#like I’m sorry you came to my lesbian profile to try and convince me to fuck ur mans (lingo i fell most other 32 year olds know too)

[wlwgang]

Bruv….

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 6

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, messy lesbian relationships/situationships, loser!ellie makes an appearance for 0.5 seconds, brief and indirection mention of marijuana, mentions of death, brief mention of reader's genitals (implies that reader has a vagina, but if you headcanon reader as a trans girl w/a penis, just pretend it's a metaphorical vagina, i fully encourage it), sexual speech and content (not fully smut but there are drops of it), depictions of nudity, minors do not interact

word count: 4.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Abigail Anderson. Pre-med student. Rugby star. A brief hook-up from freshman year. 

And now approaching your frozen figure at a rather fast pace. 

As your shocked face emerges from behind the football you're still holding in your hands, Abby begins to register who it was that she’d almost killed via pigskin. 

“Oh, shit!” She murmurs your name as her jog comes to a stop at your feet. “I’m so sorry, my friend Jordan was being a dick. I meant to catch that.” 

You let out a nervous chuckle as your trembling fingers lift the football up to her. 

“Oh, it’s okay. My life definitely flashed before my eyes, but I’m alright otherwise.” You give her a smile. 

She returns it with a crooked one of her own, her fingers softly brushing against yours as she takes the football from you. 

“Well, you still look alive and pretty,” Abby says, tucking the ball underneath an arm. “And those were some impressive reflexes, I gotta say.” 

“Just practicing in case of a zombie apocalypse.” You joke, cheeks burning ever so slightly at her calling you pretty. “We can’t all be built like Themysciran Amazons the way you are.” 

“Themy-what?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and chuckling. 

Your face erupts in flames in embarrassment from your geeky comic book reference. 

“Y-you know,” You stammer. “Like Wonder Woman. She’s from that island where it’s only women and they’re all these gorgeous, buff warriors who’ve renounced men.” 

Abby laugh. 

“Really? Well, thank you. You’re very cute for thinking I’m some hot warrior chick who’ll survive a zombie apocalypse.” 

Before you can respond, she continues. 

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much.” 

“Hey, I’ve been around.” You lie. You really haven’t been. “Probably haven’t noticed being an aspiring doctor and all.” 

“Still remember that, huh?” She smiles. 

“Of course.” You say, returning her smile. 

Freshman Year, Fall

You met Abby Anderson at the beginning of your freshman year when she was a sophomore. 

Being in a new and independent environment, you did what many single freshmen do upon first arriving: scoured the dating apps. 

Fresh out of a messy high school relationship, you came to college a little raw and emotionally vulnerable. You jumped into a casual relationship with a girl named Adriana within the first month of arriving on campus. After a drunken night of you and your roommate Tara recklessly swiping through your profile on a dating app, you somehow and hesitantly found yourself with a girlfriend after just two dates. 

The best word you would use to describe Adriana was nice. She was a pleasant person: brought you out on cute dates, paid for your food, always held your hand. You spent the two weeks of dating her trying to convince yourself that you were as into her as she was into you. But the further you tried to force attraction for her, the less interested you became. Then she introduced you to her friend, Abby Anderson. 

Abby was the kind of person that closeted gay girls would develop their first gay crush on at their initial glance. She was bold and exuded a sense of confidence & charisma that most 20-somethings haven’t achieved yet. People knew who she was when she walked around campus, whether personally or through reputation. Abby made friends quickly and kept them easily, so it was no shock that you got along very well with her when Adriana first introduced you. 

You pretended at the time not to notice the way Abby looked you up and down when first laying eyes on you. It was a quick glance and she pulled it off well enough that nobody else but you had caught it. You were amused by the way that Abby had held out her hand to you upon meeting. None of Adriana’s other friends had offered a handshake, and you chuckled quietly as you introduced yourself to her. 

Is she for real? A little prim and proper, you’d thought. You’d later find out it was merely her excuse to initiate physical contact. 

You’d originally come over to Adriana’s dorm to meet her friends, but you’d spent most of the time talking with Abby. She was very charming, keeping you engaged in conversation as if she’d known you for months already. She would ask you questions about yourself, seeming to be genuinely interested in your responses. It was effortless to keep up a banter with her, and she had you laughing in a way Adriana hadn’t been able to elicit from you herself. You weren’t fawning over Abby the way newly-discovered gays constantly were, but you were intrigued. By the end of the hang-out, you’d already exchanged numbers and socials. 

When Adriana amicably broke up with you a week later, saying that she felt as if “your heart didn’t seem quite into this” and “she’d like to see you comfortable” and “we honestly seem like we would vibe better as friends” over a phone call, you’d felt a wave of relief followed by a pang of guilt. You could tell that Adriana really didn’t feel any ill will towards you, but it did feel indecent that all you got out of the relationship was a mended heart as a result of the rebound. That, and a very interested Abby Anderson. 

It didn’t take a week since your split from Adriana that Abby was flirtatiously commenting under your Instagram posts or sending you at least ten snaps on Snapchat daily or messaging you borderline thirst traps accompanied by texts that were asking for your “opinion on her gym progress.” It was a mere five days since the break-up that you were dolling yourself up a bit to go hang out with Abby in her dorm room, just the two of you. 

Most of your friends playfully teased you about the position you’d placed yourself in. Hooking up with a recent ex’s friend seemed messy, but they encouraged you to put yourself out there all the same. Never having actually gone all the way with Adriana, they all hyped you up to hook up with Abby. All but one. 

“You’re judging me!” You said, lightly smacking Ellie’s arm. 

She chuckled, rolling her eyes at you. 

“I literally didn’t say anything, dude.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” You returned her eye roll with your own before jumping off your bed to walk towards your closet. 

“Just sounds like a guilty conscience to me.” She shrugged, leaning back onto your headboard. 

You sighed and said, “Should I feel guilty, though?” 

Ellie shrugged again nonchalantly before saying, “Not gonna tell you how to feel.” 

“I just want to know your opinion!” 

“It’s your love life, dude. It’s up to you, not me.” 

“I know that! But what do you think I should do?” 

“Make your own decisions.” She chuckled once more. 

You groaned, turning away from her to continue rifling through your closet. 

“You’re so fucking useless.” You complained, fingers weaving between hangers as you tried to select an outfit to see Abby later that day. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Ellie replied, resting the palms of her hands on the back of her head as she watched you. 

Despite yourself, you giggled quietly. As you continued to browse through your wardrobe, you felt Ellie’s ocean green eyes trailing your every movement. You kept your back turned to her, hiding the flames tickling your cheeks.  

You hadn’t bothered the rest of your friends about this the way you did Ellie. They’d all given their blessing for you to sleep with Abby, but Ellie? Ellie was persistent in remaining mysteriously neutral. She refused to voice any kind of personal bias. She didn’t seem disinterested, but she also withheld offering up her genuine opinion on your Abby situation. And for some reason, this bothered you. Something about her unhelpfulness compelled you to pester her about it. You knew you didn’t need Ellie’s approval. So why did it feel like you did?  

Ellie watched as you picked out a short dark blue dress, spreading it out on your bed next to her. She listened to you question yourself out loud on whether you should wear fishnet stockings underneath it or just go bare. She felt the way your fingers lingered when brushing softly against hers after she handed you your silver hoop earrings laying next to her on your bedside table. She inhaled your signature lavender scent as you slowly caressed your arms and legs up and down while applying your favourite lotion.

It felt so strange, prettying yourself up for another girl while Ellie sat on your bed and watched. She and you were just friends. You’ve never been anything more than that. Why did it feel strange, then? 

Are we though? Just friends? 

The way you’d stare at the way her big, calloused hands moved when she’d be rolling a joint or etching in her journal. The way she observed the exact manner your lips moved every time you spoke or laughed. The way you always noticed when she’d trace that intricate arm tattoo of hers when she’d get lost in thought. The way she watched exactly how your smile would often meet your soft eyes. 

Is this just friendship?

Ellie observed as you sat at your desk and carefully began applying your makeup, scooting towards the foot of your bed to better marvel at your technique. She’d begun to learn the routine you had by heart, mesmerized by how carefully and naturally your hands moved in a creative dance. She blurted out a compliment about how you were an artist for the way you did your makeup. You attempted to brush it off, but she insisted. You’re the artist here, she’d said. 

After finishing applying a shade of dark red lipstick, you gave yourself one last satisfied look in your mirror. You got up and began to shake your hair out of the bun it was in, walking to the foot of your bed where both your dress and Ellie waited. You looked at your chosen attire for the night and were suddenly hit with a predicament. 

“Umm, Ellie?” 

“What’s up, man?” 

“D-do you think you could help me with something?” 

“Uh… sure?” 

Your fingers fiddled with the bottom of your t-shirt. Your face flushed for what felt like the millionth time today. 

“C-can you help me put my dress on?” 

Ellie looked like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water right over her head. 

“What?” 

You scratched the back of your neck, a habit you’d picked up from her. 

“I forgot how t-tight this dress is, and I might fuck up my makeup if I just pull it on myself. Can you help me g-get it on?” 

Ellie’s face remained unreadable as she looked you up and down. 

“Yeah, okay.” She said finally. 

“T-thanks.” You said, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. 

Normal friends do not get nervous when they ask their friends to help them get dressed. 

“Just…just one second.” You said, meekly holding a finger up before turning your back to her. 

As you profusely thanked past you for already putting on your desired underwear for tonight, you carefully peeled off your t-shirt and threw it to the side. Though you had your back to her, you could feel Ellie’s gaze land on the black lace bra you’d decided on earlier. When you shed your pajama shorts, her eyes then drifted onto the matching black lace panties that left very little to the imagination. 

She quickly averted her stare as you turned to face her, not fully meeting each other’s eyes. 

“Do you think you could—?” You gestured to your dress next to her on the bed. 

“Yeah.” She said, picking it up before approaching you. 

You watched her face as she lifted the dress above your head. Her tense fingers gripped the collar tightly as you raised your arms. You felt goosebumps form where her hands inadvertently brushed against your skin, lowering the dress onto your figure. As you fit your head and arms through, she pulled the dress all the way down to your thighs. You tugged your hair out from the collar and let it fall behind you when your eyes met hers. 

“Uhh,” She said awkwardly. “Your lipstick…” 

Your right hand flew up to your mouth. 

“Oh shit, did it smudge—?” 

“Yeah, a little, but it’s okay, I got it.” 

“Wh—“ 

Before you could react any further, Ellie licked her thumb and brought it to the edge of your bottom lip. It was as though your entire body was set on fire the exact second that you felt the wetness from her finger meet the corner of your mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed as she rubbed off the small streaks of smeared lipstick. You could have sworn she could hear how loud your heart was beating in the moment, feel the way it echoed through your entire body. You felt your mouth water as your eyes fell on her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Someone could easily sneak into your room right now and rob you blind, the way you both remained completely encaptured in this moment. 

“There,” Ellie whispered. “Got it.” 

Her thumb slowly drifted from your lip to your cheek, her hand suddenly caressing your face. You were frozen in place, trying not to combust as every cell in your body danced fervently. Her ocean green irises kept darting back and forth between your eyes and your crimson lips. Both your mouths were parted, the unsaid at the tip of both your tongues, waiting for whoever was bravest to let the truth drip out. 

But instead, after what felt like twenty-five years, Ellie let her hand drop from your face back to her side. She swallowed and cleared her throat, breaking eye contact with you to stare at the floor. You blinked and gulped, quickly plummeting back to reality. 

“Th-thanks, El.” 

“No problem, bro.” 

“Bro.” Ugh. Okay, Ellie. 

You were far less clothed a minute ago, and yet somehow you now were feeling much more naked than ever before. 

“I-I think I left the shoes I want across the hall in Sidney’s room. Give me a sec?” 

“Yeah, man. Go ahead.” 

You nodded and retreated quickly out the door. As you shut it behind you, you leaned against it and clutched at your chest with both hands. 

Oh god, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck. What just happened? What the fuck. Fuck. 

Inside your room and unbeknownst to you, Ellie was leaning against her side of the door, quietly cursing to herself. 

“Did I really just fucking do that? What the fuck, oh my fucking god. God damn it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You blinked. 

“Yes! Sorry, just spaced out for a second.” 

You adjusted yourself under the covers to turn more towards Abby. Your previously glassy eyes met her concerned ones. 

“Was it that bad?” She joked. 

“No, oh my god, Abby,” You giggled, covering your face with your hands. “I think you getting me to cum twice in less than a minute speaks for itself.” 

Abby smirked. 

“Only twice? Wanna add a couple more to that?” She said, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you better. 

“I think my pussy needs a sec before you make her see heaven again.” You replied. 

“Mmm,” was all Abby said in reply, drinking in your naked figure in her bed. 

The rest of the evening seemed surreal. Ellie had watched you finish getting ready, remaining mostly quiet for the rest of the time. She didn’t touch you again, almost as if she was afraid to. She’d walked you partway to Abby’s building before giving the excuse that she had some client she needed to meet. Her signature Converse stormed off without a second glance back at you. As you waved her off, you thought about how she didn’t have anything on her to sell, and you both knew it. 

