#like why do people NEVER bring that up yet bring up the stupid fucking harvard thing

[hcuyk]

GOD AND ADDING ON, DOES ANYONE REMEMBER HOW JESS AND RORY WERE ALL OVER EACH OTHER AT THE FUCKING DANCE LIKE DEAN HAD EVERYYYYY RIGHT TO PUBLICALLY BREAK UP WITH HER BECAUSE SHE WAS SCREAMING AT JESS ACROSS THE HALL oh they make me SICK dean they could never make me hate you i swear

[zappedbyzabka]

Prompt: Serial Killers

for @ckhalloween23

(Scream au. Lawrusso. Little fast paced. Just one of a couple variations I’m going to make and build on. Wonky timeline)

Johnny slams the fridge closed dramatically, huffing and stomping towards the ringing phone. He’s pissed all day about various things. One is the fact that no colleges have gotten back to him yet. Is he really that…dumb? He could have sworn despite the various times he’d skip classes in school and flunk, that all the debutante bullshit Sid forced him into would at least work for something. Bobby assured him

(“Oh, come on, Johnny. I don’t hang out with stupid people—“he glanced at Tommy and Dutch, then back at him “Actually, scratch that. All I’m saying is that you’re not *educationally* a dumbass, alright?”)

It helped yet didn’t at all. Of course Bobby isn’t stressed, he and Jimmy have always been the smart ones. Johnny would go as far as to say they’re Harvard material. That comfort was fine and dandy, but Dutch was never good at reading the room, he was always just even more affectionate when Johnny was struggling. Arm around his shoulders as Johnny vented about it all. He just wants to get out of his stepfather’s hands, maybe become a doctor, make good money, and be on his own. Make a family at some point. How can he do that if no school wants him? What if he ends up as a plumber? Dealing with shit for shit money. What if he has to strip for perverts? And he wishes he could stop fucking thinking about that annoying little worm, LaRusso. The fighting and tournament are all over yet he seems to run into him everywhere…he can’t even say he hates it. He almost feels excited every time he sees him, especially when Ali isn’t there—so much less tension. So much more time to chat civilly with less filter. He finds himself hoping they broke up and not because he wants her back. Every date he’d been on recently never called him back. It’s like no one wants him except the cobras—and god is he thankful for them even when they say he’s wrong

(“Hey, at least you look cool even when you’re acting like a total diva.” Dutch teased, and Johnny stiffened. They always called him that and he usually scoffs, but right then it just felt like a way to tell him he’s over reacting.

No, it WAS. “I’m not being a diva. Why do you always say that shit?”

“I think you meant drama queen—“ Tommy started, mouth snapping shut at Bobby’s firm look. “Sorry.”

“What’s so great about college? Can’t you just, I don’t know, work at a diner?” Dutch shrugged

Jimmy raised his brows and nudged Johnny’s shoulder with his, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Don’t listen to him. We understand, okay?”

Johnny smiled at him. Jimmy once said he was one of the only people who never made him feel irritated, even with all his chaos. He’d even let him snag one of his grandpa sweaters, which he was usually such a prissy princess about, and just rolled his eyes when Johnny showed up to school one day wearing one. The day they met, he and Johnny were more alike than different, and that always stuck.

Johnny pushed Dutch’s arm off him hard and Jimmy’s off gently. Dutch frowned as Johnny walked to his bike, the other cobras watching and sharing looks.

“What’d I do?” Dutch all but whined to Bobby who smacked him over the head. “Don’t leave, man, please?”

Johnny shook his head and straddled his bike, grabbing his helmet. “Thanks for the pep talk, guys. I’ll see you later.”

“Call me when you get home!” Bobby shouted as Johnny sped off.)

It must be one of them. Dutch or Bobby in a coin toss. Dutch calling with a sheepish apology, asking if he can bring a pack of beer over. Bobby calling to cheer him up a little and give him tips on making better applications. Maybe Jimmy calling to talk about some movie or book, focusing on the action because he knows Johnny likes it most—a great storyteller. Or maybe it’s Tommy with a laugh in his voice, ready to make him cackle so hard his stomach cramped.

He picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi,” A strange voice answers. It’s like they’re using some sort of modulator.

“Uh, who is this?”

“If I tell you, will you give me a chance?” the voice croon.

A chance at what? “Sure, whatever. Who the hell is this?”

The man chuckles, “So feisty. I always liked that about you.”

“I…what?”

“What's your dating life like? Wait, Let me guess, not going so well?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“What’s your fucking problem?”

“Hey, hey. I’m just curious, you never tell me about those kinds of things when we talk.“

“I never tell you?….Who is this?”

Johnny swears he hears something in the background. Something like wheezing, scraping.

“You wanna play twenty questions?”

“You wanna stop playing games and get to the point or did you want to keep prattling?” Johnny counters, walking back to the fridge with the phone pressed to his shoulder.

“No, I want to play with you for a long time.”

Johnny’s face heats up. “Maybe I’ll let you “play” with me if you tell me more about yourself. Like your name, for example.”

Why is he enjoying this?

“Well, sure!” the voice answers cheerily. “What do you want to know? Other than my name. If I gave you it now that’d be no fun. ”

Johnny thinks about it. It's someone semi-close to him at the least with how he speak. Must be some lame prank.

“Do you…live with your parents?”

“Interesting choice. Yes. My ma was very adamant that I stay until I have everything together.”

Johnny’s ears might as well have physically perked up. “Ma”. He knows a lot of people call their moms that but…

“You know, the way you talk reminds me of a boy who’d be *dead* if this were him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This prick from New Jersey….Kind of changed my life. Mostly for the worse I’d say.”

A hum. “You don’t sound like you hate him all that much for someone who change your life for the worse. Do you?”

Johnny stops pouring the coke staring at the half-filled cup and chewing on his lip “It’s not your turn to ask me things yet.”

“Oh, come on. Humor me.”

“Well, I guess not anymore. I kind of… appreciate him. I’d have stayed with him if he never came around. My buddies too.

“Him?”

“My teacher. Bad guy. Tried to kill me.”

“Should have killed him.” he sounds angry. surprisingly so, like a switch had been flipped.

The mansion is so…eery without his mom and Sid there. Unsettling in a different way than when they’re home. He rests his elbow on the counter, pulling his sleeve over his cold fingers. Will he get drilled into it for turning on the heat? Racking up the bill. “Great idea but I don’t really want to go to jail because I’m actually trying to have a life.”

“I wasn’t talking about you killing, I was talking about me.”

Johnny goes silent. So he knows all about it—what Kreese did—and only so many do.

“You look pretty in that sweater, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny’s brain a moment to process that and when it does he stands up straight, looking out the windows he can see.

“Wha—How do know what I’m wearing?” He changed after he got home. There’s no way he could know that unless…

“Are you all alone?”

Yes. Painfully so.

“I—I’m over this. Bye.”

“Did you lock all the doors?“

Click. He practically slams the phone back in the holder, nerves haywire all over again. He dumps his drink out in the sink in favor of some of the scotch stashed in the cabinet

Pouring it hurriedly then going upstairs to get loose and pass out for a good night's rest.

——————————————————————————

Johnny startles awake, his eyes darting in the direction of the sudden cracking noise—heart jumping in his throat when he sees someone successfully breaking into his room. How did he not wake up sooner?

A big white face with a gaping mouth, gloved hands pushing open the window and stumbling in: clumsy.

Adrenaline hits him like a train.

He slinks off his bed and onto the ground just as the intruder's feet meet the floor

They’re not exactly tall, and their flowy black attire makes it hard to determine their stature

He stands up quickly and runs toward the person but a glint makes him stop in his tracks.

The person tilts their head like a dog, bringing out a kitchen knife smeared with blood.

They step towards him, and he steps back, that pattern continuing until Johny only has the corner of the wall behind him, nowhere to escape. He was taught better than this—maybe he can still run.

The intruder sweeps his legs causing him to fall on his back and lose all his breath, lungs feeling like they were punched, his head knocking on the floor making him see stars. The person gets between his legs easily and puts a hand on his chest to hold him down (though it feels more like a grope) and the blade still held in warning

Maybe he could get it away from him. Maybe he can get himself to move if he just takes a deep breath. Wills away the dizziness.

Heavy breathing comes from the mask, and he trails the blade down Johnny's body slowly. Toying with him. Staring at him with big black eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d catch yourself better, you’re usually such a cat….” he leans in “You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you? Bad boy.”

“Are you going to kill me? Johnny asks, voice high and tight.

“Are you scared?” his voice is strange like he’s impersonating someone, like they’re going as deep as they can. Breathy.

Johnny grits his teeth, eyes on the blood smeared on the mask.

“I…I’ll give you whatever you want of mine. Just please don’t take my parents’ stuff—“

The boy shakes his head. “Don’t be scared.”

Johnny’s hands tremble where they’re clutching his sweater. He could wrap his legs around his waist and squeeze tight, roll him over, and surprise him enough to escape.

But the knife—but the butterflies in his stomach.

He was always fascinated by knives. The way they reflected things. He used to play with the switchblade his dad left when he was young. He hid it from his mom until the day he accidentally sliced his hand and needed stitches. She was furious, he was thinking about just how dark his blood was. Not at all like the movies he’d watch that looked like ketchup. He thought it was beautiful

“I know you like blood on your hands but — “ The intruder swipes the red off his mask with a finger, leather shining with it. Johnny’s eyes follow widely, “Is it like I do?”

He almost sounds hopeful. Vulnerable. Johnny’s heart thumps loudly. he hates murder. Murder is wrong. It’d make him a bad person if he sometimes thought about going further than a strike. More than just his hands and high kicks and words. He says nothing, and the boy tuts his tongue, wiping the blood on Johnny’s lips like some sort of fucked up lipstick.

“I think you do. I know you, Johnny. Better than you think I do. Better than you know me.”

“No. No. I don’t like it.” Johnny chokes out, tongue threatening to peek out a lick his lips clean.

He can just sense he’s smiling. “Okay, pretty boy.”

He knows him. He *knows* him.

The intruder covers his eyes, shushing soothingly when Johnny goes tense

“No more dates for you. ” he whispers, and Johnny flinches when he feels the heat of their mouth hovering over his. “I’ll keep making sure of it. And since you *don’t* want blood on your hands, you should probably just give up because next time, I’ll stab them when you’re still there.”

It clicks in his head like a phone getting hung up: All the failed dates, they’re dead. All because of him. All because this man is… is what? Obsessed with him?

He kisses Johnny out of no where and it’s eager, rough like he had been waiting forever. Like he’s trying to eat Johnny like a blood-glazed cake lips first and he just lays there and takes it. Opens his mouth and tastes his tongue: iron and mint. Something interesting.

He turns his head abruptly, hand still covering his eyes firmly, and the kiss breaks with a wet noise that has Johnny’s feeling warm. He breathes through his nose, tears welling at the corner of his eyes. He’s striking first and Johnny hasn’t struck him once

“Aw. I’m disappointed you’re done so soon, but that’s okay. I’m not pushy. I wasn’t even sure you’d let me…You chew on things so much, you have no idea the things I think about you.“

A rustle, then the moonlight filling Johnny’s vision again.

