#it's her full outfit no flippin way

[wipples]

What is it like to lack a sense of agency?

What is it like to have it?

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot - “When God Closes a Door, She Opens a Window, But It's Up to You to Find It” (Rated T)

Summary: Crowley goes through unconventional lengths to escape a bad blind date...

... and ends up finding an angel in an unexpected place. (2770 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of an older story, but I think I like this version better. Human au. Fluffy as heck. CW: If you get squicked out by being covered in food trash, proceed with caution.

Read on AO3.

"Bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... " Crowley mutters as she paces back and forth, simmering behind her eyeballs with so much anxiety she's about to tear her hair out by the roots. The only plan she can come up with to solve her current dilemma grows hotly in her mind, but she's searching for something - ANYTHING! - to take its place. 

Maybe something along the lines of acting like an adult, womaning up, and admitting this isn’t going to work? Be upfront about it and say it to the man’s face, for Heaven's sake! 'Go on, Crowley!' she thinks. 'Go ahead! One foot in front of the other. Steady on! You can do this!'

But she’s become so tired of the grind – going to bars, faithfully tending her online dating profile, endless blind dates set up by well-meaning friends, the rejecting and the rejections. She can’t face one more. It physically hurts, knots her stomach muscles until the pain turns her world monochromatic.

Crowley had had high hopes for this one, too. Her date Steven is the new doctor of the boy she nannies. He and Crowley have plenty in common – a love of theater and fine dining, and an appreciation for fashion. Crowley thought dating a pediatrician would be fascinating. After summarizing the pertinent details of her own life, perhaps her date would talk about getting through medical school, toss in a few whimsical stories about the joys (quote/unquote) of working with children - baby’s first shots where the parents cried more than the infant, or the tale of a precocious little girl who demanded he put a Band-Aid on her teddy before he helped her (the way Crowley's young charge had with his first doctor when he was around three). They could swap war stories, bond in that way.

But Steven’s favorite part of his profession is pediatric surgery, and, unfortunately, he loves to talk shop. Every morsel of conversation has been inappropriate for dinner and graphic in nature - appendectomy this and tonsillectomy that, abscesses and pus and untreated sores - until Crowley’s face turned as green as her salad and she couldn’t look at her steak anymore.

Neither could their neighbors, who flagged down a passing waiter and requested a new table. They've been sat near the kitchen, which most diners would loathe, but they look heaps happier.

Crowley excused herself as delicately as she could and raced to the loo, needing to escape any more gruesome talk. 

That was over fifteen minutes ago. 

She’s trapped with no way out.

She pictures the layout of the restaurant in her head. There has to be a back way in and out of this place. All restaurants have an exit through the kitchen, right? But the toilet, the kitchen, and the front door are all in full view of their table. Steven is sure to spot her sneaking out no matter how stealthy she is.

Crowley turns on the cold water and splashes her face, scolding herself to think, think, think! She’s an intelligent woman. She can come up with a way out of this. Could she phone someone to come down to the restaurant and make an excuse for her? Not likely, not on short notice. Her friends Anathema and Newt wouldn't be able to find a sitter - ironic, seeing as Crowley is a nanny, and if the tables were turned, she'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

Could she phone her employers, ask Mrs. Dowling to claim an emergency at home? No. She doesn't want to get them tangled up in her personal woes, especially when they concern a man they think of so highly.

She could look up one of those services that make fake calls to your cell phone to get you out of sticky situations, but that would mean going back out there to make the ruse believable. And from the way her hands lock around the lip of the basin every time she thinks about taking a step outside the door, she knows that isn’t happening.

Crowley looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her eyes, and reminds herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. She’ll find a solution. 

And suddenly, there it is. 

In the reflection of the mirror, she sees what might be her only way out.

A window. 

The only window in there, propped open enough that she’d be able to fit through. 

It’s kind of high, sort of narrow, and definitely a last resort. But what other choice does she have?

Loads, in reality. It just doesn't feel like it.

But does she really have to resort to jumping out a window? She’s already been in there for (she checks her watch and her eyes open wide) twenty-five minutes! And her date hasn’t come to check on her once. Maybe the man got the hint and left (hopefully after paying what should be close to a hundred-pound check). 

Crowley tests her luck, opening the door a sliver, praying silently don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there...

But there is no God - not one on her side, anyway - because there sits Dr. Steven Malory, talking to the waiter, telling him about another fascinating surgical procedure. He makes an exaggerated cutting motion across his stomach with a butter knife. The poor waiter, weighed down by a tray of soup bowls, nods politely, but looks like he may vomit in the tureen.

She winces. That poor waiter. Who knows how many times he's been called upon to lend an ear since her absence, or how many more times he'll be forced to endure another gory tale before Dr. Malory realizes she's gone. She peeks over her shoulder at the window, then back to the table, where Steven has his phone out, Googling something to the waiter's dismay. She slowly closes the door and backs away.

Window it is.

Crowley shelves the nagging feeling that she's perpetuating the most pathetic trope in the dating world and starts constructing a platform. There’s not much available – a small stepstool underneath the sink; a short, square, plastic rubbish bin that looks less than steady; another taller rubbish bin, dented along one side, looking like someone else already used it to make a break for freedom; and the toilet and basin, both miles away and completely unmovable.

Crowley does some quick engineering in her head and figures that if she turns the small bin over onto the stepstool, she might gain the height she needs to grab the lip of the window and hoist herself up, which would eliminate using the dented bin. She doesn’t like the odds that she won’t slip, fall, and crack her head open. She’s not so much worried about doing any permanent damage, but of having to explain to her date why she’s lying on the floor, covered in trash, and bleeding profusely.

With her luck, he'll giddily insist on stitching up any gashes, drawing a crowd of bystanders around to watch.

Crowley pushes the stool up against the wall with her foot. She dumps the trash from the small bin into its larger counterpart and sets it on the stool, centering it as best she can to keep it from sliding. With a hand on the wall for support, she puts a foot on the bin and attempts to pull herself up. It wobbles back and forth, then gives one backward lurch that nearly sends Crowley flying. 

She determines quickly that this isn’t going to work the way she had planned and makes a desperate leap for the window, using all her upper body strength to get her halfway through.

Crowley shudders when the cold air hits her skin, shocked by the drop in temperature, but mostly from fear of death. She looks down. 

A huge mistake on her part.

A horribly placed streetlamp keeps her from seeing into the alley, but she’s pretty sure she remembers a dumpster underneath this window. She had parked her Bentley in the lot across the way and saw it on the walk in. She looks out into the rows of cars and spots her vehicle. She sighs with relief. 

Now she’s a little more sure, but still not 100%.

Worst case scenario, she lands in food muck, probably not rotten since it’s still actively dinner, and ruins an expensive designer outfit.

Of course, that’s not actually the worst-case scenario, is it? Worst case scenario, she misses the dumpster altogether, hits the pavement, and breaks her leg, but she’s determined to remain optimistic. At this moment, when her anxiety-ridden brain has her convinced that the only logical route out is through this flippin' window, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.

She swings her right leg over, grateful that she chose slacks over a skirt tonight, till she’s straddling the narrow sill, bent in half by the metal lip of the window frame. She balances there, the dull edge digging into her sternum, her belly, and her crotch, but she can’t make herself jump. 

She’ll need to trick herself into it. 

She forces herself to relax, teeter-tottering back and forth, not dwelling on the possible outcome, just trying to work her way to the right far enough that she knocks herself off-kilter.

Fate lends a hand in the form of a drunken passerby yelling, “Oi! Oi, lookie there! There’s a big bird... human... thing hanging out that window!” 

Crowley panics, afraid she's about to be mistaken for someone breaking into a busy restaurant and not out. She fumbles, flails, starts falling head first, scrambles to get a hold. She hears a distant, “No! No, wait!” as her fingers slip. There are three seconds of cold wind and a sinking feeling in her stomach before she lands on her bum, thankfully in the dumpster, surrounded by the smell of not-too-rank food, the squish of something under her body that she thinks might be mashed cauliflower... 

... and a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry!” 

Crowley yelps when her body lifts, something extraordinarily strong underneath pushing her up. She reaches around the slippery mess and wet plastic bags, struggling to pull herself off whoever is in the rubbish under her while trying to ignore the gravy seeping into her slacks, or the rice pilaf embedding itself beneath her freshly glossed fingernails. She knows she's broken two at minimum. 

How much worse could this evening get?

“I’m sorry!” Crowley scrambles to her knees, crawls away a few feet. “I’m so, so sorry!” 

“It’s alright, my dear.” A voice underneath her chuckles, its owner emerging from a layer of poached fish and au gratin potatoes.

Crowley turns in time to catch a glimpse as they move into the light. A woman wearing a vintage-inspired emerald gown covered in Hollandaise sauce and ranch dressing smiles sheepishly at her. The white light overhead gives a halo effect to her silvery-blonde hair, and her blue eyes almost glow.

She's quite breathtaking. 

“I thought I had reserved a private dumpster,” she jokes. “I’ll need to have a word with the maître de."

Crowley stares at her, stunned. “I… I don’t understand. What are you doing in here?”

“I suspect I might be here for the same reason as you,” she says, wiping mayonnaise off her hand before offering it to Crowley. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. I’m sorry I landed on you.” She takes Aziraphale’s hand, forgetting to wipe hers off before and smushing creamed spinach between them. Crowley groans in embarrassment, but Aziraphale laughs.

“No worries.” Aziraphale doesn't let go immediately the way Crowley thought she would, her smile becoming brighter the longer she holds on. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.”

“So... I take it you’re running away from a bad date, too, huh?” Crowley asks, regretting when Aziraphale finally lets go.

“I'm afraid so.” Aziraphale glances down with a long sigh. “A friend set me up, but I swear, the only men she knows are unemployed, torpid, and skeevy.”

“Wow. That’s some A-plus word usage right there.”

“Yes, well, the written word is my passion."

“Does that mean you're the one who wrecked the silver rubbish bin?"

“Did I?” Aziraphale looks up at the window and grimaces. “I should probably offer to replace that then, shouldn't I? What about you?” Aziraphale turns her soft blue eyes back Crowley's way. “How bad was your date going?”

“I can now perform an appendectomy with my eyes shut.”

“Yikes. I take it that’s not a turn-on for you?”

“Not in the slightest. I appreciate medicine as much as the next gal, but I’d rather not know the gritty details." Crowley stares at Aziraphale until Aziraphale notices, then the two look away, blushing like giggly teenagers flirting in a coffee shop instead of two adults stuck in the trash. Crowley can't help herself. Regardless of the stench of curdled butter and cheese that will probably be with her for life, Aziraphale is a calming presence. And she looks like an angel. An honest-to-God angel! 

And Crowley found her in the trash. 

What are the odds?

“You know, we might want to get out of here before anyone else drops in,” Aziraphale suggests, rising to her feet and lending Crowley a hand.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. "Guess that's my night over. Though... " She looks down at her blouse and trousers, positively caked with sweet potatoes, chicken grease, tomato sauce, and chutney "... I’m not looking forward to driving home like this.”

"How far do you have to go?"

"I'm in Mayfair."

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasps. "Isn't that a lovely part of town?"

"I enjoy it," Crowley replies, never having felt quite so proud to live in Mayfair as she does in this moment. "And you?"

"I have a shop in SoHo."

