#i have watched this movie a zillion times over my life & never thought about either of those 😆😆😆

[trippyskippy]

can't stop thinking about my BF's takes on my favorite movie, Twister-

1. "that man stops the tornadoes with his mind"

2. "the other lady was right to leave him, their sex will never compare to what happened to Bill & Jo inside those tornadoes"

[funkymbtifiction]

the end of an era

I wanted to thank you all, not only for all the notes of gratitude, encouragement, etc., in my inbox, but for being my faithful readers over the last ten years as I blundered around, answering asks, figuring things out on the fly, mistyping myself half a dozen times, and learning by “answering.” It’s been an incredible blessing for me to be part of your lives, and now, I hope, I have left behind enough of a resource, through my thousands of answered questions, my MBTI book, and my ongoing FunkyMBTI Blog, that you can be guided to your type and start the journey of self-development.

I want to say a few more things, but first, I’ll answer the burning questions that I know are going through your mind directly.

Does this mean no more character typings? No, it does not. I will continue updating FunkyMbti.com for the indefinite future, and those posts will automatically be ported over to this tumblr page, along with posts from Sixy Pixie (which I may expand to include general Enneagram posts/information/insights).

All it means is I am retiring from answering typing questions. I will still be active in various online communities, doing research, gathering information, and sharing it on my blogs. My interest in MBTI has waned since writing my book (which I consider the “achievement” of over a decade of work/research/learning), so the best way I know of is to move forward.

Does this mean I can’t request characters anymore? No, it does not. You can always contact me through FunkyMBTI.com’s contact page to make character requests. I have an ongoing list of characters people would like to see, and I hope to get around to most of them. (Such as, people want to see The OC, The Scream movies, and more Hollywood icons, such as Natalie Wood). I also have Sanditon, more Shadow and Bone typings, etc., coming.

How can I know about your Enneagram book and/or other books? Thank you for asking! You can either stay tuned here, since any announcement posts on my blog will update here, or you can join my mailing list to receive all my updates (of reviews, upcoming books, free book giveaways, and more).

Are you going to delete Funky on tumblr? No, it will stay up as long as tumblr survives, not only as a monument to my zillion hours of work, but to the thousands of people who braved the internet to ask me questions and allowed me to showcase my “Big Sister Energy.” Ha, ha. Seriously, though, I appreciate all the questions, comments, compliments, and submissions over the years, including the gigantic assortment of characters from shows/movies I may never watch.

What now? I will stock the queue for a few months and take time off, and then hopefully dig more into the Enneagram, since I think that has real potential to change people’s lives for the better.

Final Thoughts:

It seems fitting that I close “the end of an era” (as my ENFJ friend put it, when she heard about this) as I approach the end of a “decade” in my life, and a big “0” birthday. I can’t exactly recall how my journey started. I think I took one of those MBTI quizzes, shared by a friend on some social media website, got mistyped as an INTJ, and fell down a rabbit hole that took over my life for over a decade. I went through every possible type known to man (other than SP), and can now finally claim with authority to be an ENFP.

I made all the mistakes you are going to make, if you are just starting out on this journey of self-awareness – I listened to the wrong people, I took in the wrong information, I mistyped myself and others, I had to unlearn everything that made no sense, but along the way, I learned how to introspect and be present with myself. To pay attention to what I am doing, and why I am doing it, and that is the most valuable take-away from this experience. You can either go through life oblivious to your true self, or you can go through life friends with yourself, and aware of both your strengths and your weaknesses. I recommend the latter. It's hard but worth it.

Doing that for so long, getting used to being “wrong,” prepared me to read my first book on the Enneagram. And it changed my life. I knew I was a 6, that there was nothing “wrong” with me, that other people struggled with the same things I did. And my introspection started growing deeper. There were many ego battles along the way, denial of the aspects of 6 profiles that I didn’t want to admit to, followed by resignation and self-awareness (that I do that too, and it’s revolting!). But it’s a journey that I intend to walk on, for the rest of my life, and I’m glad to know these things. I wish I had known them sooner. I would have been a much better friend.

All of my current friends came to me through Funky. My friends in Sweden and Tennessee and Idaho and India and Philadelphia and Florida and Spain and Greece. I would not know them, had they not reached out to me, asked me a question, asked if we could e-mail, or helped me figure something out. Funky has been my “social” life for a decade. Some of them are still with me, even though one of them is not – Maddie, my beloved ENTP co mod, my zany, nutty, wild-hearted 793 “DJ” who could simultaneously make me laugh until I cried and drive me insane with frustration, passed away of a heart attack during the pandemic in 2021. One minute she was in my life, and the next she was gone forever. I never told you at the time, but it seems a fitting end to my time here, to pay homage to a friend I hope to meet one day “in person” in whatever comes after this. So Maddie, thank you for everything you put into this blog with me, thank you for the hours of fun and laughter, for the many hundreds of posts that will stand as a testament to your memory. I miss you. And I hope wherever you are, you are doing something crazy.

Thank you, dear reader, for coming with me on this journey. I know we shall meet again.

XOXO, Charity / ENFP Mod / Big Sister Energy

[unproduciblesmackdown]

another installment of the enrichment of gnawing on lsoh Rich Text & obviously having especial cause to do that more lately. with the joys of like also obviously i have no like Finality in my thoughts about it b/c Rich Text, it's really not gonna be readily contained, & b/c Finality like that isn't ever really a goal or lodestar or desire etc anyways

and that of course to spice things up there's the torment of my main way in being "i've only seen the movie, i never saw a/the stage version" that extra resists any sense of resolution where like truly even in imagining some totally theoretical Stage Edition like i can see the nature of the medium helping make the ending more palatable Ha ha and i imagine it also depends, as things always does, on various Performances like how much it feels more like "i'm primarily along for the farcical ride" and "if anything happens to them i'm blowing this whole building up" like yeah snarling biting having it be like i know you did the expensive elaborate ending just like in the stage show but turns out: no

and again like well really how enriching that there's like, multiple endings then basically lol like well given that this is very fictional, you can just do that, and reflect on the differences and any/all elements of the Story forever, don't mind if i do then. & there's a zillion times it's like "oh i don't love that ending. but the way i feel about the rest of it is kind of already set so it doesn't matter much" and there's This where like well of course i also don't think it'd then be Conclusive & Final to be like "well the original tragic ending is inarguably bad. or good" like it's Interesting either way, the true win, i look forward to never feeling it's final

like so much stems haha from the fact that the Core is really simply "what if there was a sentient plant that eats people." and that again everything else is Applicability. there's plenty of metaphors that can be applied and like i enjoy the Resonance there a lot, thinking about those for sure, but like beyond [no metaphor is perfect / it'll fall apart] like this isn't any One metaphor, & even if you try to look at it that way, it's gonna fall apart / completely lose relevance Continually throughout. b/c that Core Premise is all that has to hold, and other factors of like, story, style, how things are even working in a scene, are given priority over [a theoretical metaphor] all the time, so. while also the metaphorical resonance throughout is a crucial part of story and character to give this emotional stakes and not be pure farce or pure "would that be fucked up or what" and like the pairing of a demand of unlimited growth that consumes people & the specific sociopolitical context of [real lifeish american city of a decade not too long before our own, and specifically a poor enclave] are inextricable. or you could regard them as utterly separate but like, for what

really long intro but was just thinking about a couple of points. one being like the ol "audrey can't just Be Right about being able to Buy a better life & thus be Saved by consumerism & suburbia" like well i don't think the [audrey ii is consumerism] metaphor can go Unbroken (see also: enjoying more audrey ii's relevance re: commodification specifically, but i also don't think that holds up entirely throughout. what with also not thinking any metaphor could or would) but also it's like, it doesn't necessarily say "[choose what audrey ii represents] will save everyone" for a couple of people to happen to make it But Still Watch Out (given that the theatrical ending still gives the ;) little But Still Watch Out / But It's Not Really Over & Done / But There's No Real Finality) where like, that parenthetical also does a lot to emphasize the presence of any/all the caveats of like "but this can't work for everyone / everything / forever" still. but anyways the thing is like, it doesn't really feel the way other things can feel of like "oh thank god the nuclear family is here" when we see The Household & The Family & The Romantic Couple As Requisite For The Nuclear Family Household all in negative ways prior and like, yeah of course it's like "well guess you're shit outta luck if you Can't combine resources with another person because you guys wanna be together romantically" but like here the premise simply is that they're Not outta luck in this way & a couple people happen to want to be together & this is in contrast to exploitative miserable relationships they're trapped in b/c it's keeping them afloat (see also: for real like audrey ii as more parallel to such relationships as anything else, really strong application there) like the tension is that these characters Can't be Everyone, but they individually just might be able to make an escape.

and there's that point of like, to have this perspective re: audrey to be like "she thinks an ability to purchase a dream home & furnishings from a magazine will save her & Saying It Really Will must miss the point that no it won't" like, it's about an escape. we can all agree suburbia isn't heaven & we can agree that even if we agree on this there's still plenty to discuss forever about even that ending specifically & nothing can be really "neutralized" with any relevance, even if you set it aside to focus on another angle. but like it's really just about An Escape, and while trapped anyone only has so many avenues for where to look to imagine one. that they make an Actual escape is like well yeah they could just like, move apartments. we can presume their life might not be perfectly as envisioned or Magical but like it's that they escaped the previous one. can't possibly be like "yep that settles that, that audrey dying is Definitely a cogent point about her naivete about buying shit" like no finality!!! how could i possibly be like "yeah no don't kill orin no matter what. i mean i guess you could give him a talking to & he goes 'aw alright' (i don't actually guess this much less want it) & it'd be typical to have something like oh yeah if you point a gun at him he'll leave forever. or maybe not even that b/c now that's not very nice" like yeah get his ass. and then what's mister mushnik expect and he too is kind of already holding seymour hostage the whole time so like, maybe you can consider there to have been another strategic move to juke him but no real need for "rip to your grandma but i'm different" style analysis & like well he's got your number now, upping the stakes now or never like the setup ramped up for Life Or Death was brought by mushnik. the correct move was to mind your own business or offer to help with the cleanup lol like. anyways points kind of wandering but i can't much be like "the deaths mean now you must die" and i definitely can't be like audrey and seymour can't be able to Escape to Something Else (yeah it doesn't really matter that they have a sink disposal it matters that they Don't have [abuse] & audrey is singing about that Something Else through the framing of this particular way she thinks she sees that offered, wherein like, of course advertising presents itself as part & parcel of some Idealized life. and her reprise isn't like "ugh i can't believe i don't have a personal washing machine") even as i'm not interested in this sentiment meaning like indeed [consumerism? suburbia? money? everything] being erased or whatever. no finality

one thing that's fun though about never knowing peace re: the ending where they just die is like, well the lack of finality and the way i can't reconcile this fully & incontrovertibly with some particular read on [this resolves xyz metaphor!] or anything, even a really vague one like "something based on infinite growth / a unilateral noncycle of consumption can only burn you / consume You / destroy etccc" when it's like sure but The Story Ft. Characters does have room to be like "oh well isn't it lucky that we Can pool our resources & live together without abuse & isn't it lucky we Can make money off this plant & isn't it lucky we Can then be like enough of the plant and its true nature and the full scope & stakes of the situation and try and succeed in killing it (or did you!)" like sure come down hard like "this will emphasize that it'll get even You" and like i do like that it actually suddenly breaks out of [well, the story's about specific individuals though] like it's not just that it'll get Them, it's that it's getting You too. while even the fourth wall break of film may not be able to successfully throw things over to that effect, like, it's just that it got Them & you're :( through the ending. differences in medium. b/c i definitely Am interested in any stories like, well, what of the side characters or background randos? fuck them i guess, do they die? and having the stage show point to the audience like this is about You And Anyone, like, again i can't won't be like "my conclusion is that the tragic/original ending is Bad or Worse" like i don't think that, evidently it's not a problem with the original stage run being embraced and all or that it's generally known since like "yeah everyone hates the ending, but otherwise," and like. got a bit off track but also the thing of like

in the impossibility of finality & some definite conclusive Assessment Of Meaning or anything like that it's some real art imitates life stuff going on, and another perspective i have on "well even when i'm like 'their dying does says xyz about abc' in some way i think of the reasons that can fall apart" it's like well another way art imitates life is just when characters are doomed because fuck you. like as a story they don't Need to die for all the same points to still be made and that when they do to further make some point i'm pulling down the slide that says "But :(" with a zillion notes but then it's like well they don't have to die b/c they Had to, for reasons either in or out of universe like "the story doesn't work otherwise!" like they can die b/c well fuck you, you were killed, like how well fuck you you were in the abusive situation or the shiva family or the gutter etc and fuck you you were never gonna get outta here and even more broadly like well anything might happen to you at any time, even without the extra vulnerability, but the extra vulnerability really doesn't help which is the whole thing of creating it & maintaining it & leveraging it over people. bad shit happening that resists a Meaning or Moral(tm) or sense of acceptable cause/effect? how Lifelike

addendum too relevant for [tags] like also p.s. i think the resonance of "orin : audrey :: audrey ii : seymour" in like You Do Need Money Or Like, Die I Guess also helps explain how i can't be like oh seymour has to pay with his life to show Selling Product Will Never Save You (lol) any more than i think it's some kind of betrayal of "better homes & gardens won't save you" to have audrey live & like get a ranch house. b/c it's about the escape. never as though seymour is supposed to be pursuing fame for fame's sake rather than a means to an end of getting out of here where "here" isn't very relevantly like not just like "i wish i was rich just for its own sake, yeah" but that their living situations involve someone trying to constrain and control their lives & of course going like "btw being impoverished is bad in a way beyond like, Humble & Not Fancy" and like again No Finality To Be Found but that also doesn't mean i can't be like "of course i don't go 'this is audrey's fault' for the various reasons she's vulnerable to abuse & motivated to try to weather it (really just another manifestation of the vulnerabilities being exploited)" and that it feels similar enough to also be like Well Alright about seymour like guess i gotta keep feeding the plant! when i mean, maybe clearly the move is to go "uh oh!" about the blood or about the talking and end things there, but then the story doesn't happen, and the whole thing is about making sure to have a story about "if a plant talked and ate blood would that be fucked up or what" and here we are and the way that means it's not "first and foremost the plant will be a metaphor" which means there's no one right Read of things and you can be tormented forever about the characters if [emphasis: Care acters] b/c the performance is that sympathetic that you're Not just around for the ride. rooting for them haha. though again all this and i've never seen Stage Lsoh so i don't know, and if i did? i'd have still had the "no :( you can't kill them :(" experience first. takes all kinds

[redxblueihateloveyou]

This is a personal opinion but from where I see it the Given movie and the anime itself definitely was... something that I would question because somethings just.. didn't make sense to me. The development of the Characters were either super fast or super slow and it made the pacing really really weird for me idk. But I do think that a huge reason so many people love the Given movie is because of the fact that when you compare Given to OTHER JP BL animes, there's very very slight improvement in terms of the story itself of Given. Is the story poorly executed? Fucking hell, who the hell is going to say no here. But is it better then some of the JP BLs out there? That's depended on how you view BL to be. For a lot of people things like Super Lovers or Hitorijime My Hero are super unbearable to watch because it's "problematic" (which honestly okay, you do you BB) which then leads them to look for BL animes that DON'T have such "themes." Leading them to actually liking things poorly executed but just "not problematic", Given for example.

Given is “not problematic”? Debatable.

Their first kiss was right after Mafuyu finally had a courage to sing a song about his ex who commited a suicide. ???

Problematic doesn’t only mean stuff like “he’s underage”. What about using someone to get over your grief or getting into a relationship with someone who is still not over his ex death and is vulnerable at the moment? Is this suddenly “not problematic” bc they���re same age and he haven’t pushed him into a wall in throws of passion?

To me it’s not even about the fact if it’s problematic or not (it’s rarely not tho, no matter what ppl think), it’s about whether its believable and feels genuine or not. It depends on many factors: situation, characters past, traumas, etc, etc. It depends on the story and how you write it.

Change some stuff and it’s gonna be a completely different thing. Make it like Uenoyama only hugged Mafuyu after the song, even tho he wanted to kiss him, but knows that it’s not the right moment. Make Mafuyu heal first, make Uenoyama be in his own angst that he loves Mafuyu so much for example, but cares about him recover more, so he doesn’t expect for it to go somewhere, then he tries to date someone and Mafuyu first starts getting out there, when he feels like he can start trying again. Someday he gets sick and Uenoyama cancels his date to take care of him even tho it’s nothing serious and then the realization comes. Make Mafuyu kiss him first and take the first step. This would’ve changed everything so much. He should’ve made the first step when he was ready, this would’ve felt so right. Uenoyama kissing him after that song is just.. it feels, I was like ehhhmmm.. weird?

Seeing someone saying that Given is a masterpiece is hilarious to me. The fact that it includes heavy themes like suicide, doesn’t make it a masterpiece, esp when it’s handled this badly. Once again, if you pick such thing as a base for a love story, do it right then, not in a “bibbidi bobbidi boo” kind of thing. 

BL or not BL, any relationships, it depends on whether you watch it and it feels plausable or not. 

For example, if Yuu says that he can’t live with Mika, my tongue won’t even twist to call it “unhealthy” or be like “dude why”. But if some high schooler in slice of life anime who has a caring family tried to end himself bc his two weeks friend left him, I would’ve yelled “bitch go see a doctor”. 

Depending on the story you can sell some feelings or not.

Nezumi and Shion are also problematic according to ppl’s logic these days. But I 100% believe they’re each other’s true loves. Only 11 episodes and it’s sold.

In Given I didn’t believe it. Bc it’s ridiculous, ok? It wasn’t the right place or time to start this relationship. It is not a new love story, it’s just a sad story. 

Given movie is slightly better compared to other japanese BL? Why would you offend Sekaiichi Hatsukoi, Uragiri wa boku no namae, No.6 and many others?