The murderer gets up and saunters to his bedroom door, looking back at him with his hand on the knob

Johnny sits up his elbows, licking the roof of his mouth to savor.

“One day, I won’t have to make calls, ‘cause you are instead,” he tells Johnny like a promise before he opens the doors with a creak and steps out.

Johnny lays back again, shaking with it all. No want in him to close his window or see if the boy is burglarizing the mansion or just going out the front door like he owns the place.

He might ask someone out tomorrow.

[libraryofloveletters]

Just A Phase

Evan Buckley x Reader 

Warnings: fem!reader, typical high school nonsense, kinda rude behaviour at first meet, mentions of weed/alcohol and the consumption of, typical cocky jock behaviour, few swear words, being tipsy/drunk

Category: fluff and a little angst 

Word Count: 5.4k

Author’s Note: I just started writing and this is where I ended up so yeah also I feel like I haven’t written in a million years, forgive me if this is shitty // I referred to Buck as Evan for the first little bit because he and the reader had been introduced yet. // thank you to my darling @floralbuckleys for their help!

----

Senior Year Of High School. 

 Evan Buckley, certified jock and bad boy. 

He was the type of guy that only had a soft spot for you, but you didn’t know that yet. Truthfully he wasn’t a mean guy - people just perceived him that way because he was on the football team and popular. He had somewhat of a troublesome reputation.

People knew where he went, trouble followed. 

You, on the other hand, came from a somewhat above average family. Your mom’s a nurse and dad’s a lawyer. They always had big hopes and dreams for you, for you to go off to Harvard in the fall and follow in your father’s footsteps but you didn’t want that. 

You dreamt of being a writer - you couldn't bring yourself to tell your parents that. Since you were young, they had instilled “you’re going to go to Harvard” in you. 

You couldn’t back out now. 

See, high school worked a certain way. You kept to your circles and didn’t mingle with those that didn’t fit into your circle. You and Evan didn’t run in the same circle - he was a troublesome jock and you were a smart preppy girl. 

Being the preppy kid meant volunteering where you could to bulk up your college application hence why you were at school on a Friday afternoon, waiting for the kids to show up. You were part of some tutor program that your chemistry teacher put you into. 

It was mostly just kids that needed some clarification on their work and the occasional jock that needed to pass a course to stay on the team.

You weren't surprised when a group of noisy jocks stumbled in the study hall, reeking of sweat from practice.  

You were surprised to see Evan, he hadn't been in there before. 

“Settle down boys” Mrs. Jacobs told them before sending each guy off to a tutor, leaving Evan standing beside her. “You can head over to y/n” she pointed at you, you gave him a small smile when you glanced up. He looked unpleasant, like he didn’t want to be there. 

He made his way over nonetheless. “Good afternoon” you say quietly, unsure if he heard you. He grumbles a hello as he sits down. 

The first few minutes, it was quiet. He sat there flipping through his textbook and scribbling down answers into the notebook in front of him. 

“Is there anything I can help you-” “I'm not stupid.” 

You glance at him, eyes catching his blue ones looking back at you. “I never said you were.” 

“I'm only here because I didn’t turn in my mid term project and now stupid Mr. Jefferson thinks I don't understand this shit” he explains himself. 

You hum, glancing down at the notebook in front of him, pulling it towards you. Reading over the sheet, all the answers were right. A hum of satisfaction slips pass your lips as you slide the notebook back over to him. 

“Not just another dumb jock then.” your eyes study his face after the statement. His lips curl into a small smile, a hum as he turns his attention back to his paper. 

“So prep life must be dull - no parties, all study.” 

“Who says prep kids don't party ?” 

He chuckles, “maybe the lack of prep kids at the parties.” “I’ll have you know, I party plenty, Evan.” 

Once again, he chuckles. “The phrasing of that statement shows that you clearly don’t- but call me Buck, all the guys do.” he slides the notebook over to you. 

“Check this over, I'll be back” you watched as he stepped out of the study hall and disappeared into the hallway. 

A few minutes pass by, you’re tired and in need of a nap but you blink away the tiredness to read his work. There’s a voice behind you and then you feel something heavy on your chair. Leaning back to figure out what it was, the back of your head hit something hard. You shift in your seat and look up to see your head has hit Buck’s torso. 

“How's the work, peach ?” his voice is low, the drop in octave from before causes butterflies in your stomach. 

Your brows furrow at the nickname, he noticed your confusion and glances down at your top and your eyes follow his only to see that your peach colour bra was sticking out from the top of your shirt. 

You had stretched back into your seat when he stepped out and you hadn't noticed the shift in your clothing.

Pulling the top of your shirt back up, he smiles and returns to his seat. You clear your throat, head down and eyes on the work in front of you as you could feel the blush on your face. 

“Um, the work is fine.” 

“Do you have plans tonight ?” 

“No, why?” 

“Come with me to Johnson’s party, you can show me how prep kids party” he smiles, his words are teasing you- taunting you even. “I would, but my parents are out of town so I don’t have the car and I have to watch the house.” 

“The house won’t disappear if you’re gone for a few hours and I'll pick you up then. What’s your address ?” 

“Buck, I really shouldn't” 

“Y/n, come on. Pull the stick out your ass for one night and enjoy senior year. You can go back to Harvard prep tomorrow.” 

His word choice doesn't shock you, it’s quite on brand for him. He’s looking at you, waiting for your answer and you can't help but give in.

Taking the pen from him, you scribble your address and number on his notebook. “See you at 7?” picking your bag up before slinging it over your shoulder. 

“7? Peach, the party doesn’t start ‘till 9. I’ll pick you up at 10:30.” 

“Oh um- okay.” you hum, confused but you agree anyways. 

--- 

10:45 and you were sitting on your couch, glancing at your phone and back to the window. 

You had been stood up once before but to be stood up by a jock, and a popular one ? Will be the death of any social life you had. 

Finally there’s a knock on your door and you get up a little faster than you would have liked but you make your way over. Pulling it open, you met with Buck. 

“Ready ?” 

“Sure, let me grab my phone” you leave the door open, stepping back to the couch. Buck had disappeared from the doorway when you returned, you locked up and followed what looked like headlights to the driveway. 

Buck sat on his bike, he scoots forwards a bit before patting the space behind him. 

“No.” you mumble. 

“What ?” 

“I’m not getting on that thing.” 

“That thing ? I'm offended. Come on, you’ll be fine.” 

“Evan, no.” 

Buck gets up, making his way over to you. His hands grab yours, looking at you now. “Y/n, I promise you that you’ll be fine. Can we go now ?” 

“I’ll kill you if something happens to you” you grumbled as you reluctantly made your way over to the bike. Buck gets on first, you mirror his actions. Your hands were to your side, Buck reached back and wrapped them around his waist. 

“You good back there ?” 

“As good as I could be.”

-- 

The house, who you assumed belonged to Johnson’s parents, (you had no idea who Johnson was because you barely ever went to the football games) reeked of alcohol and weed. 

Your face didn’t hide your displeasure as well as you thought it had. Buck chuckled as he slung his arm over your shoulder. 

“So is this what you do ?” you shout over the loud music, Buck was saying hello to someone he knew and wasn't paying attention to what you had asked him. 

You manage to wiggle your way out of his grip and find your way to the kitchen. It’s a few minutes later that Buck finds you sipping on a beer. 

“You drink ?” he gives you a questionable look with a smile on his face. 

“You brought me to a party so I'll do what people do at a party” you hum, leaning back against the counter. He finds his way to you, leaning back against the counter too. 

“Enjoying the party ?” 

“Not really, you kinda left me to talk to some guy for twenty minutes” 

“That guy happens to be our star quarterback.” 

“I care why?” you glance up at him. Buck’s face is pure amusement, you aren't sure if you’re the cause of that or something else but the way he's looking at you- you can feel the butterflies again. 

“Buck!” a group of guys shout as they make their way into the kitchen. They all say hello to him, some are drinking, some are shoving chips into their mouths. 

You stay quiet while Buck talks to them and judging by their varsity jackets, it was safe to assume that they were on the team with Buck. 

“Who’s your friend ?” a brunette guy asks him, stepping towards you. 

“I’m y/n, you are?” you ask before Buck could. 

“Mike, call me Johnson.” 

“Oh, so this is your place ? Cute house” you give him a smile, he laughs. 

“How do you know Buck?” Johnson asks, he was nosy for a drunk guy. 

“Just bumped into each other, we have class together” you lie, not sure if Buck wanted them to know how you really met, Buck gives you a small smile. 

“You’re pretty, how about a dance ?” his hand grabs yours. 

“Thanks but no thanks” you give a polite smile before pulling your hand away. 

Johnson takes a step forward, his hand reaching out and grabbing your hip. “C’mon, dance with me” you could smell the alcohol on him- he reeked. You push his hand off, “I said no thank you” you tell him once more, being ever so polite. 

“Y/n, c’mon, one dance baby” he takes another step, he’s now face to face with you. Before you could say anything, Buck is in front of you, between you and Johnson. 

“Dude, she said no. Leave her alone.” 

Buck’s sudden need to protect you was much appreciated. Usually if a guy did that, especially a jock, you’d be weird out because they never pay attention to you- but Buck, you had this indescribable feeling, pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief ? 

“She’s not even your girl, why are you protecting her?” 

“Doesn’t matter, she said no so get out of her fucking face.” Buck’s hand was against his chest, pushing him away as his other hand reached back for yours. It would be cheesy to say that your hand fit in his like it was made to be there but it was true. 

Buck’s hand was still in yours as he pulled you out the back door. Your back was up against the wall as he stood in front of you. 

“Are you okay ?” you could hear the concern in his voice - different from his usual tone. 

At a loss for words, his eyes study your face. Johnson was a douche and he knew that, he mentally cursed himself for even bringing you here. 

“Y/n.. talk to me” he takes a step towards you. 

“Buck,” your hand presses against his chest, “I'm fine. It’s not the first time a drunk guy has hit on me” 

A breath of relief slipped past his lips, “do you want to leave?” his face softens when he asks. “No, I'm alright.” 

“Stay here, I'll be back” his hand comes down and squeezes your waist gently before he steps back into the house. 

--

It was a while before Buck returned. He had disappeared into the house for half an hour and when he returned, you were by the pool with a pingpong ball in hand. 

“Suck it!” your loud laugh filled his ears, you took a sip from the red cup in your hand and you watched as the guy across from you drank the beer in the cup that the ball landed in. 

“Looks like you’re having fun” Buck smiles, now beside you. 

“Hey!” you reeked of beer at this point. “I’m having fun” your words come out in a slurred mumble. 

“Mhm okay, I think it’s time to head home” Buck takes the cup from you and sets it down. 

“What ?” Your hand reaches for the cup again, a pout evident on your face.