"Lucky. You're just a hop, skip, and a jump, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am... " Aziraphale chews the inside of her cheek as her words hang, balanced in the air between stopping a thought or continuing it. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but if you come back to my shop, I have a shower. We could clean up there... " Aziraphale sputters when Crowley's eyebrow arcs sharply upward. "S-separately, of course! A-and order in some pie. I know a great spot nearby. I dare say they have the best pie in the world! And they deliver.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Crowley says, wary of taking Aziraphale up on her invitation. Garbage notwithstanding, meeting her has definitely been an improvement to the way things were going. 

"I might have something that would work for you." Aziraphale sizes Crowley up, but not in a creepy way. In a surprisingly nurturing way. "It would be nice to salvage the evening, don't you think?"

"It would." But one disastrous date is plenty for the night. Should Crowley jump straight to another with a woman she met in a dumpster? Then again, it would be wrong for her to assume that spending time with Aziraphale would be disastrous. Plus the story of how they met is way too fantastic to waste on self-doubt.

Crowley took a chance on jumping out a window with only hope to guide her. She’d be stupid not to take a chance on this.

“Sure,” Crowley says, confident with her decision. “Your car or mine?” The words slip out before she considers the fact that she's talking about her baby. A vintage car that she, due to an extreme case of sheer luck, has been the sole owner of. She won't even wear muddy shoes in her car. Or rayon! On top of her own ruined outfit, which will need to be dry cleaned twice and then set on fire, if she lets Aziraphale in her car, she'll have two sloppy, food-stained seats that she’ll need to have scoured. 

Maybe Aziraphale will laugh her off and offer to take her own car. Why would she want to leave it behind, anyway?

“Oh, I didn't drive,” Aziraphale says, looking down sadly at her own destroyed dress. “I took the bus.”

Crowley's heart clenches. There's that decision made. There's no way she's going to suggest Aziraphale take the bus while Crowley drives her car. She just prays that, with time, her baby will forgive her.

“My car it is then.” Crowley loops her arm covered in soup through Aziraphale’s arm covered in whipped cream and leads the way. Aziraphale smiles, holds Crowley's arm a wee bit tighter, and Crowley becomes certain this new development will be worth the money she'll spend detailing her car in the morning.

[monotonous-minutia]

top 10 favorite new-to-you operas of 2020 and top 10 favorite overall opera productions (which can be ones you’ve watched before 2020) of 2020, as well as why! (take all the time and space you need to answer this one)

thanks!! :)

top 10 favorite new-to-me operas (tried to remember the order in which I first watched them, but I could be wrong): La fille du régiment Just a really fun, humorous, adorable opera with a great cast of lovable characters and some really slappy tunes. Les Huguenots This one went onto my list of top favorite operas almost immediately. Another cast of amazing characters (aside from the really despicable villain), especially some lovely leading ladies; adorable trouser role who gets two (preferably) arias; some really gorgeous music; and an absolutely devastating tragic ending that's so powerful and meaningful. Idomeneo The ladies are fighting over the mezzo; Idamante is one of the cutest and purest opera characters EVER; incorporates Greek Mythology which is one of my favorite things; great cast of characters (though Idomeneo himself still drives me crazy); very sapphic; lovely relationship between the main couple (kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers); and again some really great music La clemenza di Tito TWO mezzo bois; very VERY gay on all levels; angst with a happy ending (though depending on the production the ending can be more ambiguous than happy); entire cast of Disaster Bis; one of the smartest sopranos in the world (Servilia); lovely portrayals of loyalty and friendship; and, of course, some AMAZING music. Cendrillon Mezzo love. That's pretty much all I need to say. But also it's got a lot of my favorite things: the libretto is super poetic and beautiful; the music is absolutely fantastic at evoking the fairy tale feel, especially in the scene in the forest; wonderful lovable characters; and simply ethereal music and singing for the leading ladies. Chérubin it's the adventures of our dear Cherubino, what more could I want? How can I not love an opera that's all about this wonderful disaster child? It's so lighthearted and fun and sweet and also just really spot-on hilarious. I was laughing my head off the entire time. Plus it's Massenet so the music is gorge, especially the mezzo music :D Benvenuto Cellini Not least because it introduced me to one of my favorite trouser roles, but also because (as we've discussed) it has basically everything you need in a (not-tragic) opera: fantastic cast of lovable, wonderful characters; exciting and somewhat angsty plot; joyous happy ending; really cute and pure lead couple; adorable trouser role; Disaster Bi hilarious semi-villain you just can't help but love; some really fantastic music; and so much fun and hilarity in general. La Rondine I give this one props because it somehow made me bawl my eyes out even though no one dies. And of course it's the whole Puccini "let's pretend this thing is an operetta for an hour and a half :) and make everything all lighthearted and happy :) and have everyone just have a great time singing some wonderful music :) and then break everyone's heart in the last half hour and leave them obliterated." Also that ensemble in Act II just makes me CRY even though it's like the happiest bit of the opera?? it's just so freaking pretty omg. Alcina Props for being one of the frickin gayest operas on the planet. Also contains one of my favorite pieces of music ever in the history of ever. In general has a lot of opportunities for folks being gay as heck. Oronte can fall off the face of the earth, though. Also I am a sucker for Handel in general. Plus mezzos loving mezzos. Can't go wrong with mezzos loving mezzos. (Yeah, I know technically Rugierro can be played by a countertenor, but I don't watch those ones ;p ) The plot is still "WTF???" in my head, but does that really matter when it's basically one nonstop gay mess? Die Fledermaus Really don't understand how this took so long to get into my life (especially because German operetta was my Thing back in the day) but now that it's in my life I love it to pieces. One of the most iconic trouser roles ever, and an entire cast full of lovable buffoons, as well as just one bop after another. Plus a really slapstick plot. Basically laughed through the entire show.

10 favorite overall opera productions of 2020: It was so hard to narrow this one down! I've seen so many amazing opera productions this year. To make it a little easier for me, I tried to focus on productions of operas that weren't new to me this year (though I HAD to put the Pelly Cendrillon on here. I couldn't not) so I could focus more on the production itself. These ones aren’t in any particular order bc I’m lazy:

Sher Hoffmann (Met 2009/2015) Surprise, surprise. I simply adore the production, set, costumes, staging, etc.--all so wonderfully weird and delightfully eccentric, without distracting from the very odd and complicated story. Plus, I love the casts in both performances, esp. Kate Lindsey but you knew that already ;) Sher Barbiere (Met 2017) Three words: DiDonato. Flórez. Mattei. Plus Del Carlo and Relyea and it's Sher so really, where can it possibly go wrong?? It's an absolute delight from beginning to end that just takes all the comedic gold from the story and runs with it, and, as with his Hoffmann, provides a delightfully eccentric set and staging without being distracting. Salzburg 2013 Don Carlo Super gay, amazing cast, beautiful production, contains material not seen many other places, and introduced me to Maria Celeng's Tebaldo, which will undoubtably forever be my favorite. Did I mention how gay it is? Garsington 2017 Nozze A really fun, charming, heartwarming, and beautiful staging of one of my favorite operas. I love the cast and set and costumes and that people in general are pretty nice to Cherubino, and the Count isn't as creepy or mean as in some productions, and has some legit nice moments with Rosina during the opera so his apology at the end actually comes across as kinda genuine. In particular I love the really adorable Figaro and Susanna (individually adorable, as well as being a really adorable couple) and Cherubino. Pelly Cendrillon (Met 2018/ROH 2010) Super gorgeous production that does an amazing job evoking the fairy tale feel. Not thrilled with 100% of the choreography but I love pretty much everything else about it--the sets, the staging, the cast (especially the Met cast, though there is one little detail in the ROH one I like better) and even the lighting are super intricate and effective. Munich 2011 Hoffmann Just a really delightfully weird take on this opera, with a great cast, some fantastic singing, hilarious sets and costumes, and some quirky staging and edit choices that make it really unique and fun. Met 2017 (Sher) Roméo et Juliette I should basically just say everything by Sher is my favorite now huh? I legit want to write this guy some fan mail because his work (especially for Hoffmann) has in a lot of ways just been really meaningful to me. I didn't even like this opera until I saw this production. It's so GORGEOUS and timeless and yet simple and sweet, and the cast is to die for. Met 2017 Norma Flippin gay, that's really all I need to say, oh my lord. Plus the cast is amazing. Honeslty don't remember much about the sets or costumes, I just remember how amazingly gay it is. Met 2009 Orfeo ed Euridice The dancing in particular is what draws me to this one, but also the expansive moving sets and some really heartbreaking choreography and blocking. Side note, I know a lot of people are annoyed with Amor's outfit, but I love how ridiculous her sparkly pink ensemble is compared with the sombre outfits of the leading cast (and chorus representing all those famous dead people historical figures). I mean, she's basically Cupid, right? When has Cupid every been spiffy or dignified? Plus the whole thing is super gay and really underrated in my opinion. Bonus: Stephanie Blythe is now hands-down my favorite Orfeo. La Scala 1995 Hoffmann Set and costumes are okay, effective but not particularly memorable, but holy lord is this one GAY as hell. That's my favorite thing about it, plus much of the cast (Mentzer and Shicoff, obviously, as well as Natalie Dessay being my favorite Olympia and Denyce Graves being one of my top favorite Giuliettas). There are a few kind of weird things about the staging, and the edit is far from being my favorite, but I adore how fully it embraces every aspect of gay that this opera presents. Plus it's one of the few I've seen that actually has a legit nice ending (others being Munich and Sher).

Thanks for the ask, sorry it got kinda long!

[wondergal2001]

Little Lamb: Part Seven

When Charlie first woke up and calmed down from her initial deja vu, the silence was wonderful. It was serene and healing; everything she needed in her life right now. Her head had been filled with so much shit the last few years, it piled up and up until all that noise was pounding in her head. Slamming against her skull demanding to be released. But the silence in this room was just... so silent. For once the only thing in Charlie's head, was her, just her. The silence was her balm, her blissful saviour.

But now it was choking her.

The soothing, healing silence had escaped the room with the cold, no-nonsense woman in a pantsuit. Erica Sloane, if Charlie remembered correctly. But to be honest she wasn't really paying much attention. She completely blanked out the second she made eye contact with the giant man with the ugly moustache. The one from the warehouse. The one who saved her, but also seemed like he couldn't care less for her life.

Ms. Sloane had strut in here like she owned the place, which Charlie din't know yet but she did, said some blah blah explanation about what happened to her, like Charlie didn't already know how she got into this situation and what those disgusting people were gonna do with her. It was old news to her, she lost interest almost immediately, she almost didn't notice when Waller left the room. What really interested her was why the not so friendly giant, looked more uncomfortable being in this room than she did. As soon as that door closed she was on the case to find out why. And thus the staring contest began.

They had both been staring at each other for some time now, what felt like hours but really was only a handful of minutes. Both pairs of eyes roaming the others figure. Trying to surmise every fact, every small tiny detail about each other without opening their mouths. Charlie could feel this man's inquisitive gave travel over every square inch of her person, inspecting every bruise, every scar, every freckle on her blemished skin. She made sure to put her best poker face on; she wasn't going to show this random man just how unsettled she was being in this room with him with complete lack of noise.

He was just as tall and just as wide as she remembered him being. He looked pretty much the same as the last time she faced him, just maybe a little cleaner. His previous sand, dirt, and blood stained outfit had been replaced with a pair of black trousers and a tight, knit sweater. The dark navy blue of the garment contrasting well with his light eyes. He stood, leaning his shoulder against the wall, about a metre away from the door. His arms were crossed at his chest, making his already big arms even huger.

