grade-grubber and brown-noser,” he grumbled, now seeming to have found your framed photos of you and your friends at graduation, first from high school and then from undergrad. “I’m going to hang myself with this godawful tie— is this you?”

You rolled your eyes as you walked over and snatched his tie out of his fingers to do it yourself. He’d already deftly changed his pants while you weren’t watching. “Sure, that’s me,” you muttered, “and no, I wasn’t a nightmare, thank you very much.” You paused as you felt a shift in his silence and glanced up at him. For the first time you noticed a subtle cologne on him, a gentle musk that was miserably attractive on him and you just wanted to get this over with even faster. Chris was giving you that indecipherable look again as you fiddled with the stupid necktie. From this close, you could see a cute little dot just under his lip, a telltale spacer that more than likely usually held a lip ring and—

Oh. 

Hello, stranger. 

Chris was gravely silent as he parked in front of your apartment later that night. The PTA meeting had been a disaster, starting the moment you left to travel back to the high school, where the meetings were held in the main theater. A loaded silence had staked itself between you the whole drive, and neither of you had reviewed Ryujin’s statement whatsoever. Nonetheless, you sat and stood close enough to each other during the meeting to be clear but not obscene in what you both were implying with your proximity, and you were faithfully beside him as he approached the podium. It was difficult to ignore the hushed whispers resounding through the audience. Chris’ brazen confidence was all but gone by now, fully broken as multiple hands immediately shot up to get a word in. Chris had forged ahead, though, even as his hands tried not to tremble around his notes. Ryujin’s statement didn’t mince words, just like her. He read out how his inexperience wrongly led him to take a more casual approach to teaching, how he’d recklessly and misguidedly inspired his students to put too much trust in him. He read out what a struggle this presented for both of you, being faced with accusations of such severity, and wishing to regain the trust of the assembled teachers and parents. The hands stayed in the air, and Johnny moderated question after question and Chris adamantly confirmed again and again and again that he had done nothing except naively neglect to put a firmer stop to all this. He was the one, and not Ryujin, to say that he should have brought the letters to Johnny’s attention and not simply ignored them, hoping the situation would stop on its own. More hands kept raising. Seemingly every parent belonging to a letter on Chris’ door was here wanting personal reassurance and, subsequently, a reason from him that their children were acting out. It felt like a never ending ordeal, a constant string of hurt and confused parents needing comfort. Johnny had no words for Chris when he finally ended the meeting, putting him out of his misery. Nothing else got done on the agenda that night. He only clapped a sympathetic hand to his teacher’s shoulder. 

You tapped out what happened in a text message to Ryujin. Her diagnosis was optimistic but tough, and in your continued silence in the car, you suddenly realized you were stopped in front of your apartment. Chris was quiet, zoning out at the wheel until you nudged him.

“Ryujin says we can still do this,” you encouraged him. “Enough of the parents should believe you. We just need to make sure the students and staff do, too…. as well as the board.”

Chris leaned forward, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. “I wish they didn’t have to believe me. They’re probably stressed as hell over this. This whole thing is such shit,” he muttered. “We don’t even like each other.”

“We don’t?”

“What?” Chris sullenly chuckled. “Just because we did ages ago?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I remembered that pretty fondly. I thought of that kiss all summer.”

“We kissed?”

Ouch. 

You sighed. “Fine then. You’re right. We don’t like each other. You’re cocky and naive and I’m…”

“Uptight?” Chris smirked, but he shut his mouth when you clearly didn’t appreciate the jab. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’re doing, you know. I just… I’m going through it.”

“I know,” you commiserated. 

“What do we do now?” 

“There’s a board meeting next Wednesday night,” you explained. “You can accompany me to that, and that’ll take care of them. Until then, we keep up appearances at school, now that we’re exposed.”

“How are we doing that?”

“I’ll figure something out,” you reassured him. “What’ll you do now?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris laughed tiredly, “probably go pick up a taco box and try not to ruin this suit.”

You nodded in understanding as you unbuckled your seatbelt and dug around in your bag for your keys. “No hoodies, okay?”

Chris nodded, watching as you stepped out of the car and fussily smoothed your skirt back down. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“I can manage,” you grinned softly as you pulled something out of your bag. You handed him the offending note from that morning. “I didn’t do this just because I thought you didn’t do anything. This letter is addressed to a Chris but it appears to actually be a student named Christian S.”

“Oh,” Chris grimaced, “isn’t he Superintendent Simmons’ son? I have him in fourth period. He’s one of the first chairs in Taeil’s concert band. He’s sort of… gross, sometimes, about girls. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m still disappointed.”

“You alright?”

“I should’ve done something,” he muttered as he sank back into his seat, still staring at the letter. 

“Don’t start with that,” you lightly admonished, “it’s not always easy to know when to interfere.”

“Thank you,” Chris said quietly. 

“Of course,” you said with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

Johnny and Doyoung did a double-take as you walked into the music department the following day at lunchtime. It only made sense to you that if Chris was trying to dress up more, you’d match him by dressing down more. Your requisite suit and heels were switched out for a simple blouse with some tailored jeans and flats. That alone was a huge step for you, considering you even refused to dress down for the annual Welcome Back picnic for the district staff every year. You felt uncomfortable despite still looking clean and poised, but leagues more approachable apparently, proven as students’ passing glances lingered on their way to the cafeteria. Johnny’s look was simply one of surprise, but Doyoung’s was nothing but bitterness. Even Chris, as he happened to prop open his classroom door when you walked down the hall, was curious to see you looking so casual and chipper as you strutted up to him with a bundle in your arms. He was surprisingly handsome, wearing a blazer over a simple t-shirt with some slim jeans and sneakers — better, but not quite there. He couldn’t help a small smile as you theatrically revealed what you had brought: his cleaned hoodie and shirt folded and draped over a bag of takeout to split. 

“Hungry?” You asked sweetly, but hopefully not overdone. A couple of students walked past, their eyes boring into you. Chris looked unfazed, took the hoodie and shirt from your hands and, with a quick look down the hall at Doyoung and Johnny, beckoned you into the classroom with a nod.

“Starving,” he answered with a grin, and even gave Johnny a cheery wave as he promptly shut the door again behind you. “What are you doing here?” He quietly asked you, the dazzling facade of confidence instantly crumbling. His panicked surprise wasn’t lost on you. 

“We need to keep up appearances like I said. It’s Friday, you’re going through a hard time, and you’re eating like you grew another stomach. I brought us something to eat,” you explained, pushing the bag into his hands. 

“You—“ Chris looked dumbfounded, eyes darting between you and the food in his hands, “— brought me lunch?”

“Yes? What else was this supposed to be? I’m your girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.” You led Chris back into his own office and helped yourself to a seat. “We also need to brush up on our relationship in case anyone asks.”

“Fine,” Chris nodded as he dug into his food. “Let’s study, then. I’m guessing you went to college right after we met, and I’m sure you taught at least a little before this.”

“Grade schoolers,” you nodded, “it was good but not for me. I never asked about your accent.”

“You did, actually. That first time, so that’s probably why you don’t remember. I grew up in Sydney, moved here before junior year in high school. Do you live by yourself? I didn’t see a roommate or any cats.”

“I live by myself,” you confirmed, “I gave up on roommates around the time I took this job. No time for pets, either. I guess I’m too uptight.” Chris winced as you continued. “Yes, I’m aware of it; I guess I’m just sensitive. Did you find a good place in the area?”

“Yeah,” Chris said thoughtfully, “cute little house. You should probably see it sometime.”

“You bought a house?!”

Chris’ ears reddened. “Yes? Again, it’s little. A couple bedrooms, a couple bathrooms. Lots of work to be done on it, but it’s all mine. Here, look.” You watched, momentarily stunned as he fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked it open. He pulled up a surprisingly adorable photo of Chris in front of a humble little house, holding what you could only assume was his dog you didn’t know he had. “Cute, right? Her name is Berry. You should meet her.”

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head in advance, “but you could afford a house? What brought you to teaching anyway?”

“Producing was good, but not for me,” Chris meekly bit at his lip, “I always wanted to try teaching what I know, and thankfully your team brought me on while I’m still earning my degree.”

“So one day you just decided to be an educator?” You asked dubiously. 

“Didn’t you?” Chris seemed more cagey now, more defensive. 

“Sure, but maybe this explains your approach to teaching.”

Chris sighed hard and set his food down. “You know what? I knew you were bringing it back to that. Here I was thinking we were on a little better footing after last night. My approach to teaching came from thinking of what I wanted when I was these kids’ age. I wanted someone to treat me with respect and value my opinion and talk to me like an adult.”

“Right,” you nodded, “but that acceptance clearly looks like an invitation to some students.”

“An invitation to what? The other staff are always saying how closed off their students are, but they’re not like that with me. They’re proactive, they’re independent, they’re thoughtful, they’re excited to be here.”

“What about students who aren’t yours?” You challenged him with your stare. It would’ve looked better in a suit. “Your students are in love with you — some of them literally — and it makes them act out with their other teachers, even students who aren’t yours are citing you as their inspiration. Terrific and capable teachers are being defied simply because they’re not you. Admit this is easier for you than establishing and upholding boundaries.”

Chris listened, but he scoffed nonetheless. “Fine. It’s easier. I’m terrified of these kids but I want them to like me and trust me. But even if I assign them homework and treat them like they’re children, that still won’t solve how the teachers don’t trust me.”

“They will,” you impatiently assured him. 

“Even Doyoung?”

“Why do you care?!” You gave a stunned chuckle. 

“I mean he punched me in the fucking face yesterday,” Chris shrugged. “Is it true you two dated?”

You gaped at him, stunned. “Why do you care?” You repeated. Chris nonchalantly shrugged. “Are you jealous?” You were provoking him on purpose, but there was no use in pretending you weren’t disgusted with this line of questioning. 

“No! We don’t even like each other.” Chris was floundering, now facing his desk more than you. “I’m a naive and arrogant asshole and you’re an uptight ballbuster who sold out, remember?”

“Sold out?” You guffawed, standing up now. “Who the hell do you think you are?! I grew up.”

“Right, well—“ Chris barked as he got up to square off against you. “Did you grow into a stuck-up busybody who is more worried about how she looks than how she’s doing?”

Chris’ ears were burning scarlet as you bristled at his words, but he still walked you to the door as you stormed away. “That was too much. I’m sorry,” he apologized sheepishly before he opened the classroom door into the hall. 

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Bang,” you quietly gritted out, despite your saccharine smile in case anyone was watching. “I’m helping you and then I’m never speaking to you again.”

You were right back in your suit jacket and skirt on Monday, having stewed all weekend over how much more you hated doing this with Chris now. Worse, you hated feeling like he was right. He was shamefully attractive and smart and funny and charming and as much as you hated it — he was right. Somewhere between getting your teaching degree and getting offered your job, you’d become incredibly jaded by the people around you, but not without reason. Even now, the only people who went out of their way to make sure you didn’t feel like you were some child were Ryujin and Yeji… and Chris. Doyoung had, too, which was why you had dated briefly, but now he had joined everyone else in babying you like you were bound to fail. That wasn’t even mentioning the board, made up of all men from old money who mostly seemed to hire you for humor and bragging rights. Even still, this wasn’t even mentioning Superintendent Simmons, who talked to you like he was a lion with a mouse in its paws. 

So, sure, you had reasons to be aloof around the people surrounding you, but Chris’s nagging was starting to bother you. Yes, you were leagues more organized and fastidious than you had been growing up, and you even took some solace in sprucing up your space, but you also had to recognize you were quick to do that instead of facing problems at times. It was easy to organize the kitchen for the fourth time or clean out your closet, but it wasn’t always easy to deal with adult problems. You took great pride in your appearances, because looking capable helped you feel capable, but did that mean you were? It was difficult to say, almost as difficult as deciphering Yeji’s bemused look on your way into the office on Monday. 

A gorgeous bouquet of flowers was sitting on your desk. You curiously walked over, plucking the small envelope from within the buds and gently prying it open. 

Hello Stranger,

1. Are these still your favorite color? You mentioned it years ago so I could be wrong. 

2. I’m sorry about Friday again. I know I’m a hot-head and what I did was terrible. You’re not stuck-up, and you’re not a tyrant. When I think back to that summer, I thought we were on the same page, and now you make it look so easy while I feel like I’m completely lost and failing the whole time. I appreciate you helping me. Thank you. 

A stiff sigh fell from your lips as you looked at the note in your hands, with Chris’ dumb, nice handwriting giving you a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You quickly paged Ryujin and Yeji into your office. Once both girls were sat waiting for you, it was time for the dreaded question.

“What do people think of me?” 

Both girls looked like they’d seen their lives flash before their eyes as you sat at your desk and did some quick typing. When you showed them your screen, they both gasped. There was you, all acne and unfortunate appearance choices at your high school graduation. “It’s not a loaded question,” you promised, “think of it more as a confirmation. I think I’m trying too hard to hide this person.” You gave the girl in the photo a sympathetic look. She was bright, funny, and brimming with potential — even you could see that. 

Yeji surprisingly sighed out her answer first. “The other office staff were still whispering about you when you hired me. They said you just wanted to hire other young women to look progressive.”

All three of you rolled your eyes at the sentiment before Ryujin piped up. “The board does like you… because they think you’ll do their bidding. They think you’re ruthless. The teachers think you have an iron fist. The Superintendent? Well, you know how he feels.”

A sour grimace pulled at your lips. “Why don’t I like any of that?”

“Is it because it’s not what she would want?” Yeji thoughtfully asked you as she nodded in the direction of the photo on your computer screen. You thought back to what Chris had said, about wanting to be the person he wanted around at that age. It was such a trip, thinking of what that girl would do if she saw you now. She’d give you a belligerent sneer and close herself off from you because you were a cold witch and you knew it. The girls watched as your shoulders softened, sinking into your chair as you pulled out your phone and found Chris’ number that Yeji had fetched for you. 

>>Thanks for the flowers. I’ll be by tomorrow so we can try this all again before the board meeting dinner on Wednesday. 

There were decidedly less stares as you walked down the halls of the high school again the next day when the lunch period began. You saw Johnny try to catch your attention out of the corner of your eye, but you simply waved as you passed his office. You had a sneaking suspicion it was about your outfit. As opposed to Friday’s jeans, you felt much more comfortable being more comfortable as opposed to someone you thought you should be. The pencil skirt remained, only now in a cozier dark pallet and much comfier material. The biggest changes were pairing the skirt with a soft flannel shirt and a smart pair of suede oxfords. You felt exposed in how dressed down you were again, but Chris’ surprised smile as you stood in the doorway of his classroom reassured you. He looked good, his hair moderately styled back and wearing another smart blazer over another old band tee. You could see he was even wearing chinos today, still managing to coordinate them with some worn boots not unlike the pair you used to own all those years ago. It was a good look, one that made you a bit more bashful than you had been already. 

“Hello, stranger,” you cheekily greeted from the doorway. 

“Hey,” he smiled back, motioning for you to come in. 

“Hungry?” You asked, fishing a bag out of your purse and placing it in his hands. He peered inside as you set your purse on his desk. 

“Are these—?”

“I felt so awful this weekend,” you sighed as you leaned against his desk, still unable to keep from straightening stacks of his papers, “and especially after yesterday. I couldn’t think straight so I cleaned my apartment and made you some cookies.”

“You made me cookies?” He asked incredulously before taking a bite. You could’ve sworn his eyes actually sparkled for a moment. “Alright, these are so good there’s no way you still can’t think straight.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “Just like you were already right, about almost everything. But you left one detail out.”

“What’s that?” Chris grinned around a mouthful of cookie.

“You make it look pretty easy yourself,” you smiled softly. Chris raised an eyebrow. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I know you do,” you laughed, “but it’s true! You’ve already done just fine in an industry of your choosing and impulsively decided to become an educator? And you just happen to be financially smart enough to have a house already? It’s reckless but it’s admirable.”

Chris choked on the last of his cookie, his dark hair falling out of place as he composed himself. “I, er, should be up front about that.”

“About what?”

“About deciding to change directions,” Chris sighed. “I had a giant proposal on my hands. I could have had my own company and my own team, but it was a huge investment entirely depending on me and my success. I froze up. I had enough. It felt way too big. I got rid of my fancy apartment, I got rid of my suits and watches, and I just moved.” A sigh fell from Chris’ lips as he folded his arms. He couldn’t meet your imploring stare. “I wish I could do what you do,” he continued. “I want to march headfirst into every single thing no matter what people think of me.”

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You covered your mouth as your face heated up. “I’m terrified,” you explained. “Just like you were scared to take that chance, just like you and most of us are reasonably scared of these kids — I’m terrified. I’ve worn suits to attend sports events and picnics with the staff from how terrified I am of them.”

“Well, you look really good today,” Chris beamed at you, but the distracted nuance of his gaze didn’t let it last long. You playfully sat back on his desk, trying to keep his mood up. 

“I feel good today.”

“I lied, by the way,” Chris sheepishly blurted. “I know we kissed that night. I thought about it all the time. I didn’t go out with anyone for almost a whole year, I thought about it so much. If you knew I still remembered, I would be too tempted to get distracted. But I’m getting distracted anyway, so I thought you should know. You look really good today.”

A flattered smile pulled at your lips as you reached for Chris’ hand where it rested on the desk. His hand was warm and gentle in yours and he looked up at you, silently gauging your look to see if it was alright to lean up more into your space… when your phone buzzed with a message. It was Johnny. 

>I was trying to get your attention when you came in. Simmons is here TOURING THE MUSIC DEPARTMENT. Get that time bomb out of there NOW.

But it was far too late. Superintendent Simmons could be heard talking to Doyoung in the hallway. Chris watched curiously as you whirled around just in time to catch them appearing in the open doorway.

“Yes, Mr. Kim, I’d love to hear your plans for the year but— ah, hello, dear!”

You winced at the use of the word “dear” but fought it back. “Superintendent,” you nodded cordially, “what’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to take a stroll through the department,” the older man coolly insisted, his hands in the pockets of his suit. “I also thought I could finally meet young Christopher here since I wasn’t sure if he was accompanying you to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Your question was stated friendly enough, even as you subtly waved a calming hand back to Chris to keep him back. 

The Superintendent shrugged. “You know how it is, dear. My son takes his class but I haven’t even met the man before. We’re certainly not exempt from being aware of current goings-on and I wanted to see who all the fuss was about.”

“Do I live up to your expectation?” Chris suddenly asked, unmistakably indignant as he came forward. 

“Seeing as my expectations were of a naive, insubordinate, carpe-diem-prescribing kid,” Simmons smirked, “then yes.”

“Excuse me, Superintendent,” you huffed sharply, “but I do not appreciate you speaking to Mr. Bang that way, first as one of my staff members and second as my partner.”

“Oh-ho!” Mr. Simmons threw his head back with a laugh. “Your partner? How unbecoming of you, dear. Now, I would normally do the professional courtesy of discussing this in private, but as you always deem it appropriate to throw a fit, I’ll do it here— you know we need to terminate Mr. Bang. Too much liability.”

A wildfire ignited behind your eyes before you quickly jumped into action. If you had a moment to spare, you would’ve considered the possible consequences. “Mr. Simmons,” you spat, “you know for a fact there are liabilities just as big, if not bigger, right under your nose, just like I know for a fact Mr. Bang is in possession of a confiscated note containing quite the insinuation that your son Christian is having a very close and troubling relationship with one of Mr. Kim’s most promising freshmen.”

You hazarded a look behind you and Chris returned it, petrified. It was a low, risky blow, but an apparently fair one as Mr. Simmons’ eyes grew wide. He stubbornly shook his head. “Christian is a smart boy who is studying hard and has no time—“

“—Christian turned 18 over the summer and wants to have as much fun as he can in high school before he goes to college,” Chris finally spoke up. “He’s said as much in class, and if I recall correctly, that girl is 14. I can show you the letter. He met her at a party that she doesn’t remember but all she knows is she is woefully in love with him. As your son’s teacher I’m a mandated reporter if I think this is an unsafe situation for either of them.”

“You want to play executioner with a man you admitted you just met? Fine,” you warned. “But just like your gossip, you’re not exempt from this, either.”

At that moment, Doyoung sheepishly poked his head into the open doorway, politely coughing to get the attention of Mr. Simmons, who was now sputtering until his face had turned red. “Mr. Superintendent,” Doyoung timidly spoke up, “perhaps you would like to come discuss those plans—“

“Fine time for you to decide to act like a teacher,” Simmons growled towards Chris, before he thrust a fat finger into your chest. “This isn’t done, dear. He’s on thin ice, and now you are, too. Let’s see how long it can hold both of you.” Superintendent Simmons turned on his heel, marching out the door past Doyoung and towards his classroom. Doyoung leaned into the room, giving you both a look that remarkably appeared to be sympathetic support. “Are you alright?” He quietly asked. 

You nodded shallowly, still a bit stunned. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kim.” Chris was seemingly dazed as you turned to face him. “Mr. Bang, can I see you in your office?” 

Chris barely nodded himself, having gone pale during your confrontation, and Doyoung silently wished you well before closing the door behind him and trotting down the hall after the older man. You clutched onto Chris’ sleeve and pulled him into his office, guiding him in before you quietly closed the door. 

You realized you were breathing heavily, chest rising and falling hard with adrenaline as you looked behind you to check on Chris. He was staring back at you, almost shocked, even as you gently took his hand again to make sure he was alright. His fingers had turned clammy where they squeezed yours, and you shared a brief silence, recovering and staring at each other until he finally spoke up. 

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Bang,” you nodded, leaning back against the door and pulling him a little closer. You felt a bit lightheaded. “I wanted you to finish your thought from before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded dutifully, now cutting right to it as he followed your hand in his to press against you where you leaned against the door. His lips hesitated a mere breath away before he finally kissed you, deep and seemingly driven by every kiss he’d wanted to give you since that night years ago. You could’ve sworn you tasted cotton candy and his lip ring again, maybe even smell evergreen trees if you weren’t mistaken by his cologne. It was electric, re-energizing enough that Chris seemed to finally realize what just happened outside in his classroom. 

“Holy shit,” Chris gasped like he just came up for air. “Did I just threaten the—“

Chris’ frantic recollection persisted even as you continued to kiss him. “Did you just warn the superintendent that he is better off tending to matters closer to home in more need of his attention? Yes.”

“Holy shit, I’m going to be fired,” Chris lamented, but even still he let his lips run over your jaw, falling into you and pressing you into the door. 

“No, you’re not,” you shook your head as you cupped his face in your hands to make him look at you for a moment. “He would’ve said so. He knows this is bad and it’s going to be a pain to deal with.”

“Wait, you don’t want me to—“

“Report? You just said you should. Honestly, Mr. Kim probably would’ve already if he read the letter more closely in the first place.” You held his gaze as you led his hands around your waist and he quickly got the hint, wrapping around you and diving back into you. “Am I still a ballbuster?” You breathlessly chuckled. 

He nodded heartily as he nibbled and kissed your neck. “I love it.” Chris hesitated as he pulled away from your throat, almost asking permission as he kissed you hard against the door, his tongue hot and needy against yours as he almost knocked the breath out of you. 

“Mr. Bang—“ you gasped, and you felt him shiver in the cutest way. He seemed emboldened to let his hands get a little braver, following your hint when you led them to the waistband of your skirt, and he fumbled with your shirt as he untucked it and began unbuttoning it. It was a bizarre sensation, feeling so vulnerable to someone you hadn’t known long but had been thinking of for years, and maybe you weren’t the only one. Chris’ breath seemed to catch in his throat as he leaned back enough to see, his hungry eyes falling on you as he pulled open your shirt and became impatient for more. You gasped again as he pushed you back against the door, his strong hands now tenderly roaming down your chest and groping your breasts as he kissed you before he came back to the waist of your skirt again. His confidence seemed to be returning in full now as his hands firmly ran down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, his lips trailing down your chest and nuzzling your cleavage as he gingerly lifted it. Another gasp caught in your lungs as his fingertips wandered up your legs and paused, his trepidation even spreading to the extent that he seemed hesitant to kiss you again. You reached up to gently cup his face, his cheek warm against your palm as you tried to see what could possibly be wrong in this moment. Out there, sure, that was all understandable, but in this tiny office there was no reason for anything to be wrong. 

“Mr.—“ you began softly, instantly cutting yourself off as you realized. Oh. “Chris,” you began, more confidently now, “are you alright?”

He sighed out a small laugh before he finally kissed you again. “I am. I just missed you, is all. I’ve been thinking about you. It’s still hard to believe any of this is happening, so Mr. Bang is going to be fine for my students but I’d much prefer it if you and I are more personal than that.”

“I can do that,” you grinned, that stunted gasp from earlier finally coming back and completing as Chris finally let himself caress you under your skirt, getting as personal as you both were yearning for. His fingertips were firm but slow, purposeful as they teased the hem of your panties but continued over them to feel you between your legs, making you so aware of your heat against his hand. He smirked as you shivered at his touch, and you felt your face heat up. “Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly, “it’s been a while.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Chris assured you, finally gasping himself as you regained your mental footing and let your hand drop, trailing down his chest to get an exploratory grip on his growing erection in his pants before you brought him back to kiss you again. His muffled sighs and moans grew feverish as you teased him through his clothes, up to the moment he pressed your hips back against the closed door. You watched curiously as Chris’ lips ghosted down your chest and stomach until he was on his knees for you, dangerously close to nuzzling your damp heat until you let yourself subtly roll your hips towards his mouth. He took the cue to instantly pull the thin fabric aside, just enough that he could dip his tongue into your folds. 

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off you as he lapped you up, one hand holding your panties aside and the other clutching onto your bared thigh as you squirmed and mewled for him. Your fingers stroked back through his hair as he held you tight and hungrily licked until he just happened to hit the perfect spot. That, of course, was when he stopped, leaning away and his shiny lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. “I need you so bad,” he drawled, “I’m getting impatient.”

“You?” You giggled sarcastically. “Impatient? Impossible.”

Nevertheless, Chris rocked back onto his feet and pulled you over to his desk before he sat you on top of it, gently pulling your knees apart to step between them. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “Do it.” 

Chris grinned shyly as he unbuckled his belt and brought his pants down enough to reveal his hard cock, groaning as you brazenly grabbed his length and pumped it a few times in your hand before guiding him into you. You both gasped in tandem now as you were stretched open, and your legs quickly found purchase around his hips as he kissed you again, the faintest taste and scent of your wetness still on his lips. He filled you out unexpectedly, prodding deep into you in this angle and his girth just wide enough at the base to make you whimper each time he bottomed out. 

“God, this is so good,” Chris groaned against your lips, “you’re so good. I’ve thought of this so many times.” His groans and whispered curses were hot in your ear as he fucked you on the desk, and you were both lost in this endless moment while you both sounded like you were steadily climbing your respective peaks until you noticed his prolonged smirk. 

“What’s so funny?” You jokingly accused. 

“Nothing,” Chris shook his head with a breathless smile, “I’m just surprised. I honestly expected you to be a little more in charge.”

“Oh, am I not as dominant as you thought?” You pouted for effect, seeming to only convince him for a second before you kicked him back into his chair anyhow and willingly taking his bait. He watched, his hands clutching the armrests with intrepid excitement as you dropped onto his lap. “Is this more what you had in mind?”

“Actually, yeah,” Chris nodded hungrily as you raised your hips, just enough to pull your panties to the side and grind your soaked pussy against the head of his cock. You both sighed in pleasure at the sensation as you took your sweet time dipping his length into you just the slightest bit, your lips parted to barely kiss him the whole time you teased yourself against him. He actually waited patiently as you barely rolled your hips lower into him, even as he began to get impatient again. “Heh, hey,” Chris laughed under his breath, “aren’t you gonna—“

“Whatever happened to your lip ring?” You asked him, teasingly oblivious to his question. 