Buck’s hands finds your waist, hoisting you up and over his shoulder. A louder than expected gasp left your mouth, you felt the cold breeze against your legs as he walked towards the front of the yard. 

He put you down in the backseat of a car but you knew you came with his bike so you were confused, just as you go to ask, he scoots you over and gets in the back with you. Buck’s arm is over your shoulder, you’re so tired that you just lean into him. 

-- 

You had noticed you fell asleep and when you woke, you were on the porch swing at your house with Buck’s hand in your pocket. 

“Whatcha looking for?” he glances up at you when he hears your voice. 

“Keys.” 

“Other pocket” 

He manages to find the keys and get the door open. Getting you in the house was another story. “Y/n, come on” he pulls your hands in an attempt to get you up but you weren’t budging. 

What happened to you being a prep kid and not drinking ? He didn’t even think it was possible to get drunk that fast. 

“No, tired” you mumbles, making yourself comfortable on the porch swing. “Do you want your parents to come home and find you here? I’m cool with leaving you here if that’s the case” Buck teased, he had no idea when your parents were coming home. 

The mention of your parents finding you outside, drunk, horrified you. You got up so quick, you nearly toppled over. Buck helped you inside and onto the couch. He disappeared for a moment and then returned with a glass of water. 

“Small sips” he settles beside you, watching as you take a sip. You hum, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm comes over your shoulder. 

“Buck?” 

“Yeah?” 

He felt your head shift, now looking up at him, eyes full of sleep. You were studying his face, from the birthmark above his eye to his pink lips.

“I really like you, you know” your words filled with sleep as your eyes drooped, you blinked a few times, forcing yourself to stay awake.

Buck chuckles, “that’ll pass peach, I’m just a phase.” He hummed quietly, fingers running through your hair as you drift to sleep. 

--

The Monday after the party, you saw Buck in the hallway after waking up to an empty house on the couch, head pounding even in the deafening silence and and you can’t quite remember how you got home. 

Buck had been radio silence since then but you weren't sure why. He was walking in from the front doors and you were by your locker. You turn to speak to him but he barely glances at you before continuing his conversation with Johnson. 

From that day, you never spoke to Buck again. Last you saw him was graduation day and last you had heard was that he was in college and you were headed off to Harvard. 

----

Present.

You had become a big shot lawyer, everything your parents wanted. Moved out to LA to start your own firm and everything was going well until this morning. 

You had barely walked into the office when the fire alarm went off. The sudden alarm caused an onset of commotion in the office, the woman next to you bumped into you, spilling your hot cup of coffee onto you. 

She mumbled a sorry as she passed but you could feel the heat coming from where the liquid had spilt. Nonetheless, you made your way out, the sound of the sirens from fire trucks blaring. 

Not that you didn’t enjoy seeing the handsome firefighters (or so your co-workers seem to say) but you had a ton of paperwork to do for an upcoming case you had and you barely started. 

You stood by the curb, watching as the firefighters made their way over to the crowd and into the building to clear it. 

“Ma'am ?” A firefighter made his way over to you, there was a helmet in his hand as he passed a hand through his hair. You glance up from your phone, to see what he wanted. 

“May I take a look?” his eyes shifted to your chest where there is currently a coffee stain on your white shirt. “Oh, thank you but no. I’m fine” 

“Are you sure? Because that’ll leave a pretty nasty mark if you don't get it cleaned. If you aren’t comfortable, we have a female medic” he offered, hoping you’d consider. 

“You’re a medic ?” you asked, looking him up and down. He nods, taking a step back. He begins walking back to the ambulance and you follow him. “Do you want me to get her?” 

“No, you’re a professional, it’s cool” you give him a small smile before moving your shirt so he could check. 

The firefighter’s hand was now right under your collarbone, dabbing at your skin with some gauze. His fingers were cold, you weren’t sure if it was actually his fingers or the gloves that were cold but either way you looked at him. 

“What’s your name ?” 

“Diaz, Eddie Diaz” he tells you, flashing you a smile before going back to his job. 

You hum, staying still as Eddie rubs something on your skin. 

That’s when you saw him. 

The same blue eyes, the same blonde hair, the same gorgeous smile that always played in your mind. Not a day went by that you didn’t think of him. You had always wondered what he ended up doing, he was smart and destined for great things, there was more for him than a small life in a place where no one ever really did anything. 

Every guy you had dated, you compared to him. It was always something- they didn’t look like him, they didn’t act like him, they didn’t treat you the way he did, they wouldn't stand up for you like he did. 

He lived rent free in your mind. 

“Ma'am?” Eddie’s voice broke your gaze. “Y/n,” you corrected him, “ma’am is for old women” your eyes going back to Buck. Eddie noticed your lack of attention and followed your gaze. 

“Do you know Buck?” 

“He still lets people call him that ?” you chuckle to yourself, feeling Eddie’s eyes burning a hole into you. 

Before you could answer, his radio buzzed before a voice came through, “building’s clear. Start directing people back in.” Eddie looks over at you, you’re already getting out of the ambulance. 

“Keep that clean and dry” were his last words to you after you left. 

--- 

It wasn’t until you were back in the building that you realized your phone was in the ambulance. 

You were majorly screwed. 

Remembering the medic’s name which was the only thing you remember mids the confusion and seeing Buck after 10+ years. You asked around the office if anyone knew what station responded to the call. You had contacts that worked for the city but the lack of phone made it hard for you to call and find out. 

Finally giving in, you google the medic’s name. There were a few articles that had photos but none of them said anything that helped. There was a video from Taylor Kelly at channel 8 news, some sort of video about the fire station. 

Station 118- that was 10 minutes down the road and you pass it everyday on the way to work. The thoughts began filling your head, had Buck been there all along? 

12 years- 12 long, empty years that you acted like he didn’t exist and that you didn’t want to know what happened between you two but he was right down the road. 

You didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to him. You had finally come to peace with it even though a part of you will always long for what could have been. Feelings aside, you set out to the station to get your phone. 

Upon arriving, there were a few guys by the trucks. You asked for Eddie, assuming that he might have an idea of where your phone ended up or if they even found it. 

“Up the stairs and he should be somewhere up there” the guy pointed, you thanked him before heading towards the stairs. When you got upstairs, it was empty. 

You weren't sure if you should go back down or wait so you sort of awkwardly stood there, glancing around the room. The station was nicer than you had imagined it to be, not that you really had an idea of what to expect. 

Your back was to the kitchen when someone tapped your shoulder. “Can I help you?” his voice called out as you turned. 

Buck. 

You let out a breath, your eyes studying his perfect face for a moment. Do you say something or just pretend like you didn’t know him?

“Yeah, I'm uh- I'm looking for Eddie. I think I left my phone in the ambulance.” 

“Do I know you from somewhere ?” 

“I work at the building down the road, 14th street. You guys were there earlier, hence the phone in the ambulance” you tell him, hoping he drops the topic. 

“Y/n! Hey! What are you doing here?” You see Eddie call from behind Buck. 

Thank god. 

“I left my phone in the ambulance. I figured you’d know what happened to it” you’ve stepped past Buck and towards Eddie now. “I haven’t seen it, but maybe it’s still in there. Come with me, we can check for it” 

Eddie was making his way down the stairs and you were behind him when Buck called your name. 

Not y/n. 

Peach. 

You paused, taking a deep breath in before turning to face him. “I thought I remembered you from somewhere” he smiled, him and his stupid smile. 

“I’m in a rush, Evan. Plus, I'm not in the mood to reminisce.” 

The smile dropped from his face, the guilt crept up on you. The feeling of your stomach twisting, sighing before making your way down to Eddie who was by the ambulance, your phone in hand. 

“There’s more to the story than I thought,” Eddie hands the phone over, you give him a hum and thank him. “Let me walk you out.” he follows you out to your car. 

“You know, whatever he did- he’s changed. He’s a good guy.” Eddie says, his voice sincere. 

“I know, I just- I don't know” 

“What did he do? If I can ask” 

“We were- I don't know what we were. We hung out in high school, just once but he was different from the other guys. He genuinely cared. We went to a party together and he brought me home after. I remember falling asleep with him in the house and the next morning he was gone. Total radio silence that whole weekend and when I saw him at school the following week, he acted like he didn’t know me - it was like that for the rest of senior year. We never spoke after that.” 

Here you were pouring your heart out to a firefighter who you had only met an hour ago who also had seen your bare chest (in a professional way, of course)  on a Tuesday morning in the parking lot. 

“Wow- I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk to him.”

“Yeah, thank you for the phone though. I gotta get back to work” 

“Wait, let me get your number” 

You pause, looking at him with furrowed brows. He seemed confused then he realized how that sounded. “Oh god- no not like that, sorry. I meant maybe we could grab a drink sometimes, as friends and maybe you could tell me more about high school Buck ?” 

“Um- yes to the number and drinks but I don’t know about Buck” you hand the phone back over to him, telling him that you’d text him. 

--- 

It was a while before you heard from Eddie, he said he was off on Saturday if you were up for drinks and weren't busy. The whole team was going out but he invited you along to join them. 

After some back and forth “I couldn't intrude” and “you won’t be, come join us” you finally gave in. 

Now it’s 9pm and you, Eddie and Buck are sitting at a booth. Coincidentally, everyone else was busy. Chimney and Hen who you hadn’t met yet, were with their significant others and kids. So that left the 3 of you together. 

You wanted to walk back out when you saw it was only the two of them but Eddie had seen you and called you over. His phone buzzed just as Buck came back with drinks. 

“Everything okay?” Buck asked his friend, Eddie, still typing away on his phone. “Huh? Yeah, it’s Carla. Chris is running a fever” you could hear the concern in his voice. 

“Chris is your son?” 

“Yeah- I'm sorry I got to go. I’ll make it up to you. Drinks on me another night” Eddie gave your shoulder a squeeze as he stood. 

“No yeah, of course. Go, it’s fine” you smiled. 

“Let me know if you need anything” Buck shifts towards Eddie, the two of them seem to have some sort of routine or way of how things work between them.  

And now there were two. 

Buck sipped on his beer, you sat across from him, your nails tapping against the bottle in front of you. He was the first one to speak.

“So, how have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good too. I don’t know if you remember my sister but she had a baby recently so I've been hanging out with her after work”

“Oh, that’s nice. Maddie right?”

“Yeah, she had a little girl. She’s the cutest little girl ever.” Buck pulls his phone out, showing you a photo of him holding a baby in a blanket with a brunette beside him. The woman beside him, Maddie you assumed, was smiling at Buck, fixing the blanket while he looked at the camera, the joy evident on his face.

“She’s adorable and your sister looks the same, she hasn’t aged a day” you hum, passing the phone over to him.

Back to awkward silence.

“What happened to us?” Buck’s question catches you off guard.

“What happened to us? You happened.”

“What? I thought we were friends.” Your eyes met, his full of confusion and yours with displeasure.

“Friends don’t disappear in the middle of the night with no explanation and ignore them for the rest of senior year.” You get up, grab your phone and make your way to the door. Buck’s calling out to you but you don’t want to stop and talk to him.