Throughout the entire night with Abby, though you allowed yourself to unwind and have some fun for once, your thoughts still continued to dance back incessantly to your auburn-haired friend. 

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Abby asked. 

“Just taking a minute and being impressed by you.” 

Abby laughed. 

“So not that bad, huh?” She joked. “But really. What’s up?” 

You pursed your lips. You liked Abby, but she did not need to know all about this “friendship” of yours with Ellie. 

“Not gonna lie,” You said, quickly coming up with a lie. “I was feeling really guilty before coming here tonight. Just cause Adriana’s your friend and we just broke up.” 

It wasn’t completely far from the truth. You were feeling guilty about seeing Abby after Adriana. But she wasn’t the lesbian who you couldn’t get out of your head all night. 

“Mm, that does make sense.” Abby replied, understanding. “It’s true, though. What I said earlier. Adriana did say it was okay.” 

Sometime after you’d arrived at Abby’s dorm and before you’d both dropped the pretense of you coming over just to “hang out,” Abby disclosed that she’d asked for Adriana’s permission to fool around with you already. You were a bit surprised, but pleasantly so. You did come here tonight with specific intentions, but it did relieve you to know that Adriana meant it when she’d expressed no ill will towards you. And it kindled a warmth in you that Abby’d gone into this prepared and still with the respect of her friend. 

“No, I know,” You said, the crease between your eyebrows crinkling as you thought up a quick lie. “I just… I still like Adriana as a person and I didn’t want my wandering vagina to get in the way of your friendship with her.” 

Abby suddenly guffawed, her laugh so infectious and genuine that it made you giggle in response. 

“D-did you just say ‘wandering vagina,’ oh my g—” She chortled. “Never heard that before.” 

You shrugged, smiling at how easily amused Abby has been turning out to be. 

“You say the strangest shit, you know?” Abby said, still chuckling. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” You replied, to which Abby smiled. 

“But really though,” Abby continued. “You don’t have to worry about me and Adriana. We’re still cool; nothing’s changed in our friendship. You both told me you weren’t serious, and she’s also just someone who’s never been possessive or jealous as a person. We’re all adults here, so no need to feel guilty. I promise.” 

“Yeah, that…that does help.” You said, hoping that answer would suffice for Abby. 

Abby seemed like she wanted to press more but decided against it. Instead, she grabbed your hips all of a sudden and lifted you up to place you on top of her, making you straddle her waist. 

“Wh—Abby!” You said, startled. Your arms instinctively flew up to cover your bare breasts, the bed covers no longer shrouding your nakedness. 

Abby chuckled, reaching up to your wrists and pulling them away from your chest. 

“Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you have such a serious thinking face on?” She said. 

A bashful look crossed your face as you stuttered a quiet “no” in response. 

Abby smirked, dropping your wrists and placing her hands on your waist, tracing up and down your inner thighs with her thumbs. Your breath hitched and you gulped, feeling yourself instinctively grind against her. 

“Well, you are.” She said. “And you’re cute, acting all shy about being naked in front of me like I wasn’t just knuckles deep inside you ten minutes ago.” 

You bit your lip, partly from embarrassment and partly because Abby’s tracing of your thighs turned into squeezing. 

“Y-you w-weren’t… knuckles-deep…” You stammered. 

Abby chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“Why the hell are you correcting me on how far inside of you I was anatomically?” She asked, extremely amused. 

“I don’t know!” You said, flustered and rolling your eyes. 

Abby chuckled, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist to keep you steady as she sat up to be at eye-level with you. With her free hand, she firmly gripped your chin between her large fingers and forced your eyes to meet hers. 

“You’re very easy to fluster, you know.” She whispered. 

“I-I—” was all that you could get out before Abby’s lips found yours. The sentence you’d meant to continue instead turned into a quiet shriek of surprise then into a lustful sigh that melted into the kiss. 

Not ten seconds later, Abby pulled away slightly, a cocky look on her face. 

“Any more anatomical complaints, then?” She murmured. 

“Not at all, Dr. Anderson.” You chuckled breathlessly. 

You jolted as Abby laughed again all of a sudden, grabbing both your shoulders for support. 

“Was it… that funny?” You chuckled, a little confused. 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Abby said. “It’s just that—my dad was Dr. Anderson.” 

“Your dad?” 

“Yeah, he was a doctor.” She explained. “Before he passed, he used to be a surgeon back when my family and I lived in Utah.” 

Shit, her dad. Of course. 

Abby had mentioned her father to you several times already. You didn’t know much about him other than the fact that Abby completely adored the man and that he had died when she was only 16. 

“Right, makes sense.” You said, wrapping your arms around her neck. 

Abby’s father didn’t seem like an off-limits topic with her. In fact, you were in awe of how at peace she was with it. She seemed happy to talk about her dad, somehow able to acknowledge his passing and yet speak of him as if he was always present in a way. She didn’t make it uncomfortable to ask about him, and you often had the impression that she actually preferred it when others didn’t fuss over it. So you made sure not to. 

“So no to calling you Dr. Anderson, then?” You asked. 

“Well, actually,” Abby embraced your waist and pulled you closer to her body. “Kind of studying to be a doctor. Like him.” 

“Wait, really?” You replied, a bit of shock in your voice. “How did I not know that?” 

“Don’t really know, pretty girl,” She replied, smirking. “Got too distracted by my washboard abs to notice?” 

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You scoffed, smiling and rolling your eyes. 

Abby chuckled before leaning into your neck to leave trails of kisses. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re also very cute when you have a little bit of an attitude?” She asked, lifting her head up slightly in between kisses. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” You sighed, pulling her further into you and trying not to grind too eagerly against her once again. “Maybe once or twice. But why don’t you remind me, Dr. Anderson?” 

You heard Abby suddenly moan in your ear, almost growling, before you were suddenly thrown on your back onto the bed. Any words that meant to roll off your tongue were replaced instead with cries of pleasure as your knees were pried apart with Abby’s strong hands, her mouth finding ways to answer your question without words. 

Present Day 

“So still planning on becoming a surgeon, then?” You ask. 

“Starting med school immediately after I graduate this year.” Abby replies. 

“Wow,” You say, impressed. “That’s really soon. Are you nervous about it?” 

“Hmm, not nervous, exactly,” Abby replies, thinking. “I grew up around doctor shit, so I have a tiny idea of what I’m facing. I’m choosing to stay positive about it all for now.” 

“Commendable,” You smile. “How the hell have you been surviving all your pre-med shit with sports and all?” 

“Hey,” She says, shrugging. “You said it yourself. I’m basically a superhero.” 

You chuckle. You’ve forgotten just how confident Abby is and how attractive it was to see it in action. 

“Right, of course. How could I forget?” 

“You know, maybe if I really was Wonder Woman, I could attend my next class and get a coffee with you right now. If you’re not busy, that is.” 

“That is not how Wonder Woman works, Abby.” You say, giggling. 

“Oh, whatever.” Abby laughs, rolling her eyes. “Forgot just how much of a nerd you were, pretty girl.” 

“Hey—” You start. 

“YO ABS, are you gonna throw that shit back or keep flirting with hot chicks?!” A voice behind Abby calls. 

Abby grunts in annoyance, turning around to face her friend Jordan who was several feet away from where you both were. 

“Stop throwing like a little bitch and we wouldn’t be having this problem, dumbass!” She calls back at him, to which he replies with a playful, “Oh, fuck off!”

You watch as Abby draws back, arms flexing as she throws the football in a quick, perfect spiral towards Jordan. He catches it, but not before it makes a loud thud against his chest. 

“OW, FUCK—" He shouts in pain. 

“Dumbass!” She hollers in response. 

You're both chuckling when she turns back to face you. 

“Need to go?” You ask. 

“Didn’t you hear? I’m busy flirting with hot chicks. Well, just one hot chick.” 

Your purse your lips, sheepish. 

“So,” She said. “Coffee?” 

“Abby, you just said you had a class to get to in a bit. Also,” You gesture to your mostly-empty coffee cup still next to you in the grass. “Beat you to the punch.” 

“Ah, fuck.” 

“Sorry,” You chuckle. “I’ve also got class in,” You checked your phone for the time. “Around five minutes or so.” 

“Wow, you really wanna avoid getting a coffee with me that bad, huh?” 

“Oh, absolutely. I premeditatedly mapped out my entire class schedule this semester just so I didn’t have to hang out with you right at this moment.” You joke. 

“I knew it.” 

You laugh. 

“Can I at least walk you to class, though?” Abby asks. 

“Sure,” You replies. “But what about your class?” 

“Got a bit of time; don’t worry about it.” 

You smile before you gather your things together quickly. You reach for your coffee cup but it disappears suddenly before your hand is even inches from it.  

“Abby!” You exclaim, jumping up onto your feet as you quickly pull your backpack on. 

“What?” She questions, walking backwards while still facing you to throw your coffee cup away in a nearby trash can. 

“I can’t throw away my own trash?” 

“Just being helpful.” She says, shrugging. 

“You can’t be both a superhero and some chivalrous lesbian knight.” 

“I can do whatever I want, pretty girl.” 

You feel your face getting hot once more. 

“So,” She starts. “Which way is your next class?” She begins walking in the wrong direction. 

“About twenty feet east of where you’re heading, silly.” 

“Oh, uhh…” Abby stops in her tracks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while processing your directions. 

You laugh and roll your eyes, grabbing her arm and leading her towards the building your next class was in. 

“Straley Hall, right in front of you, dummy. Remind me never to travel across the country with you.” You say. 

“What kind of nerd actually says ‘east’ when giving directions!” She complains. 

“That’s a perfectly normal thing to say!” 

“Why are the cutest girls always the weirdest ones?” Abby says, shaking her head. 

You looked away from her, trying to hide your embarrassed smile. 

“How are you supposed to save people’s lives when you don’t even understand simple directions, Dr. Anderson?” 

She smirks at your comment and her lips form to reply with a retort of their own. 

Just a few feet down the brick college road, Ellie stands frozen on the spot. Her hands are balled up in fists and her jaw is clenched. Her ocean green eyes trail after your unknowing figure, fixating on the wide smile on your lips as you let out peals of genuine laughter and your fingers still gently caressing the bicep of golden girl and star athlete, Abigail Anderson.

author's notes:

HAHAHAHA "in case of a zombie apocalypse" get it, cause the game is set in a zomb—yeah y'all get it (sorry not really)

let's all take a brief sexy second together and imagine abby as amazon from themyscira... now let's all let out the collective horny sigh together.

thank you all for being so patient waiting for this one. life has been... yeah (if you've been keeping up with the personal stuff I've said on my blog the last week, that should add more context to what a shit my life has been recently). i've been having to push myself with writing lately cause i feel like i'm getting too into my head about it. but thank y'all so much for being supportive and all, thank you for not giving up on me!

not gonna lie, loves. i may have gotten extremely horny writing certain scenes in this and had to take multiple breaks because my mind was concocting too many distracting scenarios as a result (the ellie scene took me days to get through to write, i'm so dead serious, and the smut-adjacent abby scene almost turned into a full-fledged smut scene cause i'm such a fucking lesbian, oops, i genuinely had to restrain myself so i could write the story the way i actually have it planned out).

abby having no sense of direction at the end of the chapter is just a personal reference to me when i played tlou2 for the first time and when i was playing as abby at the very start when she's mad at owen for getting mel pregnant and trying to go after joel on her own, i got lost for like 10 minutes just going in circles in the fucking woods and snow like a moron. just wanted to be a little bit silly by creating no sense of direction!abby hehe

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @ximtiredx, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa

[cloudshapedpatch]

take my money (take my heart, too)

the awkward julie & luke sugar daddy/baby au no one asked for

rated teen and up for swearing and semi-mature themes such as the concept of a sugar daddy/baby arrangement

no smut! insane tooth-rotting fluff tho

slow burn juke

and disaster lesbians flarrie side plot and (eventual) willex

also a coffee shop au because i said so

read on ao3 (chapter 1 and tag list below the cut)

* * * *

Julie is nervous. No, nervous is an understatement. Her knees bounce uncontrollably under the table, shaky fingers twirling the straw in her iced coffee. And the knot in her stomach seems to grow ever tighter.

She pulls out her phone to check the time for the third time this minute. How is it still 10:57 am? Just as she is about to put her phone back in her pocket, it buzzes with an incoming text from her best friend/roommate, Flynn.

Flynn: calm down

Julie smiles despite herself, turning around to look at her friend a few tables away. Thank goodness for her friend, willing to throw away a morning to make sure she is safe and comfortable on her blind date. She shoots Flynn a small smile. Flynn, to their credit, is taking their job very seriously, wearing an absurdly large sunhat and sunglasses, sipping on a mug of hot tea with a decoy book under her nose.

Julie turns to anxiously watch the baristas, moving around the small space with ease, mixing drinks hot and cold alike. Twirling around each other without even looking. And she lets her mind wander.

How had she gotten here? Waiting for a man whom she had never spoken to, let alone seen? And she isn’t counting their text messaging. Not really. Not even if they had been talking for weeks. Not even if they regularly stayed up well into the night just to keep talking to the other. Not even if he had her blushing furiously, toes curling from giddiness and hiding under her sheets, smiling at the flirtatious speech bubbles on her phone for longer than she’d like to admit.