“My wha— oh, that?” Chris was almost delirious trying to rock his hips up into you. “Don’t laugh, but I didn’t think it looked very professional when I first interviewed. I already wasn’t wearing it out to events and meetings, so not wearing it to school made sense.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” you smirked as you playfully pretended you were about to kiss him over and over, your lips ghosting over his own time and time again as his cock surreptitiously tried to work deeper into you, “but that’s ridiculously funny. You’re literally still wearing your earrings, and don’t try telling me that’s different. Weren’t you waiting for something, by the way?”

“Was I waiting—? Come on, aren’t you going to…?”

“Aren’t I going to what?” You asked innocently. Chris’ head lolled back against the head of his chair in exasperation. 

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” His question was quiet, almost as if he were shy to be saying it out loud, but he asked it nevertheless. 

“Sure,” you shrugged casually, “are you going to wear that lip ring for me sometime? I want to see if it has the same effect.”

“Anything, if you’re that easy,” Chris quipped, even as he was unable to hide the excited tremble in his voice. 

“I’m easy?” You asked, eyebrows raised as you finally sank deep onto Chris’ erection and kissed him again. His muffled groan was thick, laced with satisfaction as you began to ride him in earnest. The hot moans falling from his lips echoed your own impassioned whimpers, only growing more feverish as you angled your hips down, enabling yourself to grind your clit down against his lap. By now you were so lost in it that were thoroughly soaked through your panties you were still wearing.

“Are you sure you’re not easy?” Chris chuckled exhaustedly, even as he nuzzled against your heaving cleavage and gripped tight onto your hips. It was his turn to whimper as you desperately ran your fingers through his hair to clutch onto him as you felt your peak coming fast. Chris must’ve not been far behind, considering the way he sweetly groaned your name against your skin, as if to personally coax out your orgasm. 

The air between you was hot, static, and the way Chris held you was surprisingly affectionate. Despite how much ire and sarcasm had been slung between you previously, now you were both rendered speechless, your staccato breaths falling heavy in the spaces between your sighs and moans. Giving in to Chris didn’t feel like giving up like you had been afraid of for some reason. Reality seemed to be that he may even be quite fond of you, maybe even more than you’d previously imagined, despite how much you did or didn’t change. He obviously wanted to do more than kiss you, and now it seemed he wanted to do more than just fuck you. Chris’ fingertips dug into your hips as he thrust up against you, and you suddenly caught yourself meeting his gaze. The feeling was mutual, apparently, the blown out arousal in his eyes probably echoing your own impending orgasm slowly rising up your spine and making your head spin. He seemed to catch this as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and pressing his lips to your throat as he pistoned his hard length deep inside you, the head dragging along your sensitive walls and daring you to cum.

So you finally did. It hit you hard, giving you barely a moment’s notice for you to grab onto Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck as your core shuddered, radiating out to your quaking thighs and trembling fingers as your heightened moans hit a fever pitch. This, of course, was the final straw for Chris, his orgasm not far behind yours as he tensed up, palms pushing flat against the small of your back as he rutted into you with a broken groan. He uttered a sharp curse under his breath, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his own climax spilling into you as you finished riding out your own on his lap. 

It felt like an eternity, wrapped around each other, faces buried in each other’s shoulders as you both fought for breath and you finally realized how cramped it was straddling Chris in his desk chair, the armrests uncomfortably digging into your legs. As if to mitigate this silent complaint you had, Chris gently began to ease you off of him as he simultaneously pulled you to him for a tiredly satisfied kiss. The bright lights in your eyes finally dulled and the imaginary cotton in your ears finally fell out, letting the sound return to normal. You could hear the low drone of the air conditioner, the muted hum of the hard drive in Chris’ laptop, the clatter of the classroom doorknob outside turning open—

Chris heard it, too, with how he bolted upright with you in his lap. You both stared at the door of his office in terror; this was no way for the assistant superintendent to be found, in post-orgasmic bliss with her legs wrapped around a teacher who was still in a heap of trouble, and you had no chance of escape. Footsteps could be heard approaching before Chris quickly pushed at your retreating knees, apparently on the same page as you when he helped you slide off his lap and under his desk. You scrambled forward to grab at his chair and wheel him close as he desperately stuffed himself back in his pants and tried to make himself presentable. A knock came at the door and Chris quickly wiped the accumulated perspiration off his brow. 

“Come in—!“ he coughed, trying to sound chipper and casual, and as if he didn’t just orgasm with you barely two minutes prior. He gave you one crazed look to make sure you were alright shoved under the desk before the door to his office gingerly opened.

“Hey—“ 

Doyoung?

“Mr. Kim!” Chris sat up a little straighter, inadvertently kicking you in your shin in the process and nearly making you curse out loud. You reflexively punched him in the knee, making him jump as he tried to appear natural. “Is everything alright?”

“What, with me? I’m fine. It’s just...” Doyoung sighed, apparently not moving from where he awkwardly stood in the doorway of the tiny office. “Was it true, what you said about the superintendent’s son?”

“It was,” Chris said solemnly. “Would you like to see the letter again?” His question was genuine, any ill feelings towards the other teacher seeming to have dissipated by now. Your ears perked up as Chris leaned forward. You could hear papers shuffled overhead. He still had it? You could hear a piece of paper being handed to Doyoung, whose sigh only multiplied. 

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, “that’s so…”

“I know,” Chris commiserated. “Will Samantha—“

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Doyoung resolved, “but first, about the other day, I’m sorry about—“

“Mr. Kim, you don’t have to apologize,” Chris insisted, “tensions were high, you were upset, and you were protecting your student. If you’d like to help me report this I’d appreciate that. You’re a good teacher.”

“So are you, Mr. Bang,” Doyoung conceded sheepishly. “Maybe you can join me in the teacher’s lounge for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

You could hear the smooth heel of Doyoung’s oxford turn to leave and Chris backed up from the desk. The sigh of relief you both let out revealed that you had apparently been holding your breath. He slumped back in the chair before leaning forward to offer you an assisting hand. 

“Oh, one more thing—“

Chris snapped upright in his chair, accidentally kicking you again before his knees knocked into the top of his desk. He grinned through it as he attempted to look nonchalant again. “Yeah?”

“So,” Doyoung began stiffly, “you and her are, like… a thing?”

“Er,” Chris floundered for a second. “Yes. Why?”

“Why? Oh, I mean, it’s nothing,” Doyoung fumbled, “I meant, I guess, is it serious?”

Chris’ Adam’s apple could barely be seen bobbing with his sudden gulp from your vantage point, and you didn’t blame him. Serious? It wasn’t a stretch to imagine his ears turning beet red again. Your thighs were beginning to get sore where you were folded under the desk. “No! I mean, not yet,” Chris said, his stammer matching Doyoung’s now. “I want it to be, though. I really like her. Why?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You felt like such a sucker, but why did you also feel so smitten? 

“No reason,” Doyoung laughed politely. “I’m happy for you. For both of you. She looks different with you, you know? You look good together. See you later.”

The door finally clicked closed and you both waited for the classroom door to do the same before it was Chris’ turn to let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed heavily, melting into his chair before sliding back. His gentle hand reached down to help you out from under the desk. You held his hand, his fingers warm in yours as he met your gaze. “Hello, stranger,” he grinned, “did you have fun under the desk?” Chris fussed with your clothes, helping smooth your skirt back out and buttoning your blouse back up before he realized you were staring at him. He suddenly looked concerned, sitting up as he tried to make sense of your expression.  “What? Is everything alright?”

“You want this to be serious?”

Chris almost flinched as he defensively tried to figure out your tone. He settled for getting back up from his chair and squaring up against you once again, arms folded matter-of-factly like he anticipated a confrontation. “You know what? I do.”

“This isn’t even real, Chris,” you smirked, flattered by his sincerity. “We don’t even like each other, remember?”

He let out an exasperated laugh. “Holy shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Go ahead, then, tell me how we aren’t real.”

“Well,” you smiled, “you haven’t asked me out, for one thing.” 

It seemed Chris finally caught up to your game. “Fine,” he sarcastically scoffed. “Would you like to go out with me some time?” 

“Sure,” you playfully shrugged with a smile. “How about now? Are you hungry?”

Chris was amused as he pulled you close into his arms. “You know what? I’m actually not.”

[freebooter4ever]

Ice Cream And An Apology

Eugene drags his bff Snafu on a vacation to Los Angeles six years after Snafu left him on that train. They end up on Santa Monica beach where they finally admit they might be in love, and it might've been brewing for a long while, and wow are they clueless sometimes. Ace Eugene and Snaf, written for @skelesocks​ who makes the best Ace Eugene content around, thank you! And who was sad that I made Eugene cry, so here is me making him feel better through Snafu. (their vacation date includes a tiki hut, ice cream, swing dancing, secret cliffside hotels)(I took all the parts I do like about living in LA and put them here)(the ballroom existed but it's torn down now, the hotel is a real place I stumbled on while hiking way too far down the beach but it's actually a 1930's pool building called Palos Verdes Athletic Club)(with bonus historical photos cause I'm a fucking nerd)

Two years into grad school Eugene decides he needs a proper vacation. The only reason Snafu knows this is because Eugene also decides Snafu is the person he's gonna vacation with. And apparently Snafu has no say in this decision.

A very curt letter arrives one spring afternoon with a time, a date, and the address of the New Orleans railroad station, as if Snafu needed to be told where that is. Granted, Snafu's track record in being responsive and easy to reach is perhaps not the best, but Gene's known that for years. Snafu doesn't know what's changed with this particular meet up.

He's also a little resentful of the fact that Eugene thinks he can snap his fingers and Snafu will drop everything on a dime and come running. Mostly Snafu resents this on account of how true it is. Six years after the war and Snafu still can't let go.

So Snafu shows up at the train station, right on time, with his duffel packed tight, and his hat a little jaunty.

Eugene steps off the train with his ticket book in hand. He looks right and left, like he can't see Snafu standing a mere three feet in front of him. It must be the hat.

"You lost, Sledgehammer?" Snafu asks.

Eugene's eyes finally find his. Snafu's heart drops out of his chest, and he suddenly remembers why he made his original vow years ago to walk away and never see anybody again.

"Shelton?" Eugene asks, like he can't quite believe his eyes, and the formality stings.

"Miss me?" Snafu smirks.

Eugene doesn't answer. He simply walks up to Snafu, shoulder's Snafu's bag, and climbs back onto the train.

Snafu follows - like fucking always.

Eugene shoves Snafu's duffel into the luggage racks already almost stacked full, and guides Snafu to a private compartment.

Snafu glances admiringly at the plush seats and curtained windows, and whistles, "Adjunct professors must make quite a bit of money these days."

"I'm paying both your way and my way on this trip, so...yes," Eugene says, and Snafu knows it's non negotiable. No matter how many times Snafu offers, Eugene never accepts repayment.

"The truth is…" Eugene says that night after they've converted their plush seats into a bed, "...not making much money doesn't matter so much when you don't use it. I don't go out, I don't do anything, my parents pay my rent. What else am I going to spend it on?"

Snafu shrugs. A lot of things pop into his mind, but it's true Eugene never goes out so Snafu doesn't want to discourage this change. Eugene is the most boring college student ever. Snafu knows because he makes the drive from New Orleans to Auburn every weekend. And every weekend is the same, they spend most of the time lying around Sledge's dorm - Eugene studying and Snafu reading his latest murder mystery novel.

He supposes the sacrifice of Eugene's social life might have been worth it, though, if it meant being able to pay for the sleeper car. Because that night on the train when Eugene wakes Snafu with a yell, there are no prying eyes to judge them. Snafu wraps his arms around Eugene's shoulders in the privacy of their bunk and holds him till he calms down.

Sometimes Snafu wonders who does this for Eugene during the week, on the nights Snafu's not there.

"I just don't sleep those nights," Eugene whispers in the dark, his voice barely audible over the clacking of the train tracks.

Snafu squeezes him tighter. Eugene's back is pressed against Snafu's chest, and Snafu's nose is in Eugene's hair. And sometimes Snafu worries he might be crazy, but he also swears that the smell of Eugene's neck is the only thing capable of stopping Snafu's own nerves from jumping out of his skin. He'll never admit to Eugene how selfish he is. That Snafu doesn't keep dropping everything to run to his side out of some altruistic need to please. No.

Snafu's fucking addicted to the boy in his arms and he can't let go. No matter how much it hurts.

Plus they aren't boys anymore. Eugene is twenty eight, and Snafu is thirty, and he keeps waiting and waiting for Eugene to grow up and leave him behind but it hasn't happened yet.

It takes four days for the train to reach Los Angeles. It's hot - so fucking hot, Snafu wonders why Eugene picked summer of all times to vacation here, but the dry wind and brilliant blue sky is still a relief compared to the sticky humidity of home. He can kinda see why people come out here, even if the baking sun also makes him feel a little like a raisin.

Eugene rents a car. An unnecessary expense in Snafu's mind. The car even has a swamp cooler, which at first Snafu decries as the most absurd waste of cash. But then he presses his face to the passenger window to watch the rocket-like thing work. And sure, he can't feel the wind on his face anymore, but damn if the air in the car doesn't become more bearable faster.

Eugene watches Snafu and just smiles.

The outside heat cools off the closer they get to the coast. Snafu has no idea where Eugene is taking them. Perhaps that's why Eugene invites him everywhere, because he never asks questions. Honestly Eugene could take him anywhere in the world and it'd still be something, simply because it's with Eugene. Except caves. Snafu doesn't mess with caves.

They park in a giant lot, and when Snafu opens the car door he hears the familiar sound of gulls and the ocean. All around his head, though, are two story buildings - not a horizon line in sight. They must still be in the city. But then they turn a corner, walk two blocks down the street, and there it is: the Santa Monica pier.

The hippodrome catches the eye first. Then Snafu sees the long line stretching down a checkerboard walkway. The crowd of people ends at the mirrored doors and box office of the Aragon Ballroom. Something must be happening for it to be so busy in the middle of a random saturday. The crowd is young too, mostly teenagers. Snafu feels old, looking at them.

Snafu stares at the ballroom for a minute and then leers at Eugene. "You taking me dancing?" He asks.

"No," Eugene says, "I don't dance." He turns away from the gigantic world famous dancehall hanging over the ocean on spindly legs, and starts walking down the boardwalk.

Snafu hurries to catch up.

They clamber down tall wooden steps to get to the beach. Snafu touches one and ends up with a splinter in his hand, naturally. He's too busy trying to pick the damn thing out of his finger to notice when Eugene stops. Snafu collides with his back.

Eugene balances precariously at the edge of the bottom step, leaving only a little room for Snafu to squish in behind him. Snafu leans his chin on Eugene's shoulder and tries to figure out what is on the ground that Eugene's so intently marveling at.

"Gene?" Snafu slips his arm underneath Eugene's elbow and wiggles his hand in front of Eugene's face, "Your pa's the doctor."

"What?" Eugene asks in confusion as if brought out of a trance.

"Splinter," Snafu explains.

Eugene very carefully pries the long skinny splinter out of Snafu's finger. And then he goes back to staring down at his feet.

"What are we waiting for?" Snafu asks. He places his hands on either side of Eugene's hips and tries to remain patient.

"An engraved invitation," Eugene intones. He bends over to untie his Chuck Taylors and pull them off.

"That's just asking for splinters," Snafu points out when Eugene's socks come off next.

Eugene leaves his socks neatly tucked into his shoes on the wooden plank and steps into the sand.

Snafu, being more familiar with thievery, hastily threads the shoelaces through his own belt loop and then ties Eugene's two shoes together to hang off his hip. His own shoes stay on as he traipses after Eugene. Snafu's had enough sand between his toes to last him a lifetime.

It doesn't take long to catch up to Eugene. When Snafu reaches him, Eugene is breathing shallowly and clenching his fists, staring at the rolling ocean waves and the handful of beachgoers. To the casual observer, Eugene would appear to be enjoying the view, but Snafu sees the tension. Snafu sidles up to Eugene and leans against his shoulder.

"I thought it would feel different," Eugene says. His voice is calm, he looks calm, but he's anything but. Snafu knows the feeling all too well.

"C'mon," Snafu slips his hand into Eugene's and tugs him away from the shore, "Let's get off the sand."

They make it back to the boardwalk and Snafu gives Eugene back his shoes.

Eugene smiles at him gratefully, and that grin with those eyes is precisely the reason Snafu's always here. And in this case 'here' means 'by Eugene's side come hell or high water.'

Eugene smiles, and Snafu shrugs it off, and lets Eugene use his shoulder to steady himself while he puts his shoes back on one-handed. Those smiles make Snafu want to kiss them off Eugene's face to get rid of them. They're altogether too kind, altogether too caring, and it just worsens the already deep hole Snafu's dug himself.

They walk down the boardwalk for a short distance, eyeing the push carts, and the souvenir stalls, and the hot dog stands that look suspiciously crusty.

"Those aren't for you," Snafu says, pushing Eugene along by the small of his back when the boy lingers a little too long in front of a cheesy sign with a cartoon corn dog dancing on a stick. The dog has eyes, and looks way too happy about being eaten.

"What, why not?" Eugene asks.

"They're un-hi-Gene-ic," Snafu drawls.

"Oh god," Eugene casts his eyes to the sky.

"It's in the name, no Gene's allowed," Snafu adds.

"I got the joke, Snafu," Eugene says.

The next food stand they come to is a tiki hut. There's no other way to describe it. It's the tackiest thing Snafu's ever seen. Snafu  hears about the 'tiki' craze sweeping the nation after all the boys came home from the south pacific. He sees advertisements using the motifs in the magazines at the mechanic shop he works for.

The tiki design is always heavily stylized, and completely fake, and so fucking ugly it makes Snafu's eyes hurt.

He turns to Eugene, and their eyes meet. There's a rush of shared knowing between them, it sends Snafu tingling down to his toes, and a genuine smile breaks out onto his face, and before he knows it they're both laughing. They lean against each other, giggling helplessly at this silly simulacrum of the islands they were trapped on for so long.

"Four nights on a train for this, Gene?" Snafu teases.

Eugene slings an arm around Snafu's waist to steady him and, still laughing, they wobble over to peer at the menu tacked against the entrance to the hut.

"Coconut ice cream," Snafu reads with exaggerated admiration.

Eugene shudders violently, and Snafu can feel it through his body. "I can't stand the smell of coconut," Eugene whines, "All those coconuts on Pavuvu, buried in the sand, rotting with that inescapable stench."

Snafu shakes his head, "You're missing out."

"Nope," Eugene insists and breaks away from Snafu, "We're not eating here. I would rather eat the No-Gene's-Allowed dancing corn dog."

"I bet by the end of this trip I'll get you eating coconut ice cream," Snafu calls.

"Not happening," Eugene calls back, making his point by already walking away.

Snafu eyes the coconut tiki shack, eyes Gene, and starts plotting.

Blissfully ignorant, and completely confident in his ability to talk Snafu into or out of anything, Eugene continues down the boardwalk.

Meanwhile, Snafu's attention is captured next by the neat row of bicycles at the very end of the small line of makeshift booths. The bicycles are clean, and shiny, with pastel baskets and sparkling handlebar bells, and colorful seats with clean, bright stitching. The kind of bicycles Snafu dreamed of when he was a kid. He slows to a crawl as they pass by and eventually stops, unable to resist going over and putting his hands on one.

Snafu rings the bell and chuckles.

He glances up and Eugene is smiling at him again in that overly fond way that says Snafu could probably get away with practically anything right now.

So, they end up renting two bikes. Snafu's is a mint blue with a grey basket. He pulls his shoes off and drops them into said basket to ride barefoot. The spikey plastic pedals feel hot and firm underneath Snafu's feet. Eugene's bike is a reddish salmon color with a burnt orange basket that when combined with the sun glinting off Eugene's red hair, makes him strike a truly imposing figure.

Snafu laughs about this for at least five minutes straight before they get on their way. He wishes he brought a camera. There's one slung around Eugene's neck, but Eugene blushes and refuses Snafu's request to use it.

"If I can't take embarrassing photos of you with it, what's the point of even having it?" Snafu demands.

Eugene still refuses.

Snafu sticks his tongue out at Eugene and takes the lead on the bicycles. It's incredibly easy to ride along the flat beach. The path isn't paved, and is a little rough, but half the time Snafu is standing on his pedals as he rides, so he hardly notices. Occasionally he looks back to make sure Gene is keeping up.

The only time he loses track of Eugene is when they're pedaling through a dilapidated old pier. Snafu banks a slight curve and notices Eugene isn't appearing around the shops and buildings behind him. He circles back around to find Eugene stopped and straddling his bicycle, looking towards the ocean.

Snafu pulls up alongside him and eyes him quizzically.

"It's two men…" Eugene nods at a couple making out on a beach blanket in the distance, "I saw them walking out there. The one with long hair isn't a girl, he's a guy."

Snafu looks at the couple passionately embracing, and then at Eugene's expression. "Shocking," Snafu says sarcastically, "Scandalous."

"You don't seem surprised," Eugene says.

"I live in New Orleans," Snafu replies, "Not all of us spent most our lives in hicktown Alabama."

"Mobile is not a hicktown," Eugene scowls.

"Stop staring at them, Gene," Snafu warns and nods at the couple, "They might give you a show." He rides off, this time determined to leave Eugene in the dust.

Snafu keeps going on his bicycle for a few hours. They're forced to make a brief detour around a marina, but they end up back on an oceanfront path, and continue on pedaling until suddenly the beach abruptly ends. The sand narrows off into rocks, and rising high above them are towering cliffs.

Eugene coasts to a stop next to Snafu and puts his foot down to rest. He's breathing hard. All that studying and not enough manual labor.

"Guess we're continuing on foot from here," Snafu suggests casually.

Eugene huffs in disbelief, "You're joking."

"Four nights on a train…" Snafu smirks, "I ain't stopping yet."

They bring the bikes back to the nearest beach facilities and lock them up in a rack, then set off across the rocks. At first it's fairly easy, there is a dirt path running directly beneath the cliff face but slightly above the worst of the jagged rocky beach. They've climbed over much worse during the war.

Eugene is an unenthusiastic hiking partner, however. They pass by a beautiful stucco building nestled into the cliffs with a high wall and flanked by old fashioned lamps. Eugene stares longingly at the NCAA sized swimming pool behind the wall.

"Later," Snafu promises him, and leads him on.

The rocks turn a little more treacherous past the wall, and eventually it gets to the point that even Snafu is carefully picking his way across rock by rock. He climbs hand and foot up to the base of the cliff and expertly assesses the narrow ledge leading across a plunging chut to the next rocky beach. The chute is roughly four feet long and ends in churning water. The waves are coming in, crashing against the rocks and zipping up the chute to lap at the ledge. Snafu puts one shoe on the ledge and wiggles it around to test his grip.

"Snaf," Eugene pleads from the rocks below, "I can't…"

Snafu stares down at him unblinkingly. And then turns and starts to walk carefully across the ledge. He makes it to the other side and leaps over the rocky outcrop.

"Merriell!" Eugene cries.

Snafu can no longer see him. After vaulting the end of the ledge he lands on another rocky beach, and in the distance he sees another point where the rocks give way to cliffs. Snafu clambers on tirelessly, but the path soon becomes all but impassable. He's reached the farthest point he can go. Eventually he gives up and turns around.

He climbs back onto the taller rock sticking out from the ledge and sits down on the top to watch the waves break against the rock's front edge. Below him and across the chasm, Eugene sits huddled on his own rock, intently watching the waves. Eugene ignores Snafu's return.

"Eugene?" Snafu calls softly.

Eugene's head jerks up and he looks at Snafu with a painful mixture of worry and anger. "What the hell, Snafu?" Eugene yells, "You jump over the other side and don't answer me for a half hour? I had no way of knowing if you slipped, or fell, or hit your head, or drowned…" Eugene's voice wavers.

"You could'a followed," Snafu argues.

"I cannot cross that ledge," Eugene snaps back, "Not all of us have your super human climbing abilities. You shouldn't go on alone...what if you ended up in the water?"

"Gene, I'm a good swimmer," Snafu says dismissively.

Eugene shakes his head at him in exasperation. "Fuck you, Shelton," he says, and he clearly means it. He turns back to the waves splashing at his feet and rubs his hand into his eye.

Which is when Snafu notices something odd.

He toes back across the ledge and hops down to the rock next to Eugene's to confirm his suspicions. Snafu tilts his head and scoots as close as Eugene will let him.

"Gene?" Snafu prompts gently, "Are you crying?"

Eugene screws his face up and presses his chin against his knees. He's clearly about to start crying in the way anyone starts to cry when they're feeling on the verge and someone asks them about it.

Snafu hastily stands and closes the last few inches between them. He crouches next to Eugene and puts his arm around Gene's shoulders.

"This was a mistake," Eugene breathes.

"I'm sorry," Snafu says. He leans his head in close to Eugene's and leans his weight against him in hopefully a comforting manner.

Eugene shakes his head and a brief sob chokes his next words, "I can't…." he pauses to catch his breath, "I can't do this anymore."

"Then we'll leave," Snafu suggests, "You've got a car. We'll drive out to the desert. You can draw some cacti."

"No, Snaf," Eugene says quietly, his voice goes almost calm, "I mean I can't do this anymore with you."

Snafu stands when he hears those words.

Eugene shivers and starts crying anew.

"You're gonna leave me stuck here without even a train ticket home?" Snafu's mind immediately jumps to how much bus fare will cost, and whether he's got enough cash on him or if he'll have to pick up some odd jobs before he catches the first train back.

"No!" Eugene exclaims, angry again, "I would never do that to you."

"Then what, Gene?" Snafu asks, his own voice rising.

"You can't keep leaving me like this," Eugene insists.

"I just jumped over a goddamn ledge…"

"You left!" Eugene tilts his face up to Snafu and hurtles the accusation at him, "You left without a goodbye and…"

"I came back!" Snafu interrupts.

"Not for my wedding," Eugene says sullenly.

"Nor for Burgie's," Snafu waves it away with a gesture.

"I'm not Burgie!" Eugene declares.

"I came back for your divorce!" Snafu counters.

Eugene drops his head onto his arms.

"For fuck's sake, Eugene haven't you cried over her enough?" Snafu sighs. He climbs back onto the ledge and scoots across over to the jutting rock to put some space between him and Eugene, "It's been four years. You barely knew each other."

"I'm not crying over Edna," Eugene protests sourly and sniffles snot back into his nose.

"Can't imagine why you two didn't work out," Snafu rolls his eyes and swings his legs over the edge of the rock to dangle above the crashing waves, "With names like Edna and Eugene."

A very slight smile tugs at the corner of Eugene's mouth. "E squared," he says.

"She's probably better off," Snafu offers, "No longer saddled with the terrible mouthful 'Edna Sledge'."

"You're one to talk, Merriell," Eugene points out.

"Merriell Sledge has a nice ring to it," Snafu goads him.

"I like Eugene Shelton better," Eugene jokes back.

"Thought you said you were done with me," Snafu says, unable to prevent his big mouth from opening.

Eugene looks up at him with the meanest glare he's ever seen.

It slowly, slowly starts to dawn on Snafu that he might be the reason Eugene Sledge is crying.

That comes as a shock. Snafu takes a moment to think back on his life and all the times he might've made someone cry. And not because he shoved some bully or asshole into the dirt. It's a very short list. One of his earliest memories is visiting his grandma as a child. She cried when he left, and hugged him for longer than he's ever been hugged in his life. His parents died, but they weren't the crying type anyway. His baby sister stopped crying after their parents' deaths. Even when Snafu enlisted, she didn't shed a tear.

And absolutely none of the men Snafu formed attachments to were the crying type either. Till Eugene, till now.

But Snafu can't imagine why Eugene is crying over him. He answered the extremely self-pitying letter Eugene penned in the weeks after Eugene's divorce, he's spent every weekend with Eugene since to keep him company, he tries to be there for whatever Eugene needs. Eugene's got no fucking reason to cry because of him.

Eugene's crying like Snafu broke his heart, except there's no possible way Eugene could care about him that deeply. This love Snafu's got going is a one way street, and he's careful to keep it that way.