Also better where? They kept the same old “’stop, i don’t want to’, but he did it anyway” stuff AND on top of that the story sucks.

The way he used him knowing very well that he was unrequitedly in love with him for so long is so disgusting that it leaves a much grosser feeling than many yaois combined. You’re saying “it’s slightly better” bc they’re of age or don’t have an age difference? I don’t get it. It somehow makes everything better?

No, thanks. I’d rather watch Onodera sleep with Takano in high school with them being genuinely into each other and it going great than whatever happened in the Given movie. I don’t care if they’re both 18 there, it made me feel bad.

I didn’t feel bad, when Wei Wuxian thought “why the fuck didn't I have sex with Lan Zhan back when I was 15? I've really pissed away all my days, haven't I?”. I wonder why is that.

Like what you’re saying here is that their opinion on BL is so low that they automatically would give it 10 out of 10 bc it’s slightly better than smth that they find “unbearable” to watch? What kind of evaluation is that exactly? Maybe also let’s compare each anime to “boku no pico”, then everything will look like a masterpiece.

Like excuse me for the fact that when I watch some shonen-ai and yaoi, I judge it the same way I judge any other genre and any other relationships (hetero or gay) in animes. On a scale whether I care or don’t care, whether I believe that they love each other or don’t, whether it’s a good story or not. I don’t get what it means “it’s good for yaoi”. It’s just not good. This movie is trash, I mean, the relationship in it is trash. Who the fuck cares gay or not gay. Trash relationships are trash. Bad story is a bad story. Whether it’s a bad gay story or a bad hetero story, I don’t give a shit.

The reason I’m more into boy on boy ships is because I love the relationships there more than relationships in most heterosexual couples. My fav hetero ships are either “from hate/attraction to love” stories like “gone with the wind”, “anastasia” or “pride and prejudice” or stuff like “equals without pink goo, who only see each other and don’t need no one else and would die for each other, epic soulmates” like Richard and Kahlan. In anime 99% of those fit bromances, not romances. Like I don’t find Midoriya/Uraraka appealing at all for a reason that “she said ‘hi’, he blushed as a tomato, now they’re supposed to be each other’s romantic interests” is not what I find romantic. I find romantic the fact that Todoroki is forever devoted to Midoriya bc he knows he’s amazing and is not afraid to say it; and he’ll always be there for him when he needs him, no matter what it is, him just sitting there crying, some villain trying to kill him or if he’s too late out ther grossery shopping. Uraraka most of the times doesn’t even care where he is.

Most hetero romantic animes, I just find ridiculous, too cheesy and unrealistic and I’m not ready to watch 50 episodes for them to hold hands. I’m not in that age and I also never found things like this romantic before either. Stuff like Kisa/Yukine, when you meet someone, find him attractive, wanna fuck him, then fall in love accidentally.. yeah, that’s understandable to me. Stuff like Takano/Onodera “I was an naive idiot in high school, but now life made me a sassy bitch and I can’t open up to people as easily” also yes, relatable. 

When you’re turning into a tomato bc someone said “penis” and think holding hands will take your virginity or smth, that’s not my thing.

So when I watch BL, I expect more, not less. So if it’s bad, I just say it’s bad, I’m not gonna be like “hmm... unproblematic... then 10/10″ like what? 

1stly, even “little mermaid” and “cinderella” are problematic. 

2ndly everyone is so focused on purity these days, like storyline don’t matter at all. It’s like any great love story is automatically trash if they have age difference. Any trash love story is great, if they don’t?

Let’s then also rate “Dororo” as 1, bc it’s like 24 episodes of them falling for each other while she’s 11 and he’s 16. Wow, such gross relationships they have during the whole story. Doesn’t matter that she grew up at the end of the last episode, the whole anime she’s a child. And let’s rate Noragami 0, bc 2000 years old perverted Yato is into 15 year olds.

No one has to fuck asap (heck even in the same hella problematic “Super Lovers” you talk about, Haru refused to fuck Ren even tho he was 17 in s2 and wanted to fuck another guy) and the rule “you can only fall in love after 18″ doesn’t exist. Also underage is not BL thing, it’s all anime thing. It’s time to shut it already. There are zillions of age gap couples out there who are great. Hyakkimaru waited for Dororo to grow up, it’s fine, seriously, they love each other in the right way, he didn’t want to fuck her when she was 11, okay? They did love each other tho already then. Pls excuse them for that.

3rdly, some relationship that ppl here call unproblematic are 20 times more problematic, than what they call problematic.

4tly, why the heck it’s like couples who have an amazing character and relationship progression, who love each other to death and will do anything for each other, ppl go: “wow, at the very beginning, he grabbed his wrist, he needs to go to jail”. Meanwhile a relationship who has no base, no story, no logical progression, no anything are “yes, best love story in the world”. Yeah... who cares if it feels like it’s all been pulled out of an ass and doesn’t make sense, very healthy tho.

It sounds lately like if most ppl here had two stories in front of them and one would be about two men who just met and the next day one proposed and they lived happily ever after and 2nd would be some complicated incredible story with a natural progression of the relationship, but they yelled at each other once, they’d be like “1st is better”. Well, not to me, no.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #363

(one more that’s a late upload from way earlier in the day, and i yet again don’t feel like updating the answers)

What brings out the worst in you? When I'm very anxious or having a PTSD episode, I can become very snappy and just not a joy to be around. What all did you eat today? This morning I had oatmeal, I had a rice cake as a snack, and lunch was ham and cheese on a tortilla. Some people were really destructive as a child, were you? No, I was a good kid. Who was the last person you were in a car with? My mom. Who was the last person you cried in front of? It was probably Mom. Do you talk about your feelings or hide them? I usually talk about them somewhere, like in surveys if I feel I can't with anyone else. Please be vocal with your feelings. It is so destructive to let them build up. Who was the last person you were with that smelled REALLY good? I'm unsure. Do you know anyone that is gothic? A good number of people, myself included at least in spirit. ;~; I can't really afford good attire, nor do I have the patience for so much makeup maintenance. Have you seen UP? I actually haven't seen the full movie, but I'd like to. How is your mom? Stressed as fuck and tired of everything. What color hair does your mom have? She recently dyed it black. Her hair is growing back totally gray now and she hated it. She's gotten so self-conscious as she's aged. When was the last time you were told you were cute? Idk. Do you feel comfortable getting up and giving speeches? FUCK NO. Have you ever dipped french fries in a frosty? I tried it once and did not get the appeal. Did you have school/class today? No. My school endeavors are done. Do you have any paintings in your room? If so, of what? Yeah, I have my big painting of meerkats grooming above all my 'kat plushies. Have you ever had your photo professionally taken? As a child and by school photographers, anyway. Would you prefer eating jello or pudding? Pudding. After washing your hair, do you put any products in it? No. Last time you ate a salad? Like a week ago when we went to Ichiban for my sister's bday. Do you know how old your house is? No, I don't. Have you ever been described as ”adorable”? Yeah. Have you ever given a lap dance? No. They seem incredibly awkward to me?? Would you accept a boring job if it meant you would make mega bucks? No. I can't do a job I hate for anything. I would be so depressed. Are you a moody person? Yes. What are you listening to? I'm watching Gab Smolders' new episode of Resident Evil 8: Village. I'm deadass watching four different LPers play it, I'm only moderately obsessed lmao. What video game could you waste the most time on? WoW, given it has like a zillion different things to do. Yet I still get bored lmao. What is your favorite condiment? Maybe Ketchup? I think I use that for the most things. What is the worst thing that you have ever done? I don't feel like getting into this. How old were you when your parents gave you the "birds and the bees" talk? They didn't; I learned in my school's sex ed in the 5th grade. Have you ever questioned whether or not you'd benefit from therapy? I have benefited from it. What would you like it to say on your gravestone? Hypothetically, idk. But I'd rather be cremated. Would you ever wear real leather or animal fur? NO. Have you ever completely failed a year of school and had to repeat a grade? No. Have you ever been bitten by an animal that wasn't a cat or a dog? Which? I think my old baby iguana bit me once or twice, not that it was very painful at her young age. I can't recall another animal. What type of literature are you most likely to read? (book, magazine, etc) Books. Do you prefer using candles, wax melts, or incense? Incense. Are you someone who actually doesn't have a Facebook? No, I have one. What kind(s) of Facebook groups are you active in, if any? I'm not really *active* in any; I just observe them and interact via "like"s. I'm actually in a whole lot of groups, though. Do you enjoy any herbal or fruit teas? What kinds? Neither. Do you hear any animals right now? No. What are your thoughts on Avenged Sevenfold? I know and like a few songs, especially "Dear God." Do you like Batman? Yeah, I like his "refuse to murder" ideology. The only thing is I kinda have a bad connection attached to him, because Batman was Jason's thing. Have you ever played fetch with a dog? Yes. Does your house have a fireplace? Yeah actually, but it might be fake? I don't even know lol. Have you ever pet a stingray? No. Have you ever dissected a baby pig in a class at school? Oh my god, no. I literally could never. I did dissect a frog in the 7th grade that wound up to be pregnant, though... I wasn't happy about it, but at the same time it was very interesting. Who is the last baby you held? My niece. Do you like Sunkist? The orange kind is fine, but the STRAWBERRY flavor? Jfc I love that shit. Would you ever consider being a cannibal? UM NO Do you have any scars from an animal? I have a lot of scars on my hands from playing with Roman. I scar extremely easily, so just his little scrapes leave marks. Have you ever seen an Igloo? No. Do you like Korn? Love 'em. How many animals do you have? Really two, but we have three in the house right now. Idk when this dog is going away. Are you more afraid of tornadoes or hurricanes? Tornados. Ever rode in a helicopter? No. Do you like rabbits? Yes, they're adorable. Do you like mushrooms? NO. What was the last movie you cried at? I want to say Logan, but I'm not sure. I watch movies so rarely that I really don't know. Would you rather work for a small or large company? Small. I'd feel more useful. What is the rudest thing a guy has ever done to you? I don't know. Have you ever read the book 13 Reasons Why? Yeah. I thought it was good, but now I don't remember like... anything about it. What did you have for breakfast this morning? I had apple and cinnamon oatmeal. How many times have you read your favorite book? Just once. I don't re-read books. Have you ever been on Omegle? No. Are you still in love with one of your exes? "In love," no. Do you think being born was a mistake? Yeesh, no. Has a relative ever been arrested? My psychotic uncle (by marriage) has been. Was it a serious crime? Quite honestly, I don't remember. I just know he's an angry and dangerous motherfucker. Do you think the Fountain of Youth exists? No. How about in a parallel dimension? Doubtful. Do you believe humans are part of a giant alien experiment? I ponder over the possibility of being a research simulation, kind of like a much advanced version of The Sims, but I honestly doubt it. Have you ever been suicidal? Yes. Was it a passing phase or is it something controlled by medication? Therapy and medication saved me. Is there a holiday you wish no one celebrated? Which is it? Why do you feel that way? Fight me about Christopher Columbus Day. He didn't discover shit. Have you taken any writing classes? How about art? I've taken a writing course in college, and I've taken loads of art classes. What’s your all-time favourite band? How about all-time fave singer? Ozzy Osbourne; Freddie Mercury. What three songs do you want played at your funeral? Why those particular songs? "Like A Woman" by Alice Cooper, "Life Is Beautiful" by Sixx A.M., and "Angels on the Moon" by Thriving Ivory. I just like them and find them suiting. Do you think most mythological creatures exist? No. Have you ever had lice? No. What is one superstition that freaks you out? Why is that? I’m not superstitious. Are either of your parents retired yet and if not, what do they do? No. Dad is a mailman, and while Mom doesn't ~officially~ work yet because she's recovering from intense cancer treatment, she very recently resumed lightly cleaning a church for a small payment. Kinda like a warmup. When did you or do you want to move out of your parents’ house? I wanna move out once I'm in a long-term, stable relationship with someone so we can live together. Me living alone is NOT a good idea. How do you like your current job, or if you’re unemployed, have you been looking for employment? I don't have a job, but when I go to my tattoo appointment, I'm going to ask them if they'd be interested in hiring someone for the front desk. I think it's def something I could do because I love the environment, there's really not that much I need to know (like where the Doritos are, dealing with exact change, answering a dozen unique questions), it's not insanely busy, and the occasional phone call would challenge my anxiety and just be a minor inconvenience to me until I got used to it. My partial hospitalization program really got me wanting to fight back against what gives me anxiety, to truly expose myself to what scares me, while not going totally overboard with it. It was encouraging to hear my therapist there thought it was a magnificent idea for me. I decided I wanted to ask while at the parlor getting work done to show serious interest (like I'm not just some random chick walking in and asking for a job), as well as let the people warm up to me. I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much, but damn am I wishing. I want it so badly. What kind of booze did you last take shots of? I've never taken shots.

[thestarwrites]

All right, All Might: Ch. 4

Word Count: 3,757

Rating: PG

Painting: Toshinori Yagi X FemOC

The UA Guidance Counselor, a quirk user with Pathokenesis, is shocked to find out her personal hero All Might is coming to be a teacher. The road they walk as a parallel starts to merge and there’s no telling what could happen.

-----

CHAPTER FOUR: THAT’S HIGH SCHOOL FOR YOU

Keri sat in her office, it was early in the morning. She took a deep breath and tried to push down her nerves. She was extremely excited to welcome the students from classes 1-A and 1-B, as well as the support course heroes — but she was dreading seeing /him/. Toshinori Yagi.

The rest of the summer had passed without them seeing each other. It killed her. It had nothing to do with the fact he was All Might, and everything to do with how much she missed his idle chatter, his laugh, his smile, the way his deft fingers felt when he held her hand. She missed her friend. Keri thought of a million ways to apologize, to reach out - but they never seemed good enough. And he never reached out either, she figured it was pointless.

She had bought him a new set of handkerchiefs with his own initials branded on them to use as the pocket squares in the suits he wore - they were in America’s colors. Maybe it would be the kind of apology gift she needed to get things back on track with him. It sat under her desk in a gift bag with a bottle of sake.

Looking down at her phone, she watched the time tick to the next minute before setting her forehead down onto the desk with a groan.

“Can I come in?”

She felt her skin prickle with the somber masculine voice behind her. Turning she looked up and was met with the blue eyes of Toshinori. He was dwarfed by the extra fabric of his suit, “Of course, All Might…”

He took a few steps forward and closed the door, “Keri- I-“

“All Might, I’m so so sorry.” She blurted out first.

He looked taken aback and he walked to her, getting onto one knee and grabbing her hand in his, “No — I’m the one who’s sorry. You were in distress and I took is personally—“

“No! No you were just trying to protect me and Izuku and I was behaving like a spoiled kid—“

“No you weren’t, please—“

She started to cry as she slid off of her chair and wrapped her arms around Toshinori’s neck, “I missed you so much.”

He felt his own eyes prick with tears as he held her firmly to his small form, “I missed you too. The last couple of weeks have been so hard — I was lost without you.”

Nodding against him she squeezed a little tighter, “I wrote about a zillion I’m sorry texts— nothing seemed right…”

“I did the same thing—“ He admitted, “I- one night I was outside your apartment with flowers looking like a burglar… I couldn’t face how ashamed I felt… the way I lashed out at you…”

“I said horrible things to you All Might - I didn’t mean any of them…” She pulled back to look at him, “You’re my hero, you’re my friend… I don’t think anything bad about you.”

He nodded and swallowed down tears, “I don’t think anything bad about you either.”

“All Might I’m —“

“Keri… please… stop calling me All Might,” he pushed her hair back, “ My name is Toshinori. I’m your friend. Right? I’m just plain old annoying Toshinori.”

She nodded and hugged him, “Toshi…” She whimpered gently into his ear.

He relaxed into the embrace finally once she said his name. He felt complete again now that he and his best friend had made up, he had been so lonely. When he hadn’t been doing entry videos, paperwork, hero work, or training izuku, he was in his shabby apartment alone, thinking about her and how badly he messed up.

Pulling back she wiped a tear from his cheek, “Oh I— I have something for you…”

“You got me something…” he watched as she went to grab the bag from under her desk and return with it, “Keri - you didn’t have to get me anything after what happened, there was nothing to—“

“Open it, please,” she started, “as an apology, and also as a congratulations for your first day as a teacher.”

All Might looked down, taking the bag and opening it, “A bottle of sake —“ he stopped and pulled out the pocket squares and smiled brighter.

“I- I figured you might not have pocket squares that fit your personality - and since you might need a spare handkerchief now and then-“

He ran his fingers over one he pulled out, “This has my initials on it.”

“Yeah of course,” She smiled, “You’re a professor, you should have something fancy.”

He swallowed and looked up at her, “I love them.”

Smiling she wiped her eyes, “Here— let me help you put it in your pocket.” Patho showed him how to fold the perfect pocket square, and she placed one into his suit pocket, adjusting it, “There. Now you look perfect.”

All Might looked down at it and smiled thoughtfully, “You’ll come over tonight to help me drink this sake, wont you? To celebrate our first day as coworkers, and our first day back to being friends?”

“Sure thing,” She nodded and hugged him again, “I’m so glad we’re okay.”

“Me too, Patho.”

Taking a deep breath she stood, offering her hands to help him up, “Okay Mister Yagi, you better dust yourself off and get ready for a day of being inspirational!”

Standing with her help, he powered up and towered over her in his buff body, “I won’t let you down, miss.” He chuckled and winked, kissing both her hands, “You’re going to be great today too. God I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

Keri moved to jump into his arms, wrapping her arms around his thick shoulders, “I’m glad you don’t hate /me/!” They laughed and he spun them around before setting her down.”

“I’LL SEE YOU AT LUNCH.”

She laughed as he exited the class room.

