#if you agree with her fuck you dude. how do you build a platform off activism and then say you actually

[mossfeed]

defending brittney broski? goodbye

[creamupuffuu]

✿YOᑌᖇᗴ KIᗪᔕ ᖴᖇIᗴᑎᗪ ᑕᗩᒪᒪᔕ YOᑌ ᗩ ᗰIᒪᖴ 😕

KᗩᖇᗩᔕᑌᑎO:

(Daichi, Tanaka,)

ᗪᗩIᑕᕼI:

❥It was around 3:25 o'clock—you had just started preparing dinner for your 15 year old son and your FIREFIGHTER husband (cause you sure as hell wasn't cookin' for no cop) when you heard the door open. Placing the roast in the oven you bent down—mits on your pretty hands and ass damn near presented to the world in the pretty sundress you wore.

"Hey Ma!"

"Hi honey!" You called out as you stood up discarding your oven mits onto to counter you turned around tilting your head. "Whose this?"

"This is Takashi, we have a project to work on so I figured it was ok if I brought him over for a bit, is that ok?"

❥ While your conversating with your son you failed to notice the way Takashi's virgin eyes took in your pretty (slim/lean/plump) body—eyes racking over your subtle bust that noticeably sat upright and nice around the ruffles of your dress—the same dress that hugged your curves just right, a nice and frilly apron tied neatly around your waist. "Well it's nice to meat you Takashi" you giggled sticking your hand out for him to shake—blinking the boy rubbed his neck.

"A-Ah, it's nice to meet you too Mrs. Sawamura..." he uttered, seemingly very focused on they way your breast bounced with each shake—(Your son's name) nudged him noticing the way his eyes lingered. "Anyway, we'll be on our way Ma—let go of my mom's hand ya freak" he grimaced causing Takashi to chuckle sheepishly as you waved them both away.

❥ "Dude," (Y/S/N) whispered as they sat in the dining room "What?"

"Don't what "what" me—why the hell were you starin' at my ma like that?" Looking around Takashi made sure you weren't paying attention as you stirred the mashed potatoes. "Dude your mom's a total milf." Your son pulled one of the most disgusted stank faces he could muster as he stared at his friend in utter disgust. "Mf wha...?"

"No dude, I'm serious—like look at her, she has the whole milf persona down pact. She's sweet, kind and has a baggin' bod man."

"You've literally just met her..."

❥ Any other time you were a force to be reckoned with, a hazard to society—this just happened to be one of the days you felt generous enough to grace the house with your charitable contributions. (Y/S/N) recognized the dangerous tint your eyes held when he told you he invited someone without your permission and expected you to be cool with it—what you were merely doing was putting on an act as the "Sweet milfy mother" and it was working out wonderfully.

Too wonderfully

"Naw man, your mom's a milf."

"Dude..."

"Like—she gave me this look dude—you know "that" look" the poor boy, he had no idea what was approaching upon him.

"Bruh..." (Y/S/N) tried again, but to no avail as Takashi continued on.

"No no no, cause get it—if given the chance bruh, I'd fuc—oh my gosh, what happened to the light?" with a choked gasp the boy could only stare in pure shock at the sight of your towering husband—expression stoic, but the way his eyes flared into the child made him piss himself he was so scared. (Imagine a 5'9–hell maybe even taller—beefy man staring you down with the most meanest ass look)

"I'm sorry, You'd what to my wife?"

(Y/S/N) lifted a few papers and patted them against the table to straighten them as he watched his friend get chewed out by his father. "A-Ah...M-Mr. Sawamura, I didn't...that didn't come out right—I meant uh, yeah y-you know...."

"No, I don't know—why don't you explain to me what exactly you'd do to my wife given the chance—cause I'd love to hear it." Daichi hadn't felt so pissed in his life (aside from when he was made a meme on several social media platforms—put thats a different story for a different time) and honestly it was disgusting having some brat in his home—his sanctuary, a place where he comes to feel relaxed and loved to sit here and try to explain to his own son how he'd fuck you if given the chance—where the hell was the damn belt when you needed it?

❥ "Daichi—is that you babe?" You're sweet voice rang from the kitchen as you glossed your cornbread with your honey and butter mixture—turning his attention back on the boy Daichi glowered at him.

"If I ever hear something like that come out of your mouth in my presence I'll make sure you never step foot in this house again."

And with that he smiled, turned and caught you as you leaped into his arms placing a nice kiss on your cheek. "Hey love, dinner smells great." He grinned, guiding you both back into the kitchen, a giggle escaping your pretty lips as you go on to ask about his day.

❥"Yeah, yo ass most definitely ain't invited to the cookout." Your son snorted taking in his friends pissed scared expression.

—————

TᗩᑎᗩKᗩ:

❥It was actually your daughters girl best friend who called you a milf and Tanaka winded up agreeing with her 💀

Here's how it happened, you and Tanaka had planned a trip to a nearby water park since the last few days had been hot as a bitch—so you allowed your daughter to invite her friend and of course she agreed—as long as your daughter and her had been freeness she had never gotten the chance to officially meet you, she'd always been around your husband since your daughter was a daddy's girl.

"Ryū, do you have everything packed?" You asked as you poked your head out from the side door of the house—your lean husband packing what looked like unnecessary junk in the back seat of the car. "Yeah, Yep baby—" he nearly slipped trying to shove four lounge chairs, the picnic basket and several other things in the car. "I've got everything packed—just waitin' on (Daughter name) and Naomi to come."

Nodding you poked your head back into the door to change—a nice bikini and thin shawl to go over it—it's better if I show it to you—

❥ Now before I see any comments sayin' "My stomach said no" "Tits, ass and thighs have left the building" I want y'all to know that Tanaka does everything in his power to make sure you feel happy and loved, it's what made your confidence boost since high school and the self love you had for yourself only skyrocketed the longer you stayed with him and you truly understood the true value of yourself. You felt happy and comfortable in your own skin, that didn't mean you didn't have days where you felt off about being in your body, but those thoughts would simmer down when your adoring husband cane into view.

Stripping from your pajamas and bunny slippers you placed the bikini on and folded the shawl in front of you as you made your way downstairs to sit in the living room.

Ten minutes had passed and (Y/D/N) and Naomi had finally returned—greeting your husband Your daughter asked where you had wandered off to

❥ "Your mother? She's in the living room last I seen her, (Y/N)!! Come on love we're ready!"

"Just a second!" You hollered back slipping on a pair of slides and exiting out of the house—time seem to stand still as not only your husband, but Naomi too drunk in your form—the swimsuit definitely serving you justice. "You all ready?" You asked, "Y-Yeah hon...w'we're ready." Smiling cheekily you grinned.

"Yo, (Y/D/N)"

"What? What's up??"

"Your mom is literally hot as hell."

"..."

"Deadass, she looks like one of those hot ass milfs..." she muttered watching as you lightly scolded Tanaka for putting the sandwich iron into the truck. Turning around you bent over to grab the toaster—tits nearly spilling from your top as you made your way back into the house. "Yeah, a milf."

"You said it." Tanaka whistled placing his folded arm on top of Naomi's head. "M-Mr. T-Tanaka, oh my gosh I am so sorry...I shouldn't have—" Your childish husband barked out a deep laughter at the scared expression on your daughters friends face. "Calm down kiddo, I'm not mad—if anything I'm glad someone recognized it." He uttered whipping his head to stare at his daughter.

"I am not referring to mama as a milf."

❥ Tanaka smacked his lip, a low whistle coming from his mouth as both he and Naomi stared at the way your ass flexed through the thin material of the shawl

Up and down and up and down

And up and down and up and down

❥ "Damn," they muttered in union

"You two are literally disgusting."

—————

Chapter from my Wattpad account :p

Danish_Taco

[rachelthompsonauthor]

What is social proof? It’s a marketing concept that we are all inadvertently, unknowingly contributing to every time we click on, retweet, like, reply or comment, and share any kind of social media, article, or blog post on the net. Technically, social proof, as defined by Sprout Social is:

The concept that people will follow the actions of the masses. The idea is that since so many other people behave in a certain way, it must be the correct behavior.

Social Proof and Me

As an author, social media is a hugely important part of my author platform, as it is for any writer or blogger. This is how we connect with readers now, even before the pandemic. Virtual, online events are now the norm. Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube Live video discussions are the new book signings. Twitter chats are weekly on any number of topics; I have two of my own, in fact, #SexAbuseChat every Tuesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est and #BookMarketingChat every Wednesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est.

All important for visibility, branding, and most importantly, connection.

However…there’s a limit. I reached my limit over the course of this past year. It didn’t come all at once. It came, little by little, reaching a peak this past month or so.

Why? How? Me, the so-called social media expert?

Access. Like many people, I have issues with the incredible level of access Facebook gives people once we friend them without our consent. PMs (private messages) are automatic, now with the ability for people to call, voice, and video message us, with no option to shut these options to OFF unless we unfriend the person (we can, however, mute a specific conversation). Technically, we do give them consent in the legal mumbo jumbo we all agreed to when we joined back in the 2010s.

I am not okay with this. And Facebook doesn’t care. Nobody cares. You’re probably thinking, “Geez, Karen. Shut up, already. Stop your whining, white lady.” I get it. I do. First-world problems.

I counter with: I hear you. It’s also part of my business. A huge part. Here’s why:

As someone who manages over 70+ various social media accounts as part of my BadRedhead Media business, plus my own accounts as well, Facebook requires I have a personal account in order to manage all those other Pages. I do understand why, particularly with all the ridiculousness of the past four years with the abundance of fake accounts, fake news, and such.

As a survivor of sexual abuse and stalking, this is ultra-concerning to me. So, what happened this past month or so? Suffice it to say, one person repeatedly tried calling me. I never pick up Facebook calls, especially if I don’t know you. Another left me a few voice messages saying they were offended by something.

Yet another left me another message in ALL SHOUTY CAPS that she didn’t find what I posted inspirational enough and she expected better from someone who is “supposedly on the side of authors.”

Oh, and there is the one lady who started replying on ALL my posts to the kind people who did comment that she didn’t think I replied often enough or to her satisfaction.

Well. I’ve been criticized before. You should read some of my 1-star reviews. There’s plenty!

But, for whatever reason, this struck a chord. I got up in my feels. I cried. I talked with one of them and we worked it out because we like and respect each other’s work in the mental health space. The others I blocked. It’s darn frustrating to donate hours of my time each week to helping writers solely because I want to, only to be told it’s not enough. Like, seriously? Fuck off.

My blood raged. My heart sank. Understandable, right?

But what really made me angry is that I put myself in that position by being available. I accepted that ‘it is what it is.’ This is what the social media platforms have given us, so that’s what I have to work within.

I’m too available. It’s too easy to leave me shitty messages. This is why people hire people like me – to handle this crap for them! So they don’t have to read these ridiculous criticisms from judgy people who apparently have nothing better to do or are having a bad day.

And I get bad days. It’s a damn pandemic. We’re all struggling. Where’s the damn compassion for one another?

I have a dislike/hate relationship with Facebook anyway, since about ten or so years ago when I discovered that a past love had died by suicide by going to his personal profile and seeing, “RIP dude,” messages there. We had spoken early that day. It still haunts me.

So…what to do? I’m claiming my time. I’m not posting to my personal Facebook profile right now. I’m ignoring it. I am checking my Pages and of course, my client Pages. When I feel like I can face it again, I will cull my ‘friends’ down from *checks real quick* 4385 people to maybe, I don’t know, the few hundred in my groups, many of whom I do know and treasure.

Social Proof and You

If you’re a writer, social proof matters. This is the world we live in. Publishing is not only writing.

You need to be ‘findable,’ not only on Google, but also on each individual social platform, so your readers can learn more about you and hopefully, buy your books. If you go the traditional route, publishers and agents want to know how many followers you have (easily upped by buying fake followers or likes from Fiverr or wherever). I suggest not doing that, because:

1) fake followers don’t buy books 

2) it’s usually pretty obvious when you have fake followers because they’re all foreign names, have questionable bios, and no tweets

3) do you really want to start your publishing career with a lie? 

They also want to know what you post, how often, and what your branding is. If you’re an indie author, honestly, the same applies. Social proof is about connection, building relationships, and authenticity. I’ve believed that since I started my business and writing career way back in 2011, and I stand by it now. Start slow, grow slow. It’s not a race.

I’m the furthest thing you’ll even find from a conspiracy theorist – I don’t believe in chemtrails, pizza parlor cabals, or that the earth is flat. However, I am a realist. Watch The Social Dilemma sometime. These huge tech companies share our data without our knowledge or consent (Cambridge Analytics, anyone?). Younger generations are so used to this, they don’t really care – ask them.

(My kids think having a chip implanted in their hands with all their data is a fabulous idea. “So much easier than having to talk and repeat everything over and over. Just scan me and be done with it,” says my daughter Anya (21). “Agree,” grunts my son, Lukas (15). Buy stuff, go to the doctor, whatever. Scan and go. Talk with any GenZ kid, you’ll likely get a similar answer. They’ve been tracked since birth everywhere. They don’t know life without a computer, tablet, or phone in their hands.)

Know that whatever we do, it’s all part of each platforms’ AI, and they share data, which is why that darling pair of shoes you just saw on Amazon is now showing up on Google, Facebook, Twitter, and every website you visit going forward. It’s all about the money, and they all get a piece of that affiliate link.

Every bit of every click is recorded, even when you’re watching videos on YouTube, or a subscription service like Netflix, or perusing goods on Amazon. It’s all connected. I’m not shocked or surprised by any of this, are you?

It’s Not Personal

What people say to us and about us is ultimately incredibly revealing about them. We know this, at an intellectual, psychological, and emotional level. Still, when people say mean things, it hurts. We’re human.

Does it matter in the overall scope of our lives? Who can say. It matters at that moment. It can matter when it comes to overall visibility when you’re marketing your book(s) or trying to get that book contract or interview. Only you can say if it matters to you.

Already a longtime fan of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS by Don Miguel Ruiz, I took a moment to reorient myself with this one agreement: Don’t take anything personally. I also stumbled across an excellent short and entertaining TEDTalk by Frederick Imbo. His main message to stop taking things personally is two-fold;

It’s not about me. Look at the other person’s intention and

It IS about me. Give yourself some empathy. Speak up. Ask questions. Pay attention to how you feel and be vulnerable with your needs.

I’m glad I was able to, inadvertently, employ point #2 and work out some issues with one of the people by telling him what he said made me cry. He apologized. I apologized. We talked it through and we’re still friends.

Ultimately, social media is what we contribute to it. What we make it. How much we allow of it into our lives. Social proof is going along with the tide. I’ve been in this space since 2008. Being connected to others is a big part of the work I do to help and support not only other writers, but also other childhood sexual abuse survivors. However, I’ve reached that point. I knew it was coming.

I’m not shutting my doors. I’m just adding a screen. With a strong lock.

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

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The post What Is Social Proof and Does It Matter, Really? appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

[hoodharlow]

Wildflower: Chapter 1 [PR!Cal]

Prologue found here

AN: First of all this is dedicated to the anon that sent me the whole Twitch stream. ILYSM. Second fatass shout out to @d-oaks​ for always reading and editing these messes ilysm.

Warnings: brief mentions of drug use towards the end

Word Count: 3.8k

“‘llo?” Calum answered his phone groggily. He had passed out the minute he climbed on to bed with Duke. 

“Ash asked you for one fucking thing. Be nice to Alexis, and what do you do? Fucking yell at her in a parking lot.” Luke’s voice boomed on the other side. 

Duke climbed on Calum’s chest. With his front paws he nudged him because he needed to go.

“Did she fucking tell you that?” Calum rubbed his face as he led Duke out to his yard to do his business.

“No, it’s all over fucking Twitter. God, Cal we don’t need this. Look, we got a meeting with the label at nine. I’ll leave ya to it.” With that Luke hung up.

Calum opened Twitter and there was a video of him and Alexis Ximena. The audio was just the paparazzo talking about them, but anyone with eyes could see what they were doing wasn’t talking. They were arguing. The video ended with Alexis wiping her tears as she walks back to the building. There was another video of them, but this one is of him draping his jacket over her as he leads them to the car. 

"Fuck." Calum said to himself. Most of the tweets are calling him out for being an ass. 

He dropped his phone on the couch. He went over to his kitchen and started on his daily coffee when his phone pinged. It was a Tweet from Alexis Ximena.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

A loud knock woke Alexis Ximena. Her morning class was cancelled today. She had hoped she would be able to sleep in today after last night. 

“Mande,” she called.

“Get ready, we have a meeting at nine.” Her dad answered from the other side.

She got up after hearing his footsteps fade away, walking to her vanity to check her phone. Her stomach dropped when she saw twitter. Then she was angry. Where the fuck were the paps? She thought to herself. They always have the fortune of getting her and Calum in pretty compromising  positions. Shawn was still mad at her for the pictures from a few weeks ago in which Calum was carrying Karma, her dog. She was on her way to Paris when the pictures were released. 

Alexis Ximena started typing. “I’m fucking done with the media this morning. I was so excited to share some very exciting things, but TMZ beat me to it. A lot of y’all know I’m a huge fan of @5sos. I had the mf opportunity to be working with them on a project that’s V special to me 1/2

Y’all are so quick to start shit. That video only showed a snippet of what happened between @Calum5SOS and I. We’ve been in the studio all day working. If y’all were us, you'd be annoyed too lmao. Have a nice morning and stop hating on him 💛💛 2/2”

She turned off her phone and got ready. For some reason California decided to be 78℉ in the middle of January, so she changed into a baggy polo long sleeve and a skirt, pulling her hair into a low bun. After she finished her makeup and grabbed her converse, she picked up her backpack from the floor. 

When she got downstairs, her dad was in the living room answering some emails. She quickly filled her water bottle and grabbed a few snacks before following him to the garage. She  watched her dad press a button on the mini fridge, and then a platform lifted. It had all the keys to the cars in here. No wonder she couldn’t find shit yesterday. Alexis Ximena has been living here for almost two years, but she still keeps learning about new features in the house. 

The drive to the meeting was pretty short. She checked her phone and rolled her eyes. They were 45 minutes early. She reached inside her backpack for her journal. Panic ran through her veins after she realized it wasn’t in there. That journal was the last gift her mom gave her before she passed away, and Alexis Ximena used it specifically for her song writing. She pulled her phone out and called the studio. After a brief call, maintenance didn’t find anything other than a few used condoms from a different section where she was. 

“Do you know what the meeting is about?” Alexis Ximena asked dad after finishing the call. She sat down again next to him. Her knee bounced as she wondered where she could’ve left it.

“Damage control for the video TMZ leaked.” He replied.

“I tweeted about it when I was getting ready. We should be good no? I haven’t read anything bad since I sent that out.”

“I’m sorry for what they’re going to ask you to do, mi’ja.” He said solemnly.

She rolled her eyes at his melodramaticism. What’s the worst that can happen? 

She sat back and checked her phone. She was replying to Shawn’s message about meeting up at his place for dinner when they were called in. 

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

They had to be joking, they just had to be. They all saw that video of them about to rip each other’s throats out, so the most reasonable thing that occurred to her team and the label was to suggest they try to convince the general public that they have been dating for a while. Lucky for them, they have enough footage of them that can work in their favor.

Calum glanced over to Alexis Ximena. She looked like she had her mind elsewhere. Her eyes met his, and she looked down at the contract. 

She mumbled something to her dad. Her dad whispered back in Spanish. Whatever he said it pissed her off. Her anger was spewing out of her. From the way she was clicking her pen to her furrowed eyebrows. 

“No, this is bullshit.” Calum was the first to respond.

“I agree. I don’t want to be pictured with him.” Alexis Ximena looked over him in disgust.

“Why? Your boyfriend gonna get jealous?” He taunted. 

Alexis Ximena’s face paled and then she glared at him. 

“What boyfriend?” Her dad asked her in a low voice. She quickly responded to him in Spanish.

“Calum,” Michael warned him. 

“What? She needs the publicity.” Calum turned to Michael then he turned to Alexis Ximena. “I wouldn’t be  surprised if you’re the one that called the paps.”

“I need the publicity? I’m not who’s been teasing an album and tour dates.” Alexis Ximena snapped at him. 

Calum’s brows furrowed as he angrily glared at Alexis Ximena. 

“You know what? Why don't we all take ten and reconvene?" the PR lady smiled at Alexis Ximena and Calum. 

Alexis Ximena pushed out of her chair and walked out of the office. Her dad followed behind her.

Calum took the chance to use the restroom. After doing his business, he walked out of the bathroom. Behind the corner, he overheard Alexis Ximena and her dad argue. He stayed hidden because if he walked over, she would probably chew his head off.

"You're a fucking liar. You promised me that you weren't getting involved in my shit." He heard her say. Her voice cracked in the end, like last night.

"Mi'ja-"

"Don't fucking mi'ja me, Alejandro. I'm working my ass off on that soundtrack only for it to get used as a pawn all because some fucking security guard had the fucking nerve to call the paps that the guys were there.”

"If it makes you feel better, I got them transferred to a different place." Her dad spoke up.

"Of course you did.” She scoffed. “Might as well have gotten them fired, no? That really would have shown them.”

“Ximena—” 

“Do you know how hard it is for me? I have to work my ass off and prove myself so that  everyone realizes that I earn my shit. Then you or Amy swoop in, and it all looks like y’all were behind it." She sighed. 

"I know I fucked up as a dad, but I'm trying to fix it. All I'm asking of you is to sign. It's a shit deal, but you need to do it. If I had it my way, this wouldn't be happening." He said.

Calum heard footsteps.

"You can come out now. I can see you through the reflection of the vase." Alexis Ximena told Calum. 

He awkwardly walked over from behind the wall."Sorry, I overheard. I won't-"

"Are you going to sign it?" She asked, cutting him off.

"I kinda have to. We have an album and tour coming up." He repeated her words to her. 

"Right."

"At least they're letting us go about this more organically. They're not forcing us to go to restaurants and dry hump each other like… you know." 

She glared at him. “Let’s get this over with.” 

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“How the fuck are you even alive? Didn’t you say your dad would have killed you if he found out about him.” Angie asked Alexis Ximena as she lifted her burger.

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to when I get home. He wasn’t about to do it in front of fifteen people, too many witnesses.” Alexis Ximena shrugged. She plucked a fry from the basket. 

After class, Alexis Ximena called Angie, asking to meet her at Umami Burger. Angie and Alexis Ximena instantly became best friends when they got casted in ‘The F It List’. They both faced a lot of criticism because their characters were white. Most of the hate was aimed at Angie because she was black and the main character. People were really mad about that. Alexis Ximena was quick to defend her and call out everyone that made racist comments to her. 