The night was cold, the wind hit your bare shoulders and you shivered for a moment before walking. Buck was still calling out your name, he had followed you out the bar.

“Y/n! Stop! Y/n, c’mon. Please!” His hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you in place. You pull your hand back.

“No! You don’t get to do that. Act like everything is fine when you disappeared with no explanation. I know we weren’t best friends but I thought we were at least friends. That fucking hurt, Evan.”

“Fine,” he sighs, looking at you. “You want the truth ?” Your brows raised, waiting for him to continue.

“You told me you liked me. You were a good kid, going to Harvard, which you obviously did” gesturing at you, he continued. “I didn’t know what I wanted and I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to be by my side until I figured it out. I knew you would resent me for that and I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t do it to myself.”

“That’s selfish. It’s about you ? That’s why you left with no explanation ? You couldn’t do it to yourself ? Man the fuck up Buck, life isn’t about you.” 

“You think I don’t know that ?! You think I didn’t think about you all the time? That I didn’t miss you?” 

“Don’t start with that shit. You knew where I would be. You said it yourself, I was “a good kid, going to Harvard” so if you really missed me, you could have found me.” 

“Y/n, be real. We were just out of high school, what means did I have to go searching for you? I had my own shit to deal with.” 

“Just stop, I don’t even want to know.” 

“No, you stop” 

“No you.” 

“Y/n” his voice was stern, the annoyance clearly there. 

“Evan.” your tone matched his.

That stupid smug smile of his was on his face, that was enough to make you roll your eyes. “’Kay, I'm over your shit.” turning away from him, you go to walk away but his hand grabs yours. 

Still fit like it was made to be there. 

Before you could register what was happening, Buck’s lips were on yours. Maybe time stopped when Buck’s lips met yours but your heart didn’t- it felt like it was beating a million times seconds and the butterflies in your stomach were restless. 

It wasn't clear to either of you at the moment that it had started pouring rain but it didn’t matter. There was this raw emotion in the way his hands felt on your waist or how his chest was pressed to yours. 

Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t open his eyes slightly, sneaking a guilty peek at you just to make sure you weren’t a fiction of his imagination. Every breath he took smelt of lavender and honey, the same scent that had lingered on his mind since the day he met you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, if that was even possible. 

Maybe this was meant to be, fate bringing back what was meant for him to him or maybe this really was all a fabrication of his imagination but he wanted to live in his moment forever. 

It wasn't until thunder rumbled that he pulled away. The rain had soaked your clothes and hair, your makeup had smudged and half of your lipstick was on Buck. 

The same stupid smug smile on his face.

“God,” rolling your eyes at him. “You’re so annoying.” wiping your lips with the back on your hand, hoping that you got all the lipstick off. 

“Yeah, I'm the annoying one” Buck’s face twisted, giving you a playful shove as you stepped towards him. Your thumb comes up to wipe the lipstick off him. Buck’s arm lifts, now over your shoulder. 

The two of you looked at each other as you made your way down the street. 

“Just a phase huh ?” you hum, glancing at Buck. 

The blonde let out a chuckle, “maybe not.” 

--- 

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @spencersendgame​ @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21 @fernandaweasley2 @yikesyikesyikes95 @hotchsdarling @duhbar1975 @wowitsel @mrspeacem1nusone​ @jillys-feral-fandoms @iris-oaklee-carter-911oc @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner @captainxholmes @venusrosepetal @babybuckleys @looney-literature @caitsymichelle13@artemishunter18​ @may-grants​ @floralbuckleys​ @mrs-dr-reid​

[collisiondiscourse]

Man, why does it feel like the threshold for success has a time limit? I always feel like if I'm not an insanely popular artist or powerful influencer by the time I turn eighteen, then I am an utter failure and a waste of my teenage years. I think one of the biggest pitfalls of how the generation of kids today has been raised is that we've basically been socialized to think that our best achievements have to come in our youth or else they become virtually worthless.

Like... Oh? you're a talented pianist and played in front of an auditorium of hundreds at an opera house? how old were you when that happened?

A forty-seven-year-old would be met with a few impressed nods, maybe, and people congratulating them for all their hard work and experience.

A fourteen-year-old would get news articles. they'd go viral on the internet and thousands of people would be clambering over each other to sing praises of how they were blessed with such innate talent.

I get it. It's impressive, right? Because they're young and haven't had plenty of years of experience. These kids, by all means, deserve all the praise and attention for working hard to get where they were!

But that's not the case, is it? And the culture of people putting more credit for young people's achievements doesn't even fuckin end there.

Because not only does this exact same pattern happen with literally every single thing ever, even totally non-competitive hobbies like painting, it happens with such frequency that it's considered normal. Articles use age markers about successes to serve as clickbait for their articles. Cable companies start shows purely about young prodigies and how they've beaten their adult competitors. Because who wouldn't wanna hear about a ten-year-old chess champion, right?

And what's even worse is that it then becomes a competition even among young people themselves! You scroll down on a video of a pre-teen playing Winter Wind and I promise you there will be at least one asshole saying shit like "This kid is not impressive. I saw a nine year old do the same thing the other day!"

It eats away at you! It really fucking does! because we go down this stupid rabbit-hole wherein younger and younger kids get paraded around and raised to be prodigies and meanwhile here you are, sixteen, and having a panic attack because you can't go back in time and force your eight-year-old self to keep playing the violin. It's stressful. It aches. Instead of bringing up younger people around us, we're stuck in this miserable zone where we constantly get compared and pitted against each other because we couldn't "maximize our childhood".

Isn't it enough to just... exist?

There have already been many conversations on the nature of college. How it's utter BS that people have to choose what career they want for the rest of their lives as early as junior year in HS. But what a lot of people don't talk about is just how early people are forced to decide what hobbies they want to do for the rest of their lives. People who start learning how to play an instrument at 28 can't do so without constantly being questioned why they started so late. A drawing with decent coloring garners more credit and attention for the average tween than the struggling middle-aged woman, despite both having an equal amount of experience with visual arts.

Parents constantly tell their children to study harder, to practice more--to just keep on work, work, working until their children become the perfect model dolls they use flex to one another over brunch. It's constantly having your name be followed up by your latest achievement and not anything about who you are as a person.

"This is Codi. She is a straight-A student and got invited to compete at Harvard."

"This is Codi. She is on her school's math team and knows how to play the piano."

"This is Codi. She is--"

I am a human being, thank you.

It's never "This is Codi, and he loves fashion and losing at video games." or "This is Codi, and he likes listening to annoying pop songs from the early 2010s and laying down in the rain."

Why? because none of that matters! None of that is worth listening to because anything less than what I can do to represent my family, my school, my team, my country will never be anything more than a waste of time. It's toxic, how today's generation of teenagers have to be celebrities or important figures or champions or prodigies before they are people.

It gets worse, though.

People start counting your talents like tally marks for points. You can't "just be an artist" anymore. If you draw, then you also have to be good at writing. And poetry. And graphic design. And a sport. Oh, you only know one language? Oh, you've only learned the basics of the guitar? It's like a fucking marker, ticking off boxes to determine the worth of these teenagers on the marketability of their achievements.

And, okay, it's a misrepresentation to only blame parents, right? Because it's a systematic thing. A new societal expectation for kids to be the next fucking Renaissance--with peer pressure for things like relationship experience and wild stories too. We kids now worry about not being special enough, not phenomenal enough, or beautiful enough, or talented enough, or smart enough, or experienced enough. And it's weird!

It's weird how teens now flex how tired and burnt out they are! It's weird how I've had conversations that turned into competitions of how many bullshit responsibilities we have on our plate. It's weird how I've met kids on the honor roll that are so adamant to prove to people that they've gone to parties, had alcohol, and slept around.

It's a goddamn tragedy, watching so many of my peers turning into burnouts before they've even graduated high school.

We are expected to be the most. If that one singer could do it, if that one global warming activist could do it, if that one Olympic athlete could do it--then why can't you? Why can't you have over 20.7k followers on Twitter? Why can't you have started your own band and release a popular album? Why can't you have published your own book by now? Why can't you be good enough?

I sit here, typing away at this stupid post and being unhappy and feeling like I am not good enough. I am an artist. I am a writer. I speak more than one language and play more than one instrument. I used to be a straight-A student and nationally competed in maths and sciences competitions. I am an international finalist for my sport and have multiple gold medals from foreign countries.

Yet still, I feel like my timer is running short.

[yellowocaballero]

Small Joke Story Bc I’m Not A Coward

 “Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”

“Why not?!” 

“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead. 

Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously. 

“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”

Hm. 

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him. 

TMA American AU, made as a result of four hours of increasingly inane text messages between myself and @lazuliquetzal. Every time we bring this show further from Britain it is brought further into the light. 

Read the rest of it under the cut!

The timing had to be exact. 

They had agreed to wait for the 55th Annual Historical Salem Convention to roll around. It was the closest thing they had to security while working at the Usher Foundation. After a while you really did get used to eyes constantly watching you, all the time, never feeling quite safe in your own skin, but it never really hurt to be careful. Especially when it came to Elias Bouchard. 

Personally, Martin really didn’t see what the big deal was. Of course there was a mysterious, malevolent entity always watching you, judging you, finding you wanting, and finally condemning you to eternal suffering. God existed. 

Still, it seemed to bug the others, so Martin bribed Rosie with a loaf of his trademark sausage and cheese loaf to let him know when Elias excitedly left for his favorite event of the year. When he got the text from Rosie, Martin stood up from his chair, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Bouchard has flown the coop!”

On the turn of a dime, everyone stopped pretending to work. Tim threw down his pen, Melanie jumped up and ran to go wheel out the whiteboard, Basira tossed her book over her shoulder and pulled out her secret legal pad, Daisy logged off her favorite website GunShoppersUSA.com, Sasha spat out her chewing tobacco into the tin on her desk and put her boots back on the ground, and even Jon emerged from his office with a grim expression. 

“It’s time,” Tim said grimly. “It’s time that we all find out the fuckin’ truth.”

“I keep on telling you, you’re over-reacting,” Jon insisted. He dug his hands in the pockets of his Harvard hoodie, scowling. Martin fastidiously arranged the plaque on his desk (“Your Life Is A Gift From God: What You Do With That Life Is Your Gift To Him”) as he imagined ripping it off him. Best not to be inappropriate during work hours. “Why put forth all the effort for such a stupid lie?”

“It’s hardly his first lie to us,” Basira said, seemingly bored and watching Jersey Shore on her phone. “He also lied about not being an omniscient serial killer.”

“This is different!” Tim said, slamming his fist on his desk and Melanie rolled the whiteboard in. “That’s a matter of common sense. Who wouldn’t lie about being a serial killer?”

“If I was a serial killer I wouldn’t lie about it,” Sasha said with a straight face. “I’m not a pussy.”

“I am a serial killer,” Daisy said, bored. 

“You guys are fucking freaks,” Tim said.    