Snafu digs into his pocket and pulls out a rather beat up carton of cigarettes. He calmly lights one and tosses the rest to Eugene. Eugene holds the carton like it's something precious.

"Sledgehammer," Snafu says, "Just tell me what you want."

Eugene takes a deep breath to steady himself. He grips the paper cigarette carton hard till it crinkles. "I think I want what those two guys on the beach have…" Eugene tells the waves. And then looks to Snafu for some sort of validation, "...but with you."

Snafu smokes his cigarette and tries to remember there's a ten foot gulf with choppy waves between them and launching himself across it is not physically possible.

"And this is why I can't keep doing this anymore, Snaf," Eugene says when Snafu doesn't answer his request. Eugene turns back to the rocks below his feet and says with great frustration, "Our friendship means everything to me, but it's killing me."

Those last words weigh heavy on Snafu's conscience. "Okay, Gene," he says, "We'll finish out this vacation, and then I promise you'll never have to see me again."

Eugene swallows hard. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his head in his arms once more, so he doesn't have to see Snafu right now.

Snafu makes his way over the ledge for the last time and carefully places a hand on Eugene's trembling shoulder. "C'mon," he says kindly, "Let's get back to the bikes."

Eugene twines his hand with Snafu's. Snafu bends down, braces Eugene's arm with his own, and helps him stand. Eugene sways into Snafu's chest and for a minute their faces are too close together for comfort. But neither of them are looking at each other. And Eugene isn't smiling, so it makes it easy for Snafu to deny the kiss and pull away.

Eugene's horribly quiet as they make their way back over the rocky beach. He pauses before they pass the wall with the swimming pool.

Snafu looks back questioningly.

"I'm hungry," Eugene announces, "You made me ride my bike for three hours, then scramble over rocks for two. This place looks nice, it's hygienic, there's no palm fronds or fake tiki statues. We're stopping here."

Snafu eyes the iron gate skeptically. The lock is hanging loose and the gate is ajar, but only because a few people from the private pool are swimming in the ocean nearby.

"You object?" Eugene asks stubbornly, ready and looking for a fight.

"It's too fancy," Snafu says and jerks his chin in the direction of the three story building stacked in layers on the cliff like a cake, "I see white lace curtains in those windows. Fucking clean lace curtains."

"The hot dogs were too poor, this place is too rich," Eugene says, "Make up your mind, Snafu."

Snafu sighs, but concedes Eugene may have a point. He gestures for Eugene to go through the gate first.

Sometimes Eugene's ability to take all of his generational wealth and privilege and put it to use comes in handy. After hours of physical exercise they look bedraggled. Both of them are dusty, the armpits of their shirts are damp, Eugene's collar is creased, Snafu never had a collar to begin with, they have sand pouring out of their shoes, and yet when Eugene walks through that gate he owns the place.

Snafu slinks in on his coat tails and settles in to watch the show from a distance. Some pool boy comes up to stop Gene from going any further, and the set of Eugene's shoulders takes on a stubborn slant. Eugene isn't pretentious. But he knows how to be. Snafu's never seen Eugene use his status, or his upbringing to deliberately belittle anyone beneath him. When he does draw out this intangible skill to demand the kind of respect money offers, it's always in defense of someone who doesn't have it.

And Snafu kinda likes being the beneficiary of that benevolent righteousness. It's entertaining to watch people's attitudes change toward Eugene in the blink of an eye when they realize he's someone of means.

All it takes is a few quick sentences, and the attendant who initially stopped Eugene is suddenly apologizing and taking Eugene's ID. Before the attendant reverently carries the ID back towards the main house, he glances nervously at Snafu.

Snafu tilts his head back against the pool wall and lazily smiles. Snafu knows where he belongs but he doesn't give a shit.

The attendant turns tail and runs.

Snafu watches him go with a bit of hypocritical glee till Eugene quietly returns to Snafu's side. 

"We're staying here tonight, huh?" Snafu smirks.

"Yeah," Eugene nods confidently, his hands in his pockets, "It looks comfortable."

Snafu hums and grins at Eugene admiringly.

"You might have to put up with clean lace curtains for longer than expected," Eugene warns.

"Think I can handle that," Snafu replies.

"Swell," Eugene says, only half sarcastic and immediately satisfied with Snafu's agreement. Eugene's eyes start roaming around the pool deck till he spots what he's looking for, "Now that's settled, I see a burger bar with my name on it."

"I believe the name on that sign says 'Hanna's'," Snafu points out drolly.

"Grab that table overlooking the ocean," Eugene says, "I'll bring you a menu."

Snafu climbs a narrow stone staircase built into the cliff face and sits down at one of the three tables hidden in a nook behind a trellis of lavender. He adjusts the tables a little, shoves one closer to the wall at the edge of the cliff, and then sits down.

Eugene comes up a few minutes later and offers Snafu an embossed menu featuring a long list of items and no prices. "I see you removed the lace tablecloth," Eugene notes with a grin.

Snafu briefly glances at the discarded pile of table linens he made on the table next to theirs and scoffs, "Don't need that shit for hamburgers."

Eugene bites his lip and concentrates on reading his own menu.

They both order hamburgers, and Eugene deliberates between a milkshake or a soda before eventually settling on the house rootbeer. Snafu additionally orders three extra sides of french fries. The hamburgers are as large as Snafu's hands and the french fry portions are generous enough that Snafu still has a large stack at the end of the meal. He leans back in his chair, props his feet up on the ocean wall, and snacks on fries while surveying the waves.

Meanwhile Snafu can feel Eugene's eyes on him.

Snafu finishes his fries, and lights a cigarette.

Eugene is still watching him. 

Snafu can't bring himself to meet Eugene's gaze. Eugene's eyes are everything good - kindness, vulnerability, trust, smarts...when Snafu looks into them he feels this rush of uncontainable emotion, that drug that makes his nerves calm. And the persistent need in the back of his head to be somewhere doing something quiets down till it goes silent entirely, because he's here, sharing this with Eugene, and somehow that's more than enough.

They're not even doing anything, they're relaxing on the side of a bluff looking out at the ocean and sharing a cigarette. It should be boring as hell, and yet when Snafu does finally get the guts to flick his eyes towards Gene, he's utterly satisfied.

He's going fucking insane, is what it is. All cause of Eugene's eyes. He tries to clumsily explain this to Gene. Snafu feels he owes him that much. It doesn't come out right. None of Snafu's words ever come out right, not like Gene's with his studied elocution and tendency to think long and hard before he speaks.

Except this time, as Snafu speaks, Eugene's face loses his sour expression entirely, and Snafu sees hope there - maybe a little bit of joy.

Eugene places the cigarette back in Snafu's hands and leans his elbows on the table intently. "Snaf," he says very seriously, "how do I explain to you that I feel the exact same way every time I look at you?"

"Not possible," Snafu counters stubbornly.

"Snaf!" Eugene laughs.

"I can't be for you what those guys on the beach are for each other," Snafu says.

"Why not?"

"Just can't."

"Just like I can't fall in love with my asshole gunner during the middle of a war?" Eugene's still grinning like he can't stop now that he's started.

"I'm not enough, Gene."

Eugene sighs. He studies Snafu's profile quietly for a minute, and then switches tactics. "Do you know why mine and Edna's divorce was okay by my parents?"

Snafu shakes his head. He hadn't even given it a thought. Just assumed Eugene's parents knew their son deserved the best, and anyone named Edna was clearly not that.

"We, uh," Eugene coughs, "We never consummated the marriage. I kept putting it off. Easy to do under strict christian values. Till Edna got fed up, realized I wasn't about to give her kids anytime soon or ever. And demanded we split."

"You're still a virgin?" Snafu stares at him in surprise.

"I am," Eugene blushes angrily, "And I'm kinda tired of people shaming me for that."

"No shame," Snafu says fairly, "I remember how you were during the China occupation years. Always thought that was just cause your fear of VD, though."

"Yeah, that was my excuse at the time," Eugene says, "Snaf, you know I love you. Passionately. I want to be able to say that, whenever I feel it, instead of choking it down and trying to hide it. I'd like to kiss you. I very much enjoy holding you. I think we could live together very happily. That's what I want from you, nothing more." Eugene reaches over the table and takes Snafu's hand resting beside the crystal water goblets. "I'll beg you, if that's what it takes to get it through your thick skull." 

Snafu smiles a little despite himself.

"Also, we're both gonna have to work on quitting smoking," Eugene concludes his list, "cause I'm going to need you to grow old with me."

Snafu plucks at the bar menu on the table beside his elbow. He casually picks it up and scans the dessert section. "You know...," he says casually, "...they've got coconut ice cream." He flips the menu around so Eugene can read the list.

Eugene reaches with his free hand and grabs the menu to examine it. "If I buy you coconut ice cream will you finally admit you love me back?"

Snafu looks at him and Eugene is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt.

Snafu uses their twined hands to pull Eugene closer over the table and press his lips to Eugene's in answer. He looks deep into Eugene's eyes, his gaze as unwavering and cliche as his devotion, and says, "I love you, Gene. Heart and soul."

Eugene threads his free hand into the back of Snafu's curls and touches their foreheads together. There's a knowing between them that's existed in some form since that first day on Pavuvu. Eugene doesn't need to say a word, Snafu can read it all in his eyes. He leans in and kisses Eugene one final time before pulling away and standing up.

"Now that that's settled," Snafu says with a devil grin, "Let's go see about that coconut ice cream."

Eugene groans, but when Snafu wraps his hand tighter around Gene's to help him stand and leads him back down the cliffside stairs to the pool deck, Eugene willingly follows.

Snafu stands on his tiptoes at the poolside bar to order a double scoop ice cream cone with chocolate drizzle. Eugene stands to the side and fiddles with the condiments while he waits. Snafu tilts his head to bat his eyes saccharinely at Eugene while the bartender is in the back with the scoops. And Eugene's reflexive smile in return is bashful and more than a little endearing.

They take Snafu's prodigious two scoop chocolate drizzle coconut ice cream cone outside the gate and onto the ocean rocks. The evening air is finally cooling, but the setting sun melts the ice cream fast. Snafu keeps having to lick at his hands where the milky cream runs down his fingers. Snafu sucks at the edge where cone meets ice cream, and notices Eugene watching him.

He waggles the cone in front of Eugene's face invitingly.

Eugene hastily grabs Snafu's hand so his wiggling doesn't make the double scoop fall off into Eugene's lap. "Fine," Eugene sighs, as if tasting ice cream is a true hardship. He holds Snafu's hand still and takes a tentative lick.

Snafu grins when he sees Gene's eyes light up. "It's only called 'coconut ice cream'," Snafu announces, "Never said it tasted like coconut."

"How…?" Eugene asks.

"They just make it out of coconut milk, it's flavored with vanilla," Snafu says, proud to have won an argument.

Eugene eases the cone out of Snafu's hand in order to better take another bite  of ice cream.

Eugene's hair is blowing wildly in the ocean breeze. Snafu watches strands of hair fall across Eugene's face and Eugene desperately tries to shake it out of his mouth so he can eat. Snafu chuckles and brushes Eugene's hair off his forehead and holds it there to give him easier access. 

Eugene crinkles his eyes at Snafu in amusement and mumbles his thanks in between bites of ice cream.

"I think you've had enough," Snafu comments and draws the cone away from Eugene's grasp after two thirds of the ice cream has magically disappeared. But instead of eating more himself, Snafu kisses Gene and sucks on his bottom lip to get the last drops of ice cream. Eugene tastes sweet, and his lips are refreshingly cold. And when Snafu opens his eyes, he can see that Gene is silently laughing at him - or with him, because Snafu is laughing too.

Snafu grins, kisses the tip of Eugene's long nose because there's some ice cream there, and then turns back to his cone. He barely gets his mouth around it before Eugene is tugging the cone out of his hand a second time.

"Hey, you could'a got your own!" Snafu exclaims, trying to keep the ice cream away.

Gene wins. Because of course he does. "I'll buy you a second one," Eugene promises.

Snafu threads his fingers through Eugene's bangs again to hold them back, and chooses to watch Eugene instead of the sunset. Gene's tinted round sunglasses are brilliantly rosy, casting colored shadows on his cheeks and making them even rosier.

"Gene," Snafu says, just to be able to savor his name.

"Mm?" Eugene cuts his eyes to the side and raises an eyebrow at Snafu even as he licks melted ice cream off his hand.

Snafu tilts his chin up and scoots closer till their sides are pressed tight together. "I think this is gonna be the best vacation I ever have," he confesses.

Eugene turns back to his ice cream and comments, "Thought this was the only vacation you've ever had."

"Yeah, but I mean in the future too," Snafu swipes at his collar and unbuttons it a little to give himself more breathing room.

"Naw," Eugene scoffs, "Don't worry, we'll top it." He licks his lips and hands the almost empty ice cream cone back to Snafu, "That's pretty darn good."

Snafu breaks into a wide grin. "I told you. I told you so, Sledgehammer!" he says proudly, "Next time I suggest new food, you better listen!"

Eugene laughs and agrees, "I will." He maneuvers around on the rock till he can lay his head in Snafu's lap. "If you drip any ice cream on me, try to aim for my mouth," he advises.

"Sure thing, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and bites into the last of the cone with a crunch. It's a bit messy and he does end up dripping some on Eugene, but it lands on Eugene's forehead . It's okay though because Snafu bends over to kiss him clean, and Eugene laughs and complains that it tickles.

When the ice cream disappears, and the sun is set, and the last bit of twilight is slowly fading, Eugene and Snafu make their way back across the rocky beach to their bikes. Nothing's changed, yet everything feels different. This time when Eugene miraculously spots a tiny crab species scuttering over a rock, and stops to admire it, Snafu can openly admire Eugene and Eugene's goofy fascination. And when they're chatting as they walk, and Eugene retorts with something particularly sarcastic, instead of just laughing it off, Snafu gets to tug Eugene back by his hand, spin him around, and lay a kiss on him. Just because he wants to.

Of course, when they do finally reach the bikes and rejoin civilization, Snafu has to reign in his urges somewhat, but from time to time he still manages to smile at Eugene in that way that makes Eugene blush, and usually trip over his own feet if he's not being careful.

They drop the bikes off at the booth, and Eugene pays a rather hefty late fee. They're walking back to their car when Snafu grabs onto Eugene's elbow and stops them both.

He draws Eugene in close and whispers, "Look at the pier, all lit up at night. Like fireflies." 

The hippodrome is dotted with popcorn lights, it's turrets and arches glamorous behind shadow in a way they aren't during the day.

Eugene stands straight, takes a deep breath, locks Snafu's arm under his elbow, and takes off down the street towards the pier.

"Gene, where are we going?" Snafu asks worriedly, slightly alarmed and keeping a sharp eye out for anyone looking at them askance because of being arm-in-arm.

"I want to dance," Eugene decides. He marches them straight up to box office window of the ballroom and slaps a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Can he and I enter the ballroom as a couple?" Eugene asks challengingly.

Snafu nearly chokes. It's late enough there's not many people around outside. Most everyone is in the ballroom where the band is in full swing. Whenever one of the front doors opens and people exit, a cacophony of talking and loud music escapes with them.

The bored and exhausted woman behind the desk takes in Eugene, lingering on Eugene's Marine Corps ring, and then Snafu, and shrugs, "Sure, whatever."

Eugene nods enthusiastically in relief, "Thank you," and slides the money over. Being pressed up against Eugene's side, Snafu can feel him sweating.

The girl behind the counter gives them two tickets and their change. Eugene gratefully pushes five dollars of it back to her, nods once more, and drags a still-in-shock Snafu over to the doors.

Eugene falters once inside the doorway, suddenly shy. He holds his head up high, but there's tension in his neck when Eugene swallows nervously. 

It's up to Snafu to pry his hand out from underneath Eugene's sweaty armpit, and walk them both onto the dance floor.

The first few dances are easy as pie. The songs are familiar, big band numbers both of them recognize from their days during and immediately after the war. Eugene is a horrible dancer, but Snafu more than makes up for it. And with how lively everything is, no one notices two boys in a crowded corner doing the jitterbug with themselves.

Plus Snafu secretly enjoys having to grab Eugene's hips and turn him in the proper direction or place. Even if it also means he nearly trips over Eugene's feet every five minutes. There's a freedom in being able to be naturally affectionate with each other in public.

The only person that bothers them is a short but very handsome man who comes up to compliment Snafu on his dancing.

"How'd you get stuck with this dancing ginger elephant," the guy says to Snafu and sticks his thumb at Eugene, "Why, you're so light on your feet, I bet you could get any girl on the wall in here."

"I'm teaching him how to dance," Snafu says curtly. He shifts his grip on Eugene's hand and swings Gene close into his side protectively.

Meanwhile Eugene is glaring at the newcomer.

"Hey, you're teaching skills must be pretty swell," the guy says admirably, "Can I get a lesson?"

Snafu skids their dance to a stop. There's no way this asshole is going to go away without some kind of placation. Snafu turns around and grins, fully prepared to give this guy a verbal vertical buttstroke to the chin. But Eugene intervenes first.

"You're out of luck, mister," Eugene says. He pushes his way in between the guy and Snafu, "I'm afraid he's all booked up tonight."

"Oh," the guy says affably, completely clueless to Eugene's souring mood, "Well, how about tomorrow?"

"He's busy tomorrow too," Eugene replies.

"But not tomorrow night," Snafu interjects, slipping around Eugene, "Give me your name and number and I'll call you with my lesson schedule."

Once Snafu jots down the guy's information, the man finally goes away satisfied.

"You're not really going to call him?" Eugene asks.

Snafu tries to coax him back into a dance, but Eugene's limbs turn very floppy when he's unenthused. "Of course not," Snafu answers, "But he's gonna leave us alone now. And he won't go complain to someone about the two guys dancing together on the floor."

"True," Eugene sighs.

Snafu spins them around and launches into one of the dance moves Eugene picked up the fastest in order to give Gene something to feel confident about. They link hands and hook opposing arms behind their heads. In one swoop their grips slide down each other's arms till they catch their hands again.

Eugene grins.

Snafu uses their momentum to snap them close together again and they playfully push each other to rotate clockwise.

"Feeling better?" Snafu asks.

"He was smarmy," Eugene states. He switches direction on the beat and touches Snafu's shoulder to follow.

"He was," Snafu agrees, amused.

"He's not your type," Eugene says, turning a second time.

"Definitely not," Snafu agrees again.

"What is your type?" Eugene asks. He sounds slightly worried, as if the thought just occurred to him that Snafu might have a 'type'. And he might not be it.

"I like guys who are smarter than me," Snafu reassures him smarmily.

"Well shit, that rules out at least ninety percent of the population," Eugene declares.

"Yeah," Snafu grins, "Good thing I found you."

"Good thing," Eugene agrees.

Snafu swings out and twists back in till he's tucked neatly under Eugene's arm, and pauses to wink at his dance partner. "Plus, you're no elephant," he reassures him.

Eugene snorts, "Actually he might have been right on that front…"

"No way!" Snafu insists, stepping out and holding their hands at length, "You'll be a great dancer. I think you might be ready for a few aerials."

Eugene furrows his brow and looks concerned, "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope. Don't worry about it, I'm light, you'll toss me around like I'm nothing," he says.

"Snaf," Eugene exclaims, "I'll end up dropping you is what I'll do."

"You won't," Snafu insists. He shim shams into Eugene's space and tilts his head up till they're a breath away from kissing, and smiles disarmingly, "I trust you."

Which, of course, Eugene can never resist so here they are on the dance floor, Snafu explaining the simple physics of launching one body off another to an expert in biology. Hooking their arms together and him rolling over Eugene's back is the easiest so they start there.

For all his nerves, Eugene proves to be a very solid dance partner. He never shies away from a hold, and his feet might be slightly off but they never stumble. The first time Eugene effortlessly swings Snafu over his leg and into a side dip, Snafu's heart is fluttering in his chest and he's gazing up at Eugene in exuberant delight. Eugene sets Snafu down, swings him out, and when they come back together they almost collapse against one another in relieved laughter over their success. Snafu's arms lope around Eugene's neck and they giggle terribly.

Snafu didn't expect this.

He probably should have, Eugene never does anything by half and he always is a quick learner. Eugene picks up the steps so fast, in fact, that by the end of the second hour Snafu has to start shooing wallflower girls away who keep wanting to take Snafu's place.

Eugene, being Eugene, completely fails to notice the girls' interest, which is almost as entertaining as him refusing to take his attention off Snafu all night. A few times Snafu offers to give Eugene a break, and maybe find his own girl to take for a spin in the middle of the dance floor. But Eugene insists he needs no breaks.

When the music finally switches to something slow, Snafu slides to a stop and leans heavily against Eugene's shoulder panting.

"Let's get some water," Eugene suggests, and pats Snafu on the back. He starts off in the direction of the bar but Snafu hangs behind.

"What," Snafu taunts when Eugene glances back at him, "You won't slow dance with me?"

Eugene's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes go wide.

Snafu doesn't give him a chance to overthink things. He takes Eugene's hands, positions them properly for a waltz, and leads him into the dance. At first Eugene is stiff, and he refuses to make eye contact with Snafu, too busy scanning the room.

But after a few steps, after the world doesn't end, Eugene folds in closer to Snafu's body. Their cheeks brush. And Eugene's ear is suddenly right there, in front of Snafu's mouth. So Snafu tightens his embrace, and sings along to the song's romantic lyrics in a whisper meant for Eugene alone.

Snafu can understand Eugene's initial hesitation. After all the years Snafu spent sharing dances with various partners he didn't give a shit about, this feels especially vulnerable, despite the fact that they are one couple among thousands on the floor. There's a part of him that didn't think he'd ever have this moment. That for all the people jumping at the chance to dance with him, Snafu'd never feel the same way about someone else.

Eugene is so fucking gentle, it's easy to mistake him as soft. His hand is light against the small of Snafu's back. It's a little hard to believe not two minutes ago that same hand was gripping Snafu's thigh hard as Eugene spun him into an aerial. But as always, Eugene only uses his strength when necessary.

"When I graduate this year, I'm going to do my PHD in Florida," Eugene says as they slowly sway to the music, "I know I'm asking a lot but...Merriell...would you come with me?"

Snafu remains silent. He hadn't fully considered what loving Eugene might actually mean. That with him came Alabama, the Sledge family, the universities...

"I'll have a stipend, to take the financial pressure off," Eugene hastily elaborates, because Eugene always feels that if he adds more facts into the conversation he'll be more likely to win, "If you can find a job locally, that'd be great, but you wouldn't need to work. I've been budgeting this past year and I've calculated a way for the two of us to live off what I make. Maybe not comfortably, but it wouldn't be for long. When I get my diploma we can go back to New Orleans, or anywhere you want really. There are colleges and universities in almost any city. Snafu, I want you with me. No more pining after you every week and only feeling whole on the weekends…"

"How long've you been thinking about this?" Snafu asks.

Eugene is quiet for a while. "Do you mean how long have I been planning for it, or how long have I wanted it?"

"The second one?" Snafu asks, slightly uncertain.

"That day on the train…" Eugene begins.

"A few days??" Snafu interrupts incredulously, "That's all the thought you've given this, for fucks sake Gene!"

"On the train in 1946!" Eugene corrects sternly.

Which just about shuts Snafu up.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything sooner?" Snafu asks.

"Snaf, if you would just let me finish," Eugene complains, "That day on the train Burgie was talking about marriage, you were asking about jobs, everybody seemed to be thinking about commitments and when you turned to me the only damn certainty I had in my head was you. But then you didn't say goodbye. I thought...I figured…you were done with us in your life...with me."

"If I follow you to Florida will that make up for it?" Snafu asks.

Eugene grins, real slow, like he knows the past four years of Snafu being at Eugene's beck and call is partially Snafu's way of atoning for his abrupt departure. "It just might," Eugene says confidently, "It just might."

One thing about the timeline of everything doesn't add up in Snafu's mind. "So," he says, "I don't say goodbye and six months later you go and get yourself married?"

"I assumed leaving was your hint to me to try to fall back into civilian life. To forget about the war, and war buddies, live normally. And according to everyone, that meant marriage," Eugene sighs.

"Who's everybody?" Snafu smirks.

"Not you, obviously, Mr. Confirmed Bachelor," Eugene smiles back at him slyly, "But my mother, and Sid. Hell, even my brother got on me for still being a virgin."

Snafu laughs and dips his head closer to Eugene as they dance. He rests his cheek on Eugene's shoulder along with most of his weight, relying on Eugene to hold them both upright. "Did you love Edna?" he asks.

"I did, but not in the way she wanted," Eugene says quietly, "She's a lovely person, sometimes I wish I could love her like she deserves, like how I love you. Might've made life easier. But not better, I don't think."

"You saying me walking back into your life after your divorce made things better?" Snafu laughs at the absurdity.

"Yes," Eugene says seriously, "Infinitely better."

Snafu lifts his head from Eugene's shoulder in order to pull away and look into his eyes, to see if he's telling the truth. "Okay," Snafu agrees, "We'll go to Florida together. Till then, I'll see if my boss knows anyone in Auburn who can find me some work up there, and I'll move to Alabama."

Eugene gives Snafu a blank stare, so akin to the ones Snafu usually gives him, that it throws Snafu off and makes him question everything (including the efficacy of his own blank stares, maybe he should try to learn to communicate better).

The song the band is playing comes to an end, and the swing starts up again. The couples around them whirl into motion. But nobody pays attention to the two men standing in the middle of it all with their arms locked around each other.

Till Eugene surges forward and kisses Snafu.

The kiss catches Snafu off guard. Eugene's hand is flat on the small of Snafu's back and is holding Snafu flush against Eugene's body. Good thing too, cause Snafu's knees almost buckle in surprise. Eugene bends him over backwards in his enthusiasm to kiss Snafu harder, and Snafu wraps his arms tight around Eugene's neck and smiles into the kiss.

This is it, this is the 'war-is-over-we-are-going-home-together-in-triumph' kiss Snafu has been waiting for. Not triumph in the form of parades and adulation. But triumph in that against all odds, they survived, they found each other, Eugene fucking loves him, and they're gonna actually, finally...live.

They're about six years late, but Snafu figures that's forgivable when taking into account insecurities and the lingering numbness and fear hanging round their necks.

Eugene breaks the kiss and stares into Snafu's eyes, and Eugene is so pretty - he's so fucking pretty it hurts. Snafu wants to kiss him till all traces of that war weary blankness are gone from his eyes. There's moments - when Eugene comes to life with his sarcasm or sly wit or intellectual curiosity, and Snafu likes to pride himself on being able to bring those moments out. But is it enough?

After a bit Snafu begins to notice that it's not just them gone completely still. The couples around them are stopping and staring, and whispering.

"Shit," Snafu says under his breath to Eugene. He ducks his head and takes his arms off Eugene's shoulders.

"Yeah, we should probably get out of here," Eugene agrees. His hands still grip Snafu's hips.

Snafu laughs, giddy and reckless, and bumps his shoulder playfully into Gene's. If anyone nearby had any doubts after that kiss, all they'd have to do is take one look at Eugene's face and see how damn in love he is.

"Hey!" someone in the crowd calls out and Snafu can see the guy coming at them in the peripheral of his vision.

Snafu grabs Eugene's elbow. "Walk fast, but try to not draw more attention," he whispers and leads Eugene off the dance floor. They make it to the entrance and out the doors. As soon as they get outside, Snafu twines his hand with Eugene's and breaks into a run, their feet hitting the wooden boardwalk with loud hollow thumps. They can hear agitated voices and footsteps behind them, and they don't stop running till they reach the car.

Snafu slams the passenger door shut and turns to Eugene as soon as he gets inside. They're laughing from adrenaline and Snafu's heart is racing. He cups Eugene's cheek and tilts his head for another quick kiss before Eugene starts the engine.

Somehow Eugene knows the drive back to the hotel on the oceanside cliffs. Snafu doesn't pay any attention. He kicks his feet up on the dash and is too busy admiring Gene's long nose and the curve of his jaw backlit by the passing neon lights to give any thought to the car's direction.