The silence was suffocating her again. Sucking all the air out of her body, she couldn't breathe. This was past quiet, way more than silence. It felt like all the air and all possible noise had evaporated from the room. All thought disappeared from her frazzled head, all she could do was not blink. She knew what this was. It was a test for dominance, to see who was the top dog, who was gonna be in charge of this conversation, in charge of this relationship. She could do it, she knew she could. Charlie flippin' Granger was her name and stubborn was her game. She could hold the blinks back and show this dangerous specimen who was boss.

Charlie was quite the stubborn person, stubborn as an ox most people would say. She was often stubborn to a fault.  In fact that was probably the second word used to describe her. The first word was always the same one.

Awkward.

"So who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?", she finally broke, managing to keep her voice steady. Still trying to keep all of her emotions close to her chest, but she just couldn't keep her lack of comfort inside any longer.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very piercing stare sir. I mean like seriously, what are you doing? Looking into my soul, trying to see my future? Cause I can tell you now, there is nothing particularly interesting to see here. Nope, nada. Probably just a crazy cat lady with a thousand plants.", god she just kept rambling. The word vomit just kept coming and coming, she couldn't make it stop. She sent a quick prayer to mother Karma that she needed to be stopped, and stopped quickly.

It seemed karma took pity on her. A quiet, smooth chuff of air, left the very, very large chest; sounding suspiciously like amusement. She looked over at him, now sitting in a chair that looked much too small for a man of his stature. When he moved there she couldn't tell you, it must have been when she was stuck in her head. She saw his blank face turn into a delicious smirk. Lips pulling up to the side just enough to show his amusement. That accompanied by the mischief in his eyes from her babbling, making his beautiful face look like a total douchebag. Finally, after their intense stare down he spoke.

"That totally makes sense, you seem like that kind of person.", he said sounding just a tiny bit mocking. Still looking at her with that small smile on his face, as if she was the most hilarious person in the world. But not the type of hilarious where they tell jokes that make you pee your pants, the type of hilarious that's only funny to the people watching. The difference between laughing with and laughing at.

"And what kind of person is that Mr. Steroids?", she retorted with some not so hidden venom in her voice. Kind of insulted that he agreed with her lonely, depressing view of her future.

"You don't have great conversation skills do you?", he spoke through a laugh, his mouth breaking into a huge grin showing off his perfect teeth. Of course he has prefect stinking teeth, Charlie thought bitterly. He seemed to relax more, as he leaned back into the chair, sitting like an actual normal person instead of some perfect posture robot. If Charlie heard that sound a year ago, she would have blushed like crazy. She would be trying, and failing, to flirt back with this handsome stranger. She would have answered yes she does have excellent communication skills, and she always believed people had the best intentions at heart. But she knew better now.

"Well considering the last real conversation I had, I was begging not to be kidnapped I think I'm doing pretty well. Sorry to disappoint.", she said the last bit with all the sarcasm she could muster. Hoping to cover up the real sadness and fear that was bleeding out of her confession.

It seemed her retort had woken him up. He swiftly shifted his weight forwards, leaning his elbows on his spread knees, with his large hands clasped together hanging in between. The previous laughter on his face disappeared, being replaced by a serious face with remorseful eyes that glanced down away from her person towards his fiddling hands. After a few seconds of silence, as her admission sank into both of them, his eyes connected with hers again. The look on his face seeming to plead with her to believe what he would say next.

"You're doing wonderfully. Even though there is no right or wrong way to handle what you've been through, to handle trauma, I can tell you are doing the best you can. And that's great, that's the first step. Always.", he said so seriously she actually believed him. Everything about him right now screamed sincere. Nothing about his face, body language, or tone made her think he was lying to her. That he was giving the classic victim spiel. He looked like a golden retriever right now, he appeared to be so loyal, patient and trusting; someone she could count on to help her through this. As much as his words comforted her, the prolonged eye contact was starting to make her uncomfortable. She quickly cleared her throat, looking away from his piercing gaze.

"Where are we? Who are you? I'm pretty sure we are in some medical facility, and no offence dude but you don't look like my doctor." she questioned, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

So she was deflecting again, sue her. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his words, she did. Charlie wasn't ready to go down that hole yet. And she'd rather deal with her trauma in her home, or at the very least, when an extremely attractive man isn't there to see her burst open. He didn't seem all that surprised at her dismissal, if anything it seemed like he expected it. His face shifted again, this time becoming a the neutral, calm government official he was. He rose from his chair, standing up to his full height, his arms found their natural habitat crossing his chest. He seemed to ponder his response, Charlie watched a million thoughts run in and out of his head before he finally formulated his answer.

"You are in a US government medical facility in Virginia. You've been unconscious for several hours now which is to be expected with your injuries. I am the government agent who rescued you and who now has been assigned to help rehabilitate you and assist you in getting back into society. Long story short, that means where you go, I go. And before you ask, yes I am essentially your babysitter. My name's August.", he said sounding nothing like the man she had first met. He actually sounded...friendly. But it didn't matter how friendly he made himself seem, Charlie was not happy, nope not one bit. But she was too lazy and not mention too tired to argue with him. She knew, no matter what she said she wouldn't be able to change his mind, so she settled for showing her anger in another more healthy way. She pouted and glared.

"Tt, babysitter.", she scoffed, finding his blue eyes again staring straight at her. She returned his gaze with a fiery glare, putting all the anger and discontent she could muster right now behind it. She thought she came off as serious and intimidating, but really she just looked like kid when they are told no they can't have cake for dinner. A fact August didn't hesitate to let her know.

"It's cute, you trying to intimidate me. Adorable but useless, not to mention unnecessary. I don't like this anymore than you do.", August admitted with absolutely no shame and a sarcastic smile. He was secretly glad the light-hearted atmosphere was back, and that she took it so well. No yelling or fighting or major resisting. This he could deal with.

"First things first, now that you have woken up, we are going to move you to a safe house where you can finish your recovery.", he declared, sounding like the bossy man she knew he was just from the moustache alone. He started to move towards her, coming to stand right next to her on the left side of her bed. He reached for her arm to help her out of bed and onto the wheelchair close by. He stopped about a couple inches away from touching her skin. She looked at him questioningly, maybe there is a glitch in the matrix, she thought trying to understand what he was doing.

"Can I touch you?", he asked softly, as if he could shatter her by speaking any louder.

"What?", she asked. Her face scrunched up in confusion, her eye brows furrowed together, mouth slightly open in pause. After inhaling a deep breath he elaborated his previous question.

"Do I have your consent to touch you? To grab your arm to help you out of bed?", finally clarifying what he was after. Charlie's scrunched up face melted away into one of open shock. No one had ever asked her that before, not her previous partners, not random people she met out in public, and most definitely not the people she had encountered in the last year. Finally getting her wits together she answered back honestly.

"That depends.", she said equally as quiet as August, and equally as serious. His eyebrow quirked a little, in an inquisitive manner. The eyebrow was enough to ask her to elaborate without opening his mouth, a talent she was definitely going to ask him to teach her later.

"Were you really gonna do it?", she asked with no emotion in her voice, no emotion on her face either. She made sure to gaze at his face to see what he was feeling, she wanted to be certain.

"Do what?", he asked even more confused than he was before. He tried to imagine what she could have been talking about. They hadn't known each other for more than a day. This was their first conversation together, what could he have done to make her question him like this?

"Were you really going let him kill me?", she finally revealed. Looking him right in the eye to make sure he knew that she was watching and that she wasn't going to settle for anything less than the truth.

Finally after several seconds of silence, and even more intense eye contact he gave her a look. What it meant she didn't understand at the time, but would later learn to understand every word he wasn't saying. It was a simple yes or no question but he didn't answer. All he did was gently grasp her arm in his large, warm hand.

To everyone who is still interested in reading this: I am so sorry it took so long. Writing isn’t my strong suit and I just have to be in the mood for it. I will try my best to write more regularly and often. I will be trying to make a master list (it will be pinned on my blog) and a taglist so let me know if you want to be tagged. 

[awfully-sadistic]

Evidence

Kids are crafty. But they can also be blunt and honest. But Dot was grateful that her kids were perfect. As any mother could tell you, their kids were perfect too but Dot truly knew that hers were actually perfect.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t do bad things sometimes.

For example, the Daycare room in the Nursery wing of the Haus was absolutely splattered with a colorful combination of who-knows-what consisting of sticky, flour-y, and liquid constitution. It looked like little starbursts or fireworks in pattern, reminding Dot of a colorful addition to the wallpaper.

“Holy f--shoot, what the hell happened in here?”

Dot turned and came face to face with Nero. He was a tall hybrid that towered over her and had to often duck into the room in order to get inside. That wasn’t news as everyone who lived within the Haushold or visited it often had to duck into door frames. He also had a youthful punk appearance and sentry eyes that was currently looking around before he tacked on, “Where are the children?”

Nero often came down to the Nursery to help look after the children and interact with them. It was his only other “job” besides the demon hunting thing he does alongside his Uncle Dante. He often gave the rewards he had accumulated to Dot in order to spoil the kids with new toys or anything else the Nursery might need--which really wasn’t much considering the state of the Haus. However, Dot appreciated the sentiment no matter how many times she had to give his treasure back. She often told him it was enough he played with the children and if he wanted to bring them new toys, he was always welcomed to do it.

So Nero had started to come in with his arms filled with presents instead of raw gold like he had used to. It wasn’t any different to Christmas when Nero walked in the room with toys for the children.

His arms were full now and Dot had to reign in her smile because there was still the issue of the “make-over” the Nursery had undergone. She was in serious mode.

“That’s what I was wondering,” Dot said and then gestured to the nearest table. It was kiddie sized, of course, which meant it only reached their ankles. “you can go ahead and put those there. Maybe I can entice the babies out that way.”

Nero did as was suggested. Dot half-expected the clatter of kids’ toys to lure the children out but was surprised when not one little face peered around the corner to spy on what the big adults were doing.

“Huh.” she mused, looking around in perplexity. “I was sure that would have worked. And I know my babies.”

Nero had his head turned down to look at Dot then swept his gaze around the empty nursery again. The amount of splatter on the walls was staggering. He tipped his head back as he seemingly followed some sort of trail. 

“How’d it get on the ceiling?”

Dot sounded half-preoccupied as she responded deep in her thought process, “Little Laura has an arm on her. I think it was all the practice she got in throwing things at my brothers’ fat heads. But that’s if I thought the kids did this...”

Nero laughed but it cut off short as he took in Dot’s last statement. “So someone else is responsible?”

“Yep, has to be. I don’t think my babies can do Momma wrong like this.”

Nero’s hand landed on the small of Dot’s back and he leaned down low enough so that his head was level with Dot’s. He asked in a conspirator whisper, “Do you think whoever is responsible is still close?”

“For their sake, they better be across the world.” she whispered back. “But that still leaves me questioning where my babies are...”

It seemed Dot didn’t have to wait much further for that answer. There was a clamor of chattering and the echo of tiny children voices carried into the Nursery. Both Dot and Nero watched as Beau led in two rows of very well-behaved children who were holding hands; it was obvious they were using the buddy system and had been on a “field trip” somewhere. Beau looked like he was dressed as some kind of conductor. Trailing behind was Armand, taking in the rear and dressed as a female flight attendant.

Beau looked surprised as he spotted Dot and Nero and finally, the state of the Nursery. “Wow, did you guys redecorate?”