“Jesus christ, just say y’all,” Sasha said, yet again. Martin nodded fastidiously. 

“All’a youse be quiet,” Jon muttered. He walked forward and sat down in the chair next to Martin’s desk, which made him flush. Martin quietly pushed over his big candy bowl full of fudge, which Jon absently took and stuffed in his mouth seemingly without realizing it. “What’s alla this ‘bout, then?”

“Wow, he really must be tired,” Basira muttered to Daisy, who looked strongly as if she was pretending not to mark down whenever Jon’s hilarious accent jumped out. 

 “Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”

“Why not?!” 

“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead. 

Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously. 

“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”

Hm. 

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him. 

Sasha, from where she was sitting across from him, noticed the action. She smiled reassuringly at Martin. “Don’t worry. I kinda...I kinda get Tim about the Elias secretly being British thing, but there’s no way there’s any witchcraft going on here.”

“I just heavily disapprove of witchcraft,” Martin said haltingly. “And I really don’t think it’s something we should joke about -”

“We know,” everyone said. 

“You tried to exorcise Jane Prentiss,” Tim pointed out. 

“She was of the Devil! So sue me!”

“She was definitely of the Devil,” Sasha agreed. “I’ve seen hordes of insects that big plenty’a times, and they’re definitely Devil work. One time, I saw this spider the size of a dinner place eat a bird -”

“Shut up about the bird spider,” Jon screamed, “I am sick to death of the bird spider -”

“She was of Portland,” Basira said flatly.

“What’s the difference?” Daisy asked. 

Basira fixed Daisy with a cold, beady stare. “Unless you want everyone in this room to know exactly what place you got in the Miss Kentucky County Fair Pageant -”

“Second,” Jon said, “it was humiliating.”

Daisy took out her hunting knife the size of her forearm, which Basira quickly wrestled from her, and it took another twenty seconds for Sasha to call the room to order. Martin stared longingly at the gun cabinet they kept in a corner of the room underneath a big pile of boxes, which everybody had a key to but Jon. 

“Okay,” Tim said loudly, after the room had returned to relative order. Mostly through Martin feeding Jon the toffee fudge that kept his mouth glued shut for at least the next few hours. “To recap. Our evil boss, Elias Bouchard, is a well known douchebag asshole cuntface. He is gnarly as fuck. He is uncool.”

“Mfmf,” Jon said.

“No, it was pretty fresh how he framed you for murder. Let’s cover what we know of his background.” Tim rapped the whiteboard. “Pothead rich kid from San Diego. Now, everybody knows certain things about people from San Diego. Rich! White! Hipster! Dope on the waves. But not as dope as me. Really rockin’ zoos. San Diegoans are cool dudes who are great to hit a vape with.” He rapped the whiteboard again, much more empathetically. “Elias Bouchard is none of these things but rich and white!”

“That’s all you need,” Basira said flatly. 

“Vaping is really bad for you, you know,” Martin said reproachfully. 

Melanie took out her vape threateningly, making Sasha throw the stuffed alligator she kept on her desk at her to knock it out of her hands. “No sources of ignition in the archives, Mels!”

“Now, let’s go over my evidence,” Tim said loudly. “In the interest of fairness, I will list reasons that Elias may actually be from California.”

“Are we going to go over his means, motive, opportunity, anything?” Jon asked, seemingly bored, having finally swallowed his fudge. 

Tim’s eyes locked in on Jon’s. Jon quailed. “I’m sorry,” Tim said pleasantly, “are we going to actually stop and wonder about why someone would, hypothetically, want to do something stupid before accusing them of it and, perhaps, stalking them to their homes?”

“Massachusetts isn’t a stand your ground state,” Daisy whispered to Jon. “We’re in coward territory, you can take him.”

“If you call the North coward territory one more time, Daisy -” Basira said threateningly.

“Anyway!” Melanie said loudly, as she wrote on the whiteboard. “It’s possible that he is from California because he’s rich and white.” She wrote down ‘privilege’ in big letters on the board. “However, as we know, there is rich ethnic diversity in California. Do you know where else rich and white people live? 17th century Puritan England.”

“I have a reason why Elias could be from California,” Sasha said seriously.

“You have the floor, hun,” Tim said. 

“He’s an asshole.”

Melanie silently wrote down ‘ASSHOLE’. 

“Pretentious,” Jon called. 

“Big talk from the Brooklyn Boy,” Sasha called back. “Gentrified Gentleman! Colombia Copycat! Big Apple Asshole!”

“I oughta kill youse,” Jon hissed. “Disrespect the boroughs in my house again and I’ll show you how 84th street boys do it -”

“You and what square mileage?!”

Melanie, who was the most emotionally honest out of all of them, wrote down ‘PRETENTIOUS’ anyway. 

“Now, let’s move onto the real arguments,” Tim said, clapping his hands to restore order. “Let’s review. Mels, make sure you get this down. One time, I saw him parking in December, and he drove well in the snow. He’s a natural at it.”

Silence bore down over the assembly. That was, by far and away, extremely incriminating. Californians couldn’t drive well in the snow if you held a gun to their head - Daisy had checked. 

“Moreover,” Tim continued. “I tried sharing my korean-ecuadorian-french-thai fusion food truck take-out with him and he refused. Can a Californian refuse the siren call of food truck fusion cuisine?”

“That is suspicious,” Jon said grudgingly. 

“Tim and I experimented,” Melanie volunteered, as she wrote down ‘EATS LIKE AN OLD PERSON’ on the whiteboard. “We tried cranking down the temperature in his office to - get this - sixty degrees. He didn’t even notice.”

“I haven’t heard him complain about winter once,” Tim pointed out.

“Winters in this infernal land fucking suck,” Sasha groused. “If it’s below 100 degrees it’s too fuckin cold.”

“Bood,” Daisy said. 

“Agreed,” Martin said. “I had to figure out what snow chains are.”

“I can’t drive,” Jon said proudly. Martin patted his hand. 

“Moreover!” Tim said. “I asked him his opinion on reality TV and he said that he didn’t watch it. I asked him what his favorite outdoors activity was and he said ice fishing. Every summer he goes to Maine with his shitty husband to go ice fishing. It’s bullshit.”

“Elias is gay?” Jon, Known Worst Gaydar In The Fucking World, said in surprise. 

“Put that down in the pro-California column,” Daisy said. Melanie wrote down ‘GAY RIGHTS’ on the board. 

“I hope you don’t let the fact that Elias is gay influence why you righteously hate him,” Melanie said to Martin seriously. “Gay rights are important, Martin. I believe this very strongly.”

“Aw, bless your heart,” said the guy who had been thrown out of his small Oklahoma town and excommunicated when he was eighteen. Not that anybody knew that. Martin didn’t believe in oversharing. Everyone took one look at the bolo tie and Precious Moments desktop calendar and assumed heterosexuality. What if he just liked bolo ties? What if Precious Moments was cute and sweet?

“Okay, back on topic,” Tim said, as if they had ever actually been on topic. “I have a finishing blow for all of you. This’ll blow your socks off. It’s really the coup d’tat. That’s a little something we say in California to show that we really got this sucker on lockdown. One time, Melanie saw him eating Taco Bell in the cafeteria -”

“ - and enjoying it,” Melanie said viciously. “Then I walked up to him and went, hey boss, what’s that you eating? And he said -”

“Just having some Mexican food,” Tim spat. 

Everybody sat in silent observance of this crime. 

Finally, Jon rubbed his chin and said, “I just don’t get it. Why would you pretend to be from California? It’s a mediocre state.”

“Say that to my SoCal beach bum face -”

“It’s to hide the fact that he’s the ghost of a 17th century Puritan witchfinder bodyhopping in order to feed his infernal god of paranoia and suspicion,” Melanie said, with a straight face. 

Cautiously, Basira said, “And you got to that conclusion...how?”

“By using the investigative skills I learned at Buzzfeed,” Melanie scoffed. “Duh.”

But now Basira was actually looking thoughtful.  “I mean, there is the fact that the Usher Foundation is built on a sacred Native burial ground and is precisely located on the ancient site where witches were sentenced to death, constructed using the wood from their holy pyres?”

Everybody thought hard about this. 

“If he pretended to be from Florida I would have caught him out in a second,” Sasha said finally. “Man looks like he’s never seen a spider bigger than a saucer.”

“Shut up about the fuckin spiders -”

“I’ve seen the rats in NYC, they look like they could do my taxes -”

“That’s their prerogative, James!”

“I’d be able to call him out in a second if he pretended to be from Jersey City,” Basira said thoughtfully. “And, come to think of it, I have heard him call a trunk a ‘boot’ before.”

“I heard him call an elevator a lift once,” Daisy volunteered. 

Everybody chewed over this new piece of information. 

“God,” Sasha whispered, looking sick. “I can’t believe an English scum has been among us this entire time. It’s terrible. I never thought I’d be forced to interact with those fuckers.” She muttered something else under her breath in Spanish, which made Jon roll his eyes. 

“You’re scared of Englishmen, of all things?”

“It’s their legs,” Sasha shivered. “Too many legs.”

Finally, Jon turned to Martin. “What do you think, Martin? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Martin sighed. Martin carefully drank some of his world famous peach sweet tea. Martin took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. 

“Of course he’s a heckin’ seventh century puritan body hopping ghost,” Martin said finally. “I’ve known that for, say, since I was hired.”

Everybody stared at him. 

“Why the fuck haven’t you mentioned that,” Daisy said flatly. 

Martin shrugged. “Y’all done never asked.”

Jon took a second to gather himself, clearly two seconds away from flying into sheer Brooklyn Rage. 

Thankfully, Melanie was squinting furiously at him. “What makes you say that?”

Martin just shrugged again. “So I was interviewin’ wit’ him, right? And I wanted ta make a good impression, so I just said, oh, the Lord provides for our meetin’ and all that. Then he said some Bible quote at me. Then I was like, oh, I can totally work this angle. Then I quoted the New Testament back at him, and I guess we got into a sorta competition? This happens in the South. But I ain’t never met someone who can out Bible quote me. So I figured, oh, he must be a body hopping evil Puritan ghost from the 17th century.”

Everybody stared at him. 

“He called me a nice young God fearin’ boy,” Martin said. “Only Puritans and Southern Baptists do that, and he ain’t no member of my church. Plus, you know, when were fightin’ over him framing Jon for murder and how dangerous that was, he’s the only person I ever met who could use cherry picked Bible quotes as effectively as me in order to win an argument. So...really, it’s just logical.”

Slowly, Basira said, “You figured he was evil because he was an expert in your tactics?”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Martin said wisely. 

“Fuck this shit,” Jon said, standing up abruptly. He threw on his coat over his hoodie, frowning down at everyone from his unfair height. “I’m going down to the deli and getting me a pastrami on rye. Martin, c’mon, I’ll spot ya a Pabst.”

He had never been more in love. Martin shot upwards, throwing on his own coat and hat. “Alcohol is of the devil -”

“Just drink the beer, Martin.”