The parking lot for the hotel is at the top of the cliff. There's a locked iron gate, nestled between eight foot tall hedges, with the name of the place welded onto it in an arc. The gate is small, and barely noticeable at the edge of the lot. Eugene has a key - it's antique and very decorative - and lets them in. The stairway beyond the gate switchbacks down the cliff, with thick walls protecting people from falling off the path. The air is thick and heavy with the smell of flowers growing abundantly around them.

Snafu pauses under one of the lamps. He folds his elbows over the wall, rests his chin on top, and looks out across the hotel and gardens below, and the ocean beyond. "We stepped into a goddamn fairytale," Snafu says.

Eugene comes up behind him with an embrace and rests his chin on Snafu's head, "Does that make you my prince?"

"No way," Snafu emphatically denies, "If anyone is a prince in this scenario, it's you Gene."

"Impossible," Eugene says with a smile, "Prince Eugene sounds like a pompous ass. Prince Merriell, on the other hand…."

Snafu laughs. "Maybe that's what my ma had in mind when she made up my name."

"Definitely," Eugene agrees, "She knew you'd grow up regal."

"Fuck regal," Snafu rolls his eyes, "Fuck propriety. You willing to give up all that shit for me, Gene? We ain't gonna be accepted into those circles anymore."

"Yes," Eugene says readily.

And Snafu believes him.

Their hotel suite, as expected, has white lace curtains covering each window, holding back the ocean breeze. Snafu's mother hung lace curtains in their home too, but those were already yellowed with age, patched in places, and quickly turned grey with dust. These hotel curtains reach to the floor and yet remain pristine.

Snafu stands on the balcony and smokes before bed. Eugene sits inside and reads. Or at least Snafu thinks Eugene is reading. Snafu turns his gaze away from the ocean only to catch Eugene guiltily ducking his head behind his journal.

"What?" Snafu asks, with a wry smile.

"Nothing," Eugene says, which almost definitely means it's something he's embarrassed about.

Snafu snubs out his cigarette and leans over Eugene's shoulder to investigate.

"Thought you just drew plants?" Snafu asks.

"I'm expanding my range," Eugene says dryly.

"You made me look skinny," Snafu comments.

"You are skinny," Eugene counters. He hooks an arm around Snafu's waist and walks him over to the bed. He sweeps Snafu off his feet in one of the lindy hop holds, and tosses Snafu onto the bed.

"Never should have taught you those aerials," Snafu teases. He stretches out across the pillows and dares Eugene with his eyes to join him.

Eugene says nothing, just grins widely as he climbs onto the bed next to Snafu.

Snafu kisses that self satisfied smile on Eugene's face.

They lie next to each other, their legs entwined, and their noses so close they're almost touching. There's a lightness in Snafu's chest he's never felt before. Happiness he knows, elation he knows - as rare as those things are. But this is new. He knows it can't last. Nightmares will come, they won't just go away, but for now he can lie here and soak up Gene's presence.

"I already knew you loved me," Snafu confesses.

"What do you mean?" Eugene asks.

"Even before you said it today. I think I've known since Okinawa," Snafu says.

"I figured," Eugene replies.

"Were a couple of fucking cowards," Snafu laughs.

"No, the world is cowardly," Eugene counters, "We were just trying too hard to adapt to it."

Snafu bites his bottom lip in consideration. He lifts his chin, thinks about saying something, and then decides words aren't necessary. Gene knows. Gene's always known. Snafu reaches over and gently takes Eugene's hand. Snafu twists around and pulls Eugene's arm across his body till his back is tucked against Eugene's chest.

Eugene folds around him. He's warm, and he's so much in love.

"Snaf," Eugene whispers in his ear before they fall asleep, "Let's get it right this time. Just you and me." 

tagging requests: @xmxisxforxmaybe​ @diasimar (btw i think you have tagging turned off) (also if I am missing anybody on this list I apologize, pls tell me <3)

[emachinescat]

The Casket of the Armadillos (by Edgar Allan Nope)

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 9 - buried alive

Summary:  When Shawn confronts a grad student turned murderer, he learns a very important lesson a very hard way: Don’t piss off English nerds - especially the homicidal ones. 

Characters: Shawn, Gus, Juliet, Lassiter, Henry

Words: 5,924

TW: panic attacks, buried alive, claustrophobia

Note: If you liked this classic lit-inspired Psych fic, you can always check out this one I wrote, inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird: The Finch and the Mockingbird 

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up.  Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones.  For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.  In pace requiescat!

- Edgar Allan Poe, “The Cask of Amontillado”

Her name was Olivia Hale, she was a twenty-three-year-old grad student at UCSB, and she was working on her doctorate in American lit.  She was attractive in a cute librarian sort of way - short and petite, with long, curly auburn hair she kept in a bun and oversized glasses with thick lenses, and a smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose.  She knew a little bit about everything when it came to literature as a whole, a rather impressive amount about American literature, and absolutely everything there was to know about the life and works of one Edgar Allan Poe.

She was also batshit crazy and currently pointing a .22 pistol directly at Shawn’s head.

“Don’t move,” she growled, disengaging the safety.  

Shawn did a cursory glance around the empty classroom, looking for anything at all he could use to his advantage, to distract her or attack her with or - worst case scenario - to use as a shield.  But Olivia had found him snooping around on the tiny fourth floor study room that she’d been given to use by the department chair as her thesis headquarters.  She’d really made herself at home here, piling books and journals and what seemed like hundreds of loose sheets of paper on every available surface.  

But he was stranded in the middle of the room, with nothing close enough to use as a weapon, and so Shawn used the most powerful tool he had, one that had saved his life and many others, wooed women all over the country, and ordered more chili cheese dogs than he could count.  

He started talking.

“Look, Olivia, I get it,” he said soothingly.  Slowly, in the most non-threatening  manner possible, he lowered his hands.  Olivia gripped the pistol tighter but didn’t shoot.  “I know what happened.  You didn’t mean to kill him.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce, her lips pursed into a thin line.  “No,” she admitted.  “It was an accident.  But he was going to--”

“Yeees,” drawled Shawn, slowly raising his left hand and putting it to his temple, very well aware that he was probably pushing the limit with all of this movement after she had expressly ordered, at gunpoint, for him to stay still.  “I see it.  Dr. Graves was feeling guilty, wasn’t he?  A fifty-five-year-old professor with a fancy PhD and tenure, and a devoted wife and three kids and two grandkids, to boot.  The perfect life.  But oooh, it wasn’t enough for him, was it?”  

Shawn immediately answered his own question, something that he had become exceptionally good at over the years since he was usually the only one who could keep up with himself.  “Of course not!  What’s the perfect job and family when you’ve got a smokin’ hot, super smart student in her mid-twenties who thinks you’re the most impressive man on the planet?”

She sneered, and Shawn noticed with some trepidation that the hand holding the gun trembled just the tiniest bit.  When she spoke, her voice warbled with rage.  “My age and appearance had nothing to do with it - and even if it did, there was nothing wrong with our relationship!  We were perfect for each other, intellectual equals.  We were on each other’s levels - he was my soulmate!  So don’t you dare belittle what we had like that!”  

Ah.  So he had hit a nerve.  This could now go either one of two ways, in Shawn’s extensive experience in being held hostage: Either she would get fed up and send a bullet screaming through his body, Garth Longmore style, or she would let her emotions distract her, and cause her to make a stupid mistake.  Obviously, Shawn hoped for the latter.  

Now Shawn had to make a choice, because he could proceed in one of two ways: Either he could back off and try from another angle, or he could further antagonize her into (hopefully) making a mistake.  Naturally, Shawn went with the latter.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed airily.  “Older men and younger women do it all the time.  But to say there was nothing wrong with your relationship?  The man was married, and you were his student.  I’m not the headmaster here -”

“Dean,” she corrected sharply, and this further proved that Shawn had pegged her correctly as a know-it-all literature wunderkind who had to be right one thousand percent of the time.  “This isn’t Hogwarts.”

Shawn gave a tiny shrug.  “To be honest, all big schools look like Hogwarts to me.”

“Because you have the mind of a child.”  The words were accusatory and patronizing, but Shawn flashed a dazzling smile.

“Thank you,” he said.  Before she could respond, he continued his earlier thoughts, “Even though you were the ‘perfect couple,’ you were furious with him for even suggesting that you stop seeing one another.  The affair was too risky, and he missed his wife.  He wanted to tell her the truth, fix things.”

“It would have ruined everything!” Olivia hissed, and the sound of her voice sent shivers down Shawn’s spine.  There was an unhinged quality to it, something raw and dangerous that he hadn’t sensed before.  He fought the sudden urge to backpedal as far away from her as possible.  “We were perfect together!  And if he told his wife and she let it slip, I would be kicked out!  All my research, all my time and work here, everything would be gone!  He had no right to make that decision for me, to take away my future!”

“Maybe,” said Shawn, and it was like he was watching from outside his body, because he knew that what he was about to say was a big mistake, but he was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from his lips, “you should have thought more about your future before you pursued your married Shakespeare teacher.”

Fury etched itself into every feature of her face, turning her from a beautiful librarian to a feral monster, but her voice was slow and measured as if it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to shoot him where he stood.  “He taught Southern. Gothic. Masterpieces.”

Shawn tried to backtrack, to undo whatever damage had been done by his unpredictably big mouth.  “But,” he pressed.  “Killing him was an accident.  You didn’t mean to push him down four flights of stairs.”

She considered this.  “No, I didn’t mean to kill him,” she reaffirmed, and then an odd calm smoothed out the angry crevices between her eyebrows - the peace, perhaps, of having come to an important decision that she knew was absolutely right.  Shawn recognized the look because he’d seen it on others’ faces before (very rarely, if ever, had he seen it upon his own).  “And I don’t think I will kill you, either.”

Whatever Shawn had been expecting, this wasn’t it.  Everything about this woman screamed insane and vengeful.  If Shawn lived, he would turn her into the police, and she would go to jail for a very long time.  She was incredibly intelligent - surely she knew this!

And then she clarified, and the world started to make sense again - though Shawn would have honestly been perfectly content in this alternate reality where the bad guy suddenly has a miraculous change of heart.  “Well,” she amended, “I won’t kill you directly.  I’ve never shot anyone before - I only have this little guy here because I’m a young, pretty girl on a big college campus, and I have two night classes.  Besides, your death shouldn’t be so easy.”

Shawn swallowed.  “Olivia, you don’t have to do this.  You haven’t intentionally killed anyone yet.  If you turn yourself in now and cooperate, your sentence will be a lot shorter than if you kill me - directly or not.  Because make no mistake, even if you kill me, you will still get caught.  The SBPD has some damn good detectives, and they’ll bring you down even if I don’t.”

She didn’t respond to him directly.  Instead, her expression was flat save for the dark gleam in her eyes, and she intoned words that in and of themselves had no meaning to Shawn, but that still managed to strike a chord of fear deep inside of his soul.  “‘The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.’”  Shawn was utterly unnerved by this point; it was like she had been taken over by something both sinister and incredibly well-spoken.

And indeed, in many ways she had, as Shawn soon found out, she was quoting the beginning of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

Presently, however, Shawn had no context for her strange words or sudden shift of demeanor.  His skin crawled and his heart pumped with more get-up-and-go than he’d ever been able to muster in his whole body before.  “Uh, Olivia…”

“Move,” she ordered.  

This time, though it was contrary to his nature, Shawn did what she said without arguing.  This side of the student, with stolen words sliding evilly from her mouth, was a million times scarier than the enraged Olivia who had very nearly shot him between the eyes.

She marched him out of the room and down the three flights of stairs to the main lobby of the English building.  It was dark outside, nearing midnight, and Shawn kicked himself for thinking he was clever for coming to investigate this late.  He’d thought she’d be at home sleeping.  He should have realized that as a grad student, sleeping was the one thing she wouldn’t have time for!  And now he was in very deep trouble, alone, and no one knew where he was.  He should have waited until morning, until the building wasn’t deserted, should have at least called Gus and told him what he was doing.  But it was a college campus, and she was a tiny little literature nerd - it should have been safe!

As she forced him down one flight of stairs, then two, then three, and finally, into a stairwell off the beaten path that had to be unlocked with a key card - which she had - she continued to encant, her voice slowly losing its flatness and growing into something twisted and sing-songy with every word.

“‘You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat.  At length I would be avenged; this was a point, definitely, settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.’”

“Olivia--”

It was as if she hadn’t heard him as she shoved him into the basement, and now her voice stilled from a chant to a slow, measured whisper..  “‘I must not only punish but punish with impunity.’”   

Shawn wasn’t sure what impunity was, but it sure as hell didn’t sound good.

Their final destination ended up being a small, partially finished storage room near the back of the basement.  Dusty boxes and rusted cabinets and archaic old computer monitors lined the walls and cluttered most of the walking space.  Shawn was reminded grimly of a school supply graveyard.  

Olivia stopped him when they came to a brick wall that had been busted through to fix some issue with the pipes - Shawn saw the water stains on the concrete floor near the break in the wall, and there was a brand new water pipe joined to an old, yellowed one at about eye-level in the small open space between the bricks and the drywall beyond.  Shawn also noticed that the new bricks had been neatly piled up near a sealed bucket that almost certainly contained mortar, right outside of the hole.  Someone was in the process of walling this section back up.

“Nice wall,” Shawn joked, relieved that Olivia had finally stopped her creepy recitation and desperately trying to lighten the mood and bring things back to some sort of normal - honestly, he’d take being threatened with the gun again to the horror movie stuff he’d just witnessed.  “I bet all the other walls are jealous of it.”

It was a lame joke, but her eerie dramatics had him all kinds of messed up.  He expected her to tell him to shut up, or to threaten to shoot him again, or to actually shoot him, but instead she asked him a question in that same cold, calm voice as before.  “Have you ever read ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Shawn?”

Shawn blinked.  “I make it a point not to read anything that’s not a magazine from the 80s or WikiHow articles on ‘How to Escape from Dangerous Forest Animals.’”

The corner of her lips lifted in a mockery of a satisfied smile.  “Good.  Then you’ll get to experience it for yourself, first hand.  Just wait until you get to the ending!  You’re going to love it.”

Somehow, Shawn doubted that very much.

Still holding the gun on him with one hand, she reached her free hand into the cross-body bag she wore and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  Shawn groaned.

“Come on!  What college student just carries handcuffs in their school bag?”  Then he remembered that this particular student had until recently been having a passionate affair with her teacher.  “Wait - never mind.  It makes perfect sense.”

She laughed, even though what he said wasn’t even remotely funny.  The sound of it was strange and discordant - light and tinkly with a threatening undertone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  Then she gestured at the hole in the wall and ordered, “In.”

Shawn had known it was coming, but had tried to shove that knowledge into the corner of his mind - something that was quite difficult to do for someone with a photographic and eidetic memory - in an effort to convince himself that even she wasn’t that cruel.  He tried to appeal to her one last time: “Olivia, it’s not too late to stop this.  I mean, are you really going to do this to another human being - seriously, look at this place - it’s dusty and moldy and I’m almost certain there’s no room service!  If you’re going to chain me to a pipe, why not do it in a five star hotel?”  When she nudged him with the gun, eyes gleaming with something dark and triumphant, he reluctantly stepped into the small space and implored, “I’ll even settle for a seedy motel off a poorly lit backroad.  I’m not too picky.”

She didn’t answer him as she stood on her tiptoes and handcuffed Shawn’s wrists around the pipe, cinching them so tight that the metal dug into his skin and he doubted that even his dad’s lessons on escaping handcuffs wouldn’t be much help here.  Already he could feel his fingers going numb, and his shoulders and back had started to ache from the hunched position he was forced to take due to the height of the pipe and the awkward angle of his arms.  

Well, Shawn thought glumly as she smiled at her handiwork and carefully backed out of the small space, maybe all wasn’t lost.  Surely someone would come down here and find him. This place was dusty, but it couldn’t be abandoned - work still needed to be done down here, after all.  And he could always yell for help once he was sure Olivia was gone.  She was booksmart, but maybe she wasn’t criminally minded.  He might be in for an uncomfortable night, but in the morning someone would find him and he could have his vision and the cute little psychopath would go to jail for a very long time.

He waited for her to leave, but instead, she used a crowbar to pry the lid off the bucket of mortar, and the pit in Shawn’s stomach became a whole-ass trench.  He should have seen this coming - his heart pounded madly against his rib cage as if trying to free itself, with or without him.  He couldn’t blame it.  “Olivia, please,” he said, and this time, there was no joke, his voice imploring and terrified.  “You don’t have -”

Again, she cut him off.  “How would you like to hear a story before you die, Shawn?” she asked in a tone so casual that she could have been asking him if he wanted to grab a taco.

“How about you tell me a story and then I don’t die?” Shawn bargained weakly.

“Mmmm… If you stay alive, my whole life will be ruined,” Olivia reasoned.  “And I have worked far too hard to allow that to happen.  So.  You just stand there - quietly - and I’ll tell you the story of Poe’s most beloved tale of revenge.  I won’t tell you word for word, of course - we don’t have time for that - but for posterity, I do have it memorized.”  She sounded grotesquely proud of that fact.  “It’s my favorite of his stories, after all.”

And so, as she slowly began to brick up the hole in the wall, with Shawn trapped, helpless and in a dissociative state of panic, she told him the story of two men with really stupid names that Shawn somehow managed, despite his raging fear, to file away for later as possible nicknames for Gus.

“Our story starts in Italy, during the carnival, and our narrator is a man named Montresor, who has a grudge against his once-friend, now-foe, Fortunato…”

The story was an interesting one, even to Shawn, who preferred watching over reading and especially over listening any day.  And as it turned out, Olivia was a really good storyteller.  If he had been in any other position, Shawn might have actually enjoyed the suspenseful tale of revenge.  

But as he stooped there and was forced to listen, all he could think about was about how terrified this Fortunato guy must have been, and then he started wondering how long it had been before the man hadn’t been able to hold his bladder or… other things… anymore, and then about what had happened when he was too tired and dizzy to stand up, if the manacles on his wrists had pulled so hard against his flesh that they cut into him, and if lack of water or oxygen killed him first, all the while he knew that he wasn’t asking these questions for the sake of the fictional character.  He was asking them for himself.  Olivia had made it exceedingly clear - for a literature scholar, she was surprisingly un-subtle about any underlying meanings or motives - that Fortunato’s story was now to be his story.

It wasn’t until she had begun discussing with rapture the brilliance of Poe’s use of the Italian carnival as the setting of a story about murder (because of its abandonment of social order, whatever that meant) and had built up all but the last two bricks, leaving a hole around Shawn’s eye level, that came to the most horrifying realization yet.   He’d been so focused on his own thoughts and fears with Olivia’s words washing over him like an acid bath that he’d barely registered that the dim light in the hole had been darkening incrementally with each new brick placed.  Now he came to the bone-chilling understanding that once she placed those last two bricks, he would be completely in the dark.

He was going to die, alone, terrified, and in utter darkness with fear as his only friend.  He thought in that moment that he might die of a heart attack before he could even think about dehydrating or suffocating.  Honestly, it sounded like an easier way to go.

“Well,” said Olivia finally.  “I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure to meet you in any way, Shawn, but I suppose I should thank you.  Ever since I found out about this unfinished wall down here, I’ve had this unscratchable itch to recreate the titular scene from my favorite Poe story.  You gave me the means and justification to do it!”

Shawn was so overcome by the surging sea of fear and early-onset claustrophobia that he couldn’t even muster up the gumption to make a joke about the word titular.  Instead, as Olivia knelt down next to her bag, rooting around for something, he jerked madly against the handcuffs, desperately searching for any give in the metal or the pipe he was handcuffed to (or even his wrists, at this point he wasn’t picky).  But the pipe was new, and it was sturdy, and so was the fitting that connected it to the old one, which itself didn’t seem too keen on budging, either.

A sick grin teased at Olivia’s parted lips.  “Oh, Fortunato tried that too.  But then he stopped crying and struggling and chose to die with a shred of dignity.  But I highly doubt dignity is something you’re capable of.”  

And then, with the finality of fitting a lid to a coffin, she slapped a piece of fluorescent pink duct tape over his mouth and a fresh wave of panic ravaged Shawn’s everything.  He didn’t remember this happening in her retelling of the story!  Then again, the Fortunato guy had been sealed into catacombs deep underground.  Shawn was in the basement of a heavily trafficked university building.  Someone would actually hear him if he called for help, so she took his voice away from him too.  He couldn’t even sing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” to pass his time or distract him from the inevitable.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that he would die in the dark, he would die in the quiet too - and silence was, as his incessant need for chatter plainly proved, Shawn’s worst enemy.

“Goodbye, Shawn,” Olivia said, and she added one brick, layered on the mortar, and then gave her captive one last satisfied glance before adding the last brick and leaving Shawn in total, impenetrable darkness.  He would never forget that last, terrible look in her eyes before his world went black - she was no longer human; she had elevated herself to the level of the storytelling gods and she relished in the twisted power she held over the life of another human.

As her footsteps clipped away, her voice, obscenely gleeful, called out, “In pace requiescat!”

***

The next ten hours were the worst of Shawn’s life, and they consisted of five main elements all bundled together into a nightmare that would stalk him for the rest of his life.

Cold.  It was the middle of January, and though it couldn’t have been less than forty-five degrees outside, the basement - especially behind the walls - was chilly, and with the musty smell and the dust and the pitch black, Shawn was reminded far too much of a grave and knew that he might as well be in one, because this was going to be his.  It was the kind of cold that bit deeper than the skin and wormed its way into the very core and dug its icy fangs in and refused to let go - the chill of death, an open invitation from the dead to join them in their home beneath the ground.  He shivered a lot, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the cold, or the panic.  It was probably a little of both.

Dark.  The darkness that surrounded him had an unreal nature that could easily trick the eyes into thinking that they were already closed.  It was oppressive and thick, pressing in from all sides, inky black water dredged from the depths of the sea.

Shawn had never been a fan of the dark, but neither did he exactly fear it.  That changed the second that the last brick was put into place and he found himself in a darkness so severe that were in not for the feeling of floor beneath his feet he could have been suspended in the depths of space so remote that not even stars could reach.  The darkness swarmed his senses - it had a physical presence, and it didn’t lessen, never permitted Shawn’s eyes to adjust to it in the slightest.  It just hung there, surrounded him, assaulted his mind with its infinite arsenal of nightmares.

After experiencing true darkness, Shawn would never sleep without a nightlight again (which unfortunately meant he couldn’t judge Gus anymore for using one, either).

Pain.  At first it was just the pull of his shoulders, the ache in his back.  Then, about five minutes after he’d been sealed up, he realized his wrists were screaming with agony - he must have torn them badly when he fought to get away, but the adrenaline staved off the pain until now.  He vaguely wondered how deeply the cuffs had cut - it felt like the skin on his wrists had been flayed - but quickly remembered that it didn’t matter where he was going.  

Then there were the hunger pangs, and they mingled with the cramps from holding his bladder longer than he ever had before, and at some point muscle spasms in his arms and chest and legs joined the choir of suffering.  At one point, he shed a few tears, but they could have just as easily been from anxiety or exhaustion, which itself produced its own kind of pain - he longed to sleep, but his body refused to allow him even that comfort until the very end, right before he was rescued, as if he were being forced on pain of death to endure the pain of death right up until the very moment of his painful death.

At least he didn’t have too much trouble breathing.  There must have been a crack somewhere in the wall in front of or behind him, because fresh air was entering somehow.  He did, several hours into his imprisonment, begin finding it difficult to pull in a full breath, and by the time he was rescued he was giddy with light-headedness, but he didn’t know if it was from the air quality or exhaustion or panic or from being forced to breathe only through his nose for hours, but he really didn��t care.

Quiet.  Even worse than the cold and the dark and the pain was the quiet.  The tape over his mouth prevented him from doing the one thing that could bring him comfort in even the most difficult of situations.  Talking was what Shawn did - he utilized mindless prattle to distract bad guys, to make people underestimate him, to quell fear and panic in himself and those around him, to annoy and wheedle those whose opinions meant the most to him (and who he was most afraid to be real with), and most importantly, to distract himself from all the pain and baggage that his exceptional memory had filed away for him throughout the years.  Talking nonsense meant that he wasn’t thinking about or acknowledging the parts of himself that arguably needed the most attention, those bits that were scared and unsure and hurt and vulnerable.

Shawn had always detested silence, and now it had invaded so intimately that even he could not drive it out.

And all of these culminated in a constant, agonizing state of absolute, unrelenting fear.  

Panic attacks are horrific things that take your natural instincts in potentially dangerous situations and turn them against you in the cruelest of ways.  They suck the air out of your lungs and make your heart pound so fast and so hard that you are convinced it’s going to give out in pure fatigue and never make it to that next beat.  It makes your skin crawl like there are thousands of spiders nesting there, and your chest hurts and your breath is short and stunted and you know you are dying, that the next breath will be your last, but it isn’t, and the fear just continues and sometimes you curl into a ball or rock back and forth or scratch at your skin.

Panic attacks generally last anywhere from five to twenty minutes.  Shawn was stuck in a state of raw, unfiltered panic for ten hours.  When the EMTs at the scene took his heart rate, it was 160, had been the entire time he’d been buried in a collegiate tomb, knowing that he was going to die.

Put simply, Shawn Spencer spent ten hours in his own personal hell.

***

It was nearly three in the afternoon when Detectives Juliet O’Hara and Carlton Lassiter, with the help of a frantic Gus and a worried Henry that tried his damndest not to show how worried he was, made the final connections in the case and tracked down the woman who had slept with and then killed her lover like a hyper-intelligent, book-loving black widow.  Juliet and Gus remained on the college campus to continue investigating while Lassiter and Henry went on to the station to question Olivia.  She had refused to say where the missing psychic detective was, however, and only offered one bitter phrase, spoken in another language that sounded to the questioning party like a curse being placed on their heads: 

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

It was Gus who figured it out after Lassiter related the cryptic saying over the phone.

“I know that phrase!” he exclaimed to a swell of raised eyebrows.  “It’s Latin! It means no one wounds me with impunity!”

“You speak Latin?”  Juliet seemed impressed.

“Not much.  But I recognize that particular saying, because it’s from a story that gave me nightmares my entire sophomore year of college.”  He shuddered.  “It’s from the second-most terrifying Poe story.”  He didn’t elaborate on what the first-most terrifying one was, largely because he didn’t want to give the others fodder to use “The Tell-Tale Heart” against him like Shawn already did.  Then the full implications of the words sunk in and he gasped, “We have to find Shawn, now.”  The horror in his expression sent a chill down Juliet’s spine. 

“Gus - what the hell are you talking about?”  Henry was no longer trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“It’s from ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Gus clarified, his own panic making it difficult to express himself clearly.

“Guster, this is hardly the time for you to have a glass of wine,” Lassiter barked.  “Now stop talking in riddles and just spit it out!”

But Juliet had now made the connection as well and answered for Gus.  “Oh my gosh - isn’t that the one where the guy is sealed into a wall and left to die?”

The dread in Gus’s eyes said it all.

“He’s got to be somewhere on campus,” Henry reasoned, and his voice shook the tiniest bit.  “Lassiter and I are on our way back to you now.  In the meantime, check with the school and see if there are any places that are easily accessed and under construction.”

No one said it aloud, but the possibility that her words hadn’t been a hint at all and that Shawn was somewhere else entirely hung in the air amongst them.  It was funny, Juliet thought - though it wasn’t funny at all - she urgently needed Gus’s theory to be right, because otherwise they would have no leads, but at the same time, she was terrified of the implications if it were true.  

Her heart felt as sick as Montresor’s when he placed the last brick as she and Gus raced to the administration building and prayed they weren’t too late.

***

When they broke through the wall, the sight that greeted them was one that would never leave them - any of them.  Even Lassiter, who made it his sacred duty to remain unfazed by anything his job threw at him was visibly disturbed.