——

After orientation, Keri rushed to head up to the teacher’s lounge where she knew All Might would be resting up, getting ready to bulk up and teach. She skidded into the room, “Toshi— Aizawa he—“

“I know, he’s got Midoriya.” He hummed miserably, “This is going to be hard.”

“Homeboy made his class skip orientation, they’re outside using their quirks to do physical tests. Last year he made a girl cry saying someone would be expelled—“

“WHAT.” All Might sat up straighter, “He can’t! He’s going to single out Young Midoriya— He can’t use his quirk yet—“

“Calm down. He never expels someone on the first day— but it makes my job hard for the first few weeks of school.” She grunted, “I just wanted to let you know- I’m going to go down there and keep my fucking eyes on him. He hates that.”

“I’m coming.” He bulked up and adjusted his tie.

She rolled her eyes, “Now it’s going to seem like more than just me going down there to keep his harsh ass in line.”

“No I— I’ll hide and watch from the sidelines!”

“You. Hide.” She looked him up and down, “Toshi, you’re huge.”

“I AM VERY VERSATILE.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her sweater on, “Whatever you say.”

The two heroes headed down to the field. All Might stopped behind a building to look on, a concerned smile on his face as Keri walked with an authority he had never seen before onto the field. She did not walk like a new teacher under thirty - she walked like… Nana…

The older man hissed at Deku, “—You’d be nothing more than a liability-“

“AIZAWA.” The female’s voice rang out as he had Izuku wrapped up in his scarf.

He grunted, “Get out of my class, Patho. I’m working.”

“Making my life a living hell is what you’re doing.”

He kept his red eyes on Midoriya as Keri approached, “I’m teaching. I don’t need your schoolgirl play nice crap. We don’t even need a guidance counselor here. And besides, Nezu warned you about interfering.”

“And Nezu warned you too.” Her body started to glow pink, balls of light forming over each fingertip, she pointed at Eraserhead, “Let the kids finish their own ways. You have no right. They all passed the same exams.”

He shot a look at her and her glowing stopped, “Don’t use your quirk on me.”

“Then don’t use yours on Izuku.”

The kids looked on in awe.

“Who the fuck is that, nerd? What is she twelve?” Bakugo grunted under his breath.

A boy with red hair stepped up, “She was glowing like… like in that Wizard of Oz movie…”

“That’s the lady that came to make sure I was okay after the exam,” Ururaka started, “Mister Aizawa is right, she’s the guidance counselor. She has a quirk that can help you to feel better.”

“A quirk that can make you feel better? Psh- what baby shit.” The blond grunted.

“I returned your dangerous quirk. Take your final throw.” Eraserhead backed off of Izuku and then shot a warning look to Patho, who moved to stand with the other children. The triangle on her head glowing pink once more.

“Excuse me- miss?” The Redhead came over to her with a bashful smile, “I’m Eijirou Kirishima.” He held out his hand.

She chuckled and shook it, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eijirou. I’m Keri Chairo, the school’s guidance counselor. I think we should respect the class and pay attention to Izuku, but if you’d like to talk after class, my office is right upstairs, okay? Door’s always open.”

He blushed and smiled, “Thank you Miss Keri.” He turned his attention back to Deku.

“Nerd.” Bakugo chastised.

Ida whispered to Ururaka, “She’s so diplomatic.”

“I know! And look at her cool haircut! Shaved on one side, long on the other…” She whispered back.

Keri looked over to the worried face of All Might and she steeled herself - she wouldn’t inspire Izuku, that wouldn’t be right. He could do it, he was tenacious. Swallowing she looked back toward him as he moved to throw the ball. The sonic snap that came with it flung the ball into the sky and she grinned.

After a few moments of silence, “Mister Aizawa.” He grunted and looked back, “Look, I’m still standing.”

Patho grinned, “Excellent—“ She stopped, her skin prickling as she felt pure unadulterated rage and jealously from — the blond. What was his name again - Katsuki?

“WOW! That was so cool!!” Ururaka jumped up and clapped.

Ida held his chin, “It looks like his finger is broken… what a strange quirk.”

“WHAT!??!!?! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, WHAT DID YOU DO!?” A scream erupted from Bakugo as he started to run at Deku. Patho began to jump into action when Aizawa’s scarf flew into action first and strapped around the teenager. He struggled and screamed, “WHY IS YOUR DAMN SCARF SO STRONG!?”

“Its made out of carbon fiber and a metal alloy. Stand down Bakugo.” The blonde grunted and finally relented.

“I’ll leave you to the rest of your class, Aizawa.” Keri finally stated, tossing a glance over to see All Might standing there. 
He sighed, “its about time.”

Rolling her eyes she walked up to Bakugo, a fierce look in her eyes, but the boy held his ground- he was afraid of nothing, “Katsuki. I want to see you in my office after class.”

“What?! What did I do!? I’m not going to the stupid guidance office!”

She gave him a look, “Listen to me young man, I am a teacher at this school and if I say jump you say how high- understand?”

He clenched his jaw and his fists.

“I said, I want to see you after class, Katsuki.”

“Whatever.” He looked down, he felt angry and fucking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

He hissed out, “Yes ma’am.”

She nodded and turned, waving to the class before she started to head off. Before she was out of earshot she heard Aizawa say something she’d never heard him say before, “Patho is a great support hero - you would all do well to respect what she says and her office.”

Smiling she turned the corner, only to have someone grab her arm — squeaking out the beginning of a scream until another hand covered her mouth - he realized it was All Might. Mumbling against his hand he raised his brows, “Ah! Sorry — I just didn’t want you to get too far—“

“Toshinori you scared the crap out of me!” She whispered.

“Wasn’t that cool!! Did you see what Young Midoriya did!?”

She nodded, “It was impressive. But you need to take the time to train that boy. He’s dangerous to himself — I personally am worried about that Katsuki Bakugo. His rage and jealousy and… hurt… is off the charts.”

“Well - if there’s anyone who could help him, it’s you, Ree.” He gave a thumbs up.

Sighing she shook her head, “I don’t know�� He went to the same middle school as Izuku - back when Izuku had no quirk. This… this can be really dangerous, Toshi. I’ve looked over his scores too, he had some of the highest written exam grades, and he got the most points in the mock battle. He’s not stupid. He’s going to figure out there is a connection between you and Izuku sooner or later, mark my words.”

“That shouldn’t be so bad… they’re classmates.”

An exasperated breath came from the woman, “Toshi you don’t get it. I can /feel/ emotions. I can feel your pride on you, your doubt, your fear. I can feel it clearly if I concentrate specifically- but I can always feel emotions clearly if they are very strong. Katsuki is dripping with anger and something else…” She paused and thought about it for a moment, her eyes looking back and forth, “It’s a form of deep hurt, like- betrayal. He’s hurting really bad. That hurts me.”

“You’re so compassionate, Keri… you are going to be a good influence on these kids.”

Gently rubbing his arm she smiled, “You gonna come back upstairs with me - or do you want to stalk the kids some more?”

“Ah— I’m not stalking!”

She smiled mischievously and winked, “See you later on, Toshi.”  Walking back up toward the entrance of the school, her face turned grave once more as her thoughts drifted to Bakugo. He was hurt in some way, it was her duty to speak with him, to try and help. She wasn’t much older than these kids - only twelve years their senior - which is something Principal Nezu said was an advantage. That they would probably want to talk to her before anyone else.

Taking a deep breath, she moved into her office to wait for young Katsuki.

——

About ninety minutes passed and then the door to her office opened, “I’m here.” The gruff voice called out, “What the hell is this about?”

"Good afternoon Katsuki,” Keri said with a soothing smile, “Come in — can I get you some tea? I think I have some cake in the fridge.”

“I don’t like sweets.”

She smiled, “Tea?”

“No. Can you just tell me what the hell this is about so I can go home. I have training to do.”

Keri took a deep breath and motioned to the sofa, “Please, Katsuki, sit down.”

“I don’t need a shrink.” He said angrily.

“I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. You’re a loser.” He let his temper get the best of him - besides, she was young, and she had a stupid quirk. She wasn’t a hero.

Kerri just smiled and nodded, “I knew a lot of boys like you when I was in high school.”

“Tch- you didn’t know anyone like me. I heard you didn’t even go to UA.”

“No, you’re right, I didn’t.” She sat down, setting two cups of tea down, picking up her own and taking a sip, “I went to Ketsubutsu Academy High School.”

Bakugo let out a chuckle, “Thats fucking pathetic you know. How are you even a teacher here?”

There it was. Interest. Kelly shrugged, “I know it’s pathetic - I dreamed of going to UA you know, when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like All Might and save people with a smile on my face.”

“Yeah, me too, big deal. That still doesn’t tell me why you went to such a loser school. Is it because you’re a loser?”

“My quirk allows me to feel and manipulate emotions,” She looked up at him over her eyelashes, “ I wasn’t strong enough to be a fighter as a teen, but I knew that All Might wouldn’t give up, so I didn’t either. So I went to the school I could, and then I went to college.”

“College? Heroes don’t go to stupid college.” Katsuki drifted to sit on the other chair with his arms crossed.

“I did. Because I knew how hard Hero Academies were, I cried all the time.”

“Nerd.” He absentmindedly reached for the tea, taking a drink of it black.

“Exactly. When I picked my hero name, Patho, the boys in my class who were the strongest called me Psycho-path.”

He smirked, “Thats pretty good.” He hummed for a minute, “I would have called you Patho-logical.”

Kelly laughed, “Thats thinking out of the box all right - I think you’re probably smarter than most of the adults in this school, Katsuki.”

Now that caught him off guard, and he sipped his tea. Even his own mother didn’t admit things like that to him, “Yeah I know.”

She sipped her own tea, letting that one sit for a minute.

“What kind of cake is in the fridge?”

Bingo.

“Its a lemon cake.”

There was a long pause as he looked out the window, “I like lemon.”

She nodded and stood up, crossing to the little kitchenette area, “Your quirk is really impressive, you know that already I’m sure. I didn’t see any kids last year with a quirk as strong. And you already seem to know exactly how to use it - that puts you ahead of your classmates, Katsuki.”

He nodded, listening for once.

“That makes you… a big brother in some way.”

His ears perked and he looked over from where he stared out the window, “What?”

She set the cake and a fork in front of him and smiled, “That makes you like… a big brother to your class, like a guardian. And with that, like being a great hero, comes with a responsibility to help steer them in a good direction.” If she couldn’t talk to him about his feelings, she could use his ego to manipulate him without him realizing.

He picked up the cake, eating in silence.

“I understand how confusing it must be for you knowing Izuku all your life — when I met him about a month ago, it didnt appear he was much to look at.” “Got that right. Deku’s a loser.”

“But I am too, right?”

He looked up, “Yeah.” He huffed, “But you’re okay to talk to I guess. You’re not stuck up and preachy.”

“All losers have some purpose you know, Katsuki.” She smiled, “Even if its just to give teenage boys lemon cake.”

“So what was going to college like? Probably shitty.”

Keri smiled and ate her own cake, “People there are either quirkiness or have some sort of intelligence quirk - or even ones that aren’t very useful.”

“Like you.”

“Like me.” She nodded, “But I decided to go into a field that helped me use my quirk to its advantage. I mean - think about all the people down on the streets during disasters or villain attacks. They have to be afraid, or sometimes they’re foolish enough to think they can run into battle to help.”

“That nerd Deku did that.”

“I’m there to make sure they stay calm. That no one gets in the hero’s way.”

Bakugo knitted his brows together, “I guess - that’s a good idea.”

“And that’s what I do here too, but its to make sure a young upcoming hero doesn’t get in their own way.”

He looked up.

“You have so much potential, and you’re focusing more on things that don’t benefit your promising career, understand? You want to be the best. You have to focus. You’re a strong guy, Katsuki, the other kids will follow you. If you show them you’re a leader- they’ll follow.”

He finished his cake a cleared his throat, pushing a hand in his hair, cheeks slightly pink, “Is it okay if I get going?”

She nodded, “Of course- its getting late, and you need to train.”

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded, “Uh- thanks for the cake and whatever, Pathological.” He smirked.

Kelly smiled and moved to open the door, “If you ever have any questions or want some snacks or sweets- you know where I am.”

“Yeah. Yeah I— yeah.” He cleared his throat, “See you, nerd.”

“Have a safe walk home, Katsuki.”

The boy left her office and she nodded to herself, feeling like she accomplished something today.

------

After half an hour, Toshinori walked into the room in his small form, “We still on for dinner tonight, Ree?”

Turning she smiled, “Hey— yeah of course,” She nodded.

“You look pleased with yourself… I just saw young Bakugo walking out of the building, did you have him up here?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I had to figure out how to start to establish a report with him… I got through a bit with flattery and self deprecation.”

“Self deprecation!?” He grunted.

She took a deep breath, “He made fun of me and called me a loser, and I let him, and played into it. It slowly got him to ask questions and have a piece of cake so… here’s hoping.”

Sighing Toshinori came to her and wrapped his arms around her, “You’re not a loser.”

Keri held around his thin frame, “I know, Tosh, I’m just trying to use what I know to get through to him, she looked up at him and he kissed her forehead, “Thank you.”

He smiled, “Hey, don’t even mention it, what are friends for? You obviously touched on something with young Bakugo if he sat down and let his guard drop a little,” Sighing gently he nodded, “Come on, let’s act like a tree and leaf.”

“You’re such a goon.”

“You keep saying that.” He smirked, “Watch out or you’re going to give me a complex.”

Keri laughed and wrapped her arm around his, “Come on- lets go.”

“Yes ma’am.”

[leigh-kelly]

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

A little New Year sequel to my Christmas fic Same Old Lang Syne:

It snows in New York on New Year’s Eve. Normally, with the weather like that, you’d lay on the couch all day and watch movies, but not this year. This year, Asha is moving out of the apartment you’ve shared for nearly the last decade of your life, and you’re not sure how to feel about it. It’s not the divorce you’re unsure of. Having seen Santana on Christmas Eve, you’re more certain than ever of the choice you made, but it’s a strange feeling, letting go of someone who’s been your partner and your wife for so long. She packs the rest of her things, belongings divided up, and you watch, because there’s nothing else you can do. She’s found a new place to live, and you’re going to carry on with your life where you were. You feel strange about the whole thing, you’re not sad, but you know that she is. You wish you could have been better for her, because she tried so hard to be good for you.

When the last of her boxes and the divided furniture is out of the apartment, things feel empty. You’ll have to buy new things to fill the space, but when you’ll do it, you’re not certain. You have a few weeks off before the next semester of school starts, and maybe you’ll wander around Crate and Barrel during that time. You’ll be alone in the store, you’ll be alone in your life, and it pangs you, deeper than you know how to express. This isn’t the way things should have worked out, your life shouldn’t have gone this way, but instead of your soon to be ex-wife, you find yourself thinking about the lover that could have been.

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you finally find the couch and your television movies. You flip past a marathon of The Twilight Zone, and you find It’s a Wonderful Life on AMC. You hate the movie with a passion, and you think George Bailey is kind of an idiot, but you watch it anyway. You think this is what loneliness really feels like, even though you’ve been lonely for fifteen years, and you find that you can’t get warm under the blankets on the couch. You’re forty years old, and you don’t know what to do with your life. Everything feels overwhelming, and you figure the best thing to do is worry about the upcoming semester. Work will give you something to do, work, like it always has, will fill the loneliness deep within your heart.

A little after five, the phone rings. It’s a number you don’t recognize, and you consider letting it go to voicemail. You think about how you should be calling your mother, telling her that you’re getting a divorce. You think about how you should probably call Asha, to see if she managed to get everything into her new apartment, since you promised to remain friends. But instead, you pick up for the unknown number. You’re lonely, and even if it’s a telemarketer, at least you’ll have a few minutes of distraction before you return to the despair of utter solitude.

“Hello?” You answer, and there’s a silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Uh, hey, Brittany.”

“Santana?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s…um, what’s going on?”

“Nothing really. I just got to my dressing room at the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve party. I don’t even know why I’m calling you. I was going to give you a few months to sort out your life before I did, but…” She hesitates on the other end of the line, and you take a deep breath. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

“Yeah…neither have I. My w—Asha just moved out today, so…I guess I’m getting to the point where I’m sorting out my life, even though it feels like a fucking disaster right now.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m watching It’s a Wonderful Life, so…”

“I thought you hated that movie?”

“You remember that?” You ask, surprised by the fact that she does.

“You kind of made a big deal about it every Christmas. You said it was the most depressing movie on the face of the planet, and you had no idea why people thought it was a good idea to watch it when they’re supposed to be happy.”

“It’s terrible. The whole thing is a goddamn disaster. I don’t even know why I’m watching it. Maybe I just feel like I’m supposed to suffer today.”

“Because of your…Asha?”

“Among other things.” You shake your head to yourself, and you lower the volume on the television. “It’s just been a rough day. But you don’t want to hear about it, you’re going to perform tonight for like, a zillion people.”

“I am. I shouldn’t have called you, I just couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m glad you did. I wasn’t sure if you would or not.”

“Neither was I.” She confesses. “But yet, here I am.”

“So, you’re performing tonight?”

“I am. Every year for the past thirteen years. It’s been…a dream.”

“I’ve seen you a few times. It was…weird with Ash. I usually tried to avoid seeing you, you know? It kind of put a damper on my New Year.”

“You could have been there with me, you know?”

“Santana…”

“I’m sorry, I’m still a little bitter okay? This was a dream that I wanted so much to share with you. And I have my dream, but I’m alone.”

“I’m alone too. I’ve been alone even when I wasn’t. It’s been heartbreaking knowing that I couldn’t be with you because of what I did. I never wanted anything but the best for you, I just didn’t think being with you was the best for me. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

“New Year’s isn’t the time for regrets, is it?”

“Is it not?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know. I guess I have regrets every year. I missed you, Brittany. Everything I did in my career, I thought of you.”