Dot hmm’d before saying, “Well, it wasn’t Beau. He’s honest to a fault.”

Armand’s mouth was open and he was looking around in amazement. That also struck him off Dot’s suspect list.

“Armand’s too innocent to do anything bad, ever.”

By then, the children had broken up and were surrounding Dot and Nero, excited to see them both and regaling them with their tiny adventures with Uncle Beau and Uncle Armand.

“We saw Africa!” Laura stated proudly, tugging on Dot’s shirt. Dot laughed, knowing that Beau and Armand couldn’t have possibly--she paused as she took in Armand’s outfit again.

“Wh-what?” she laughed nervously, hoping someone would elaborate. But Alma and Alessa held up two twin drawings of something that looked like the Eiffel tower and Big Ben done in crayon. She took both drawings and took a closer look at them, praising the girls for their jobs well done; it was simultaneously both the cutest and most frightening thing Dot could have received right then.

Surely... the children were not just flown across the world...

Nero had picked up Remy, peering down at a tiny little name tag stuck to the toddler’s chest. “You guys spelled Remy wrong.”

“What?!” Dot asked, looking over. “R-E-A---REAMY!?”

“What?!” Beau parroted, walking over to take a look for himself. He yanked it off Remy’s chest and crumpled it into a ball. “We didn’t spell anything. We took the kids to the museum to see culture and maybe some dinosaurs.”

Dot felt her heart rate slow as she released a breath, “Oh?” That explains... everything except Beau’s and Armand’s clothes. She felt she didn’t need an explanation for that at the moment, perhaps later, cause they did look to be the cutest damn things; after the children, of course. Now, with her assurances that the children didn’t just get zipped across the country but rather into town, she knelt and listened to each and every one who wanted to share something with her. 

For the moment, the state of the Nursery was forgotten. It was easy once a whole bunch of children were babbling on and on about the things they had seen, learned, and the stories they came up with their vast imaginations.

To her amazement, the group had been bigger with the addition of the ones who permanently resided in the Nursery. Consisting of the children who lived in town itself and occasionally visit the Haus, the Nursery had been the initial meeting spot. 

But Beau had explained that it was cleaned before they left. 

“Yeah, this is the strangest fu--flippin’ thing.” he said, looking around. “Who could have made this mess?”

Nero frowned deeply, “Could someone have infiltrated the Haus?”

Dot frowned even deeper. “...No. Impossible. The Nursery is the most protected area in the Estate. Someone would be able to break into the Main Haus first before getting to the Nursery if they can make it that far. It has to be someone from the Haus and when I find out, Momma’s not going to be happy.”

The girls, Alma, Alessa, and Laura, looked at each other, “Oooooooh.”

“Someone’s in trouble~” Laura said in her adorable sing-songy way. Dot pressed a kiss to her forehead before replying, “Yep, you’re absolutely right, angelface.”

Alma and Alessa giggled. 

“We can help, Mommy.” Alessa said in a good-girl way with horrible, scary implications behind that innocent appearance.

Alma simply smiled behind her wealth of hair. It was enough to make Beau shudder and laugh nervously. He was glad HE wasn’t the one in trouble. Dot tickled Alessa’s cheek and then gave them both a kiss for their offer. She had to admit, it was tantalizing. It was tickling something in her own sadistic streak but she wanted to deal with it herself. Perhaps if she felt whoever was responsible needed the extra punishment, she would enlist the girls’ to give them awful nightmares or something. 

But first, she was going to hunt them down and make them clean up the Nursery. If she was in a good mood, she might give them cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, babies, but that’s alright. Uncle Nero brought you guys some toys. Why don’t you play with those.”

That was able to take the children’s attention away as they turned on Nero, all smiles and gasping wonderment. Nero was great with children; he loved them and was amazingly, one of the few people Laura had not kicked or “tortured” for getting too close to her Mommies. Very much like Dot, he put the children first. There was alot to ask about why he felt strongly about the children but the opportunity hadn’t come up. It wasn’t that dire to know or so Dot figured. As long as the children were taken care of and weren’t mishandled, she wasn’t going to ask WHY he loved children. It was obvious why anyone loved children--it was weird why people DIDN’T.

“Yo! They’re in here!” A new voice shouted from the doorway and Dot looked up in surprise to see Dillon. It put a smile on her face which immediately dropped as soon as Jax entered.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” she asked, of course meaning Jax.

“wHaT tHe hElL aRe YoU dOiNg HeRe?” he parroted in that annoying... little brother way.

“Oi, that ain’t why we’re here, Jax.” Dil nudged his partner-in-crime directly in the ribs. Dot was watching the exchange with skepticism mainly because Jax was involved. Dil, while far from being able to do anything wrong, was still a troublemaker in his own right; with Brothers like Ewan and Vaughn and a raised setting like the ClubHaus, it was inevitable. He’d become a hellion in his own right. But when paired with Jax, those two... often went on rampages that put the whole Haushold through hell in their wake. From annoying the older Alphas to flipping off the Haus roofs and doing “stunts” and experiments that often find themselves going viral, they were prone to doing just about anything ridiculously fucking stupid together. In fact, the two had looked like they had been up to something right now. Both were caked in colorful splatter--

It was at that moment Dot put two and two together and something clicked in her head.

“JAX, DID YOU FUCK UP THE NURSERY--”

“YOU HAVE NO PROOF!”

“YOU’RE COVERED IN IT, YOU FUCKING MOON MOON OF THE SEA--”

“THEN WHY DID YOU ASK!?” a pause and then--

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME!?”

Nero, Beau, and Armand had to escort the children away from the Nursery with their new toys because as much as people try not to curse around the children, it... still happens. It might be a moot point moving them at all considering who the children happen to be but it was still practiced around the Haus. Especially when things were about to get violent, they often wanted to “spare” the children the sight.

“Awww, come on. I want to see Mommy kick his butt!” Laura softly whined, trying to peer around the door.

“Don’t worry, we’ll see the aftermath,” Nero grinned. And if it’s any indication of the Nursery, it was going to be messier.

[rp-meme-central]

Sanders Sides - Roman/Creativity - sentence starters

1. “I have a pretty ideal vision of love. There is someone out there for me. One true love.” 

2. “Yes, someone will accept us, flaws and all! Until that day, I shall learn to love myself.” 

3. “I get what you are saying, and I do care about that. But here’s the thing... I don’t really care about that.” 

4. “Curse you for making me laugh.” 

5. “You are an emo nightmare.” 

6. “Disney movies are the embodiment of goodness and purity, something you would know nothing about.” 

7. “You besmirch the name of Disney? This time you have gone too far!” 

8. “There’s a way to simultaneously make them feel special and show them how awesome you are. You find out what might be making their life difficult... and you kill it.” 

9. “What can I say? I’m a mean spleen-stabbing machine.”  

10. “Ha! I like that nickname and I’m gonna use it now.” 

11. “I’m gonna need you to be real quiet right now, because you just earned the number one slot in my dun-zo list for today.”

12. “I am not some bread roll to hold you over while you wait for your dinner! I am the main course!”

13. “No! If I can’t think of an original idea, what will you think of me? I can’t... let you down.”  

14. “Why don’t you want to listen to me more? This whole thing could have been avoided if you did.” 

15. “Did you ever wash that shirt? You’re wearing it right now.” 

16. “You need to do chores as soon as you are able to. That means wash your filthy shirt, you heathen!” 

17. “Sorry, I seem to have drawn a blank for a second. Let me try again.”

18. “I was just making it known that I was the ______ that did the most work and deserves the most credit.” 

19. “Excuse me, I am still a man! A manly man! A man who is manly!”

20. “I am trying really hard not to like you right now... but you are just too darn cute!”

21. “Come on, _______! Life is an adventure! Embrace the change!” 

22. “So much of life is dominated by your world, _______, let _______ enjoy the bit that’s dominated by mine.” 

23. “Don’t worry, everyone loves the villain.” 

24. “Well, _______, it was a lofty dream, but we achieved it.” 

25. “Okay, time out for thee and time out for thee, focus on issues or focus on me.” 

26. “Oh, you’re just getting it all over the carpet, aren’t ya? Alright, well...” 

27. “Can you at least - Can you take off the hoodie? You look like a hot mess. Nay, not hot, cool. Nay, not cool, uncool. An uncool mess.” 

28. “Those are just silly cartoons, they’re not even realistic. But if need be, I will destroy them for you, _______.” 

29. “If your only goal is to protect, then why do you act like the embodiment of a dark and stormy night all the time?” 

30. “You’re a creepy cookie, ________! You’re like a - an oatmeal raisin cookie that’s primarily composed of raisins. A raisin oatmeal cookie. No one wants that!” 

31. “I normally would have fallen asleep, but I am not feeling like my fabulous self right now. I am bitterly jittery and not very glittery.” 

32. “WAS THAT GOOD? DID I DO GOOD?!” 

33. “It is a brilliant, iridescent display. Although I still stay we could have gone with even more colors. Full rainbow next time!” 

34. “I literally almost took your whole face out.” 

35. “That is magnificent... how you’ve managed to become even angstier.” 

36. “Oh man, remember when our outfits used to look like this? Wow, so embarrassing.” 

37. “DESTINY HAS DIALED BACK!” 

38. “I just gotta say, I am sorry, _______. I was literally in the middle of apologizing and I just immediately took a U-turn right back into ‘Part of the Problem’ Town.”

39. “You were completely right. Meaning you were right about initially being wrong.” 

40. “It’s just like that old saying: ‘There’s no winning on Christmas’.” 

41. “May visions of sugar plums dance in your head, and hopefully not visions of your naked _______.” 

42. “JUST LET IT GO CHARLIE FROWN! I’m sorry I called you Charlie Frown. It’s just this senseless bickering never gets us anywhere!” 

43. “_______ really had me doing his/her/their bidding today! Playing into my love of ______ and my love of getting what I want? Oh, I feel so used!” 

44. “You suck at summoning, ______! You pulled my hair!” 

45. “Oh, shoot! I’m sorry. It’s the glasses, it totally throws me off.”  

46. “You’re like the myth of the Great _____-Baby. Looks like a _______, acts like a baby.” 

47. “How can you be teaching me so many words but also be so wrong today?”

48. “So many of your ancestors took chances, endured hardships, risked their lives for you to even exist today! Follow in their footsteps. You could very well be what you’re entire family tree was leading up to. Make them proud.” 

49. “I propose that we compose a ballad to celebrate the occasion!” 

50. “I can’t help but wonder if we as a society are past the days of celebrating dashing princes and acts of bravery... that are edging on stupidity.” 

51. “I am not blind to the reality that _____ has steadily grown more popular than me. He’s/she’s/they’re a _______. I’m a ______. But look at him/her/them now! He’s/she’s/they’re just so cool!” 

52. “Say, that is a pretty flippin’ finger-lickin’ fruit spread.” 

53. “How dare you criticize my work while also utilizing my rhyming skills? That’s like slapping me in the face with my own beautifully manicured sword!”

54. “I drew a little outside the lines, but I kind of like it.” 

55. “You always do your best thinking in the shower! So, uh, um, get naked? Everyone get naked?” 

56. “All right, here’s what I threw together. It’s nothing special, really.” 

57. “Ow! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. You hit me in the eye! You hit me in the eye, you freakin’ _______!” 

58. “Well, pardon me, _______, but when were you the expert on creative content? Who are you to criticize my work?!” 

59. “What I think _______ was trying to say is that _______ has just proven that he’s/she’s/they’re the worst and that he’s/she’s/they’ve been the thorn in your side all along.” 