Well, there were some benefits in being excommunicated. Martin saluted everyone, eagerly linking his arm around Jon’s. “Saints keep all y’all! See you after lunch!”

“Honestly, Martin, just say youse.”

“I would really rather die.”

[fallinfor-youreyes]

Catch Me Off My Guard

Dani forgets her lipstick, and ends up learning something new about Malcolm. Post 1x05. Ao3

She forgets her lipstick at his house.

Dani’s not sure how she does it, but she assumes it something to do with sleeping on the counter and dealing with a highly drugged Malcom Bright.

And honestly, if it were any other lipstick, she would have already forgotten about it. But it’s not any other lipstick. It’s her favorite lipstick. Her favorite lipstick that is no longer sold anywhere, that she had bought as many as she could when she heard it was being retired. It was the last tube of her favorite lipstick, and she had been an idiot and decided to wear it out that night because she hadn’t been out in ages. Even if it was for work, and a very stupid idea in the first place.

She had looked literally everywhere else for it, but she remembered seeing it in her bag on the subway to Bright’s, which meant she probably lost it as his place.

Which is why she was here, standing outside his building on a freezing Saturday morning, because she couldn’t bring herself to text him about it, and apparently just showing up at his apartment made more sense in her mind.

If she hadn’t already rang his doorbell, she would already be walking back home. But she had, so she was here, hands stuffed in her pockets, hoping he was actually home so he could let her inside before she got frostbite.

“Hello?” His voice crackles out of the speaker just as she’s about to turn around, and her stomach plummets to the floor. She should have never left her apartment today.

“Bright, it’s Dani.”

“Oh! Hey, come on up!”

The door buzzes, and then she’s inside the blissfully warm hallway, and Malcolm’s head pops out from the top of the stairs, and this is a bad idea, she thinks. They are work friends, people who see each other in the office and sometimes at home when he needs someone to take him there, but it’s a Saturday, and this has nothing to do with work.

She should have just texted him.

“Hi!” His hair flops into his eyes, but he’s smiling at her like nobody’s business, and a weird feeling settles in her chest.

“Hey,” She says, making her way up the steps, taking in how the hall looks different in the early morning sunlight. The colors are different, and she can see the pictures on the wall, and then way too soon she’s turning the corner and almost running straight into him where he’s waiting for her at the door.

Saturday morning Malcolm is different from any other Malcolm she’s met before. His hair is soft and falling in his face, not arranged in the way she’s used to it.

He’s also wearing sweatpants. And a faded Harvard sweatshirt, and it's almost too much for her to handle.

She shrugs off her jacket and he takes it from her before she can hang it up herself, so she busies herself with unzipping her boots so she can leave them at the door, not wanting to track the gross half-snow-half-mud slush through his apartment.

“I don’t mean to barge in, but I think I forgot something here the time I was over.”

“What did you forget?”

She pauses to say hi to Sunshine before making her way inside. “My lipsti-“

Dani freezes, her eyes falling onto Malcolm standing in the middle of the room. His entire kitchen is covered in pastries. Desserts of all sorts sprinkle every available counter, and the oven timer is slowly counting down to whatever is next.

“Lipstick?” He asks, casually as he’s pulling on a pair of oven mitts, like the scene in front of her in completely normal.

“Yeah.” Dani stops at the edge of the counter and tries to count the amount of different food in front of her but she can’t. She’s pretty sure there’s more dessert than weapons on his weapons wall, and it’s making her question everything she’s ever know about Malcom Bright. “Wait, sorry, I didn’t know you baked.”

“Oh,” his cheeks flush pink, and Dani likes the sight of that way too much. “Yeah, I’m what some people might call a stress baker.” He offers her a plate of cookies, and she’s so confused that she takes one.

“I thought you couldn’t eat most foods.”

“Can’t.”

“Then what-“

“Edrissa like brownies,” he says, pointing to the corner full of brownies and cookies. “Ains likes fruit pies and tarts, Gil loves breads, J.T. like donuts, my mom likes cupcakes, and I occasionally can get through a whole slice of crumble.” He opens the oven and glances inside, frowning at whatever is still baking. “Everything else ends up in the break room at work.”

“So you’re the reason the break room has been incredibly popular the last few weeks?”

He shrugs as he closes the over door, pulling out one of the fanciest toothpick holders she’s ever seen.“What about you? I haven’t figured out your favorite dessert yet.”

Dani settles herself into the chair she unfortunately slept in a few weeks ago, right in front of an apple crumble. “I’m known to like a bunch of different things.”

“Good to know.” He flashes her a smile and then moves to wrapping up one of the pies with tin foil. “So, you were saying you lost your lipstick?”

“Yes!” She pushes herself off the chair, because she is not supposed to be getting comfortable here. “I have looked everywhere else for it, and this is the only place I can think I left it.”

“It might be in the bathroom cabin-“ the timer goes off and he glances between her and the oven and his ridiculous fancy tooth picks, and she can tell he’s going to choose the currently unknown pastry, so she nods, and starts making her to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure though. My mother sends her cleaner over here because she doesn’t think I can take care of myself and most of the time, I end up not knowing where anything is.”

Dani opens the cabinet, and it’s surprisingly bare, considering the rest of his bathroom is a full of things. Surprisingly bare, except for a perfectly sized tube of lipstick. Her lipstick. A sigh of relief falls from her mouth, and its a little ridiculous how happy she is have found it, but she has her lipstick and now she can stop feeling weird about coming over to Malcolm’s apartment on a random Saturday morning.

“Found it!” she says, when she comes back into the kitchen, and she’s about to go and get her boots and be out of his hair when she sees he’s placed a cup of tea in on the counter for her. He’s resting on the other side, his own cup of tea and plate of still steaming lemon bars cooling in the space between them.

And she knows she should leave. She got what she came for, and staying would that turn this trip into something else. But she’s curious. She has questions. She puts the lipstick in her pocket and drops herself into the world’s most uncomfortable sleeping chair, and grabs a lemon bar.

“So, where did you learn how to bake?”

“Technically, my mother.”

Dani can’t stop her face being surprised, and he laughs at that, and it makes that stupid dumb feeling in her chest grow a bit more.

“See, you’ve met my mother.” He takes a sip of his tea and plates her a bar. “She would never cook or do anything when we kids. Or now, for that matter. We always had staff for that. But on Christmas, she would always make this apple crumble, and Ainsley and I would sit in the kitchen with her. It was the only time she would ever talk about her family.” Malcolm shrugs and cuts piece of his bar. “And then when everything happened with my dad, she would start making them all the time. It became the only time I didn’t feel like the world was falling apart around us.”

He pauses for a moment, the weight of his words just hanging between them, and Dani doesn’t know what to do say. “Bright I-“

“But mother only cooked crumble, and only for a few months, so then I started sitting in with our cook when she would bake. And then whenever I was over at Gil’s house, I would ask Jackie to teach me everything. So I have a rather rounded baking education.”

“Crumble’s your comfort food?”

Malcolm blinks. “Hmm?”

“You’re comfort food. When you were high you wanted to make crumble. And I made you grilled cheese, because that’s my comfort food.” Dani tucks her hair behind her ears and grabs a bit of the lemon bar. “My mom would make us grilled cheese whenever we had a bad day, and it’s like the only meal I can make without fucking up.”

“From what I remember, it was a pretty fantastic grilled cheese.”

She stuffs the lemon bar in her mouth to shut herself up, but it’s a mistake. She wasn’t really expected anything much, but she can’t help the moan that escapes from mouth.

Malcolm laughs into his tea, and Dani can only nod and try to not stuff the rest of the dessert in her mouth.

“That’s not fair. How can you be so good at this?”

Malcolm’s smile grows. “I’ve been stressed since I was 8 years old. Lot’s of practice.”

Dani grabs another bite so she doesn’t have to say anything right away. There’s a lot about Malcolm Bright that she doesn’t know yet. And there’s a lot about her that he doesn’t know. But she does know that this conversation could be about a lot more than baking, but she needs to know if she’s prepared for that.

They are sort of friends. She remembers his face when he asked her if they were really friends, and how it fell when she said no, because she’s not good at friends. She’s not good at the trusting people and letting people in, and she has zero filter which gets on people’s nerves, and she’s been through a lot. A lot that can scare people away and a lot that has, so she guards herself.

But he looked so crushed when she said they weren’t friends. And against all odds, she likes him. He’s one of the few people she’s met who has been through even more than her, who knows what it’s like to scare people away. They haven’t know each other for long, but for some reason, she knows she trusts him. Which is pretty big for her.

“You know, if you ever need someone to talk to about whatever’s stressing you out, I’m always down for a lemon bar. Or a blueberry muffin,” she grabs her cup of tea, the scent of earl grey greeting her as she pulls it closer. “Or just a cup of tea, with a friend.”

Malcolm ducks his head and tries to hide his smile, but he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. His face is an open book of possibilities. That’s something she knows about him. She wouldn’t mind getting to know more.

“Thanks, Dani. And speaking of thanks, I want to take you out to dinner, to properly say thank you for taken care of me. Twice now,” he says.

She stuffs another piece of lemon bar in her mouth instead of answering.

Dinner outside of sharing a hotdog on stake out is more than just coworker things. Dinner on a Saturday is so much more than just coworker things.

A part of her feels like it could even be a more than friends thing. That part of her also kind of likes the idea of it being a more than friends thing.

“It’s not even 11:30 yet,” she says, because it’s the first rational thing that comes to her mind. She should have waiting for the first smart thing to come to her mind.

Malcolm nods, like what she said was an actual response, folding his hands together so he can place his head on them.

“What about brunch then? I know a great coffee place that has one of the most impressive tea walls I have ever seen.”

She should say no. She should have left as soon as she had her lipstick, but she’s still here, sitting at his counter on a freezing cold Saturday morning.

“You don’t have to take me out to thank me,” she says, trying one last time.

Malcolm’s face brightens. “But I want too.”

And it shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, but it makes her heart jump in her chest. It make her cheeks heat up, and she tries to squash the smile from erupting on her face, but all it does it make her entire face scrunch up like she’s some 16 year old with a crush on a boy who just told he he thought she was pretty.

But maybe that’s what she is. A 25 year old with a crush on a boy who she trusts more than she should. A boy that smiles at her and has even less of a filter than she does, a boy who is currently watching her like whatever she says next going to determine the fate of the universe.

“Okay, I could be down for some more tea.”

“Great!” Malcolm’s up in the next instant, and then he’s holding out her jacket for her once she’s finished zipping up her boots, and when she turns, he’s close to her. As close as they where when he was high and wanted to dance with her.

Close enough that she can feel his breath wash over her skin he breathes out.

Close enough, that the part of her brain that she’s allowing to have a crush on him is now thinking about kissing him.

But she doesn’t. She’s not good at friends, and she’s definitely not very good at relationships, and the last thing she wants to do is mess up whatever fragile thing they have between them right now.