“When are you going to tell him about your situation with Calum?” Angie asked. 

“Later today. He flew down this morning because they made him come for the Grammys. I’m going over after I get Calum a present.” Alexis Ximena explained. She set her sandwich on her plate and reached over for a napkin. “What?”

“You’re getting this dude a present? What is it, a thank you gift? ‘Thank you for yelling at me in a parking lot. Here’s a present.’ You can’t be serious, Alex.” Angie rubbed her temples trying to process. It took everything in her not to call Alexis Ximena out for being a clown that let’s everyone walk all over her. 

“His birthday is on Saturday. After they’re done with their thing, which I have to go to, Luke is playing a little after party thingy in the hotel room. Since I’m his girlfriend ,I have to be there.” Alexis Ximena rolled her eyes and went back to eating. 

After lunch she took an Uber to Diesel. She loved Diesel and most of their clothes had Calum’s current aesthetic. She didn't have much trouble finding him a present. She bought him a black knitted sweater with ‘DIESEL’ across the torso. 

After  she was done, Alexis Ximena hopped on another Uber to Shawn’s condo. She was supposed to go over tonight, but Calum texted her that he had an extra ticket for Coldplay, and she better be ready at 8. She slipped on her sunglasses and covered her head with a hat she bought along with Calum's sweater.

"Hey," she greeted Shawn when he let her in.

"I thought you were coming over for dinner," he said confused.

"I was, but something happened. Uh, can we talk?" she asked. 

"Yeah, let's go to the couch."

He took her hand in his and guided them to the two person sofa. Alexis Ximena's cheeks flushed remembering some of the things they've done on that sofa, specifically her being on her knees in between his thighs. He sat down and pulled her to his chest. 

Alexis Ximena rested her head on his shoulder. She missed this. It's been over a month since they saw each other. The last time was Christmas, but Alexis Ximena had to fly to Melbourne right after for a photoshoot for Vogue Australia. 

"I saw that video of you and Calum. I can't believe he would do that to you." Shawn was the first to speak.

"It was a cleverly recorded video by the paps. All a complete misunderstanding, but his team and mine aremakingusdoapr." She quickly mumbled at the end and hid her face.

"What? I didn't hear you correctly." 

Alexis Ximena sighed, "For damage control or whatever it's called. They're making us you know, date."

"You're kidding me right?" Alexis Ximena shook her head at him. "Did you sign?"

"I had to. They basically used my soundtrack as blackmail. You know how much it means to me." She said, sadly. She played with the hem of her skirt.

"Yeah, but another movie would have come by. We know you get parts thanks to your dad." He said nonchalantly. "Shit, that came out wrong. I'm sorry"

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it." She dismissed him.

"When's your first outing?"

"Later today. We're going to go see Coldplay, but I rather stay here with you. Can we stay like this for a bit? I miss being in your arms." 

"Yeah, Lexi." He said, pulling her closer to him. 

She cringed at the nickname. She's never liked it because it sounds a bit white to her. She's never 

told him that because she knew it would hurt his feelings, so she lets him call her that. 

A few hours passed and Alexis Ximena was on her way back home. Shawn and her spent them hanging out. A few kisses here and there but nothing too intense. In their year old relationship, they never fully had sex. There was something that always held Alexis Ximena back. She just couldn't bare her soul like that. She loves Shawn with her whole heart, but she's never felt comfortable enough to give herself to him or anyone. Luckily, Shawn is patient and never forces her to do something she's not ready for. 

Alexis Ximena thanked the Uber driver and pushed the door code so she could go into her house. She was half way up the stairs when her dad popped his head out from his home office.

“On’tabas?” He asked. Alexis Ximena almost missed the step when she turned around.

“Before you start, I have to get ready because I’m going out with Calum tonight.” She said.

Her sister squealed from wherever from the top of the stairs. “You’re going out with Calum! I frickin knew it. Ever since I saw you two flirting backstage in the Late Late Show, I was shipping. No wonder Karma loves him. I’m starting to think that he wasn’t there for Luke; he was there for you huh?” Paola gushed in excitement. Alexis Ximena looked at her dad, but he raised his hands in defeat and retreated back to his office. She plastered a fake smile and turned to her sister.

“Promise me you’re not going to say anything. It was supposed to be on the DL, but things kinda started to get out of hand. We’ve only been talking for a few months. Since we’re both not busy right now, we’re gonna see where it goes.” Alexis Ximena said. She was delivering the role of a lifetime. 

 “I’m so happy you’re happy again. After the whole mess with Shawn, I was worried you weren’t going to, you know, find love again. I’m glad it’s with Calum. He’s a really sweet guy.” Paola smiled sincerely.

Alexis Ximena vividly remembered that her sister was ready to fight Shawn when the pictures of him and Camila were released back in July. After their talk back then, Alexis Ximena promised him that she wasn’t going to tell anyone that they were still together. She couldn’t ruin his career on something like that. On top of how he was already ruining his career by being associated with a known racist. They can’t have him as a cheater. 

“Let me pick your clothes. We can’t have you looking like a mess on your first date with Calum.” Paola clapped her hands. She grabbed Alexis Ximena’s hand and pulled her to her room. 

“I’m capable of picking my own clothes. I was on that Instlye’s Top Ten Best Dressed of 2019.” Alexis Ximena tried to tell her, but she was in her own world rummaging through Alexis Ximena’s closet, secretly picking some clothes to borrow as well. 

“Yeah, you were number 3.” Paola said, glancing at her.

“Okay you try beating Zendaya and Tracee Ellis Ross.” Alexis Ximena retorted.

“You’re right,” She went back to sorting through the clothes. “Oh my god! Yes! This is perfect.” 

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Calum scrolled through Alexis Ximena’s profile. He followed her a few months ago, occasionally liking a post here and there. He was three years deep when he saw a post from her 18th birthday. It was a video of her forearm getting wiped clean showing a wildflower bouquet. 

Then it hit him. He reached for his phone. He continued scrolling through her profile, waiting for Luke to answer him. She even posted an IGTV about her getting her tattoos covered for filming. 

“Why are you calling me? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your big date?” Luke laughed. 

Calum rolled his eyes. “What if we change ‘Sunflower’ to ‘Wildflower’?” He asked, ignoring Luke’s joke.

“You’re still on that? I thought you said you were okay with Sunflower. Why?” 

“I mean other than the fact that Harry literally has a song in his new album called that, Alexis Ximena has a wildflower tattoo—”

“But that—”

“Let me fucking finish.” Calum grumbled, “So I was thinking since we’re dating, I could have a song that’s quote on quote about her. What do you think?”

“I mean, yeah. Ask the rest and see if we have time to change up the song. When are we dropping the trailer?” 

“Early February along with No Shame, I think. We have Friday reserved in the studio. Maybe we could redo the song. Oh shit, we’d have to record Kill My Vibe as well, huh” 

“Oh, I forgot about that song, fuck. Okay, I’ll text Ashton and Michael. We’ll talk about it and fill you in. Let me nap and go get ready for your date.” Luke hung up. 

Calum rolled his eyes. They’re going to a concert, not to some gala or award show. The only thing he had to do was brush his teeth and slip his coat that his sister sent him as an early birthday present. 

He walked over to the fridge so he could reheat leftovers from the other day. While he waited for his food to heat up, he fed Duke and let him wander around the yard until he pooped. Calum decided to stir the pot a bit while he ate his pad Thai. 

He went into one of Alexis Ximena’s fan accounts and liked their current post. It was a video posted on her stories a few hours ago. She was pushing her hair over her shoulders and looking over her shoulder to the camera, her go-to pose, while her sister hyped her up. He locked his phone and waited for a few minutes and unliked it. Within those minutes, a screenshot of the like was getting spread through his fans’ accounts and hers. 

Around 7:50, Calum changed out of his sweats into some jeans. After making sure Duke was good for the rest of the evening, he grabbed his keys, wallet, and journal from the counter. He’s assuming that the journal is Alexis Ximena’s. It’s black leather bound with “AX” etched in gold. It exudes a rich girl that doesn’t know how to spend money, he had thought to himself when he found it. 

When he drove out his house, he spotted Alexis Ximena outside her’s. You had to be blind to not see how beautiful she is, how she carries herself with grace and humility. It’s a shame that it’s all a facade, deep down she’s just another LA girl. 

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Hi,” Alexis Ximena said when she climbed in his car. “Oh, here’s your jacket. If I knew we were going to meet up earlier. I would’ve given it to you then.”

“Keep it for now. When we break up, I can get it back.” He said, not even glancing to look at her. Alexis Ximena simply nodded. 

She scrolled through Instagram. Ever since Shawn’s 21st party when someone leaked a video of her and Shawn standing close to each other and talking, Shawmila accounts have dedicated their time to tagging in her posts of their faves. They could be doing more productive things like streaming  their fave’s album or buying  tickets for Camila’s tour instead of tagging her in posts because neither her album and tour isn’t doing so good. 

“Is this yours?” Calum asked her, holding up her journal. They were in Calum’s car. They still had a few minutes before the venue people could go in. 

Her eyes widened in surprise. 

“Oh my god, thank you so so so so much. I was worried I lost it. It’s the last birthday present my mom gave me before she—” 

Overdosed, shoving fentanyl down her throat only for Alexis Ximena to find her dead in a pool of vomit when she came back from an audition to Julliard. 

She cleared her throat, “When she, um, passed away.”

Calum instantly regretted what he thought about her spending her money on unnecessary things. He watched her trace the A. 

“I’m sorry for your loss. You don’t have to answer, but when did she pass away?” He asked solemnly.

“Um, a little over two years ago. It’s actually the reason why I moved down to LA with my dad. They split up when I was little, and I stayed in Oakland with her.” She explained. 

She looked over to Calum. He was processing everything she told him. Before he could ask her another question, she looked at her phone. 

“We should get going.” She unbuckled the seat belt. 

“Right.” He nodded along. He noticed how she quickly changed the subject, making it obvious that she was still not comfortable talking about her mother’s death.

“Are you a pancakes or waffles guy?” She asked him. She was a few steps ahead of him. 

“A what?” Calum gave her a confused look.

“You know how in Cloak and Dagger when Tandy and Tyrone go to that club. Tandy and Tyrone pretend to be a couple to get through.” She turned to him, pushing her hair behind her. “From the look on your face you don’t even know about Cloak and Dagger.” 

“No.” 

“Cloak and Dagger is a show. It’s so good. I’m really disappointed they cancelled it. Anyways, the pancakes and waffles reference is for hand holding. Like do you clasp your hand around, pancakes, or do you intertwine your fingers, waffles. I’m a waffles girl, which sucks because Shawn is a pancakes guys and—”

“Waffles.” Calum cut her off. The last thing he wanted to hear was her talk about Shawn.

“Okay,” She reached for Calum’s hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Waffles is it.”

[aerithagainstabusers]

So I saw Greg’s review of the Final Fantasy 7 Remake and it was so dumb I had to pick it apart so here we go. Spoilers for the remake below

This starts off bad. Immediately Greg is whining that the game isn’t what he wants. He complains about knowing the characters too well which is an absolutely insane thing to complain about. The deaths of the AVALANCHE don’t mean much in the original. You meet them a few times then they die. You have no connection to them

By getting to know them more - like Wedges love for the Sector Seven cats and how Jessie was an actress before her dad became gravely Ill after working for Shinra, they become more human. You can relate to them more and there’s more investment there. So when the fall of that plate comes? Losing them is more impactful than in the original

The battle system can be set to the same as the original in classic mode except you can’t physically attack (that is automatically done for you) so Greg can’t really complain about that. Sounds like he’s mad he died at bosses he didn’t die to in the original

His complaint about Sephiroth is weird. He’s the main bad guy. He needs to show up. With Sephiroth in the OG, you only hear about him a few times while in Midgar, where the remake is set. They need to bring him In much earlier and show Cloud suffering PTSD to understand this guy is a threat.

He also complains about not having a lot to do. And yeah while it’s not as open you have way more to do. The side quests are actually side quests - with the original, the only side quests you really have before leaving Midgar is dressing Cloud up and getting the perfume, tiara, and underwear. Otherwise? You’re stuck doing what the game tells you to do

You might ask “why are you always saying ‘in the original when you’re in Midgar’and I’ll explain that now

This. Is. Not. A. Spoiler.

The creators said from the start it would only be in Midgar and it would be an episodic game. All the promotional materials showed the game only in Midgar. It was obvious that IT WAS ONLY IN MIDGAR. Greg has no right to complain.

Now yes. You don’t have the same free travel but there is more to travel and there’s so much more content to make up for the fact you can’t leave the city. And by doing so, Midgar comes alive. So when you leave? It feels more of a loss and like you are leaving somewhere you have a connection to. Now this was disappointing because I was definitely wanting more. Like I wanted to keep playing in because it was dragging me in. But it was clear from the start and they were transparent with this. Greg clearly wasn’t looking all the things that were coming out about the game since you knew what was going on.

It even says on the back of the box it’s going to be the story in Midgar and that it’s the first game of the remake “project” and would go deeper into the city

Why is Greg surprised and acting like he’s being cheated out?

His next complaint is.... very worrying

Nanaki in the original never acted like a pervert with Aerith. He acted like he was aggressive to lower Hojos guard but that’s a nitpick. But the rest? Holy fuck Greg, STAY AWAY FROM WOMEN

in the remake, Hojo does not have plans to crossbreed Aerith and Nanaki. Instead? He wants to have SOLIDERS repeatedly rape her so she can “breed” and laughs in her face as he tells her all about how he ripped her mother’s corpse to shreds so he can continue to investigate her. There’s only molecules left of Iflana. He also tries to kill Cloud, Tifa, and Barret so he can show aerith their corpses to kill her hope she’ll be saved

But more importantly, Hojo's proposal in the remake is far more horrifying than in the original. He wants her to be raped over and over. Why the fuck doesn’t Greg see this as being bad an as a “P.C. culture” addition? What is wrong with you, dude. How do these things not show how insane he is

The cross-dressing is a stupid complaint. So you don’t get to go to a brothel and watch a small cutscene. Who cares? You get to see Cloud perform on stage at a cabaret and he is dressed up while on stage while you do a mini game. And that isn’t fun? Okay, Greg.

The events he’s talking about by the way? You fight in a Colosseum, you can choose to help Johnny, and/or you can do the iconic squatting game. Then you go to the Honeybee Inn, do a dancing minigame, and perform on stage. 

As opposed to the original where you talk to a man and tell him what dress you want. Do the most squats, Buy some wine at an inn, have a bath with a bunch of men, and give a woman some medicine. The amount of time you spend doing that will take you the same amount of time to do one side quest in the remake. Of course, the original had it’s restrictions because of the platform it’s on, but the remake definitely did go out of its way to expand that and make it feel like you were doing more.

This is a bit more valid. Like I get having nostalgia for the OG game and preferring it and that’s okay! But the Harry Potter comparison ruins it. Also Greg doesn’t seem to realise the difference between a remake and a remaster. The game is being remade. Of course the gameplay is going to change. Turn based games aren’t viable anymore and considering how good the graphics are, it would ruin the immersion. They had to change things like this to make it more modern. Remember, they aren’t just making this for fans. They’re wanting to bring in new people. 

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW FOR THE REMAKE

SO PLEASE

IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED IT

READ THIS NEXT PART WITH ABSOLUTE CAUTION OKAY?

OKAY

SPOILER

WARNING

OVER

I really hope this is just a joke that Zack wasn’t mentioned before he appeared. But considering this is Greg, and how he really doesn’t seem to understand this game, I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know the significance of this scene. He says later in this article that it took him 24-40 hours to finish the game. Which, if you actually complete it (by doing all side quests, unlocking all limit breaks for everyone, getting master materia etc) it should take you ninety hours. Which makes me think he never went to Nibleheim and saw the cutscene of what happened to Zack and Cloud. Because FF7 is a very quick game if you just focus on the main quests. If you actually dig down deep? You can go way past the timer and have it frozen at 99:99:99. I don’t think he did anything in the original game and just did whatever the game told him to do without looking at anything else.

I really hope this is just a stupid edgy joke because Zack is a well-loved character but you never fucking know with this moron.

I understand his complaints about Nanaki. Nanaki is always in my party in the original so I was bummed you couldn’t play him, but he appears in the penultimate chapter. The writers probably didn’t feel it was worth their while to add him as a party member, and instead, make him a guest who helps.

The Sephiroth complaint is stupid because he’s missed the point. Up until he appears in the Shinra building, he isn’t actually there. Cloud is hallucinating. He is shown as being mysterious and unreachable as Cloud tries to get to him or freaks out whenever he sees an image of him.

Honestly this just sounds like Greg is mad it’s not the exact same as the original.

Which would just be boring, in my opinion.

Y’know what I said about Greg doing what the game told him to do and nothing else? Yeah this is proof. You have an All materia. It’s called ‘magnify’. And unless you didn’t look for treasure or looked at the new materia when you collected it? You would know this is the all materia. The summons in this game aren’t what they are in the original. You can’t use them in every battle and they only come in boss battles or otherwise difficult encounters because in the remake, it’s made clear that they are incredibly powerful. They come to you maxed out. Which he would know if he paid attention.

I will agree with him to an extent about the maxed out materia. Materia is easy to obtain in the remake (Cloud says this to Aerith when she playfully brags about having it), so if Greg had critical thinking, it would be clear that they don’t sell well is because .... well, it’s easy to max out. Everyone is doing it. But I will agree with him that the game is ‘too short’ in a sense, since having Firaga in only Midgar can be problematic for later games. I do have to wonder what they’ll do in the next episodes. Will you have to level up the magic power after upgrading it so Firaga does the same damage in later dungeons as it did in the sewers of Midgar? It would also be neat to physically ride the chocobos through Midgar to make life easier but I also understand why they had the carriages  as it makes it less weird when Tifa suddenly appears in one when she’s going to Don Corneo’s only to never see a carriage in Midgar again, and the loading screen when they ake you from place to place does make it quicker for you to get places.

Still, it would be nice to ride them at some point so I will give Greg this complaint.

Like I said above, if you do everything in the original it should take you 90 hours. If it took Greg 2 days cumulatively at his highest estimate, he’s not completing the game, and he’s not achieving anything.

For comparison, here’s my latest game

As you can see, it’s at 44 hours. I have done all the sidequests (excluding the one mandatory Fort Condor which would add more time on to it but I didn’t want to do that this time around). I have reached the bottom of the crater, however, I have not done anything further and am now focusing on doing the rest I need to do. Like getting to level 99 on everyone, maxing out my command, summon, and magic materia to get the master materia for those three. Or maxing out all four enemy skill materia. Or getting everyone's limit breaks, or beating the weapons. Because these things take time. I could easily run and kill Sephiroth in that run right now. I could finish the game. But as I’m wanting to complete it as much as I can, then I can’t do that. And that’s not me doing a perfect game where you need to get 99 of each item you can (excluding things like the battery where you can only get three of). If you’re doing a perfect game, it takes even longer but honestly, that’s not something I’d say you’d need to do to ‘finish’ the game. That’s only if you want to challenge yourself.

Also might I add, the remake? It takes about 40 hours to finish it (I don’t know if that includes sidequests). This means in one part of a game  is the same length as the original if you don’t do any sidequests in the OG. I don’t know what Greg is talking about by ‘achieving less’. Yeah you don’t go to as many places, but considering this will be in different parts like the original, you do way more in the remake than you do in the original while in Midgar. 

The random encounters are definitely less in the remake. They don’t happen every a certain number of steps. Instead, you stumble across them in a realistic way rather than have a screen transition. It is way more immersive and again, is something that makes the game feel alive. It feels like an obstacle to overcome to get to the next place rather than an interruption like the original game random encounters (which I do love by the way, but it is very much a product of it’s time)

The next part also makes me laugh. He seems to think that because the other game has things finish ‘faster’ means it’s more productive. Which really shows he thinks his channel is great because he does more videos in a short period of time. Which, yeah, on a surface level it is more “productive”, but it’s not exactly exciting game play, is it? 

For comparison. Aerith says in the original that Sector Six is dangerous so she’ll help him out... but it takes about two minutes to go through and the random encounters are incredibly easy. It’s also not explained why the place is in ruins.

In the remake however, Aerith leads Cloud through it as Cloud is unfamiliar with it, and it is more of a challenge to get through, and he actually needs her help to get through the rubble. She explains part of the plate collapsed the tunnel and that’s why it’s such a mess. You get attacked by bandits on the way there and you spend an entire chapter trying to get through sector six, as it becomes the threat and the difficult path Aerith describes in the original. Rather than a place you just pass through with no issue, making you wonder “why the hell is Aerith insisting she goes with me?” outside of her having a crush. 

It’s small details like that which make the game come alive and actually makes you feel like you did something rather than it being a place you just passed through. It takes you longer, but it feels more like an achievement.

No one feels like they achieved something when you leave Sector Six and go to the park outside Sector Seven’s gates. Because it’s just a road to get to where you need to go. Your next challenge is trying to get Cloud chosen as the girl for Corneo but that is optional. I mean, if you prefer that it’s easier to get through as you like just seeing the story than solving dungeons, that’s fine! But this just shows Greg’s ‘quantity is quality” mindset. 

Also, when you climb up the plate to get to the Shinra building? IN the original, you climb up some pipes. The hardest part is the swinging pipe, which is incredibly easy when you time your jump to the squeaking of the pipe. They tell you it’ll be difficult to get to the Shinra building... when it takes you all of five minutes.

The remake has you climbing up the plate and broken buildings, using a grappling gun to get to higher ground when your walking path is done, while you get attacked by Shinra soliders trying to stop you from getting to higher ground when they recognise you as AVALANCHE. While it’s not hard it definitely feels more of a challenge than “climb up this pipe. jump onto that pipe, now climb up another pipe” in the original. And with the Shinra soliders while you can stop them easily, it does make you feel that getting there is going to be a struggle, or at least something that’s inconvenient and it’ll be ‘hard’ because people will try and stop you along the way.

Although I do wish that when you were in the Shinra building, you had to do more sneaking in the higher floors like you did in the original, but at least the game does give you a reason why you don’t need to sneak around. The mayor’s off hand comment about hating Shinra as he gives you a keycard in the original is expanded to the Mayor being a member of AVALANCHE who is actively helping you.

 I also think it's funny he complains about “mundane tasks” when the original game is full of that, too. All JRPGs have it

Basically, this entire review of Greg’s can be “WAHHH IT’S NOT THE ORIGINAL WHY IS IT MAKING ME WORK HARD!” and it’s hilarious

[naptoons]

Story Of Us-Joel Pimentel

Warnings: sexual content, alcohol reference, mild language.