60. “Okay, well I gave that a shot. I still feel bad.” 

61. “I’ve got an issue that feels new school. I don’t want to say I’m too cool, but I’m just too fab for you fools, and I feel like you don’t get me.” 

62. “It’s so hard to create anything that I’m proud of when it’s critiqued so harshly by you. Nothing ever seems good enough, professional enough, serious enough for you.” 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Can I request number 44. “I don’t know why I’m crying” and number 30. “Can I sit here? The other tables are full?” For Sweet Pea. Like the reader has been a rough day and Sweet Pea notices and wants to cheer her up. But you can write whatever you would like, just an idea 😬

Thanks for the request! I tried to steer the thing in that direction, though it took a detour through many a Broadway musical reference haha

44. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

AND

30. “CanI sit here? The other tables are full.”

The floor beneath your feet is not the puke-y beige linoleum of theRiverdale High cafeteria, but the uneven, sun-bleached, cobbled steps of astruggling Greek hotel. The outfit you wear is not the standard t-shirt andjeans you’ve more or less been donning since September, but the result of astylish 1962 makeover or a promotion to the ranks of the cardigan-clad PinkLadies. The noise in your suffering ears emanates not from a roomful of yourfellow high schoolers, but from the raucous backstage of the Palais Garnier, ora besieged Parisian barricade, or maybe a rowdy Chicago bar, minutes beforeRoxie and Velma take the stage.

You stare at the uninventive sandwich in your hand, swashed a little on oneside from riding in your backpack with your History binder. Nope, you’redefinitely still toiling your way through Tuesday.

Existing somewhere between reality and the land of musical make-believe isthe bare fact that there isn’t a free seat in the house―great news in atheatre, total shit when your teacher lets you out of class late and all youwant to do is park your butt and eat lunch.

Of course, you realize, eyes skimming just above the heads of your academicfriends and foes so as not to catch anyone’s gaze and read it in how patheticyou appear standing here clutching the world’s saddest sandwich, there is onespot you could sit. One spot you haven’t dared to sit, though it’s almostalways open.

Now you find that you are glancing around, taking in the sights, so yoursudden arrival at the Serpent Table (a near-official,read-it-in-capitals-in-your-mind type thing) may seem like the result of ahapless wander rather than the intention of desperation. Cafeteria mural’s flaking, you observe to yourself, studying thewall harder than most ever would or ever have. Studying up for the art test on 20th Century Americanphotographers, I see, you note, spotting a blurb and accompanying photo of Diane Arbus over theshoulder of a classmate. BLT, huh? What,you think you’re better than me? You swerve around the sandwich snob beforethe urge to tear your own sandwich bag open with your bare hands and use it tosmother the offender can overwhelm you.

And here you are. You stand silent, like one of those rare mannequins yousometimes see dressed in an ensemble that doesn’tappear to represent the fashion sense of an alien newcomer to the planet tryingto blend in. You clear your throat.

“I see ya,” says the reason people avoid this table. He doesn’t look up atyou and you feel affronted, annoyed, avoided, ashamed.

“Can I sit here,” you ask, though it comes out as a flat demand. For somereason, your voice is making it sound like you’ve asked the question over andover, receiving nothing but denial.

You brush your hair back from your face, if only to offer one of your hands atask alternate to sandwich holding.

“Maybe,” he says, biting an apple and focusing on the textbook he has openin front of him.

“What, are you saving someone a seat?” you snap, feeling the attitude clickinto place like the shoved down lever of a toaster. Burn, baby, burn.

He―the guy―the Serpent―Sweet Pea, looks up at you like you’re out of yourfreaking mind. Which is about the same moment you’re able to remind yourselfthat this is not a role, you are not on a stage, and there is no script tooffer you that peaceful, predictable assurance of knowing what kind of dialoguecomes next.

You drop the stiff shoulders and what you believe to be aggressive look inyour eye (which is probably closer to profound, horrified backpedalling) andfeel a little bad. Serpent or not, maybe the guy’s lonely. You know who hisfriends are and where they’re currently sitting, Toni with Cheryl and Fangswith Kevin.

Sweet Pea’s looking up at you and you share just enough classes with him toknow how unlikely it is that he’s about to willingly lead off a conversation.You sigh and muster your default niceness. Maybe it’s as unoriginal as yourt-shirt and jeans, but it’s you and it’s real.

“Can I sit here?” you inquire. “The other tables are full.”

You watch his tongue slide around his teeth, probably freeing a rogue pieceof apple skin. So maybe the reason you avoid this table isn’t the same aseveryone else’s.

“Yep.”

“Is that permission to sit or an acknowledgement of the cafeteria indeedbeing packed to capacity?” You’re trying to understand him, really you are, buthis dark eyes are frustratingly indecipherable, making you feel like you’vewandered into a carnival’s house of mirrors. Disoriented and struggling to findyour way back out.

“Sit,” he insists, and kicks out the chair across from him.

Honestly, it’s more invitation than you’d expected to get, so you do like hesays. Sweet Pea goes back to the crunching of the apple/reading of the textbookroutine―a real thrilling one-two―and you eat your sandwich and ignore thefolded, stapled papers you’ve laid on the table.

By the time you’re done and mostly but not totally full (in that way thatyou’re feeling you may not outgrow until your 20’s), with your cheek leaninghard on your fist, you have started to concentrate on the papers―just notreading them. You stare and wonder if you could levitate them with your mind.You wonder if, were you in possession of a magnifying glass, you could burnthese pages like ants under the unnaturally harsh glare of cafeteria lighting.

In fact, you are concentrating so well that you miss the cessation of theapple crunching and the subtle but shudder-inducing sound of slick textbookpages a-flippin’.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like hell,” Sweet Pea remarks.

Without raising your head, you let your eyes move to his face. Disarmingly,you find its expression reads as inquisitive, not mocking as his words wouldsuggest.

“I’m struggling,” you say. Privately, in your head, you congratulateyourself for confusing yourself. What did you mean, you wonder, to shut down aforay into casual socialization or to roll out the welcome mat between him andyour troubles?

“With what?” Immediately, a hand with a ring for which you believe the term‘statement jewellery’ was specifically designed reaches out and taps yourpapers.

You narrow your eyes and assess his face, possibly, probably, definitelylong enough to weird him out. Because you don’t know what the hell else to do,you sigh.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you confess. You’ve lowered your voice andhe’s leaned in to hear you, which is not an unpleasant progression as far as you’reconcerned. He smells like the apple he just ate and, uh, you should quitstaring at his lips.

“Not here,” you say, gesturingcircularly at your tear-free face. “Here.”You lift your drama class script from the table and give it a punishing smackwith the back of your hand.

“What’s this?”

You turn sullen. Sweet Pea gives you a stern look. His hand beckons for thepages and, defeated, you hand them over.

“A play?”

You nod, rubbing your hand along your cheek like that can hold off theblush. Pretty ridiculous how being on stage in front of people doesn’t scareyou, but telling anyone about it does.

“Look at this,” you complain, reaching over the page he has turned to(because the lines you highlighted yourself clearly show through, drawing hisattention) and point from memory at where your monologue begins.

He meets your gaze over the top of the script, then suddenly he is rising,coming around the table, and sitting down next to you, scraping the chair to benearer to your side. Your heartrate has a lot to say about this.

“I’m gonna need more information than that,” Sweet Pea informs you, handingyou the script and linking his fingers, exposed forearms resting on the tableeven as the rolled up sleeve of his shirt brushes your arm.

“Aren’t you doing homework or studying or something?” You gesture vaguely tohis abandoned textbook. Where dotextbooks end up, you wonder. Then, Hashe written his name inside the front cover? What does his handwriting looklike?

“You would not believe the amount of homework I have not done and still managed to look happier than you do right now.”

You snort out a breath. Sounds about right.

“The problem,” you explain, deciding to get on with it while trying to lookmore at the page in front of you than at Sweet Pea’s attractive brown eyes, “isthat it’s a student-run production for class, meaning that a student isdirecting it. The director hasn’t clarified any of my character’s motivationsand I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off.”

It’s a crisis of epic proportions, as far as you’re concerned. Musicaltheatre is what makes sense to you. It’s easy to comprehend and access thoseemotions. You don’t believe a person alive could sing Fantine’s lament tobroken dreams and not cry, or fail to laugh as Tanya baits and teases a much youngerman. Theatre without the music―that external ebb and swell―to guide you leavesyou feeling lost. Not that you’re quite ready to put all that into words for this near-stranger.

Sweet Pea doesn’t say anything, forcing you to look at him. With a shrug anda smirk that becomes a grin, he props an elbow on the table and slides it out,moving into your space.

“You’ve got this.”

Your eyebrows raise.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because of what you said. You said,” he lays a finger to your lips beforeyou can interrupt, “‘I’mgoing to pull it off.’”

The bell rings above and around you, but it’s kind of surreal because you’rejust staring at this guy who has totally surprised you. He gets up and reachesover to snap his textbook shut and pull it over to himself.

“If you’re still worried, hit me up for a good luck kiss,” he suggests,heading for the door. “SAME TABLE EVERY DAY,” Sweet Pea shouts back over hisshoulder.

You laugh to yourself before realizing you’re going to be late if you don’tget a move on. Whatever else he did, that Serpent certainly unsettled somethingin you. Maybe that’s exactly what you needed, for more than just the play.

[gaylotusthatexists]

The Same Four Notes

Chapter Twenty Two - Roman

Everything was going to be perfect. Roman had to make sure of that. His three (three!) boyfriends deserved nothing less.

Besides, everything about this made Roman's heart squeal with excitement. The romance, the event, the outfits, the emotions, the love! He loved it all. He loved the planning, the preparations, the date itself. Most importantly, he knew he'd love the looks on his boyfriends' faces when they saw what he had in store for them.

He still had an hour before he and Patton would be meeting up with Logan and Virgil. As long as the other two did their part and met with them at the café, everything would go smoothly. Just as planned. The table was booked for two hours from that time, meaning the four would have plenty of time to make their way down there after meeting up, and maybe a few extra moments to just spend with one another. Roman was planning on walking them down the riverbank, through the park, and he wanted them to take their time. To take in the beauty of the world around them. And the beauty of each other.

"You ready, dear?" Patton shouted through the door.

"No!" He quickly slipped on his red waistcoat. "We still have, like, fifty minutes, anyway!"

"Actually, Ro, we only have half an hour if we want to get to the café on time," Patton reminded him.

"Oh..." Roman took a deep breath, and reached for his makeup bag. "Yeah. I can get ready in that time."

"Can I come in?" Patton asked.

Roman hesitated, but quickly came to a conclusion. "No, my love, I'm, uh, I want it to be a surprise."

Patton giggled. "You always say that."

Roman snorted. "Yes, I suppose I do. Seriously, though, I want it to be a surprise when we see each other's outfits."

"Of course you do," Patton replied, still laughing. "I'll wait for you downstairs."

Roman listened to Patton's footsteps as he walked away, before turning to the mirror. He had claimed the bathroom when he and Patton had began to get ready, since that had a mirror, and he kind of needed a mirror for what he wanted to do. Also, when was it not a good time to look at yourself in the mirror? Whilst he did enjoy looking at the other men in his life, Roman certainly did enjoy staring at himself from time-to-time, as well. Not too much, though. He had places to be, things to see, people to meet! Meaning he had to hurry up with this thing he was trying.