Because that doesn’t count. She has never heard his voice. She has never seen what he looked like. Anyone could be a charmer, and she is undoubtedly nervous about who she might find walking through the door and towards her.

How had she gotten here? It is a simple question, and one she has the answer to. Doesn’t mean she likes it. She had made an offhand comment to Flynn at work one day. Julie is sick of working 12 hour days in the cafe (not this one. she would be dumb to meet a stranger in her workplace) and barely scraping by. She had joked she needed someone to fund her shopping sprees.

Flynn had suggested a sugar daddy.

Julie wants to bang her head on the table. Past Julie is an idiot. And now Present Julie is going to pay the price.

Why had she let Flynn convince her to download that dumb app?

(Because she has a virtually useless college degree, bills to pay, and school loans creeping up on her and she is cutting back every month. Living in L.A. isn’t cheap.

And, if she really lets herself think about it, Julie is lonely.)

She checks her phone again, pleased to find it is finally 11 am. He should be here any minute. Luke should be here any minute.

Is it a red flag that he had only been willing to share his first name? Should it have concerned her that he didn’t have a profile picture on his online dating account? Is she dumb for letting him change the subject every time she asked about his job? Solid ‘maybe’s to all of those, but! After they had started talking, they had instantly clicked. He loves music almost as much as she did, maybe even more. They bonded over that, and many other things.

This is fine.

She straightens her posture, glancing down at her dress to make sure all is in order. It’s baby blue with golden sunflowers all over, and she had slipped a cropped denim jacket on top, the one with patches of all her favorite bands. She fusses with the loose curls hanging by her face, her hair pulled into a half bun at the top of her head, leaving a clear view of her sunflower earrings. It’s the perfect outfit to be noticed in, she had told him she’d be wearing blue and sunflowers, certainly he wouldn’t miss her.

Whenever he decided to show up.

Wait. he would show up, wouldn’t he?

Of course he would.

...Right?

Before she can get too far down that rabbit hole, the chime above the door is jingling, and Julie has to fight hard not to turn and see who it is. The anticipation crawls up her spine and settles in her neck, jaw tingling.

A man comes in, approaching the counter with confidence in his step. One barista takes one look at him and gapes like a fish, turning to a coworker to nonchalantly point at him. Both girls look at each other and quietly squeal, letting one of the male cashiers help him.

Must be attractive, she thinks, and she isn’t disappointed by what she can see from the back. His sleeves are short, showing off his muscular arms and he’s tall. She’s always liked tall men.

Supposedly handsome stranger orders his drink and waits at the counter for it. One of the girls hands it to him with a gleeful smile. He accepts, then says something to her before the girl’s smile falters and points right at Julie.

Wait, she’s pointing at Julie?

Definitely handsome stranger follows her finger and lands on Julie, eyes scanning up and down her body (at least, what he can see from above the table), his face instantly lighting up in the most gorgeous smile she’s ever seen.

And then he’s turning back to say thank you and then making his way towards her and oh no what what what--

Because this isn’t her date. It can’t be, right? But Luke Patterson is stepping up to her booth, sliding into the seat across from her.

“Hey, you’re Julie, right?” His voice, sweet and thick as honey, and Julie would know that voice anywhere.

“Luke Patterson? You… you didn’t say--” She cuts herself off before she can say something foolish.

Because there is no way in hell she’d unknowingly put up her sugar baby services to Luke fucking Patterson. Not rockstar Luke Patterson. Not lead guitarist and singer and songwriter for her favorite band, Sunset Curve. Not literally in the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame Luke Patterson.

“Yeah, about that… I am really sorry about not telling you. It’s just not something I like mentioning to everyone I meet, you know?”

She’s having a hard time processing what he’s saying. He’s so close. Why is he leaning on the table like that? Why is he so close?

“Yeah! Yeah, totally. That’s understandable.” She laughs nervously, taking a sip of her coffee to avoid speaking any further.

“This… this is okay, right? You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” This clears her mind a bit. She takes in the way his hands fiddle with the rings on his fingers, his shoulders raised, and while his smile is easygoing, his eyes say otherwise. Why would she be mad?

She expresses this to him, and he just looks at his hands.

“Well, because I wasn’t completely truthful with you. And I totally understand if you want to walk away.”

“No!” She says before she can filter herself. His eyebrows raise in amusement. “I mean, it’s fine! I was just… surprised, that’s all.”

And surprised is correct. Luke Patterson is the same Luke she’s been talking to for the last three weeks, the very same one who’s been making her laugh and who’d almost made her miss work last week because they had texted about everything and nothing until the sun came up.

He seems to like her answer. His smile never leaves his face.

“You seemed to recognize me. You a fan of Sunset Curve’s?”

And maybe it’s the way his cocky smile burns her cheeks, or just the fact that he’s talking to her. Panic sets in and she lies.

“Never heard of Sunset Swerve.”

“You knew my name.”

“You know it’s a household name, right?”

“Your jacket says otherwise.”

And shit. She had forgotten about the Sunset Curve patch right over her heart. In fact, it was the first patch she had put on the jacket. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine. You caught me. I’m a Curver. Happy?”

And though she’s teasing, he couldn’t seem to be happier. Seriously, she’s worried his dopey grin is gonna break his face. Then an ugly, ugly thought rears its head in her mind.

“Wait. You let me gush about Sunset Curve so many times and you didn’t say anything?” Her sentence ends in a laugh.

“Oh, Julie, I wanted to so bad. You have no idea!”

Julie finds herself not really registering the second half of his sentence. She had missed it, the first time he said her name due to being starstruck, and her face warms a bit when she recalls just how good her name had sounded when he said it. Like a splash of cool water on a hot day. Like sap dripping fresh from a tree, glinting in the sunlight.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He sobers a bit at this, though his eyes still hold the same fire as before. “Well, I didn’t really want to go around announcing that. Can you imagine how many matches I’d get if I put that little tidbit in my bio?”

Julie laughs at this, the absurdity of it hitting her. Of course. He’d want someone who’d like him for him, not for his status, or name, or fame or money.

Oh. Shit. She was literally here for his money.

“For sure! Must’ve been hard.”

“Oh, not really. I matched with you on day one and deleted the app once we exchanged phone numbers.”

“Really?” Julie felt a little guilty for still having the app on her phone now, even after she was pretty sure Luke was a good match. There was still the possibility that mystery man was a total creep. If she’d have known who he was, on the other hand…

“Totally! I’ll be honest, my bandmates put me up to this, but once we started talking I just knew I had to meet you.”

Julie’s mind still feels a bit foggy, like she was dreaming. A fantastic dream, might she add.

“I’ve been really excited to meet you too. My best friend also convinced me to get the app. She’s actually over there.” Julie smiled, nudging her head over towards her friend, where they were certainly trying their best to eavesdrop.

“Brought a plus one, I see?” Luke chuckled, giving Flynn a wave. Flynn hid her already shielded eyes from view with her book.

“Hey, you gotta remember I was meeting someone whom I had never seen before, and the fact that I didn’t know your last name was not helping.”

Luke’s smile turned bashful again. “Ah. She’s backup.”

“Yep! But I think they’re good to go.” Julie whipped out her phone and sent Flynn a quick message, relieving her of her duties.

“You sure? I might kidnap you.”

“I’d let you kidnap me.”

Oh god. She so did not say that.

He seemed to think it was funny. At least she was amusing. At her own expense, maybe, but amusing nonetheless.

Amusing to Luke Patterson.

If she doesn’t stop saying his last name, she’ll go insane. This is just the dorky guy she’s been talking to. The one she’ll hopefully get to talk to tomorrow.

Despite the rocky start, Julie would say it was a successful date. Coffee turned into lunch at a nearby bistro, and he walked Julie to her car a few blocks away. She didn’t get to her apartment until after 4 o’clock, and Flynn was waiting with two glasses of wine in their shared living room. Julie is eager to spill all the details, and Flynn is the perfect listener, oohing and ahhing at all the right moments.

As Julie crawls into bed after her eventful day, her phone dings on her nightstand.

PayPal: Luke Patterson sent you $500.00  “I had a great time today :) hope to see you again soon!”

Well. If she had calmed down any, this just undid all of her efforts. A wave of guilt floods over her. The concept of a sugar daddy sort of seemed too outlandish to really fathom. But now she feels awful taking his money.

She’s really doing this, isn’t she?

Julie: you really didn’t have to

Luke: but i wanted to

Luke: it’s ok tho right?

Julie: i guess it’s fine, it’s just a lot of money

Luke: i realise how conceited this is going to sound but its no sweat off my back. just think of it as a gift

Gifts. She could live with that.

* * * *

taglist! @ladyblanche :)

[platonic-prompts]

Okay, time for your daily dose of wattpad drama

There was a person who dropped a random spoiler into my comment section. It had nothing to do with the book or fandom. It was a random, unprompted spoiler with the name of the show attached to it. So I was like ‘hey, you know that’s a spoiler right”

And they said yes lol

You do realize you just could have spoiled a show I wanted to watch, right?

“What’s the big deal spoilers are inevitable? Several plot points for the shown are all over articles---” Etc

Anyway, this went on for a while, since I was trying to convince them it was a crappy thing to do, since I have my comments on so I can reply to questions about the story. If they had said, oh, sorry, that would’ve been the end of it. 

But no, no, that couldnt be the end of it. Time went on, and they twisted my words “Go ahead, call me an asshole to my face. I dont care”

Even though I never once called them that, instead referring to a kid I went to school with who spoiled endgame because he’s an asshole. More comments, and more of them acting like they’re not at fault, that people ‘don’t mind spoilers because they enjoy the shows more’ and ‘i didn’t know you watch the show’

I don’t but I was planning to and you spoiled a big plot point.

Anyway, time skip to this morning because I muted them and deleted the comments last night so I wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. Now this is where the drama comes in. This person has a habit of, if they mute me i make a post about it.

Samples include: This person just came at me all posh and whatever cause I called their portrayal of Zoë Nightshade OOC. She was also OOC for no reason whatsoever. I get it if she's like that because of some background story or smt but not without reason. It just seems like a bad writer to me and they're just coming up with excuses.

So…aparrently I offended someone because of something petty. This Wattpad user muted me cause I did something they didn't like (pretty sure they're a 'she' cause her profile description said 'lesbian' but I'm not assuming). I was reading one of their books and saw something interesting that wasn't canon. Something about demigods having golden specks in their blood. I was confused and curious. So naturally, I asked a question. Then this user who took people questioning them to a whole new level, muted me! (In referral to a person who has stated that they don’t like it when people do so and to please refrain from doing so)

And there’s also another one, but they drop the username of a twelve year old because they muted them for calling what they do annoying. But I’m not showing that one because again, child.

How does this factor in? Well, my dear dear children

Lmao this person petty af. They muted me after I ACCIDENTALLY spoiled something that I didn't even consider as a spoiler since the fanfic was unrelated to what I was talking about. I felt no need to apologise because of this and they acting to serious like I've commited a crime. Just get over it. There are worse problems to deal with than spoilers. Why so triggered?

I was replying back with no emotion whatsoever. It's hilarious at how angry they are and how long their comments were. I didn't even bother reading them.

Let’s break this down piece by piece. It is not an accidental spoiler when you drop a major plot point into an unrelated piece of media along with the name of what its from. They admitted that they put the name in there because people might not understand it, but the people who wouldn’t understand it would be people who haven’t seen the show or aren’t up to that part yet. 

The equivalent to this would be going to a random BnHA fanfic on Ao3 and saying *SPOILER FOR THE BARTIMEUS TRILOGY* I just finished reading Bartimaus being forced out of Nathaniel’s mind so he wouldn’t die too, In Ptolomy’s Gate! and then the (girl’s name) summons him at the end and it was so sad. 

*SPOILER OVER*

Even if it was an accidental spoiler, which  highly highly doubt considering they showed no surprise at it being a spoiler and literally said yes lol, it’s still a crappy thing to do. 

Next point: IT”S STILL A SPOILER EVEN IF ITS NOT RELATED TO THE FANFIC

Next: No need to apologize. Really? I straight up said I was planning to watch the the show and that I had avoided spoilers for years so I could watch it blind. And then they proceed to say ‘I didn’t know you watched the show” which again, i have not and now never will because my enjoyment of closely serialized shows hinges on not knowing what happens next. Soap operas are boring for me, and downright cringe worthy because they repeat the same plot points again and again. But then when they throw in a new plot (Or victor decides to be a good grandparent) I find myself enjoying it. Only for that to be yanked away if someone were to say, oh yeah x goes to jail for murder and then y breaks them out and they go live on an island somewhere. 

Also their reason for not apologizing is because people are still mad at you afterwards, also that it doesn’t change anything, but I share that so first part only. People are no obligated to forgive you just because you apologize. Sorry doesn’t wipe away their emotions and free will. Even if you don’t mean it sorry shows that you recognize you did something wrong. (Although I fall into a pit where my sincere apologies seem insincere which is not fun for me)

Next: As for why I kept replying to them. Because they were acting like they did nothing wrong and pushed the blame onto me. I wasn’t acting like it was a crime, I was saying it was a crappy thing to do and maybe dont do it because you can ruin a piece of media for something. But oh no, now I’m triggered I guess. I guess having concern for other peoples enjoyment is a crime now, take me away officer.