Theme: Smut

A/N: this was requested by @cncogirl18 , I hope this is good enough for you and I hope it isn’t cringe asf cause I’m lowkey bad at writing imagines. And it’s first pov, just for you bby. And also google translated Spanish, it ain’t my first language but I’m learning slowly. I didn’t proofread either I kinda just typed it all in one go so I apologize for any errors🥺

20 years old I’ve turned. The age requirement that considers you an adult, and also the requirement that calls for experiences, drunken memories and maybe a little bit of hazy truth. And I just knew it was going to be crazy tonight. Cnco just finished their tour, Richard’s daughter was with her mom. I just knew that whatever happened tonight. I’m going to love it but hate it. Laying in your bed I waited for Chris to text me about the plan. I’m always close to Chris rather than all of the other members too the point that they thought we were dating.

Everytime the topic came up, the both of us just squelch in disgust,ultimately feeling so sick to my stomach that they could even think that. He was more like a brother to me, all of them were. Except Joel. Joel was more than a brother in my eyes. Yes very cliché but I couldn’t defeat silence as my heart beats whenever he was around. I couldn’t help but feel the butterflies build in my stomach. It’s been like that for a while, but the courage could never spill out, liquid courage is something different. I almost did once, if it wasn’t for Chris i could’ve ruined everything.

My phone buzzed interrupting my thoughts, it was Chris, sliding to answer I put the phone in speaker. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PUTA!!!” He yells, just as i expected that’s why i put it speaker.

“Thank you puto, so what’s the plan?” I ask

“Duh, we’re getting you hammered for the first time, and not wine this time” Chris Jones

“Ha ha, that was one time” i roll your eyes, getting off the bed I walk towards the closet deciding on what outfit I’ll be wearing “so we’re going to a lounge or something?”

“I’m not telling you shit, sólo espera y mira” Chris laughs, knowing i won’t get anywhere with him I just nod my head and reply with an okay. “Coming to pick you up in thirty”

“bueno” I reply, then hanging up the phone, I m see a leather skirt and a red graphic crop top you bought two weeks ago. Smiling i grabbed it from your closet, laying it on the bed, sitting down on the floor i dictate which shows you want. Looking at my strappy black heels,I smile throwing them at the foot of my bed.

After my shower, I get dressed looking in the mirror at yourself I decided to change to something comfortable, so i switched your heels for some black platform ankle boots. Spraying favorite perfume on my phone rings. Already knowing who it is i don’t answer i just grab it along with my wallet. Swinging the door open you see Chris’s car. Locking the door to my apartment you race over to the passenger side.

“Who you trying to look good for?” Chris comments, while I strap yourself in with the seatbelt

“Cállate” i reply, on the way to wherever you guys were going, i controlled the music and he no say in it.

Cause it was my birthday.

Arriving at the club, Chris looks for a parking space, seeing as Richard was already here with The rest of the boys. Parking right next to their car I can hear Richard calling my name. “Fucking psycho” i mumbled. Getting out the car Richard raises his arms up bringing me into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday mami!!” Richard kisses the top of my head, smiling I hug him back “thank you rich” I pull out of his chest greeting the rest of the guys. When it was my turn to greet Joel. It seemed as if my brain went into tv static. But you pushed through it.

“Hey” shakily i approach him, Joel smiles sheepishly pulling me into a hug “hey happy birthday princesa” his voice melts into my heart, those infamous goosebumps traveling up my arm.

“thank you” i awkwardly mumble in his shirt. His hand slowly leaving my waist “I hope you don’t mind I bought more of my friends and Emilia along”

Softly I bite my lower lip softly at the name, i couldn’t deny it they were really great together, they had great chemistry. It just made me a little bit bitter that I lost my chance. A chance at holding him in my arms.

“Oh no it’s okay, the more the merrier” i smile, maybe a forced one but Joel really doesn’t pay attention to me. So I thought.

“bueno, lets go” Joel smiles, I nod my head greeting the rest of Joel’s friends, walking in the club it was packed, out of all the days my birthday could fall on. It had to be a Saturday.

“I’m going to regret ever taking up your offer” you punch Chris, he throws his arms around my shoulder “don’t worry we’re going to have so much fun tonight” he winks at me, to which Joel caught and he didn’t appreciate much.

Everyone but y’all knew the feeling was mutual. But the boys decided they wouldn’t interfere with someone else’s love life, they just decided “let nature take its course” Joel rolled his eyes at Chris’s remark, grabbing Emilia by the waist and making his way to the bar. My eyes eases him up and down sighing heavily I decided to not let him bother me.

At least not in the moment.

Five shots in i were tipsy maybe a bit beyond tipsy, taking shots after shots, Chris wasn’t lying when he said y’all were getting hammered. “I wanna dance now” I yell.

“Dale niña!” Chris says drowning in his last shot with a squeeze of a lime, nodding my head I turn around quiet too fast for my body to comprehend, i almost stumble off the stool. Joel and I made eye contact and immediately he grabs Emilia’s chin pulling it towards him and making out with her. Quiet sloppy, rolling i eyes and grab the first member which happened to be Richard.

“Wanna dance?” I smirk appears, Richard doesn’t get a chance to think as I’m grabbing his hand pulling him in the dance floor. As the music blared in the background, I back it up on Richard rubbing my ass on him, one of Richards hands was on my waist while the other was holding his drink, as I rolled my hips against his,singing the lyrics to the song that was playing. I look at Joel whose face is almost flushed with pink shades, i wink at him biting down on my lower lip trying not to smile.

Two can play your games Joel.

Richard throws his arm around my shoulder as my fingers hook onto his forearm. Richard presses me against him harder as his fingers imprint into my hips. After the song ended Richard and I made our way to the bar again grabbing another drink.

“How’s your birthday so far mami?” He asks

“Great! I swear I’ve never had this much fun in my life” i smile, sipping on my drink, i turn around and see Zabdiel dancing with a girl, smiling at my group of friends.

Excuse me for being a sappy drunk, but I’m so grateful for them, I never took them for granted. Richard flicks my forehead, flinching I hit him on his arms “What was that for?!” I scream

“You were being sappy drunk, we don’t need that here” Richard says downing another shot glass.

“Shut the fuck up” i drink the colorless liquid, turning back around I see Joel and Emilia grinding against each other, basically doing what Richard and I was doing.

“Trying to make Joel jealous?” Richard asks

“What?!” I asked startled just by my response he already knew my answer “I can help with that” Richard winks

“Really?” I ask, Richard doesn’t answer me but walks a over to Zabdiel putting me in between them, now this time i were grinding on Zabdiel fusing our bodies together sticking to each other like sap off a tree. Joel was fuming with anger and jealousy. He just couldn’t hold back his emotions tonight. But neither could I .

The tension was rising between the both of us. Would the flames swallow us up and disappear into pieces? Or would it ignite a new flame?

After that song I wanted to sit down, moving over to the couch, Joel tried to get away from Emilia to reach you but she sits on his lips wrapping her arms around his neck, stretching her legs out so their isn’t anymore room. Rolling my eyes I place my cross my arms across my chest.

“Can you please move your legs, I want to sit down” I ask politely when i should’ve said “fucking move your feet cunt”

“Why? So you can try to steal his attention?, don’t you have a man? Isn’t your man Chris? Stop playing these dudes hearts” she smiles sheepishly, every fiber in me holds back the urge to punch her in lip.

“One that isn’t none of your business and two I asked you politely to move your legs, im fucking tired, Joel make your girl move please” I ask as calmly as I can.

“Joel, you agree, she needs to learn to be loyal. She’s just fucking all your members, they’re all being played, that’s what you told me” Emilia smiles cradling his head in her hands, your eyes come into a sudden shock seeing as Joel has been talking shit about you to her. In such a negative way.

“Oh really?” I ask calmly

“So move along, you’re not his type” she says, your eyes dart at Joel whose been silent for a while, Joel’s eyes tries to meet yours darker than the nightsky. “Okay bet” I walk up to Emilia punching her in the lip feeling a pair of arms pick me up by the waist averting me away from the situation.

“Don’t you ever disrespect me goddamn it I should’ve gotten your fucking nose!!” I yell potentially busting a vein, Joel gets up finally looking down at emilia’s busted lip. His eyes now angry at you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Joel yells

“Me?! Bitch you’ve been talking shit about me like I ain’t nothing goddamn!!!” I yell feeling my feet on the ground, but arms still holding my waist. “You fucking piece of shit you thought I was fucking your members?! That’s what you really think of me?! I fucking love you!! You!!”

“Only you dumbass!!” I start crying through my yells, the lump in my throat closing my air way

“So what the fuck is with you and Chris?!” Joel finally speaks

“Hes my fucking cousin!! Why would I date my cousin?!” The grip on your waist falls flat

“Your cousin?” Zabdiel questions. In fury you walk away from the heated situation and into the bathroom slamming the door behind you, the mascara I once knew of was dripping down your face. Grabbing a paper towel I wet it then wipe it off. the more I wiped the more the tears flowed.

I just knew it would slip. But no this way. I didn’t know it would come out in the heat of an argument. It’s not like you were hiding that Chris and I were related I just thought it didn’t have to be stated. The door jiggles open not even looking to see who it was I just keep cleaning my makeup off.

“Brenda, let’s talk about this” his voice sending those chills throughout my spine.

“One don’t call me that and What is there to talk about? I’m just a fucking whore in your eyes” you sting him

“I’m sorry bre,Never for a second did I ever say or thought that” Joel replies in sincerity

“So what did you really think Joel?” I ask turning around towards him, his hands cupping my face with one hand and cleaning my makeup with the other.

“I think you’re a rainbow in the middle of a hurricane,the moon before it kisses the ocean, the sunflower in the middle of roses, you’re different bebesita, just the woman I fell in love with” Joel mummers

“You don’t mean that you’re fucking drunk” I slur

“Not drunk enough to wear my heart on my sleeves for you, ask me this tomorrow and I can tell you word for word what I said” Joel looks into my eyes intensely, he tilts my chin up to his lips as out fuse together, tasting the strawberry liquor he drank, his hands on top of my ass picking me up and putting me on the sink. His lips now on the my tepid neck, my fingers combing their way through his hair. Joel pulls out of my neck his eyes easing me up and down trying to level with mine.

“Bre, I love you okay? No one else” Joel speaks softly

“So you and Emilia?” I ask curiously

Joel’s smile increases “we were never a thing, I want us to be a thing, trust me I won’t break your heart, the last thing I want to do is see you cry again because of me” Joel’s smile disappears, I touch his jawline caressing them with my fingernails.

“Me too” I mumble

“So will you go out with me bre?” Joel speaks above my lips, nodding my head he leans in smiling as our flavors interlock with each other. Joel helps me jump down from the counter and onto the floor. “Let’s go home?” He ask more or less as a question

“Yeah”

Erick ended up driving the both of us home, cause we were way past drunk to even think about getting on the road. Kicking off my shoes at the front door I meet Joel in the room, seeing him already half undressed, my face begins to change in temperature, my knees begin to buckle and become jello. Ignoring the pool in between my thighs I jump on the bed sitting on the edge of the bed. Joel turns around smiling at me which just brings back those butterflies. Now that he is actually mine I don’t think those will ever go away.

Joel towers over me pressing his lips upon mine moving in sync with each other, slowly I lean onto the sheets of his bed caressing his biceps with my nails. Joel lets out a soft groan in my mouth his hand gripping onto my thigh raising it up to his waist as his body dips into me. Rubbing his hard member against my wet core. Both of letting out a desperate pleasure, Joel pulls away his eyes painting onto mine.

“Wanna continue this?” Joel questions

“With you? Yeah I do” i smile, Joel’s smile slowly starts to creep upon his face, my hands find themselves under his shirt feeling his abs clenching on and off to my touch. “You got me, so now what?” I smile

“Eres muy hermosa” Joel mumbles, his plump lips leaving tiny trails of kisses on my neck up to my jawline as I gasp in comfort, his hands sliding under the fabric of my clothes touching my burning flesh. His hands cups one of my breasts as his lips makes their way down to my neck. Pulling away he tugs on the hem of my shirt and lifting it over my head. Before I could process anything his lips attack my swollen nipples licking and tugging at the seams as his fingers firmly unclampes my bra from the back, my back slowly rising off the bed sensitive to the way his tonuge explores my body.

Backing away from my body Joel pulls my bra down from my body as I look at him in lovestruck, Joel smiles at my sudden subspace, lifting his shirt over his head my eyes can’t help but to wonder every detail and curve to his body.

And I can’t believe tonight I’m going to be under it. Joel pulls down the zipper of my skirt, I lift my hips up to him slightly as his fingertips hook on my fabric pulling down both pieces of clothing down throwing it on the floor for decor. Slowly Joel opens my legs wide his fingertips digging into my waist he pulls me closer to him. Joel’s lips begin kissing the inside of thighs softly as my body aches for his touch, his breath hovering over my swollen clot awaiting for his tongue to be buried inside of my slit. Joel makes eye contact with my forming that smirk he’s been giving my all night. With one finger he slides up and down my slit coating it in my colorless essences.

His soft but simple touch feels like ecstasy to me, popping his finger into his mouth tasting me he presses down on my clit making me squeeze the covers in my hands. “Joel...” I plead. “What is it you want baby?”

“You” I let out desperately, Joel wastes no time after my answer as his tongue slowly laps up my slit dripping in sticky liquid just pouring out by every touch he makes. Joel’s eyes meet up with mine, feeling his tongue creating circles around my swollen clit with a tight tug of his lips sucking. My head sinks into the pillow letting myself fall into euphoria. Joel savoring me like his last meal, groaning into me as my moans fill the air along with the beads of sweat trickling down my body. My eyes rolling back at the his tongue flicks my sensitive bud. A knit begins to form in my stomach as my moans start to become more and more silent.

“I’m gonna come..” was the only sentence I could achieve, Joel hovers over me his two fingers pressed against my pearl shifting them from side to side filling the air with my juices and sparse broken moans. Joel wraps his hand around my throat softly but still be mindful not to choke me. “Come baby, mira pa’ acá princesa” his voice reverbs off the walls, opening my eyes you look into his. “You’re going to come for me babygirl?” Nodding my head as the whimpers begin to spilling out of me, my legs begin to tremble eyes rolling back as silence fills the room. My legs begin to close but Joel holds them open using his middle finger only to slide up and down my slit sending me into another phase of euphoria.

“I can’t Joel..” I whimper holding his wrist with one hand, but Joel ignores my cries, applying pressure back to my bud, rubbing in a circular motion his fingers engulfed in a creamy substance, this time his pace stable. Bitting down on my lower lip my whole body begins to shake reaching a another climax, “you’re so beautiful baby when you come” my hand digging into his forearm as I cum all over his fingers. His tongue cleaning me up I spasm every time it comes into contact with my bud. He unbuckles his belt dropping his pants and boxers to the floor. Reaching over the his bedside table he pulls out a gold wrapper. My body still trying to come down from the high as my chest rises up and down slowly.

“Ready for this?” Joel reassures “is this something you really want?”

“Wouldn’t want to have anyone else as my first” I smile caressing his jawline

“Me too” Joel slowly dips into me sliding ever so slowly as my face screws up in agony “am I hurting you? Do you wanna stop?” Joel ponders, opening your eyes you meet those soft butter pecan eyes. “No, keep going” I whisper. Joel intertwines his hands with mine, as my walls engulf him deeper and deep, the pain slowly started to subdue and pleasure came to replace it.

“Better?” Joel’s soft voice rings

“So much better” I moan, feeling him slide in and out of me, his manhood stretching me out with every slow thrust, almost sensing that I want more Joel sinks deeper into me planting his kisses on my neck, my fingertips scratching his back making sketches upon his skin my soft moans echoing his ears felt like he was in the studio recording a song. With every stroke I lose my breath, our hips clashing together as the beads of sweat drip upon us both. His grinds increased as the headboard constantly thumped against the wall.

The familiar knot builds in my stomach as Joel’s strokes become sloppier but never stopping to hit my sweet spot. We were both close to falling over the edge. “Come for me” He whispered as I fell over the edge into a waterfall of pleasure, grabbing purchase of his hair My eyes rolled back as I screamed his name, as he came along with me. My eyes slowly open feeling my walls unclench from him, rolling the condom off he threw it in the trash coming back with a warm wash cloth, to clean ne up.

“Do I taste bad?” I joke Joel’s eyes dart at me in concern “it’s a joke baby, cause you the cloth you’re too sweet”

“I mean I can use my tongue to clean you, but I may not know when to stop” Joel answers me cleaning my cum up I squirm a little making Joel chuckle. “I love that, me necesita” Joel raspy voice creates a heated pool in between my thighs. Getting back in the bed Joel wraps his arms around my waist sticking my back to his chest, while his chin sinks into the dip of my shoulder.

“I love you Joel”

“I love you more baby” Joel replies through the heavy clouds of sleep.

Waking up the next morning Joel left me a note saying he went to practice for their performance here in my hometown , breakfast is on the counter. Smiling I grab my phone heading straight for Instagram I see a picture of Joel.

358,662 likes

joelpimentel

🛏 day.

@/Bree__

All mine right?🤤

joelpimentel

@/bree__ all yours mami😘

Smiling I set my phone down heading to the kitchen not until I hear keys jangling in the lock. Joel’s head pops into his house closing the door behind him locking it with one hand. “So were??”

“Oh shush” Joel shuts me up by cupping my jawline in his hand planting his lips on top of mine, his lips tasted of raspberry, pulling away he kisses all over my face as I let out a series of giggles. “Yeah we’re official I don’t know who asked who, but you’re mine I don’t like sharing”

“Me either” grabbing a French fry you smile. Joel being my boyfriend was something I thought to be impossible but here I am I’m his kitchen wearing his hoodie. Couldn’t be any better.

[enthusiasticsobrietyabuse]

Parent Manipulation Part 2 - Originally posted in 2005 OnTheEmmis.com, a Meehan Program Survivor Website and Discussion Forum. (ICECAP is the former incorporation of enthusiastic sobriety programs, it has since dissolved due to the effectiveness of OnTheEmmis.com)

So what’s the harm?

Well, it’s a dishonest way to make a living, for starters, and that is the very least of the harm done to people.

Let’s start by looking at the staff.

ICECAP has several lines for the skeptic who attempts to question the professionalism and integrity of their general staff.

“I may not be a doctor, but I’ve had my face in the ground long enough to know what the dirt looks like” is the sort of catch-phrase one may encounter when asking about ICECAP staff qualifications. The idea is one borrowed from Alcoholics Anonymous, that only a drunk can help another drunk. AA has been widely successful in rehabilitating alcoholics based on this principal, in which the catalyst is that one’s experiences lends him/her the ability to identify with the ‘alcoholic who still suffers’.

Further, the staff of ICECAP claims to function therapeutically from the platform of Alcoholics Anonymous principals and spiritual conditioning. The reason for all of this is so the ICECAP staff and methodology has a credible ‘foundation’ to justify its hiring and facilitation of non professional counselors. In short, AA is a household name, and is widely recognized as something that works. ICECAP uses this fact as a springboard for its operations.

The big problem with that idea is that ICECAP programs are not in any way similar to, affiliated with, kind of like, or even remotely in any way like AA. Alcoholics Anonymous is a non-profit self-help environment which has many safeguards cemented into its foundations that prevent any sort of ‘ego’ or for-profit interests from plaguing its members. Specifically, what AA refers to as ‘The Twelve Traditions’ are rigidly adhered to and aggressively enforced as guidelines to keep the AA name from anything that would divert the program from its primary purpose. The only similarity between ICECAP and AA is that they both have their members often form in a circle at the beginning and at the end of their meetings. Beyond that the two are apples and oranges.

Anyone who spends more than six months in both programs can easily see the canyon of differences that separate the two programs. The truth is, ICECAP drops the name of AA when it is convenient for them to do so, and rarely if ever gives the program any real credence.

“We are not AA, we are not trying to be AA, and we don’t play by the same rules as AA” (-direct quote- Michael C. Stonebraker, director and board member of ICECAP).

Ask ANY graduate from ICECAP, and they will tell you that a common dilemma that nearly every graduate experiences after leaving ICECAP and moving on to AA is that they are troubled with the inherent differences between the two groups philosophy’s for recovery. After years of ICECAP meetings, they are confronted with having to adjust to an entirely different program. In fact, most would say you are not off the mark if you suggested that it would have made just as much sense for them to graduate ICECAP into a monastery, or a school for lion tamers; instead of AA. They all have about the same in common: nothing.

Shouldn’t a program that claims to operate out of AA’s principals lend an easier transition to its clients from its rooms to AA itself?

I am painting this picture to illustrate that there is really nothing holding much water in ICECAP’s claim that its staff has credibility to function with kids from ideas that it ‘borrows’ from AA. To whatever extent a particular staff member of ICECAP attends or postures themselves as AA members, they do not deliver the principals of AA in a therapeutic manner to their clientele.

So what does that leave them with? Not much. The average ICECAP counselor is a high school drop out with no college or accredited training whatsoever. If asked for their credentials, they will respond with an array of phrases and ideas, all of which are meant to lead one away from any real answer. They will suggest with confidence and bravado that since they ‘come from the same place’ as their clients, they have an ‘edge’ in dealing with them the rest of the ‘professional’ community doesn’t. All of this can be very convincing to a parent, especially since their child seems to have taken so well to the given staff member. Again, this is ICECAP using the ‘unorthodox is better’ angle to begin the process of manipulation.

If long hair, dated language, concert t-shirts, a pretty face and a proletarian understanding of AA principals were all it took to rehabilitate a drug addict, then the world would be free of drug addiction tomorrow. The problem is that that is pretty much the only thing the average ICECAP counselor has going for him/her in terms of professionalism. They are funny and good looking. They know how to say ‘dude’ without looking like an old nerd. Kids love them and worship them. But they are INEPT AT ASSISTING THEM TO RECOVER FROM REAL DRUG ADDICTION!

So what then, does the average ICECAP counselor provide for a kid, if not sound professional guidance into the world of recovery?

Here are some of my observations on ICECAP provisions:

Kids in ICECAP are subjected to enormous pressure to take on the identity of a ‘dope fiend’. The ‘dope fiend’ model is constantly being illustrated to newcomers by staff and group members. It begins with traits that a lot of teens possess…rebellious action/ideation, foul language, ‘shock value’ expressionism, etc. But the irresponsible thing that ICECAP does with kids is that it sets them up to feel inadequate if they do not measure up to the complete profile of ICECAP’s ‘dope fiend’. The reason that this is such a bad idea is because the majority of ICECAP clientele are NOT ‘dope fiends’. If your kid is in ICECAP for any period of time, you will see a mental, physical and emotional change in them. Most parents (especially the ones who have invested thousands of dollars into this) view this as a good thing. If the changes in the child were not for the worst, I would agree with them. However, these changes include almost invariably the following:

Separation from school/education/career

Increased use of tobacco. Non-smokers will be encouraged to take up smoking (bizarre, but true).