He hadn't worn makeup in public for ages. Or... ever, really. Sure, he would wear it in private, for personal photoshoots and the like, and of course he'd have some on during theatrical performances. He was just never the kind of person to put makeup on for wandering around the streets, or for school. Although he definitely could, and probably would, if he could actually be bothered to do this every day. He was only doing it now because it was a special occasion. Also, it meant Virgil wouldn't be the odd one out.

After messing around with foundation and blush and the like, he looked at himself in the mirror, considering his options. He was wearing red, so that would be the obvious choice for the colour scheme, but... what about his hair? That was dyed all sorts of colours. He could attempt to replicate that.

He took out his eyeshadow palette, and began to apply it to his eyelids, creating a gradient of all the colours, from red to purple, eventually fading it out over the sides of his face. He then smudged some sparkly gold eyeshadow underneath his eyes, similar to what Virgil would usually do, only a hundred times more fabulous. The only thing left for his eyes was eyeliner, which he did using the only black that he owned, flicking it off into a sharp wing. He quickly applied some darker red lip gloss, and sprayed some gold-glitter dye into his hair, before stepping back and taking it all in.

He looked great. He was so ready for this.

Roman left the bathroom, and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Patton was talking with his mum. He wrapped his arms around Patton's shoulders, grinning.

"Hey, honey," he greeted.

Patton looked up at Roman, gasping a little in delight. "You look beautiful, Ro!"

Roman laughed. "Thanks. I figured I'd try something new."

"It suits you," Patton complimented. He giggled, and added, "Suits you! Get it? 'Cause, you're wearing a suit?"

Roman smiled fondly. "That was great, Patton. But, I mean, it's really no surprise that I'm wearing a suit, we are going on a date, after all. You're also wearing a-" He looked down. "That is not a suit."

Patton was wearing a dress. A flippin' adorable one, at that. The flowing skirt hung just above the knees, connected to top cutting off with a v-shape at the neck. It was a pastel blue colour, decorated with little silver and gold flowers coming together to form a beautiful, glittery pattern. Roman looked back up at Patton's face, nothing the light blush on his cheeks, and the... flowers, in his hair. Flowers of all different colours, lined up in a neat little row across his forehead. That was... a flower crown. He was wearing a flower crown. Roman could barely stop himself from screaming in excitement.

"You look... stunning!"

Patton giggled. "I've been waiting to wear this my entire life."

"You know what, it was well worth the wait."

Carol hummed. Roman looked up at her. He had almost forgotten that she was also there. "I'm still not overly keen on you going out in that, Patton."

"Mum, it'll be fine," Patton replied.

"You don't exactly see guys in dressed walking down the street, though. Or going to restaurants."

"If I can go out wearing makeup," Roman interrupted, "then Patton can go out wearing a dress. It's fine."

Carol sighed. "If you say so. You boys had better be off. Don't stay out too late."

"Bye, Mum!" Patton said, as he grabbed Roman's hand and lead him out of the house.

The two walked down the street, their fingers still intertwined. The full moon shone bright in the sky, surrounded by millions of sparkling stars. The cool breeze brushed against Roman's bare arm. He didn't particularly mind about the cold. Besides, Patton would probably be colder.

"It's nice out tonight," Patton stated. "You can really see all the stars."

"You're not too cold, are you, sweetheart?" Roman asked.

Patton shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

Roman smiled, but didn't reply. The two walked in silence to the café, ignoring the looks they received from people passing by. They were pretty used to it at that point, anyway. Usually, they wouldn't even notice it. Roman supposed that it was more noticeable tonight because there would have been more stares, more confused glances. Which was understandable. Stupid, but understandable. It wasn't every day that you saw two dudes walking down the street, one with intense makeup and the other in a dress. He didn't even care what others thought, though. They were happy like this.

When they reached the café, they found Logan waiting outside, wearing a dark blue suit over a black shirt, along with a pale blue bowtie. He appeared to be staring at the sky with a blank expression, although as they got closer, Roman noticed a small smile appear. Patton went up to hug him, burying his face in Logan's chest. Roman grinned, and followed Patton, standing a bit to the side.

"You look amazing, Logan," Roman complimented, since Patton seemed to excited to speak.

Logan nodded. "As do you, Roman. I see you've attempted makeup."

"Attempted?" he repeated.

"Succeeded at, I should say," Logan quickly said. "I didn't mean to make it sound as if I thought it did not go well, although I suppose it could have come off that way. I apologise. It really does look brilliant."

Roman smiled. "Don't sweat it. And, thanks."

"Thanks from me, as well."

"Where's Virgil?" Patton asked, having seemingly regained the ability to speak. He pulled away from Logan, joining Roman at his side.

"He's sitting inside," Logan stated. "Feel free to go in. I think I'll stay out here, though. Say, what time are we leaving?"

Roman quickly checked the time on his phone. "I have a table booked for fifty minutes from now, so I reckon we should leave in around five minutes." Logan hummed in conformation. "I'll go in and get Virgil," Roman added, beginning to make his way inside.

Virgil was found sitting by the bookshelf in the corner, his back to the door. Nobody else was in the café - Roman presumed it was closed on that night. Taking a deep breath, he made his way over to Virgil, and gently touched him on the shoulder.

His head shot around, with a murderous glint in his eye. Roman stumbled back slightly. However, upon Virgil seeing Roman, he seemed to calm down a bit.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Roman apologised.

"Don't worry," Virgil replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look nice, though. And one hundred percent gayer."

Roman laughed. "You look nice too, Verge. With your-" He squealed. "Oh my God, you took my advice!"

Virgil frowned. "Your... what?"

"Freckles!" Roman exclaimed. Virgil was completely covered in them. No foundation, either. Meaning his skin looked slightly darker than normal, as well. Healthier. But he still had the eyeshadow, almost an exact replica of what Roman had done the day of their performance, except with more purple. Which Roman thought looked awesome.

Virgil blushed. "Oh, yeah, that, I, uh... yeah." He stood up, and moved closer to Roman.

"And with a leather jacket, too! And the jeans, and white shirt, and-" He smirked. "You look like you've just come out of Grease."

"Wow. Thank you. That was exactly what I was going for." He rolled his eyes.

"Wait, really?" Roman gasped.

"No, dumbass," Virgil snapped, beginning to leave the café. Just before he reached the door, he stopped, and turned around. "But, uh, really, thanks. I love you, Princey."

Roman smiled. "I love you too."

After a peaceful walk through the park, the four arrived at the restaurant, and took their seats at a booth near the back, close to the kitchens. Everything had gone exactly as planned, which Roman was thankful for. Plus, the others seemed to be happy with the choice of restaurant. They ordered their food without a problem (apart from a few odd glances from their waiter) and, once it arrived, had tucked in straight away, perfectly content.

"So, how are you guys?" Patton asked, breaking the silence.

"I am feeling alright, Patton," Logan replied, "thank you for asking. How are you?"

Patton grinned. "I'm feeling awesome! Sitting here with my three favourite boys?" He sighed, happily. "I love it!"

"That is good to hear."

Roman glanced over at Virgil, who had hunched up in the corner. He had stopped eating, apparently, even though there was still food piled onto his plate. He also seemed to be staring intently at his glass, as if it had somehow offended him. Roman frowned.

"Hey, Verge, you okay?" he asked.

Virgil looked up. "Huh?" He blinked. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"You su-"

"I'm fine!" He sighed. "I'm... I'm fine."

"You know, Virgil," Logan began, "if you are uncomfortable in this place, there is nothing stopping you from leaving for a breath of fresh air. I am willing to accompany you."

He shook his head. "No, honestly guys, I'm fine. I'm just... not used to this sort of stuff."

Patton wrapped an arm around Virgil's shoulder. "And that is okay. Something a little new won't hurt you."

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Or, at least, being with you guys won't hurt me." He let out a quiet laugh, as a smile formed across his face. "I love you, all of you," he added, looking around at the others.

Roman grinned. "We love you too, our emo nightmare."

The four sat down by the side of the lake, staring up at the moon. Roman had decided to bring them back to the park after they had finished dinner (which he had happily paid for, in full). Nobody else was in the park, either, meaning the four of them could do basically whatever they wanted. There was nobody there to stop them.

"Hey, Roman," Virgil spoke up, "I dare you to jump into the lake."

Roman raised his eyebrows. "Is that a challenge?"

Logan raised his hand. "Roman, no-"

He was already beginning to take off his waistcoat. How could he refuse a dare? Besides, it wasn't as if anything could go wrong. He had been in this lake before. When he cousins came over from Spain to visit, they would all go swimming here. They had never had a problem before.

"Roman, this is highly dangerous, I advise that you don't-"

Logan was cut off by Virgil's laughter. "Dude, I didn't mean it, y'know."

Roman looked over. "You dared me. It isn't like I haven't done this before." He took off his shoes, and unbuttoned his shirt.

"It's, like, midnight. And almost winter. It'll be cold," Virgil mentioned.

Roman shrugged, slipped the shirt off his shoulders, and jumped in. Virgil was right - the water was cold. But Roman didn't care. He liked the feeling of the waves crashing against his skin, and of the water rushing through his hair. And he didn't have much of a problem holding his breath under water. He supposed the others would be worrying, though. He kicked off the ground, and swam up to the surface, smiling at the others.

"See? Perfectly fine," he shouted, beginning to swim back to the shore.

"You're insane!" Virgil shouted back.

Roman reached the side, and kept himself up with his chin resting on his folded arms. "I know."

"Are you not cold?" Logan asked, sounding concerned.

"Not with you here," Roman replied, smirking.

Logan frowned. "Why would me being in your presence prevent you from being cold in a freezing lake?" There was silence for a moment, before a light blush formed across his cheeks. "Oh, wait, was that your attempt at flirting?"

Roman nodded. "Ya."

He smiled. "Well, thank you, I think."

Patton touched Roman's arm. "Well, this is all nice, but you should probably get out of the lake before you end up hurt."

Roman groaned. "Fine." He slowly hoisted himself up onto the ground, and turned around, his legs still hanging in the water.

"You do realise you'll have to walk home soaking wet now?" Logan reminded him.

"Yeah, my mum is going to kill you," Patton added.

Realisation suddenly dawned on Roman. "Dang..." He couldn't go back to Patton's like this. He'd have to explain himself to Carol, and she'd probably freak. And if that happened and she suddenly didn't want Patton to be hanging out with Roman anymore, he'd have no place to stay. He definitely couldn't go back to his old house like this, especially not with the makeup, which was probably dripping down his face at that point.

"You can come round to mine," Virgil offered.

Roman frowned. "Your parents won't mind?"

He shook his head. "Nah. They're out of town."

"Oh, well..." He still hesitated. The last time he had stayed with one of his boyfriends when the guardians were out hadn't exactly gone well. Although, Virgil was a lot more careful than Patton. And, as far as he was aware, Virgil's parents weren't raging homophobes. He supposed that nothing could really go wrong. And it was better than turning up at Patton's place soaking wet. "Sure."

"Cool."

The four didn't leave the park for another half-an-hour or so. They sat with one another by the lake, still staring at the moon in silence. They were lucky to have each other, at least. 

[thorne93]

Old Flame, New Problems (Part 10)

Prompt: You’re in a serious relationship with Sebastian Stan, when news from your first love informs you that he’s now single and in need of a friend. Will your old flame burn out or will the flames get fanned and consume you?