“Never a day went by when I didn’t think of you either. It’s really messed me up, seeing you. I spent Christmas Day a total wreck, trying to pretend everything was normal with Ash for my parents. I still haven’t told them.”

“Are you going to?”

“I have to. I just…my dad was such a wreck after you and I were over, and I hate to do that again. I brought someone into their lives, and now I’ve taken her out.”

“I never thought your dad liked me.”

“My dad loved you. I think he probably owns all of your albums. Asha said she was always trying to keep up with the past. But they loved her too. They knew she was really good for me. I just…couldn’t make it work. She was never you, and she was never going to be you.”

“It’s hard for me to believe that you held onto the memory of me all of these years.”

“Santana, you were always the one for me. I knew that…”

“See me tonight.” She says suddenly, and your face colors, though she can’t see.

“What? You’re performing.”

“See me after. Start the new year with me. Wherever you want. In my dressing room, on a park bench, I don’t care.”

“What about our place?”

“The Waverly Diner?”

“Yeah.” You say, amazed that she actually remembers it. “Have a cup of coffee with me. Say one-am?”

“You hate staying up late.”

“I’ve gotten used to it. I end up grading tests sometimes until two, three o’clock in the morning. I can make it up until you’re finished. I’ll take a nap before you go on, or something.”

“Are you going to watch?”

“This year, I will.”

“Okay, then I’ll have something to say for you. Just…listen, okay?”

“I’ll be listening, Santana. I’ll see you at one. I’ll save the booth.”

You hang up the phone with her, and you go into panic mode. This is the love of your life, the one you screwed things up with so long ago, and you’re seeing her tonight, mere hours after your whole life has changed. You don’t know what to wear, you don’t know how to be, and you turn off that stupid Christmas movie to dig through your closet. You throw everything aside, and you decide on jeans and a sweater. The snow is brutal, and there’s nothing else that makes sense. So you lay it out on the chair in your bedroom, and you busy yourself. You can’t sit around, you need to do something, or else you’re going to go insane. You’ve lived every day with regret, and yet, you can’t regret this. This has to go well. This has to be the new beginning for you. It’s Santana. You broke her heart. There’s no room for accidents.

The whole night, you’re in a state. When you finally settle down on the couch at eleven-pm, fully dressed, after eating takeout sushi in the kitchen, she’s on TV. You think of all the years you couldn’t bear to watch it. The years you’d be at parties with Asha, and she’d watch you leave the room whenever Santana came on. She’s a star, she’s been everywhere, in everything for fifteen years, but this is the first time you’re really taking it in. She sings, and you’re riveted. ‘Cause I’ve been by myself all night long, hoping you’re someone I used to know. You get it, when she said she had something to say for you, and the song makes you a little sick to your stomach. It was just like a movie. It was just like a song. When we were young.

You watch the ball drop alone, and after you ring in the new year, you search for a cab to take downtown. Everything is buzzing in the streets, and the snow still falls as you sit in the back seat of the cab. You feel like you’re moving toward the rest of your life, and moving backward to the life you gave up all at the same time. You’re seeing Santana, in the place you had so many breakfasts, so many lunches when you had class, so many late dinners after she’d get home from traveling. You haven’t been there in fifteen years, and when you walk in the door, you feel like not a day has past, especially when you take the same booth in the corner you always used to sit at.

She walks in only a few minutes later, her face hidden by a hat and sunglasses. It’s a strange thing for you, the idea that the girl you grew up with is so famous that she has to hide her identity, but a long time has passed. She’s someone now. She’s made it to the big time, and you suddenly wonder if you’ll wind up in the tabloids. You hope not, you really hope not. You still haven’t told your parents about your divorce, and you know if they see the two of you together, they’ll know. You think of Asha, how much it will hurt her to see how quickly you wound up back around Santana. But mostly, you think of how you don’t want to try again with her in front of the whole world. You want it to be how it used to, when you had privacy, and you could love her without eyes all over you.

“Hey.” She sits down across from you, and she takes off her hat and glasses. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine, I just got here, I know the snow and the crowds are bad out there.”

“I know, but I wanted to be on time. It was important to me.”

“We’ll try again next time.” You shrug.

“Next time?”

“I don’t know, is there going to be a next time?”

“I’d like that.” She sighs. “I’m just at a loss as to where we go from here.”

“How about we start with coffee?” You suggest, and she nods.

The waitress brings over coffee and menus, and you study Santana’s face across the table. You can’t help but wonder if she’s had work done, because her skin lacks the lines that have formed on yours. She looks good, she looks really good, and you feel a little self-conscious about your own appearance. You know your hair has the slightest hint of grey in it, and lines have formed around your mouth. You thought maybe it made you look more distinguished, particularly since you’re among the youngest on the faculty in your department, but right now, in comparison to Santana, it makes you feel old. She knew you when you were so young, and she wasn’t there to watch you age gracefully. In her mind, you think, you’re still twenty-five, just like she is in yours, and the whole thing makes you feel strange.

“The show was great tonight.” You finally say.

“You watched?”

“I did.”

“I wasn’t supposed to perform When We Were Young, but I convinced them at the last minute that it was an appropriate New Year song. I wrote it about five years ago, when I came across an article about you in the Times.”

“The Riemann Hypothesis.”

“You solved it. You’d been working on it for so long.”

“Since I graduated high school.” You nod. “I think they thought I’d solve it right away, but it took me more time than I’d hoped.”

“You solved a seemingly unsolvable problem, I don’t think it matters how long it took you.”

“It definitely mattered to my department. They were…really on me about it. If you remember, I don’t work well under that kind of pressure.”

“I know, that’s why you chose NYU over MIT.”

“Partially. I mean, you were here, so it was an easy choice.”

“Do you regret making that kind of choice for me?” She furrows her brow, and you finally notice lines on her face.

“I don’t regret any of the time we had together, I just wish there was more of it.”

“I don’t want to push you, but I’d like to make us have more time. I’m finished with my tour, I’m settling here for a while.”

“And what about your next one?”

“I can’t say there won’t be a next one, Britt. I don’t travel the way I used to, but my career involves some of it. I know that’s something that doesn’t sit right with you.”

“I’m older now, I’m settled.” You shake your head. “I understand that if something happens between us, you’re going to be gone for extended periods of time.”

“Do you want something to happen between us?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Even so soon after…”

“It was always you, Santana. Even when you weren’t in my life, it’s always been.”

“I’m concerned about you and the paparazzi. They don’t leave me alone, Brittany. It’s a miracle I made it here without being followed. I’m sure they’re waiting outside my house right now for me to come home. I don’t want to put you through that, especially not while you’re still going through a divorce.”

“It’s something I’m willing to do. I wasn’t, fifteen years ago, but I saw what life without you looked like. It’s like…some kind of fucked up version of It’s a Wonderful Life, or A Christmas Carol, except it didn’t all end in one night. It was my life for too long, thinking about what we could have had if I didn’t leave. I’m willing to make sacrifices if it means I get to be with you again. I don’t want to do another fifteen years where I don’t get to be intimately involved with you.”

“Intimately?”

“Intimately. I mean that in every sense of the word. If there are paparazzi at your place, then we’ll go back to mine. I’ve got nothing but an old doorman named Michael who doesn’t care what I do.”

“You want to go back to your place?”

“Yes…no…I don’t know. My mind is screaming that we should take this really slow, but my heart is just…I missed you, Santana. I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anyone or anything in the world. I don’t want to take it slow, because I want to make up for every minute we lost. I don’t know…”

“I get that. I’m just…so afraid for what’s going to happen. I can’t lose you again.”

“You’re not.” You promise. “I don’t have any plans to go anywhere.”

“Even if it gets hard?”

“Even if it gets hard.”

You sit in that diner and drink coffee until the sun begins to come up. You learn everything you possibly can about the years you were away from her, and you tell her everything about your life. She learns how you broke your arm twice, almost exactly a year apart, because you slipped on ice outside of your building. You learn that her father passed away, and she’s struggled every year since to make sense of the complicated relationship the two of them had. She learns that you’re still dancing, even though it’s hard to fit it into your schedule sometimes. You learn that she’s learned to finally speak fluent Spanish, because hers was so fragmented in the past. You want to know more, more, more, but when daylight comes, she’s afraid she’ll make a spectacle in the diner, and she calls her car to drop you home before she goes home herself.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask, when the car pulls up outside of the building.

“Do you really want me to? You’re not too tired?”

“I don’t want tonight to end. Stay with me, start this year in the way we should have started the last fifteen.”

“Okay.” She nods, and rolls down the partition to talk to her driver. “Robert, you can go on home now. I’ll call you later on, when I need to be picked up.”

“Alright, Miss. Just let me know.”

You get out of the car, and Santana follows you. As much as you’d like to hold her hand in the street, you don’t. If anyone is watching, it’ll be obvious enough what’s about to happen, as pop sensation Santana Lopez goes into the house with a strange woman on the early hours of New Year’s Day, but you don’t need to give any ammunition to the gossip rags that report on her. Instead, you walk a few feet ahead of her, and you hold the door backwards so she can come into the building. You let her into the elevator, and you become a bit self-conscious of her seeing the modest way you live, when she’s probably accustomed to grand opulence. But it’s Santana, so you can’t be bothered much by it as you unlock the door to your apartment, and you let her in, taking her coat.

“Sorry it’s so…empty in here. I have to go shopping this week. Or, like, go on Amazon or something. I don’t know, I haven’t bought furniture in a long time.”

“My place is pretty sparse too.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t really care enough to decorate it, since I’ve spent so much time in hotel rooms. It looks normal to me.”

“Okay.” You nod, glancing down quickly at your phone to see an early morning message from your mother before you toss it away. “Can I get you some coffee? A mimosa? I have champagne.”

“A mimosa would be good. I had no champagne last night, it effects my singing voice, and I try to stay away from it before any performance.”

“Really? I would have thought your lifestyle would be filled with drugs and alcohol and stuff…”

“My life is filled with kale smoothies, yoga, and a personal trainer. I’m pushing forty, and I’m starting to get that…belly thing.”

“Like this?” You pat your own, and she laughs.

“You’re lucky, there aren’t bikini pictures of you on the cover of every magazine the second you gain a little weight. I’d love to eat a giant greasy hamburger and a piece of cheesecake and not have anyone comment on it.”

“I can get you a burger and cheesecake if you want it. I’ve got a great connection called GrubHub.”

“Thanks.” She laughs, sliding out of her shoes. “I might take you up on that…but not at the crack of dawn. Just the mimosa is good for now, that’s enough of a cheat for one day.”

“I don’t think I could live like that…”

“You know I’ve always had a complicated relationship with food. I do miss breadsticks though.”

“One day I’ll buy you a wheelbarrow full of them. Just inhale them all, get a belly pouch, fuck everyone else.”

“Maybe someday…that’s the dream, I think.” She sighs, as you begin making mimosas in your kitchen, glad for the little bit of orange juice you have left.

“Happy New Year.” You hand her one, and you clink one of the two remaining wine glasses in the apartment with hers. They’re cheap ones, since you gave up the Waterford ones when you split your property with Asha, but it doesn’t matter, they do the job.

“What are we toasting to this time?” She asks.

“To new beginnings, maybe?” You suggest. “To not forgetting old acquaintance?”

“We were more than old acquaintances, that’s for sure.”

“It’s true. To the renewal of old love then.”

“So, we’re gonna do this, huh?” She asks you, and you nod emphatically.

“I’m ready to. I’ve been ready for years. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, this is good. Let’s just…sit down?”

“Yeah, totally. Couch is over here…” You point her in the direction, and she sits down, with you close beside her. “Is it cool if I kiss you?”

“I’ve been waiting for it.”

You lean into her, and you press your lips against hers. It feels like so much more than the kiss you shared in the car on Christmas, and you deepen it, putting both of your hands on the sides of her face, and slipping your tongue into her mouth. It’s everything you’ve waited for for fifteen years, it’s everything you’ve needed to feel whole again. When she slips her hands through your hair, you sigh contentedly, and you keep kissing her, until you feel like you can’t breathe any longer.

“Bedroom?” She whispers, and a shiver runs down your spine. You weren’t sure this would happen this morning, but apparently it is, and you just nod, standing up and taking her by the hand.

She lays you down on your bed, and you let her take the lead. It’s not your usual dynamic, but it feels right, and you raise your arms for her to take your shirt off. She hovers over you, and she kisses your neck, the tops of your breasts, your age-softened belly. She looks gorgeous with the early morning light streaming through the window, and you smile up at her, watching as she pulls her sequined top up over her head. She lays over you, and your bra covered breasts press together, making your heart swell with something you can’t quite express. Her body is different, and yet, against yours, it feels exactly the same.

“Gonna go down on you, okay?” She requests, and you feel as if you might explode.

All you can do is nod, and she undresses both you and herself, spreading your legs so she’s bared to you. You can tell by the tentative way she kisses down your body that it’s been awhile since she’s done this, but as if it’s muscle memory, she remembers exactly what it is that makes you tick. Her mouth circles your nipple, and you weave your fingers through her hair, pressing her closer to you. You want her to mark you, you want to be hers again, in every way there is to be. By the time she reaches your sex, you’re arching up into her mouth, and she doesn’t even bother to use her fingers to stroke you, her tongue does all the work, alternating pressure on your clit, before probing inside you. You know that you won’t last long, but you try your best, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to see how gorgeous she looks between your legs. She’s all you’ve wanted for a decade and a half, and you have her, right here in your bed.

“Come for me, Britt.” She husks, looking up at you with her chin damp, and her eyes dark. “C’mon.”

When she lowers her head back down, you do. Your body shakes with pleasure, and she doesn’t stop. It’s like she wants to drink it all in, and you let her. Your thighs lock over her ears, but her tongue keeps moving, in and out, in and out. She’s so good at this, and you forgot about it, having settled for something that didn’t feel right for so long. When she finally brings you down, you push her onto her back, and you dip your fingers between her legs. She’s so wet that it makes you moan, and you bring your fingers to your lips, tasting them, before you do it again, and make her taste herself as well. She loves that, you remember, and she groans deeply, her body shaking as she sees the effect you have on her.

“I’ve been waiting to do this since the last time we did.”

“Brittany…”

“I’m sorry…I just have.”

You pleasure her for as long as she can stand, and when she’s finished, you look up at her, black hair strewn across your white pillow cases. She looks absolutely stunning, and you can’t help but crawl up her body and kiss her lips. You taste yourself on them, you taste her on them, and for the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel this sense of contentment course through your body. She’s here, you’ve made love to her, and you never want to let her walk out the door. You know that you’ll both have to resume your normal lives, and you’ll have to figure out how you’ll even go about resuming a relationship after so many years apart, but right in the moment, you gather her into your arms, and you hold her close.

“I haven’t done that—” She whispers. “Since you.”

“Sex?” You ask, completely shocked by the revelation, but she shakes her head.

“Sex like that. It was…too much for me. Too intimate. I did it other ways, but not like that.”

“I love you.” You murmur, because you’re not sure what else there is to say.

“I love you too, and I can’t let you go again.”

“Please don’t. I feel so…content.”

“That’s the only word I could think of too.” She smiles softly. “It’s going to be hard.”

“I know, but I’m willing to do hard. I want this to work.”

“So do I, Britt. So do I.”

[those70scomics]

T7S Halloween Week: Day 5 – Haunted House

Kelso did, indeed, egg Jackie and Hyde’s house on Halloween, 1985. So a few days before the next year’s Halloween, Hyde and Jackie put Hyde’s revenge plan into action.

Hyde calls Kelso on the phone and tells him, in confidence, that the Formans’ house is haunted.

Hyde: The Formans don’t like talkin’ about it, and Jackie and Donna don’t believe Forman’s stories--

Kelso: Say no more, Hyde. I’m a cop. It’s my duty to serve and protect Point Place’s citizenry.

They meet on the Formans’ stoop, and Kelso spots an item of suspicion: a jack-o'-lantern with no face.

Hyde: It’s just a pumpkin, man.

Kelso: Exactly. It’s just a pumpkin. It should be carved into a Halloween-y shape. ... [He chuckles.] Hallow-weenie. Anyway, we should get inside and see what these ghosts are up to. They’ve already defaced a jack-o'-lantern. There’s no telling what they’ve done to the Formans by now.

More story and art after the cut.

Kelso and Hyde enter the Formans’ living room. Kelso finds Jackie on the couch, and she’s wearing an outfit he remembers. It’s from her sophomore year, the week she thought she was pregnant with his baby.

Kelso: Jackie? What happened to your adult clothes?

Jackie: What are you talking about? This outfit is very fashionable! And be grateful it fits because in a few months, it won’t anymore.

Kelso [to Hyde]: Did you knock her up?

Hyde: Knock who up?

Kelso: Jackie.

Jackie: What?

Kelso: I was talking to Hyde -- but did he knock you up? Is that your, “I think I’m pregnant,” outfit?

Jackie: Ew! I would not let Hyde “knock me up”. You’re my boyfriend, Michael. You’re supposed to be supportive, not making up stories.

Kelso: I’m not your boyfriend. I’m married to Brooke, and we already got a kid. She just turned seven. You were at her birthday party!

Jackie: You’re married to another woman? Get out of here! [She tosses the couch pillows at him.] Go!

Kelso: Hyde, your fiancée’s gone nuts. You need to take her to the doctor.

Hyde: Don’t have a fiancée, and maybe we should check the kitchen ‘cause I’m sick of watchin’ you stare at the empty couch.

Kelso: But Jackie’s on the couch. You don’t see her?

Hyde: Nope, and I’m glad I don’t. She’d be worse than finding a poltergeist, man.

Kelso, miffed, decides not to push it and takes Hyde’s advice of checking the kitchen.

Kelso stops short at the sight that greets him: Mr. and Mrs. Forman are dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus and standing on the kitchen table.