The decline of a coherent or educated vocabulary. This is no joke. There is a rigid ‘dummied up’ dialect spoken by every member of ICECAP.

The encouragement of illegal behavior (curfew violations, trespassing, vandalism, underage smoking, etc.).

Limited exposure to outside influences. Music, films, books, clothes, sources of education, hairstyles, jewelry, where you get a cup of coffee, tattoos, leisure activities and more are all mandated by ICECAP doctrine.

Maladjusted/confused sexual behavior (more on this later)

One dimensional thinking/ apparent inability or unwillingness to think diversely or with any complexity.

Extremely narrow elements of thoughts applied to a very wide range of ‘life factors’, or; every problem life presents seems to have the same two or three things as an answer/rationale.

Constant fear of being ‘fucked up’, or ‘spiritually bankrupt’. ‘Negative’ actions by other people are consistently the result of these things.

Inconsistent/erratic emotional responses to seemingly normal situations.

Why would a kid willingly subject themselves to this?

The hook for teens is fairly obvious: Their parents leave them alone, they no longer have to go to school, they are allowed to smoke cigarettes, swear, and die their hair indigo blue if they want to, and there is usually a large enough pool of attractive peers to make the whole idea of ICECAP treatment not sound so bad.

Ask any current group member, and they will tell you that they do not feel controlled…that it is their choice to attend ICECAP. They will defend their positions with feverish resolve. They will claim moral high ground and a better way of life as what motivates them to ‘keep coming back’. Tell them that they are brainwashed, and they will respond by saying ‘well, maybe my brain could use a little washing…considering how sick I was’. Tell them they live their life in a ‘bubble’, and they will respond by saying ‘if this is a bubble, than I’m glad I’m in it…compared to the sick world I was a part of before!’

Two things are happening here: First, the child is offered nearly unlimited freedom, which in most cases is like a dream come true to them. What fifteen year old would turn that down? Second, instead of providing competent therapy or treatment, each kid is given this ‘dope fiend’ model, and as long as they adhere to this model, than they are ‘ok’. Everything that made Johnny ‘Johnny’ will be whittled away as he progresses through the ranks of ICECAP. He will attribute the changes to ‘getting rid of old behavior’, or ‘changing old tapes’, when in fact he is being herded and molded in a way that only a program facilitated by foolish, irresponsible amateurs can handle.

The sickest thing about this to me is the way they are manipulated by ICECAP into such devotion. The adolescent is such an impressionable creature, and everything that can possibly be used to woo them is carefully applied by ICECAP.

In Bob Meehan’s book, ‘Beyond the Yellow Brick Road’, there is a chapter called ‘The Teenage Psyche’. This is another decent chapter in this book. I’d encourage anyone to read it, because it perfectly illustrates what I am saying. If there is one thing that Meehan certainly has his finger on the pulse of, it’s what will attract a teenager. The ‘dope fiend’ model in which Meehan’s programs are forced to operate out of because of their gross lack of sound professional tools combined with the fact that ICECAP targets kids who are NOT ‘dope fiends’ creates a crippling environment for teenagers who would have otherwise just gone on with life.

Why would Meehan build his programs on such weak foundations professionally? To me that’s simple: Cheap labor. It’s not so hard morally to build a staff out of a bunch of negligent weirdoes like Mike Weiland, when your real aim has nothing to do with helping kids in the first place.

I believe that Bob Meehan has had two objectives from the very beginning. One was to satisfy his enormous ego, which he had never been able to accomplish prior to these programs. More importantly and certainly more dangerously, he wants money. It is no coincidence that every single person on the ICECAP payroll has been farmed from the group. These kids spend years trying to live up to those they believe (because they are told) are the most spiritually evolved humans on the planet (staff), and then picked to become the next generation of over-worked, under-paid servants of Bob Meehan’s empire.

Who pays the price? You, and more importantly…your kid.

And what of the rare occasion that a true addict walks through the doors of ICECAP?

It’s even worse for them. Many of them die.

[marvinswriting]

Kisses

Prompt: KISSES! PLATONIC K I S S E S 5 times Janis comforted Damian in the only way she knew how, VS, the one time it worked on her TW: d slur, falling (fear of or actually falling), death (fear of or actually dying), and gay (they’re gay- this isn't a ship fic) g/t mean girls

1.

Janis felt- oddly optimistic for the first day of Sophmore year. Teachers were told that in the event Regina had a class with her, they were not allowed to sit near each other. Especially in tiny classes.

She may not have all her classes with Damian-

-in fact, they didn't have many together at all.

Ms. Sarkisian was fighting for that to be changed due to the past events of bullying. Neither of their parents were thrilled about these schedules and hey, Janis and Damian weren't either. 

The bullying was awful no matter what.

But with Damian- it was bearable.

Janis was at her locker in the tiny hallway right now. 

Taken the tiny bus typically means getting up earlier and getting to school later than most students, but, the bus arrived earlier than normal.

The giant part of the school was empty and few tiny teachers were here anyway.

The artist finished putting in her code, swinging open her comedically thin locker.

Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad.

She had what was practically an in school restraining order on Regina, and her schedule- while may not be perfect now- would probably be changed in the near feature.

Janis just needed to get through these few days first.

It shouldn't be too bad.

Janis shut her locker, her backpack was now filled with books only needed for morning classes and feeling a lot lighter.

The building slowly was filled with the familiar shouts and slamming of lockers echoing through the walls.

The giant busses have arrived.

Janis had her first class with Damian so she slipped her schedule into the front pocket of her jacket and made her way to the tiny pick up zone.

Despite her confidence in this year, she kept her head down and shoulders hunched as she walked.

She didn't need space dyke thrown at her first day of school before classes even officially begin. 

"You're here early." Damian smiled as Janis stepped onto the platform. "Thought you were gonna keep me waiting a lot longer."

Janis grinned, raising her arms as cue to be picked up. "Bus was early."

Damian brought Janis to his shoulder. "Just means we have more time before class starts."

Something was off about Damian. Janis couldn't put her finger on it.

The normally perky morning person of the duo seemed dull and distressed. It was clear his mind was elsewhere but Janis couldn't figure out what would have him so worried. Damian was the firm believer of new year new start. 

The first days of school were his thing.

"You good, dude?"

"Mhmm," Damian said as he began walking. "Don't worry about it. We've got time to kill before class. Where do you wanna go?"

Janis frowned. Mhmm wasn't a Damian answer. It was a Janis I'm-avoiding-my-emotions answer. She thought about the one place nobody would be, that way she could talk with Damian without worry.

"The art room."

"Jan, we have a bit of time. Not enough to draw."

"I know. I don't wanna draw. It's just- quieter in there."

"Alright." Damian nodded, making his way to the back area of the school where the art wing was located. 

His answers were short and lacking energy.

Janis didn't like it one bit.

She suppressed the urge to move closer to Damian's neck, not wanting to worry him by getting up while he's moving.

Instead, she concentrated on the hallway in front of them, trying to put her mind elsewhere. 

The further away from the lobby they got, the fewer students there were.

A bunch of freshmen went running by, almost barreling into Damian in an attempt to get to their class.

His hand shot up to Janis but she managed to hold onto the shirt underneath her.

"Jesus Christ," Damian mumbled, watching the kids turn down the hall. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Janis said, examining Damian's face.

He was looking forward but it wasn't hard to miss the bags on his face and the way when he smiled, it didn't quite reach his eyes. Whatever was bothering Damian affected him enough for an obvious sleepless night.

Janis' heart sunk a bit in worry for her best friend. 

She waited to speak as Damian entered the art room, shutting the door behind him and bringing Janis off his shoulder and into his hands.

She allowed herself to be lifted in front of his face, smiling sadly when the bags under his eyes were more prominent. "Hey, dude. You okay?" She asked softly.

Janis didn't really know what to say. Prying for information as Damian's thing. Her best friend never held out information. If something was bothering Damian, Janis was often the first to know. Damian loved to passionately vent, throwing hand motions and pacing around. But he wasn't now.

He was quiet for a while.

Before-

"Are you worried we don't have many classes this year?" Damian asked, shifting Janis so she was cupped into his hands.

"I mean, yeah but- it's probably gonna change. We just gotta deal for a couple of days." Janis says. "Are you worried?"

"A little." Damian admits.

A little wouldn't have him worked up like this.

"Just a little?"

"No."

Janis's heart melted for the boy holding her. "Dame- you don't gotta worry about me. Teachers know to keep Regina and I separated, Regina knows she isn't allowed near me in the halls, and this schedule thing? It won't last long. My mom just has to mention eight grade and they'll make sure we've got classes together."

"What about giant classes I don't have with you?" Damian's voice was nearly a whisper but Janis was so close that she could hear it loud and clear.

"I'll figure something out. I can sit in the front row, right by the teacher. I'll be okay. We'll be okay." She stepped forward to the edge of Damian's hand. "Okay?"

"Okay." He agrees softly. 

She placed her hand on the tip of his nose for balance, leaning on the very edge of his hand. 

"Jan." Damian's voice is wary but he doesn't dare move

Janis ignored him, pressing a kiss to his nose, giggling as her lipstick leaves behind a dark smudge. "I love you, Damian."

"Love you too." 

2.

"Janis Sarkisian I love you, I really do. But if you don't stop that I'm putting you in my jacket and zipping the pocket."

Janis grinned from where she dangled over the very edge of Damian's shoulder. "Sure."

"I'm serious," Damian continued. "You'll be imprisoned for your crimes. I'll go to study hall instead of joining you in art and I'll take you with me. No painting for you."

Janis swung her legs. "I don't believe you."

"You should." Despite the deadly serious tone in Damian's voice, he had an affectionate grin on his face.

Janis, following her better judgment (and her best friend's orders), moved in slightly as the hallways grew more crowded. 

"Thank you." Damian said genuinely.

He stuck to the side of the halls in a vain attempt to avoid crowds as they reached a typical traffic jam area of the halls. 

Janis gripped the shirt underneath her tighter as Damian made his way through one of the clumps of students.

Maybe she should have listened? She'd feel a lot safer closer to his neck, that's for sure. Janis scowled to herself because as always, Damian was right.

Janis was vaguely aware of a group of freshmen behind Damian, messing around. Damian, on the other hand, seemed hyper-aware as his shoulders stiffened.

Janis flipped her hair over her shoulder facing forward. 

They were almost at the end of the group.

Then the hallway went in two different directions and it wouldn't be so crowded.

They were almost-

One of the boys behind Damian shoved another forward, bumping- probably unintentionally- into Damian. 

Janis yelped as the shoulder beneath her jerked forward. She tried to keep her grip onto Damian's shirt but her body slipped forward faster. 

Before her brain could catch up-

-she had tumbled headfirst off Damian's shoulder.

There was nothing to grab too, nothing to stop the fall. Nothing to prevent her from crashing into the tile floor that was incoming fast and faster. 

Until it wasn't.

Janis' whole body jerked as a hand wrapped around her, halting the freefall.

She gasped, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

The hands she was in brought her up, adjusting to hold her properly. 

Damian.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

That happened.

Janis swallowed harshly. She almost fucking died. One look up at Damian and he seemed to be having the same realization. 

He stared at her momentarily with wide eyes before pulling her in close, changing course. 

Janis didn't ask where they were going.

She didn't feel like going to class.

Even if it's art.

She watched silently as Damian entered an empty classroom. 

I almost died.

It was the only coherent thought on Janis' mind.

It wasn't the first time shes almost fallen in the hall.

But shes never actually slipped off Damian's shoulder.

Just- bumped around a bit.

Damian sunk down one of the classroom walls, drawing his knees to his chest, his hands resting onto of them.

Janis sat from this new perch with a frown.

"Woah." She said softly.

"Yeah."

They sat in relative silence for a couple of moments. 

Janis' heart was beating so loud she was pretty sure Damian could hear. She didn't ask.

"Are you-" Damian paused like he was scared to ask. "Hurt?"

Janis shook her head, not trusting her voice.

"I'm so sorry," Damian said, his head slumping down. "I didn't mean to grab you so roughly, I just- you were falling. I was so scared. What if I didn't catch you? If something happened to you, Jan- I-" His took a shaky breath, his voice trailing off.

Damian's hair had fallen in front of his eyes, but Janis knew that strained voice and shaking shoulders. 

Damian was crying.

Janis was momentarily frozen, at a loss of what to do.

She was normally the one to break down.

Damian would hold her close and tell her she's safe.

Janis can hardly hold Damian close.

She stood up, the familiar yet overwhelming feeling of uselessness washing over her.

"Damian-" She hesitated, at a total loss for what she should say.

What she could say.

What do you say after this?

'Hey don't worry I'm fucking breathing with no broken bones.'

Something told Janis that wouldn't do much to help comfort Damian.

"I'm okay. I didn't get hurt. I'm right here. You saved me."

She stepped forward as Damian looked up, teary-eyed. "But-"

"No buts. I'm alive. I'm right here."

Damian leaned forward, resting his head on his knees. Janis leaning into his cheek, holding her arms out in the best hug (?) she could give at her size. 

"Thank you for saving me." She whispered, kissing his cheek. "I'm okay. We're okay. Right?"

"Yeah."

3.

Where was Janis?

"Jan?" Damian called out, knowing that if she wasn't here, she wouldn't hear him.

He stood at the tiny pick up zone, waiting for her. But she was late.

Actually, Damian was late, but he go here ten minutes ago and Jan was still yet to arrive, so she was later.

He looked down the tiny hallway, but there was nobody visible in the dim strip in the wall.

Where was Janis?

Damian sighed, pushing down the pit of anxiety bubbling in him. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone but- it wasn't there.

Fuck.

He might have left it at the theater.

Damian shifted his weight momentarily.

He could run and grab it quick as he waited for Janis since she insisted on running late as fuck.

Damian quickly turned on his heels, rushing down the hall to grab his phone before Janis came out.

It wasn't in the theater.

Where the fuck could his phone be?

There was a vibration from his pocket.

The fuck?

His phone, which was definitely not there before, had gotten a text message.

From Janis.

Courtyard

And what about it?

Damian huffed, making his way to the courtyard.

Why would Janis say tiny pick up zone they wait at the courtyard?

Where was the courtyard?

Damian looked around.

When did he take a wrong turn? He knew where the courtyard was- so why did he walk in the opposite direction?

Damian made his way through the school, this time concentrating on where he was going. Because apparently, he's still making freshman-level direction mistakes.  

Janis wasn't responding to his text messages asking him to clarify the 'courtyard'. 

Damian paused at the tiny pick up zone one last time. 

"Jan?"

No response.

Unsurprising.

The silence throughout the school was almost jarring. There was no hum of the vending machines as he passed. The teachers that normally stayed after were gone, their classrooms all dark and deserted.

Then Damian heard it.

Despite being nowhere near the courtyard, it rang thought the school, turning his blood ice cold.

"Leave me alone!"

Damian's heart stopped.

He knew that voice.

He knew that tone.

He now knew why Janis needed him in the courtyard.

Damian's stomach twisted, the familiar feeling of impending doom wrenched his gut.

No matter how quickly he moved, he couldn't reach the courtyard fast enough.

Damian's throat felt tight. He couldn't yell, He couldn't cry out for help. 

He couldn't make it in time.

The courtyard doors were shut. They locked from the inside, but Damian couldn't open them no matter how hard he tried.

He shoved against the push bar as hard as he could, growing more anxious when it wouldn’t budge.

He could see in the window, but it was almost worse.

He couldn't get in. 

He couldn't help

He was right there.

Shane Omen stood in the courtyard, Janis in his hand. 

Like every time he sees it, Damian felt his heart stop.

But normally, he could help.

But these god damn doors.

Damian shoved at the doors one last time and they flew open like there was no force needed. 

He stumbled in but it was too late.

He was too far away.

Shane smirked, his grasp on Janis loosening.

Damian couldn't move.

His feet were glued to the ground, his eyes glued on Janis.

She landed on her side, falling deathly still.

Quiet, just like the rest of the school.

Damian gasped, jolting upright in bed.

Bed.

Bed.

Oh.

Damian was vaguely aware of a startled cry as weight on his chest disappeared, landing in his lap.

"Dude. What the fresh fuck. It's tits early an I just wanna know what fucking made that a good idea."

Janis. She was- she was okay.

It was a nightmare.

A god fucking awful nightmare.

A nightmare.

Janis is okay.

It was a nightmare.

Tears burned in Damian's eyes. He felt conflicted. Yeah, it was just a dream, Janis was okay. But what a god fucking awful dream.

"Damian?" The annoyance from her abrupt wakeup was no longer in Janis' voice. "You okay?"

Damian laid back down. "Yeah," His voice was shaky but he pretended like he didn't notice. If he didn't point it out, maybe Janis wouldn't either. "Bad dream. That's all."

He felt the weight of his best friend walk back up his chest. But when he expected her to lay back down, she slipped off, continuing her trek until Damian felt weight shift on the pillow next to his head.

"Jan," He turned to look at her. "What are you doing?"

"If your bad dream resulted in me being fucking catapulted at three am-" She took a breath. "I can only imagine it was worse for you to actually live it. Wanna talk about it?"

"Not particularly, no." Damian turned to lay on his back again.

"That's okay too." Janis said. 

Damian felt the pillow sink into next to his face followed the warm presence of Janis curled up against his cheek.

Janis was alive.

She was safe.

She was right there.

Damian tried to hold back a sniffle, not wanting to cue Janis in on how much he was letting that stupid dream get to him. She was asleep before. It's his fault she wasn't asleep now.

"You can talk to me, yknow," Janis said knowingly. "I always go to you. It's a two-way street."

"I know," Damian said. "You're gonna think it's silly."

Janis sat up. "Nightmares aren’t silly. They’re scary as fuck. It’s in the name, dude."

Damian smiled.

Janis was one of the bravest people Damian ever met. She would never let a nightmare get to her like this. She dealt with real issues. Like a real Shane Omen. Not in some dream courtyard. Janis dealt with it all and she handled it so well. It had to be Damian who got worked up over the nonfictional things.

"It was-" Damian took a shaky breath. "The whole thing was disorienting. But I guess the major take away was- you died Jan. There was nothing I could do to help. I just sat there. And-" 

He took a shuddering breath, his entire chest heaving.

"Woah- Woah-" Janis was up in an instant. "Damian. Hey, breath. I'm not dead. I'm here. Right here."

Damian felt a tiny hand wipe away a tear he didn't realize he had even let fall.

"I'm right here." Janis repeated.

Damian turned on his side again to face Janis. "I love you."

The small girl visibly melted on the spot. "I love you too." She leaned in placing a soft kiss on the bridge of Damian's nose.

"I'm right here."

Damian smiled,  bringing his hand up to pull Janis close to his chest once more. As he faced the ceiling Janis spoke up. "I don't care how much I love you, you wake me up like that one more time I'll murder you."

Damian laughed. "At that height?"

"Oh sure."

4.

Janis wasn't quite sure what was up with Damian, but she wasn't stupid.

She knew it was something major.

She didn't like to jump to conclusions, but Janis was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that- the past week she's been at the Hubbards, there's been a significant lack of Mr. Hubbard. 

But Damian didn't want to talk about it.

She wouldn't make him.

If Damian wanted sulk all day and pretend he was fine, the best Janis can do its support him and make him feel loved.

And she was trying her fucking best.

But it was getting hard.

Damian wouldn't smile as much anymore. He didn't care as much when Janis did reckless shit- which hey- she wasn't complaining.

But, she literally used the locker/tiny hallway to get to class and Damian just shrugged.

She was losing her best friend.

And fast.

And she was running out of ways to help.

Janis looked at Damian from where she sat on his pillow.

It was a Saturday night and of course, Janis spent it at the Hubbard's. And just like last night and every night before that- Mr. Hubbard was nowhere to be seen. 

Damian was laying in his bed, on his side so he was facing Janis. His eyes were shut and his breath was even.

When Damian was asleep it was pretty easy to see the boy she first met. Scared and alone, just like Janis was.

She saw that boy a lot more often recently.

He just looked- more peaceful now.

Janis had snapped at Damian today. She hadn't meant to. She was angry at herself. For not being able to help Damian more. Angry at Mr. Hubbard for leaving behind his son. Angry at the world for not giving Damian the life and friends he deserves.

But she was in no way mad at Damian.

Yet he was the one she snapped at.

Janis sat up, overwhelmed with guilt and worry.

Damian deserved the world. Not just in her eyes, but anyone who ever got the chance to really know Damian would say the same.

He didn't deserve any of the hurt he felt. Ever.

Janis just wished she could do more. 

She moved close to her friend, stopping where the pillow began to sink with the weight of Damian's head.

If they were the same size, maybe Janis could do more. Pull him into a hug, promise it would be okay.

But- 

they were hardly the same size. 

Janis brushed a strand of hair that had fallen in front of Damian's face away. 

Whether Damian wanted to open up to her or not, Janis would stand by him.

She wouldn't leave him.

She'll be there when he needs her.

Janis may not be able to scoop up Damian and hold her close, but she could comfort him in other ways.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Damian's forehead. 

He's gonna be okay.

Janis will be here to make sure of it.

5.

"Damian Hubbard is too gay to function?! That's only okay when I say it!" Janis was livid.

She crumpled the paper in her hands, flinging it at the ground, watching as it fell from her perch on Damian's shoulder.

"Only Cady could have written that."

The clear hurt in Damian's voice felt like a wave crashing on her. All Janis' anger disappeared, replaced with worry for her friend.

Damian's eyes were trained on the crumpled paper on the floor, all the way below them.

"Hey-" Janis said softly. "Let's go somewhere quiet, kay?"

Away from the girls fighting. 

Away from the space dyke comments.

Away from that god awful paper and however many more there were.

Damian nodded, separating himself away from the crowd of raging girls. He walked slowly, like in a daze. Janis' heart broke.

She remembers how it first felt.

To see space dyke on her locker.

If Damian felt even an ounce of that right now? She'd kill Cady Heron with her bare hands. Size difference be dammed. 

Damian pulled into the girl's bathroom. It was empty of course. The entire female student body was at each other's throats in the halls. 

Janis forced herself to push down her anger. Push down her own hurt. 

Damian needed her right now. 

"Are you okay?" Damian asked her, stopping in front of one of the mirrors.