A moment of silence, a beat where time stood still and everyone was afraid to move, and then - 

“Shawn!”  The four rescuers surged forward as one, but Henry got there first, his trembling fingers groping for a pulse - thank God, but it was racing, dangerously fast, and in the background he heard Lassiter radioing for an ambulance.

Shawn woke up as Henry gently peeled the hideous pink duct tape (an affront to all duct tape everywhere) off of his mouth.  It wasn’t a gentle waking, a flutter of eyelashes or the murmuring of a name - it was violent and erratic, fueled by terror.  

Henry had had to deal with panic attacks before - mostly Gus’s when he took the boys camping together, but once or twice when Shawn was really young and he’d had a bad dream.  This one was the worst that he’d ever seen - Shawn woke with a muffled yell, panting through his nose, writhing, tears streaming down his face, eyes squeezed shut against the trauma he’d been subjected to, and he threw himself against the handcuffs so fiercely that Henry feared he’d break his wrists.  

Soon his wrists were freed, though, and Henry, with the help of Lassiter, helped a weakened Shawn out of the wall and into the basement and lowered him to the floor.  Henry sat with him and rubbed his back and spoke quietly to him, Juliet took his hand, and Gus reassured him while Lassiter ran up the stairs to check on the ETA of the ambulance.  

Twenty minutes later, Shawn had been placed onto a stretcher and carried up the stairs and out into the sunlight - sensing the warm rays, he opened his eyes only to pinch them shut again as the brightness after so many hours in the dark nearly blinded him.  He had been given something to calm him down, and he would be going to the hospital to be checked over and observed overnight, and a psychiatrist would be sent in to evaluate him in the morning, and everything was moving so fast that Shawn leaned over the side of the stretcher and deposited the remnants of the last thing he’d eaten, nearly twelve hours before.

“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” he gasped as he was eased back onto the stretcher.  “Where do the armadillos come into her plan?”

The EMTs exchanged a concerned look at the stretcher, probably wondering if there had been some carbon monoxide poisoning after all.  Gus, however, just rolled his eyes.

“Amontillado, Shawn.  It’s a kind of wine.”

“The story is called ‘The Casket of the Armadillos,’” Shawn argued stubbornly, going so far as to cross his arms over his chest, pulling at the IV in his right hand.  

Gus was going to argue, to insist that he’d actually read the story (and why the heck would someone fill a casket with armadillos?), but then Gus saw the plea in Shawn’s hazel eyes, that need for jokes and silliness, and understood that his best friend was clinging onto his last shreds of control.  

“You know what - I forgot,” Gus corrected, shaking his head and giving himself a light smack on the forehead for good measure.  “It is ‘The Casket of Armadillos.’”  He glared out at Henry, at Lassiter and Juliet and the EMTs, defying them to challenge his claim.  No one did, but they all shared a similar baffled expression.

Well, they could deal with their confusion, Gus thought protectively as he watched Shawn and Henry disappear into the ambulance.  Shawn had been through a night of unspeakable horror, so if it was armadillos he wanted, then it was armadillos he was going to get.

[comebeonetwothree]

Blog #1: The Beginning

05/25/2021

Welcome to my, I have no clue what I’m doing so bare with me, travel blog!! For these next few weeks, I will be driving across the country and back, hitting around 19 states in 8-weeks. 

Post grad life is a strange in between stage of: YES I DID IT and oh fuck I think I’m supposed to be an adult now. That comes with the constant question circling like a gnat on a hot summer day... So what’s next? 

Honestly Grandma, Aunt Karen, Uncle John and Kyle’s mom’s lesbian partner, I have no fucking clue so please stop asking!!!! 

But my actions are an answer to that question. I chose to postpone that whole adult career thing for a little longer. So I’m traveling for two months and I will avoid that question “What’s Next?”

COVID-19 really messed up the picture perfect ending of college, nevertheless, I still managed to have a blast every night in a “socially distant” manner ;) 

Traveling has always been a dream of mine, and I always assumed it would be there when I was ready and I would be ready when it got here.  Sheeshhh was I wrong... who would have imagined a pandemic closing down not only our borders to other countries, but state borders as well. 

It’s now been over a year since I have left New York State, and quite frankly, I am ready to explore. So naturally I got home from college a week ago and now I am off...

 Who

Who cares... 

Three girls, one car... How bad could it be? No, really, if we come back with bruises and cuts all over, I didn’t “fall down the stairs” or “walk into a door”...it’s official, our cycles have linked and we have gone mad. 

The goal is to meet new people along the way, people that touch our lives and make this trip more spectacular. And maybe we will touch some lives as well.

I can only imagine that who we are now will change and evolve throughout our journey, having only started this trip with hopes and dreams. When reality sets in, things will change, and discoveries about ourselves will begin to happen. 

Self-discovery is such an important aspect of this trip for all three of us. Personally, by not having any clue what I want to do for the rest of my life, I  hope the open mindedness of my current state will help me find joy in the simple life and give me insight into my future. 

 What

Whatever man...

Eight weeks of sight seeing, connecting to ourselves and trying new hobbies.

I hate jumping the gun and announcing any new hobbies because, 10 out of 10 times, I do one for a week and give up on that bullshit.

And sorry in advance if this blog takes a back seat... My plan is to prioritize life's natural beauties and learning. 

I’ve always wanted to start writing but was never inspired, and fiction isn't up my ally... I have the imagination of a 12-year-old boy, so go about that as you please :)

While trying to disconnect myself to the social world as best as I can, this new digital age is not going anywhere and as a Communications major, I am not escaping its black hole effect anytime soon. 

Blogging makes this feel less Gen Z and more “intellectual” if you will. 

I hope to keep this blog updated once at the end of every week, including the stops made within the week and the Who, What, Where, When, Why, and How’s of that weeks adventures. With some room for special surprises:) 

Overtime this blog will hopefully shape into what it needs to be. I researched many ways to blog and nothing caught my attention, so why would it catch yours? Here I am trying out my own version of this, so feedback is greatly appreciated in finding new fun ways to keep y’all entertained!

 Where

Where are we...

Give or take, there will be 19 states we will stay in. Starting in New York, we will slowly move down south and wrap back around. I won’t be revealing the locations until the following week's blogs, or on my Instagram and Facebook. 

We have secured 75% of the locations we will be staying at, and the rest is a fuck it. Hopefully finding some first come first serve campgrounds, or we’ll just sleep in the car. 

When in these locations, we will either be camping or staying in motels/hotels in cities. Trying to do this the cheapest way we can think of, my glizzy art might just have to make a reappearance (If you don’t know what glizzy is, hop off this blog right now and go to Urban Dictionary. And if you are not familiar with my glizzy art, well you probably should have followed me on snapchat during the last month of college in a pandemic). 

When

When in Rome...

Tomorrow people, it’s happening...

 If you are reading this today, its tomorrow!!! If you are reading this tomorrow it’s today!!! And if you are reading this a week from today, go fuck yourself, now you have to catch up... don’t be late again mister!

Why

Why the fuck not...

There is some serious independence when it comes to taking off for two months in a car with friends. 

I still remember when my mom had to drive me to my friends houses, and would talk to their parents to make sure I was safe. 

Going away to college was a leap in the direction of being an independent young woman. But I also went to a small town college and had roommates, making it a great step to the adult world of being fully responsible for my own actions. 

Next level right now.  I will be living out of a car, buying my own food and supplies, and not having the security of my family being a simple three hour drive away... not that I ever took advantage of that (sorry mom). 

Why the blogging... 

Not knowing what I am good at is quite frustrating, four years of college later... so I am going to just try new things until I find my passion. And this blog is a great place to reflect.

Spending two months out of the job force is already a weird concept to me. I've had a job for the majority of college waitressing at a local joint (shout out to Sloan’s NY Grill!). I worked all throughout high school as well. 

Not having any job obligation now seems strange, so let's hope this becomes  self-discovery into multiple opportunities or it will be the most publicly awkward diary ever:/ 

 How

How did you make it this far...

This came about one night drunk at a bar... simply expressing how weird it is COVID can take almost everything away from us so quickly. 

Maya and Mary both have a direction in their life as to “What’s Next.” Both having spent their last semesters of college pursuing opportunities for their future, they have become idols to me. 

I was lucky enough to bring this idea up before they left me for their full adult lives... getting an opportunity to travel with my two best friends. 

Mary is pursuing a teaching degree and spent her last semester as a student teach back home. Maya spent the last few months doing an in-person internship in the city to further her connections in the fashion industry. 

They both have this responsible adult thing going on, and I’m over here saying some dumb shit like “Hey let's take two months off of life and travel!” Weirdly enough, alcohol might have had an influential factor here, but they said hell yessss!! 

The next morning, waking up with a classic hangover, we all texted each other and reiterated the idea of this whole cross country, two-month excursion. 

And now look where we are :) 

 Bottom Line

Sooooo, this is a temporary blog that may or may not last. Don’t get your hopes up too high! I want to share this experience with everyone who has supported us through this crazy idea, and give a shout out to everyone who has reached out and wished us the best!

I am fully winging this and hope it's not too illiterate for you smarty pants out there... I’m just trying to have fun with it. This is not meant to be a job, but a start to finding the answer to everyone's question...

What’s Next?

[7wanderingpaws]

Simply, yours.

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: non-idol AU, hapkido teacher AU

Word count: 2.8K

Short description: You and Baekhyun are young sweethearts coming from the far countryside. You don't have much money when you move to Seoul but what you have is unlimited amount of love for each other. You both want a family. But falling pregnant as a young woman with little money was not what you planned for. Neither of you.

a/n: Completely unplanned, but found myself enjoying the plotting as I got deeper into it. It's been a heck of a while since I last wrote, sorry if it isn't the best, but I can promise a ride if you give me support!! 💟🤗

Prologue

Living a simple life wasn't that type of a simple life you saw on YouTube, produced with pretty looking human beings that had all it takes to lead a well-off life. Pretty looking faces, or sometimes not shown, were exchanged to the simplicity of the overpriced items purchased through companies who lived off well of few purchases of their customers.

In general, a Korean citizen would watch at least one  “simple life” tagged video on social media and then share it on KakaoTalk mostly to their female friends.

Going to coffee shops? Oh, let me show you the tea.

Going to overpriced coffee shops (doesn't matter how fancy or not), still proved how it was going against the entire idea of a simplistic life that these people so proudly exclaimed they were living.

Unfortunately, you could see the harsh difference. No, you could feel it. Coming from a village, a countryside, made you feel how different you can be in a massive city, and not in a pleasant way. Be it the clothing style, the skin colour, the wildness in the eyes, the accent, the shape of your mouth, the shape of your feet… It could be spotted in the slightest of ways possible, and for sure a city person at heart would notice right away.

Thankfully, the small apartment in the middle of Seoul, just close enough to Konkik University would suffice. You and Baekhyun were still very young. While he was pursuing his PhD in sports management, coming from solid hapkido background, you couldn't continue with your studies and just joined full-time working attire in a law company. Being an assistant wasn't something you dreamed of doing, however you never belonged to people that required a lot in order to be happy.

This way you could manage to survive from month to month, Baekhyun teaching hapkido classes for kids as well as university students, preparing to become a hapkido professor, which would enable you to buy more expensive food, or new clothes from time to time.

Receiving a scholarship from Sungkyungwan University was something you always knew he would get, but he himself didn't believe in himself enough to think that, as much as it is hard to believe, judging from his cheeky personality that you knew so well.

You were extremely happy for him, of course. You both grew up on the countryside, both of you coming from humble backgrounds, and knowing him since high school, you always thought he would be the one who makes it far. 

And he did.

No matter what the problem was, he solved it. He was, what the city ladies called, a “real man”. Be it plumbing, broken heel on your shoe, cutting wood… He knew how to mend it all, how to put it together.

He knew how to love you. Be it passionate, gentle, rough, sensitive, soft, quiet, loud… He could give it all, to you. Without him, the air wasn't as breathable, the food as tasty, the smile as contagious, the human touch as warm, and the light as light.

He could do many things. In a simple world. Where you both came from. You were not the perfect woman from the magazines, yet he was next to you. Fitting into you. Giving you his all. For years. He was Baekhyun.

He could make you feel the earth shake, the water crash on the rocks, the clouds swimming on a baby-blue sky, the hot desert sunset, the avalanche.

And, he did.

And that was your love. In a simple world.

.1.

Waking up to a dark room, you felt slight sweat forming around your neck, the air being too hot under the stuffy blankets and a hot body behind you. The fan was turned on, despite the Koreans being scared of it, as it may kill, but screw it. Villagers were fighting for survival, not for comfort and clean conscience.

Carefully untangling from Baekhyun's body, you quietly slipped out of the bed, your nightgown falling around your thighs that were slightly hurting from the upcoming period. As much as you wished to lie in bed and enjoy Baekhyun's presence, you wanted to make fresh breakfast to start off both of your days well.

Baekhyun grumbled in his sleep, blindly searching with his hand for your warmth, but fruitlessly. Eventually, he always ended up moving his body on your side of the bed, finding your gentle smell so calming, it would lull him back to sleep.

Smiling to yourself, you closed the door behind you, appearing in the kitchen that was combined with a very small living room. They were all in one room, basically. Thankfully, you could do some nice changes to the flat in a cheap manner and you didn't mind tightening your belt for a few weeks. You could walk to many places as well, Seoul transportation was pricey anyway.

Starting with the vegetables, you moved swiftly around the little kitchen, preparing the breakfast into cute bowls that you made yourself when you were attending pottery class during your high school years.

It might sound like it had been a long time, but you graduated from high school only a four years ago. You spent your first year at home, working at your parents farm, helping out Baekhyun's parents, and searching for a good enough job until you received the amazing news about Baekhyun's scholarship at Sungkyungkwan and in your second year after finishing high school, you were in Seoul, living in a tiny flat but a flat that was full of love.

Coffee was done just when you felt a sleepy presence behind you that soon made itself known by giving your exposed neck a gentle, loving kiss. “Good morning.”

His raspy voice and hot breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine. You turned quickly, broad smile on, throwing your arms around his neck and gave him a peck on the lips. “My man, morning.”

Baekhyun chuckled, endearing look on his face as he circled his hands around your waist. His forehead pressed to yours. “I am looking forward to the class today.”

You sighed, satisfied. “I am happy to hear that. You love those kids, I don't know how you do it.”

“They are playful, like my jokes, like to mess.”

You snorted a laugh, opening your eyes. “Well, I also like to do those things and yet…” you trailed off, playing the victim.

“Yet what?” he exclaimed, shocked.

“Yet you don't come and play.”

Baekhyun honestly laughed out loud at your sour face expression.

“After everything I do for you,” you added, sighing heavily, eyeing all the food in plates, neatly placed, probably qualified for a food decorating competition.

“Wah! Hold on, hold on, young lady,” he said, grabbing you tighter, bringing you closer. “What is this supposed to mean?” he asked quietly, staring into your eyes. “Why is my lady not happy?”

Pursing your lips, you pretended to think hard. “Well, I do have a hard time at work, sitting, running around my boss,” Baekhyun rolled his eyes at the mention of your boss, “running errands, yet none of them are for me. A massage and a little pampering wouldn't be bad.”

Baekhyun knew you were teasing him big time.

He knew you in a different way than what you were showing most of the time. You were an extremely tough woman, heart of steel but gentle, soft and completely crazy only for him. He knew it so well. You would never be able to fool him with "this is too hard for me" kind of attitude; you qualified for a man. Thank God he knew hapkido, how else would he protect himself?!

“Exactly, my dear. Those kids don't want pampering from me, don't want massages from me. They want to genuinely play,” he said, whispering the last sentence.

“Then, I want to play, too. Genuinely.”

He kissed you slowly but oh, so sensually right then and there.

You did have a point. Both of you have been stuck in a weird stereotype, running and coming from work, eating, having a cozy evening if you managed to get home on time. Otherwise your boyfriend would be swamped with books, researches, cramming English last minute since his final research had to be written in English (screw village high schools for not giving proper attention to English language and screw Baekhyun for not giving a shit in undergrad and grad school about English classes and missing chances to bond with international students) and you would try to get better at your work by reading various business books from the library or watch some videos about how to become more self-confident and sell yourself.

Gosh, what a competitive world you lived in. It was the exact opposite to the village life where kimchi make-out sessions were a must in autumn, cherry blossom tree picnics with freshly made kimbap a tradition, wild-lake swimming and love-making under the moonlight… The world where only things like those mattered. To have a loved one by your side and deal with difficulties together.

After a full make-out session, you separated, both of you panting for air, both of you panting for much more than what time was allowing you in that moment. “Like this?” he breathed, his focus on your swollen lips that you were now biting.

You giggled quietly and untangled yourself from him to grab his mug from the counter. “Not quite.” Handing him his coffee, you smiled. “I'm sure when the evening comes, you will know what I meant.”

He chuckled. “You should have just told me right away that you want to have sex.”

Your eyes widened at the use of words, not liking to call it like that.

He laughed even more at your expression, taking the bowl with rice in his free hand and sitting down on the floor to the small table. “Always so innocent, my love.”

Tinted red cheeks puffed up, not meeting his eyes, that was your hidden self only he witnessed. How long have you been together? Was it five years? Six? God, you were only 23 now. Baekhyun 27. You only had him. He was your first, and you always wanted him to be your last.

After fast but playful breakfast, you both rushed to get ready, Baekhyun packing his hapkido uniform, you quickly ironing your skirt on the mattress you slept on.

“I have to rush, I am late,” shouted Baekhyun as he was ready to open the door, dressed in his sports clothes, his backpack thrown over one shoulder. “Will you be alright, darling?”

“Sure, sure,” you said loudly, so he could hear you. “Be careful, please! No rush! And drink your water!”

You heard him laugh quietly before shouting one big “I love you” and closing the door behind him.

Taking quickly your lunch, you also rushed to catch the bus. It was crazily crowded and you always ended up groaning inwardly at the sight of queued up people. You rushed only to rush more. Amazing.

Seoul, you pleaded, you better be worth it.

^^

Arriving at your work place, you managed to sit down at your desk just as the clock stroke 9.00am. Perfect. Next time it could be at least 10 minutes earlier, so you could get some time to relax and start your day slowly.

Your colleague, Sukyeong, was handing you your herbal tea you always had in the first hour of the work time. “Even when you are late you still manage to be on time.”

You chuckled, thanking her as you warmed your hands with the hot cup. “I don't like this type of preciseness.”

“God, just like Jongdae,” she snorted, sitting back down on her chair.

Snickering, you commented: “I thought that's why you married him?”

“I adore him,” she exclaimed, laughing quietly. “A perfectionist. Maybe a bit too much.”

You really liked Sukyeong, and thought it was about time to call her a real friend in the big world that was called Seoul. You both already managed to go out together, you getting some proper time with a girlfriend, Baekhyun getting his alone time at home. And the other time you managed to go out together with Baekhyun and Jongdae at the same time and it was even more surprising to find out Jongdae and Baekhyun became good friends.

You were about to reply when the boss's door opened, surprising you momentarily, causing you to spill the scorching tea straight on your skirt. You kept in your hiss, pressing your lips together as you raised to bow to him.

“Good morning, sir.”

Your boss was a not the tallest man, smaller than Baekhyun, but definitely much older and, well, fatter. Even now, his white shirt could barely hold the buttons together, obviously having another jjajangmyeon night with soju yesterday.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you please come to my office?” he asked, his eyes dropping on the wet spot of the herbal tea, just around the middle of the skirt. It was sticking to your thigh.

You bowed your head, wordlessly following. As he turned his back on you, you quickly shot Sukyeong a questioning look, to which she shrugged, not understanding what could his weird mood be about.

The doors behind you closed, and your boss took his seat behind his messy desk. He motioned with his hand for you to do the same, and you did. The couch was a bit too low, causing your knees to be high up, your skirt hiking up. Nonchalantly, you tried to push the silly skirt down before your boss spoke.

“Kang Bina was fired yesterday,” he started without a foreword.

This was surprising. “Really? How come? She was doing so well.”

Your boss snickered, disgusted. “She got pregnant. Why would I keep her?”

Your throat went dry for a second as you processed his words. Your heartbeat went up. “Excuse me, sir, but how-”

“We do not employ you, young ladies, fresh out of university, just for you to get pregnant and then leave your company short on staff. It is ineffective, we don't need such useless workforce.”

Useless workforce? A pregnant woman? Excuse me?

You were barely two minutes in his office and you felt like a bottle of icy cold water was thrown at you.

Before you could speak, he broke the tensed silence. “That is why I called you in, deary.” Pause. Shudder. Deary. “I am pleased to inform you, that you earned yourself a promotion! Your first. Since you started working here,” he added, obviously proud of himself. Then, he smiled grimly at you. “Actually, it is your very first promotion, since you are so young, so beautiful and so inexperienced.” He made himself comfortable in the big office chair, it squeaking from heavy load. “You will take Bina's spot.”

You were just speechless. Bina had a higher position, being a personal assistant to this piece of a fat human flesh sitting in front of you. He even picked her up every morning and drove her home. A “privilege”, he called it at that time.

“You don't have a boyfriend yet, correct?” he asked, more himself than you. You shook your head no. It went unnoticed. “Well, anyhow, you better not get pregnant in the upcoming...hmm...10 years? Nah, make it 20. Looking at you, your qualities would get only better, so you won't miss out. And I can't have such a beautiful employee leave so early.”

“Sir, about this-”

“It is a privilege,” he emphasized, looking directly at you. “Plus, let's not forget the salary raise.”

You shut your mouth.

Money raise.

More money.

You could help Baekhyun out more.

Your stupid salary that couldn't even cover properly the food for one month would now be just enough. If you calculated properly (you did most of the time), you could afford a small trip to spas, a KTX ride back home to the countryside, some new electronics for the apartment. You could apply for mortgage and make a dream home.

It is true it was already a dream home. With Baekhyun anything was ideal.

But becoming pregnant with his child? Making a family like you always wanted? The idea caught you off guard, not like you haven't fantasized about it for years. It was an idea that sent you into immediate shivers, electric shocks running through your veins, it made you want him much more, it made you want him to make love to you right in that instant. You went crazy just at the pure thought of bearing his child. Your secret dream of being a mother. As simple as that.

No massive house, no position of high importance. Just a home full of children's laughter and your husband's love. Baekhyun's love.

“You don't really have a choice, Y/N, but I still have to ask - do you accept?” Your boss raised his left eyebrow at you, challenging.

No pregnancy. For now.

Your unsaid dream broke, but you believed you could build up on it later; prepare a solid financial base for your children in the far future.

You nodded, making your boss laugh.

_____

a/n: If you could leave a comment, I would be grateful And maybe upload much faster the next part. That is if you think this story and me are worth it! 💟

[sosation]

On the Passing of Michael Brooks

I only relatively recently became aware of Michael, less than a year ago. In that time he has impacted my life more than any other media personality, more than anyone I’ve never met.

Even though the first time I voted was for Obama in 2008, my political consciousness really began during my 2nd stint of college at UTA circa 2014/15. My history undergrad was waking me up to the power dynamics and hegemonic systems that exist in our society. I was beginning to understand geopolitics under the tutelage of Dr. Joyce Goldberg and getting really wrapped up in 20th century diplomacy. The Snowden leaks had happened and the Michael Brown demonstrations in Ferguson were drawing attention to the militarization of our police forces and their tactics on US citizens. I began to see capitalism as consisting of, and causing and contributing too, countless problems. Then, the 2016 election cycle stoked my already burning interests.

During this time, there was little “left-tube” to be found. Since 2012, streaming on our X Box has been my wife and I’s primary means of entertainment. Slowly more and more of our time was being spent on YouTube. The Young Turks was really the only progressive voice on Youtube, to my knowledge, at that time. (I wasn’t yet aware of Pakman, Kulinski, Seder and Brooks.) And even though they were my primary source of news, I wasn’t crazy about the hyperbolic presentation, Cenk’s ego, or some of the attitudes expressed by various hosts at various times. That being said, I learned a lot. I was exposed to many many great journalists and they certainly helped me solidify and articulate many of the arguments I had been thinking and feeling during this time. I even became a Texas Wolf-Pac Volunteer right after Trump’s election. 

I ended my bachelor’s and master’s programs under the Trump presidency. (May ‘17, Dec ‘18 respectively.) During this time I read and wrote more than I ever have in my life. Under Dr. Christopher Morris, Dr. Patryk Babiracki, and Dr. Pawel Goral, I read Marxist historical theory and studied the history of the Cold War  from the perspectives of the US, USSR and Europe. I also began watching less and less TYT and more Secular Talk, David Pakman, and David Doel. While these shows are great, there was little to no international perspectives or geopolitical discussions happening. (Doel being Canadian accounts for something but, IMO, anyone who lives in the 5 Eyes is hardly a non-western perspective and therefore significantly less valuable in regards to gaining the insight of the peripheries of the globe. As the hegemonic “leader” of the world, Canadians, New Zealanders, Aussies and Brits, can point and laugh at the US all they want but they are taking our lead-systematically and economically.That’s not to say that their perspective is unimportant, just not the same as those outside the western sphere) Furthermore, there is still even less of a historical perspective being represented in regards to current events anywhere on YouTube. No one seems to have a long dureé, an understanding of how history plays out- again and again, and how capitalism is responsible for much of our recent history. Marx did. Michael did. 

I began my teaching career in earnest last summer, 2019, as a Geography teacher. First time I’ve ever had a salary and the first time that I didn’t have to wear a hat (or hairnet) to work. My lunch was 2nd lunch, 12:35-1:15. Here in Texas, The Majority Report was live and it began showing up consistently on my youtube feed so I began watching them while I ate my sandwich and apple, before students from guitar club would show up for a quick lesson before 6th period. I had watched TMR before, particularly live streams on twitch during the first few primary debates this cycle. They reminded me a little too much of an east coast morning talk show for me to take them too seriously at first but I eventually began to see that while Sam is--well-- Sam, the others on the show had quite a lot to say and clear, logical and articulate reasons for their positions...especially this guy Michael. Once I heard that he had his own show it quickly became the most listened to podcast in my feed. (This in itself is no small feet. I’ve been listening to podcasts for hours a day (sometimes 8) since 2012. It, too, no doubt contributed to my education and understanding of our world during this same time period but that is another blog all itself.)

Michael was everything that I was looking for. He was unabashedly a Marxist. He was intelligent and enjoyed rigorous thinking and leftist theory. He was hilarious and did fantastic impressions. He also was compassionate, kind and empathetic. He was a humanist, in the truest sense of the word and he understood, and articulated to me, that Socialism is a humanist movement. After I became a patron, I once asked him on Discord what his credentials were and he said that his Bachelor’s was in International Relations, which explained so much. Again, he was the only media personality that I was aware of that was knowledgeable and curious about the same things I was. He understood history. He valued history and its importance, so much so that he dedicated a separate Sunday show just to “Illicit Histories” where he would invite Historians from all over the world to discuss leftist movements in their own countries and how we could apply those lessons here and vice versa. This was it. This is what was missing from our national discourse--an international perspective and voice, and a historical perspective and voice. Michael was both and he was damn good at it. 

The Michael Brooks Show was an inspiration. Michael, Matt Lech and David Griscom were smart, eloquent, young men who articulated the systemic failures of our time, who critically discussed and analyzed our current political discourse and who pondered possible solutions based in history. The guests of TMBS, the network Michael created, really were the shining feature. Ben Burgis, Artesia Balthrop, Molly Webster, Glenn Greenwald, Adolf Reed, President Lula De Silva, Slavoj Žižek , Noam Chomsky, Dr. Cornel West, Dr. Richard Wolff...the list goes on and on and on. These people brought so much insight to the state of our world. Professors, Journalists, people who have spent their lives working on the cause, a cause for a better future, one based in humanity and empathy. Michael was able to bring his own empathy for humanity into his interviews, asking thoughtful direct questions that got to the heart of the issue-- while simultaneously bringing levity to a serious topic by making jokes in the voice of Gandhi, Mandela, Obama, or Bernie, to name a few. He, fucking, got it man. He understood how the world was connected. He understood that we are ALL humans, and that we all deserve to be treated with dignity, and he understood that Marx was right about a ton of shit and he wasn’t scared to remind you of that. 