Next point: So, if they didn’t bother reading my comments, how did they know I was ‘angry’ Oh, I know. Because they assumed I was getting upset after they shoved words in my mouth. I don’t really get angry. Upset, sure, but not really angry. And even better? Those long comments? less than 1000 characters. Characters, not words. Just because I’m trying to point out that they did something crappy, I’m an angry person. Also???? Replying with no emotion. No they weren’t. I get that tone doesn’t translate in text, but by god they were one of the most combatant and defensive people I’ve seen on wattpad.

Since I can’t see the activity that led to the other things on their message board i can’t say what happened there, but based off of my own experience with them, I’m assuming they’ve twisted the narrative to suit their own needs. Which by the way, can be insanely damaging

I’ve had enough interaction on my account with people, and enough A/Ns for people to get the general vibe i give off, so this probably won’t be much of a problem for me. But if they had dropped my username and I had like 10 followers? It’s a lot easier to trash a reputation than it is to build on. “Oh hey, I like a book by this person” “that persons a jerk didn’t you see that one post” 

People fall into a false sense of security that wattpad is sunshine and rainbows because its mostly young teens on it, but there are plenty of jerks who will twist your words and reactions to fit their needs.

Sorry for the long post, but I can’t reply to the message on their message board unless I want to implicate myself with either of my accounts. So you get this because otherwise my side of things is unknown to the world.

[johnrossbowie]

LEAVING TWITTER

I wrote this earlier in the fall, before the election, after dissolving my Twitter account. I wasn’t sure where to put it (“try up your ass!” – someone, I’m sure) and then I remembered I have a tumblr I never use. Anyway, here tis.

How do you shame someone who thinks Trumps’ half-baked policies and quarter-baked messaging put him in the pantheon of great Presidents? How do you shame someone so lacking in introspection that they will call Obama arrogant while praising Trump’s decisiveness and yet at the same time vehemently deny that they’re racist? How do you shame someone for whom that racism is endearing and maybe long overdue?

You don’t. It’s silly to think otherwise.

Twitter is an addiction of mine, and true to form, my dependence on it grew more serious after I quit drinking in 2010. At first it was a chance to mouth off, make jokes both stupid and erudite and occasionally stick my foot in my mouth (I owe New Yorker writer Tad Friend an apology. He knows why, or (God willing) he’s forgotten. Either way. Sorry.) I blew off steam, steam that was accumulating without booze to dampen the flames. Not always constructive venting, but I also met new friends, and connected with people whose work I’ve admired for literal decades and ended up seeing plays with Lin-Manuel Miranda and hanging backstage with Jane Wiedlin after a Go-Go’s show and exchanging sober thoughts with Mike Doughty. When my mom passed in 2018, a lot of people reached out to tell me they were thinking of me. This was nice. For a while, Twitter was a huge help when I needed it.

I used to hate going to parties and really hated dancing and mingling, but a couple of drinks would fix that. Point is, for a while, booze was a huge help, too.

But my engagement with Twitter changed, and I started calling people my ‘friends’ even though I’d never once met them or even heard their voices. These weren’t even penpals, these were people whose jokes or stances I enjoyed, so with Arthurian benevolence I clicked on a little heart icon, liked their tweet, and assumed therefore that we had signed some sort of blood oath.

We had not. I got glib, and cheap, and a little lazy. And then to make matters much worse, Trump came along and extended his reach with the medium.

There was a while there where I thought I could be a sort of voice for the voiceless, and I thought I was doing that. I tried very hard to only contribute things that I felt were not being said – It wasn’t accomplishing anything to notice “Haha Trump looks like he’s bullshitting his way through an oral report” – such things were self-evident. I tried to point out very specific inconsistencies in his policies, like the Muslim ban meant to curb terrorism that still favored the country that brought forth 13 of the 9/11 hijackers. Like his full-throated cries against media bias performed while he suckled at Roger Ailes’ wrinkly teat.  Like his fondness for evangelical votes that coincided with a scriptural knowledge that lagged far behind mine, even though I’m a lapsed Episcopalian, and there is no one less religiously observant than a lapsed Episcopalian. But that eventually gave way to unleashing ad hominem attacks against his higher profile supporters, who I felt weren’t being questioned enough, who I felt were in turn being fawned over by theirdim supporters. If you’re one of these guys, and you think I’m talking about you, you’re probably right, but don’t mistake this for an apology. You suck, and you support someone who sucks, and your idolatry is hurting our country and its standing in the world. Fuck you entirely, but that’s not the point. The point is that me screaming into the toilet of Twitter helps no one – it doesn’t help a family stuck at the border because they’re trying to secure a better life for their kids. It doesn’t help a poor teenager who can’t get an abortion because the party of ‘small government’ has squeezed their tiny jurisdiction into her uterus. It doesn’t help the coal miner who’s staking all his hopes on a dying industry and a President’s empty promises to resurrect it. I was born in New York City, and I currently live in Los Angeles. Those are the only two places I’ve ever lived, if you don’t count the 4 years I spent in Ithaca[1]. So, yes, I live in a liberal bubble, and while I’ve driven across the country a couple of times and did a few weeks in a touring band and am as crushed as any heartlander about the demise of Waffle House, you have me dead to rights if you call me a coastal elitist. And with that in mind, I offer few surprises. A guy who grew up in the theater district and was vehemently opposed to same-sex marriage or felt you should own an AR-15? THAT would be newsworthy. I am not newsworthy. I can preach to the choir, I can confirm people’s biases, but I will likely not sway anyone who is eager to dismiss a Native New Yorker who lives in Hollywood. I grew up in the New York of the 1970s, and that part of my identity did shape my politics. My mom’s boss was gay and the Son of Sam posed a realistic threat. As such, gays are job creators[2] and guns are used for homicide much more often than they are used for self-defense[3]. I have found this to be generally true over the years, and there’s even data to back it up.

“But Mr. Bowie,” you might say, though I insist you call me John - “those studies are conducted by elitist institutions and those institutions suck!” And again, I am not going to reason with people who will dismiss anything that doesn’t fit their limited world view as elitist or, God Help Us, fake news. But the studies above are peer-reviewed, convincing, and there are more where those came from.

“But John,” you might say, and I am soothed that we’re one a first name basis - “Can’t you just stay on Twitter for the jokes?” Ugh. A) apparently not and B) the jokes are few and far between, and I am 100% part of that problem.

I have stuff to offer, but Twitter is not the place from which to offer it.

After years of academically understanding that Twitter is not the real world, Super Tuesday 2020 made the abstract pretty fucking concrete. If you had looked at my feed on the Monday beforehand – my feed which is admittedly curated towards the left, but not monolithic (Hi, Rich Lowry!) – you’d have felt that a solid Bernie surge was imminent, but also that your candidate was going surprise her more vocal critics. When the Biden sweep swept, when Bernie was diminished and when Warren was defeated, I realized that Twitter is not only not the real world, it’s almost some sort of Phillip K. Dickian alternate timeline, untethered to anything we’re actually experiencing in our day to day life. This is both good news and bad news – one, we’re not heading towards a utopia of single payer health care and the eradication of American medical debt any time soon, but two, we’re also not being increasingly governed by diaper-clad jungen like Charlie Kirk. Clouds and their linings. Leaving Twitter may look like ceding ground to the assclowns but get this – the ground. Is not. There.

It’s just air.

There are tangible things I can do with my time - volunteer with a local organization called Food On Foot, who provide food and job training for people experiencing homelessness here in my adopted Los Angeles. I can give money to candidates and causes I support, and I can occasionally even drop by social media to boost a project or an issue and then vanish, like a sort of Caucasian Zorro who doesn’t read his mentions. I can also model good behavior for my kids (ages 10 and 13) who don’t need to see their father glued to his phone, arguing about Trumps incompetence with Constitutional scholars who have a misspelled Bible verse in their bio (three s’ in Ecclesiastes, folks).

So farewell Twitter. I’ll miss a lot of you. Perhaps not as badly as I miss Simon Maloy and Roger Ebert and Harris Wittels and others whose deaths created an unfillable void on the platform. But I won’t miss the yelling, and the lionization of poor grammar, and anonymous trolls telling my Jewish friends that they were gonna leave the country “via chimney.” I will not miss people who think Trump is a stable genius calling me a “fucktard.” I will not miss transphobia or cancelling but I will miss hashtag games, particularly my stellar work during #mypunkmusical (Probably should have quit after that surge, I was on fire that night, real blaze of glory stuff I mean, Christ, Sunday in the Park with the Germs? Husker Du I Hear A Waltz? Fiddler on the Roof (keeping an eye out for the cops)? These are Pulitzer contenders.). Twitter makes me feel lousy, even when I’m right, and I’m often right. There’s just no point in barking bumperstickers at each other, and there are people who are speaking truth to power and doing a cleaner job of it – Aaron Rupar, Steven Pasquale, Louise Mensch, Imani Gandy and Ijeoma Oluo to name five solid mostly politically based accounts (Yes, Pasquale is a Broadway tenor. He’s also a tenacious lefty with good points and research and a dreamy voice. You think you’re straight and then you hear him sing anything from Bridges of Madison County and you want him to spoon you.). You’re probably already following those mentioned, but on the off chance you’re not, get to it. You’ll thank me, but you won’t be able to unless you actually have my email.

_______

[1] And Jesus, that’s worse – Ithaca is such a lefty enclave that they had an actual socialist mayor FOR WHOM I VOTED while I was there. And not socialist the way some people think all Democrats are socialist – I mean Ben Nichols actually ran on the socialist ticket and was re-elected twice for a total of six years.

[2] The National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, “America’s LGBT Economy” Jan 20th, 2017

[3] The Violence Policy Institute, Firearm Justifiable Homicides and Non-Fatal Self Defense Gun Use, July 2019.

[gunkyengines]

4, 7, and 9, for the s/i questions if you're still taking them!

Ohhhh my gods @jetsetspy I’m so sorry for answering this question so late ;-; My answers are under the cut!

4. Does your insert have a backstory? Tell us about it! How does their backstory, if any, define who they are? How does it reflect their relationships now? Their hopes and dreams?

Bellamy Amplexus – Final Fantasy XV SI

Bellamy doesn’t have much of a backstory just yet, but I do know this:

·         Their family isn’t a huge part of their life, aside from a younger sibling, who, to this day, I have not yet named.

·         They want a sense of belonging somewhere, and have a number of self-image complications (it’s not really a set of “issues” to them, because they’ve found comfort in their body and self over time, but they still have wishes about what they could be seen as—androgyny is a tough line to straddle).

·         They hate the nickname “Bella”.

·         Bells, as far as I’m concerned right now, finds their sense of belonging amongst the ‘Bros ever since they just sorta started… tagging along, I guess? It was just an act of good will from the prince and his guards and a bit of hitchhiking on Bells’ end that got them where they are now.

·         They were originally a bit of a vagabond prior to meeting up with the guys. Hitchhiking, walking absurdly long distances, camping out often, all that jazz.

Junko Hisayo – Persona 5 SI

Junko is a character who I largely based off of my late-high school self for both self insertion and coping reasons, but a few things do set her apart from me. As in, she’s a pretty close approximation, but by no means is she a direct, direct copy of me.

She’s a student at Kosei Academy, simply due to the fact that I read on the wiki that it’s speculated to be a catholic school (I was brought up in the catholic education system, so, I could find some accuracy and likeness in that), and attended meetings at both the drama and art club there. She has bitter memories of the two clubs, as she was betrayed by the one major figure in both: her childhood friend Hideo Sunjaya. Since then, she’s taken to expressing her creative outlets in circles outside of her student life, and finds her passion in writing. At the time of Persona 5 canon, she’s set on becoming an editor. In the future canon, she does in fact achieve this goal. In this way Junko’s less of a model of who I was, and instead she’s what I hope to be.

She comes from a somewhat broken home, but has a strong relationship with her mother. Despite her current disconnect, Junko feels that she owes it to her parents that she has such a good understanding of her own identity, as they were supportive when she first came out as sapphic, and continued their support when she decided to be GNC and soon after came into her identity as a demigirl.

Elizabeth Beaufort – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

Lizzie is a pretty lighthearted simulacrum of a more feminine version of me, translated loosely into the scope of the year 1899. I’m by no means a historian, but here’s Lizzie’s life.

Elizabeth Beaufort is a born and raised resident of the town of Valentine. Her mother is whatever the RDR2 universe’s equivalent of Quebecois French is, having moved to Saint Denis due to a family matter down there, and subsequently met her father. A Valentine resident himself, he beguiled her mother and convinced her to move to Valentine and live as the wife of a livestock owner (he comes from some blue blood ‘round those parts—as mentioned by the VDL in Chapter 2, the town is a goldmine of trade).

As a lady of relative privilege, life was… well, it was what a privileged life is. Sheltered, simple, and for the most part pretty damned easy. However, her naivete wasn’t something that her mother would stand to see Elizabeth keep, as she wanted a strong daughter who wouldn’t simply bend to the hand of tradition. Would I say that Lizzie would’ve most certainly rallied with those girls in Rhodes? YES. I’d rather die than portray any iteration of myself as complacent rather than progressive lmao. Elizabeth Beaufort flows in the vein of RDR2’s… I guess, progressive* writing? More** on that below, I guess???