Word Count: 4427 (I’m not even sorry)

Warning: language, angst, fighting (verbal), cheating, drama

Notes: This idea came to me when news hit about Hayden and Rachel splitting. Of course I’m sad that a long time relationship such as theirs is ending, but it also means he’s single sooo…Also, no hate towards Rachel. I don’t know her, don’t know what really happened between them, etc. It’s a fic and in no way reflects what I think of either of them or their precious daughter ^.^

Beta’d by my #1 gal @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr​ @kaeling

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark

Old Flame Tag: @blackwidow-romanoff @seargantbcky

~~~~~~~~~~~~

About a week had passed since Halloween. Sebastian didn’t mention being upset and he didn’t seem it. The two of you were back to the good vibes and loving feelgoods.

The recent happiness sparked some more inspiration and you were clacking away, trying to get the words in your head out onto the computer document as fast as you could. Around lunch time you finally stopped for a quick e-mail break, checking to see if you had new projects, promos, or requests from your agent, editor, or publisher. After sifting through the typical, daily emails, you came across something peculiar.

Hi Y/N,

I was fascinated and delighted with your story Upon A Weary Night. It simply captivated me and chilled me to the bone. Very refreshing and exciting. We just wrapped up working on IT and I’m in the market for a new story and I would love to work with you. Perhaps co-write a novel. Please let me know if you’d be interested.

~ Stephen King

You read the email about twenty times. You checked the email to make sure it wasn’t spam or spoofing. No. It appeared legit. This was real. This was really happening. This was your dream come true. The master of horror himself wanted to write with you. You’d dreamed and prayed for a moment like this, and it was finally here. Beyond thrilled and exultant, you had to keep yourself from panicking and happy sobbing.

It took you about five minutes of pacing to finally calm your nerves and chill out. You called Sebastian and he answered, surprisingly. You thought he’d be busy at work, but you were pleasantly shocked.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, a smile in his voice. “What’s up?”

“Guess what?” you asked, nearly bursting at the seams.

“What?” he questioned, amusement coming through the phone.

“What’s my number one dream?” you asked.

“Uh, being in a threeway with me and Chris Hemsworth? Did you finally invite him over? Yes! Babe, this is gonna be great,” he said, teasing you.

“You’re an ass, but you can’t ruin this for me,” you commented.

He laughed. “Okay, okay, what is it?”

“Stephen King emailed me, he told me he loved my last horror novel...and...he wants to work on a novel with me. Sebastian, he wants to co-write with me!” you nearly squealed into the phone.

“Oh, my god. Babe! That is amazing! Holy hell. Wow! Oh my god. Congratulations. That’s so awesome! I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks! Me too!”

“Did you already tell him you wanted to work with him?” he asked.

“Well...no. I wanted your input first,” you informed. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a wonderful opportunity and you should take it. You’ve never co-written though with anyone. Even if it is your idol, are you okay with changes and suggestions that will be made by him? He’ll probably scrutinize your work heavily since his name will be on this too.”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m a little worried about. I don’t want to do this, and find out he’s a dick to work with or that I can’t measure up to what he needs. Or what if he doesn't want to write when I do or…”

Sebastian could tell you were rambling. “Well, if it were me, it’s a once in a lifetime that most people kill for. I’d rather try and it fail, than not try at all. Right?”

You chewed your lip a bit. “You’re right. What am I saying? I’d be thrilled to work with him. Okay I’m gonna go tell him now! Thank you!”

“Anytime, babe. Hey, we should go out and celebrate.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you began.

“No, it is. You’ve been telling me forever that if you could have one author recognize you, it’d be him, and now it’s happening. We have to commemorate this.”

You grinned giddily.

“Okay. Yes. Let’s!”

“Alright, I gotta get back, but you need to tell him you graciously accept, find a nice outfit for tonight, and invite Hayden and--”

“Invite Hayden?” you questioned, perplexed. “Why would I do that?”

“He is your friend, isn’t he? I just figured you’d want him to be included in the celebration. He’s always been really supportive of your work. I thought he might want to be a part of this,” he commented.

Your heart soared at his sincerity. He really was willing to make this work.

“Yeah...Yeah I would,” you admitted. “You’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah of course. Okay, I really gotta go. Bye babe. Love you.”

The two of you hung up and you raced back to your laptop, hit reply, and drafted an email of acceptance. You read it probably one hundred times and made twice as many edits to it, but you finally got it sent out.

After that, you alerted your agent of the news and you two began hashing out details and plans for anything that might arise, contracts and copywriting. Once you were finished, you messaged Hayden.

“Hey! Are you free tonight?”

“No. You know how full my social calendar is, all the time. Nonstop.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a small laugh. “Guess what happened that we have to celebrate?”

“What? Another best seller?”

“Even better. Stephen King contacted me to co-write. How flippin amazing is that?!”

“Wow. Congratulations. That’s fantastic. What a great opportunity!”

“I know. And I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight to help celebrate.”

“I’d love to. Sebastian doesn’t mind you celebrating this with me?”

You frowned for a moment. “Oh, he’ll be with us. It’s all of us.”

About five minutes passed before you got a reply.

“I’m not so sure I want to come then.”

You abandoned the texting and called him. He picked up on the first ring and you finished where you’d left off.

“What? Why not?” you asked, entirely perplexed.

“I can’t do it. I can’t be around him,” he explained. “Maybe we can celebrate together later.”

“So that’s it? You can’t be around him? You came to our party and talked to him for an hour just fine. What gives?”

“I can’t stand him, Y/N.”

“But...at the party--”

“Were you even there?” he suddenly asked, catching you off guard. “Everything we talked about was a competition. Over knowing your favorite authors, books, albums, movies. How you like your tea. Who had the better birthday gifts.”

Your gut twisted at his words. You didn’t really notice that. You were just happy they were even talking.

“No, I didn’t notice that,” you whispered.

“Well I did. Frankly, it was annoying. He’s so insecure, Y/N, why can’t you see that?”

“I know he has some issues...but it’s not like we didn’t both help drive those home,” you reminded.

“Y/N, he already has you. So why is he trying to compete with me at your party? What’s the point?” he asked, but you didn’t get enough time to formulate a response and tell him. “I just think it’s best if he and I stay clear of each other. Wouldn’t want to ruin your dinner with my presence.”

“But I want you there,” you tried. “Seb doesn’t mind you being there. In fact he told me to invite you for my sake.”

“I’m sure he thinks he’s doing something nice but is this just another tactic to keep you? You said it yourself, you didn’t know if his kindness and sudden generosity towards us and you is just a way to keep you to him. So that you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you or being emotionally or physically unavailable.”

You didn’t put much thought into his words. When you had said that, it was in a fleeting moment of anger. You didn’t think Sebastian was the type to emotionally blackmail you.

“Hayden...Why can’t you just do this for me? I want you to be there. This is huge for me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I just can’t do it. Not if I have to be around Mr. Needs-His-Ego-Stroked.”

“What the hell? Why are you being like this? I really want you there. Or I did, before you were this petty,” you remarked, getting hurt and angry.

“I can’t change how I feel. If you want to hang out alone, let me know, but otherwise I can’t be around your boyfriend who’s going to inevitably pick a fight. Goodbye, Y/N.”

He hung up, leaving you standing in your office...stunned. Were you hurt? Surprised? Understanding? You had thought everything was okay at the party, between them. If Sebastian could be okay with it, why couldn’t he? How selfish was he to steal your moment and say he couldn’t do it with Sebastian. He couldn’t swallow their differences for just a few hours? Just for you? This was about the biggest thing to ever happen to you and he couldn’t just be there for you?

Hurt...That’s what you were feeling...Pain. Devastation. Disappointment.

So Hayden really couldn’t be around you and your current boyfriend? As a friend, couldn’t he just let all that shit go for even a  short while? What would keep him from wanting to be with you? He could only hang out with you alone? Why?

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

Seb came home, rather early, well at least earlier than he typically does.

“Where’s our hot shot author?” he asked, a beaming smile on his face as he raced toward you, wrapped his arms around you and swung you around.

You laughed lightly. “Hardly.”

“So! Has he contacted you yet on a prompt or anything?” he asked excitedly.

You shook your head. “No.” Panic suddenly set in. “Oh my god. Do you think this means he doesn’t want to work together anymore?! Maybe he rethought it. Maybe his secretary pulled a prank. Maybe he realized I’m a shitty writer.”

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” Seb smoothed as he looked at you. “Hey, hey. Focus.” He took your face in his hands, making you come back down to Earth. “This is just you wigging out for nothing. He hasn’t changed his mind. He's a very busy man. He’ll get back to you.”

“You think so?”

“I doubt Stephen King takes time out of his day to shoot emails to people he isn’t sure he wants to work with,” he stated with a heart stopping-panty-dropping smile.

“You’re right. I’m just...so nervous about working with him.”

“Don’t be nervous, sweetie,” he said, assuring you with a small laugh and smile. “Be proud and confident. You wrote that book with no intention that he’d even read it, right? And yet here he is, hitting you up to work together based on it. He loves your work. You, your mind, your words. So tonight we celebrate that, and you can stop freaking out for a few hours. You can commence total freak out tomorrow, as I know you will, but for tonight, boyfriend’s orders: calm the hell down.”

He held your hand as you walked to the master suite with him. He dropped your hand as he started to change.

“So, where are we going tonight? Your pick since this is for you. Is Hayden meeting us here or at the restaurant?”

At the mention of his name, your stomach dropped. “He, uh, isn’t joining us,” you informed, playing with your fingers.

Sebastian was putting a shirt on when he slowly pulled it down to look at you. “What? Why? He busy or sick or something?”

Your eyes avoided his as you kept the tears just at bay. “He...he said he can’t stand you,” you said with a thick voice, the tears breaking. You weren’t exactly sure why you were crying. So your friend didn’t get along with your boyfriend? That wouldn’t be the first time it’d ever gone down in history. So why did it hurt so bad?

“Oh, oh no,” he said, rushing to envelope you in a hug, kissing your hair. “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. I...I didn’t know. I was just trying to...I don’t know.Make things easier for you.” He continued to hold you and in his arms you felt such comfort and bliss, it was unreal. In a tight embrace, you gripped him right back.

“Hey, listen if you want to just stay in,” he started to offer.

You shook your head and wiped your eyes. “No. No. If he doesn’t want to hang out with us, that’s his loss. Come on. Today is a happy day. Let’s go to Benito’s then take me to that little dance club I love so much?” you asked.

“Anything for you. Will you wear the red dress?” he asked with a coy smile.

“If you wear the black suit,” you fired back with a wink.

“That black suit could make you do anything, I think I’ll wear it,” he stated with a devious smile.

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

Despite the minor breakdown, you and Sebastian had a wonderful night. He bought a bottle of your favorite champagne to celebrate, took you dancing for a couple of hours after dinner, then you went and got your favorite dessert in the city. Hayden had touched your mind once or twice, but you didn’t let the fight cloud your mind.

Seb was right about the suit. It took every ounce of willpower not to rape him in public. But when you were home, all bets were off. You’d pushed him on the bed with a gleeful laugh and tore at the fabric, only getting you access to his chest and the best anatomy on a man. Making love in your favorite suit on the best day of your life, with the best man you could ask for put a cherry on top of the day.

He’d fallen asleep holding you but you were still rather awake. Typically you’d watch tv before bed, but not tonight. All you had tonight were the soft breathing sounds coming from Sebastian and Spinee as they both slept, and the silver moonlight that illuminated your expansive bedroom.