Kelso: Okay, if you two have gotten into some sexy Christmas role-play, that’s fine with me. Even though it’s a little early in the season for Christmas, but you might want to do it in the privacy of your bedroom. I mean, the sliding door is see-through!

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Forman respond. Their expressions don’t change, and they look ahead as if Kelso and Hyde hadn’t entered the kitchen.

Kelso: Oh, I get it! They’re wax figures! But just to be sure, I better touch one of them--

Red [through gritted teeth]: You touch either one of us, kettlehead, and Santa’s boot is goin’ right up your ass.

Kelso [nervous]: Uh ... Hyde? I think we should go to the basement. There’s nothing to see here.

Hyde: Was wonderin’ when you’d realize that.

Donna and Eric are sitting in the basement, and Kelso blows out a breath. Finally, a little normality.

Kelso: You guys visiting the folks?

Donna: What are you talking about?

Kelso: You live forty-five minutes away. Why else would you ... oh. You’re here to revitalize your sex life, and you thought by doing it in the ol’ basement, you’d get that magic back.

Eric: Me and Donna? Sex? Doing it?

Donna: Kelso, we’re just watching TV. Why does everyone think Eric and I are hot for each other?

Kelso: Because that’s all you ever talked about in high school?

Eric: We’re two months into our freshman year, and I don’t remember saying anything about having the hots for Donna.

Kelso: Freshman year. ... [He sniffs the air.] I don’t smell anything nefarious, which is even more suspicious. Hyde, can we talk -- upstairs?

Hyde: Sure. Listening to you talk to yourself ain’t all that entertaining.

Jackie is gone from the living room, and the couch pillows are back in place. Kelso scratches his head and tries to piece all the information he’s gathered so far.

Kelso: Something strange is definitely going on in this house.

Hyde: I’ll say.

Kelso: People are here, Hyde. Here but not here. You don’t see them, but I do. Either ghosts have taken our friends hostage, or they’re pretending to be our friends. I gotta check the second floor.

Hyde: After you, man.

The second floor hallway is empty, but doors are ajar. Kelso decides to inspect Laurie’s old room first because he has a lot of history in that room.

Laurie: Kelso?

Kelso: Laurie! I thought you and Fez were on Mackinac Island with his parents.

Laurie: Is this your latest lame attempt at hitting on me? I told you we’re never having sex. You’re too much of a child.

Kelso: But we’ve done it, like, a zillion times. Yeah, it’s all in the past, but we still did it!

Laurie [in a banshee wale]: GEEEEEET OOOOOOUT!

Kelso, startled by the force of her scream, pushes past Hyde and dashes into the bathroom. He leaps into the tub and shrieks when Fez greets him.

Fez: Finally, someone to have a bath with.

Kelso: Wha--? We’re both fully-clothed ... no. Fez, what are doing in the Formans’  bathtub?

Fez: I’m here to have a fully-clothed bath. What are you doing in the Formans’ bathtub?

Kelso: Climbing out of it.

In the hallway, Kelso urges Hyde to be the first to check the Formans’ bedroom. The door is ajar, and that frazzles Kelso more than he already is.

Hyde: They got a shower in their bathroom, not a tub. So that should make you feel better.

Kelso: Marion Crane got stabbed in a shower!

Hyde: In a movie.

Kelso: Well, whatever. If Fez is in there, too, I’m calling it: this house is haunted.

The Formans’ bedroom is empty, but the shower seems to be running in the bathroom.

Kelso: Open that door.

Hyde: Why?

Kelso: Don’t you hear the shower?

Hyde: Alls I hear is you flappin’ your gums.

Kelso: Fine. I’ll open it.

Kelso turns the bathroom door knob and hits the door open before stepping back. Bob’s voice breaks through the running water. He’s  singing Tom Jones’s “What’s New, Pussycat?”  and Kelso darts back into the hallway. He checks Eric’s room, but it’s empty.

Hyde: Like the rest of the house.

Kelso:  Nuh-uh! This house is lousy with ghosts, Hyde! We’ve gotta inspect the rest of it. 

Downstairs in the den, Kelso’s breath stalls.

Brooke: Hi, Michael. I was just taking a rest. The Formans have some interesting books--

Kelso: Y-you’re pregnant? But that’s impossible! I saw you this morning, and you weren’t all preggo!

Brooke: Um, I’ve been pregnant for seven months?

Kelso: Does Betsy know?

Brooke: Of course she does! She’s my grandmother.

Kelso: Not her. Our daughter!

Brooke: She’s not born yet … although Betsy would be a great name for a girl.

Kelso: Hyde, tell me you see my preggo wife.

Hyde: She’s pregnant again? You actually plan this one?

Kelso: She’s not pregnant. At least, I don’t think she is. … I’ve gotta get outta this house! Maybe my precinct has the number of a Ghostbuster.

Hyde: What about the garage?

Kelso: Oh, yeah. That’s got all of Red’s tools, though. If a wrench flies through the air, I’m using you as a shield.

Hyde: Not if I don’t use you as one first.

Kelso and Hyde go to the Formans’ garage.

Kelso: Nothing here but tools and car parts.

Hyde: And a few ghosts.

Kelso: You believe me?

Hyde: I’m the one who told you the Formans’ house was haunted, right? Listen, man, the truth is … you’re dead.

Kelso: No, I’m not.

Hyde: Yeah, you are. Remember when you fell off the water tower?

Kelso: Which time?

Hyde: Doesn’t matter. You didn’t make it.

Kelso: Okay, if I’m dead, then how are you talking to me?

Hyde: Donna shoved me off the water tower, and I didn’t make it, either.

Kelso: But, no! I visited you in the hospital. You had a neck brace on and looked silly.

Hyde: We’re dead, man. Welcome to the afterlife. You’ve finally accepted your death enough to see it.

Kelso: Is this heaven?

Hyde: Guess again.

Kelso finally realizes why Hyde couldn’t see all the “ghosts” of Kelso’s past. Because they’re from Kelso’s past, as is Hyde.

Kelso: Oh, God -- I’m in hell!

Hyde, Jackie, their friends, and the Formans have a celebratory dinner that night. They’ve all been slighted by Kelso over the years, and they all agree their “haunted house” was a rollicking payback.

Kelso runs back to his house, where he finds Betsy and an un-pregnant Brooke. After a lot of talking, and some loving, Kelso is finally convinced he’s alive. But this is a Halloween burn he’ll never forget.  

[rilenerocks]

I started making lists when I was about twelve. I know this because I have them. Mostly the lists were about people. People I liked, people I had crushes on, people I hated. The lists changed frequently, sometimes almost daily. Often there were ties for first, second and even third place. When my friend Fern and I spent hours on the phone at night, reading each other our diary entries, we’d sometimes make lists together. We had enemies lists which often included politicians we heard our parents discussing. We had favorite athletes lists and music lists, teachers lists and of course, lists of our peers and family members.

We changed popular song lyrics to reflect our current passions and we had so much fun singing them, especially the ones that were Beatles songs. I still find myself substituting our words when a tune pops up in one of my playlists. You’d never have known that either one of us had a care in the world. But of course we did.

My lists got more complicated as time passed. There were the standard lists that were more like timetables, when work needed to be done, birthdays and events that needed to be remembered, the stuff of calendars. But I had lots of other lists too. In my attempt to keep my priorities straight, I managed to write lists for a wide variety of topics. I had self-improvement lists, lists of books to read and movies to see, lists of subjects to become knowledgeable about, lists of places to see and goals to accomplish. I have a list I call “the permanent list.” That’s the one that has the unforgivable words or actions of people that I’ll never forget or forgive until either my brain or breath goes.

“Michael Quotes”

Right now I have a list of nicknames Michael called me. I also have a list of his terrible jokes and funny quotes that are part of our family’s vernacular.

“Birds of today” Starling Blue jay White breasted nuthatch Sparrow Cardinals Downy woodpecker Carolina wren Brown thrasher Cowbirds Catbird White crowned sparrow Hummingbird Grackle House wren Rose breasted Grosbeak American Robin Chipping sparrow White throated sparrow Redbellied woodpecker Red breasted nuthatch Goldfinch Junco

I have lists of birds and butterflies that have visited my garden. I have lists that are so obtuse I can’t recall why the words are on the same page. The habit of listmaking is a part of me which I suspect will go on until I don’t. After years of waking up and thinking of the day ahead, asking myself what I should think about first, I figure this was a pretty rational response to the flood of thoughts that’s my typical response to opening my eyes.

I suspect that some of my dreams are my subconscious attempts to keep sorting through the ever burgeoning thought stack in my head. Some people hoard stuff. I hoard words, ideas and feelings. I’m aware that the sorting by list is ineffectual at times. For now, it’s become clear to me that I can’t anticipate how long it may take, if ever, to always remember that Michael is dead. I mean, I know that he is. But when ambling through my days there are countless times when I expect him to walk through the door. If I feel like ignoring a text, I always think, wait, it might be Michael. I’ve called my son his name periodically.

In our younger days, Michael owned the car of his dreams, a white 1967 GTO convertible. Vroom, vroom. Today I was in a bookstore and saw a thick shiny book on the history of GTO’s and walked straight over to it, thinking I’d buy it for him and how much he’d love it. These moments are fleeting but real. If I don’t like my dreams, the ones when he and I are arguing, it sours my day. When I have a good dream about him, I wake up and acknowledge that feeling before going back to sleep.

September 17th, 2019

 Hi baby,

  Things are better now. Tristan is healing well from his surgery and Gabriel turned 9 today.

And I’m still writing the letters that represent our constant dialogue over so many years. I can’t list myself out of these deeply ingrained habits that had to do with our life together. Although not quite a complete germophobe, I don’t expect that I’ll ever be without a small container of hand sanitizer in my purse. When he was immunocompromised, I was determined not to let him get sick. I sprayed surfaces with Lysol and suspiciously counted the number of times people touched their mouths and noses and then put their hands on common surfaces. Whatever I could control I did control. Endless hand washing and hyper- awareness. Good luck getting rid of that. I know it’s a peculiar preoccupation to watch people spreading their contagion around but it’s just normal to me now. I forgive myself. I try not to be angry about all that he’s missed and that we’ll miss together. That’s a terrible place to be. I only allow myself those thoughts for short moments. I think my quality of life would truly be pathetic if I got stuck in those mean, jealous places. The list habit comes in handy during those times. I can think of about a zillion things that should supersede that negativity.

Right now, I’m in the midst of other people’s hardships. I’m knowing more and more sick people and I have one very dear friend who’s in hospice awaiting her death. That’s at the top of all my lists now, along with the knowledge that as I’m aging, I’ll face more and more of those sad times. My dad always used to say that if you’re lucky enough to survive to age 70, sometimes you can just cruise along for awhile. He never got there. Neither did Michael or my favorite brother-in-law. All lost at age 67. I’m past that age now. I wonder when my turn will come to face my own demise. I don’t know if I’d think about it as much as I do except for how many early deaths I experienced. Nah, I probably would.

I always expected to just keel over one day like a tree felled in a wood. I certainly didn’t expect to be around longer than Michael who came from a family where everyone routinely lived into their 90’s. I think we’ve all been led to believe that’s possible for the majority of people but I don’t think that’s right. For every octogenarian, there are dozens of people who’ve already checked out.

I’m in the middle of three history classes this semester which are jamming huge swaths of time into 8 weekly hour and a half sessions. I come out of those classes dizzied by the compression of geologic time and long-gone civilizations that can be glanced over and set aside before tackling thousands more years. You realize how teeny you really are when looking at the world in these abbreviated segments. It’s fascinating stuff but absent a time machine, wrapping your mind around the brevity of our lives on a comparative scale is pretty daunting. And kind of comforting at the same time.

It’s only Wednesday and this week, I’ve considered the pre-Scottish elders and the Bog people alongside the Greeks and the Babylonians. We’ve looked at art and religious rituals, at least insofar as archaeologists have theorized about them and shared with us. I’ve been in ice ages and ridden tectonic plates and recognized that the Scottish oceanside rocks are basically the same as Maine’s because they used to be connected. All quite dazzling ideas that stimulate me to make more lists of things to explore, knowing full well there isn’t enough time for me in this universe to get through even a twentieth of what I’m writing down. But the habit is there and so I do it.

Lately because a cell phone makes it so easy to photograph anything, I’ve begun supplementing my endless writing with pictures to illustrate my lists. I have a photo of every place I’ve ever lived in but one because it was demolished a long time ago. I can always think of something new that needs to be photographed.

I have my butterfly and bird photos to go with their documentation as yard visitors. I keep having my storage on my phone fill up because I’m documenting everything. Maybe there’s a gene for this need to list and illustrate. It’s so much a part of me that I was lucky to start early and thus have plenty of writing and pictures of me in many moments with Michael and my family,  including really intimate ones. Ah, the days of the self-developing Polaroids. I was compelled to record. I think my daughter is like me. A record keeper. Maybe it’s a coping skill, a way to not be overwhelmed by the complexity of our lives. We certainly have more than our share of angst right now and I think lots of people feel the stress. So I suppose I’ll keep at it, trying to organize everything and trying not to forget what’s important. I guess I could have worse habits. Even a little Purell isn’t that bad.

Habits I started making lists when I was about twelve. I know this because I have them. Mostly the lists were about people.

[keithharingmural]

all the even asks!!!!

2 - What age did I realize I first liked girls: In 7th grade at age 12 when couples started dating for the first time and I realized I didn’t like boys the same way other girls did4 - at what age did I come out: i came out to a few friends at the end of 9th grade but I didn’t come out to everyone until two weeks ago!6 - Has coming out lost any friends: nope! I’m lucky, I actually gained more friends because I became more tied to the gay community at my school8 - how many gay friends do I have: idk but not nearly enough lmao. maybe like 10 gay and bi friends 10 - have I ever cut my hair short: no my hair is long and it looks better that way12 - how much do I like cats: im actually allergic lmao. still love them though but im more of a dog person14 - do I like high heels: nah not my thing 16 - how good is my gaydar: honestly it’s pretty good. it’s def improved over time18 - how I feel when straight girls call each other “girlfriends” : I hate it and it’s the dumbest thing ever like stfu!!!!!!! 20 - Ellen or Portia: im not like emotionally attached to either of them so idk lol22 - do I want to get married: FUCK YEAH IMMA HAVE A GAY ASS WEDDING AND GET MARRIED TO MY GAY ASS WIFE AND YALL ARE ALL INVITED WOOP24 - do I want to give birth: NO!! I find it really creepy having someone with the same genes and looks like me like biological children seems scary to me. also I have ovary problems too. but i def want to adopt26 - have I ever dated a guy: one time in 8th grade a boy asked me to the movies and I said yes but then cried for hours and avoided him until I went to a different high school and never saw him again so I don’t think that counts as dating 28 - how many rainbow items do I own: damn like none :/30 - do I celebrate coming out day: i came out 10 days before COD but i still recognize it32- have I ever worn a suit : no I’m more comfortable in feminine clothes 34 - do I eat meat: i was vegetarian for a few years like 5th-7th grade but I’m not anymore so yeah I eat meat36 - my favorite LGBTQ celebrity : this is sooo hard to choose but probably hayley kiyoko bc she’s a big inspiration to me38 - how often to I catch myself checking out girls : I think the whole checking out culture is really something only straight guys do and I feel uncomfortable looking at girls in any inappropriate way. if i am starring at a girl it’s always just her face bc I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable 40 - am I comfortable with lesbian slurs : on tumblr I think they are funny to use but I don’t really use them in real life and i def wouldn’t want a straight person to aim them towards me42 - how outdoorsy am I : moderately I guess. im a cabin camping girl tho44- LD relationship : no luckily46 - how long my longest relationship: only been in one bc the girl I dated was having lots of home troubles and wasn’t in the place for a relationship so we broke it off48 - can people really be 50/50 bisexual : that’s not really up for me to decide. personally the bi people I know are either more straight or more gay but that’s only my personal experience and I’m sure some people are split 50 - lesbian youtubers: I watch rose and rosie sometimes ! couple goals tbh52 - have I been hit on by a girl : yah it’s great54 - past gfs : just one56 - personal meaning of equality : it means no person has lesser opportunity to achieve their goals simply because of an aspect of their life where they might be different than others58 - have I ever shared clothes with a gf : yeah I still have her shirt she gave me ….60 - how flirty am I : it’s hard being flirty when you’re gay bc if the person you hit on isn’t gay it gets disastrous 62 - do I listen to LGBTQ musicians : yes!! hayley kiyoko, troye sivan, (harry styles 👀👀) , etc 64 - discrimination : fortunately I haven’t faced anything major but it’s just that I can’t talk about my experiences being gay without fear of backlash66 - was I ever a tomboy : when I was little I was a HUGE tomboy, some people even thought I was a boy bc I wore boy clothes and had short hair and loved masculine activities. it’s kinda funny now bc im a femme68 - favorite physical trait - looooove nice thighs. like,, im a huge sucker for thighs and it’s a big weakness of mine70 - beer or wine : none! champagne bc im a high class bitch72 - how attractive are masculine women : 1-10 it’s 10 billion!!!!!74 - girls with tattoos : also 10 billion!!!!76 - girls with short hair - a zillion !!!!78 - intelligent women - really hot as long as they aren’t arrogant80 - period same time as gf : yup lol82 - do I have a purse ; always for as long as I can remember 84 - have I ever pretended to be straight : way too often86 - gay women on TV : almost always sexualized to appeal to straight male audiences and honestly it’s disgusting88 - celebrity crushes : im going to marry rosamund pike one day and that’s The Tea90 - love at first sight : like I believe in attraction at first sight but you don’t even know the person so imma say no92 - best place to meet a gf : I guess places like college make meeting new people v easy94 - have I had a one night stand : im 16 so no lmao96 - have I played softball : no98 - disagree with stereotype : that gay and bi women are predatory and have the male gaze, which we don’t 100 - advice : Being gay is so much better than you might think at the moment, find your time when you’re comfortable coming out and live your life freely bc you only get one!