*I don’t actually know how well it was received by everyone else, and honestly, I’m not even gonna try to speak on anyone else’s behalf but my own—I found that RDR2, despite some shortcomings, made itself a relatively hospitable environment for me as a white queer.

** Lizzie does struggle a lot with her internalized homophobia? Like… she had a lot of difficulty when she was younger coming to terms with the fact that she’s bisexual. This is less prevalent in her backstory considering it only ever surfaces post-canon. Yes, my SI and her FO came out to each other at random after being married to him for approximately 3 months. And it went fuckin’ great cos guess what!! Theyre both bi!! WLW/MLM solidarity!!! Don’t @ me.

Gillian Wright – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

·         Gilley was brought up amongst a gang of outlaws, and her being born a woman changed nothing about the things she was taught by said gunslingers. She left the group she once called family because of the leadership turning sour. From that point forward she went it alone, shifting in and out of her identity as Gilley Wright and her masculine persona (a pseudonym-turned-identity) Giles Kingsley, to keep herself straddling notoriety and anonymity.

·         Gilley only started wearing her hair short because of an encounter in which her longer hair was used as a means to pull her back into harm’s way. She lopped it off shortly after out of the feeling that it was a necessity, but soon found that she preferred it that way.

·         Thaddeus, her large draft horse, once pulled carts. She took him during a robbery so that she’d have an adequate mount for her getaway. The connection was instant between them.

Taeko Atou – Tokyo Ghoul OC

Taeko went by another name before her time in the 20th ward. She had another face, another life. But that was a self she had to leave far, far behind. Before “Taeko”, she was a reckless twentysomething ghoul living off of her father’s money, basking in the upper echelons of society, indulging in Scrapper shows and seeing humanity as nothing but an unprepared buffet. The danger ranking on her CCG profile demonstrated as much.

One night, however, her cushy life changed drastically. She went out drinking after a Scrapper show with one of her friends and decided to go hunting with her. Things were as usual, they stayed in their territory, but ended up getting apprehended by a group of Doves. During the getaway, her and her friend were separated, and she had no way of knowing whether her friend was alive. Drunk, desperate, and rather terrified, she decided to abandon all else and ripped her mask off to taunt the officers. They deserved to see her face, covered in gore and as ghoulish as they came! Nothing mattered to her at that point and she wanted to give them a scare…!

That is, until the next morning, when she recovered from her hangover and realized what she’d done. One of those Doves got a picture of her. In a panic, she called her father to ask for some sort of mercy money to clear the issue up. He’s frustrated with her constantly getting into increasingly worse trouble and tells her this: he’s going to pay for her to completely change her identity and her face so that she can move elsewhere, completely out of the way of harm. After that, he’d be cutting her off, leaving her with only the savings that she had prior to the cut-off. No more handouts.

This is when she became Taeko Atou, a pseudonym based off of her Scrapper show guest alias, “Miss AT”, and moved to the 20th ward. She has to adjust to average life a la Schitt’s Creek or Arrested Development.

7. What kind of clothing style do they like? What would they never be caught dead wearing? What’s likely in their closet right now?

Bellamy Amplexus – Final Fantasy XV SI

·         Bells LOVES anything that’ll make them look cute and androgynous. They’re super partial to a femme prince aesthetic. Blouses and linens and vests and suspenders and a bunch of that cute shit. (Yes, this is my preferred fashion style and I wish I could look like that all the time.) They’re also into stuff like your average sundresses and such when it’s too hot for “princey” attire because hell yeah.

·         They’d hate to wear… hm… short party dresses? Cocktail dresses n shit. (No shade to those tho theyre cute. Just not Bellamy’s style.)

Junko Hisayo – Persona 5 SI

·         Junko’s super masc and butch in her presentation, binds her chest, does the simple graphic tee + jeans thing a lot. Think “Kanji Tatsumi but a lesbian”.

·         She lowkey doesn’t like wearing overly feminine clothes, like, she does not vibe with dresses.

Elizabeth Beaufort – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

·         Lizzie is pretty standard when it comes to clothes: blouses and skirts, dresses, all just… really basic stuff. She likes simple and solid colours, maybe simple patterns. She’s also like… very cottagecore. Probably likes overalls if she ever wears ‘em?? I’m not a frickin’ historian and I’m not gonna google early 1900s clothes styles at this hour don’t @ me.

·         This is literally just because I’m basic as all fuck and I like a skirt/blouse or sundress style outfit. I don’t wear it often but that’s my jazz y’know?

Gillian Wright – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

·         Gilley’s another one of my more boyish characters. She doesn’t deliberately go out of her way to look like a man unless she’s under the guise of her male persona Giles Kingsley. But let me tell you—she goes all out for those occasions, even electing to simulate stubble on her face with cosmetics. Think “cowboy drag king” and you’ll hit the mark.

·         Other than that, she just wears whatever’s convenient and comfortable.

 9. Their favorite foods? Colors? Activities? What do they enjoy in life? How do they express their joy for things they like?

As dumb as this sounds I completely burnt out after writing only 2 self insert likes/interests profiles, forgive me lol.

Bellamy Amplexus – Final Fantasy XV SI

·         Favourite Food: Bells is indecisive, but they will gladly eat anything Ignis puts in front of them. They’re thoroughly convinced he uses magic in his cooking. (They’re only half joking about that—it’s so good!) If they were made to decide a top three, it’d likely be Garden Curry, Broiled King on a Stick, and Moogle Mousse with Kupoberry Sauce. Honorable mention being Gyashi Chips (yes, they like what’s effectively Eosian kale chips).

·         Favourite Colours: ANYTHING PASTEL will win Bellamy over, along with any colour considered light and airy. White, silver, pale green, soft gold, baby blue, lavender, and also whatever the sky has going on at any given time of the day—they’re an aesthetic little shit.

·         Favourite Activities: Travelling, leisure shopping when funds allow it (if given the means, Bellamy will 100% engage in excessive retail therapy, no joke), swimming, loving their friends, talking about books and music, gardening, and (I know this sounds vain but bear with me) preening. Yes, they’d be a vlogger in another life. Don’t @ me

·         Bells loves to talk in excess about what they like, and on occasion, when words fail, they tend to express it through squealing, jumping, etc. If someone points out how passionate Bells is about these things, they’ll end up flustered and ask the person if they could continue. I guess you could say Bellamy stims? I’m not diagnosed with anything, so take this with a grain of salt, but I do have stimming habits.

Junko Hisayo – Persona 5 SI

·         Favourite Food: Junko’s pretty partial to miso soup. It’s one of her weaknesses. Total comfort food. (Bro I fuckin’ love miso soup.) As well as baked goods like cupcakes.

·         Favourite Colours: Red, black, silver, pink, blue, purple.

·         Favourite Activities: drawing (sketches, scribbles, doodles, colouring, etc., singing, baking/cooking, writing, and she learned to love gardening after getting close to Haru.

·         Junko tends to show her happiness through verbal and artistic expression, she’s also the type that tends to crack jokes (mostly shitty puns followed up by finger guns).

Again, thank you so much for asking, thank you so much for asking! QwQ Asks are still open, everyone.

[shainlov]

New Years Exchange!!!

@the-sociopathic-jacket I was your gifter! And this is... longer than it was supposed to, I’m so sorry.

Nemuri never forgave herself, but life moves on.

A year before Midnight joined UA staff, she had a difficult case including her family members that no hero should've go through but it’s just such a common trope.

Nemuri Kayama was forever convinced that the case of Sosuke’s killer was going to forever stay her hardest one. Even five years later, she still grieved the boy she didn’t know until a few brief moments before his demise.

If she were to guess when it all began, it would be when she got involved in the case. Though… Sosuke’s... parents would point at her pathetic hero career and shout that it was then when she went to the hero school when she started... she doomed Sosuke to death... because anyone else would’ve done a better job and saved him.

If she never went to the hero school, Sosuke would’ve never attracted the attention of that villain. Or any villain at all.

If she were a smarter woman, a braver-- If not for her incompetence he'd… well, either way, she’s never been the same.

Kayama saw horrible things, but the death of the young boy taken it’s greatest hit on her yet.

She couldn’t bear the guilt alone... she was very bad at handling her feelings on her own. She depended on people to help her to take care of herself when she was at her worst.

Of course, those people weren’t either Present Mic or Eraserhead, they barely held their emotional baggage. It was her wife who helped her through awful episodes each time.

Midnight was ever so slightly jealously looking at a monitor, watching a disgustingly romantic scene playing out between Ms. Joke and Eraserhead - it was the origin of Emi’s “marry me” joke that she repeated endlessly tormenting both Nemuri and Shouta with.

Both of her... friends were very good actors - convincing enough to make Midnight envious, even a little worried about whether they were genuine. She had to pinch herself to calm down and tell herself that Aizawa Shouta was gay. A few times.

Shouta would never answer to the advances of a person he wasn’t attracted to. Shouta would never try to hurt Nemuri either - hell, he asked many times if she was alright with his part in the operation because he knew of her silly crush.

Other than three of them at the scene, there were also two other underground heroes and a nearby police station on alert, waiting tensely for a signal. One of the extra teammates was inside the bar as an immediate back-up, while Midnight was waiting outside with the other guy. Shouta said he's never seen either of them before. It made Midnight wonder about how big the Underground Agency was.

That’s when Nemuri’s mobile meant for hero-related stuff rang. Excusing herself, she stepped out of the van, gladly distracting herself from the monitors.

“Lovely," She murmured to herself, "who’s this?” She answered in her "Midnight" voice, she didn’t recognize the number. Her fans liked to get her phone number from her agency’s site and call her. Some were sweet, while others just plain creepy.

“Mistress Midnight,” The voice on the other end of the line striked her immediately as someone dangerous. She was pretty good at reading people based off of their voice alone. Nobody in her agency had this voice and only those people addressed her as Mistress. “I’d suggest you come to your office quickly and pick it up, you have a very important message there." The person sounded almost giddy, like a little child who got a treat, or rather, in this situation, left someone a treat and wanted to see their reaction to it. With years of hero training and experience, she formed a suspect’s profile. "Time is extendable, but I don’t have forever.” This could be another freaky fan, but her gut was giving her especially bad vibe. “Ah, and don’t worry, we’re going to meet soon.”

Kayama was confused as to what the hell was that supposed to mean, but for now, she returned to the van. She was still on her mission and she had to keep the watch in case of Shouta and Emi requesting a back-up. Stepping back into the van, she bumped into the underground hero guy.

He shouted at her to get out there and "do her thing" because the operation was going to shit.

Alright then.

Nemuri counted herself as a part of the case ever since the villain called her phone which led her... home. The home of a naive pretty little girl who grew too fond of heroes and aspired to become like them.

Which resulted in the pretty little girl getting kicked out.

At 4 AM, about five hours after apprehending the villain gang and sending them into jail, Nemuri was sitting in her office.

Her leg bouncing as she looked at her phone. She had only a few saved numbers - only people she trusted were there, but there was an exception. There were two numbers saved of people she didn't trust one bit, and the missed calls came from them.

Back then, the agency building was her only home - she had a side room off of her big office - where she lived. Her office was modest, the only pieces of furniture were a desk, three leather armchairs, and her chair on wheels. The walls were covered praising articles and her posters, and also a sue for "too revealing outfit". She won that lawsuit by saying that the costume-regulation laws weren't established yet. They served as amusement for her bad mood.

In her desk's drawer, there were letters from her fans, police officers, some secret admirers and not-so-secret ones. She never responded because of her brand, and the other reason was... well, she was irreversibly lesbian. Male advances flattered her, but she wasn't interested.

"Hard to get" was helping her to sell more merchandise.

Below that drawer, she held some private things - like embarrassing photos of her cousins and aunts - and her identification documents. Only a small fraction though, she knew how things could get messy, and the most important stuff were kept in the side room, where she was the sole person who had access. It was relatively small and consisted of a pull-out couch and a wardrobe, and a small kitchen, and it connected to a bathroom with a shower and bathtub.

She used the shower at around 1 AM and ever since has been sitting motionlessly only changing the object that she was blankly staring at. The leather armchair in her office already dried from the water her wet tangled hair left.

Two notifications read:

You have missed 4 call(s) from Father

You have missed 17 call(s) from Mother

...and Midnight was… puzzled.

What was she supposed to do? The Kayamas have disowned her ages ago! What could’ve they wanted from her? They had everything! She was their disappointment! Her parents disowned her when she got into the hero school because she didn't want to play "status", and "power", and "house".

She disobeyed and went against what her parents thought was best for her. What was she even to them after all? A doll? They've married out of love and she was supposed to be sold? What's fair in that?

Pretty face, no brains and talented at dress-up games - that's what she started as. She still had little to no brain, but she wasn't useless anymore.

Surely, there was no emotional attachment to her. After all, they threw her out of her--their home. Well, not officially, and since that wasn't legal and they didn't want to be labeled as child abusers by abandoning her, they got her an apartment, moved her things and paid for it until she was 21.