Now that all was calm, and nothing was distracting you, Hayden was back at your mind. He was your best friend and he couldn’t be around your boyfriend. Okay - no big deal, nothing new to the world. But why now? Hayden has never expressed distaste toward him. Typically he defended him while you ranted about him. So what changed? How do you go from indifference, neutral support of someone to loathing them so much you decline being around your best friend?

The question had swirled and swirled in your head. Sure, Hay said it was the party, but was one bad interaction enough for Hayden to not want to be around him again?

Then it hit you. The same reason you couldn’t stand Rachel around Hayden. You could be around Hayden all the livelong day, but the moment Rachel came in the room, you couldn’t stand her or the air around you. All because you still loved him and the thought of his new love made you want to die inside…

A gust of air left your lungs as it crashed into you.

This...this couldn’t be. You knew Hayden and you always had simmering feelings for each other, that would probably never go away, but to act the way he was acting. To feel the way he must be feeling. It had to be love, he had to still be in love with you, and that made you feel uneasy.

To be honest, you hadn’t really given much thought to your feelings on Hayden. When Levi had told you to really think about your feelings, you didn’t. You didn’t want to go down the rabbit hole of feelings when it came to him. Up at his farm, yes, things felt just like they had over a decade ago, but that could’ve been attributed to the problems between you and Seb at the time misguiding your feelings. And all the times after that, you chalked up the feelings of butterflies and comfort and carefree  security up to complacent. You felt happy around Hayden because it was familiar...But now you had to wonder, was it more than that?

You’d had trouble moving on for a long time, that much was true. But how do you get over something that never hurt to begin with? It never felt like you’d ended things. Part of you still felt connected to him.

You turned your head to face your stunning boyfriend, watching him sleep, the peaceful, sweet look on his face. The guy who’d held your hair during food poisoning and wiped you down with a cold cloth. The guy who put up with hours and hours of questions for your work. The man who always made you excited for nighttime since it meant he was coming home. He was compassionate, caring, sweet, patient, forgiving. Here, you had this wonderful man that forgave your transgressions after you’d betrayed him; a devoted man who took you away to Hawaii after you cheated, just to work on the problems you two had been having. When you told him you had issues, he addressed them and apologized, he didn’t blow you off. He was your fun, vibrant, fully alive side. You and him were always the goofballs in the room, the kids at heart, the ones who skipped and jogged and danced down the sidewalk or in the park. The two of you never felt silly or too grown up to run through a room and shout stupid things. And you absolutely loved that. You loved that you could be your silly, dumbass self around him and he still found you sexy and smart. He was the type to make you laugh when you were down or crying, to make you see the positive side of things.

But then there was Hayden. Supportive, relaxed, chill, patient, and reasonable. Where Seb was the sunlight of your life, Hayden was the moonlight. Subtle and sweet. He was the guy who was your muse, constantly inspiring you to write deep, moving pieces. He was the man who laid with you for hours while you spoke of ideas and talked of your work. He was perfectly fine lounging on the couch with snacks and watching the TV for hours with you, making it easier on your introvert side of things. He was the one who comforted you when you broke down after being turned away from agents and publishing houses. He was there for you for your worst breaks and your biggest breaks. He sat with you on countless nights while you worked so that you weren't alone. He’d run to get you coffee to refuel while you worked and would fly you out to LA so he could see you. The man who spent so many holidays with you and your family, being the perfect polite gentleman. He was the guy who held you in his arms until the tears stopped, assuring you he was there and that you could confide in him.

Both were so amazing and wonderful and nearly perfect. They’d both been there for you, they’d both showed they cared and loved you, they both supported you...In many ways they were polar opposites, but yet, they knew how to be with you. Both of them spoke to your two halves.

And you were madly in love with both of them.

[airadam]

Episode 115 : Our Streets

"Watch the roads before crossing."

- Tyler

Beating the deadline, coming in a few hours before the New Year, giving you time to play this on the way out - or if you're staying in! This month's mix has some of my favourite tracks of 2018, as well as some choice selections from deeper in the crates. Enjoy the listen, and spread the word!

Twitter : @airadam13

Playlist/Notes

The Mouse Outfit : Late Night Doors

One of Manchester's finest crews blessed us with the acclaimed "Jagged Tooth Crook" album this year and they continue to bring the quality every time out. New collaborator Berry Blacc takes his place on the mic alongside old hands Dubbul O and Ellis Meade for some quality low-tempo flavour, with the beat being an absolute gem. The drums, bass, and piano are all played without flash and to absolutely perfect combined effect - the mark of musicians who know exactly what they're doing!

Maes & Fybre : This One

Pure Manchester again, with these two dub producers almost outlawing everything that isn't bass on this one! One of the many (seriously, many) great tracks on the "From Manchester With Love" compilation.

Curren$y : Drone Footage

I pretty much planned this segment in reverse, and this was the last tune to fall into place. 70-ish BPM is a tricky speed for Hip-Hop, unless it's got trap-type production like this - which ironically was so slow I had to boost it up a bit! Not much to say about this succinct track - a bite-sized portion of Curren$y's signature lifestyle rap over an 808-heavy beat. Pick it up on this year's "Parking Lot Music" EP.

Andy Mineo & Wordsplayed as Magic & Bird : Kidz

I think I found this album on a random Spotify search and was drawn in by the "Magic & Bird" theme - as it turns out, it gave me a great tune for my gym playlist! Andy Mineo isn't someone I've heard before but he's a Christian Hip-Hop artist (well, that would explain the sudden prayer right before the last hook!) out of NYC who's been recording for the last five years or so. Apparently the lyrical theme for this one came from the producer Beam, who, when Mineo complained on hearing the beat that he wanted to get away from the trap sound, told him "just do one for the kids!" Mineo and Wordsplayed ride the beat ably and prove him dead right :)

Z-Ro : Like A Rocket

With the recent release of the "Sadism" album, and last year's "Codeine", it looks like the retirement is off! I'm always here for Ro's half-sung, half-rapped delivery style, and it fits perfectly over Risko Funk's 80s ballad-sampled track. The original flavour isn't overwhelmed by the drums or extra bass, but there are lots of nice touches along the way - heavy filters sweeping in, extreme pitch shifting on the drums towards the end, and a general tendency to make you want to replay the tune :) I don't know if the track title is taken from K-Rino's quote from a Houston Chronicle article a couple of years back, but if so then it's a great connection! Oh yes - didn't realise I bought the clean version of this until I put it in the mix :)

Zero 7 ft. Hidden : Mono

After a long hiatus, Zero 7 are back and I'm always interested to hear what they're bringing. This single starts off with pure spacey vibes before the solid drum line comes in, followed by the vocals of Hidden - soulful, and also restrained. 

Kaytranada : Nevalie

A very old one from the man out of Montreal, first posted on his Soundcloud about six years ago. Took a while to find a good track to follow the Zero 7, but EQing this one down to just the snare and trappy hi-hats initially opened up a really good opportunity for a mix!

Children of Zeus x Black Milk : Won't End Well

Manchester and Detroit combination! When this was released at the start of December I thought it was a one-off single, only to be completely surprised on Xmas Eve with the release of "The Winter Tape", an essential and completely free album! This track featured appropriately bleak and sparse production from Black Milk while Konny and Tyler describe the lack of happy endings in the street game - as your parents certainly did if they're anything like mine. 2018 has absolutely been the year of Zeus and they're carrying big momentum into 2019.

1982 ft. Lil' Fame and Haile Supreme : It's On You

The union of Termanology and Statik Selektah has finally returned for their second full LP "Still 1982" - and not before time. The hi-hat-less drums and occasional chimes in this beat made it mix smoothly with "Won't End Well" and got it the nod over another cut that we'll definitely play here in the future. Haile Supreme is new to me but the soul he puts into the hook certainly grabs your attention, and M.O.P's Lil' Fame steals the show on the rhyme side, though Termanology is absolutely solid as always.

Marco Polo ft. Invincible : Drunken Sleuth

It's always good to hear Invincible, who is always one to come with high-quality bars. In the guise of an overlooked drunk, she takes on corruption, homelessness, and the lack of democracy in her home city of Detroit on this ambitious and well-executed track. This is one where it's well worth reading her own annotated lyrics to get more background on the specifics. Beat-wise, Marco Polo is one of the finest in recent years and his work here and on the rest of the "PA2 : The Director's Cut" album is a great example of modern production that is inspired by a classic sensibility.

Cormega ft. Chantelle Nandi : More

The Queensbridge veteran brings a positive, uplifting message on this selection from the 2014 "Mega Philosophy" album, with the vocalist Chantelle Nandi making her debut appearance. As the album title suggests, the 30-minute collection is centred around this kind of theme, so it's definitely worth taking a short while to hear the whole thing!

Doo Wop : Castle To Castle (Instrumental)

I was torn in planning over whether to play the vocal version or just this beat, but the direction the mix went in meant that we'll save the Raekwon bars for another episode. This is the A-side to a vinyl that features the Rahzel-voiced "Ten Tape Commandments" on the flip, with both of course produced by one of the undisputed legends of the mixtape game.

Pusha T : Numbers On The Boards

Stomping, aggressive tune from Pusha's first solo album "My Name Is My Name" with Don Cannon, Kanye, and 88 Keys all combining to provide the production. No matter how good the beat though, you come to Pusha T for lyrical ability and he brings it as per usual - double-meanings aplenty as he dresses down any and all challengers. Michael Kors also catches a stray on the second verse!

The Step Brothers : Step Masters

I hadn't played this album for a while and am not sure how the illness of this cut slid managed to be forgotten by me for so long! Evidence and Alchemist are both underrated on the mic, and Alchemist must get the biggest "WTF?" laugh for "flippin'... like things that flip" :) The energy in this track is much more than you'd think possible given that it's only about 91 BPM, which is a credit to the production from these two heavyweights. Oh yes - do have a genuine laugh at the video!

Alchemist & Prodigy : We Got This

I was sure that one of the samples from the previous track had been used by Alchemist before, and I was right! This version is from the "Chemistry Files" mixtape, but for the full version you'll need to find the bootleg 12" single that includes it.

Camp Lo : Love Is Love

Just the right tech-sounding track to fit this space in the mix! This wasn't even my favourite track on 2017's "The Get Down Brothers" but it's a great example of how Sonny and Geechi aren't afraid to jump on different kinds of beats and lace them with their trademark slang waterfall.

K-Murdock : New Religion

A friend of the show who is an endlessly creative beatsmith, and his "Soundscapes Vol.2" is a mix of video game-inspired beats and instrumentals from his work with MCs. I had this one playing in the house and found a good home for it here :)

9th Wonder ft. Skyzoo and Ness : Let It Bang

Closing with pure slick-talking battle rap here from the "The Dream Merchant 2" compilation, all produced by 9th Wonder, then only about five years into his career. The drums and bass definitely have the classic flavour of early 9th, as well as the great chop/re-purposing of a nice soul sample. It's all east on the mic, with Brooklyn's Skyzoo and Ness from Philadelphia (you may know him from Da Band) trading bars and telling us to play this until you break the tape - which I suppose gives away the age of the track...

Please remember to support the artists you like! The purpose of putting the podcast out and providing the full tracklist is to try and give some light, so do use the songs on each episode as a starting point to search out more material. If you have Spotify in your country it's a great way to explore, but otherwise there's always Youtube and the like. Seeing your favourite artists live is the best way to put money in their pockets, and buy the vinyl/CDs/downloads of the stuff you like the most!

Check out this episode!