She she takes a step back. Tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Turns to the mirror in the hall while Malcom pulls on his jacket, and grabs her lipstick from her pocket before smoothing it over her lips.

“It’s a good lipstick,” Malcolm says, as he finishes zippering his coat. Dani raises an eyebrow at him as he pulls on his gloves. “I understand why you came back for it.” He offers her his elbow, and it’s so very upper class New York of him that the only she can do is roll her eyes and take his arm.

When she gets into work on Monday, there’s a blueberry muffin sitting on her desk.

And if a warm feeling settles in her chest at the sight of it, then that’s her problem to worry about later.

Right now, she has a muffin to eat.

[be-more-chill-evan-hansen]

BLACK FRIDAY SPOILERS

The following post contains spoilers for the new musical, Black Friday, by Team Starkid. Continue reading at your own risk. 

MY FAVORITE PARTS FROM THE BLACK FRIDAY DIGITAL TICKET + OTHER COMMENTARY (IN ORDER OF HOW THEY APPEAR) WHILE WATCHING IT FOR THE 4TH OR 5TH TIME [contains very harsh and explicit language]

**These points will be brought up in another post (involving the Hatchetfield Universe theories)

The ENTIRETY of the Wiggly jingle at the beginning

Jaime saying “his belly’s so squishy!” while jumping up and down

The tights

“Uncle Wiley, where does Wiggly come from?”

James Tolbert (Team Starkid choreographer-turned-actor) STOLE the show

Curt Mega’s dancing in that song killed me

“DO THE WIGGLE!”

ROBERT AND JAMES DANCING WAS EVERYTHING

**Paul still doesn’t like musicals? (I have a theory of where this show takes place in the Hatchetfield Universe but that’s for another post)

The way Paul looks at Emma when she’s on her Cabbage Patch Kid rant!

“I’m Paul. I’m Emma’s...boyfriend.”//“Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet.”//“But we are intimate.” (Bonus: Emma’s glare)

Paul is still awkward I love him.

“I do not get flashbacks. I remember bad things vividly.”

“Thank you for your service.”//“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Ski-ball sucks.” (I wholeheartedly disagree but whatever)

Grace Chastity is Tom’s babysitter for Tim confirmed

Okay. Okay. Okay. OKAY. 

TOM JUST WANTS TO MAKE IT UP TO HIS SON BECAUSE HE FEELS GUILTY ABOUT THE CRASH I’M SOFT

DYLAN SAUNDERS STILL STEALING HEARTS

WHY DO YOU GIVE DYLAN ALL OF THE HEART-WRENCHING SONGS????? I DON’T NEED TO CRY AT 4AM

THE LIGHTING 

 “Excuse me, miss. Do you think it’s okay for me to park here?”//“Yeah, it says ‘no parking at any time’ but I’m sure the loading trucks can just park across the street. Does that work for you?”

“If I won’t support my drinking habit, who will?”

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. A fuckin’ furry little monster’s gonna make me a pile of cash.”

“Tell me, Lex. Do you know why they call it Black Friday?”//“Because it comes after Thursday?”

“Well, friend-o. I have a feeling that these little babies are going to take you so far into the black that you ain’t never comin’ back.” *long uncomfortable pause*

“Oh, you’re gonna make a killin’. That’s an Uncle Wiley’s Toys guarantee!”

FRANK HUGGING THE BOX OF WIGGLYS

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. Peace on Earth, and lots of money. MONEYMONEYMONEYMONEY just for ME.”

JON’S VOICE AS WIGGLY I CAN’T

“mALL security we got a shoplifter. Drop that doll!” (His voice crack killed me oh my God)

HIS OUTFIT (The first time I saw him I went “Oh my God he’s emo”)

“Where’s my sister?”// “Oh no.” *stares dramatically* “Hannah?” *even more dramatic* “Is that what you’ve been telling me every day for the past four weeks? To pick up your kid sister?” *grabbing Lex* “Oh, I must’ve forgot because I’m so stupid.” Ethan needs to take up drama

“Do I gotta put a leash on you like a dog, or my cousin Oliver?” 

“Don’t pull her.”//*voice crack* “I’m nOt.”

“Alright banana split.” i’m not crying 

“You see this hat? This was gifted to me by a great warrior.” *Lex laughs*/*Ethan turns around slowly* “Don’t you fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’d make a great dad, I’m just sayin’.” (Ethan isn’t a horrible person he’s just misguided)

“My mom’s a bitch!”

Honestly the way Ethan looks at Lex

*in the middle of singing* “That’s not how cameras work, babe.”

Hannah’s dancing

ROBERT’S WIGGLES DURING “We’re missing in action.”

“Dear mom, it’s been real."

“I’d say you did your best, but I’m not a liar.”//“Oh, L-I-E-R, babe.”//“We get it Ethan, you’re a good speller.”

“PS: Get yourself a new trailer, because this one? Is BROKE AS SHIT!”

Robert in skinny jeans. Can Robert wear skinny jeans more often please?

Hannah doing the “smoking” thing with her hands.

“Hannah! What the fuck is this [imitating it]?That better be fucking FLOSS.”

UGH LAUREN AS LINDA MONROE IS LEGENDARY

“That’s called a bribe, sir, and it’s illegal...or it should be.”

“I have four boys. Four beautiful, blond, boys.”

“Do you really think your children are better than everyone else’s.”// “In so many words, YES.”

“I hope you don’t get a Wiggly. I hope you fucking die.”

“Well, my children were accidents.”

“Stop crying, Gerald. I wasn’t talking to you.”

The way Tom and Becky looked at each other when they met again ugh.

Whatever that song is called when the Hatchetfield citizens were gossiping about it like I think it’s called “What Do You Say?” or something?

“Tom’s put on some weight.”

“I heard Tom is seeing things.”

Jon is serving looks.

The dance they did when they said “all the years that had fun” killed me

Curt Mega is a treasure

“It’s cold out.”//“Nothing really.”//“How are things?”//“Haven’t seen it.”

“Oh my, God, it’s a train-wreck.”//“My favorite.”//“Give me my tub of popcorn.”//“Just skip to the fucking.”//“She’d never--.”//“Either way this is torture porn.”

“I think I’ll step in and save her.”// “You don’t have half of a chance, bitch.”

“THERE, she looked at his crotch.”//“He looked at her boobs.”

“I like dolls. I’m just kidding. I don’t like dolls. At least, not like that.”// “I missed you.” *everyone freaks out*

The dance that looks like a beating heart around them I love.

“Did you know if you spend money, your kids will love you maybe.”

COREY DORRIS NEEDS APPRECIATION BYE

“Give us your fucking money. Give us your fucking cash.”

SERIOUSLY I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS RECORDING

“Do we have any morality.”

“What’s a grown man going to do with 85 dolls?”// “Well, one will stay in the box for posterity. One will be used exclusively for bath time.”

“If you’re going to make with the hysterics, TAKE IT TO MACY’S.”// “How dare you. Are you hearing this, Gerald? Yes, call my attorney.”

“I’ll tickle one doll, and one doll will tickle me.”

The bidding war.

“Get your hands off her.”// “Fuck YOU.”

The lighting slowly gets red when they start bidding.

“$800.”//“$3.”//“Can I use these coupons?”

“Well, if you’re not going to sell me that doll, I guess I’ll just gonna have to take it.”

“If he gets one, I’m getting four.” *Linda climbs the counter like Draco*

So the lighting during “Feast or Famine” is just???? The green and red??? Like holiday colors but at the same time it’s representative of greed and rage???? 

Just all of “Feast or Famine”

“What’s shaking banana, you okay?” I’M HAVING FEELINGS UGH

“What’s up with that grammar. Even I know it’s ‘more badder’.” Ethan no

ETHAN NO

“Give me that fucking doll I’m in a hurry.” Okay, Jeff you freaking gremlin man

WHO BRINGS A KNIFE SHOPPING?? Unless he stole that, too.

“Do you see him? Do you see him? Do you see him?”//“YES, I fucking see him!”

James as “Obama” I’m crying

“I’ll hold onto the little...uh...whippersnapper.”

“While you three devise a strategy, I’ll hold on to the little friend.”// “Shut the fuck up!”

“You’re nothing more than a Harvard Law School community organizing prick!” I’M SCREAMING

“Take one step closer to my fwendy-wend and I’ll rip your fucking throat out with my own teeth.”

“No, he’s mine! Back off or I will send a laser-guided ballistic missile to your house in Denver. You’ll be scraping off what’s left of your kids off the FUCKING pavement.”

“MORRIS. Give me that COCK-SUCKING MOTHERFUCKING COCK-A-DOODLE-DOLL” CURT MEGA IS A TREASURE 

“I’ll bite your dick off!”

THE AUDIENCE (AND MY) REACTION TO MCNAMARA 

*Obama voice* “Oh, I’m gonna vomit.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I let myself in.”// “Into the oval office?”

“Monsters and Men” IS A BOP

*yeets the Wiggly off stage*

“DECK THE HALLS” IS A BOP

I would 100% watch “Santa Claus is Going to High School” unironically

“Jingle! Jangle! If anyone sees two elves in my locker, I’ll get expelled for sure.”

The dancing UGH

Lauren is the cutest elf ever

PART THREE OF LAUREN AND ROBERT DOING A CUTE DANCE TOGETHER

“What the fuck am I watching?”

Becky talking about her ex-husband breaks my heart. I would die for her.

“You say you killed your family. I hope I killed mine.” My heart is breaking help me

Becky and Tom are freaking CUTE

“Take Me Back” is the cutest song ever

All of the times the characters mention other dimensions and stuff??? Each has a different context, but Joey’s character did say that Hatchetfield was a special town earlier in the show so????

All of the making out I’m done

Becky’s leg

“I knew you weren’t Santa.”//“A red tricycle.”//“SANTA!” *starts making out*

“This is the best movie ever!”

Robert has to make out with two people every day.

**PEIP deals with Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional stuff, so if TGWDLM was Extraterrestrial, and BF is Interdemensional, will Nerdy Prudes Must Die be Paranormal? Will we see PEIP again? [I’M GOING TO MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT THE THEORIES WITHIN THE UNIVERSE]

**“There are many dimensions, sir.”

“You want to send me into the fucking Twilight Zone to have a sit-down with the devil?”

“They will build him his birth canal.” Ew

Sherman Young is so freaking creepy

“Wiggly is good. Wiggly is just.”

“Bring forth the infidels.”

*as Linda walks onto the stage* “MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER”

“I dislike that word, Gerald. Cult. No, it’s a new, exciting religion that I started.”

“I’ve met God, He had nothing nice to say about you.”

“Adore Me” is a BOP

“You’ll kneel before me. Kiss my toe.”

“I will destroy everything, and then I will destroy everything. I guarantee I’ll destroy everything in my path. Unless I get what I--shit, Gerald.”

The followers repeating “I get what I shit.”

THE TIE AROUND JON’S HEAD KILLS ME

“I want you to know what I mean when I say my evil shit, ‘kay?”