She got her act together, unlocked the phone to look at dozens of missed texts.

Most of them were demanding to call back as soon as possible. When that list ended, she noticed the gap between this flood of texts and the last ones she sent them on New Year’s Eve back when she was 22 and hoped that she could fix their relationship... somehow.

So, not minding the hour, she called. It took two attempts - each to different parent - before Mother picked up. Her voice sounded… weary.

“Hello?”

“What happened?” Midnight didn’t quite sit well with the fact she was talking to her parents after promising herself to not look back.

“Nemuri?” The surprise in the woman’s voice that answered the phone was no wonder - she didn’t hear Nemuri’s voice for straight-up over ten years.

“Yeah. Why were you calling me?”

“Well… it’s about Sosuke, yo-- my son.” Nemuri flinched at that.

Of course, her parents wouldn’t know about her being aware of who Sosuke Kayama was. Her mother didn’t tell her she was pregnant, she officially hasn’t met him, she never talked with him. Nemuri was disowned sixteen years ago, and Sosuke was fourteen.

When she heard her mother went into labor, she sneaked into the hospital to greet her replacement and wish him good luck, but after that, she didn’t make any effort to contact him.

“What about him?” She kept her voice flat.

“He’s been kidnapped and it’s your fault.” Kayama Saori’s voice was sweet in her perfume commercials, but now it made Nemuri want to throw up. She leaned forward with her ear pressed to the phone. The heroine didn’t know whether she wanted to start apologizing or to throw the phone yelling that it wasn’t her fault.

“It’s not. Did you call to send me hate mail?” For the first few moments, it didn’t reach Nemuri that she was talking about a kidnapping over a phone. She never came to accept that her mother and father rejected her. So now, thoughts processed slower than usual.

“They want you to be the one to find him. You HAVE TO do this.”

“They?” Nemuri frowned, slightly surprised her mother hasn’t broken into wails yet. That was unusual…

“Yes. Whoever did this.”

It’s a game then?

Midnight bit at her thumb frustrated. Her little brother-- Sosuke was in danger because of her hero career? Was that true?

“I’ll call the police to question you, I am not a detective.” She said simply going for the disconnect button.

“No police or else he will be killed. Hurry.” Her mother hissed before she hung up. That left Nemuri frozen in her seat. So it was because of her.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848440

[lazulifoster]

Get Up (Loki x reader)  Part 2

Prompt: N/A  Get Up part 2 (Loki x Reader) Pairing: Loki x Reader (x Thor) Warnings: Swearing; graphic violence; angst (Thor x Loki) Word Count: 3k+ Y/H/T: Your hometown A/N: So I decided to continue the story. Honestly, that dream I had really shook me and I really haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I have so many ideas for this story that even if no ones read I’ll probably still post XD Anyway, this whole thing I decided this takes place after the Avengers movie. I’m sorry if the fighting between Loki and Thor is a little harsh, but that's kinda how I pictured them after the whole NYC debacle. This part has a lot going on, so I am going to try to make scene changes very apparent. 

Thank you in advance for reading. I am so humbled getting any notes at all. Thank you :) 

P.s. Sorry for the slow burn, I like to build up and have some background, I promise it won’t be this way the whole way :) Also, there are characters who haven’t been explained yet, that is on purpose, but I PROMISE I will explain in part 3.

The two giants stumbled into the living room. They began to piece together what had happened during their brief absence. The human form Surtur had possessed, lay on the floor, skull bashed in; and the front door was flung open with no signs of their intended prey.

"She got AWAY!" The raspier voiced panicked. His companion scoffed at the observation.

"She will be easy to catch, meanwhile what are we going to do about Surtur? How is he going to find her now? He doesn't have a body to take over—"

His concerns were interrupted, a giant flame immediately began to rise from the charred body on the floor. The heat and brightness from the flame caused both giants to take a step back and shield their eyes, leaving them both amazed and terrified. Once Surtur's full-self exited his former host, he spoke, "No need to worry, men, about a body for me to control, when I have two viable options right in front of me" Before both the giants could fully process his words, a pillar of fire entered through the mouth of the raspy-voiced giant. The softer spoken giant bolted a few feet away and watched in horror as his former companion's gurgled screams echo through the whole house. After Surtur's transformation into the giant's body was finished, he turned to the remaining giant, "Now, looks like we have a job to finish…"

* * * * *

I ran. I ran, and I ran until my lungs felt like they were on fire. With every breath I took, the burning feeling increased. Thankfully I was so full of adrenaline that the pain in my lungs did not bother me.  What did bother me though was immediately after escaping from my house, I remembered I had forgotten everything important: my car keys and my cell phone. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK how am I suppose to go anywhere or call anybody? I tried to keep my teeming thoughts at bay and just kept running. I went into autopilot and ran towards Maddy's house, my closet friend who happened to live the closest to me who wasn't on vacation or working some random graveyard shift. Twenty blocks isn't exactly a marathon, but running that far with only flimsy pajama and socks, in the freezing night wore me out quicker than usual. I had to make a few stops to vomit in any bushes I could find. A lethal mix of exertion and fear did the trick. I didn't know if the two giants were still after me or if running to Maddy's house would bring her danger, but either way, I knew I needed to tell someone about what happened. After an arduous run, I finally made it to Maddy's apartment. I praised whatever deity would listen that she lived on the bottom floor and I wouldn't have to climb any stairs. I placed my hand on her door for a moment, trying to catch my breath and wipe off anything unsavory on my face with my free hand.

I loudly knocked at her door. Not trying to repeat what my delightful guests did to me earlier, but loud enough to wake her up.

"Maddyyyyy" I whined, dragging out her name. "Please open the door, it's me!"

A few moments later, I heard some shuffling coming from inside her apartment.

"Y/N?" She questioned before opening her door.

"Please let me in!"

Gently opening the door, I could see Maddy's eyes gradually widen the longer she looked at me. "What the fuck happened to you?!"

She ushered me inside before I could answer.

"Why—why are you in your pajamas? Where are your shoes? Why didn't you just text me?—Wait A minute, did you WALK here? Did someone attack you?!"

"I ran here" I exhaled, still trying to regain my breath and composure.

"You better start telling me what's going on before I call the police, Y/N!"

"OK!" I snapped, before finally blurting out the thoughts that were bouncing back and forth inside my head "I don't know what happened tonight, I was just sleeping, an-and some guy told me to ‘Get up,' and I did, then these big ass dudes were in my house, MY HOUSE! Then I-I-I stomped on one of them in the head because the guy who said ‘Get up' told me to and—" I stopped. I began to uncontrollably sob. I knew what I was saying probably sounded absolutely crazy to Maddy, but I didn't care. At that moment, I just wanted someone to comfort me and tell me it was going to be ok.

Maddy, knowing precisely what to do, grabbed me and just held me. She let me sob until I was ready to talk again.

Maddy and I had met in middle school. We had been through so many things together. Her parent's divorce, my dad's accident and my subsequent anxiety, even her having to live with me for a while after she came out as a lesbian to her parents who were less than supportive. I knew if anyone personified "a loyal friend," it was Maddy.  

When I finally stopped crying, Maddy went to grab me a bottled water. When she came back, she rubbed my back with her hand and looked at me.

 "Ok, so start over, what the hell happened?"

* * * * *

I told Maddy again, from the beginning what happened, much more coherently this time around. Maddy just nodded her head and listened. She's not buying any of this, she thinks I'm crazy. After I was finished, I waited, hesitant to ask her her thoughts.

"Maddy?"

"Well, I guess anything is possible, especially since all that stuff that went down in New York a while back. Maybe this is related somehow."

The thought hadn't even occurred to me that this was something related to that attack in New York City. I had barely convinced myself this whole ordeal wasn't a nightmare, let alone something tied to the superhero/crime-fighting "Avenger" group.

"Do you think we should give them a call?"

I scoffed "Pfffft yeah like those billionaires are just gonna come down here to Y/H/T."

"I think only Tony Stark is a billionaire, I think the others just live with him."

"Well, either way, I seriously doubt what happened was something that warrants giving ‘them a call.'"

Maddy rolled her eyes at me, "Well I do! I don't think this was just some bad dream or an anxiety attack! I don't think this is something you can just put off, what if those things are still around? You need to tell someone, someone who can actually, I don't know, find out what's going on!"

I started to filter through my head anyone I can talk to about something like this. There was Dad, he was always understanding and willing to talk to me, but he was on vacation to Mexico with mom. They hadn't been on vacation long before Dad's accident and a restful holiday was long overdue for them both. And I was in no way, going to bother them about this. I guess I could talk to my Aunt Pam, but knowing her she would probably tell me I had a "nightmare," and I needed to be in church. But…

 "What about your Uncle Thor?" Maddy cut off my train of thought.

Uncle Thor wasn't really my biological Uncle. He was a long time friend of my dad's, but to my family, he might as well be related by blood. Uncle Thor and my dad met soon after I was born, at least that's how I was told the story. My dad and my mom were almost mugged at gunpoint as they were leaving the hospital after I was born. Uncle Thor intervened and saved my parents. After the incident, my parents tried to find ways to repay him for saving us, which Uncle Thor respectfully declined, but my dad insisted that he come to the house for dinner, just to say ‘thank you.' And the rest is history, ever since then, Uncle Thor has been over for as many holidays and birthdays that he could attend. He goes away quite a bit, he lives out of the country and his work schedule is erratic, but that just means whenever he is around, it makes the time we get with him even more special.

 "Uncle Thor lives in Norway, Maddy, and there is NO WAY I'm going to call him about this, he'll call dad and ruin their vacation—"

"I know he lives in Norway, dumbass," Maddy interrupted "But I literally just saw him at Starbucks, yesterday."

Her words took me back. Uncle Thor usually calls when he's in town. "Are you sure it was him?"

 "Positive, we talked for a couple minutes before I met up with my cousin."

 "Well, why didn't you tell me?" I grumbled

 "Girl I thought you knew! I'm not arguing with you, here's my phone, give him a call, I'm sure he didn't just fly all the way down here for Starbucks" Maddy winked

 "I guess you're right."

I scrolled through Maddy's contacts till I found "Thor Odinson." I tapped on his number, and pressed "Call." What the heck is Uncle Thor gonna think about this…

* * * * *

"BROTHER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? You are the most irresponsible, the most reckless, the MOST untrustworthy…" Thor was furious. Usually, he tried to keep a low profile when he visited Midgard (his height, build, and hair alone were enough to draw attention) and Thor didn't like to bring any more attention than necessary. But tonight though, caution was tossed to the wind. Here he was, Loki, the god of mischief, his younger brother; who temporarily brought New York City to its knees, standing in the middle of Thor's hotel room in Y/H/T. Loki smirked, sometimes seeing his brother irrationally angry, humored him.

"Oh spare me your speech, brother" Loki spat "You know exactly why I'm here."

"Oh, yes, remind me, Loki, who was it that released these savage beasts into Midgard again? Gave them access to all the realms behind Heimdall's back?"

Loki flinched. He had repented incessantly since the attack on New York. Even though he knew it would take time to be forgiven entirely, he thought maybe Thor would be the first to forgive him. Even though Thor's words stung, Loki hid his feelings behind a facade or hubris.

"If you want to play that game, Thor, remind me, who has a secret Midgarian family that they've grown close to and vowed to protect, well—except for tonight" Loki took pride in watching his brother's face distort with every word he spoke.

"How do you know about that?!"  

"Oh brother, you underestimate me far too much."

Thor was slack-jawed. He was sworn to absolute secrecy, about the family he cared for, particularly Y/N. After Sigrún's death, Thor did everything he could to keep that small, Midgardian family safe. Except for today, which Loki pointed out; and that tormented Thor to his core.

Thor sat at the foot of his bed and placed his head between his hands, grabbing the pieces of his hair b y his temples. Even though Thor would act scornful toward Loki, sometimes, without a second thought, Loki almost felt remorseful for making his brother feel the same. The fights between the brothers became more frequent after Odin inadvertently pitted the brothers against each other with his secrecy and favoritism, and even more so since New York. Neither of them knew if things would ever be the same again, but for now, they both had sweet moments between arguments. Loki came by his brother on the bed, timidly, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," Loki said, almost inaudibly.

After a long silence between them both, Thor finally spoke: "How did you find out?"

Loki chuckled, "I was there, brother. You did pick the library to discuss everything with Sigrún, after all."

Thor exhaled in slight annoyance. "It was rather foolish of me to speak there if I wished to keep anything from you." Thor gave his brother a playful nudge.

"So, you know everything then, I assume?" Loki nodded.

"Well, either way, brother, you have been forbidden to come back to Midgard until I permitted it. This is my responsibility, not yours, not after every mess I've had to clean up of yours."

The kind moment between the brothers had now vanished. Loki, enraged, stood up and turned to face Thor, fists clenched and nostrils flared.

"You cannot let me just have this one victory brother, one victory! No, you have to parade yourself the hero in every situation, you save the world one time with the Avengers, and now you expected the floor you walk on the be worshipped, I will not yield to such vanity."

Thor scowled at his brother and rose to meet him at eye level. "You arrogant fool. I should have made sure the key to your cell was destroyed, never allowing you to be set free."