They both looked like a mess.

"Why wouldn't I be okay? Are you okay?" 

Damian's eyes were trained on Janis' reflection ."It said space dyke too."

"I'm used to it," Janis mumbled. "It doesn't hurt anymore. But you-"

"I'll be fine." Damian snapped. 

Janis opened her mouth to say something but closed it. Damian wasn't the one to snap or lash out. That was supposed to be Janis.

She was at a loss for what to do. 

"Wanna-" Janis faltered. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No." 

"Okay. That's alright. It's whatever you want to do. I totally understand whatever you choose to do. It's gonna be okay. Right? It's gonna be fine. Just- yeah." Janis laughed nervously, looking at her boots. "We're both gonna be fine." 

Damian didn't respond.

"We don't need Cady. Right? We kinda figured that out when she threw that party. She's a bitch. So what. It doesn't mean anything. She's just like the rest of them. Plastic. We can't let her get to us. I mean- yeah. We thought she was our friend but she wasn't. There's nothing we can do about that. Plastic be pla-"

"Will you shut up about it?!"

Janis gasped at the shoulder underneath her jerked with a wild hand motion. 

She was so caught up in her own anger for Cady- she totally forgot why she was taking about Cady.

"I'm sorry," Janis whispered, looking at their reflection in the mirror. Damian was looking away, and his arms recrossing in front of his chest.

Janis didn't talk for a while. Damian didn't seem to mind.

She knew deep down Damian was a lot more hurt they he was letting on. It wasn't hard to tell he wasn't okay. And he won't be okay- not for a while at least.

She was there before. 

But-

-she went through it alone.

The harassment, the bullying, the feeling gross about your own sexual identity.

Damian wasn't going to go through it alone.

Janis was going to make sure of that.

She stood, walking slowly across Damain's shoulder, mindful of any sudden movements. 

Damian turned his head to face the mirror, watching Janis carefully.

She reached out, placing her hand on his jaw. "Hey. You don't have to talk now- you don't have to talk anytime soon- but, I'm here. When you want to."

Damian nodded, leaning slightly into Janis' touch. "Okay."

Janis smiled sadly. "Okay."

They've been through worse together.

They can make it through this.

Janis reached onto her tippy toes, pressing a kiss into Damian's cheek. "I love you."

The boy laughed softly. "I love you, too."

6.

Janis was having a shit fucking week.

That was phrasing it lightly.

She tossed over from where she lay on Damian's pillow, facing away from him.

It wasn't uncommon for school night sleepovers.

Frankly, some weeks Janis spent more at the Hubbards than anything.

It was only Wednesday. 

Only Wednesday.

Long ass Wednesday.

After the spring fling, groups started merging. Cady was like glue, sticking the plastics and art freaks together. 

Janis wasn't totally opposed.

Regina did apologize.

She just-

Janis wasn't ready to trust her again.

Janis didn't even fully trust Cady again. 

All these people Janis now surrounded herself with, they could leave, at any moment.

Get bored of space dyke again. And just leave.

It clearly didn't hurt them the first time.

Janis laid back on her back, hyper-aware of the boy lying next to her.

She couldn't tell if he was asleep. She didn't want to disturb him anyway.

Would Damian leave too?

In the past- Janis knew he would choose her.

But they were all friends now.

Janis wouldn't blame him for picking the group over some worthless tiny.

If he stuck with Regina, he'd be safe, from all the bullying, from all the comments, from the general burden of associating with space dyke.

Maybe it was selfish, to want Damian to stay. He deserved better.

Yeah, they found each other at their lowest. Damian knew more about Janis that anyone should. But that didn't mean he had to stay. 

Regina knew a lot about Janis too.

She left and didn't look back.

Why didn't Damian?

"Jan, you okay?"

Of course, Damian's awake. 

Of course, he can tell something is off.

His voice was clear. There was no post-sleep grogginess. Damian had been awake for a while too.

Janis didn't turn to look at him. She could feel his eyes trained on her small form, even in the dark. 

"I'm fine." She exhaled after a while. 

"No, you're not." There's shuffling as Damian rolls slightly, propping himself up on his forearms so he's hovered over Janis. "Talk to me."

If anybody else did that, Janis would freak. But it's Damian. She forced a smile as she looked up at him. "It's nothing. It's- it's stupid that's what it is."

Damian frowned. From this close, Janis could feel the heat radiating off his face. The way Damian loomed over her should make her nervous- but it doesn't. She feels secure and safe. And loved. "I'm sure its not stupid."

"I just-" Janis crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't wanna be alone again."

Damian blinked, moving back slightly. "What do you mean, Jan?"

"What if- what if the plastics decide they don't want to be friends with me again. And its eighth grade all over. And- what if you decide to leave with them?" Tears that Janis would really rather not be there burned in her eyes. She felt foolish. Damian was right here now, but she was to busy worrying about a time when he won't be here.

Damian exhaled softly, his face falling. His breath was hot as it washed over Janis, a reminder of how small she was. Janis shook her head. "I told you it was stupid." She mumbled.

"It's not stupid." Damian insisted. "You have a perfectly good reason to worry about that. But- just know I'm not going anywhere. Certainly not with some plastics. If they do leave again, I'll still be here. No matter who leaves, I'll be here."

Damian leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Janis' middle. She smiled, holding the tip of his nose as it pushed against her.

"I promise." He said softly, sitting up a little. 

Janis looked at the boy above her. Damian did so much for her, all the time. Even the smallest things made such a difference.

Janis isn't even sure Damian knows how much he means so her. "I love you, so much." Janis said sitting up as Damian scooped her into his hands.

"I love you, too. So much."

Damian repositioned himself so he was laying on his back, with Janis held to his chest.

Janis got comfy. Between the heartbeat underneath her, the hand above her, and the newfound confidence that her platonic soulmate was going nowhere- Janis had no issue falling asleep this time.

AHHHHH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH FUN BEAR AND I HAD WRITING THIS? WE PULLED AN ALL NIGHTER- i took a five and a half hour nap at six lmao- AND FREAKED OUT OVER HOW SOFT IT WAS giant kisses just- kergbqr @realmisspolarbear @smallsoysauce @musicallygt 

[aneverlandboi]

My Favourite Destination on the Trip

Since I had a long weekend trip to Paris sprung on me most unexpectedly, I kind of had to write a short one-shot about if the class trip had gone to Paris. And if I was going to write a one-shot about Paris, there was really only one thing I could write.

(Also, thanks to @spiderman-homecomeme for the help with the writer’s block.)

“One… two… three…”

“Ned, are you seriously planning on counting all the steps?” Peter asked, a little irritably. Maybe it was the nerves about his plan, but he felt on edge.

“Well do you know how many steps there are?” Ned replied, stopping on the fourth step.

“One thousand, six hundred, and sixty five.”

Both Peter and Ned turned to look at MJ, who was stood behind them, waiting pointedly.

“But we can only walk up seven hundred and ten of them.”

“Oh.” Ned seemed a little put out.

“Plus, we’ve already started.”

“What?!”

MJ gestured over her shoulder towards the ticket booth.

“Nine steps up to the ticket booth.”

Ned frowned.

“They don’t count.”

“According to the Eiffel Tower website they do. Seven hundred and ten steps to the top. Nine steps to the ticket booth, three hundred and twenty eight steps to the first floor, three hundred and forty steps to the second floor, then eighteen steps to the elevator platform, and another fifteen to the platform at the top. Then there’s something like nine hundred and ninety steps from the second floor to the top, but they’re closed to the public.”

Peter looked between Ned and MJ, eyebrows raised. Ned caught his gaze and frowned.

“Peter, do you think they count?”

He shrugged.

“I mean, it seems like they shouldn’t,” Peter admitted, “But if the official website includes them…”

“What’s the hold-up?!”

Peter, Ned, and MJ turned to glare at Flash, who was stood, phone out to livestream his walk up the tower. Privately, Peter hoped he’d drop his phone off the second level.

“A debate over the number of steps,” Ned said, sighing.

“Why don’t we climb them and find out?”

Peter hated to agree with Flash on anything, but he really wanted to get up their quickly. His heart was already starting to pound just thinking about the confession. Luckily, the actual walking wouldn’t be likely to affect him, but the anxiety might give him heart failure. Without another word, Peter began to walk up the stairs. He could feel MJ’s eyes on the back of his neck. Did she know?!

“What’s up with you?”

Peter glanced at MJ nervously.

“What do you mean?” he tried to keep his voice steady.

MJ gestured over her shoulder, where Flash was somehow still live-streaming, keeping up an almost constant chatter. Peter was actually pretty impressed that he wasn’t out of breath.

“No sarcastic comeback for Flash?”

Peter shrugged.

“We were holding up the rest of the class. We needed to start moving at some point.”

MJ was still looking at him. He could see it out of the corner of his eyes, even though he was determinedly looking at the steps in front of him. 549. Almost at the second level, where they’d stop for a quick snack, then they taking the elevator up to the top in two groups. And then…

“Hey, Peter!”

Ned’s whisper wasn’t particularly subtle. Peter and MJ turned back to him, where he was walking hand-in-hand with Betty, counting the steps aloud.

“Yeah?”

“I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be cool to get a photo from the top of the Eiffel tower?”

Peter tried not to glare at him. Sure, climbing up the Eiffel tower would be a good photo opportunity, but he shouldn’t just say it in front of the class!

“Babe, that’s what we’re doing.”

Peter tried not to laugh at Betty’s misunderstanding.

“No, babe, I mean, like, the top.”

“How would Peter do that?” MJ asked, sharply curious.

Ned glanced at Peter.

“Like, in general, I mean. Not Peter specifically.”

“Well, how would you do it anyway?” MJ didn’t seem willing to let up. Ned was almost quailing under her intense questioning.

“A drone?”

MJ shook her head.

“Drones aren’t allowed near the Eiffel tower.”

“I guess Spider-Man could get a good photo,” Betty pointed out, “Wasn’t there that thing about him taking a photo from the top of the Empire State Building?”

Peter wasn’t physically crossing his fingers, but he was really wishing the conversation would move on.

“Yeah,” MJ said eventually, “I guess he could.”

Peter turned away from Ned to keep walking up the stairs, and caught her looking at him curiously. Did she know?!

“Okay, guys, two groups of six. Mister Dell will take Tyler, Sebastian, Zoha, Yasmin, Zach, and Josh, and I’ll take the rest of you when they get back down.”

Peter sighed. He appreciated Mr. Harrington making the effort to keep friends together, but a quick head-count raised two problems. Flash Thompson and Brad fucking Davis. This could get awkward.

He decided to avoid the awkwardness as much as possible by running through the Plan in his head as they waited for Mr. Dell’s group to come down, assuring himself he’d done everything right. Just checking each thing off calmed him down. Maybe the Plan wouldn’t work, but it certainly wouldn’t be because he’d messed it up.

Hopefully.

“I feel like I’ve got something on my face, Parker.”

Peter hadn’t even realised he was staring at MJ. Maybe it was just because he was thinking about the Plan that he’d unconsciously been watching her. Probably, it was because he always seemed to be watching her.

“Oh, no,” Peter shook his head hurriedly, “No, I was just…”

“Staring?” MJ challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“No! I mean, not intentionally. I was just zoning out, and–”

“I’m messing with you,” MJ said lightly, half-smiling, “You’re totally out of it today. Bad night sleep?”

Actually, Peter hadn’t slept last night, and it wasn’t even because of the rather suspicious-looking stains on the bed. He just hadn’t been able to sleep. Stressed about the next day, he’d spent most of the evening writing out everything that could possibly go right, and everything that could possibly go wrong, and how he’d try to fix everything that could go wrong, if it did go wrong, and… And then he’d run out of paper on the notepad the hotel had left for him.

“Peter?”

Peter suddenly realised he hadn’t replied. He couldn’t even exactly remember the question.

“Oh, yeah,” Ned said, jumping into the gap in the conversation to cover Peter’s back, as usual, “Peter was telling me all about it this morning. Got no sleep. And to be honest? Same. This has got to have been the worst hotel on the trip.”

MJ frowned, thinking about it.

“I don’t know, the Hotel DeMatteis was literally sinking.”

“I mean yeah, but that was in Venice. Of course it was sinking.”

MJ snorted at that, shaking her head lightly.

“Okay, I’ll give you that, and I suppose the beds weren’t as bad.”

“Yeah, the only real problem was the…”

“The sinking?”

Ned nodded.

“Yeah, the sinking.”

“The Belleville, officially worse than a hotel that is sinking.”

“Okay! Group two! Elevator!” Mr. Harrington seemed like he wanted to get this part of the trip over and done with as quickly as possible. According to MJ’s accidental-overhearing-how-dare-you-call-it-eavesdropping, he was very much not a fan of heights. Exactly why he’d decided to chaperone a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower was a mystery so far beyond the understanding of the three of them, it even foiled MJ’s determination to know things.

Maybe it was because Peter Parker had the worst luck in the world, nay, the universe, nay, the multiverse, but as the six students rearranged themselves getting into the rather cramped elevator, Brad fucking Davis somehow ended up between Peter and MJ. Not that Peter was planning on doing the whole confession thing in the elevator, or even in front of the whole class, but Peter simply enjoyed hearing MJ make sarcastic comments about disasters under her breath. He wasn’t sure if it was specifically elevators that MJ knew the injury and death statistics for, but knowing her, he doubted it. He also doubted that Brad fucking Davis would appreciate the quips.

With a jolt, the elevator started up.

It took all of three minutes for Peter to get annoyed at Brad’s almost incessant chattering, and he really didn’t think it was because of the stress. Brad simply wouldn’t shut up. He seemed determined to pull MJ into a conversation, and MJ seemed equally determined not to be pulled into a conversation. The result was Brad continually coming up with conversation starters, there being an awkward pause, MJ making a vaguely non-commital noise, then Brad either continuing the conversation on his own, or coming up with another conversation starter for MJ to ignore. If Peter wasn’t so annoyed, he’d feel bad for Brad. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t, but he’d certainly feel embarrassed for him. It was painful to listen to, and Peter was incredibly grateful when the elevator finally stopped at the top observation deck, the grille slid open, and the group spilled out onto the observation deck.

“Okay, this is very high up.”

Peter tried not to laugh at Mr. Harrington, who was – quite bravely, in Peter’s opinion – stood at the railing, clutching on for dear life.

“Hey, Peter?”

Peter turned, looking at Ned.

“Please say you’ll catch me if I fall?”

Peter nodded.

“Yeah, sure.”

Then the exact meaning of what Ned was asking hit him.

“I mean, please try not to fall off the Eiffel Tower. Not just for the secret, but I don’t wanna risk messing it up.”

Ned nodded, not looking entirely reassured.

“Yeah, that sounds sensible.”

Peter caught sight of MJ – who was apparently still trying to avoid Brad without a confrontation – and felt himself tense. Ned noticed as well, turning to follow Peter’s gaze to MJ.

“It’ll be fine, dude. Just be yourself!”

Peter tried not to jump off the Eiffel Tower. Just be yourself. Really useful advice.

“Tell her how you feel, and it’ll be fine.”

Ned was definitely trying to help reassure Peter, but his mind was just fixating on everything that could go wrong.

“Tell who how he feels, babe?” Betty had apparently returned from her walk around the observation deck.

“Oh, tell MJ how he feels about her.”

Peter stared at Ned. He could see the realisation dawn on Ned about what he’d just let slip.

“Oh, uh, oops?”

“Wait, MJ doesn’t know?”

Now Peter was staring at Betty. Doesn’t know? Was it really that obvious?

“D-doesn’t know what?” Peter asked, feeling light-headed.

“Please, Peter, it’s so obvious. I’m surprised the two of you aren’t already dating. You’d be perfect together.”

“Wouldn’t they though?” Ned said excitedly, “The soft friendly one and the mysterious and sarcastic one? Actually perfect.”

Peter looked between the two of them, absolutely speechless.

“Hold up. As much as I agree with you guys, can we not talk about this?” Peter begged, “It was supposed to be a secret,” he pointed out, throwing a look at Ned, who only partially looked embarrassed.

“Well you’re going to tell MJ anyway, aren’t you?” Ned pointed out, “So it doesn’t really matter if anyone knows.”

“It does!” Peter hissed, as Flash walked past, still rambling away into the camera, “Because if she doesn’t like me back, I really don’t want to be reminded of my fuck-up every five minutes.”

Ned and Betty looked at him.

“Peter, she’s going to like you back.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Like I keep telling you! You’ve got this!”

Peter nodded, swallowing nervously.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got this.”

He watched as Ned and Betty moved over to one of the viewfinders dotted around on the railing, and tried to ignore the less-than-subtle glances they were throwing him.

Time to find MJ.

Well, finding her was the easy part. She was leaning against the railing, still responding vaguely to Brad’s chatter. What he really needed, was to find the courage to walk over there and ask to talk to her.

Or, he could just lie.

Peter thought for a moment, figuring out the best excuse, and the best wording, then took a deep, steadying breath, and walked up to MJ.

“Hey, MJ, Ned and Betty have found a building they can’t identify, and we thought you might have some idea.”

Brad was glaring at him with almost unconcealed dislike, but Peter’s eyes were fixed on MJ. And, more particularly, the way she’d perked up when he’d arrived. It was like he’d just thrown her a lifeline. Immediately, she schooled her face into the usual expression of vague disinterest, and shrugged.

“Sure, let’s see.”

And without a parting word, MJ walked away from Brad. Peter almost wanted to smirk at him, but thought that was a bit unfair – even if he had tried to humiliate him – so settled with ignoring him and quickly walking after MJ.

“Nice rescue, Parker.”

Peter grinned.

“You seemed like you were running out of ways to shut down conversations,” he said lightly. MJ threw a look his way, almost looking offended.

“Oh please, I have hundreds more ways to shut down conversations.”

Peter blinked, before shrugging.

“Actually, I’m not surprised.”

MJ gave him a rare smile.

“But I’d hate to have used up all my shut-downs on Brad.”

Peter grinned at that, before hurriedly hiding it when MJ looked at him. He wasn’t entirely sure what the dismissive Brad meant, but he liked it.

“So, did Ned actually find a mysterious building?”

“I have no idea,” Peter admitted, “We could ask him?”

MJ snorted, glancing back at Brad quickly, before turning back and spotting Ned and Betty, almost cuddled together to look into the same viewfinder, then shrugging.

“Nah, let’s not interrupt… their…” She trailed off, gesturing at them pointedly.

Peter had to agree, they really didn’t look like they wanted to be disturbed. And, to be perfectly honest, neither did Peter.

“Got any good photos?” Peter asked. MJ glanced at him, shrugging.

“Of the view? Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“Do you want me to take a photo of you up here?” Peter offered.

MJ thought about it, before shrugging and pulling out her camera.

“Sure, why not?” She handed the camera to him carefully, then walked over to an empty stretch of railing and leaned back against it casually. Peter held the camera up, fiddling with the focus, then snapped a photo.

“Smile,” he said, cheesily. He almost dropped the camera when she actually did, giving him a wide, genuine smile. Then it took a moment for him to remember that he had to take a photo. It clicked, and Peter lowered the camera to look at the photo. His breath caught as he looked down at it.

“So, does it look terrible?”

Peter glanced up at MJ, who was suddenly in front of him, waiting for her camera.

“No! No, it looks…” Peter caught himself before he said what he really thought. Stunning. Beautiful. Incredible. MJ plucked the camera from his hands and looked at the photo. A flicker of surprise crossed her face.

“Huh. You’re not a half-bad photographer.”

Peter blinked. That wasn’t half as back-handed a compliment as MJ usually offered.

“Uh, thanks?”

MJ glanced up at him and opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, then closed it again, looking back down at the picture.

“I like it.” Peter was taken aback by the surprise in her voice.

“Now you.”

Peter frowned, confused. Then MJ gently pushed him towards the railing. Peter went, still taken aback. MJ raised the camera and snapped a picture, before glancing at the photo and laughing.

“Try to look a bit more with it, dork.”

Peter hurriedly rearranged his face into a stunned smile just in time for the second photo. MJ assessed the photo, then nodded, satisfied.

“It looks good!”

“Do you want me to take one of the two of you?”

Peter and MJ both jumped at Mr. Harrington’s voice. Then what he’d actually said sank in.

“Oh, n–” Peter began, before MJ cut him off.

“Yeah, sure.” And with that, she handed the camera over and hurried to stand next to Peter, who was feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

MJ leant against the railing next to him, so close that Peter could almost feel her. He grinned uncertainly at the camera, waiting for the click of the shutter.

Should he do it now? Get Mr. Harrington to capture it on camera?

Click.

And like that, the moment was gone.

“Okay, guys! Time to head back down!” Mr. Harrington called as he walked over and handed MJ the camera, “Back to a slightly saner height,” he added under his breath.

“Uh, Mr. Harrington?” Peter asked, following his teacher towards the elevator, “Could MJ and I stay up here a bit longer?”

Mr. Harrington looked at him uncertainly.

“Why on earth would you want to stay up here longer?” He asked in disbelief, before shaking his head, “I mean, whatever for, Peter?”

Peter thought for a moment.

“Oh, MJ wanted to get a picture of her along at the top of the Eiffel Tower, without all the tourists.”

Mr. Harrington nodded slowly.

“We wouldn’t be long,” Peter said, pushing his advantage, “We’d just come down in the next elevator. But that way everyone else doesn’t have to wait around up here.”

It worked like a charm. Mr. Harrington looked visibly relieved.

“Oh, yes, of course. That…” He nodded, “That makes sense.”

By then, the rest of the class had crowded into the elevator, leaving Peter and Mr. Harrington by the door, and a very curious MJ frowning at Peter.

Peter spotted Brad, stuck in the middle of the packed elevator, and felt a flash of smugness as Mr. Harrington stepped into the elevator, and the grille slid shut.

As the lift started to descend, Peter could just make out Mr. Harrington explaining Peter’s excuse to… presumably Brad, considering the furious glare he’d given Peter. Peter risked a glance at MJ, who was watching him, waiting for an explanation.

And like that, it was just Peter and MJ, alone, by some stroke of luck, on top of the Eiffel Tower. Just like the Plan. Peter’s mouth was dry. MJ was still looking at him curiously. He gestured over to the railing, feeling impossibly awkward, and the two of them walked over together.

There was a long silence.

“Was there some reason in particular you wanted us to stay behind up here, or were you just trying to save me from yet more of Brad’s riveting conversation in the elevator?”

MJ’s voice was teasing, but Peter could sense something underneath it. A slight tension in her smile. It made him nervous, and he wasn’t sure if it was in a good way.