Michael, for me, was an exemplar. He was a role model. I looked up to him. I had no idea he was only 13 months older than me, I thought he was probably in his early 40’s just based on the amount of shit that he knew. My personal 10 year goal was to be on his show. I wanted to either become a writer or go back into academia. I even wrote into a show a couple of months back and asked him which was a better choice. He was honored to be asked such a heavy question but didn’t feel comfortable giving that kind of life advice and I don’t blame him. He recommended that I continue teaching high school if that’s what I enjoy doing, and I do, and I likely will. He has shown me how to speak up for ideals that are right, regardless of what people think. Like, I understood that in the abstract, but watching someone do it multiple times a week really put it in my head that I need to advocate for my position publicly. I tell people that I’m a marxist- which in Texas is unheard of, even among leftists. Mostly due to people not understanding labels and what that even means. So I tell them. Thanks to David’s weekly recommended readings I haven’t stopped reading leftist theory even though I finished grad school over a year and a half ago. If TMBS never existed I never would have had the opportunity to read any of that. 

My heart bleeds for Matt and David. I can’t imagine what they’re going though. I want them to continue, to keep the community alive in his name. But I completely understand if that is just too painful. 

I was thinking earlier, trying to find an appropriate historical comparison to his passing. There are many but as a North Texan, the one that I ended up landing on was the passing of Dimebag Darrell Abbot. He did a lot. He accomplished a lot in a short amount of time. He inspired many to do things like him. It was entirely unexpected and not one person, not one, has a bad thing to say about the guy. Dimebag was adored. He listened to people, strangers, fans. He was kind and open-hearted and treated everyone with respect. Which made it extra hard when he passed. The same can be said for Michael. For Michael, since Socialism is more than just music, he inspired us to educate ourselves, to ask questions, to remember the periphery-Latin America, Africa, and Asia,-- to remember history and value it, to be compassionate, to educate others and to be active in our own communities. 

He will be sorely missed. The one thing I keep telling myself is that his death has the potential to bring even more attention to his message-- to help further catapult this movement into something undeniable. To bring more awareness to how power works and to finally activate us to become, as Michael said at Harvard on Feb 1, 2020: machiavellian.

 “...we still have to put work into reminding everybody that (Dr. MLK Jr.) was on the left. He wasn’t a guy who came out once a year and said ‘everybody should treat each other nicely. ...The other thing I loved about this speech was he talked about the fallacy- that certain Christians misunderstand love as a seeding of power. And then Nietzsche came along and rejected christian morality because he thought it was denying someone’s vitality- the will to power in a healthy sense, and he said ‘Love without power is sentimental and anemic. And power without love is abusive and corrosive’ I’m paraphrasing. And that was when I saw, I thought, ‘well here, ok, we know the left-wing Dr. King. Well here is the machiavellian Dr King, and I love it.’ I want the left to have Machiavelli, so we can have the strategy, the ruthlessness, the clarity, to actually win these battles. And be ruthless with institutions. And then I want us to learn how to be really kind to each other, welcoming of a broad set, and actually have a movement that has the capacity to do that.”

Let’s do the best we can to make that happen. Educate yourself about power. Educate yourself about ideologies. Read Marx and Engels. Read Slavoj Žižek and Adolf Reed. Read Michaels book Against the Web: A Cosmopolitan Answer to the New Right. Don’t get caught up in identity politics. Never lose sight of class dynamics. Use this knowledge to educate others and make informed decisions. Register to vote. Run for office. Effectuate real change. Do the intellectual rigor that was happening on TMBS every week, multiple times a week. Thank you for all that you brought to us Michael, you will be sorely missed and I hope to see you at the clearing at the end of the path. 

Anthony Sosa

7-21-20

[elichorph]

ok hi i’m back with a second character ...

the member of the yale's elite, they're twenty three and a grad student majoring in film & media studies. they are as amicable as they are histrionic.

stats:

full name: gordon minjun teller nicknames: goose. gordon is for business only age: twenty three  birthday: june 13, 1997 chart: gemini sun / cancer moon / leo rising gender: cis male pronouns: he / him sexuality: bisexual & biromantic height: 6′1 hair color: blue (now blonde) tattoos: none piercings: nose stud (right side), earlobes (always have silver hoops in them)

PINTEREST BOARD 

blackmail:

while the public believes that goose’s family retired and moved to another country, this was actually released as a coverup because they went missing. goose withheld information from the court about their last whereabouts which could have prevented it from becoming a cold case.

he was expelled from high school after vandalizing a statue on campus and his uncle paid the school to go back on their decision.

he lost a third of his inheritance money to a cult he briefly followed in his sophomore year of college while looking for guidance.

backstory:

tw: implied death

right at birth, goose was adopted into the teller family who were pretty well known. his father was a young ceo of an oil company in texas. goose’s family eventually became public figures and tabloid favorites after a long riveting love story between his father and mother, who belonged to opposing business families. it really was a quick rise and fall to fame, starting when it was revealed goose’s adoptive mom, grace, couldn’t have kids, he was in her arms not even a month after and right out of them thirteen years later when she disappeared and the family really was never to be heard of again. 

but as the only adopted child into a family who had to keep their public image up, goose’s dreams of being a fun loving kid were crushed. really, it was strictly gordon - gordon on the tabloids, you’d see his baby face like aw thank god grace got to have a kid of her own <3 he was posted up at galas, listening to his dad speak about oil and shit every weekend and going back to his small private school every monday and it was just the same routine conditioning to keep the image of the teller family spotless and to hopefully get gOrDoN to become the next ceo.

that all kind of went to shit though when goose turned 14. his parents miraculously went missing (don’t ask me what happened i don’t even know) one night when he was tucked into bed. seriously, he woke up one morning and they were gone and suddenly there were police storming the house and he was being questioned and things weren’t routine or safe anymore. in order to still save face for the family though, news was quickly put out that the family went on a private vacation while the investigation went on privately. it was taken to court, people signed nda’s, and all little goose knew was that he his parents were going to a party that night and hadn’t told anybody else and he was too scared to tell anyone. at one point goose became the main suspect and he had to put his freshman year of high school on pause, but he was dismissed months after even though he hadn’t shared the detail that they went to a party. if he had shared it, they literally would’ve been found. eventually, there were no new leads, the case was declared cold, and an official statement was put out that the teller parents “retired” and “moved” to a different country that wouldn’t be disclosed and gOrDoN would be under the care of his uncle.

gordon was like mad though haha. even though he’d gotten his family’s entire inheritance as a fifteen year old and should’ve been happy that he was basically a millionaire, he wasn’t used to things not being in the same routine and actually having to make decisions for himself. newsflash, but goose can’t handle emotions really well and he got angry and well i don’t know if you’ve seen donnie darko where donnie literally put an axe through the statue’s head and spray painted “they made me do it” below the statue? but yeah, that. goose wasn’t slick though, got caught by security, and his uncle paid the school to let it slide and then sent goose to a boarding school in maruland.

he spent the last couple years of high school trying to figure out who he actually was outside of the tabloids and the teller name and image, and eventually got the hang of it by the time he enrolled at yale. he started going by goose instead of gordon, went into film instead of business like his family wanted him to and slowly started to blossom into the weirdo he is today <3 his dad was in the elites so he was able to secure a legacy spot and reluctantly said yes to joining. he was kinda quiet the first year, but now he’s all gungho to do charity events and make people happy and shit like that. 

his sophomore year though he kinda doubted the path he was on and his naive ass got roped up into a cult. anyways, he ended up trusting them a lot and donated 1/3 of his family’s inheritance to the cult and kinda blew it. goose was acting hella weird around this time though, i imagine people around him could kinda sense he wasn’t like alright for a few months. anyways someone ended up giving him an intervention about acting kinda whack and he realized and thankfully was able to leave the cult pretty unscathed. but he is deeply, deeply ashamed about his time in the cult though.

personality:

he is one gigantic deranged baby. like he is baby, but he’s also kind of crazy. if goose feels any normal emotion, it instantly bass boosts and he feels it in full. goose genuinely is so sensitive, he’ll physically flinch if you say something merely mean to him because he was used to growing up so perfect that he really can’t take criticism. however, he’ll do his best to patch things up by saying some incomprehensible joke right there and then. the only exception to this is the tabloids. goose has become so immune to them that he will straight up troll them back on twitter because he just doesn’t give two shits.

he’s incredibly kind. so so so kind (not really gentle though). the type to remember your favorite candy bar and hand one to you on a random tuesday. he’ll remember your name even if you’ve only met once and even if you didn’t give him your name, he’ll look it up somehow just so he knows next time. he loves to make jokes all the time. none of them ever make sense, but they’re funny to him and he won’t apologize for it. and he’s LOUD. you probably can hear his cackles and snorts and dramatic screams even when you’re on the other side of campus. he’s just a kid in a candy store excited to finally enjoy life, especially now that things have seemed to settle down. even though he’ll probably have a whole breakdown and a half the first time the blackmailer mentions his name.

yes, he actually believes he’s being haunted by jfk. goose had a string of dreams about him and witnessed some doors opening and closing on their own around the same time, and he quickly jumped to the conclusion and never thought twice about it. another strange belief that goose has? that he’s friends with a ton of a-listers. even though it’s mainly jessica alba, he won’t hesitate to tweet at extremely famous actors and thank them for getting lunch with him even if they’ve never spoke. multiple management companies have his twitter handle blacklisted. while he currently has blue hair, it’s always quick to change. for how much he dyes it, it’s surprising that it doesn’t feel like hay.  if goose feels a mental breakdown coming or simply is bored or needs attention, his hair color will do a straight 180. he hasn’t had a natural hair color since he enrolled at yale.

things that are very goose: beat up yellow high top converse, getting to know every person in existence, having memes plastered over his wall to make him smile after a long day, wearing fancy cologne to the grocery store because one cashier said he smelled good and he thinks it makes them happy to wear that, throwing a shoe across a crowd at a party, going to sulk in the bathroom or leave the party early when a song plays that brings up bad memories, keeping every movie stub, restaurant punch card, and lost button in a little scrapbook just because he wants to remember the good things in life, thinking the karate kid is the best movie to ever exist despite being five years into a film major.

wanted connections

since he doesn’t have any pre-established connections, here are some ones that could kinda be fun

someone who protects his naive ass <3

an ex or old one sided crush who hurt him so bad lmao. they really wouldn’t have to a lot to do that, but it would be juicy if they did

roommate? maybe? he lived in a really shitty apartment his first few years, maybe they convinced him to move out or moved in

or neighbors? like he will knock on their door 3 times a week with half burnt brownies to offer or because he doesn’t know where his tv remote is and needs help

someone who gave him the intervention about like “you’re acting weird are you okay” that indirectly got him to leave the cult and he feels like he’s forever indebted to them

someone who just despises goose and he doesn’t understand why and tries to make things better even though it just makes things worse

family friends? maybe? when he was in ct and his uncle didn’t let him come home with him during the holidays he would go to their house or something like that

gentle romance <3 maybe. Please

he’s their secret admirer and sends them gifts and flowers and writes them bad poems and recommends them shitty romance films

someone who takes advantage of how naive he is

anything <3 come 2 me or i will dm you or venmo you and force u to plot with me

[francesderwent]

Hey! If you had to sort the TVD characters into Hogwarts Houses, where would you sort them?

hello anon!!

I don’t think I had ever thought about this before! Hogwarts sorting is always debatable, since it’s so founded on your personal interpretation of a character, but that’s definitely the fun of it! Here’s my take:

Elena Gilbert – Gryffindor, which might come as a surprise, given how often I complain about the superficial “warrior princess”, “I fought back today; it felt good” interpretation of Elena’s character. But I do think Elena’s two most central qualities are, on the one hand, the ability to insistently see the truth of others, even when the whole world is against her, and the readiness to sacrifice herself for the people she loves.  Both of those things take courage.  Basically, she has a “saving-people thing”, just like Harry Potter himself, and she’s willing to undergo great personal risk in order to save people.  “Savior of the cursed and damned” is far more Elena than “warrior princess”, but both of them land her in Gryffindor.

Jeremy Gilbert – Gryffindor, because Jeremy is led very much by his emotions.  More so than any other character, he pursues the supernatural because he’s looking for adventure, something that will make him special, something to make him feel alive. Like Elena, he is prone to risk-taking when the people he loves are in danger – but he’s also prone to risk-taking more generally, when his emotions are up.  He’s the most classic Gryff in the show.

Tyler Lockwood – Gryffindor.  Like Jeremy, Tyler lives out of his emotions.  He’s prone to casting himself in dramatic rivalries, holding onto grudges.  But he also really admires goodness when he sees it, as with Caroline.  An argument could be made for a Hufflepuff sorting for him, but I think his preoccupation with loyalty comes more from the wolf than from his personality.

Stefan Salvatore – Gryffindor, but for very different reasons than the Gilberts.  Stefan very much defines himself by his identity as righteous, “the good brother”. He thinks the correct motivation for action is “because it’s the right thing to do,” and when he falls short from that ideal, he’s consumed by guilt.  Stefan is the kind of person who would ask the Sorting Hat for Gryffindor.  His dedication to living in the moment is also very Gryffindor.

Alaric Saltzman – Ravenclaw.  This is kind of a cop-out of a sorting, but I really do get the sense that Rick is more a teacher-who-got-dragged-into-vampire-slaying than a vampire-slayer-who-teaches-for-a-living. An argument could be made for Hufflepuff, because it was his abiding loyalty to his wife that got him into the supernatural in the first place, and it was his loyalty to the Gilberts and to Damon that kept him involved.  But I’m gonna go with my gut and say Ravenclaw.

Jenna Sommers – Ravenclaw, mostly because she’s a harried grad student, and I love that about her.  But also her mess of a personal/romantic life makes me think she’s a better researcher than she is a judge of character.  When Jenna has to make interpersonal decisions, she tends to go a little wild, because the interpersonal realm isn’t her strength and most of her role models are crazy Gryffindors.

Katherine Pierce – Slytherin, through and through. Katherine is schemes and ambition and power and coyness.  Even when she seeks love, she goes about it like a Slytherin.

Bonnie Bennett – Slytherin.  Bonnie doesn’t like to feel weak.  She likes to have power, and she likes people to know she has power so she’ll be respected.  It’s not a dominating power, usually – as a TVD-witch, it’s tied to the earth and to the lives around her, and so in her best moments it can be more integrated, but it’s still power.  An argument could be made for Hufflepuff, because she is very loyal and fair, and she does show a willingness to sacrifice herself for others – but I think her risking herself is often still very tied up with her power.  She risks herself because she thinks she’s strong enough to succeed.

Caroline Forbes – Slytherin.  Caroline doesn’t care much about power as such, but she cares about winning.  Bonnie wants to win for the power that comes from it, Caroline just wants to win. Along with her competitiveness, her type-A plan-ahead persona also puts her squarely in Slytherin – you’re only a control freak if you care about control. Both winning and control require a carefully calculated image, which is why Caroline is sometimes kind of like a Gryffindor-presenting Slytherin.  

Matt Donovan – Hufflepuff, because he doesn’t evidently belong anywhere else.  He is very loyal and fair, we can see that in his relationships with Elena and Tyler, but mostly he’s a Hufflepuff because he doesn’t have any of the special skills or passions that would allow him to get by on anything other than hard work. He’s supposed to embody sweet, small-town, boy-next-door ordinariness, and he does.

Damon Salvatore – Hufflepuff.  Damon does live out of his emotions, and he does risk himself; he does pursue power and control.  But how he does it, from year to year, depends totally on his loyalties. He acts more like a Slytherin when he loves Katherine – he acts more like a Gryffindor when he loves Elena.  (No amount of friendship with Rick can make him act like a Ravenclaw, though.)  He’s totally defined by his loves – and even when a relationship breaks down, he promises an eternity of suffering to his brother.  He doesn’t forget, he doesn’t cut him off – he’s just as loyal to the rivalry as he was to the brotherhood.

Some fun things about these sortings:

Elena’s best friends are Slytherins, and her romantic “type” is Hufflepuffs.  She’s different than both Bonnie and Caroline in important ways – ways that make Bonnie ready to sacrifice for her and protect her, no matter what the cost, and ways that make Caroline frustrated that Elena is always “the one”. And because Elena loves everyone, is ready to pour herself out unselfishly for everyone, she needs a Hufflepuff partner to balance her with his particular, individual loyalties. She falls in love with Stefan when she’s trying to rediscover herself, but there’s not the same friction with him that inspires her to grow.

Damon and Bonnie’s friendship is between a dark, passionate Hufflepuff and a light, righteous Slytherin.  Love it.

Young Hufflepuff Damon and baby Gryffindor Stefan at Hogwarts…think about it.  Stefan looks up to his big brother, but his new Gryff housemates are too cool for Hufflepuffs! Damon wants to look out for him, but they’re in different houses!!  idk

Now I kinda wanna fic something, but I don’t have time!! 

Feel free to challenge my sortings!! And please do tell me your own!!!

[thewriterofmanythings]

And They Were Roommates

Day 5 of Widojest Week-There’s only one bed, or Alternate Universe

Nott and Yeza's apartment is undergoing renovations, and the cute foreign grad student Jester has been crushing on needs a place to stay. What could go wrong? Super happy with this fic. You can also read it on AO3. As usual big shoutout to @3fling for all the love and support, especially this time because I wouldn’t even have a plot for this otherwise!

Working at the local coffee shop had a lot of benefits. Free coffee of course, free pastries at the end of the night, listening to whatever music the employees wanted, and the flexible hours that worked with her school schedule.

The cute redhead grad student that came in everyday was definitely a plus too.

Jester had been working at Cool Beans for four years and had seen all manner of people come through the door. As a college town it wasn’t a surprise; people came from all over and stayed a few months to a few years while they studied. Some of those people stayed but most left to go back to wherever they came from or even off to new places. Jester herself dreamed of leaving one day, venturing out into the world and discovering what was out there. But for now she was here, working towards an art degree and making the best of her situation.

The redheaded grad student was a foreigner from Germany. He spoke excellent English though his accent was a bit tough to understand at times, especially if he ever got frustrated. His name was Caleb and he had come all the way from his home country to join one of the world’s best linguistics programs. He came in every day at exactly one p.m., ordered a sandwich and an americano with an extra shot of espresso, and sat down to study for two hours before neatly cleaning his table and heading out.

Jester enjoyed people watching, trying to analyze people from the way they walk, the things they did, how they interacted with other people. Even before she had a full conversation with Caleb she noticed he was quiet, polite, and had a dry sense of humor. His wardrobe was full of earthy tones, lots of boots and plain button up shirts, adding in jackets, scarves and hats when the weather began to turn cold. On the rare occasion he came in when it didn’t seem he was studying he still carried a simple black leather notebook. He often pulled the top part of his shoulder length hair into a sort of bun, exposing the pen he regularly kept behind his right ear. Ink marks and scratches along his hand indicated he did a lot of writing and, Jester would guess, he owned a cat.

Of course, it wasn’t all just staring from a distance. Jester had begun to build a friendship with Caleb thanks to a strange change of relationships. Most often at the shop Jester shared her shift with Clay and Molly; the three of them made a trifecta of hair colors and piercings that gave the warm shop an unexpected punk vibe. Clay was a gardener of sorts and had made friends with Yeza and Nott, the lovely couple whom Caleb was staying with during his time in the States. Molly was in a band with two women named Beau and Yasha and the group usually played in a newer dive bar downtown on Saturday nights. Jester and Clay went every week to support their friend, and one day while picking up a new plant Clay had told Yeza about the shows. Knowing it was unhealthy for Caleb to spend all his time in the house studying, Nott and Yeza had immediately booked a recurring sitter for their young son and dragged Caleb down to the bar to hang out with others. The eight of them had begun to get closer, but Jester still found it difficult at times to put herself out there and really engage with Caleb.

Today however was Jester’s lucky day.

“Caleb!” The small bell chimed through the coffee shop as Nott slipped in, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold wind from freezing the customers out. The woman was on the shorter side but no one ever noticed because her personality more than made up for it. Her sense of humor among the friend group was unrivaled and she could easily drink them all under the table.

“Ya Nott, is everything all right?” Caleb looked up from his laptop where he had been hyper focused on a paper. His brow was furrowed with a mix of worry and confusion.

Jester busied herself with straightening the pastry display, which was conveniently close to Caleb’s table. She could be particularly nosy at times due to her curious nature, but now she mostly wanted to make sure everything was okay with Nott’s family.

“I’m all right Caleb, but I’m afraid I do have some bad news. The renovation plans have been moved up by two whole weeks!”

“Oh, that means…” Caleb’s voice trailed off, his face turning into a frown.

“Yeah exactly! Yeza’s mom said she can take Luke, and we have another friend we can stay with, but she only has one extra room.”

“I see. So I suppose I will need to find a place to stay in the meantime since Clay will not be back until the end of the month.”

“I’m really sorry about that Caleb! I’ll help you look, surely we can find something soon. Maybe you can stay with Beau or something?”

“He can stay with me!”

Jester fought the urge to clasp her hands over her mouth. Wow, smooth move Jester. Inviting your little crush to live with you? There’s no way this is gonna go well, she thought to herself. She hadn’t even stopped to consider the ramifications of what she had volunteered for.

Something glinted behind Nott’s eyes and she nodded her head frantically. “Yes! Yes that would be perfect! You’re just the best Jester.”

“Oh, I… I would hate to impose, Jester, that’s very kind of you…” Caleb stuttered, his hands nervously fidgeting with his scarf.

“I think it sounds like the perfect plan.” Molly emerged from the back room where he had apparently been listening to the whole conversation. “Jessie might bring you out of your shell, Mr. Caleb, and Jester, well…. You could learn some tidiness habits perhaps.”

What a wingman, Jester thought, rolling her eyes at her purple-haired friend. He smirked, twirling around and walking to the register to help another customer who had walked in.

“Don’t you have a dog? I do not know if my cat would like that.”

“Oh that’s okay! Nugget doesn’t mind cats, he won’t bother Frumpkin!” Jester smiled at Caleb, trying her hardest not to blush.

“Well, I suppose it would be the best offer I could get on such sort notice.”

Nott beamed at the two of them. “Sounds like it’s settled then! I’ll help you pack up Caleb and we’ll be right over!”

***

“Soooo, this is my apartment. It’s nothing crazy you know, but it’s nice and has a good view and a lot of spaaace….”

Jester could feel herself beginning to ramble as she opened the door to her studio apartment. It was extremely nice for college student standards; her mother wanted her to be comfortable so she paid for Jester’s rent, but she also wanted her daughter to learn the value of hard work, meaning Jester was responsible for her own tuition and school supplies, as well as any other necessities. All things considered it was a pretty nice arrangement.

The living room was a nice open space with a gorgeous window overlooking downtown. The kitchen and living room were decorating in bright colors with unique art sculptures spaced around. In the center of the open area close to the window sat a large easel displaying a half finished painting. A number of half-dead attempts at plant keeping were littered about the area as well.

“You have a very nice place, Jester.” Caleb was huffing a bit as he carried in a large box of his belongings. Jester herself had Frumpkin’s cat carrier and a bag of cat supplies. There was still a fair amount of stuff to bring in but this was a good start.

“So I don’t have a second room but the couch is a fold out and it’s totally comfy.” Jester sat Frumpkin’s carrier down and unlatched the door. “Here, kitty kitty kitty!”

After a second Frumpkin lazily made his way out, beginning to inspect the strange new space. The two of them watched as he began to sniff the couch, marking the edge with his scent glands.

“You are an artist?” Caleb asked, gesturing toward the easel.

“I do! I’m an art major but I don’t get to do a lot of painting stuff at my level so I like to practice it here.”

“I look forward to seeing you work.”

Jester tried not to let Caleb see her blush as she began to help him unpack. The rest of the day was spent moving boxes to make sure everything was out of Nott and Yeza’s apartment in time for the renovators to begin their work, taking only a small break for Chinese food. The conversation was timid at first, the two of them dancing around each other the way acquaintances interact at a party when their mutual friend goes to visit the bathroom. But by the end of the night the two had sunk into a comfortable rhythm. As Jester went to sleep that night, she played over the day’s event in her head, giggling every time she thought about how she had made Caleb laugh. If she didn’t have a crush before, she was certainly deep in one now.

***

“Jester, look out!”

Caleb’s frantic voice came from inside Jester’s room. It had been a week since Caleb had moved in, and Frumpkin and Nugget hadn’t gotten along as well as Jester had assured him they would. He had spent the last hour trying to coax his cat out from under her bed and it seemed like the persuasion had taken a turn for the worse.

Jester glanced over from her position at the easel. She was enjoying her Saturday morning routine of hot tea and painting, listening to Regina Spektor ring out through the apartment via her wireless speaker. Her trance like state was broken as she saw Frumpkin shoot down the hallway, followed by Nugget’s large body. The cat turned sharply, but the poor dog was caught unaware and his attempt to switch directions was nowhere near as smooth, throwing himself right into Jester’s easel. Thanks to Caleb’s warning however, she was able to stabilize the workspace, only losing a bit of her paint to the tarp underfoot in the process.

Caleb ran out, his red hair a frazzled halo around his head. He frantically darted into the kitchen, trying to corner Frumpkin around the island, but the cat was wise and jumped up onto the counter, knocking over one of Jester’s plants in the process.

Catching wind of what Caleb was trying to do, Jester ran to try to intercept him, but the cat was too fast and she ended up tripping over Nugget instead. She braced herself for a fall onto the hardwood floor, but felt hands attempt to catch her. Unfortunately in his rush to help, Caleb himself was off balance, sending both of them tumbling to the floor.

Jester felt her face redden at being so close to Caleb. She could feel his breath on her face and his eyes were just inches away from her own. Her mind scrambled to think of something to say, an apology or excuse or anything, but her brain was short-circuiting.

“Paint,” Caleb said, pulling her out of her panicked haze.

“Wh-what?”

“Sorry, you uh, you have paint on your cheek.” 

She felt Caleb’s thumb rest on her cheek, gently wiping away a fleck of color. He still lay there though, holding her in his arms, inches from her face. She knew she ought to pull herself away, get up and clear her head, but she had to admit there was no place else she would rather be. “Thank you,” she said, barely daring to whisper.

“Your freckles are quite beautiful.” Caleb spoke breathlessly, his thumb still stroking her cheek softly. His eyes seemed transfixed, glancing over every bit of Jester’s face. She could feel his heart beat underneath her hand.

It’s now or never Jester, said the voice in the back of her head, and before she realized what she was doing she had closed the distance between him. Her lips touched his, quickly and softly before backing away. “I’m sorry Caleb, I don’t know why-”

Her voice was silenced by the sudden presence of Caleb’s lips on hers. He had kissed her back, but his held intent. Something about him was hungry, as if he had been waiting for this for months and he was going to enjoy every moment of it. She moaned into his mouth as her tongue slipped into hers and she moved her hand to the back of his head, intertwining her fingers through his hair.

Caleb suddenly moved away and Jester moved after him, craving more before realizing he had something to say. “I did not know this was a perk,” he said, chuckling lightly before kissing her again.

Jester in turn pulled away, laughing as well. “Only for really special roommates.”

***

“Caleb, the rennovaters are all done! You can move back in whenever you want to!”

Nott’s voice came across loud through the phone speaker, forcing Caleb to turn the volume down. It was seven in the morning and the sun was barely beginning to peek through the window of his apartment. He looked down at the woman next to him, still asleep with her blue hair splayed out across the bedsheets.

“Thank you Nott, but I don’t think that will be necessary for now.”

“Really?”

“Ya. I think things have worked out just fine.”

[littlelovelyspiderling]

The Photo Shoot

Here’s my take on the adorable request given to me by  @a-bad-actor !! Hope you like it!

Tony needs a photo of a young and happy face to put on Stark Industry’s website and requests Peter’s aid. When the grumpy kid can’t seem to smile normally, Stark takes matters into his own hands.

word count: 1,800

“Mr. Stark, couldn’t you find someone else to do this…?”