Loki snickered. "I'm arrogant? Tell me, where is Y/N? You didn't save her from her evening visitors, and now you don't even know if she still breaths. Come now, who is really the arrogant ass in this scenario."

Thor had been trying all night to get ahold of Y/N, but with no luck. His calls and texts were left unanswered which worried him immensely, he even went to Y/N's house after everything happened and only found the body of Surtur's unfortunate victim and the home slightly ransacked. Thor searched the house for Y/N before eventually cleared out the corpse and closing the door behind him. He continued his attempts of contacting Y/N until he reached his hotel room where he found Loki waiting for him.

"Well if you know where she is Loki I would love to know, maybe make yourself useful for once."

"I am just like you brother, I do not know. Although, I am not entirely like you, because I was able to warn her of the attack—"

"LISTEN LOKI—" Thor shouted, but was immediately interrupted by Thor's loud ringtone. He turned his phone to full volume to not miss Y/N if she was to call.

Both the brothers hushed as Thor looked at his phone screen and saw the name Your Other Favorite, the name Maddy playfully gave her contact name in Thor's phone. Maddy, being extremely close to Y/N made her, by proximity, close to Thor as well.

"Who is that?" Loki questioned

"It's Y/N friend, Maddy."

"Well I'd answer that call brother, perhaps she knows where Y/N is."

Thor speedily answered his phone. "Maddy? Do you know where Y/N is? I've been looking for her—"

"Uncle Thor it's me! I'm ok!" Thor heard Y/N through the phone "I'm calling you from Maddy's phone because I left my phone at my house."

Thor sighed in relief and looked at his brother Loki who had moved to the coffee table in the hotel room and was glancing at the mundane bobbles and hotel decor.

"Why were you looking for me Uncle Thor?"

"I-uh-well, I wanted to tell you I was in town and say hello." Thor clumsily lied. Loki laughed from the other side of the room which caused Thor to place his hand over the speaker of his phone, "Well I'm sorry if lying does not come naturally to me as it does to you, Loki."

"Oh, ok, well I'm glad you're in town, I really need to talk to you as soon as possible. Can you come to Maddy's house so we can talk?"

"Yes, I will be there soon."

"Great see you there, love you, Uncle Thor!"

"Love you, my favorite and my other favorite." Thor's smile could be felt through the phone. Even though Thor could be abrasive to Loki, Thor was nothing but a fantastic Uncle to Y/N. Loki knew that and envied their closeness even more. Y/N and Thor said their goodbyes and Thor began to get ready to leave the hotel.

"Looks like you have a lot of explaining to do," Loki stated.

"All I can hope for at this point is that she knows very little."

Loki aggressively grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Well, either way, I hope you become a better liar before you talk to her again." Thor pushed Loki off and made his way to Maddy's house.

[jammedsleep]

Encounter

The story of her and me and what happened when I met her and how much it changed everything begins with the one that came before her. Because nothing seems to have a beginning or an end. I met Alex on one of those sites that serves up a random stranger for you to scrutinize in a few seconds.

Alex was a lesbian boxing instructor. We only spoke for a couple of hours. In the end I was taken in by her but I failed to interest her. So it goes, in the search for human connections in random conversations. We did discuss some things about life and love. Not a complete loss of time. But she did end the conversation. So on I went in search of another. Little did I know what the next connection would become.

She went by the name Frankie. I had actually skipped her once already. A slip of the finger. So I was surprised to see her again and doubly surprised to see her typing. “Hi. You skipped me before.” She said. “It was an accident actually!” I replied. The profile told me just enough to paint the picture of her. "What are the odds that my last chat was with a lesbian, tattoo enthusiast with piercings and happens to be a fighting instructor?" As an Icebreaker I thought it was smooth. "Probably slim!" Frankie said right away.

So we talked, and talked, and no topic was off limits. The anonymous nature loosens the tongue. Eventually the conversation slowed though. I didn’t know what else to ask. She went deep down. “Let’s share a secret!” Frankie said unabashedly. “Hmm. What sort of secret?” I quickly shot back. “Anything you want. I’ll go first.”

Her secret will remain secret. But I wasn’t prepared to hear it. It was dark. But the way she told it made it clear she wasn’t traumatized. Not at all. In fact she loved it. Something that left me numb but intrigued. “What a sick mind I have” I berated myself for being captivated by her secret. In turn I revealed my darkest secret. Two people sharing their past. For no reason other than the need to connect.

Now all this backstory is just to inform you that we became fast friends. But there was a part of me that lamented her sexuality. If only she were straight. A thought I tried to shut down whenever it popped up in my head.

“Do you ever role-play on here?” I asked her one day. “Not really, most ladies skip me and guys are just creepy.” Was her response. “But have you ever heard about hypnosis thru text?”

“No. Never heard of it… Is that even possible?” I was curious. My fingers were already busy searching the internet. In a few minutes I had a half dozen websites up and I was reading about hypnosis through text. People really believe this? Erotic hypnosis? It was all so silly. I couldn’t stop reading.

“Are you there” Came the message “You stopped responding. My friend told me about it and I got curious.” I lost track of time researching. “Sorry, I was reading about all of this. It’s interesting but I’m not sure if it would work. It seems silly.”

“I don’t know. I’m curious. Do you think….that you could try it on me?” She said playfully.

“Hypnosis thru text. From what I’m reading it should be possible. But I mean it just sounds so silly. I found a guide and a script. I can try and put you in a trance if you want” I was rolling my eyes very hard at this point. How else could I react to this. She was obviously teasing me.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. The events don’t make sense to me. They are a jumbled mess in my head. I put her in a trance. She acted as if she was in a trance. I followed the script. Which was full of words like follow, obey, and surrender. I made her strip. I made her send a picture. Thinking to myself that we were playing a game of chicken. The first to give up is the loser. There wasn’t any winner. I brought her out of the trance. She claimed she didn’t remember a thing. “What did you make me do?” She asked. I told her nothing she wouldn’t have done on her own. So we said goodbye. It was past my bedtime anyway. A fun conversation with a good friend that got a little fun.

“What the fuck! Why is there a new nude pic on my phone?” She sent in the middle of the night. “The one I made you send me?” I responded half asleep and not considering her words seriously.

She was good at seeming angry I told myself. I tried to calm her. She seemed to get even angrier. I got worried. Is she being serious? Are you saying you don’t remember sending me the pic? She threatened to block me. I told her fine I was too tired to argue. You’re sounding crazy right now. There was nothing. “Get over it and we’ll talk tomorrow.” I finally said

“How are you talking to me I blocked you?” She said. “You haven’t blocked me yet” I shot back. “Why can’t I block you OMG” she sounded serious.

Quickly a plan formulated in my head. She almost convinced me this was real. I gave her a command to sleep. Then I told her to forget about the picture. To forget to last conversation. To clear the chat. It seemed to work. She calmed down. She was taking the role-playing seriously. I was feeling perplexed. Why is she doing this? Too tired to think too much about it I went to sleep.

This pattern went on for weeks. We would talk. We would do hypnosis. She would find some evidence that I was making her a “brainwashed slut”. She would get angry and I would wipe her memory of the argument. Eventually I became convinced it was real. She never broke character. It had to be real. I became ashamed of what I was doing. I couldn’t do it anymore. During one trance, I decided to make her aware but unable to resist my commands. This is when I learned the truth. Her girlfriend had used hypnosis on her for years. Which is why a novice like me had such control over her. She had two personalities. The waking self was an implanted personality. The one I knew and spoke with. The Frankie I was talking to now was the original. She was bound by her girlfriend. Not just her girlfriend but her Domme. She told me how she had used hypnosis at first to help her overcome her secret. But her girlfriend had misused it to enslave her. I offered to release her. So she told me how. To use her trigger. The release trigger.

I released her. She blocked me. I was stunned. She left me just like that. I reminisce about her often. What was real? Was it just an act? If it was real then she played me for a fool. But it doesn’t make sense unless it was real.

[kithalstead]

Havenbrook Spring Festival

The Spring Festival was a yearly tradition in Havenbrook, vendors rolling into the field by the river that had come to be called the Ball Flats, for three days of crafts, sweets, and wishing you had more money to spend. Jewel had saved up all of her allowance when she was a kid, prepared to snatch up all the maple candy her pockets could carry and fried dough her stomach could manage. It was always a highlight of the season, the cold dredges of winter finally giving way to rays of sunshine and daffodils, the first sign that spring was indeed preparing to spring. It drew crowds to town, too, boosting sales for not just the vendors at the Festival. The inns were packed, the restaurants were busy, and the museum saw more business in a single weekend than it did most of the year.

Her earliest memory was of the Spring Festival, sitting on her father’s broad shoulders, staring out over what seemed like the whole world in a single field. He bought her a cone of fresh maple cotton candy and let her eat the whole thing, and when she got sick on the walk home, he didn’t even get mad at her.

“Raffle! Tickets one for a dollar or twelve for ten dollars! All proceeds go to the Smolcnop family,” a raffle table attendant called out to them as Hana tried to scoot them through the entrance unnoticed.

Jewel slid her hand into her girlfriend, Hana’s and veered them both off towards the table.

“Hello Jewel!” Lisa greeted as they drew close to the table. It was a rickety plastic table sat on the side to the gravel path, topped with a cash box, an old plastic jar with a hole cut jaggedly into the lid, and a roll of raffle tickets set aside. “You heard about the Smolcnop house fire?”

“I can’t believe that happened! You never really think it’ll happen to someone you know, y’know? I’m so glad that everyone got out okay. How’s the fundraising going?”

Lisa rattled the half-empty raffle jar at Jewel with a frown.

“Ahh, well, I’ll take a dozen tickets,” Jewel offered, rifling through her purse for her wallet. “I grew up with one of the Smolcnops. Peggy was in my grade, and her brother, Peter, he was a good kid. Always looked out for little kids on the bus.”

“Just awful,” Lisa commented, unrolling the tickets, and counting, then recounting, twelve. She tore them off, and then folded them in half to tear the two halves apart. “Name and number on the back of each one, Jewel. We’ll call you if you win.”

“What’s the prize?” Hana asked. Jewel could hear the slight wobble to Hana’s voice. She looked over at her with a warm smile. Hana smiled back.

“Gift certificate to that fancy French restaurant, Mason Blanche or whatever, over on State. The owners donated it personally,” Lisa answered while Jewel carefully wrote her name, first and last and then her phone number on the back of each ticket. “Good place for a date, don’t y’think?”

Lisa gave Jewel her a wink while Jewel stuffed her last ticker into the jar alongside its brethren.

“Here’s hoping. If I have any money left, I’ll stop by on my way out.”

They headed down the gravel path and into the main entrance to the Festival. The trees, lamp posts, swing sets, and goal posts were all decorated in flowers and vines, vendors hoisted pretty pastel banners, the live music stage was covered heavily in paper pinwheels colored by first graders at the local elementary. More pinwheels lined the paths to each booth. Jewel took Hana’s hand.

Jewel had decided late the year before that she was sick of being alone on the weekends, and created a Match profile looking for a girlfriend. She had found Hana who had just moved to the area. They had flirted online, and through text messages for weeks before they met in person. It was such a short amount of time in perspective, but Jewel felt the magnet in her chest drawn to Hana so strongly it scared her. She had only felt this for someone once before, when she was back in high school. She had ruined that.

“I don’t even want to win the gift card. I hate French food,” Jewel admitted.

“French food is delicious, though.”

“I don’t trust anyone who’s cuisine includes snails.”

“You eat sushi all the time. That’s raw fish. How can you tell me that you won’t eat snails when you eat sushi?”

“Because eating fish isn’t weird.”

“Eating raw fish is.”

Jewel rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t annoyed. She hated people trying to convince her she was wrong, but the way that Hana smiled while she did it, the way that her eyes almost glittered, it was entrancing. It had been those calm grey eyes that had caught Jewel’s attention, and her heart from day one. Jewel had just started at her father’s company, fresh out of college with no job perspectives in the area, and it was lonely. All her high school friends had moved away, or moved on. All her college friends had taken off either coast, looking for their own post-graduate paths. Hana had moved into the college town nearby for their graduate program, and didn’t know anyone.

Fortune, destiny, serendipity, Sappho, whoever watched over them had brought them together.

“Wow, it’s so picturesque,” Hana breathed, turning the conversation. She looked around, eyes examining the park around them. “Like, I’ve heard you talk about it so many times, I thought it couldn’t possibly look like what you said it looked like, but it does. It’s real. This is straight out of some fairy tale bullshit.”

Jewel laughed.

“It’s really Stars Hollow, isn’t it? But there’s a whole committee that works year-round to come up with ideas to make it better. My mom used to be the chairman, chairwoman before she passed.”

Hana squeezed her hand.

“Come on,” Jewel said, diverting the conversation herself. She still missed her mom, the ache still rooted deep in her chest, but she had her dad, and this festival that her mother had poured her heart and soul into every year. The Havenbrook Spring Festival was a haven for Jewel’s grieving, aching soul. “You need to try Benedict’s maple candy! It’s so good!”

“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” Hana replied.

“You don’t need a sweet tooth for this,” Jewel said. “It’s that good! I have dreams about this maple candy, Hana. Very specific dreams.”