“MJ… I…” Peter really should have written a script. He’d written out the plan, but maybe Aunt May’s advice had confused him. He’d tried to be spontaneous. He’d assumed that when the time came, the words would come. But they weren’t. He glanced at MJ, worried she’d think he was an idiot, and was taken aback to see her watching him carefully, not a trace of judgement in her expression.

“You okay?”

Peter nodded instinctively, then paused, swallowed, and shook his head.

“No. I mean, maybe.” God, he sounded like an idiot. “I’m just trying to think of the words.”

MJ nodded, as if this was perfectly reasonable, and leant against the railing patiently.

Peter closed his eyes and focused on breathing. When he opened them, he realised he’d started to talk.

“I know this is probably just me being stupid, and…” He trailed off, then started again. “We’re great friends, right? And I don’t want to mess it up, because… well, you’re basically my best friend, apart from Ned. And I really don’t want to change that, but…”

He risked a glance at MJ then, the words on his lips, and saw her watching him intently.

“I really like you.”

It was done. The truth was out. Peter held out the box for her to take, or leave.

MJ didn’t reach for the box. She didn’t reply to his rather blunt confession. Peter wasn’t entirely sure she was still breathing.

“Uh, Em–”

The last syllable of the name was cut off as MJ leant forwards, pressing her lips against Peter’s. Peter’s mind went blank. After a heartbeat, a thought formed. MJ was kissing him? As soon as that thought had formed, another appeared in response. Kiss her back, idiot!

Before Peter could, the kiss was over. Peter’s eyes flickered open and focused on MJ, so close their noses were almost touching.

“I’m sorry,” MJ said, almost silently, already turning away, “That was stupid. I should g–”

Peter caught her arm lightly before she could leave.

“Don’t.”

MJ tensed. And like that, Peter’s hand vanished as he let go as if he had been burned. She took a step towards the elevator.

“Please?”

The word was so quiet, it was almost lost in the wind, but it stopped MJ in her tracks.

“Don’t think you need to leave,” Peter said, before hurriedly adding, “But don’t think you need to stay if you don’t want to. Just…”

Again, Peter held out the box. This time, MJ took it, holding it carefully.

“What is it?”

Peter frowned.

“Oh, it’s… it’s… well, it’s just a gift. Got it in Venice. Thought you might–”

Peter stopped talking dead, staring at MJ. Was she crying?

“MJ, are you okay?”

She turned away, waving the question off.

“I-I’m fine. Just… the wind’s making my eyes water.”

Peter opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again.

“Thank you.” MJ’s voice was wavering almost imperceptibly, but Peter noticed it. “That… means a lot.”

“Do you want to open it?” Peter asked, a little uncertainly. He’d thought about MJ’s likely reactions a lot since he’d come up with the plan, and though they ranged from laughing in his face, to letting him down gently, to hitting him, to kissing him, the whole, kiss him, run away, then cry when given a present was… not on the list.

MJ’s hands moved steadily, carefully opening the box. Peter couldn’t see her expression, but he heard the catch in her breath.

“Peter…”

Peter swallowed nervously. Suddenly, he was struck with possible problems. He hadn’t checked the necklace before he gave it to her. It might have broken since the bus ride. He’d been careful with it, but it was still possible. Maybe she just didn’t like necklaces. Maybe she thought it was creepy giving her a flower based on the murder of a woman.

“Black Dahlia.” The words were whispered almost reverently. “Like…”

“The murder.” Peter said, before immediately kicking himself. He was interrupting. He should just shut up.

MJ turned to look at him, blinking her eyes rapidly.

“I… It’s…”

Peter was helpless. He had no idea what to say, and he really didn’t want to say the wrong thing and hurt her.

“Thank you.”

He could only nod. He could just imagine the next words. It’s beautiful but… Or maybe I can’t take it. It certainly sounded final. Like a thanks for a final gift as friends, because he’d ruined it by expecting too much.

And then Peter realised MJ was still standing there. With him.

“Can you help me put it on? I don’t want to drop it.”

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again.

He tried again. Open, pause, shut.

“Peter?”

With a jolt, Peter.exe restarted. He closed the distance between them – a distance which had seemed far and symbolic – with barely a step, and then he was beside her, and she was offering him the necklace, and wow, this was intimate.

MJ cleared her throat, and Peter realised she’d been holding her hair out of the way, and he’d been stood there like an idiot holding the necklace.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he slid the necklace around her neck, fiddling with the clasp, “I’ve just been worrying about this for a long time.”

Maybe it was because he was overwhelmed about being so close to MJ, and doing such an intimate thing as putting her necklace on for her, but he hadn’t even realised he was talking. In a flash, his words caught up with him and he flushed.

“I-I mean…”

“You’ve been worrying about this?” MJ asked, turning to look at him, but not stepping back. Peter nodded wordlessly.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know if you felt the same way,” he admitted.

Thud.

For someone so skinny, MJ’s smacks were strong. Peter’s arm actually hurt.

“You absolute idiot.”

That… was not what Peter had been expecting.

“Are you actually that blind?”

Peter wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

“A-apparently?”

MJ sighed, an extensive, drawn out, long-suffering sigh.

“Since you’re apparently oblivious about all things girl-related, I really like you too, dork. I have for a while now.”

Peter blinked, trying to wrap his head around two bombshells one after another.

“Wait, how long is a while?”

MJ actually blushed.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not telling you, don’t ask me again.”

Peter opened his mouth, but the ache in his arm, and the look in MJ’s eyes, made him reconsider.

“Okay, but… you like me?”

MJ rolled her eyes.

“Don’t ask me why, because you’re an idiot, but yes.”

And this time it was Peter who leant in, heart in his throat. The kiss was as gentle and uncertain as the first. The sound of the elevator caused MJ to start to pull back, but Peter was hit by a flash of inspiration. He leant into the kiss, almost going up onto his toes to keep their lips pressed together.

A very familiar cough pulled Peter out of his euphoria, and he broke the kiss, turning to shoot daggers at Ned, who was stood in the elevator, looking incredibly awkward.

“Uh… Mister… uh… Harrington, wanted to…”

Peter glanced at MJ, who somehow looked composed.

“Sure, yeah. Let’s go. It’s getting cold up here anyway.”

Peter opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat as MJ grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the elevator.

The grille slid shut, and the three of them were stood in silence.

“So…” Ned began.

“Shut up, Leeds,” MJ said immediately.

There was another minute of silence before Ned tried again.

“The Plan worked, then?”

“Shut up, Ned,” Peter said jokingly.

There was another beat, and then MJ snorted. By the time they’d arrived back at the second floor, the three of them were almost hanging off each other, laughing.

The grille slid open, and MJ tugged Peter out of the elevator by his hand, chin jutted out and all-but-daring Flash to make a comment. Peter glanced behind him as Ned stepped out and gave him the thumbs up.

Yeah, the Plan worked, all right.

[dontmindthefangirling]

Newsflash {p.p.}

chapter 1

gif credits to owner

Summary: You’re an up and coming journalist starting out at the Daily Bugle when you get your first assignment. Uncover Spider-Man’s true identity.

Warnings: swearing

prologue | series masterlist

-

Gun shots rang in your ears as you hid behind a nearby bench, slowly peeking your head up to get a few photos of Spider-Man as he swung into action. 

A week ago you would have thought you had lost your mind as you willingly put yourself in harms way in order just to get some rare pictures of New York’s superhero. But your job depended on this, so that’s how you ended up crouched behind a bench in Queens, a block away from a store robbery, zooming in on Spider-Man in order to get some impressive shots. 

Your hope was that if you lingered around after the crime fighting ended, you could follow Spider-Man to wherever he went after a days work of putting away bad guys. And your hope continued that you’d get a few shots of him taking off his mask. 

Maybe he’d perch himself on top of a building and take off the mask to breathe, or maybe he swung into some alley, but either way, your goal was to follow him. 

The last three nights in a row, you hadn’t had such luck because you hadn’t factored in that Spider-Man can shoot webs and swing from building to building while it took you much longer to jog. 

You remained hopeful, and for now, Jameson was eating up the rare action shots you were getting of Spider-Man. But you knew his patience would run out soon if you didn’t provide an identity for him soon. 

The gun shots came to a halt and you lifted your head, your camera ready as you spotted Spider-Man saying something to the criminals that were now wrapped in webbing. He had his hands on his hips and he shook his head at the criminals, like he was lecturing them before he turned and shot a web towards the top of a nearby building. 

“Shit,” you hissed, getting up from your hiding spot and jogging towards the building. You realized, maybe the best way to follow Spider-Man wasn’t from the ground, but from up above. You could see him, still, standing on the roof of a nearby building, the American flag billowing in the wind behind him. He looked like he was on the phone. 

You lifted your camera, zooming in on him casually putting his leg up on the ledge of the roof, talking on the phone. It was so easy to forget that there was an actual human in that red and blue suit, and seeing him do things that normal humans do made for some great pictures. 

As soon as you pressed click, Spider-Man looked in your direction and your heart got caught in your throat when you could see that he was looking directly at you. You forgot that he had heightened senses or something. He could probably hear your heartbeat from where he was. 

You lowered your camera, feeling like a deer in the headlights when Spider-Man swung himself down and was now standing a few feet in front of you. Being this close to him, you realized he wasn’t that tall, but he still stood a few inches taller than you. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. You looked around, wondering if he really was talking to you, but when you realized you were in a pretty empty part of Queens, especially due to the gunshots that had recently stopped, you knew he was talking to you. 

“Uh, taking...pictures?” you managed to say even though your mouth felt dry.

“Yeah I know,” Spider-Man said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been following me.”

“What?” you croaked, your voice going like three octaves higher than normal. “N-no I haven’t.”

“Yeah you have,” Spider-Man said. “You’ve been at every crime scene for the last three days with that camera.”

He pointed at the camera in your hands and you swallowed thickly. Never had you imagined he would have noticed you lurking in the corners of each of his fights, snapping picture after picture. 

“Who do you work for? New York Times? Daily Bugle? Washington Post?” he demanded, stepping closer to you. You were now sure he could hear the way your heart was hammering against your chest. 

“Uh, second one,” you choked out, looking up at his white eyes that seemed to narrow. 

“Daily Bugle?” he practically scoffed. 

“I’m sorry, it’s my job-”

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you know,” he said shaking his head at you. “Putting yourself in the middle of danger. What if you got shot or something taking a picture? Is your life really worth your job?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows and put your free hand on your hip. 

“Look, photography is my passion and I just got this internship at the Daily Bugle, which I don’t have to remind you, is a huge platform, and I’m just trying to do my best,” you said back. 

Spider-Man stared at you, his white eyes calculating as he cocked his head to the side again. 

“What’s your name?” he finally said. You stared at him, blinking as you wondered if you heard him correctly. 

“What’s yours?” you asked back. 

Spider-Man chuckled. “Nice try.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s (Y/N).”

Spider-Man stared at you for a few moments again before he let out a sigh. 

“Well (Y/N), it was lovely finally talking to my stalker.”

“I-I’m not-”

“But stop being stupid. No job is worth your life and some of the guys I fight are seriously dangerous. I don’t need you getting in the middle of their crossfire. I know I’m ridiculously photogenic, but stop following me to crime scenes, okay?” he said sternly. 

You frowned, staring up at him. “What if I don’t?”

Spider-Man laughed bitterly. “You seem like a nice girl and I don’t want to, but I could easily break that camera of yours. Any pictures you have would be poof! Gone.”

You clutched your camera to your chest. This camera was your pride and joy and you would not let Spider-Man break it. 

“Are we clear?” Spider-Man asked, looking at how you held your camera. 

“Crystal,” you sneered. 

“Good,” Spider-Man retorted. He took a few steps away from you before shooting some webs at a nearby building and swinging away, disappearing in the Queens skyline. 

You let out a groan, and began making your way to the nearest subway to head home. 

How were you supposed to find out Spider-Man’s identity now that he was onto you?

-

“You look pissed,” your roommate, Jane, pointed out as soon as you entered your shared apartment a few blocks away from NYU’s campus. 

“I am,” you groaned as you put your camera down on the kitchen counter and went to grab a glass of water. 

“No secret identity revealed yet?” Jane asked, her legs up on the coffee table while she stared at the TV, another episode of The Office playing. 

“He fucking caught me,” you groaned, plopping down next to her on the couch. Jane turned away from the TV and looked at you, raising an eyebrow. 

“Spider-Man caught you?”

“He knew I was following him for the last three days and he threatened to break my camera if I kept dong it,” you said, leaning your head back against the couch. 

Jane whistled. “Shit dude. That’s bad.”

“Yeah, it’s bad,” you agreed. “What am I going to do? Jameson is expecting some identity reveal soon and I can only hold him off for so long. But now I can’t even get those rare pictures of Spider-Man because he will break my camera.”

Jane sighed. “Have you tried asking Spider-Man nicely?”

You glared at her. “Not funny.”

“(Y/N), Jameson set you up with an impossible task. Spider-Man is never going to just reveal himself, especially not to a girl with a camera. He’s a superhero, and they’re usually pretty careful about who knows their identity,” Jane said, giving you a sympathetic smile. 

You knew she was right. 

When Jameson gave you this assignment, you had been hopeful because there are so many Spider-Man fan accounts around New York that post sightings of him around the city and maybe someone would have some insight into who he really is, but that was a dead end you found. 

So you went to following him yourself. But now he knows and there’s no way he’d let you walk into another crime scene again. 

“I’m going to bed,” you sighed, standing from the couch. 

“Are you sure? I can make popcorn and we can have an Office marathon,” Jane suggested. 

You smiled at her and shook your head. “I’d love that any other night, but I have class in the morning.”

“Ah, right,” Jane said, waving you off. “Sleep well!”

“Thanks!” you called back, walking towards your bedroom. You plopped onto your bed, and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, wondering how you were going to keep this job. 

-

You hoisted your backpack over your shoulder as you entered the Columbia classroom. Luckily for you, NYU and Columbia had some joint classes that you could sign up for, which is why you were taking this photography course through Columbia. 

You were a little intimidated at first, taking a class at an Ivy League school, but as soon as you talked to the professor about some photography tips, you became more settled. The professor was very down to earth and he was an expert in the field. 

You were early, as you usually were since you left yourself more time to get to Columbia’s campus, so you settled in your usual seat, taking out a notebook and scrolling through some social media on your phone. The classroom slowly began to fill as it got closer to the time for class to start. 

MJ, a girl who you started becoming friends with as you usually sat next to each other during class, slid into the seat next to you. 

“Hey,” she greeted. “I got you a coffee.”

“Awe, MJ,” you gushed. “Thank you.”

“So how’s operation spider going?” MJ asked, raising her eyebrows as she sipped from her own drink. You looked around nervously, now worried that Spider-Man could be anywhere, but no one was paying attention to your conversation. 

“It’s hit a brick wall,” you sighed, sipping the coffee. 

“That sucks, dude,” MJ said. You nodded. 

“Big time.”

A few minutes later, the professor walked in and began talking to the class. He started talking about a new project that he’d be pairing you up with partners for. You internally groaned. You were a solo artist, and you felt that your vision was very specific. 

But maybe collaborating with someone would open your eyes more. 

Your professor began reading off names and you listened for yours. 

“Michelle Jones and Margaret Elliot.” 

You sighed, disappointed you weren’t with MJ. 

“(Y/N) (L/N) and Peter Parker.”

You looked around the room. You didn’t know who Peter Parker was, and you didn’t see anyone looking in your direction, so you waited until the professor was done assigning partners. 

“I went to high school with Peter,” MJ whispered to you. You looked at her. 

“You did?”

“Yeah. He’s nice.”

The professor finished assigning partners when everyone stood and began sitting with their partners. You looked around when someone tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around and saw his familiar face. 

“Dumpster boy?” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, what?” he stammered. You blushed, realizing he had no idea what you were talking about and shook your head.

“Never mind. I’m (Y/N),” you said.

“Yeah I know,” he grumbled walking over to a pair of open seats. “I’m Peter.”

You were taken aback by his tone and frowned as you sat in the open seat next to him. MJ said he was nice? 

“So you know MJ?” you asked, trying to make conversation. Peter seemed to be having none of it. 

“Yeah. Went to high school together,” he said, pulling out his laptop to look at the guidelines for the project. You stared at him for a few seconds before pulling out your own laptop and reading the guidelines. 

You and Peter worked in silence for the rest of the class period, researching some ideas for your project. The entire time, you could feel his eyes on you for a few times before he’d go back to his leg of the project. You could hear other groups chatting about ideas, but not you and Peter. 

You internally groaned. This was going to be a long project. 

When class let out, you stood from your seat, putting your things away when Peter finally said something to you.

“Nice camera,” he said, gesturing to your camera that poked out of your bag. You were taken aback by his words and looked at your camera and back at him before nodding. 

“Thanks.”

Without saying anything else, Peter began to walk away, with his bag over his shoulder. You finished putting your things away when you realized you and Peter were going to have to work on the project outside of class and you didn’t have his number. You scrambled out of your chair and chased after Peter, following him out onto the street. 

“Hey!” you called, skipping down the stairs. Peter froze and turned when you approached him, his eyebrows furrowed.

“We should, uh, exchange numbers,” you pointed out. “To work on the project.”

Peter stared at you for a few moments as if he were deciding whether or not to give it to you before he finally pulled his phone from his pocket. You wordlessly exchanged numbers.

“Thanks,” you said softly. Peter didn’t say anything to you as he walked away. You stared at his back as he got further away and scoffed. 

What a jerk.

-

As soon as Peter was far enough away from you, he let out the breath he had been holding the entire class period and sat on a nearby set of stairs to steady his heart. 

Of all people, he got paired with you. 

He tried his best not to talk because if you caught onto his voice and put it together to last night then he knew you’d go running to the Daily Bugle and his lovely friend J. Jonah Jameson would reveal his identity to the entire city. 

Peter knew one thing. As long as you worked for that slandering news station, he couldn’t trust you. 

He had to stay away. 

-

chapter 2 coming soon!

taglist: @thatcrazyfangirl814 // @spacyparker // @imagine-lovebug //

[aka-willow]

Busy Day

gif

Words: 1074

Characters: Willow Wren, Marty Fields, Annabel Carson

Prompt/Tag:

“Don’t I make you happy?” 

“Someplace high so I can jump off it.”

“Dramatic? You think I’m being dramatic now? Oh! You just wait! I’ll show you dramatic!”

Summary: Willow settles into the new school year and discovers Marty has been keeping a secret from her

Timeline: September 2015

Song: Tiny Dancer - Elton John

A/N: here’s the thing. i love willow. but also sometimes (most of the time) she sucks at communication

—————————————————————————–

The first few weeks of high school flew by, and I was busier than ever before. Kate got a part in the fall musical with me helping out backstage, I joined Academic Decathlon with Peter and Ned and convinced Peter to join robotics with me. Marty tried out for the soccer team and we often walked home together after his practice and my rehearsals. When I met Marty by the gymnasium, that Thursday, someone else was also waiting with him.

“Hey, Willow,” Marty said. “Ready to go?”

I stared at the other girl with him, Annabel, seeing her in person for the first time.

“Oh, this is Annabel,” said Marty. “Annabel, this is Willow. She’s my…”

“…roommate,” I said quickly, and then realized how weird that sounded.

Annabel was unfairly pretty, with long dirty blonde and wavy hair, clear skin, and a smile I could only describe as smug. “Hey, Willow. So, like, you guys live together?”

“Yeah,” I said, and wondered how much Marty had told her.

“Annabel’s taking the subway with us until her stop,” Marty explained.

“Cool.”

The two of them talked all the way out of school, comparing their soccer teams—Annabel was on the girls’ team—and about something funny that a mutual friend had done in class that day. I walked behind them on the sidewalk, half-tempted to put my headphones in and tune them out. I was about to as we descended to the train platform and Annabel caught my attention. “So… like… where did you move from?” she asked. “Are you guys like cousins or…”

“Cousins,” I said quickly, at the same time that Marty said “stepsister.”

Annabel raised an eyebrow.

“Uh… just kidding,” I said.

“Okay…” Annabel said, shooting Marty a look.

“But I’m from Boston,” I said, trying to save the conversation. “That’s where I moved from.”

“Oh, what part?” Annabel said. “My grandma lives there.”

Crap, I don’t know anything about the city itself. “I didn’t live there long,” I said. “I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know what neighborhood you lived in?”

“Foster,” Marty said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “Uh… foster kid. Sorry, I should’ve explained that.”

“Right,” I said.

“Your dad took in a foster kid?” Annabel asked. “Really?”

“I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?” I said.

Marty changed the course of the conversation by asking her about the Spanish homework they had, and I finally put my headphones in until Marty and I got to our stop. I wasn’t sure what to make of Annabel, but I had a hard time trusting her. Too many questions. Her smile seemed fake. Eventually, we split ways at Annabel’s stop. “Bye Marty!” she called. “And Willow!” I gave a half-wave and while Marty scrolled through Reddit on his phone, I turned my music up. We didn’t talk until we got back to the apartment. On Thursday nights, Marty’s dad worked late, which meant we were on our own for dinner.

“Hey,” I said, nudging Marty as he unlocked the apartment door. “Wanna order pizza?”

“As long as it’s not Dominos.”

I made a face but agreed and he placed the order as I turned on the TV. “So… Annabel?” I asked. “Are you guys… like…”

“We’re dating,” Marty said suddenly, and I nearly dropped the TV remote.

“What? Since when? Why?”

“Since this summer,” said Marty, plopping down on the couch. “We started hanging out when you were in Boston.”

“Wait, you’ve been dating for two months?” I asked. How could I have missed this? What if she was… I don’t know… evil or something? Why didn’t Marty tell me? There was a pit in my stomach as I sat down on the couch and pretended to be more interested in what was on the TV. “Why?”

“Because she makes me happy, Willow. That’s why. That’s what people do.”

“Don’t I make you happy?” I said, as a joke, but it sounded sincere for a moment.

“You know what I mean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice sounding tiny and far away.

“Because…” Marty sighed and leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Because I knew this is how you’d get! You’d want to know everything about her, all of her social media accounts so you can like… I don’t know… make sure she’s not a Nazi or something… you’d want to know what her parents do… it’s just… this is my thing! And I don’t want you involved.”

“Dude, are you serious?”

Marty shrugged. “Look, I know you have your reasons. I know you have to look out for yourself. But you don’t have to look out for me too. Not everyone is out to get you or me. Annabel is just really nice and funny and I like her. Her friend group is nice, too. We’re all on the soccer teams. That’s it. End of story.”

“Why are you being so…” I struggled to find the right word. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Seriously?” He reached for the remote and turned the volume of the TV down. “I’m not being mean! It’s just true. You get paranoid, you make everyone else feel awkward and I end up having to cover for you. So, please, don’t ruin this for me. Annabel… these people… I really like them.”