[thelittlestkitsune]

Play Dates: Part Two. [smut]

A;N: So Chloe @writing-obrien wrote the first part of this collab and she killed it! I’m hoping I did the same! Huge thanks to the lovely @wydobrien for proof reading and making sure it didn’t suck too hard. I love ya’ll and Enjoy! xoxo

Pairing: DaveHodgmanxReader

Author: thelittlestkitsune

Warnings: Smut.

Word count: 5,387

Listen to me.            Read Chloe’s bomb ass part here! 

It’s just a date. You thought to yourself as you sat on the end of the bed, battling with the contents of your wardrobe. I could wear jeans? You looked out the window, noting the blazing hot sun as you cast your jeans back into the depths of your closet. You sat with your head in your hands desperately clutching to any idea of clothing. Fuck it at this point I’m going naked. You looked over the clothes that decorated your bedroom floor. Maybe he’d like it if I went naked. You shook your head, picking up the denim shorts by your feet. These are cute enough? Casual but still hot if I bent over? Perfect, you looked over your floor, picking up a shirt near your desk. Expert level laziness. You stripped yourself of the pajamas you were wearing, letting them fall to the floor beside you. You slipped the shirt over your head, the shorts sliding over your legs before examining the outfit as you looked in the mirror. Not too shabby. You quickly applied makeup as Stevie ran rampant through the hallway.  

He came crashing through your door, his face smeared with chocolate from earlier in the day. “I thought I told you to wash your face!” You sighed as you walked over to him, abandoning your vanity and chasing after him. “I did already!” He shouted, his feet thundering across the wooden floor. “Don’t tell porkies Stevie! You know what Umbridge made Harry do when she thought he was lying!” You laughed as Stevie stopped dead in his tracks. “YOU WOULDN’T!” he screeched, his face drained of color. His eyes welled up, his lip quivering as he balled his fists up. You stopped walking towards him, your face softening as you glimpsed the tears in his eyes. “Stevie, do you think I’m as horrible as her?” He shook his head, his hair flopping over his eyes. “Exactly! But don’t tell porkies!” You crossed the short space towards him, poking him in the side before tickling him. “Tell me the truth then?” He pouted, avoiding your stare as he stayed silent. “I got some more ice cream from the freezer. I didn’t want to tell you because it was yours and I ate it.” He stared at the ground as you smiled. “So you didn’t lie? You did wash your face?” He nodded, his eyes finding yours, big as saucers. “Well that’s okay then. Was the ice cream nice at least, considering I’ll never get to eat it now?” He nodded, his toothy grin illuminating his little face. “It was the bestest ice cream I’ve ever had in my life.” You smiled back at him, ruffling his hair as you turned away.  

“Well of course it was, it was my ice cream!” He giggled as he followed you back to your room, taking a seat beside you as you sat at your vanity. “So you’re going out tonight?” He looked at you as you applied mascara, mimicking your funny faces. “Yes which means I’m going to miss movie night. Sorry kiddo!” You had planned to sit and watch the Harry Potter movies with Stevie all night but Dave had texted that morning. He finally had a night off babysitting and you two were practically itching to be together again. You flashed back to that night in the kitchen, a small smile on your face before Stevie piped up again. “I don’t mind we’ve seen all the movies a million zillion times anyway! You’re going out with Dave. I like him, he’s funny and he makes you happy.” He smiled, his tongue poking out between his gums. Kids are more mature than we think. “He does make you happy. You know what makes me happy?” He pondered over the question, his brow furrowed. “Well you really like pizza.” He stated a matter of fact as you laughed. “Well apart from that?” He concentrated again, his tongue poking out as he sighed. “I don’t know, what makes you happy?” You poked him in the side as he let out a squeal. “A CLEAN LITTLE BROTHER. Go clean your face and I’ll make you some pizza?” He dropped from the bench he was perched on. “OKAY!” He ran from the room, leaving you once again in nervous silence.  

You finished up your makeup, letting your hair out the pony you’d slept in. You sighed as you picked up your brush, running it through the bird’s nest that had taken refuge on the top of your head. Not ideal. You winced as you hit a snag, your head jarring. Your phone buzzed against the wood of your desk and you reached for it, smacking your elbow on the sharp corner. “MOTHER FU-” You stopped yourself, your elbow throbbing as Stevie came hammering down the hallway. “YOU WERE GONNA SAY A NAUGHTY WORD.” His jaw hung slack as you picked up your phone, swiping the call accepted. “Stevie, be quiet. I’m on the phone!” He stood in the doorway, his face now clean of the chocolate he was covered in. “Hello?” You spoke, unsure of who was actually calling you. The brush you were using still hung, trapped in a knot in your hair as you balanced the phone between your ear and your shoulder, rubbing your elbow gently. “Hello Gorgeous.” Your body shivered as Dave spoke down his receiver, the sound echoing through you as you sat upright. “Hi Dave, what’s up?” Stevie mocked kissing in the doorway until you reached over, swinging the door shut. He yelped as you heard him run away.  

“It’s about our date. I think I have to cancel. I’m so sorry Kay.” You slouched, your heart in your stomach. “It’s okay, I think Stevie’s pretty cut up about me missing movie night anyway. We can just rearrange? Or is it that you maybe don’t want to go out anymore?” You trailed off, regretting the words that just left your mouth. “Oh my god Kay! That’s not it at all, my mom’s conference got rearranged and now she’s heading out. I have to look after Stella.” He responded, his voice exasperated. “Is that it?” You let out a sigh of relief, pulling at the hairbrush you’d almost forgotten about. “Yeah, I mean I had this whole dinner and everything planned out and I’ve been looking forward to it all day. That and a multitude of other things.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as a chill ran through you once more. “Oh is that so?” You toyed, your voice hushed. “You have no idea, it’s been driving me crazy. I can’t look at an ice-pop the same way anymore.” He laughed, as you giggled. “Well then who am I to take that away? We don’t need a fancy date, we’re not fancy people. Let’s go get a pizza and go to the fair at Elmer’s? You can bring Stella and I’ll bring Stevie?” You probed, finally untangling your hair, a moan escaping your lips. You gasped as Dave sighed. “I wanted to spend some time alone with you, so I can hear you make that noise without the threat of kiddo’s interrupting us again.” His voice was darker, more like honey with a bite. You bit your lip, as your legs crossed. “You’ll get me all to yourself later. But for now, I wanna see you and I’m starved. Meet at Joe’s in like an hour?” You could almost imagine the smile on his face. “I’ll be there, I brought my appetite. Let’s hope they’re serving as much as I can handle.”  

You clicked off the call, your face flushed red as Stevie came barging through your door. “Who was it? Was it Dave? Why do you look like a tomato?” He laughed, pointing to your cheeks. “It was Dave and I look like this because I have decided to become a lobster. I do not care for humans anymore!” You formed your hands into pincers as you reached for him, tickling his sides once more. “I don’t like lobsters.” He pouted. “They don’t like you much either. But you like pizza right?” he nodded vigorously. “Well then let’s go get some!” He cheered as he ran from your room, leaving you to pick up the clothes on your floor. “COME ON SLOWPOKE!” He screamed from the hallway as you shoved your jacket on, the edges of it almost obliterating your shorts. “I’m coming SONIC!” You laughed as you jogged through the house, finding him on the floor, odd shoes on both feet as he fiddled with his laces. “Those don’t even match Stevie.” You grabbed the matching one from the basket, pulling them on his feet as you quickly tied his laces. He sprung up before you even had chance to finish lacing one. “Petrificus Totalus!” You pointed to him, his body instantly freezing in place. He glared at you as you finished tying his laces. You shook him to tell him he could move again. “You can’t just curse me like that!” He laughed as he stole your car keys from your bag, running out the door. “You can’t steal people’s stuff like that! Thief!” You shoved on your beaten-up Vans as you locked the door behind you, the sun hot on your back. You crossed to the car as you hammered on the window for Stevie to unlock the doors.  

Almost an age passed before you heard the click, the door swinging open to reveal Stevie’s sheepish grin. “Sorry Kay, I shouldn’t have stolen your keys! Can we not play the game tonight? I don’t want Stella and Dave to think we are weird.” You winked at him as you climbed in the seat, buckling yourself in. “They wouldn’t understand anyway. Muggles.” Stevie laughed as he sat back in his seat. The drive to Joe’s was quicker if you passed Aubrey’s, but your stomach turned every time you drove past hers. You turned to the left, taking the scenic route, you had time to kill anyway. Stevie bounced in his seat to the music blaring through your speakers, his little lungs screaming the lyrics. You smiled as you tapped along, your stomach in knots at the thought of seeing Dave again. Everything seemed to pass in a blur as you pulled up to Joe’s, Stevie streaking from the car even before you had chance to unclip your seat belt. You threw your door open, grabbing your bag as you chased after him, coming face to face with Aubrey.  

You swallowed thickly, your face draining of color as you avoided her eyes. “Hi Katie, I see Stevie’s not changed much? Still obsessed with pizza I see?” You locked eyes with her, breathing a soft breath of composure as you plastered a fake smile on your face. “Of course he is? He’s six.” You let out a shaky laugh as she smiled. “Yeah, I saw you with Dave the other day, how’s the dating going? He cancelled on you yet?” You rolled your eyes, knowing what was coming. Some bullshit story of how Dave broke her heart, one you knew wasn’t true. “Save it Aubrey, I know what you did to him. I don’t believe a word out your mouth. You wanna know why he cancelled? Cause he didn’t want to see you. He knew you were cheating on him. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of having your cake and eating it too.” You spat, your arms crossing over your chest indignantly. Aubrey huffed, her lips pouting as she shifted uncomfortably. “Everyone know’s what you did to him. He’s so nice and you fucked it up. That’s on you and I’m not you; I will treat him right.” She looked over you, her brow quirked. “Yeah, well just remember. I treat him right first. First.” She whispered in your ear as she pushed past you, her shoulder hitting yours. “Oh and Aubrey?” She turned around, her head tilted up as she looked down on you. “That fall from your high horse might fuck your face up. Buy a helmet and grow the fuck up. And for reference it’s KAY, NOT KATIE.” You walked away from her, heading inside to find your little brother.  

He sat in a booth, surrounded by menus, his hands crafting a makeshift mini fort. “Where did you go?” He asked innocently as you slid in the polyurethane booth beside him. “I thought I smelled something bad so I was checking my shoe.” You smiled as you set your bag down, ordering drinks for the both of you. You scrolled down your phone as Stevie hummed under his breath, until a dark mop of hair caught your eye. You heard Stella before you saw her, her laugh tinkling through the dull roar of the pizzeria. “Hi Katie Kat!” She grinned as she climbed on the seat, taking one of Stevie’s menus. He grumbled, but let her as she placed it in front of her, her legs hitting against the bottom of the booth. “Dave says we’re going to the fair!” You sighed, your head in your hands. Stevie fist bumped the air, latching onto you. “Can we go with them please? Pretty please? I swear I won’t eat any more of your ice creams.” He batted his eyelashes, his eyes pleading with you. “We’re all going dummy. No puppy eyes!” He smiled as he pulled a menu out. “THANK YOU.” You had barely taken notice of Dave as he sat opposite you, his dark eyes searching over you. “Hi.” He spoke, a smile playing on his lips. You blushed as you met his eyes, your own lowering as you searched the table for another menu.  

“Hi.” You smiled back, your tongue darting over your lips as you drank in the way he looked. Tight black shirt, stretched thin over his biceps and dark denim jeans, frayed at the ends from excessive wear. You sighed, your ribs being poked by tiny fingers. This is going to be a long night. Dinner went by faster than expected, the kids were too hungry to really talk and you felt like you couldn’t talk for fear of moaning with the way Dave was eyefucking you from across the table. He paid for dinner as you walked out the restaurant, a child attached to each arm. “Do we have to drive to Elmer’s?” Stella chirped as Stevie pulled harder, urging you to walk faster. “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask Dave.” You spoke as he strolled alongside you, his hands in his pockets. “Okay so we can walk there as long as I can walk with Kay. Deal?” The kids squealed as they released your arms, running ahead down the sidewalk. “Thought you liked driving Dave?” You probed, your hands finding his as you walked. “I do, but sometimes I like to slow it down and enjoy things as they come.” You didn’t know if it was your oxygen deprived brain or his deliverance, but he seemed to linger on the word come. You shivered, even though the breeze on your skin was warm.  

You walked in silence before bringing up the whole Aubrey situation. He seemed less pained as you told him what you said, his eyes lighting up as you babbled. “You do bitch so well baby.” He leant over as you relaxed into his side, falling perfectly in step with him. His lips coasted your cheek as you heard the wind pick up the distant chimes of the fair. The kids ran off, their little legs almost going supersonic speeds as they raced towards the twinkling lights and thundering music. You caught up with them easily, Dave’s hand gripping yours as wind whipped through your hair. You lined up, nestled in his arms as you paid admission, the kids pulling excitedly at your hands. The lines were long but Dave made time go by faster, his wit and humour making every minute go by in a blink. The kids pleaded to go on the giant funhouse, only made available for kids under ten. You let them, asking the supervisor there to keep an eye on them as you made your way around, looking for something to pass the time as they wore themselves out. You passed a rickety old tunnel ride, the red and pink lights flashing as you grinned at Dave. “Please?” You batted your lashes as you pointed to the sign, his eyes lighting up. “Tunnel of Love? It’s like the lamest ride here, plus it looks half broken down.” You pouted, pulling out the puppy dog eyes. “But what about the ferris wheel?” He pointed behind you as you whipped around. “I hate heights.” You turned back to him, pulling him flush against you. “Plus if we go on the tunnel of love, we can just make out the whole time. No interruptions.” You whispered as his hands gripped your hips.

You crushed your lips to his, his tongue darting over yours as he groaned. “Well then what are we fucking waiting for?” His voice was whiskey and silk as it coasted over you, his hands pulling you to the entrance. You paid your entry, sitting in the crappy plastic seats as you made your way into the darkness. You didn’t waste a minute, coming together as soon as you disappeared from view. His hands found your waist, his fingers balling the material up as he gripped you to him, your legs entangling. Your breathing made you dizzy, his breath intoxicating as his lips left yours, dragging hot wet kisses down your jaw and over your neck. You squirmed, desperate for more your head rolling as his lips found your collarbone. “I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day.” He breathed, his teeth grazing your skin. “I’ve been thinking about this all fucking week in fact.” You sighed as his fingers played with the zip of your jacket, his hands reaching up to pull it from your shoulders. You shivered slightly as it dropped to your waist, his hands palming over you as his lips found yours once more. You inched closer to him as the ride ground to a halt, your attention otherwise occupied as his hands roamed your body.  

He was everywhere, lighting everything on fire, an unholy flame raging through your veins as you shook. His lips left yours as you both gasped for air, hands on legs and shoulders as you came together. His hands coasted over your hips as he pulled you onto his hips, your legs straddling his as you ground against him, his cock hard against the material of his jeans. You smiled, as you reached between your bodies, your hand running over his growing bulge as he groaned. The sounds he made were lost in the cacophony of love songs playing on the overhead system. You drowned them out as you buried your head in his neck, placing soft kisses against his mole speckled skin. He rolled his neck as his hands coasted over your ass, kneading and gripping you tighter to him. You don’t know how long you stayed buried in his neck but you came up gasping for air as he dragged your shirt up your torso. The lighting was so dim you could barely see an inch in front of you but you could swear you could feel his eyes on you. He moved quickly, pulling your shirt from you completely, his mouth replacing the cotton as he licked over your breast, rough fingertips pulling the lace from you. You stopped him, reaching behind you to unclasp it before letting it fall to the floor. “Fuck.” He whispered, his lips connecting with your skin. You lit up like a circuit board, his lips the ignition for the spark than ran through you. His lips dragged across the valley of your chest, his tongue rolling over your nipple before he took it between his teeth, his lips latching as you surged towards him.  

Moans fell from your lips as you rocked atop him, his cock rubbing the material of your cutoffs in such a way; that if you carried on, there would be no coming back. He paused as his hands coasted over your spine, nails leaving ragged red marks as he moved, his mouth now giving attention elsewhere. Your breathing was ragged as your fingers danced over the fabric of his shirt, fingertips intertwining with dark hair on the bottom of his stomach. His breathing caught as you pulled the material up, his warmth leaving yours as he pulled it over his head. You bit your lip as you palmed over his chest, barely making out the constellation of freckles in the dim lights. “Either get rid of the shorts or I will do it for you.” He spoke, his voice cracking. You nodded as you rolled back to your seat, your shorts already half way down your legs as his hands raked over you. He started innocently enough, half finished patterns on your thighs, his fingers snaking over the sensitive skin on the inner half. You sighed, rolling against the plastic wishing for more than just his hands. Not that you were complaining, of course.  

His hands were magic as they moved over your skin, electric and fire and holy Hell ran through your veins at the lightest of touch. His fingers danced over the lace of your panties as your lip caught between your teeth. You groaned as he pulled away only for his fingers to hook in the band of your panties, roughly pulling them down your legs. His hands were on your hips as he pulled you to him again, his jeans discarded somewhere in the darkness. You didn’t care as you straddled him again, his cock teasing over your clit. “You’ve clearly been thinking about this all day too.” He breathed, his words vibrating over your skin. “You have no idea Dave, you were practically eye-fucking me at dinner.” Your words were punctuated by draws of breath as he slipped over you, his fingers dipping between your folds. “Well it’s a shame we had company, I wanted nothing more than to be eating you rather than the pizza.” You shook as you straddled him, your clit rubbing against the head of his cock. You stifled a moan, the music pausing as he moved over you. He moved painfully slow, his cock drawing circles over your clit as you bit your lip.  