Peter squinted uncomfortably beneath the harsh lights, pulling at his collar. He felt like a bug being studied under a microscope—a bright, judgmental microscope. Tony Stark stood behind the camera, fiddling with the settings.

“Nope. You’re the only intern that’s here this late. And the youngest, therefore the most endearing and inspirational to potential applicants.”

“But I’m not even a real intern, Mr. Stark. It’s a front, remember?”

“Who cares? You think the 20-something-year-old grad students scrolling through the Stark Industry’s website are going to know that?” He narrowed his eyes as he racked the lens. “I just want a nice picture of a welcoming face to put on the online brochure. It’ll help encourage youngsters such as yourself to apply for all the internship positions and project grants my company is now offering.”

“That’s really cool of you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, swallowing. “But, um…I’m just not very photogenic. I hate getting my picture taken. And my face is crazy broken out right now, so can’t you just hire someone tomorrow to pose for—?”

“The re-vamped website goes live at midnight, so no.” Tony clicked one last button on the camera’s screen, then stepped away. “Relax, kid—you look fine. Just think how awesome it will be to show all your friends a pic of your handsome mug on Stark Industry’s home page.”

Peter hung his head. “Yeah. So awesome…”

Tony scoffed. “What’s your problem? I thought you’d love this.”

The kid shrugged haphazardly. “Whatever. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Alright then, grumpy pants,” he snorted. He held up the shutter remote and gave it a shake. “Say ‘cheese’.”

The smile Peter pasted on his face was so pathetic, Tony thought he was just holding back a sneeze. Or crushing something between his teeth. He stared at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement, waiting for him to actually attempt to smile, his finger hovering over the shutter release button.

“Uh…seriously? That’s the face you’re going with? That’s what you want a quarter million people to wake up to tomorrow morning?”

Peter huffed miserably. “I told you I’m bad at this, Mr. Stark.”

“Just smile. Like you always do. Don’t think about it so much.”

The kid rolled his eyes and tried again. This time, it looked like he was in actual, physical pain, like someone was holding a knife to his back and threatening to kill him if he didn’t pretend to look happy. 

And boy, was he bad at pretending. 

Tony took a picture just to see if he’d look any better on camera. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t. If anything, he actually looked worse. Stark couldn’t help but laugh.

“Geez, Pete, are you trying to look constipated? Is that the new fad among you Gen Z types? Cuz if so, you are killing it.”

Peter blushed and stared at the floor. “I hate you.”

Chuckling, Tony stepped forward. “Here,” he said, giving his shoulders a shake. “Loosen up. Don’t stand so stiffly.”

“Why don’t you just take a picture of yourself? You’re so much better at this kind of stuff.”

“The whole website is already plastered with my face. We need a dash of youth and freshness to spice things up.” He licked his fingers and ran them through Peter’s hair, making him grimace. “But if you want, I can show you how it’s done.”

He walked behind Peter and struck a few casual poses, boasting a subtle yet winning smile. He snapped a few photos just for show while the kid threw his hands in the air.

“But see, that’s what I’m saying—it’s easy for you. For me, it’s just…not. I can’t do this. I give up.”

Tony caught him before he could sulk away. “Just one more try, that’s all I’m asking.” He turned the dejected teen back to the camera. “Imagine you’re receiving an award, or smiling at a girl you like. Anything like that. Think of something that makes you genuinely happy, and channel that energy into a nice, natural smile. You can do it.” He took a few steps back and to the side. “I’ll stay behind you so you don’t feel pressured.”

Peter sighed helplessly and stared into the daunting eye of the lens. He tried his best to do as Stark said, he really did. It wasn’t working in the slightest, but that was okay. Because Tony didn’t expect it to work. He just needed something to keep the kid distracted while he executed his real plan to make the kid smile.

When Tony stopped firing the shutter, Peter figured he was doing something wrong, and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m telling you, Mr. Stark, I can’t do it. Either find some other stupid intern for your photo, or steal a stock pic from the Internet. I just—I can’t—”

Peter’s angry rant was interrupted by two hands seizing him around the middle and squeezing his sides just above his hips. The kid let out a shriek of surprise, followed by a flood of laughter.

“AHAhahack! Whahat the—?” He sprung away, wrapping his arms around his midsection, flustered to his core. “Mr. Stark! W-what was that for?”

“Ha! I knew that would work.” Tony stepped around him and turned the camera screen for Peter to see. “Look at that smile! It’s perfect!”

In the photo, Peter’s eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was wide with smiley laughter. His head was tilted back while his cheeks glowed a gentle pink. He looked truly, genuinely happy; Stark could hardly believe it, especially compared to the slew of depressing shots taken previously.

Upon seeing the picture, the kid’s face burned. “No, no, please don’t use that.”

“Why not? You look so happy. It’s like you’re in an Old Navy ad.”

“But it’s…embarrassing,” he murmured.

Tony smiled softly. “No. It’s cute. Anyone who sees it will love it.”

“Not me…”

Stark sighed and faced the camera back towards the teenager. “Fine. I guess we’ll just have to keeping taking more until there’s one we both like.”

Without hesitating, he marched up to him, causing Peter to wince. “W-wait, what—?” Before he could get away, Stark scooped the kid into his arms and started drilling his tummy with tickles, kneading his fingers up and down his sides. The response was hysterical and instantaneous.

“Whaha—AHAHA NOHOHO! M-Mihihihister Stahahahark!” He kicked and squirmed and laughed like crazy, grappling at Tony’s wrists, his face bright and happy. “Stohohahap—wahahahait! Eheeheehahaha!”

“But this is the only way to make you smile normally,” Stark replied, chuckling at Peter’s adorable squirminess, “which would’ve been nice to know about a lot sooner. Now I know exactly how to cheer you up whenever you’re being a grouch.”

Peter managed to flail right out of his arms, but that only led to Tony pinning him to the ground and spidering his fingers underneath the kid’s T-shirt, scribbling his bare tummy in tickles. His laugher jumped in both volume and octave; his wriggling transformed into wild floundering.

“AHAHAHAHAAA!” he cried, whipping his head back and forth, bucking and squealing like a helpless piglet. “OHO SHIHIHIHITNOHOHOHAHAHA!”

“All we need is one good picture we both agree on, and then we’re done. Since you’re so picky, I’m trying to make sure we get every angle.”

“AHAHAHANY ONE! USE AHAHAHAHANY ONE! I DOHOHOHOHON’T C-CAHAHARE HAHAHA!” Tony’s evil hands clawed all over his ribs, belly, and underarms, driving the ticklish teen mad with giggles. “JUHUHAHAST STOHOHAHAHAHAP! MIHIHISTER STAHAHAHARK! EHEHAHAHAHA!”

When Stark saw tears flooding the poor kid’s eyes as he fought pathetically to escape, he finally let up. Peter was left in a bundle on the floor, panting with relief. Tony smiled down at the giggly hero. He was so cute, it almost made him sick.

“You think we got one you might like?” he chuckled.

“M-Mihihister Stahark…” he moaned, laughter still clinging to his words. “Whyhyhy…”

Tony sighed solemnly and offered him a hand. “Look, if you really don’t want your picture on the website, I won’t put one on there.”

Peter stared up and him, blinking in surprise.

“I can figure something else out. Maybe stick some silly graphic on it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Peter hesitantly accepted his help and stood, blushing at the floor. “N-no, it’s fine. Go ahead, I don’t care.”

“Yes you do.”

The teenager winced. Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Why? What’s got you so worried about it? 99% of the people who see your picture on there won’t even know you, and probably won’t pay it a second thought.”

“Yeah, but I…” He paused, licking his lips. “I don’t know. I’m used to seeing Spider-Man’s face online, in newspapers, whatever. It’s just freaky to think about my actual face on an important website, without my mask on.”

“Don’t you use Instagram and Snapchap or whatever? You post pics of your face on the Internet all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’m in control there. And my Instagram only has, like, eighty followers, so…” Peter scratched the back of his neck. “I just wish I could have my mask on for the photo. Could we do that instead? People would much rather see Spider-Man on your website than me.”

Stark’s heart tore as he stared down at the kid. At his center, Peter Parker was still just a teenager, with all fears and insecurities that came with it. Like any teenager, he’d much rather present a facade to the world than something authentic: his true self. Tony knew it could be scary. Releasing a slow breath, he placed his hand on his head and ruffled his hair.

“But they would be seeing Spider-Man. The real Spider-Man. The best part of Spider-Man.”

When Peter’s expression stayed stony, he fluttered his fingers against his neck, causing him to cringe and giggle.

“And I for one would much rather see Spider-Man’s smiling face than some dumb mask that hides it.”

Peter glanced up at him with a shy grin. It was the most endearing thing Stark had ever seen.

Tony walked back to the camera to look through the media. Not, of course, before snapping a quick photo once he was out of frame.

“Now come on. You pick which pic makes the final cut.”

…

As anticipated, the photo didn’t stir up much of a buzz. Peter did feel a bit like a celebrity among his friends, especially the ones who refused to believe that he worked with Tony Stark. Until now.

Peter would never admit that he actually liked the picture. And Tony would never admit that he had all the pictures from the laughter-filled photo shoot saved on his network, and that he would look at them as a choppy video sequence whenever he was feeling down.

[parniarazi]

2 0 1 9

A few days into the fresh energy of the new year, I’m still processing a lot from 2019 because it was a huge year for me. I think it’s a big missed opportunity for self-growth if you don’t take some time to reflect on your year, what it taught you, how it shaped you, and what your goals are moving into a new year. Resolutions can be cheesy and cheap, but serious self-reflection and actions towards your goals are what will move you forward.

In 2019, I got to experience a lot of things I love. I photographed one of my favorite artists, I went to 6 music festivals (including my first SXSW and EDCLV), I traveled to Vegas, Italy, Germany, France, Colorado, and Mexico (not to mention a few weekends away in the lovely Austin, Texas). I connected with many different people this year, a few of whom have stuck around to be good friends. I graduated college surrounded by the support of my amazing family, started my first semester of grad school and my first real job, and I fell even more in love with Pavel after we made the decision to move in together.

Whew. Talk about self-growth. Years like this that are filled with change are definitely among the most difficult ones I remember, but getting older is cool sometimes because I recall other similar times when I felt challenged, pushed, and even frustrated, but then ended up getting through it and life being way better on the other side. For example, when I first moved to Houston in 2016. Another similarly big transition year, 2019 didn’t come without its struggles, but those have been incredible learning moments and just as important as my highs. 

Overall though, growing up is hard. I think this is something I say often, but I really feel that in my soul. Sometimes I feel like I have a grip on adulthood, I’m now financing larger trips and travel plans for Pavel and I, I’m seeing more of the world, I’m less afraid of doing adult things alone and less afraid of the unknown general. At the same time though, so much of my identity is rooted in my youth. Young, wild, and free, you know? Nothing is better. So in many ways, feeling this slip away from me year by year as I get older and have to handle more and more of my own responsibilities really sucks. Not being able to be as carefree or have as much free time can be a challenge that comes with adulthood, but fortunately having the level of self-awareness I’ve developed, I’m also realizing that I don’t actually have to buy into that narrative anymore. Can I be a fully responsible, independent adult and still create time for myself and give myself breaks to play, dance, and rest? Absolutely. Can I be a smart, professional, respectable person while still being funny and quirky and myself? Hell yeah. Getting settled into adulthood by moving out and going through all these changes I did this year has helped me realize that my life is really my own to shape and create however I want. I’ve learned that no matter what advice others give me or see fit for me, the decisions are mine to make at the end of the day and I’m the one who has to live my life every day. As the indecisive libra I am, this was hard at first but I can literally feel myself growing into my power and that feels fucking amazing. 

Major shifts also happened in my academic/professional life that were extremely difficult to go through, but I have a feeling were a huge plunge in the right direction for me. For most of undergrad (which was only 3 years), I was committed to staying in academia to get my Ph.D. in political science and then working as a professor. This was mainly for 3 reasons — I was always good at school so I thought putting off finding a job to stay in school longer would be an easy solution, I wanted to stay in an area I excelled in and felt comfortable in, and I didn’t explore my other interests/options enough at the time. I also couldn’t see myself dressing in business clothes, working in an office or corporate-type job. Essentially, I settled for something I thought would be more comfortable, but it turned out my undergrad program had not challenged me or prepared me for this grad program at all. Instead of being comfortable, I was thrown to the wolves in classes and material I was completely unprepared for and not even interested in. Not to mention, I felt incredibly alone and isolated from my classmates because many of them were older, already had a Master’s degree, and their lives revolved completely around the department because most of them worked as TAs while being full-time students. Meanwhile, I was working outside of academics, wanted to maintain my personal life and hobbies, and simply could not keep up with the pace and demands of the program. Nor did I want to, because seeing both the Ph.D. student and professor life up and close as a grad student made me realize that’s not the life I want as a professional. Academia can be incredibly stifling of new ideas, very bureaucratic, and has cookie-cutter ways to ‘making it’ in your given field. I learned that it is not an environment where my skills and personality would flourish, and I deserve better than that. I realized it’s unfair to both myself and the people who could benefit from my skills to force myself to fit into a box I simply don’t fit into.

That doesn’t go to say I have it all figured out now because I surely don’t. In fact, I’m on a whole new journey of finding jobs and fields I’m interested in, then gaining the right experiences and connections to get those jobs. Fortunately, I saved my grad school career by advocating for myself. Last semester, I immediately realized I hated the poli sci program, started exploring other related degree options, dropped my most difficult class after midterms, and then pushed and begged my advisors to actually do something to help me do something about my situation. After exploring and talking to people a bit, I realized my skillset would be a lot more applicable for something in Communications, like Public Relations or Mass Communications. I’ve always had a mind for communication, media, and relating to others as a deep empath. With broad applications in the world, I also realized this is a degree that I can make, not one that makes me. I can apply it and use it to do anything I'm interested in — from entertainment PR and marketing, to journalism and writing, to leadership and team management. My advisors were able to transfer me into the Communications MA for this spring, even though technically I would have had to apply and start in the fall. An important consideration about leaving political science was that they had given me a full scholarship covering my tuition, but since I’ve transferred I’ll now have to figure out paying for this semester myself and then finding scholarships or other ways to pay for the next 2 years (because I’ve made it this far and I refuse to have student loans). I’m so glad I didn’t let the money stop me because I would have lost that scholarship anyway since I dropped a class and didn’t get the most impressive grades, plus no scholarship is worth suffering in something you don’t want to be in and that won’t get you where you want to be.

Aside from the whirlwind that was this last semester, I am incredibly proud of myself for getting through all these crazy changes and still managing to be my joyful and best self (at least most of the time). I had my days where I cried hard after school and work, and some dark weeks this semester, but I made still doing things that make me happy a priority. Yoga, music, travel, going to festivals, going out with friends, seeing my family, and just slowing down for self-care. Finding familiarity and comfort in these things that bring me joy, combined with support from Pavel, are what got me through my hardest times this semester. Now I feel more settled into my new life being moved out, I feel more confident and powerful because I made my own decisions, and I feel excited about this new journey and the fulfillment and abundance this new path will bring me. 

Speaking of Pavel, it’s actually unreal how seamless and perfect moving in with him has been. Of course, we are immensely privileged because we aren’t dealing with rent, bills, or even cleaning much. But nonetheless, we’ve dealt with challenging times together but just going to bed together and waking up together makes life better. He’s my best friend in every way, living with him and sharing a space together is so magical and beautiful. I feel so safe, welcomed, and open to create the space and life I want here. I feel so cared for, valued, and loved with Pavel. We work so well together, it feels effortless and deliciously perfect. He grounds me, and this space has become home so quickly because of the way he makes me feel here. Moving out has taught me so much, helped me start overcoming a lot of fear and anxiety, and just allowed me to blossom more into myself. I will be forever grateful for Pavel helping make that happen with me at this point in our lives where it was so perfectly needed. I respect and love him endlessly for being the mature, intelligent, caring, patient partner that I need in my life. 

2019 was also a year of letting go of a lot of friendships, people, and energies that no longer serve me. I realized that I am a wonderful friend who is ready to give support, love, guidance, hugs, and my whole heart to someone who is willing to give all of that back and who is deserving of receiving that from me. Even though I’m in a healthy and happy long-term relationship, I still feel myself holding space in my heart for deep friendships and connections with other people (specifically with women/feminine energy), but I haven’t been able to fill that space since moving to Texas. I miss the friendships I grew up having, and I put a lot of pressure on filling that space for a while, but I realizing forcing it gets me nowhere and a lot of people simply aren’t in a place to be able to reciprocate my energy in a meaningful way. A lot of people are really caught up in their own lives (which is totally understandable), already have other people filling the space for friendship in their lives, or simply aren’t at the level of maturity and growth that I am so they can’t connect with me on a deep level. Making close friends as an adult is way harder, people are just busier, but I really do trust that I will attract the right people and they will come into my life at the right time.

Continuing to expand and grow into my spirituality and spiritual practices by meditating, journaling, listening to podcasts, and practicing yoga has also brought me solace and internal happiness. It’s hard to describe and most people my age/similar to me are really disconnected from having their own authentic beliefs/practices because they either go with what they’re taught or dismiss it altogether. For me, having a career path I find exciting and fulfilling, a stable romantic relationship, healthy friendships, a spiritual practice, and fun hobbies are all areas of my life that I need to satisfy to feel balanced and genuinely happy. Knowing this, and after reflecting on all of these areas within the past year, I’m manifesting the following for each area in 2020, but I also know the Universe knows more than me and things may go differently for a reason (like my poli sci program not working out) so I trust that I will receive this, or something better...

☽ Career — I will get a second job/start a side hustle that will help fund my school and travels this year, I will start learning exciting new things that prepare me for a field/job I’m passionate about, I will secure an internship that pays well and allows me to practice/gain useful skills, I will get scholarships for next school year, I will feel a sense of belonging and make friends in my new program, I will continue learning and exploring different options/opportunities, and I will make connections with people who can mentor me and help me grow into starting my career.  

☽ Relationship — Pavel and I will continue to support, love, and care for each other in all aspects. Our love will continue to grow and flourish as we grow in life together. We will go on adventures that make us feel happy, excited, exhausted and refreshed. We will add to our stories and crazy experiences. We will continue treating each other with love and respect, supporting each others’ growth as individuals while also growing together in a really beautiful way. 

☽ Friendship — I will continue to grow my valuable friendships with people who are on the same wavelength as me. I will have a lot of laughs and good memories with people I care about. I will get deeper into the communities of like-minded people around me (music, yoga). I will find more friends who inspire me and actively support my creative ideas/work. I will develop deeper and more fulfilling friendships with people who reciprocate my energy, and I will extend myself in new ways by being the person I needed for others. 

☽ Spirituality — I will continue practicing meditation and yoga as much as I can. I will also continue to read one book per month and listen to one podcast per week to grow the value in my practice. I will journal and synchronize my self-growth with lunar and astrological cycles, which allows me to tap into my higher power and divine connection with the universe. I will also consider doing a YTT this summer or winter, but regardless I will find outlets to be of assistance to others and give back in this area that has been of such deep value in my life. I will practice breathing, mindfulness, and presence to feel grounded during stressful times. I will get better at protecting my energy and staying rooted in my own positive energy and affirmations (aka, not letting other people’s BS or toxic energy affect me). 

☽ Fun — I will continue going to events that surround me with good energy and good people. I will continue doing what brings me joy, allows me to move and release tension and energy, and that brings me closer with like-minded friends. I will continue to make the incredible trips and experiences I desire a reality by saving money and smart planning. I make more of an effort to bring this good energy with me into my every day by being myself and sharing my laughs and joy with the people around me. I will continue to feed my inner child, my creativity, and my natural human existence on this earth.

I have no doubt that 2020 will continue this amazing momentum and growth that I have cultivated over the past year. I am beyond blissful and grateful for the incredible year I had and all it taught me, but I’m also ready to move forward feeling more prepared, confident, and capable of making everything I can imagine a reality. 

[livinganexistence]

@sidgenophotochallenge, ~3.3K

Also on AO3

“He could still come back, Sid.”

Sid sighs and looks up from his notes. “Can we not talk about this for once? I just want to write this paper and go home, Flower.”

“I’m just saying. I know how much he cared about you, and I’m worried. You haven’t been the same since he left and I still don’t believe he’s gone for good.”

Sid sighs again and rubs a hand across his face. “You know how much I appreciate your endless, though often misguided, optimism. But can we just, I don’t know, not bring this up all the time? I’m trying to move on. He told me to move on. I can’t do that with you constantly stirring my hopes up.”

Flower looks chagrined, but continues, “But he--”

“It’s been six months, Flower,” Sid snaps loudly. The student at the next table glances up at him questioningly. His face heats and he lowers his voice. “And I’ve heard nothing. Nothing. If I’ve learned anything in my life it’s that people come and go. And Geno’s gone. Just… Drop it. Please.” Sid stares back down at the book he’d been taking notes from and is horrified to see the words swimming. He blinks furiously and turns to his laptop and begins typing.

“Oh, Sidney,” Flower says, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry, my friend. You’re right, I won’t bring him up again.”

“It’s fine,” Sid takes in a shaky breath and tries to smile at Flower, though it comes out as more of a grimace. He groans softly to himself and puts his face in his hands. When he looks back up, he suddenly needs to be anywhere but at the library. He snaps his laptop shut and begins hastily shoving things into his backpack “I think I’m done studying for the day. I’ll see you back at the apartment, yeah?” he says with false cheerfulness. Flower makes to follow but Sid shakes his head sharply once. “I’ll see you at home, okay?” Sid zips up his bag and turns towards the door.

~*~

The bar is busy for a Wednesday night. It’s the Pens season opener, so Sid attributes the uptick in patronage to them. More tips for him either way. He hands a customer her change and turns back to Flower, who’s been trying to cajole him into making him a complicated - and expensive - drink he’d seen online for the last 10 minutes. Sid hands him a beer instead. “You know I’m not giving you free alcohol, Flower,” he says. “I just got this job in the summer and you’re not going to be the reason I lose it.”

“Come on, Sidney, not even for your best friend?”

Before Sid can answer, a train roars by, shaking the bottles and rattling the tables. Not for the first time Sid wonders why the bar is so close to the tracks, but if nothing else it gives a certain aesthetic. Kind of. If you squint.

Once he can be heard again, he says, “Especially not for my best friend.”

Flower dips his fingers into the beer and flicks the droplets in Sid’s direction. “Kill-joy.”

“Flower!” Sid rolls his eyes and grabs a towel to wipe off his face. “Asshole,” he grumbles as a new customer sits at the bar. Before Sid can say anything, the man smiles and asks, “What kind name is Flower?”

Sid takes in the stranger, noting his warm brown eyes and full lips. He leans against the bar and grins back. “I wish I could describe this guy over here,” pointing his thumb at Flower, “but words can’t explain that level of crazy.” Flower has the decency to look affronted, and the man laughs appreciatively. Sid chuckles with him before asking, “What can I get you?”

“You old enough to be behind bar? Look young.” The man sticks his tongue between his teeth. “Don’t want get in trouble now.”

“I’m a senior at UPitt, thank you very much. I am plenty old enough,” he says, trying to hide his surprise. Is this guy flirting with him?

Before he can say anything, Flower cuts in, “I don’t know Sid, the guy’s got a point. Your baby face might be turning away willing customers.” He tips his glass towards the man.

“I’m not think that face keep anyone away,” the man says with a wink in Sid’s direction. Sid sees Flower’s eyebrows rise and feels color creep up on his cheeks. His stomach flips pleasantly. “Name is Evgeni. Can call Geno - easier for Americans.” He sticks his hand out for Sid to shake.

“Sid. And lucky for you, neither of us are Americans. I’ll still stick with Geno though,” Sid says, shaking his hand. It’s warm and soft, and Geno holds on for longer than strictly necessary. Yep, definitely flirting.

“Can have the local tap, Sid?” Geno asks, sliding over his ID. Sid brushes his fingers against Geno’s as he takes it. He smiles warmly and hands it back.

“Coming right up.”

--

Flower decides to leave during first intermission and gives Sid a significant look as he walks towards the door. Sid rolls his eyes and waves him off.

Geno, however, ends up staying at the bar all night. They watch the Pens game, argue about the PK, and learn bits of information about each other during lulls in the game. Between watching the game, taking orders, and making small talk with various patrons, Sid learns that Geno is an MBA candidate here for the credentials to take back home to Russia to help run his father’s steel company.

Right as second intermission starts another train rumbles by. “What with the trains?” Geno shouts above the noise, holding his glass tightly.

Sid waits to answer until the train passes. “They pass through every couple hours during the week and a few times on weekends. Don’t worry, they become part of the background once you get used to them.”

“Not sure I ever get used to that much background,” Geno mutters, shaking his head.

“You can get used to just about anything,” Sid shrugs before stepping away to help another customer.

Once he’s back and leaning against the counter, Geno asks “So why Canadian come all the way to Pittsburgh for master’s in sports medicine? College no good in Canada?”

Sid’s smile falters and he looks away from Geno. He grabs a rag and begins wiping the already clean bar top. “Ah, no, I needed to get away. I told my parents I was gay and they- they didn’t take it well.”

Geno puts his hand over Sid’s to stop the slow circles he’s making. “I’m sorry, Sid. Sorry you have to go through that.”

Sid risks a glance up at Geno before focusing on their joined hands. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but I’m okay now. I have great friends. It’s been a few years, and I’ve been able to talk to my sister more regularly again. So I guess I can’t complain.”

“Not complain, Sid. Shitty parents for not accept own child.” Sid flips his hand over to squeeze Geno’s gently. He looks back up at him and says, “Thanks, Geno.”

“Not for thank. I’m understand how feel though. Russia very old fashion. Is why I’m glad to come to America,” Geno squeezes his hand back and asks, “Not want to be forward, but can I take to dinner sometime, Sid?”

Sid huffs out a startled laugh, but grins. “I’d like that.”

--

Sid finds being in a relationship with Geno easy. Geno is great, the sex is great, and he fits almost effortlessly into Sid’s life. Falling in love with Geno is the easiest thing he’s done since arriving in Pittsburgh. Geno and Flower get along like a house on fire, and Geno spends many of Sid’s shifts at the bar either studying or conspiring with Flower to egg Sid on mercilessly, to which he feigns annoyance but secretly loves.

The summer apart is hard, and Sid spends a lot of time resolutely not thinking about the fact that Geno may be heading back to Russia once he graduates. It’s the one thing they don’t talk about in their relationship. It feels like a dark cloud in the distance that Sid’s not sure how to address. It’s not like him to avoid a problem, but if he’s honest with himself he’s too afraid of the answer to bring it up.

Geno takes the decision out of his hands one night shortly after their one-year anniversary. Geno is sitting in his usual spot while Sid makes his rounds. Once he’s back behind the bar, he says, “Talk to papa today, Sid.”

Sid is opening a handful of beers not looking at Geno. “About what?” “I’m ask papa what he thinks about me running American branch in Chicago. I said would be good for company if Russian in charge of US operations. I get American degree, I’m clearly best option, yes?”

Sid sets the beers down loudly on the bar top and turns to Geno in surprise. “Seriously Geno? What did he say?” he asks, voice betraying his hopefulness.

“He said he think about. Not set in stone yet, but I’m sure I can convince. Will take time, will have to spend time in Russia for a while. But hope I might be able to transfer by time you graduate.”

Sid reaches across the counter to press a kiss to Geno’s lips. Geno cups his face and tries to deepen it, but Sid swats at him and pulls back. “Geno, that’s great news! Are you sure your dad will be okay with it?”

Geno shrugs. “Not 100% sure, but want. Want more than anything.”

Sid grabs his hand and squeezes. “Me too.”

--

With the belief that Geno will be able to work for the American branch of Malkin Steel Corp, Sid spends the little amount of free time he has during his first year of grad school researching jobs and apartments in the Chicago area.