Is that really what I do? Is that what other people think about me? “Fuck,” I said, and got up, slipping my shoes back on.

“Where are you going?”

“Someplace high so I can jump off it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your new friends are invited to the funeral.”

“Willow, look, we’re bound to make new friends. I mean, I love the others, you know, Peter, Ned, and Kate, but they’re just…”

“What?”

“You know… nerds.”

“We go to the same school! Oh, so you made the soccer team so now you’re some big dumb jock boy?”

“You’re being so dramatic over this,” Marty said.

“Dramatic? You think I’m being dramatic now? Oh! You just wait! I’ll show you dramatic! I’m gonna go out. Jump off some buildings.” I opened the apartment door and stepped out, still trying to figure out how to process this. There were never social dynamics like this at the Facility and it was exhausting.

“Fine! Bye!” Marty yelled back. And then… “Should I text you when the pizza gets here?”

I sighed and stuck my head back through the doorway. “Yes, please.”

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~Crüe AU writings 8~

I’m on a total Crüe kick right now so the updates for this story are on fire! I hope you enjoy! Funny how Vince always ends up being an antagonist loool~

~Shandi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~VAMPIRE AU Part 8~

Special Guest: Vince Neil

Summary: Nikki and Mick are forced to face the snobbish Vampire Master of West Hollywood. (told from Nikki’s POV)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shit. Dammit. I really fucked up this time.

I’m kinda expecting Mick to disown me by the time this is over. If we’re still alive. The chicks in red take us to a fancy building. I mean..really fancy. No wonder this Vince guy has his own territory. He’s fuckin’ loaded. Mick stays close to me as we’re forced into an elevator and go to the top floor. The entire floor’s spread is an elaborately decorated penthouse apartment. Okay, I stand corrected. The guy is super fuckin’ loaded. I’ve never seen so much expensive shit in my life. There’s a goddamn huge ass pool outside! It’s dimly lit we think there’s nobody here..until we hear moans. In a darker corner of the room is a huge desk. Behind it there’s a naked chick writhing on someone’s lap. Her back is turned to us so she has no idea we’re there, but the person whose lap she’s sitting on sure as hell does. We see their eyes shine like a damn cat’s in the light from the tiny lamp on the desk. That’s gotta be him. Fuckin’ creepy.

“Be good boys and wait.”

That’s the only thing he says to us before turning his attention back to the chick in his lap. She moans louder as he gropes her ass and kisses her neck. Her moans quickly turn to screams when he bites into her flesh. I gotta admit it’s pretty hot~ There’s no bigger rush than feeding on chicks~ I snap out of it quickly when Mick elbows me in the side. “Not now, kid. This is not the time.” Can he read my mind or somethin’? Not that he isn’t wrong. Once he finishes her off he just lets her drop to the floor, then two of those red leather chicks immediately come in and take the body away. That’s some service.

“So you’re the little rats scavenging in a place where you don’t belong..”

He gets up from his chair and turns on a brighter light. What the fuck is this dude’s getup? His bleach blond hair is teased all to hell, he’s got on black eye shadow and black lipstick, he’s wearin’ a red leather jacket, black leather pants, red platform heeled boots..and a metric shit ton of silver jewelry. I resist the urge to just straight up fuckin’ laugh. I’d swear he was a chick himself if I’d seen him from behind~ He gives me a dirty look and he’s on me in half a second, grabbing my neck and lifting me up. “Who taught you manners, boy? Don’t you know it’s not nice to make fun of someone? Especially when you’re beneath them?” Shit! Can he read my mind too? How powerful is he?! “It’s not a hard task to probe into your tiny brain..” he said. Well, that answers that fuckin’ question. “..dirty fledglings like you are vulnerable like that.” He looks over at Mick. “You’re not very good at Siring are you?” I’d never seen such a scared look in Mick’s eyes. “No I’m not..and I admit it. This is my first time. I was just taking this poor kid away from a family that didn’t give a shit about him. I took a few wrong turns. Don’t punish him for my mistakes. If you’re gonna punish anyone it should be me.”

“W-what? No! Dammit, old man! I’m not worth it!”

“Shut up, kid. You know that’s not true.” 

“Stubborn bastard..”

“Look who’s talkin’. Listen, Vince. I’ll take whatever punishment you wanna dish out if you just let the kid go. I’m pretty damn sure he knows better now. He can survive without me.”

But..I don’t want to.. 

Vince laughs and drops me to the floor. “That’s so damn sweet, my teeth are rotting~ I suppose I can honor an old Vampire’s request..but on one condition. Your little boy stays in his own territory..and he doesn’t come for you. You go when I say you can go.” He looks back at me with a smile I don’t trust for one goddamn second. “Do we have a deal?” I hesitate but Mick agrees right away. “Fine. Deal.” Vince snaps his fingers and two red leather chicks come in and take him away. I don’t even get to say goodbye. “Wait!! Where’re they takin’ him?!”

“Oh, we’re just gonna starve him for a few days, that’s all~ He’s a tough old Vamp I’m sure he’ll survive~ If not..I guess you’ll have to find a new daddy~” 

You fuckin’ trashy prostitute lookin’ whore.

I hiss and bare my fangs at him. He doesn’t even flinch. He knows I’m no match for him..and so do I. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna go down easy. I try to make a jump for him but he’s way too fast for me. I go flying face first into his desk. “You little prick!! That costs more than you’ll ever amount to!!” He grabs my hair and hisses right back in my face. “Just for that..I’m gonna make you into my little bitch~ I was willing to let you go but you just had to test me. I think you need to be taught where your place is~” He slams my face into the floor and steps on my head. “This ‘prostitute looking whore’ is gonna own your ass~”

Fuck.

FUCK.

I’m sorry, old man..

To be Continued!!

[soul-music-is-life]

I've seen some of your post on the bullshit heartbeat bill in your state and I'm just wondering how you're dealing.

I have stared at this ask for a while, wondering whether or not I wanted to get in depth into this conversation. But I do have a lot to say on the matter. A while back I drafted a blog post that I toyed with sharing, but ultimately held off. Until now.

There’s…a lot to be covered.

First, thank you for sparking me to put this out there. I feel as though it’s important enough to say what I have to say on this. And though this platform is usually used for fandom stuff (I use other platforms for my political stuff), I’m not afraid to get real now and again.

Second, let me state that I have a background in medicine and a family heavily involved and working in politics…so I know how this goes.

I’m going to pre-empt this by saying that I am not going to argue with anyone who is pro-life who reads and disagrees. If you agree, great. If you disagree, there is no point in trying to fight me…because we will never see eye to eye.

This is strictly an argument based on why I’m against politics and religion in medicine. I am not looking for a debate here. There is no debate to be had. If you can’t look at things without religion, or if you can’t understand scientific/medical facts it’s a moot point.

It’s a long one. Saddle up.

Religion vs. Medicine:

Christianity should have no place in medicine (the bible condemns polyester blends, playing with pigskin, gambling, and divorce, but Christians still shop til they drop, support football, play the lottery, and divorce their spouses). Yet we get lawmakers constantly using the bible as a talking point (”Thank God” and “As God intended”) for this argument and ignoring testimony from physicians with degrees in science.

Men (with the exception of those whose sperm fertilized an egg in a consensual act) should have no say in what happens inside of a uterus that does not belong to them (and even then, it should be a discussion between those two people and their doctor, not a government made up of religious zealot white women and white-boys without uteri).

The government should not infringe upon individual rights of medical privacy via HIPAA.

Basically:

If you can not argue without the basis of religion (or you keep using “God” or The Bible as your baseline) or if you are not someone who has a uterus or in the medical profession or a woke dude/lady, you have no fucking say.

If you are a Christian forcing your beliefs upon the population based upon a magical book that has absolutely no proof, you have no fucking say. (see Separation of Church and State).

If you are a politician forcing your agenda upon every person with a uterus based upon something you can absolutely never experience, you have no fucking say.

If you do not have a background in science and you’re basing your opinions upon a movie (”Unplanned”) that is nothing more than political propaganda (and a pro-life “advocate” who saw dollar signs and a means to fame) then you have no fucking say (and yes, I’ve seen the film, which was nothing more than a religious backed, over-dramatized flick poorly representing abortions and relied heavily upon cheap emotional manipulation and inaccurate CGI). As someone who has seen medical procedures…it was exaggerated in the film. It is absolutely not a representation of safe and legal abortions. It also does not address the confidentiality between patient/doctor (See HIPAA and the testimony of physicians in this matter).

The fact of the matter is that people who are informed, intelligent, and know about the subject in depth are against these abortion bans, because they know it’s extreme and infringes upon basic rights. This includes women, our allies, and in some cases…people who are religiouswho stand with the pro-choice movement (I see you all, too, don’t doubt that…this is not a reflection upon men and Christians in general. This is about the extremists).

If you fall into the extreme religious or non-medical community category or you are a politician with no medical training and you’re writing bills and arguing against basic human rights…you can shut the fuck up.

***

For the sake of facts, let’s break it down:

-Sexual education can be informative, and the preventatives used to prevent pregnancy can fail. Condoms break. The pill can fail (and let’s not even get into the horrible side effects that contraceptives have on women. Let’s talk about the fact that there was actually a birth control for men that companies tried to put on the market, but the side effects were too ‘dangerous’. Sure, like high blood pressure and hormonal imbalances are something women look forward to). But yeah, let’s put all the responsibility on the woman.

-Women are raped, and given the trauma that occurs…they should not have to PROVE they were raped in order to receive medical treatment…including abortion. It’s horrific enough as it is, and there is NO wrong way to deal with the trauma. They shouldn’t have an additional stigma to be treated medically.

-Women who tend to make the choice to have an abortion have looked at their options and have made an informed CHOICE (that’s what this is about). And it’s not always at the 6-8 week mark, because hey…there are things such as irregular periods. Cis-men hating on women, let’s talk about women’s reproduction for a minute. Have you ever spent 7 days bleeding out of an orifice of your body? Have you ever shed the lining of an internal organ? Have you ever had blood clots inside of your body that feel like fucking death? Have you ever had your panties soaked in blood? Have you ever gotten stressed and missed a period or had medical issues that caused you to have irregular cycles? No? Okay, so how about the stressors of pregnancy? How about the changes a woman’s body goes through? How about the emotional and physical toll it takes? Truth is, hetero-normal men who are so deep-set in their beliefs will NEVER view women as equal. Reality is…we women areintelligent enough to make our own decisions.

-An embryo at 6-8 weeks is not viable. The so called “heartbeat” is an electrical activity in a group of cells that is at maximum a few inches long. There is no heartbeat, because there IS no heart. It hasn’t formed. There is not a cardiovascular system. It’s a vibration in a cell. It is ONLY active because of the woman. At this point it is NOT a child. I see pro-life/pro-birth people going, “but…but SCIENCE…Life at conception!” without understanding the depth of their actual words. The medical community knows their shit. And people can challenge them all they want with their opinions upon when life is sentient, but the truth is that there is no brain activity this early because IT IS NOT A HUMAN. It is an embryo, which can not exist without the mother’s body. Yet politicians use the term “heartbeat” because they know there are uneducated people out there who will eat it up and back them.

-Abortion is situational, and trying to force a law upon women based upon the preconceived notion that ALL women are using it as a form of birth control is ignorant, ill-informed, and extremely sanctimonious. There are numerous reasons for abortion, and none of them are the government’s fucking business.

Why religion and politics is a slippery slope in medicine:

Using a religious bias in a political war is against everything in the judiciary and legislative branch, and it is a slippery slope that is dangerous to patient care. When we start listening to “Gods” and evangelical people over actual physicians there is a huge problem. Ask yourself this question: if you were dying and a surgery could save your life…would you call a priest to perform the procedure? Or a licensed physician? If you choose a priest, enjoy seeing your version of the afterlife, because you’re going to die.

Abby Johnson (”Unplanned) is not a doctor. She is someone who “found God” and is using that to exploit the situation with her own views as a claim to fame. She ran a Planned Parenthood (in her own words). ONE chapter, which means it’s a FRACTION of the actual unit. She does not have a PHD. Her accusations against physicians are bullshit and is frankly an insult to actual doctors who perform safe medical procedures every day.

Politicians have no knowledge of medical protocols and treatments (and in a lot of cases know an embarrassingly low amount about women’s reproductive organs). And in many cases it is old white men (and religious white women) dictating what a woman can do with her body. If you think that’s okay, you’re part of the problem.

Religious zealots hold fast to beliefs written in a fairytale rather than learn the scientific facts associated with the base of their argument. They can’t grasp the concept that an organism can be created in a petrie dish with a “beating heart”, because of muscle contractions, not because it’s “alive” or “sentient”. They would rather blindly follow a God that may or may not exist rather than listen to educated physicians who know the topic.

Rapid fire question: if an unconscious woman and a frozen embryo were in a burning building and you could only save one of them, which one would you choose? Something that is not aware and is only a potential for life? Or the actual living breathing human?

This shit is not about “saving babies”. Politicians couldn’t give a shit about babies after they are born. It’s about controlling women/trans-folk and telling people what they can do with their body (it’s funny how Republican politicans haven’t outlawed smoking or drinking, because hey…that kills you! “AnD wE aRE PRo-LiFE!”).

Anyone who can’t see that all these abortion laws are just plays for politicians to pursue their own political pursuits is an idiot.

A Note about Georgia’s Abortion Law/Kemp

In my state, there was talks that Kemp was overheard saying that even if he wanted to veto the bill he couldn’t due to “his campaign promises”. Which is absolute bullshit, because given the polls…he knew that a majority of the people in his state are against it. This bill was co-sponsored by three men and three women who are basing it heavily upon religious purposes (if you don’t believe me, look up Ed Setzler, he’s been quoted several times leaning on religious propaganda for this bill). It was then voted through by a bunch of old white men.

Convenient how they threw the one token woman up front (but honestly, fuck her…because she should know better). The fact of the matter is that those who voted on this are a bunch of “good ole boys” with religious principles trying to bypass the fact that there is a separation of church and state. This bill has had numerous polls conducted to the constituents, and while they were divided…the PRO-CHOICE voice won every single poll. Put this up for a vote and I guarantee this would not become a law.

Kemp waited weeks to sign this (unlike the governor of Alabama).

Why?

Because he knew that most of his constituents were against this (given the polls that were conducted), but due to political pressure he couldn’t veto for fear that he’d lose the religious/deeply rooted republican votes. Even Kemp seemed to realize that this is against the moral rights of his citizens. But he doesn’t give a shit. Because as long as his pockets are lined with money and he can ignore his constituents, it’s all gravy for him.

To take this a step further, this asshole is the man who pointed a gun at a kid jokingly in an age where school shootings are rampant, as a joke…for political purposes. Cuz, ya know…violence is funny.

He’s “pro-life” but he shoots things.

This man is sponsored by the National Hunting and Fishing association, who supports killing living breathing things with a heartbeat for sport or “because it tastes good”.

I challenge anyone who is so “pro-heartbeat” to never shoot their guns again to kill something. Because hey, life is so precious to you, right? You value heartbeats so effing much, stop killing living breathing things. Nut up or shut up.

Actually, no, don’t nut up. That’s the reason for unplanned pregnancies in the first place. Just shut up.

…that will never happen. And you want to know why?

Because this is not about life. They don’t give a shit about “life”. This is about power. This is about control.

If you can’t see that an entire gender is being used for political gain then you need to wake the fuck up.

I’ll end this by saying that, yes, there might be some common ground that can be found here. In the people out there fighting every day for their rights. In the allies we have coming out of the woodworks. In the physicians who fought like hell for us in court.

I’m not an unreasonable person. I do believe in sensible laws. These bans are not sensible. They’re a power play. And that’s fucked up. And as much as I’d love to pack up and leave, I don’t have that option. A lot of people don’t (and in fact, I think the “Boycott GA” movement is so fucking stupid, because that doesn’t hurt the people in power. It hurts the PEOPLE).

So if you’re pissed off, remember this at the polls. Know who your reps are. And if they are for this bullshit, vote their asses out.

Flip their fucking seats.

I’m tired, you guys. Let’s get our rights back. Let’s take our state back.

[crowkingwrites]

Friday Night Fever

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Fic Request:  Friday Night Thing is just amazing! Can I ask maybe for pt2, where it became s thing and happened couple of times and with each time Ramsay was becoming more and more obsessed with her, and one Friday its readers day off, and she didn't tell Ramsay about it, because, well, technically they're not together, but she comes to the bar to get Theon spare keys to his apartment, and she's all dressed up and make up, because she is going to club. So Ramsay see her and follow her to the club, and he see some guy dancing with her and gets incredibly jealous. And it ends with club smut and Ramsay making reader admit that she belongs to him.

Words: 2731

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12869268

Author’s Notes:  I mention a female DJ duo called 'The Jane Doze'. They were a real dj duo!! They have since broken up and each individual is doing their own thing, but they were so much fun to listen to. I wanted to pay them a tribute by mentioning them in this fic. I loved seeing them live and meeting them, they were big sweeties. If you ever want to get into EDM music/ dance music/ or just trying to find someone new to listen to here's their mix cloud here (https://www.mixcloud.com/thejanedoze/) I highly suggest them!

You hated yourself a lot. You really didn’t know why, but after that first Friday, you let it become a thing. At first, you told yourself the next day it was ‘a one-time thing’. Then, the next Friday came, and there he was with that same, stupid smirk on his stupid face. Next thing you knew, you were in the men’s bathroom with him against the wall, losing your breath.

That next day, you told yourself you would swear off of him. He was no good. You’ve heard rumors about the shit he did. Theon told you how bad of a childhood bully he was. He didn’t sell drugs, but you did hear an awful rumor about how he murdered his brother.

The next Friday came, and you were going to be strong. You were going to tell him no, but the next thing you knew, he was fingering you in his car. And damn, it felt good. It wasn’t like you were cheating on anyone. You were single, and so was he. Every Friday, it would be the same routine. You would tell yourself to not let it happen again. He would bother you until you were frustrated. He would follow you while you were on your break, and then he would fuck you wherever he could.

You didn’t know how he did it. He just happened to manage to get his dirty fingers all over you every time.

This Friday would be different. Yara had hired a new girl to relieve you on the weekends sometimes. Some cutie named Jeyne. You trained her during the week. She was lovely, nice, and it was her first bar job. You sorta felt bad because you knew what she was in for. She assured you that she felt confident to work Friday night, and Theon told you he would man-handle anyone who gave her a hard time. Secretly, you thought they would make a good couple.

Excited, you logged onto a dating site, you recently signed up for. You saw a couple of messages from a guy you’ve been talking to for a week and a half now. He really wanted to go out with you, but since you worked weekends you never had a chance until now.

He was nice to you. He was full of ‘dad’ jokes and dorky memes that made you laugh. He worked as an assistant to a dentist, and he lived only twenty minutes from you. You agreed to meet up with him at a new club in town.

You were moving on to better things, and that made you happy. Meanwhile, Friday evening came around. Ramsay and his bastards came in from the cold and sat in the same spot as always. Groups of friends who sit in the same spot in bars consistently making jokes, placing slap bets, and drinking beer were usually nice people. Ramsay’s bastard Grunt almost punched the people sitting in their seats.

He scanned the bar for you. He looked for the same short skirt and cute low cut t-shirts you always wore. Nowhere. At first, he thought it must be some mistake. The longer he looked for you, the more annoyed he became until a young girl approached the table.

“Hi guys! What can I get for you?” she said with a smile. Ramsay looked at her up and down.

“Where’s the other one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where’s Y/N? Doesn’t she work Friday nights?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes. The young girl shook her head.

“Not tonight she doesn’t. She’s off,” she explained.

You walked into the bar. You put on a new dress you just bought. A classy little black number with t-strap platforms that you’ve been dying to wear. Your hair had the perfect volume to it paired with beautiful earrings. Ramsay inhaled the air and smelled your perfume from across the room. It wasn’t your normal one. This one was different. Sexier. More mysterious.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.

He kept his eyes on you. You leaned over the bar and laughed at Theon. Theon stopped in front of you and spoke to you. The only words Ramsay could make out were “Saturday morning”, “errands”, and “see you tomorrow”. Theon handed you over his spare keys and Ramsay watched you leave. Your new scent followed you out the door.

Confused and annoyed, Ramsay flew out of his chair and towards Theon. He tapped his fingers on the bar, staring at him. Theon reluctantly walked over to him.

“What do you want, Ramsay?” Theon knew about your and Ramsay’s trysts every Friday night. Theon made stupid decisions, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Where is she going?” Ramsay asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Theon retorted. “What Y/N does with her life is her business.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Where is she going?”

“Again, not your business,” Theon wanted this thing between the both of you to end. He was ecstatic to hear you were going on a date tonight. He wasn’t going to give Ramsay that satisfaction. Ramsay had his own methods. He reached over the bar and grabbed Theon’s shirt collar and pulled him towards him.

“I’ve been fucking your waitress every Friday for five weeks, you dollar store dildo,” Ramsay began. “And I have never seen her dressed like that ever. Where is she going?” His nostrils flared in Theon’s face. For the first time in a long while, Theon wasn’t scared of Ramsay because Theon realized something.

“Oh my god,” Theon started to snicker. “You’re nervous. Alright, I’ll tell you,” Theon wore his best shit-eating smile he could wear. “It’s your worst nightmare, honestly. She’s on a date.” Ramsay let go of Theon.

“What?” Ramsay’s fists balled up. Theon played a dangerous game.

“Yeah, she’s moving on from you, buddy,” Theon kept going. “She went to the new club in town. Profile? I think it’s called Profile. Anyways, she met a guy who’s actually has a job, is nice to her, and on top of all of that, she’s been talking to him for a while now which means you don’t have a hold on her anymore.”

Ramsay’s eyes widened and he bolted out of the bar. He took Ben’s keys and took his car. Ramsay raced down the streets and tried to find the nightclub, Profile. He saw a line of people in front of a gray building.

He skipped the waiting line to find the bouncer staring down at him. He gave him a crooked eyebrow.

“You know there’s a line,” the bouncer said, pointing to the line behind him.

“I need to get into this club right now,” Ramsay demanded. “Fuck your line.”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to get into the line or leave,” the bouncer explained. Ramsay took out his wallet. “That’s not going to work. I don’t take bribes.”

“I’m not fucking bribing you,” Ramsay took out a fake police badge and showed it to the bouncer. “I’m with precinct 10. I’m working on a case on fraud. My suspect is in this nightclub. If you try to stop me again, I will arrest you on obstruction of justice.” Ramsay stood there and waited for a response. The bouncer nodded his head, and lifted the red velvet rope to let Ramsay in.