“Dave-” You whispered his name as his hips snapped to yours, his cock slipping over you quicker. You sucked in a sharp breath as he raised his hand to your face. He let his fingers trace over your cheek and your jaw before his fingers grazed your lips. You understood immediately, wrapping your lips around his fingers, your tongue rolling over them. He groaned in the darkness, his cock twitching against your core. “You really have a mouth on you, don’t you, baby?” He whispered as you rolled against him, your body raging in a fire that you were pretty sure was going to consume you. “Dave-” You whined as his hands dipped between your legs, the tips of his fingers brushing against you. It was like kicking up the dust, the flames only licking higher at the lightest touch. He palmed over his cock, using his fingers to rub slight circles against you, his cock teasing at your entrance. “Dave-” You spoke more forcefully as his chuckle filled the space between you. “Sorry baby” He spoke against your skin as he pushed into you, your body sighing in relief. “You’re forgiven” You stuttered out, your breathing shallow as he began to thrust into you. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers leaving half moon ridges from bitten down fingernails. He rolled you a top him, rocking as he thrusted, the combination only fuelling the fire that raged on within you.  

Your arms found his chest, palming over him as the coil within you tightened, your head spinning. His hands wandered over your body, his fingers finding your nipples once more as he rolled them between his forefinger and thumb, a groan rippling through him. He thrust harder, his cock slamming against you as you bit back a scream. “I want to hear you baby, don’t hold back.” He whispered as his hands moved down your body, rough fingertips barely touching your clit. You clenched around him at the contact, your head rolling back as he gripped you to him. “I may be an ass man, but when you serve up your tits like this I can’t help but take advantage.” You barely choked out a reply, a mixture of his lips and hands had you spilling out moans. Curses left your lips as his fingers quickened; his mouth finding your chest once more, his lips puckering the skin and marring it purple and blue. Your legs shook as a moan ricocheted through you. “Cum for me baby. I want to hear and feel you cum.” He spoke again as your head fell against the top of his, his cock slamming into you at angles that had you seeing stars. “Dave-” You mumbled, your body rising as the coil tightened. Your breathing stopped as you hurtled over the edge, a scream piercing the stagnant air around you. It echoed as your muscles seized, your heart slamming in your chest.  

He moaned, your name falling from his lips in an almost prayer as his head fell forwards. His fingers never stopped their relentless movements, his patterns unfinished as he pushed you towards that edge again. “Again baby.” He whispered, barely audible over the drone of the music. You bit your lip as you rocked against him, your ass moving at double the speed he could manage. “Join me.” You whispered back, using your nose to nudge his head to the side. You kissed along his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth as his hips juddered against yours, urging you towards his release. “Dave-” You whispered against him as he slammed into you, his orgasm crashing over him as his fingers danced you towards your own. You screamed against his neck, the noise only slightly muffled by skin. He held you there, your bodies slick with sweat as you reached for your shirt. You peeled yourself from him as the lights came on, the carriage inching forward at long last.  

“How long were we in here for?” You asked Dave as you dressed, frantically pulling on items of clothing. “I have no idea but I don’t particularly care.” He laughed as he zipped himself up. “Dave, I can’t find my panties. Do you remember where I was when I took them off?” His eyes widened as he took his phone from his pocket, his torch illuminating the space around you. “I think I threw them.” he laughed, his face crumpled in a half laugh. “You asshole!” You play slapped his arm as you pulled your shorts on, the denim rough against your sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean to! They were in the way and I was preoccupied!” You sighed as you sat back down, the denim rubbing against you. “You owe me new ones.” You grumbled, settling in the crook of his arm. “Why you know when we’re together you’re better off without.” You smiled as the ride came to an end, the world outside darker than you thought it would be. You stepped out the carriage, stretching out your aching muscles as Dave did the same. A young girl probably no older than 15 came running over to you, her face in a blind panic.

“We are so sorry that the ride broke down! We can offer you a full refund for your trip and maybe some snacks? It usually doesn’t break down for that long.” You reached out for her, your hand gently touching her arm. “It’s okay! I didn’t mind, we barely even noticed. In fact I would definitely come again.” You emphasized the word come as your eyes glanced over to Dave, his hands covering the grin on his face. “Oh thank you! I hope you had a wonderful time!” She smiled as she returned to her station. “Wonderful is the light way of saying it.” You mumbled as Dave walked over to you. “We should get the kids and go home, it’s getting late.” He spoke as you walked hand in hand to pick them up. They came out screeching, their eyes red rimmed and yawns stretching their mouths wide. “Where were you guys?” Stella croaked, her little hands covering her mouth as she yawned again. She reached out for your hand as you walked through the grass. “Me and Dave went on a grown up ride. It broke down and we couldn’t get out!” You laughed, shooting Dave a look as he took Stevie’s hand. “Was it scary?!” Stevie piped up, his eyes wide as you walked on, heading out the fair. “Katie was screaming it was that scary.” Dave quipped, blush rippling through your cheeks.  

“Scaredy cat! Can we try and win a bear before we go home?!” Stella squealed as she pointed to the hook a duck sign. “Sure thing kiddo!” You laughed as you and Dave paid the attendant, each of the kids successfully winning themselves a bear. Dave yelled as Stella won 2 in a row and you laughed as Stevie went on to win 2 as well. “We can all have a bear!” Stevie smiled as he handed Dave the stuffed animal. “Aw, thank you Stevie! I’ll treasure it forever!” He smiled, his whiskey colored eyes lighting up at the small gesture. “Well now we have our bears how about we all go home?” Stella nodded, her lids drooping as you walked back to the car. You limped as the material of your shorts rubbed against you, the friction making it hard to close your legs. “Kay, why are you walking like a penguin?” Stevie asked as he watched you, his hand still gripping Dave’s. “Is it because of the ride?” He quirked his brow innocently as you blushed, a deep shade of crimson. “It most certainly is. But don’t worry I’m sure it’ll pass.” You winked at Dave as a smirk played on your lips. You carried on walking until your legs ached and you were pretty sure denim was made of sandpaper. You spotted the car, the kids using the last of their energy to run towards them. Dave and you hung back, your fingers latching together as you spoke. “So maybe next time bring a spare pair?” He quipped, his eyes smiling as he spoke. “Oh so there’s going to be a next time?!” You laughed, using your hand to slap across his chest playfully. “Kids or no kids, I’m game if you are.” You laughed. “Oh it’s on Hodgman.”

[30-days-of-exciting-stuff-blog]

Day 10 - Black Mirror [Series]

Do you ever feel fabulously grateful for something crappy that happened to you, because it eventually led to something good? This is one of my favourite things in the world. I had one of these moments a few weeks ago. A co-worker had been motivating us all week to spend a crazy Friday night out. For totally work-unrelated reasons, I had been feeling pretty depressed lately and most of my evenings were spent alone in my apartment (mostly re-watching bad Youtube videos, probably in order to make sure that I still didn’t like them), so I looked forward to this night out. Getting anywhere close to drunk was off the table because I had made some damn good resolutions, but I was kind of hoping that we’d meet wonderfully weird people, and find a place where the decoration would make me laugh even more than the huge portrait of Angela Merkel that took up all the space of the ladies’ restroom door in a Germany-themed bar I once went to. Enjoying the city lights and probably dancing - to some terrible 2000’s music that would remind me of the awkward teenage parties I usually wasn’t invited to anyway – sounded like a nice sequel to this.

In case you wonder: The weird Angela Merkel bar is actually called the Black Forest Society, and it’s located in Lyon, France. They have nice, original, good-resolutions-incompatible cocktails made with Black Forest Gin and fancy liquors and cocoa, sometimes served in kitschy recipients. A bit expensive, but still a nice experience. Oh, and they have bretzels as well.

Unfortunately, they had all lost their motivation sparkle by the time Friday came. Some of them wanted to get up early tomorrow, some had other plans, some were tired. I ended up being the only one who actually wanted to go. I had booked my train tickets to my parents’ for the next morning, so it became clear that this would be another lonely night in my flat. I soon found myself texting my co-worker, whining about how bored I was and asking her if she could think of something nice for me to read or watch.  She suggested me to try Black Mirror if I wanted food for thought about modern society. Black Mirror is a series of one-hour standalone episodes. That, my friends, is already a pretty great point for people like me who try to watch a zillion series at once - and inevitably end up forgetting what the hell the hot smart gay intern’s name is because 1) all these character names adding up can be rather confusing 2) they find time for an episode of the show every two months or so. Standalone episodes have that great habit of rightly assuming that, just like Jon Snow, the viewer knows nothing. Each one has its own cast, setting, and reality, which basically makes them short movies. What they all have in common in Black Mirror is the theme of new technologies and their unexpected consequences.

By the way: Connor Walsh. The hot smart gay intern from How to get away with murder is Connor Walsh. He’s one of the main characters for the Seven’s sake, how could you even forget?

As you may have noticed, the theme is pretty broad, which allows for a number of variations. Some episodes are built around a specific fictional technology – what would happen, for instance, if everyone had a chimp implant that recorded everything they did, saw or heard, and allowed them to replay the entire memory, either in front of their eyes or on a screen? The Entire History of You is centered around that possibility. In an alternative reality where this technology allows personal data storage to go even further than it currently does – and anyone who once cringed in front of an n-th attempt from Facebook to revive awkward 8-year-old memories to celebrate a virtual friendship birthday will probably argue that this has already gone way too far – memories are never faded, let alone erased. Every recording is potentially an evidence to the jealous protagonist, who suspects his wife to have cheated on him with her ex and gets more and more paranoid as he keeps replaying potentially incriminating memories. The chilling Be right back, on the other hand, introduces us to realistic androids simulating the deceased using their previous communication data. Martha, a grieving young woman whose husband died in a car crash, reluctantly begins to communicate with an artificial intelligence accurately imitating her late partner – humour, interests, reactions, everything is calculated to sound like him. The digital ghost is convincing and Martha soon finds herself in love with him, until she gets frustrated with his inability to express emotions accurately, and his lack of the traits that were not expressed by her deceased husband in his digital life. The resulting story is truly haunting – no pun intended -, and is both a heart-wrenching exploration of grief and a starting point to an authentic riot of questions in the viewer’s mind, the most interesting probably being “What spares the human from a thinking machine anticipating its reaction to every situation, and able to be loved by the ones who knew the person behind?”.

The Entire History of You - Nah, you told me your relationship had lasted one week, not one month, LOOK, I HAVE PROOF. *Memory replays*

Hi digital ghost, I guess.

My favourite episodes, however, are those set in dehumanized, acerbic, cynical dystopias, built and revealed slowly over the course of the episode. In the thought-provoking Fifteen million merits, citizens only go out of their confined sleeping boxes to cycle endlessly on exercise bikes to power their screen-covered surroundings and generate Merits, a currency that allows them to skip the untimely, inopportune, sometimes obscene advertisements that keep interrupting their activities to sell them nothing but virtual items such as accessories for their avatars. Sleep. Cycle. Skip ad – if you can afford it. Interact briefly with one or two avatars. Repeat. The protagonist progressively becomes aware of the vacuity of this existence and craves realness since he got a glimpse of it in the singing voice of one of his co-cyclers, but even the only perceived escapes usually turn out to be smoking mirrors. Another great episode, Nosedive, is set in a colourful, alternative reality where people rate one another using their phones. Ratings determine their employability, access to services and overall value in society – some neighbourhoods are exclusively reserved to people with high ratings, and a low rating will make you lose your job. This leads people to obsess over their ratings and calculate every single social interaction, hoping to get the favours of high-rated people in order to raise their score and finally be able to get the discount they need to rent a house. Satires about social media society probably aren’t uncommon, but this one has that cynical feel created by the sharp contrast between the pink-and-pastel visuals and the hypocritical, chained social interactions that take place under a social media eye constantly ready to pull people under if they dare speak their minds or complain about anything. Nosedive gets even scarier when you think back about it and realise that the terrifying society described over the episode already exists, although in a less visible way. Social media does play a huge role in our personal and professional lives – who never thought of posting something on the social media just to impress someone? Who never heard a story of someone who got in trouble at work, or didn’t get hired, because of social media material? Who never got stuck into a conversation about what a common acquaintance posted on social media the day before? Who never paid at least a little attention to the number of likes they got on their Facebook post? And about the whole rating thing – I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with “We’ll go to that restaurant, it’s really well-rated on Tripadvisor” or “If you liked it, please don’t forget to rate us”. And actually, apps that rate people are already a thing.

Fifteen million merits and Nosedive - Different atmospheres, different alternate realities, same feeling of suffocating fakeness.

This is where Black Mirror generally gets brilliant: Although the alternate realities depicted in the show are usually noticeably different from ours, the viewer always ends up seeing a reflection of their own society. The scenarios X-ray aspects of our modern world and disguise them in a satirical, clever, accurate way that makes you think back about Black Mirror episodes long after you watched them. The questions raised by the series go way beyond the usual “You should all turn off your phones, get real again and go for a walk in the forest with your neighbour, social media turned you into narcissist brainless zombies” rhetoric. The variety of scenarios, from political satire to intimate drama, make sure you keep being surprised and never get bored. However, you will probably get uneasy pretty often – and I’m not saying that because the first episode revolves around the Prime Minister being ordered to have sex with a pig in order to save a princess from being killed. A cuddly blanket, a nice cup of tea, your favourite biscuits and a pair of arms/loving cat/soft toy (depending on what you have in store) are probably advised during, or after, a Black Mirror episode. Not providing yourself with that equipment and watching it right before going to bed will be at your own risk – I promise you don’t want your nightmares to turn into technologically advanced dystopias. Old school monsters are easier to run from.

And also: This is the tenth post of this Tumblr, which definitely deserves to be celebrated with the song that kind of inspired it. As hinted in the Crypt of the Necrodancer post, it’s the famous standard “My favorite things” (except I usually write it, like everything on that Tumblr, with the British spelling – I’m neither British nor American, and I’m trying hard to avoid cliché-ridden justifications such as “because it makes my blog posts smell like my beloved Twinings tea”). Just like that enthusiastic blog of mine, it’s an enumeration of amazing things. Let’s face it, “whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens” probably sound much better than “sad novels, weird computer games, robot exhibits and sci-fi-ish series”, but I promise I love kittens and soft mittens as well. I just don’t have enough material to write about them. Anyway, I thought you may enjoy this cover by Pomplamoose as much as I do.

[fourteenacross]

john is the most single and frustrated begrudgingly pre-law major there is is when he starts looking for a ghost bf

I have zero time to write this, if only because I know myself and I know it would sprawl into a huge, hundreds of thousands of words verse with a zillion side characters and side-stories and I already HAVE one of those, SO, here are MY THOUGHTS as not!fic:

John’s a senior studying some flavor of government, filled with dread as law school applications loom in the future, and preparing himself for three years of hell to achieve his father’s dream life, which looks nothing like his own dream life. He’s definitely not putting all his effort into classes because, god, he just doesn’t care, there are days he can barely get out of bed let alone write another fucking essay about some crusty old white dudes who liked to oppress people when they weren’t busy writing about freedom and justice. He barely has time for his friends, let alone time for dating, and he has A Reputation for going out for drinks, getting all up in some dude’s business and either beating the shit out of him or fucking him and then never seeing him again.

His friend Herc, FIT student by day, bartender by night, hears about some weird paranormal club meeting in the backroom of his bar and tries to talk the gang into attending. Lafayette and Martha are game, maybe because Herc promises them free drinks, but John has to be needled into coming along.

“Maybe you’ll meet a boy,” Martha says.

“It’s a ghost club,” John says flatly.

“Well, maybe you’ll meet a ghost boy.”

And they all have a good laugh at John’s expense and go to the dumb club meeting. There’s a lot of talk of ghosthunting and electromagnetic whatever the fuck and John keeps thinking about all the work he could be doing (read: sleep he could be getting) right up until they turn on a machine that’s supposed to attract ghosts. The lights in the room flicker as it whirs to life and John looks up automatically and almost shouts out loud when he sees the figure floating about three feet off the floor, regarding the machine warily. He turns to Laf to say something, but none of his friends look at all phased by what’s going on in the room. They mostly look bored. So do the rest of the people at the meeting.

It’s really only John’s years of reading the temperature of rooms at stupid political fundraisers with his father that keeps him from making a fuss. Because it’s clear to him that no one else can see what’s happening–no one else can see this guy, this ghost guy, poking ineffectively at the machine that’s supposed to be pulling ghosts towards them.

“Supposed to be.” It is. It is pulling ghosts towards them. This one, at least.

John’s about to chalk it all up to too little (too much?) sleep and the power of suggestion, when the ghost guy turns around and looks right at him. 

“Oh wow,” the ghost says. “Can you actually see me?”

“I–” John starts to say, and Martha and Laf both turn to him. He shuts his mouth. The ghost looks at his friends, looks at the rest of the room, looks at the machine, and then looks back at John again.

“I’ll take that panicked look as a ‘yes,’” the ghost says dryly.

John needs to get some more sleep. That’s all. He needs to get some more sleep and this will all go away.

He excuses himself from the meeting, muttering an excuse to his friends, and high-tails it back to his dorm.

The ghost follows him.

“Are you going to answer me?” the ghost asks him.

“You’re not real, so no,” John says.

“You totally just did, though, so that means I have to be real, right?”

John doesn’t respond.

“Seriously, man, I’ve been trying to get people’s attention for decades. You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to in years, you can’t run away from me.”

“Watch me,” John says.

But the ghost is right and it follows him all the way back to his building and up the stairs and down the hall and into the single that almost makes his dad’s need to flaunt their wealth worth it. The ghost follows him right through the door–through the door, through the solid door that John tries to close in his face.

“Will you talk here?” the ghost asks. “Because I understand not wanting people to think you’re crazy, but…come on. We both know you can see me. Talk to me.” John squeezes his eyes shut. “Please.”