Hana laughed and rolled her eyes playfully at Jewel.

“Don’t eat yourself into a coma today, okay? We have plans.”

Jewel grinned and swung their interlocked hands back and forth.

They walked through the center stripe, weaving in and out of people, clusters of Festival-goers with bags of cotton candy and goodies in one hand, plates of the Masons’ famous “hottest hot wings in the whole country” in the other. Jewel pointed out her favorite booths, telling Hana particularly about the winery offering samples of their young reds and whites where Jewel had gotten her first taste of wine before she was of age.

They walked, the eyes of certain vendors following them with a distant distain. Jewel steered them to safe places, to the local dairy farm’s booth that was run by a married lesbian couple and the mythical creature art booth where Jewel knew the artist from high school. Hana seemed particularly drawn to the handmade silver rings made from bent spoons from a vendor that Jewel had never seen there before, tugging at her girlfriend’s hand to hurry up.

A man, the same age as Jewel, ducked into the tent from the back, carrying a tote to set by his table when they approached. Jewel stared. His jaw had gotten sharper, more defined, and the freckles across his cheeks and nose were more pronounced than she remembered them. His hair was shorter, no longer tickling his ears and neck, instead cut short to stick up in a soft, spiky defiance of gravity.

“How much are these?” Hana asked before Jewel could pull her away.

Daniel had been the love of her life in high school, and he had been the first person that she ever came out to, laying on their backs in the back of his pick-up underneath the stars. She had mustered up the courage because his hand felt like an anchor in that moment, and let the truth come out of her as if she had released a dam. He was quiet at first, digesting slowly, before he turned his face to hers and kissed her on the cheek. He had taken it in stride because he was, as Jewel had known her entire life, the best boy in the world.

He looked up from the tote, looked at Hana, the rings, and then up at Hana again. Jewel stood still, wishing, hoping, praying. His gaze slid to her. He grinned, and she felt her lungs forget how to breath for a moment. He shouldn’t be able to do that still.

“They’re twenty-five dollars,” he said. “Although, for you, Jewel, I could probably let one slide.”

Hana looked curiously between them.

“Y’know I don’t ask for freebies, Daniel,” she answered, stepping closer to Hana. She examined the rings instead of meeting his gaze, touching one in front of her. They were made, she guessed, out of different ends of spoons, flowers and leaves and birds decorating rings separately. “I didn’t know you made jewelry.”

“Had to do something with all my free time,” he said with a loose shrug. “Found a drawer full of dusty, useless spoons up at Pops,’ and they had these really cool handles. Like, some of them had anchors, or looked like some kind of royal crest, and I wanted to make something out of them. Who knew they’d be in such high demand. Sold a whole box just this morning, actually.”

Jewel nodded, chancing a peek at him. He was staring at her. There was still a little scar underneath his right eye where she’d hit him in the face with a stick once when they were young. She’d apologized profusely, it hadn’t been on purpose, but she’d left her mark on him anyway, no matter how many times she said, “I’m sorry.”

“I like this one,” Hana said, nudging Jewel, drawing her attention back. She looked down at the boxes lined with a navy velvet cushion, cradling the rings for presentation, finding the ring Hana was touching. It was smaller than the rest of them, delicate like Hana herself, decorated with a small bloomed rose, polished silver that shone in the sunlight.

“Oh, the tea rose!” Daniel said. “That’s a good one. Came from a vintage tea spoon. Only one left. That one would be thirty-five, since it’s got that cool vintage factor.”

“I recognize that rose,” Jewel said. “I don’t know where, but I know I’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah, it should. I asked around for people’s old spoons, and that one came from your grandma. She said she didn’t have much use for tea spoons when someone doesn’t come around for tea much anymore.”

“Oh, Dan, don’t tell me Julep has enlisted you as a guilt goblin.”

He laughed. They both knew Julep was a master at guilting any outcome out of anyone, especially her granddaughter. They’d started calling the messengers that found their way to Jewel “guilt goblins” somewhere around freshman year of high school.

“Just passing on a message.”

Hana was digging around in her purse for her own wallet when Daniel looked at her again. He seemed to inspect her, and Jewel followed his gaze. She wondered what he saw in Hana.

“Actually,” he said to her, catching her attention, “that one’s on the house, with the promise that you’ll go see Julep, Jewel. She’s a lonely woman.”

“Dan, you can’t-” she started.

“It doesn’t mean anything more than just a friendly gesture. Besides, doesn’t feel right selling you something that belongs to your family anyway.”

He picked up the ring and put it in a little box that he put inside a small bag which he passed it to Hana with a smile. She thanked him, looking at the bag. Danie turned his attention back to his tote, effectively ending the conversation. Jewel stared at his back for a moment longer, then turned away to face her girlfriend.

“I’m getting hungry. Let’s go hunt down some fried food.”

They got halfway through the crowd to the strip of food vendors when Hana piped up.

“Who was that?”

“That was Dan; we’ve been friends since, like, kindergarten or something.”

“Is that all, because I got a sense that-”

“Oh, look! There’s Benedict’s! You gotta try this!” Jewel headed off towards the Benedict Farm booth without Hana in tow. Hana followed anyway. The Benedict family owned a large plot of land at the edge of Havenbrook, where they raised maple trees, Christmas trees, and bees. The best honey and maple syrup came from Benedict Farms.

“Jewel,” Hana said as Jewel stopped in front of the booth. They said nothing as Jewel looked over the items before them. There was a table full of jugs of fresh deep amber maple syrup, most in thick glass jars shaped like maple leaves in various sizes. In a small tray in the center were bags with maple candies also shaped like maple leaves, set beside golden straws of honey. Old Farmer Benedict, as he was known around the festival, stood up from his chair to greet them.

“Hello ladies,” he said, his voice rough and deep. He used to give Jewel a free honey stick when she came with her dad, passing it to her with a secret wink like her dad wasn’t supposed to know. She suspected now that he did know, but that honey stick tasted that much better because she thought he didn’t know something she knew for once.

Jewel carried on a short, meaningless conversation with Benedict while she picked out her items. Later, she honestly could not tell you what they had talked about.

“I’ll take all of this,” she said, gesturing to her grouped items. She paid him what she owed which was a good portion of her spending money, and took her purchase in the sturdy plastic bag he handed her.

“I’ll see you next year,” Benedict said. Jewel thanked him, and then, followed by Hana, headed into the center of the festival.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Dan?” Hana asked as soon as they were away.

“Dan and I used to date in high school, and we thought- it doesn’t matter what we though. We broke up before I left for college.”

Families streamed past them on both sides, a river around a boulder.

“You lied to me, though.”

“I did? I’m sorry, I guess. I saw him and panicked. He’s my ex-boyfriend, and I didn’t expect to see him here, at least not as a vendor and it startled me. I’m sorry.”

“No, not- well, that, but I didn’t know you had been with a guy?”

“Oh! Yeah! I thought you knew that you are my first, you know, real girlfriend. There’s not a lot of Sapphic opportunities in Havenbrook. I just thought you knew. I’m sorry.” Hana didn’t say anything, and in a fit of nerves, Jewel continued, trying to fill the silence, “Dan’s a good guy, but we just didn’t fit, y’know? He wanted to run away, essentially, but I, uh, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to leave town. So, we broke- I broke up with him. And, uh, I might have done something that stopped him from travelling, like tell his parents about his- He didn’t forgive me for- I thought he didn’t forgive me. He seemed really friendly, but honestly, I’m amazed he spoke to me at all.”

Hana, Jewel noticed, had pushed her jaw out as she stared at a spot right off Jewel’s shoulder. Jewel watched Hana for a moment, afraid to speak. She’d never seen Hana’s cool grey eyes look so cold before, like steel and ice boring straight holes into the field behind Jewel.

“What’s wrong?” Jewel asked.

“I just- you didn’t say you used to be attracted to men.”

“I didn’t used to be attracted to men, Han,” Jewel said slowly, head cocking to the side and her brow furrowing. “Not past tense. I am attracted to men now.”

“Then why are you with me?”

Jewel stopped.

The flow of people heading for the tractor pull parted around them, chatting happily, their days going on as usual. Jewel watched a small girl in pigtails sat atop her father’s shoulders blow into a bubble wand while they navigated the crowd, little soapy bubbles dripping into her father’s hair and forehead. The bubbles streamed out behind them, popping on the slight breeze. Jewel felt frozen, her feet tacked to the ground beneath her, her whole body unaware that time was passing.

“Y’know,” Jewel said quietly. “Y’know that I’m bisexual, right? I’m attracted to men, and I’m attracted to women.”

“That’s not what your profile said.”

“Well, no, because I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend at the time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Are you sure that it’s not just a phase? Because you like women now.”

“I do. And I like men.”

Hana shook her head.

“Hana, I’m bisexual.”

They stood at odds, staring without looking away.

“You can’t have both of us.”

“That’s not how it works!” She was louder than intended. An old woman Jewel recognized as her high school physics teacher gave them a small scowl- she had never liked Jewel- but did not stop. “I’m not gonna sleep with Dan just because I’m bisexual, Hana, that’s ridiculous. That’s presumptuous, first of all, and insulting. I haven’t shown you in any way that I would cheat on you.”

“They never do,” Hana bitterly snapped. “How am I supposed to trust you when bisexuals are unfaithful an-”

Jewel could hear the air-quotes around the word, as if her identity was just some word to Hana.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jewel said sharply, cutting Hana off. “Don’t you dare.”

Hana stopped, her eyes sad as they met Jewel’s.

“This isn’t the place for this conversation,” Jewel decided. “I’m not gonna have this fight with you in public. C’mon.”

Jewel gestured for Hana to follow her out of the park, their walk quiet and tense. Jewel wanted to talk to Hana, to convince her that her identity, the way she saw herself, was not some phase, some joke. She’d heard the arguments before, that bisexuals were fence-sitters, and confused. She had never expected those words to come from Hana, loving, open, studious Hana. She wanted to hear Hana apologize, ask for forgiveness, and admit that she knew she was wrong. She wanted Hana to listen to her, to listen and understand.

“I’m tired,” Hana said suddenly, when they reached the mouth of the park. “I think I’m just going to go home. I have a lot of work to do this weekend.”

“Let’s talk before you go.”

“I can’t right now. I need to process this.”

“He won’t be a problem,” Jewel insisted, trying to take Hana’s hand but stopping half way. She drew her hand back. Hana took a step back.

“That’s what they always say, but how can I know that you’re not thinking of him every time we’re together?”

It was the way that Hana said it, so calm, so collected, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Her face was expressionless, eyes calculating with every second that passed between them.

“I’ll call you,” Hana decided. “I promise.”

Another step back.

Jewel didn’t make a sound, and then Hana turned and walked away back towards her car. Jewel watched her go. Her stomach wobbled in her gut, as if she’d eaten an entire bag of cotton candy in one sitting. She let the crowd pass around her, working their way towards her little picturesque village festival. Bubbles floated in the air, pinwheels spun, and the air smelled of blooming flowers and hot wings.

***

Her phone rang while she sat at work the next Thursday afternoon, the time passing slowly, each second taking longer with each tick of the clock. Hana hadn’t called. Hana hadn’t texted. Jewel had done both. She didn’t want this to be the end, she liked Hana too much to let this drive them apart, but try as she might, she could not get Hana to respond. The phone rang, and Jewel leapt for it. The phone number wasn’t one she recognized, but hopeful, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Jewel?” a voice she didn’t know came through on the other side. “This is Elissa, from the Spring Festival committee.”

“Yes, this is she.”

“Hi,” she said chipperly. “I’m sorry for the delay, there was a bit of an office mix-up. I’m actually calling to let you know that you won the raffle, and the free dinner for two at La Maison Blanche! You can pick your certificate up at the office in City Hall!”

“Thank you,” Jewel said woodenly. “I’ll pick it up as soon as I can.”

She hung up the phone and stared at her computer, the spreadsheet empty in front of her. She hadn’t gotten anything done all week, her thoughts preoccupied.

She texted Hana again, “hey just checking in to see if you wanted to get dinner this weekend I got that gift card to La Maison Blanche if you wanted to go with me I’ll even get the snails.”

She waited all afternoon and into the night for a response.

Hana texted her apologies, she wouldn’t be calling Jewel, citing her distrust in Jewel as the reason.

She had expected this somewhere in her gut, although her heart had tried and tried to convince her that yes, Hana would come back to her, that yes, everything was going to be alright, yes, yes, yes.

Jewel searched and searched until she found the right number, finally resorting to tapping Julep for information, and then called that night. She got his voicemail on the first call, to which she panicked and hung up before she could leave her message. She hadn’t been sleeping much that week, and her reactions were jolty at best.

She didn’t get a chance to call him again, the number popping back up on her phone as an incoming call.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice unstable.

“Jewel? Is that you? Did you just call me?” Daniel’s voice was an anchor in the moment, holding her in place.

She released the dam, “Hey, yeah, it’s Jewel. Would you wanna get dinner sometime this weekend? On me?”

He was quiet at first, as if processing and digesting slowly. It felt like a kiss on the cheek from the best boy in the world when he answered, “Yeah, I’ve always got time in my schedule for you.”