Ramsay chuckled to himself. “Works every fucking time.”

The club had a social media aspect to it. The walls were Twitter blue which faded into the darker Facebook blue. Hashtags signs flared everywhere with suggestive tags. At the back wall, there was an average stage where two female DJs played pop-influenced dance music. Their DJ duo name “Jane Doze” in white lights with the amount of Facebook likes next to them.

Ramsay scanned the bars for you. He saw brightly colored martinis and drinks. He saw a guy handling two drinks. Ramsay watched him go onto the dance floor with them and handed one of them to you. You sipped the drink and laughed at something he said.

“What the fuck,” Ramsay muttered. “Who does she think she is?” Ramsay watched you dance with your date. You grinded against him, your body curved into his. Your date grabbed your hips and danced to a remix of Safe and Sound while he got closer to you.

Ramsay didn’t enjoy any of this. He kept watching over the both of you while drinking two shots of tequila. A girl tapped his shoulder asking him to dance, but Ramsay gave her the finger and kept watching you. It wasn’t until the guy kissed you innocently on the cheek that Ramsay lost it.

He pushed his way onto the large dance floor until he got to you and your date. Ramsay pulled hi off of you. You turned around and felt chills go down your spine.

“Ramsay?” you shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“You know, that’s funny. I could ask you the same question,” he responded back at you. Your date came up behind Ramsay.

“Dude, what the hell?” he said.

“Who’s this guy?” Ramsay pointed at your date.

You held out your arms to try to calm down. “Ramsay—

“Y/N, what’s going on here?”

“Yeah, Y/N what’s going on here?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes at you.

“I’m so sorry, Andy,” you apologized to your date. “This is Ramsay, just ignore him.”

“Ignore me?” Ramsay shouted at you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Look, Y/N, if this is some ex-boyfriend you have business with then I don’t want any part in that.”

“He’s not my ex-boyfriend!”

“So what am I then?” Ramsay questioned you. “It’s not like we’ve been fucking or anything.” Andy looked at you and sighed.

“Seriously?” Andy said to you. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I’m not! Ramsay’s just—please listen to me, Andy. Ramsay’s not anything to me. Ramsay, you need to leave. Andy, I just want a good time with you, please,” you begged Andy. He pushed his hair back and took your hand. Desperate, Ramsay took your other hand and pulled you towards him. Ramsay kissed you with full force, letting his tongue go inside your mouth.

Andy groaned and let you go. As he was leaving the club, you reached out towards him. Ramsay smacked that hand away and kissed you again. His tongue halfway in your mouth. You slapped him across the face hard. Ramsay had to take two steps back and recover.

“What the hell?” you pushed him. “I was having a good time and you have to come and ruin everything!”

“Is it ruining everything? You barely knew him.”

“That’s what dates are for Ramsay! To get to know someone, dammit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shouted at you. The pop-dance music still pumped in the background despite the heated argument between the both of you.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him.

“To protect you from guys like that.”

“Guys like that?” you raised your voice. “He’s a dental assistant, Ramsay! What the fuck is he going to do to me? Threaten to clean my teeth?” Ramsay grabbed onto your dress.

“You know who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,’ you spat back in his face. Ramsay smirked at you. His fingers strayed from your dress to the hem at the bottom. The dress was so tight it hugged your curves comfortably, but Ramsay’s fingers slipped under it, tracing both your skin and the bottom of the dress. Your breath hitched, and he saw it.

“That’s what you think,” he said. Before you could think, Ramsay took a hold of your wrist and put it behind your back. Ramsay pushed you towards the exit. You felt the cold air on your exposed skin. The line of people gawked at you. Even the bouncer watched you carefully. Ramsay winked at him and kept pushing you away from the bar.

“Ramsay—

“Shut up,” he said to you. Ramsay pushed you into Ben’s car and closed the door behind him. He began to go for your dress, but you pushed him away.

“Stop! Take me home, asshole!” you yelled at him. Ramsay’s hands touched the back zipper of your dress, unzipping it slowly. “I said stop!”

Ramsay pulled back and stared at you. You straighten yourself out in the backseat. Ramsay remembered the words Theon told him. ‘She’s moving on from you.’ Ramsay kissed you again. Both of his hands went into your hair, gripping it tight and putting all f himself into it.

You pushed him away again, but Ramsay caught your wrists and kissed you over and over again. You didn’t know why exactly, but it happened. You started to kiss him back. He was like a chemical that activated something inside of you. Your hands went around his neck.

Ramsay kissed your cheek and buried himself inside the crook of your neck. He inhaled your perfume, taking in all he could. He started to nip and bite at you. Ramsay’s fingers felt over your chest and down your dress. He touched every curve you had and made his way underneath your dress.

He stopped. “No underwear?” You stopped breathing. Ramsay stopped kissing your neck and looked at you. You caught some hurt in his eyes.

“You were planning to fuck him?” he asked you. You didn’t answer out of fear of what he would say. “You naughty little thing.” Ramsay’s fingers started to massage your folds. You started to feel yourself becoming wet to his touch. He started to push one finger inside of you.

“He couldn’t do what I can do to you,” Ramsay whispered in your ear. He pushed two fingers inside of you and played with you a little faster. Your body started to respond to him. Your back fully against the seat. Your head went back, leaving your neck exposed. Ramsay sucked on it while pushing his fingers faster inside of you.

You were getting wetter by the second. Ramsay took his fingers out and sucked on them, tasting you. You watched him do it, slowly and with a smirk on his face. His eyes went down to your vagina.

“Spread them,” he said to you. You lowered yourself as much as you could while spreading your legs for him. He pulled down his pants and forced himself into you without warning. “Who do you belong to?”

You moaned in response, not saying any name or giving Ramsay the satisfaction. Ramsay thrusted into you harder while pushing you down into the backseat. You tried to balance yourself, but Ramsay took the collar of your dress and held you in the same spot while creating a hard rhythm.

“I don’t like asking again, who do you belong to?” he asked you, staring into your eyes. You looked away. With the other hand, Ramsay turned your face to him. His face inches from yours as his dick went in and out of you. It was hard to concentrate when your walls grew tighter.

“Look at me. Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Say my name,” Ramsay said, placing his thumb on your clit. His other hand still kept a strong hold your dress. “Say my name and I’ll give you what you need. I’ll give you what Andy could never give you.”

Ramsay started to rub you clit while slowing himself down, torturing you. You needed to go faster. You needed him to move faster. He asked you again. “Who do you belong to, naughty girl?”

“Ramsay Bolton,” you said. He began to go faster. Licking his fingers and then rubbing you in circles.

“Louder.”

“Ramsay Bolton!” you shouted a little louder. Ramsay let go of your dress and went to your hips. His hips rolled against you harder, faster, and better. Ramsay was a better lover when he was jealous.

“Louder!” he shouted at you, enjoying himself. You could feel your end coming. Your walls couldn’t take it much longer. He had been rubbing you in smaller and faster circles.

“Ramsay! I belong to Ramsay!” you shouted and you came while he was still inside of you. Ramsay thrusted against you making your realse that much sweeter. You felt your eyes almost roll back. He slowed and pulled himself out. Both of you caught your breath and looked at each other.

“That’s a good girl,” Ramsay reached over and kissed your cheek. “You belong to me.”

[ayearofpike]

Final Friends, Book 3: The Graduation

Pocket Books, 1989 238 pages, 25 chapters + epilogue, 10-page introduction ISBN 0-671-73680-9 LOC: CPB Box no. 1779 vol. 23 OCLC: 670303406 Released December 10, 1988 (per B&N)

When we last left our friends, they were all going their separate ways in the wake of the tragic accident that paralyzed the homecoming queen. Now, six months later, they’re brought back together for Tabb High’s graduation ceremony, and the after-party cruise to Catalina. It creates a deadline by which the kids need to find Alice’s killer before they’re apart for good. This last party is the end of all possibility – an end made more pressing by someone’s goal to make sure the ship never reaches the island.

I think I was more confused by this than was actually warranted when I read it at 13 or whatever I was, because the very idea of familial death, the anxiety and personal blame that someone might go through in the wake of it, and treatment by electroshock and its effects were just not something I could relate to or even try to empathize with. Because – 

Well, let’s just tell the damn story in reverse: it was Polly. She accidentally distracted Alice into falling off a ladder at the party, and the blow to the head killed her. But Polly had shocked herself trying to change a light bulb earlier, and presumably the shock manifested some of the guilt over the death of her parents that her previous ECT had helped her suppress. Yes, Polly was in the car that went off the cliff, and was distracting her father right before the accident! So to keep herself from being blamed for Alice’s death (maybe more to herself than to anyone else) she staged a suicide: posed her sister with the gun in her mouth, muffled the gunshot so that it would look real, then went outside and fired a shotgun blast near the bedroom window so the final revelers would hear it and think it was Alice.

What about Maria’s fall from the parade float? That was Polly too. See, she expected Jessica to win homecoming queen, but also subconsciously blamed her for the party happening in the first place and thereby Alice’s death. So she compromised the queen’s platform, expecting Jessica to climb up there, break it, and break herself. Because Maria was so much smaller, it took a second ascension for the boards to finally give. She also stole Sara’s homecoming dance money to keep it safe, because she was worried Sara would do just what she did and leave her purse somewhere and lose it. Oh, and she chopped down the varsity tree, maybe because Russ wanted to but also because she wanted to punish Bill and Clair and The Rock and the other pretty people who’d started the fight at the party that preceded Alice’s death.

The thing is, she wasn’t even fully aware she was doing these things. Just before something terrible happened, Polly would see Clark, who would offer hints and threats against her classmates. We slowly learn that she’s been imagining him: his strangeness and his closeness to her pushed him into the role, in her mind, of her angry avenging side, one that she didn’t always have total control over. She tells Michael and Jessica both that Clark is somehow responsible for these things, even though they know on some level that he can’t be. Like, here Polly swears up and down that Clark is on the boat, but a) Michael went to his house right before coming on board and didn’t encounter Clark on the way, and b) Jessica was one of the first three people on the ship, with Polly being another, and she knows that Polly came aboard alone. Plus, there aren’t many places for this weirdo to hide; all the staterooms save three (for the first three girls) are locked, and Michael inspects the whole rest of the ship to no avail.

He starts to suspect that Polly isn’t telling the whole truth (actually, while he’s at Clark’s house), but doesn’t confront her with it until the whole group is gathered below decks in the engine room to try to smoke out the real killer. Maria’s on board with this too. She’s been in a rehab facility since her accident – lots of time to think about Michael’s perspective and realize that if Alice was killed, it was probably the same person who tampered with the float and left her paralyzed from the waist down. So she pretty much uses Nick to scare everyone into showing up for the gathering.

Now, I understood a lot more about how the Final Friends got to this point on this reread, but that doesn’t mean that I necessarily agreed with how it went down. Like, Michael pretty much stern-voiced the mental illness out of Polly. He barked at her about what he suspected had happened and how she was making Clark up in her mind, and that “his” malicious anger at the group was coming from somewhere inside Polly. And, ta-da, she suddenly remembered everything and had clarity. Which, like ... that’s not how it works. I feel like we’re all aware in 2018 that you can’t just decide to not be crazy, to say nothing of whether someone else can do it in seconds. And, sure, the ECT she underwent as a child might have contributed to this mental state in some way, but the procedure typically stems from the fact that mental issues are there in the first place. (See also Carrie Fisher’s defense of her own experience with it.)

It doesn’t really matter, though. Not only does Polly remember doing this stuff, she takes ownership of it and is prepared to follow through. So the bomb “Clark” planted in a locker against the hull? Yeah, literally a bomb! Well, construction explosive from Polly’s company, set to blow at 2 am when everyone was asleep and maximize casualties on the sinking ship. She protects it with the shotgun that “Clark” strategically planted for her to find. So it blows up and the ship starts sinking, but the friends get off the boat and into a lifeboat. But then Polly produces another bomb from her jacket! She’s already gone from blaming the others to blaming herself, and she’s ready to put an end to it. So everyone bails. Except Jessica.

Sure, this is partly because Jessica can’t swim and has a broken arm besides and there are no life vests left. But, realistically, if she’d said so, someone else would have given theirs up. The truth is Jessica knows, somewhere deep down, that she’s the only one who can help Polly right now. Michael’s just yelling and unsympathetic; Jessica’s known Polly her whole life, and she knows Polly didn’t try to kill her parents, and she knows Polly didn’t try to kill Alice. Polly also knows Jessica can’t swim (which was part of the rationale behind “Clark” sinking the ship), but as they talk Polly starts to realize that someone does care about her, and that she’s not beyond help. So at the last second she throws the bomb overboard.

So everybody’s alive! And has a happy ending? Let’s wrap up the loose ends.

Did Michael and Jessica end up together? Yes, finally. But not before Jessica all but gave up on him and tried to seduce Bill, who ran away and called her a slut. Apparently, he did the same thing to Clair at the party, and that plus his defense of The Rock and his attempts to hang with Michael outside of school lead them to draw the conclusion that Bill is gay. I mean, there are more explanations for what happened, and I’m not totally sure Pike did justice to homosexuality in this book, but remember, 1989. We can build more nuance into our understanding because we’re more empathetic to this stuff now.

What about Clair? Did she really have an abortion? She did, in fact. But wait! If she didn’t fuck Bill, whose was it? No surprise, if you were paying attention: it was Bubba, somehow. Yeah, the repulsive little troll managed to weasel his way into her panties, and when trouble arose he took care of it – and pretty much instantly regretted it. So the experience brought him and Clair closer together, and when they get back to the mainland they’re going to drive to Vegas and get married. WHAT. Just one more example in fiction of gross-ass weirdos getting girls way beyond their means.

Did Nick and The Rock ever bury the hatchet? That actually happened in Book 2. Nick realized that The Rock had mistaken him for a dealer in his old hood, took him to meet the dude, then saved his life when The Rock tried to flex and almost got got. The experience taught The Rock to know his role and shut his mouth, otherwise someone might lay the smack down on his roody-poo candy ass.

But Maria’s stuck paralyzed, right? No, actually. She’s been in the rehab facility learning to walk again. But she didn’t tell anybody because her plan was to gather the gang together, stand up and walk across the room, and see who looked most guilty or upset to figure out who’d sabotaged the float. Turned out that she was at least able to get the gun from Polly, but by then her plan was already tits-up. Also: she’s going to marry Nick at the same time Bubba and Clair get married, so she doesn’t get deported! Yay immigration laws!

What about Sara and Russ? They’re working through their bullshit. It seems that even though Sara is totally head over heels for this dude, she can’t ever just say so, and takes it for granted that he wants her too and understands her snark. Which he doesn’t! I mean, he does want her, but when she’s jokingly mean to him he takes it at face value and assumes he’s off her short list. They finally manage to have a conversation about it, but us adults know we can’t magically fix everything by talking once.

Was anybody actually hurt by the bomb? Well, Jessica broke her arm in the explosion, and The Rock was trapped in the engine room but managed to swim out the hole and get to safety. Otherwise, everyone was fine, thanks to (get this) Kats. This wasn’t entirely altruistic, though; he was going to prank everyone into the lifeboats by setting smoke bombs and making them think the ship was going down. Fortunately (?), this happened just before Polly’s big badaboom, so Kats comes out a hero.

Wait a sec – if Sara lost the money in Book 2, how did they pay for all this shit? Gambling! Bubba is a lifelong Lakers fan, and the night of the party is also Game 7 of the NBA finals. He put a bet on the game that would be big enough to cover the student government’s debts for the entire year, including this cruise. Alas, the Lakers lose on a desperation 3-pointer that clangs off the rim. It’s a good thing Bubba bet on the Celtics.

And with that, we’re through Pike’s first multi-book series. Confusing? Convoluted? Not really – more like a soap opera where you have to keep track of multiple storylines to get the whole picture. It’s got its problems, but it continues to do that Pike thing of reaching for something more than most teen books gave us at the time, and so I’m going to keep on reading.

[loving-jack-kelly]

Okay now for the set, lighting, and acting things I will never be over in Bandstand

the lighting is Incredible

even though for the entire first act, the set is actually the exact same thing with the instruments moved, you forget it. when it’s the clubs, it’s the clubs. when it’s Donny’s house, it’s Donny’s house. When it Julia’s house, that’s what it is. you don’t even notice anything else

during the first scene, where Michael dies, the lights are blue and sharp, only on the actors, and whenever Donny has a flashback, that’s what they go to. sometimes for a long time, like the whole beginning of Right This Way, and sometimes short, like a literal flash during the scene before that

the flashbacks also always having booming drums, usually The Drumbeat, which is DUN dun dundundun DUN dundun dundun, but in the super short one it was just one really loud BOOM

the sound design was soo cool! it was really loud when the band was performing, and they were super good at setting the volume to match the scene, and I can’t articulate what I mean but trust me it was so cool

every man in the band has some sort of tell when their PTSD is bad. Donny waves his fingers and his whole body tenses, Nick clenches his fists and gets angry, Davey takes a big drink and his jokes get worse, they all deal in their own ways

but again, when they’re performing, it seems to go away

the whole thing is incredibly authentic. the dialogue flows completely naturally, and the chemistry of the cast is so good the emotions flow right along with it. when Donny is scared or angry, the audience is scared or angry. it was amazing

THE SET CHANGE

OKAY so for the whole first act and the beginning of the second, it was the simple club buildings and stage

in A Band in New York City, the set splits in half and goes offstage, and a platform come out with chairs on it to mimic a train, and luggage boys are “pulling” the train with a luggage train. also an almost abstract neon train hangs down behind them

then when they get to New York, the platform goes away and the neon light train goes away, and down drops a neon light building, tilted crooked. it looked like one thing. and then when they left the hotel it split and there was suddenly a street of neon buildings. and then a crooked neon cityscape

I swear to god that set change changed my life I can’t even describe it to you, my soul left my body and ascended from the earthly plane it was so good

what was really cool about it was that the simplicity of the first set didn’t go away at all. it was simple line art done in neon lights, there was still no walls or anything, it just was brighter and the city. it was so cool. augh. so amazing.

The Acting my GOD

Corey Fucking Cott my dudes Corey Cott is INCREDIBLE

the entire cast acts very well together, and also very well apart. they make everything flow super naturally, and are just amazing and perfect.

the Raw Emotion of the show is just amazing. there’s no “oh I’m sad but I’ll get over it” or “oh I’m in love with you” it all feels real and makes you feel it too

especially Julia. Laura Osnes manages to keep Julia a completely normal person. She gets mad and sad, but even while working through her husband’s death, she has moments of happiness. she can laugh and cry in the same scene, she can be perfectly fine one minute and not the next, Julia Trojan is just a very real person.

Corey Cott played Donny so well I couldn’t even comprehend it. His panic attacks were amazing acting, he collapsed in on himself and breathed like it was hard and was clearly having a physical problem, and when he told Julia how Michael really died he was sobbing. as in, had to pause his lines and collect himself, sobbing. audibly and visibly just crying. I’m sure part of it was genuinely Corey, since the show closes tomorrow and that has to be emotional, but it was acting and it was amazing

they all play off of each other easily, and every single person has amazing timing when it comes to lines and jokes. every joke landed, and every heartbreaker also landed.

i think that’s part of what makes the show so incredible. all of it feels real. every interacting makes sense, no conversation is just filler to get where you need to go, it all really felt like friends being friends, and because of that, the emotions changed realistically. 

Donny snapped several times, the biggest ones were with the club owner, the one with Nick, and when he yelled at Julia before explaining how Michael died, and every one you could see the pressure building before he couldn’t help it

the PTSD was really well shown, everyone dealt with it differently, and there were no jokes about it at all. it was very much presented as, this is what they have to live with, and people are ignoring it, and that’s a problem. nothing is “just like it was before” and nothing ever will be. maybe they didn’t die, but they went through hell, and ignoring it isn’t gonna get them anywhere, but they don’t know how to deal with it. So Donny throws himself into his music, Wayne schedules everything, Johnny is grateful for everything that happened to him because at least he doesn’t have to remember.

it was a heartbreaking show, I didn’t count how many times I cried but it was a lot.

Welcome Home, the last one, was so incredible.

the whole scene leading up to it was intense, because they started out so excited and then Jimmy comes back with the news that the wording of the contract gives away the band’s rights to the song, and then they’re angry, and then Donny decides to sing Welcome Home and they all get nervous

also, um, when Johnny said “You’re talking about a suicide mission” people laughed. as if he had made a joke. when it wasn’t a joke. this band had literally placed their sanity on top of the hope of winning. “during those few short hours a day/the noise in my head goes away” and Singing Welcome home could have gotten them blacklisted, meaning they never would have been able to perform again. “Suicide mission” wasn’t a joke, they literally may not have survived not having the band. 

anyway that was my interpretation of it, i didn’t laugh I cried. again.

so then they all agree to it, and they go onstage, and it’s announced that they’re going to sing Love Will Come and Find Me Again, and Donny tells Johnny to set the tempo

earlier he told the story about Michael and getting the tempo super fast, and the other version of Welcome Home they sang was slow, so Johnny started out slow, but Donny said “faster. faster. faster.” until it was really fast, and then said “now sing!” just like Michael did, and I cried some more

and then Laura’s performance. Ho. Ly. Shit. I know I’ve said “Raw Emotion” like ten times but this was probably the most emotional song I’ve ever seen done. She started singing “Johnny made it home. Most of him at least.” and Johnny’s emotions kicked in. every time she said a name, I cried harder and the band played harder. then everything but piano cut out for “Donny does his best, trying to pretend” and Corey bowed his head and you could tell the entire band was just overwhelmed by what they were doing and why, and they all knew they were ruining their chances of winning but they also all knew they were giving hopeless people hope, and the last chorus I’m pretty sure every single member of the Donny Nova Band was crying and I sure was

the entire cast was phenomenal. every single one of them. the band members played their instruments so well, and all of them were incredible actors, and even though not all of them had the Perfect Broadway Voices of Corey and Laura, they all sang like they meant it and they all had great voices. the ensemble was super high energy and fun to watch, and I loved them.

the music is obviously amazing. there isn’t a single song that doesn’t belong, and there isn’t a single song that wasn’t good to listen to, either fun or emotional or just plain good.

I’m in love with every single member of the Donny Nova Band

the constant theme of having each other’s backs was so good, and the shirt I got says “The Donny Nova Band” on the front and the band’s tour locations on the back, and says “Got your six” on the sleeve, and it’s amazing

anyway I need to sleep but um you’ll be hearing more about this work of art show soon because it was so freaking amazing