John hates being such a fucking soft touch.

He rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand and sits on his bed and then opens his eyes and looks nervously up at the ghost. He looks about the same age as John–Latino, with dark hair and eyes that somehow manage to be deep and dark even though he’s half-translucent. John compares his clothing to various movies and figures he must have died in the 1950s or 1960s.

“Okay,” he says. “Fine. Maybe if I embrace this insanity they’ll lock me up somewhere and my dad will forget about me completely.”

“You’re not crazy,” the ghost says. “Unless…unless I’ve finally gone crazy after years of being on my own and you’re a projection of my own mind, subconsciously trying to bring attention to your supposed insanity as an indicator that I’ve actually gone insane. Can ghosts go insane?”

John blinks at the ghost. The ghost blinks back.

“I’m John.”

“Alexander.”

The ghost–Alexander–looks away from John and glances around his tiny studio single, full of university-issued furniture and not as much personalization as there probably should be. When he’s done a full sweep of the room, his eyes land back on John.

“It’s, what, 2015?”

“2016,” John says, and the ghost nods. 

“Right, right,” he says. “Sometimes I lose track. It’s been a long time.”

“When did you…die?” John asks.

“1961,” Alexander says. “Jesus, fifty-five years, now. Fuck.” Then he frowns apologetically. “Sorry. I’ve been floating around listening to people talk for fifty-five years and people certainly swear more than they used to, but that doesn’t make it polite.”

Somehow, John gets the impression that Alexander doesn’t much bother with polite anyhow. “S’okay,” John says. “If you’re going to be haunting my dorm room or whatever, you’ll hear worse.” Alexander smiles a little and it’s kind of cute and that is a stupid thing to think about a ghost boy who’s probably a hallucination. “Are you going to be haunting my dorm room? Why are you here?”

“Because I followed you home,” Alexander says, though that’s not the answer John is looking for and he clearly knows it. “Because…because you’re the first person in twenty years who’s been able to see me. Because you look slightly more willing to help than the last person. Because–fuck, I don’t know. I’m lonely.”

Closer, but still not the crux of the issue. “I mean,” John says hesitantly, “why are you…you know. Not…wherever ghosts go after they die?”

Alexander shrugs, his shoulders curling inward, his eyes cast downward.

“Dunno,” he says. “I thought, for a while, that I might be in hell. My personal hell, anyway. Not being heard–I mean, if Dante was constructing a punishment for me, that would be near the top.”

John nods slowly. “What happened?”

And Alexander tells him a very, very long story. About coming to America. About making a name for himself. About falling in love and getting married and fighting so hard to get to the top that he pissed off a few of the wrong people. About a shoot out with a guy who used to be his best friend. About bleeding out in an alleyway and never seeing his wife’s face again–never making anything of himself after years of fighting to be better than where he came from.

“Which is the irony of it all,” he tells John. “Because, fuck, if I’d have stayed on the island, I’d be just as likely to be dead, but at least I’d have been able to rise above my position, you know? Dying in America at fucking twenty-three years old without accomplishing anything just feels….” He shrugs. John wonders how it feels to want something that badly. He wonders if he’s ever wanted anything that badly in his life.

“Sorry,” John says when it’s clear Alexander has finished. “Is there anything–you said you needed help?”

That perks him right back up. “Yes! In my papers–I had a completed manuscript in my papers. A novel. It was all set to be published, but my wife never found the full manuscript even after going through all my papers, so it never was. And that’s all I want–I just want it found. I want it out there.” He’s quiet for a moment. “And I want…Eliza didn’t deserve to lose me like that. Eliza didn’t deserve a husband as reckless as I was. She deserved someone who would put her first, before his career. So I want…I want to say goodbye.”

Three years of classes at Columbia, four years of high school, an endless stream of sports teams and clubs and music lessons and parties and John has never felt anything like the tiny ember of excitement that’s burning in his chest, the one that’s slowly starting to ignite his whole body. He’s never heard or seen or done anything that’s made him this eager and excited. He wants to do this. He wants to help. He’s not sure why, but after years of doing things because he was told to, he’s suddenly got a purpose independent of what anyone else wants.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning slowly. “Yeah, okay, I’ll help.”

So over the next few weeks, Alexander stays in his dorm and occasionally follows him around the Columbia campus. He tells John more details about his life and John tells Alex details about his own. They stay up late talking and fall into a comfortable routine. John sees his other friends less and less and spends more and more time in the library searching for Alexander’s wife, trying to figure out what happened to her. Martha and Herc start to worry, but he comes up with flimsy excuses to stay away from the bar, half-hearted lies to get out of going to parties.

“I just hate thinking about you alone in your room,” Martha says to him after he declines the third invitation in a row.

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s not alone–that maybe for the first time in his life, he’s opening himself up to someone else, telling them his secrets, forging the sort of connection he always thought didn’t exist outside of romance novels.

Romance novels. Why did he think that? It’s not a romance novel, he and Alexander, they’re just–well, they’re something like friends. They’re not–that would be stupid, he can’t fall in love with a ghost. With a straight ghost. Who talks about his wife like she was an angel on earth.

Fuck.

Because he is telling Alexander his secrets. About his father, about the way his family turned on him after James. About trying so hard to make up for one stupid mistake that he doesn’t know who he is or what he wants. About being so afraid to let anyone see him, the real him, because what if they realized he was nothing more than a directionless husk of a boy?

He even, one late night, tells Alexander about the one fantasy he does allow himself–the quiet thoughts that lull him to sleep at night, the dream of just fading from existence, drifting into nothing, being erased from the world. His friends wouldn’t miss him if he just went back and clipped his entire existence from history. James would still be alive. Maybe his father would be happy.

It’s embarrassing and selfish to say that to Alexander, he knows, Alexander, who so clearly yearns to be real again. Still, he sits and he listens to everything John says. The words pour out of him in the dark, the listlessness, the exhaustion, the fear. The only light in the room is the blinking blue light of his phone charger and the faint glow that Alexander gives off when the lights are low. Alexander listens, lying next to him, the edge of his body blurring into the bed. He’s facing John, his expression carefully blank.

“I’m sorry,” John murmurs. “God, how fucking–you don’t need to hear that. You don’t want to hear that.”

“I always want to hear from you,” Alexander says quietly.

“Not about this. How can you sit there and listen to me bitch about wanting to not be alive any longer when being alive again is all you want? Fuck, I wish we could switch places.”

“I don’t,” Alexander says. “I–I don’t think being alive would be half as good if you weren’t there with me.”

They’re both very, very quiet after that. John can hear his heartbeat loud in his ears. Alexander reaches out, slowly, as if to stroke the side of John’s face. John squeezes his eyes shut and shudders, his heart in his throat, hammering away, making it difficult to breathe.

“Alexander.”

“Ssssh.” 

And John opens his eyes again to that same expression, that same fathomless gaze. He’s so close. He’s right there and John has never, ever wanted anyone like this. Not his roommate in boarding school who was beautiful and smart and wrote him love poems, not his Western Civ TA who had a musical laugh and delicate hands, certainly not any of the assholes he picks up at bars. This wanting feels like a physical thing, an ache that starts in his chest and rolls around his whole body, tugging at every part of him. He’s afraid to speak again, afraid of what sound might come out. He’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He thinks he might cry.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” Alexander tells him. “Just. The world needs John Laurens. I need John Laurens.”

And that heavy reminder falls down between them, cooling John’s flushed face, reminding him that Alexander is here because John is supposed to be helping him. John is supposed to be helping him find his wife.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The next day, he considers telling Martha what’s going on for the first time. She’ll probably think he’s crazy, but he needs to let this out, this torturous longing. He’s become accustomed to pouring his troubles out to be dissected, but this isn’t something he can lay at Alexander’s feet. That wouldn’t be fair. At the same time, what the fuck would Martha think if John were to tell her any of this? That he’s in love with a ghost. A married ghost. 

Fuck.

He takes a longer way back to his dorm after class and another unsuccessful afternoon cold-calling people who might have known Alexander’s wife. He’s walking down an unfamiliar corridor and his eyes fall on a notice board at the end of the hall. There’s a flyer advertising a movie night hosted by Dr. Burr.

And there’s no way–there’s no way that the Dr. Burr at his school is the same Burr that shot Alexander. 

Right?

He rushes through the halls to the office number written on the flyer and nearly collides with a tall black woman in her mid-fifties when he gets there. She’s holding a keyring and looks startled.

“Uh,” he says, panting, “Dr. Burr?”

“Yes?” she says. “I’m sorry, are you a student of mine?”

“No,” John says. “Um. This is going to sound–does the name Alexander Hamilton mean anything to you?”

Dr. Burr stares at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open. Then she turns around and opens her office again and gestures for John to follow her inside.

Dr. Burr fills in some of the gaps of Alexander’s story, gives a slightly different perspective on the fight and all that came before between her father and Alexander. She tells John what came after, too, the parts that she knows. She cries a little, then gives John a phone number for Angelica Church, Alexander’s sister-in-law.

John is very, very slow in walking home after that.

This is what he was supposed to do. This is what he wanted. This is what Alexander wanted, this is why Alexander needed him. To find Eliza. And John has–or as good as, at least. Angelica, Dr. Burr assured him, would be able to contact Eliza. She saved all of Alexander’s things, Dr. Burr said. The manuscript was bound to be among them. Alexander would tell John where it was and John would tell Eliza and…that would be it.

Alexander would be gone.

When John gets to his dorm, Alexander is hovering near the door.

“You’re late,” he says, with some measure of concern.

“I…got caught up talking to a professor,” John says. It’s not a lie. Still, Alexander scrutinizes him.

“Something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.” That’s an actual lie. “I’m just–I’m tired.”

“If it’s about what I said last night–”

“It’s not.” Not entirely, at least. “I’m glad–I’m glad you care. I’m glad someone cares. About me being alive or dead, I mean.”

Alexander shifts so that he’s floating closer to the ground, so they’re nearly eye-to-eye. It hurts to look at him.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” John manages to say, and is then saved by Alexander going off on a tear about how cinema has changed in the past fifty-five years.

That night is hard to get through, so hard that John knows that he can’t live like that, not even for another day. He feels cruel, keeping Alexander from the answers he seeks, so the next morning, when Alexander is wherever he goes when he’s not hanging around John’s room, John calls Angelica Church. It’s a very long, very convoluted phone call. She’s suspicious of him, suspicious–rightly so–of the story he makes up about how he knows where the manuscript is. She won’t give him Eliza’s number, but she invites him to come to her place in Manhattan so they can see Eliza together. 

Then all that’s left is breaking the news to Alexander.

Alexander stares at him, later that day when he finally gets up the guts to tell him. He stares and then he grins and then he shoots around the room so fast that he’s barely more than a blur. He harangues John about when they’re leaving, tells John all manner of stories about Angelica. His mouth is going a mile a minute and John has to smile, even as he feels his heart breaking.

The trip over to Angelica Church’s place is tense. It’s hard for John not to look at Alexander on the subway, and looking at him has the dual problems of making his chest hurt and making him seem like a crazy person, his eyes tracking something that’s not there. It’s even harder not to look at him when they get to Angelica’s and Alexander shoots inside and starts looking around at every nook and cranny.

Ms. Church makes him sit down in the dining room and talks to him as she prepares tea. She tells him all about all of the wonderful things Eliza has been doing with her life–running a foster care and community center, starting a scholarship in Alexander’s honor, getting three degrees and raising a dozen foster children. She paints a picture of a smart, wonderful, kind-hearted, compassionate woman. Alexander’s perfect counterpoint. He wishes Alexander could have seen her accomplish all of this, and from the haunted look on his face, Alexander wishes it too.

“So,” Ms. Church says to him once she’s given him a cup of tea. “I may have not been entirely frank with you on the phone, Mr. Laurens.”

“I’m sorry?” John asks.

Before she can explain, he hears the door opening from the other room. 

“Angelica,” a sweet voice calls from the hall, “they didn’t have those pears you like, so I–”

She stops short when she comes into the dining room. John has heard her described often enough that he recognizes Eliza Hamilton on sight, despite the fifty-five years that have passed. Even if he didn’t recognize her, he would have known it was her the moment Alexander began to cry.

“As it so happens, my sister and I live together,” Ms. Church says. To Eliza, she says, “Eliza, this is John Laurens. He says he–well, apparently he found some papers at Columbia that might help us locate Alexander’s lost manuscript.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, it’s nice to meet you,” John says, because he can’t say I’ve heard so much about you without sounding creepy or insane.

“Oh my word,” Eliza says. “I can hardly–how?”

John tells a mostly made up story about finding one of Alexander’s old notebooks in some library reading room. He tries not to watch the way Alexander flits around Eliza, eyes full of tears, reaching out for her. He’s afraid he’s going to be sick, and Eliza seems just as angelic as Alexander made her out to be. She doesn’t deserve that.

After some nosing around the attic room where Alexander’s things are and John making up even more stupid stories about how he knows as much as he does about Alexander, Alexander spots the box with the false bottom that holds the manuscript in question. John pulls it out and pops the hidden drawer out and Eliza bursts into tears.

“It’s so silly!” she says, trying to wave off John’s help. “It’s so very silly, but writing was so important to him–legacy was so important to him–that knowing that all these years have gone by without his story being told has weighed so heavily on me….”

“It’s going to be told now,” John assures her, and lets her hug him. He doesn’t look at Alexander. He can’t. “And,” he adds softly, so quietly that Ms. Church can’t hear, “he’d want you to know that he loves you–loved you–so much. And he regrets–regretted–everything happening the way it did. He thought you deserved more, better. And he’s sorry.”

Eliza pulls back and stares at him in wonder. John stares at his feet. He only looks up when Eliza pulls him into another hug.

He looks up just in time to see Alexander glowing gold, crying, smiling, and fading slowly from sight.

John manages to keep it together long enough to politely refuse a dinner invitation and a reward from Ms. Church and Eliza. He manages to keep it together long enough to get to the train. The second he sits down, however, the tears start. He hates himself for it, but he cries all the way back uptown to his dorm.

It’s so stupid. It’s so stupid. He never should have gotten attached. He never should have let himself get to know Alexander. He never should have let himself fall in love with a ghost. Fuck, it even sounds ridiculous.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He hates himself, but that’s hardly new. He spent twenty-two years hating himself–these last few weeks of contentment were an anomaly. He keeps crying as he trudges down the sidewalks and up the stairs and fumbles for his keys.

There’s a noise on the other side of the door.

John freezes. Someone’s in his room. Someone broke into his dorm. Because this day isn’t fucking bad enough.

Well, fuck it. If there’s a burglar with a gun waiting inside for him, they’ll be doing him a favor at this point.

He puts his key into the lock and turns the knob, pushing it open carefully and then peering inside.

And then blinking.

And then rubbing his eyes.

And then blinking again.

“What…?” he manages to say, but no other words will come to him.

Alexander is sitting on his bed.

Alexander is sitting on his bed.

He’s not floating above it, glowing faintly. He’s not walking through it. He’s sitting on the mattress, his weight dipping it down on either side of him.

This has to be a dream. Maybe he fell asleep on the subway. Maybe there really was a burglar inside his dorm and he’s been shot and he’s dying.

“John,” Alexander finally says. He smiles slowly, smiles wide, smiles like his face is going to split in two.

“This isn’t–”

“John!” Alexander jumps to his feet and, wow, seeing all that action compressed into a human body is something else. Alexander nearly bounces across the room to him, vibrating with energy.

“No, this isn’t–I’m dreaming, this isn’t–”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Alexander says, and then he’s right in front of John, close enough to touch. “I didn’t know what was happening, I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, I wanted to say goodbye, when I thought I was moving on I–” He stops short. “You’re crying.”

“You left,” John manages to croak. “You–you did what you needed to do, I did what you needed me to do, and then you were gone and I’ve never–fuck, I haven’t–you–” John gestures futilely and on a particularly sharp flail of his hand, he hits Alexander’s chest.

His solid chest.

John has to swallow around a lump in his throat as he flattens his hand out, presses it against Alexander’s chest, fingers spread.

“Yeah,” Alexander says, and his voice cracks a little as he says it.

“I–” John wants to wipe his eyes, but instead, he reaches out and touches Alex’s cheek, feels real, warm skin beneath his fingers. “I–”

“I don’t know how. I don’t know why,” Alexander says, and now he’s the one crying. “I just–I woke up here. Like this. And–I guess I’m getting a second chance.”

John tries to slow his breathing, the wild beating of his heart. He tries to pull himself together because his heart is jumping to wild conclusions and he’s just going to be disappointed again.

“Eliza–”

“Eliza–” Alex bites his lip. “I love Eliza so much. Endlessly. She was a better woman than I ever deserved. But she’s had a whole life, a whole long life without me. She’s nearly eighty and I’m twenty-three again and–I just–”

“I love you,” John blurts out. “I–it’s crazy, I’m crazy, I fell in love with…with a ghost! With a person who didn’t even exist, with someone who could never love me back and–”

“With someone who does exist,” Alexander assures him, covering John’s hand with his own, pressing it against his cheek. “With someone who does love you back. John….”

John can’t stand it another second, he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t kiss Alexander, so he does. He kisses him and wraps his arms around him, around Alexander, around the solid, real Alexander in his room. The solid, real Alexander that he has here in his arms.

And they make out and have sex and the next day they spend all day in bed making up an elaborate story that explains where the hell Alexander came from and then John introduces him to the rest of the gang and tells them Alex was his secret long-distance boyfriend and that’s why he’s been so weird.

And, idk, they get Alexander papers somehow and he enrolls in Columbia and finishes his degree in two years while John puts off law school to figure out what he really wants to do with his life. And things aren’t perfect, but they’re good and that’s better than it’s been for John for a really long time and he’ll happily take it.

The end, etc.