However, as it gets closer to Geno’s graduation date, Sid notices how much more time Geno spends on the phone and how distracted and distant he is when he’s off of it. When Sid asks what’s wrong, Geno just shakes his head and tells him everything is fine. As the weeks go on he continues to press the issue, but Geno seems unwilling to share any information. Finally, he tells Sid he’s been arguing with his father about some decisions the business is making, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.

--

About a week after the end of the semester, Sid hears Geno walk into the apartment. Sid’s lying on the couch with a book, and when Geno walks in he glances over the top of it and smiles. “Hey G.”

Geno takes a deep breath. “Sid, need to talk.”

Sid marks his page and sets the book on his lap but doesn’t get up. He holds his hand out to Geno and says, “Okay, what’s up?”

Geno moves to sit on the coffee table. He takes Sid’s hand in both of his and brings it up to his lips to kiss. “Don’t know how to say. Thought I could stay here, with you. But can’t. Was fool.”

Sid stares up at Geno, confused. “What are you saying?” he asks, pulling his hand back.

“Have to leave, have go back to Russia.”

Sid sits up abruptly, book falling off of his lap onto the floor. “Now? I thought you didn’t have to go back until the end of the summer?”

Geno won’t meet his eyes. “Papa says come home now.”

“Why-- for how long?” Sid’s mind is already doing calculations. “We can work out a travel schedule then, yeah? Figure out opportune times for you to visit, and--”

Geno shakes his head and looks down. “Going home for good, Sid.”

Sid’s stomach drops. “For good? What are you saying, Geno? What about Chicago?”

Geno stares resolutely at the ground between them. “Papa need me in Russia. Company change plan, papa says can’t work in US long term. Can’t stay here. Parents have expectations. Family have expectations. Have to meet. I’m sorry.” He sniffs and brings a hand up to wipe his nose.

“You’re-- are you breaking up with me? Just like that?” Sid whispers, disbelief and hurt taking his voice from him.

“No! Not ‘just like that.’ Don’t want break up. But don’t know when or if I ever be back. Can’t ask you to wait for me. Not fair to you so can’t be together anymore. I’m sorry,” Geno looks up pleadingly into Sid’s eyes, “I’m so sorry. But always was plan to go back to Russia. You know this.”

“I’ll wait for you. I could come visit--”

“No place for you and me in Russia, Sid.” Geno says softly. “Can’t work. Want you to be happy. You deserve better than waiting on ‘maybe.’”

“But I thought-” Sid doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I thought too. But like I said. Was fool. Can’t defy parents, have to do right thing. Have to go back home.” Geno grabs for his hand again, but Sid shakes away from his grasp and stands up. He wraps his arms around himself and starts pacing the room.

“That’s it then? The last two years were what? Just for fun, just for you to pass the time?”

Geno stands and says, “Sid, no. I love you, want you to be happy.”

“But not enough to stay,” he says bitterly, stopping in front of the window.

“Not fair, Sid. Parents give me everything.”

Silence fills the room. As Sid stares out the window, he hears the air horn blare from a train passing through town. “So that’s it then?” he asks again.

Geno walks to Sid’s side and pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry Sid. So sorry.”

Sid clutches Geno briefly before pushing back and shoving his hands into his pockets. He turns his back to Geno and stares unseeing out the window, eyes hot and prickling. “Just leave,” he says quietly.

He feels Geno staring at him for what seems like an eternity before Geno turns towards the door. He hears him set something down before he closes the door softly behind him. Sid turns to see his apartment key sitting on the table.

~*~

Sid heads home, cold air nipping at his ears as he makes the walk. He curses himself for forgetting his toque and turns up his collar against the wind. He crosses the tracks and is almost past the bar when he hears steps rushing to catch up to him. Without turning around, he says, “Flower, I told you, I just want to go home. I have to work tonight and I’d really like to get a nap in first.”

The steps slow to a stop “What kind name is Flower?” the person asks.

Sid whips around at the voice. He stares, unable to move “...Geno?”

“Hi Sid,” Geno says, giving him a tentative smile. Sid gapes at him. “I missed you.”

Anger flares hotly in Sid’s chest. “You missed me? You left and said you weren’t coming back! What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was wrong,” Geno says, taking a step towards Sid.

Sid takes a step back and crosses his arms. “Wrong about what? You made it very clear at the end of last semester where we stood,” Sid spits out, taking another step away from Geno. As quick as the anger came, it begins seeping out of him like water through a cracked vase. Quietly, he asks, “Why are you here, Geno?”

“I was wrong,” Geno repeats. “Thought I have do things certain way, thought I have be certain person. I’m was afraid, Sid.” Geno reaches towards him but drops his arm when he sees Sid flinch. “I’m not afraid anymore.” Geno smiles at him again, timid but hopeful.

Sid looks up at him and sees the regret and the pain and the love naked in Geno’s eyes. He absolutely does not know what to do with that, so he gazes down at his sneakers. Geno continues, “I understand if move on. I understand if not want be with me. But I’m have to try. Have to come back, have to know.” He takes a step closer again and this time Sid doesn’t step away. Geno reaches his hand out and touches Sid’s elbow lightly. “Sid?”

He looks back up. “I-” Sid’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat to start again. The words start flowing from his mouth and he doesn’t know how to stop them. “I tried. To move on. But I couldn’t, Geno, I tried so hard because you left like it was easy and now you’re back saying you want to try again like six months of radio silence was nothing. I spent days trying to squash any remaining hope I had, and I can’t--” Sid’s voice hitches, and he wipes at his nose with the back of a gloved hand. “I can’t do this again.” Sid knows he should pull his arm out of Geno’s grasp, but he can only stand there with his head down.

“Sid, look at me,” Geno says, moving his hand up Sid’s arm and cups his face. Sid leans into the touch despite his best efforts. “Sid, please?”

Sid looks up, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, voice quivering. “You might not be afraid anymore, but I am.”

The sudden dinging of the crossing gates startles Sid into taking a step closer to Geno, who uses the opportunity to rub his hands up and down Sid’s arms soothingly. They stare at each other as the train moves past, and Sid finally lets his tears fall. Geno wipes them away, smiling sadly at Sid but not letting him go. Sid doesn’t pull away.  

Once the train is gone, Geno speaks again. “I’m know I hurt you, Sid. I’m sorry took so long for me to figure my shit out. I’m know how much I have to make up. I’m know it not easy to trust again. But I’m here to stay. I’m want to try again, if you have me. Sid, I meant what said before left. I love you. I never meant hurt you. Please, can we start again?”

Sid shoves his hands in his pockets, and Geno reluctantly lets him go. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to you,” he says honestly, his desire to wrap himself in Geno’s arms warring with his need to keep his distance.

Geno shuffles his feet nervously. “Could say yes.”

Sid gives him a considering look. “How do I know this isn’t just as temporary as last time? Why should I believe you’ll stay?”

Geno takes in a deep breath. “Because I’m told papa everything. Told him why I so unhappy, why I want stay in America. And papa? He want me to be happy, even if not fully understand. You make me happy, happiest ever.”

“You made me happy too, G. But I can’t forget the last six months happened like it wasn’t hard, didn’t hurt.  What you did hurt me more than I can say.”

“Understand Sid. Know I have lot to make up. But want to try, yes?” Geno’s voice is so hopeful it makes Sid’s chest ache.

Sid wipes at his face to clear away the tear tracks. “I should say no.”

Geno grins suddenly. He knows Sidney too well. He nods his head towards the bar and asks, “Want to get a drink with me?”

Sid presses his lips together and takes a cleansing breath through his nose. “I guess Flower was right,” he says instead of answering.

Geno raises his eyebrow in question.

“You came back.” Geno hums in agreement and holds out his hand for Sid to take.

“Always gunna come back to you, Sid.”

[rosesandrightreasons-blog]

The Bachelor Season 23- The Women

So here’s my breakdown of every woman on the Bachelor this season (even the ones who went home night one) mostly just for my own expression, because no one else probably cares. They’ll be judged in the order in which they came out of the limos.

Demi- 23 years old, an interior designer. She’s from Texas, and she’s cute. She doesn’t seem quite mature enough for an engagement, but hey, my mom was 21 when she got married, so who knows? Her mom is in prison for embezzlement, which is... interesting. At least she’s not dodging that truth I guess. Her opening line for Colton is TMI and a little concerning, “I haven’t dated a virgin since I was twelve but I’m ready to give it another shot.” TWELVE??? Honey, I hope you didn’t date another guy after the age of 12 for multiple years. I don’t want to think about the implications of that statement otherwise. She takes Colton aside first at the cocktail party. She says she’s outdoorsy and has a pretty good conversation with Colton. People don’t seem crazy about her, but I think Colton likes her. She’ll probably last a while.

Tayshia- 28 years old, a phlebotomist (I had to google this, it’s someone in the medical field, kind of like a nurse, whose job is to draw blood for testing or donation). She’s from California, and she’s one of the most beautiful women in the whole world. Colton takes notice of this, and says, “Wow. She is GORGEOUS.” as she walks away after she gets out of the limo and they have a short interaction with some nice conversation. She makes a mini date in Tayshialand with carnival-like games for their one-on-one time, and they spend their time giggling and generally seeming to have fun. She’s beautiful and sweet and I think I saw her in some clips from the sneak peek, so I think she’ll make it fairly far into the competition, my guess is at least top 10.

Heather- 22 years old, no job listed. Well, technically her occupation is listed as “Never Been Kissed” which is not a job. Now, I don’t mind that she hasn’t had her first kiss at 22, that’s fine and not as weird as some people think it is. But, if you’ve never even kissed anyone, you can’t have been in a very serious relationship before, which signals to me that maybe you’re not ready to get married, and the Bachelor isn’t exactly a show void of kissing. And I wouldn’t want my first kiss to be with a guy who was kissing five other girls that night. But, you do you. Heather is from California. She seems a little flaky, but overall she appears to be a sweet girl and she’s pretty, so she’ll make it the first few weeks and then be eliminated by my guess.

Nicole- 25 years old, a social media coordinator. Very pretty, from Miami. She’s Cuban and woos Colton by speaking Spanish when she comes out of the limo. I really like Nicole. She comments in an interview that she thinks it’s distasteful that so many women are bringing up Colton’s virginity right off the bat like it’s something so huge to talk about. She’s a little nervous throughout the night because she doesn’t get a ton of time with Colton, but he gives her a rose and she gets the biggest smile on her face. I think she’ll last a few weeks, and then we’ll see. It’s hard to tell when I didn’t see much of their time together.

Caelynn- 23 years old, and she’s a pageant queen. She’s Miss North Carolina 2018 and was the runner-up for Miss America. Needless to say, she’s quite gorgeous, but plot twist- we later find out that she’s only lived in North Carolina for a year! She lived in Virginia like her whole life before that. This is totally unrelated to the Bachelor, but I feel like that shouldn’t be allowed. Did she move to NC just to win the pageant? I don’t get it. Regardless of her home, she seems like a nice person with a lot of good qualities. She connects with Colton during in their later conversation, and I really liked her entrance, where she wore a Miss North Carolina sash that she turned around to say Miss Underwood (it should say Mrs. but I’ll let it slide cause it was cute). She’s Colton’s first kiss of the season, and he’s the one who goes in for it. According to Chris Harrison, she and Colton are gonna get deep later in the season and she’s gonna bring about some important revelations for herself and Colton, so I’m very intrigued. It also seems hinted at that there might be a little bit of a past and some future drama between her and another contestant, Miss Alabama, from the pageant world. Yike. Anyway, she was the first rose other than the first impression rose, which is a good sign, so I think Caelynn will be around for quite a while, and will get a one-on-one date early on. 

Sydney- 27 years old, an NBA dancer. She’s from New York (she danced for the Knicks, y’all) and she’s beautiful. Apparently she gave up her job to come on the Bachelor (don’t they all? but I guess maybe this was a more permanent thing? My cousin was an NBA dancer and you’re pretty much done in your late 20′s so I guess maybe it was her last year? idk man). I really like Sydney, she seems super sweet. She has a string quartet during their one-on-one time and teaches Colton how to waltz. It’s cute and they share some laughs. Sydney doesn’t seem into any drama throughout the night, so I applaud her for that. I’d say she’ll last a few weeks, and probably get a one-on-one date at some point.

Elyse- 31 years old, a makeup artist. She’s from Alaska (interesting!) and she’s very pretty (what else is new?). She’s the only redhead on the show, and I love redheads so there’s that. But (I don’t want people to hate me for this but I gotta be honest y’all) I personally think she’s a little old for Colton. Not so much because I think a 5-year age difference is bad but because I don’t think it’s right for Colton, who fits better with someone closer to his own age since he’s still quite young. Her entrance isn’t much, she’s very nervous. But I still like her a lot. Her one-on-one time with Colton involves fishing in the pool, but for a hunk of salmon from like the supermarket, which is weird, but I like her anyway. She’ll last another week or two, and then I hope to see her on Paradise, where she belongs and will thrive!

Tahzjuan- 25 years old, some sort of business consultant. She’s pretty and she’s from Colorado like Colton! She makes a pun about her name but her entrance is nothing special. She’s super judgmental of all the other girls during all her interviews, and I am not here for it. Not a fan. Her time with Colton is cut super short by Interrupty McStealer (we’ll get to her...), which is unfortunate for her, but she was not nice about the other women, and I am not about women who tear down other women for petty reasons (like their outfits and Bachelor entrances...ugh). Anyway, she doesn’t get a rose, and I was okay with it. Other people were pretty broken up about it, but I’ve made my opinion clear. She was pissed she got kicked off and said she thought every other girl should go home before her... I’ll leave that open for interpretation. 

Cassie- 23 years old, a speech pathologist and grad student. She’s gorgeous, a natural beauty, and she’s from California. She’s totally my favorite, and she and Colton just seem like a really good match. She comes out of the limo with a cute little box full of fake butterflies and says she’s nervous and has all these butterflies, so she and Colton dump them out to get rid of them. It’s sweet and cute, and they’re very smiley, and as she’s walking away, he thoughtfully picks up a butterfly and tucks it into a pocket inside his suit jacket, with a cute little smile on his face. It was so adorable. Cassie waits patiently to talk to Colton, and during their conversation at the cocktail party, he seems to love that she’s a speech pathologist and works with kids to make a difference, and she teaches him some sign language. She teaches him the signs for “you’re cute” “rose” and “kiss”. (It kinda seems like Colton is gonna kiss her at this point but he doesn’t.) In the middle of their conversation, we see Colton smiling at her and then the show cuts to an interview of him saying that he is “smitten” with some of the women already, and then it cuts right back to him laughing with Cassie... we love. Cassie gets a rose, and I really think she’s a frontrunner. I’d love it if she won the whole thing, but I definitely think she’s at least a top four contender. 

Kirpa- 26 years old, a dental hygienist. She’s absolutely beautiful, and she is from California. She seems like a lovely girl with a really nice family (she’s one of the few people we saw an intro package for), but we just don’t see a ton of her this episode. I think I’m really going to like her later, she seems pretty genuine. My only moment of doubt came in her intro when she said she wanted to clean Colton’s teeth... maybe that’s like a romantic thing in the dental world, but to us normal people it’s just weird. Oh well. Kirpa got a rose, and I’m looking forward to getting to know a bit more about her. I’m not quite sure yet how far she’ll make it.

Caitlyn- 25 years old, a realtor. She’s pretty and she’s from Ontario, but I’m not a huge fan. She came out with a balloon cherry and popped it, and I’m just so sick of everyone making such a huge deal out of Colton’s virginity. He didn’t seem to love it as she walked away, but I could be persuaded to come around. Colton seemed to at least warm up to her in the short time they had, though she was also interrupted by the Usurper General. She tells the other girls about how she only got like a minute with him before he was stolen, but it doesn’t seem gossipy, just like she’s disappointed. And I’m on her side here. I actually think I don’t hate her, I just need people to let the virgin thing go. Anyway, she gets a rose later despite limited time, so I think Colton likes her, so she’ll probably hang around for a few weeks.

Courtney- 23 years old, a caterer. She’s very pretty, and she’s from Georgia. She makes a cliche and, honestly, distasteful, joke about him tasting a Georgia peach for the first time, another virginity joke, so I wasn’t loving her at first. She spends a lot of the night talking about girls stealing Colton’s time when she hasn’t spoken to him yet, but doesn’t really make an effort to go get him and talk to him, so I wasn’t loving it. She also made some uppity comments during the rose ceremony about how “if a girl in a sloth costume gets picked over me, I’m gonna be pissed.” (that was the gist, not sure of the exact wording.) Anyway, she does get a rose, so she shuts up, but I’m not loving Courtney. I don’t think she’ll be around super long, maybe a few weeks. Not winner or Bachelorette material.

Katie- 26 years old, a medical sales rep. She’s very pretty and is from the east coast, but moved to California to dance (but her job isn’t a dancer- I don’t quite get this). She does a “card trick” where she takes Colton’s V-Card (have I mentioned how much I hate these incessant jokes?), which I wasn’t a huge fan of, but her intro package was pretty good, even if it was like 95% her working out at a gym for... some reason. However, she had a really great conversation with Colton at the cocktail party about family and values, and she is the second woman he kisses that night. They both say they have a really good feeling about this, which is promising. Colton gives her the second rose at the rose ceremony, and I think she’ll be around for a while, and I think she’ll be one of his first one-on-one dates this season. I have a feeling she won’t win, but she’s one of the only contestants old enough to be a contender for the bachelorette, and she’d be great on BIP.

Alex D- 23 years old, a sloth. Of course, she’s not a real sloth and I’m sure that’s not her actual job (though I don’t what is), but she does come in a sloth costume, talking about how Colton likes to take things slow. I admire the women on this show who wear costumes, it’s brave. Anyway, she’s from Boston, and eventually the costume comes off when she talks to Colton at the cocktail party, but not before she hangs from a tree branch in the yard of the mansion. Once the suit is off, Alex is actually very cute and she is a very fast talker. She named the sloth Susette. Alex seems sweet and cute and she came as a sloth and honestly I have no idea why Colton doesn’t give her a rose. But he doesn’t. BIP? Please?

Onyeka- 24 years old, an IT risk consultant (I don’t know what that is but I’m dumb about computers and it sounds important and obviously techy so she’s probably pretty smart). She’s beautiful and from Texas, and Colton has trouble pronouncing her full name, even though it’s not that hard. Anyway, she’s pretty nice, but she’s drama. She takes charge and interrupts the Usurper for time with Colton, with the iconic line, “I heard you were drowning in bitches!” Which is dope, but she also confronts the Usurper one-on-one and is a little rude, but I mean, she’s not wrong about Catherine being inconsiderate and awful, but she lives for the gossip and drama, and will be going after anybody who missteps in any way (there’s always one of these on the Bachelor- the protector against those who “aren’t here for the right reasons”- can’t wait for Onyeka to break out that classic). She’ll stay for a while. Definitely gonna have a two-on-one with Catherine around week five or six, as per usual, and she’ll come out of part one, but I don’t know her well enough to judge how far she’ll make it after that. Paradise guarantee.

Erika- 25 years old, a recruiter. She’s gorgeous, and she’s from California. Her last name is McNutt, so she gives him a bag of nuts in her entrance, which Colton loves. She has to remind him of her name later, but that’s understandable seeing as she’s one of twenty beautiful blonde women he met in the span of about an hour. I’d probably trip up a few times too. She’s one of the first people to talk to him, and brings out the real questions right away, and they talk about why he’s a virgin. She’s impressed by his wanting to keep it special and respects his decision. They have a really nice conversation, actually, and she gets a rose at the end of the night. She’s got potential to make it for a while, but I don’t know enough to tell yet. She won’t win or anything, but could be a contender for Bachelorette if she makes it far enough, or BIP.

Hannah B- 23 years old, Miss Alabama 2018. Hannah B is probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life, and she is, obviously, from Alabama. She’s also very real and genuine and incredibly sweet. I really love Hannah B so far. She and Colton just talk a little after she steps out of the limo, and they exchange “Roll Tide’s”. She gets a little worried throughout the night because she hasn’t talked to Colton yet, and just seems to be waiting it out to talk to him, but then she takes initiative and talks to him and it goes extremely well They talk about fears and vulnerability and insecurity and make a promise to always have real and deep talks, and they do a cute little handshake about it. They seem to have a truly genuine connection, and I love her and them. Definitely a frontrunner with a lot of potential. I predict she’ll be in the top four. If she were a little older, I’d predict that she would be a top contender for the Bachelorette, but the youngest Bachelorette to date was 25, so I’m not sure they’ll go that young.

Tracy- 31 years old, a wardrobe stylist from LA. I find this career ironic, as her dress was not something I would ever advise that someone wear (it was like a sequin skirt and a cutoff wife beater tank with no bra- I just didn’t get it, especially for someone who works in fashion, but you do you, I guess). She came in a cop car and called herself the fashion police. Again, I think 31 is a little old for Colton. Anyway, she steals Colton from the Usurper to color shoes and only gets him for like a minute before she steals him right back. She gets a rose at the end of the night. I think she’ll be gone next week, they don’t have much of a connection.

Angelique- 28 years old, a marketing salesperson. They have a short and not super meaningful conversation when she gets out of the limo, but she seems nice enough. She spends a few moments of the evening simply stating things that are obvious and going on on camera in interviews. We don’t hear her conversation with Colton, so it couldn’t have been that great. She’ll probably last another week or two. 

Devin- 23 years old, a broadcast journalist. She and Colton have a sweet but uneventful conversation during her entrance, and we see very little of her throughout the night, and we don’t see any further conversation between her and Colton. She does not receive a rose. She is devastated by this and cries a lot as the girls who got roses celebrate in the background. She’ll be on the women tell all and have lots of opinions despite having been there for less than 12 hours, and then we’ll never see her again. I am not broken up about it.

Revian- 24 years old, a nurse. She’s beautiful and tells Colton he’s a stud muffin (a phrase that should never be uttered out loud) in Mandarin. We see a tiny glimpse of her with Colton later but we don’t hear any of it. She does not get a rose.

Nina- 30 years old, a sales account manager. She’s blonde and beautiful and typical Bachelor gal material, but she gives no indication of being a real competitor this season. She speaks Croatian to Colton when she exits the limo and we don’t see much else from Nina. She gets a rose, but she’ll probably go home in a week, two tops.

Alex B- 29 years old, a dog rescuer. She’s pretty but looks like a little like a wax statue, just very non-emotive and seems fake personality-wise. Anyway, she says she’s sick and uses cue cards to communicate, like in Love Actually, but then she goes into the mansion and talks to the other girls (hoarsely, but she couldn’t talk to Colton for a minute?) and then Colton later. Apparently he got her a cup of tea from the producers which is super sweet, and because he’s Colton, he absolutely loves that she runs a dog rescue. This alone will take her through the competition for a few weeks, and then we’ll see.

Bri- 24 years old, a model. She’s pretty and here’s the best part- she’s actually from LA but faked an Australian accent to stand out. This is hilarious and the internet loves it and so do I. Anyway, Bri doesn’t really talk to Colton much that we see, but there’s a deleted scene where she tells him she’s not actually Australian, and he thought it was pretty funny, so I guess he likes her well enough. She gets a rose. She’ll hang around for a bit, two or three weeks would be my guess. Could definitely be an option for Paradise.

Laura- 26 years old, an accountant. Honestly, Laura is boring. I’m sure she’s lovely for like, a real person, but she wasn’t made for reality TV. The most significant thing about Laura in the whole episode is that she wears the same dress as Heather. She does not receive a rose.

Hannah G- 23 years old, a content creator. This Hannah is also from Alabama, and she’s also beautiful and great. It’s a good season for Hannah’s. Colton compliments her dress and she gives him an empty gift box, saying she got him his favorite brand of underwear (if you haven’t heard, it’s been made known that Colton prefers not to wear underwear). He loves the gift, and seems impressed by her. They connect extremely well when they talk later during the cocktail party. They talk and smile and when they both say they’re still a little nervous, Colton takes her hands and takes three deep, calming breaths like he always does with his mom, and they smile at each other like there’s some beautiful secret between them. Later in the night, he gives her the first impression rose. He says that she reminds him of home and makes him feel so comfortable and that she’s so easy to talk to. These are all Bachelor cliches, but they all mean the same thing: Hannah’s a frontrunner, right off the bat. He kisses her after giving her the rose, and says in an interview that he didn’t want to stop kissing her. They have good chemistry and she is equally as excited about him as he is about her. She’ll make it to the top four at least, but I can’t tell much beyond that now.

Annie- 23 years old, a financial associate. She’s very pretty and they talk a little about football, and we later see a small glimpse of a conversation of theirs, nothing to gawk at yet. But we’ll see where things go, because she does get a rose.

Jane- 26, a social worker. She’s beautiful and loves dogs, but it’s a little weird that she brings along a photoshopped and framed picture of hers and Colton’s dogs playing together. We don’t see much else from Jane all night, and she does not receive a rose.

Catherine- 26, a DJ, and a certified Bitch (this is not listed on the show, this is just the whole world’s opinion). A bachelor villain if I’ve ever known one. She’s from Ft. Lauderdale and she calls her dog her daughter, which I find very concerning. She looks like she’s had 8 rounds of plastic surgery in the last week, and she broke an unspoken Bachelor premiere rule: she did not wear an evening gown, but rather a very short red cocktail dress with long bell sleeves (it was actually a cute dress, but it’s supposed to be like floor length night one, everyone knows that). She literally GIVES COLTON HER DOG. Like really. For the duration of her time on the show, Colton will be taking care of her dog. She doesn’t really ask, she just says that’s his job now so like... okay. Anyway, she looks like a younger-ish version of Jennifer Coolidge, but Jennifer Coolidge is a fierce and wonderful woman and Catherine is just a self-obsessed and arrogant girl looking for attention. So, Catherine is the woman I’ve referenced before. She is the Usurper, Interrupty McStealer, You-Know-Who, whatever you want to call her. And here’s why: She steals Colton for conversations FOUR times. FOUR. Because she claims they haven’t had enough time. CATHERINE. YOU HAVE HAD MORE TIME THAN ANYONE ELSE HERE GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE AND GO AWAY. So, she keeps stealing him, and Onyeka confronts her about it and she gets defensive and judgy, and very fakely says she gets where she’s coming from. During this talk, she also utters the quote, “If you don’t have haters, you’re not doing something right.” I have so many questions. At this point, she’s stolen Colton 3 times. Moments after this conversation, she goes and steals Colton again. I can’t. She spends a lot of interview time criticizing the other women, and is 100% confident that she’s the best one there and that she’ll be getting a rose, even when there’s only one rose left and she hasn’t been called yet. Colton gives her a rose because the producers told him to (we all know this, don’t lie to yourselves), so she’ll stick around for some drama and inevitably go on a two-on-one with Onyeka, the Knight in Shining Right Reasons, and be sent home for being generally awful sometime around week 6. She’s evil. I know with every fiber of my being that she will be on Bachelor in Paradise.

Erin- 28 years old, her job is listed as Cinderella. She’s not like an actress at Disney World, she just comes in a beautiful horse drawn carriage and wears a stunning light blue dress. Erin is beautiful, and says she is looking for her Prince Charming, and leaves behind a shoe with Colton. It’s really cute, and we see them talking a bit later in the night, but despite her cute Disney references and the fact that I actually really like her, Erin does not receive a rose. Maybe I’ll see her again in paradise, but there’s only so much room on that Mexican beach.

Well, that’s all 30 women and all of my 30 opinions. Thanks to the zero people that will read this for letting me judge reality TV stars. To be clear: All these women are people with dignity and deserve to be treated with respect, this judgment is only a matter of who is good for Colton and who is good for TV. Except Catherine. She’s a straight-up bitch. Some people just aren’t nice, and she’s one of them. At least she loves her dog.

Colton, choose well. I hope it’s Cassie, but as of now, I’d be okay with either of the Hannah’s as well. Maybe I’m wrong about all this but I am obsessed with this show (can’t you tell) and it does have a bit of a pattern.