TEAM STARKID PLEASE MAKE LAUREN A VILLAIN MORE OFTEN

“What’s shaking banana?” DON’T DO THIS TO ME

Evil Ethan hurts me

Hannah doesn’t deserve this

“I’m in the Black and White now. It’s just like California. It never ends.”

“I swear on my own grave.” I’M

Hannah calling Wiggly out on his bullshit

“Well, Webby is a stupid bitch.” JON UGH

“I’m going to eat you riiiight the fuuuuck nowwwww.” This scene just makes me want to give Hannah a hug

“We don’t get tricked. We’re grown-ups.” GROWN-UPS ARE THE ONLY ONES BEING TRICKED I CAN’T WITH THIS MUSICAL

“Tom, how could you? You let her get away!”

Dylan jumping at an audience member

I know people think that Ethan’s magic hat thing was bullshit but like the syringe missed Hannah so like?? 

“You think that in the Netherlands they care about some toy? Hah! Nah, they’re too busy enjoying their free vacations and free health care.”

Made In America is A BOP

THE SNIGGLES

BIG WIGGLY

I feel like Made in America won’t have the same punch on the soundtrack.

Joey’s falsetto

R.I.P. General John McNamara

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Uh, oh, Mr. Prezy-wez. It seems you’ve misplaced your bomby-womb. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will turn up somewhere.”

“We’ve lost Moscow, sir.”

“He baited us into World War Three.”//*Wiggly giggles* “That tickles.”

“Is this what I live for? To be choked in a toy store?”

“Black Friday” is such a beautiful song though

“Did I need her more than she needed me?” I’m crying please stop

“I’m authorizing you to use my firearm.”

“Monsters and Men” reprise is PERFECT

“Kids don’t want that piece of shit.”//“What?”//“They’re all into Fortnight, dude!”

“I mean, you’re like 40! You probably think your life is over!”

“Everyone is dying, and that includes me, too.” Jeff is a lyrical genius but he needs to back off of whatever angsty juice he’s drinking.

“If I fail you one more time, the punishment won’t match the crime, cause there’s no pain that could ever explain how I let you down.”

“I failed you once, and I will fail again.” I cried when I watched this the first time

“If I Fail You” is such an emotional song

“Alright, let’s go.”//“Fuck, yeah! Should I move these boxes first?”//“Fuck, yeah.”

Charlotte? Where did you come from???

“The only man that’ll have her now is Jack Daniels.”

“And you, you little shit.” Says Draco, the little shit.

“A magic hat? That’s ridiculous. Only dolls are magic.”

“Is this some kind of a joOoOoOoke?”

“Answer me, or I’ll cut your mouth open with my FUCKING KNIFE.”

“You’re a fucking moron.”// “Then you’ve been out-fucked by a fucking moron.”

Lauren’s wiggles during “He will wigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle his way into life.”

“Wiggle” is such a silly song but the harmonies and choreography????? Iconic.

ROBERT’S TWIRL???

JAMES’ DEATH DROP????

EVERYONE’S SEPARATE WIGGLES????

The crying when Becky shot Linda.

“Gerald? It’s Gary. Yep, we need to talk about the will. Goldstein!”

The red light that symbolized Wiggly being on fire.

The followers deciding to burn with Wiggly.

“I have this cooky, reclusive Biology professor.” *audience loses their shit*

“What am I supposed to do without my iPhone?”//“Wear a watch?”

“What If Tomorrow Comes” is such a haunting song

Kendall’s voice is so GOOD!

HOT CHOCOLATE BOY?

MR. DAVIDSON?

BILL?

The dabbing

Hannah and Lex hugging

Paul hugging Emma and Bill

The Hot Chocolate Boy and the Cinema Kid holding hands honestly adorable and I lowkey ship

A little bit of instrumentals from “Not Your Seed” in the end-credit music?? (From the lyric “Look what happened, nightmare time.”)

That’s it. It’s very long, but those were either my favorite parts or small things I noticed. Mostly just my thoughts.

[raissassampaio]

A Case of You

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL @petalsandfishes DAY! Hope you have a good one, you absolute lovely human sunshine! We're so lucky to have you, darling.

Here's my contribution to Grand Petals Fic Festival. Special thanks to @siriuslysnuffles , @alrightginger and @decaffeinatedmouse for the betaing and emotional support.

Read it on AO3

“Fuck James Potter”, Lily said out loud as she took a sip of champagne directly from the bottle.

Fuck stupid, meddling James Potter, with his inappropriate I-think-I-am-so charming jokes in the office and his I-just-got-out-of-bed hair who had just stolen her dream case.

Well, not really.

But still, he was going to be her second chair, per McGonagall’s instructions, and she was not liking it one bit.

This was supposed to be her day. She picked out a beautiful pale blue dress that accentuated her curves and made her green eyes pop. She styled her long red hair like a vintage Hollywood star. She was going to look amazing tonight at McGonagall & Flitwick’s law practice and Co. 20th anniversary party, when they announced she was leading the Doe case.

But her bubble of happiness was burst when she found out who she would have to partner up with in the case. She knew she would have to take another solicitor as second chair in such a big case, of course, she just never anticipated it was going to be him. She should have known better.

“We want you to work with Potter,” Minerva had told her earlier in the evening, right in the beginning of the party. “This is such a high profile case, but having the two of you, the best solicitors in London, I can rest knowing it is in great hands.”

Lily could only nod dumbly at her mentor and wait for a moment until she could slip out of the party unnoticed. Now, she was at the rooftop of the building with a stolen bottle of champagne as her faithful companion.

She did not consider herself someone that didn’t get along well with others. In fact, she loved everyone in the office. Nor did she think she was usually a jealous person. It’s just that ever since James Potter had arrived at McGonagall’s & Flitwick’s, fresh from working at Harvard Law with some old codger named Dumbledore who McGonagall absolutely adored, he had been stealing all her cases! Before that smarmy, smirky bloke was in London, all the best cases went directly to Lily’s desk. She had her pick. It was not that the other solicitors weren’t good. They were all amazing. McGonagall and Flitwick wouldn’t hire anyone less than that. It was just that Lily was the best, and she lived for the job, and they knew it. But then the Potter boy had arrived - and lo and behold, he was just as good as her. Now they had to share. She took another sip of her fancy champagne and it tasted a bit bitter, even though she knew it wasn’t.

“Evans?” she heard a voice call from behind her.

She turned around and found the last person she wanted to see.

“Potter? What are you doing here?” Lily asked, and she could hear the edge to her voice.

“Hm, I came looking for you. I saw you taking the lift, so I figured that’s where you’d be. McGonagall’s about to make the speech now. She’s announcing our case,” James said.

“Oh. I suppose I have to be downstairs then,” she answered, formally.

“Yes, I suppose you should.”

After a final moment of glaring at each other, they both headed for the door, James trailing a bit behind Lily, as she pulled on the doorknob that did not give in. Again and again.

“Potter, tell me you did not close this door,” Lily said snapilly.

“Why?”

“You didn’t know that doors like this only open from the inside? That’s why I left it open when I came up here!” she yelled.

“I thought that was an accident! How was I supposed to know?” he answered, exasperated.

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay. Cellphone,” she demanded, extending a hand.

James fished for it in his pocket, taking the device out and frowning.  “No signal,” he said, disappointed, as he showed her the screen.

“Fuck,” she cursed, running her long, delicate finger through her face.

“Yeah," James agreed with a irritated twitch of his brow. "What about your phone?”

“I didn’t bring it here with me… It's in my purse at the party,” Lily answered.

“You brought a bottle of Perrier-Jouet Belle Époque with you, but not a phone?” he gestured at her hands.

“Oh my, aren’t we posh?” she teased him.

“Hey, you’re the one who got the champagne,” James pointed out.

“I just picked the prettiest bottle they had downstairs. It has flowers on it, see?!” Lily said, proudly lifting the decorated bottle and earning the smallest tug of lips from James. “You’re the ponce who recognized the fancy drink.”

“Okay, fair,” James scoffed. “Why are you drinking anyway? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you drink.”

Lily put her head down, not answering. She didn’t know what to say to him and she was sinking in the knowledge that James noticed these things about her. She put the bottle down on the floor - the champagne was lukewarm now anyway -  balancing her foot on her heel when she stood up, still in silence.

“Oh, I see,” James said, understanding her silence. “Not too excited about being my partner, are you?”

Lily scoffed. “Well, honestly, why would I be? I only worked my arse off the past month to bring the most important case of the year to our firm and then you come in right under my nose at the last minute and steal it!”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, what?” James interjected, surprised. “Are you seriously saying I stole your case?”

“Yes, yes I am,” she said, the tilt of her chin daring him to defy her. Too bad for her that James wasn’t a coward.

“Are you daft, Evans? God, and here I thought you graduated top of the class-”

“Don’t mumble at me about my placement in graduation, I know it, thank you very much!” Lily interrupted.

“-And yet you seem to think I stole your case?” James said increduly. “I’m your second chair! McGonagall was the one who asked me to work this case with you!” He continued exasperated, gesturing wildly.

“And I bet you were real upset about having to work on the biggest case of the firm, huh? The one that’s going to be all over the news for the few months, hopefully help Miss Doe get her life back together and bring both of us a hefty bonus?” Lily asked, sarcasm dripping from her melodic voice as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“ Of course I’m excited to work on the case, Evans, I’m not stupid!” James remarked, throwing his hands in the air in an exasperated manner.

“A-ha! So you admit it then!” Lily said triumphantly. “I bet you really sucked up to McGonagall to get this job.”

“Excuse me, I’m not the one who just bats my pretty eyelashes and gets expensive champagne bottles, I’m here on pure intellect,” James retorted bitterly, jealousy in his voice.

Lily gasped, true astonishment in her wide green eyes.

“You did not just insinuate I am here because of anything other than my hard work, Potter!” She hissed in pure fury.

"I wouldn't know, Evans, it's not like you let me get close enough to you to see it!" James practically yelled.

"And why do you even want to get close to me, huh, Potter?" Lily asked in a huff; her slender, elegant frame stepping closer to his taller one as her hands came to rest on her hip bones. "I cannot phantom the purpose of it. McGonagall must have been out of her mind when she thought about this abominal arrangement for the Doe case! It will ruin everything. You and I are not a good match-"

Lily never got to finish her rant about workplace injustices, because if one second ago, her mouth was yelling at James Potter, now it was kissing him. One of his large hands, warm and calloused - why would a posh boy like him have such calloused hands? - had reached for her neck, gently but firmly pulling her to him; while the other clung to her waist, his fingers dancing over the thin fabric and her body pressed against his as if all her nooks and crannies were made to fit his. She hadn’t thought about kissing him back, but she definitely was.

She'd find it very hard to say they were not a good match after this and mean it.

James released her suddenly, taking a step back as if realizing what he had done.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m absolutely sorry. That was incredibly out of line," he mumbled, running the hands that had been on Lily's body through his chaotic hair.

"Yes. It was," Lily said, her voice an angry breathless whisper as her chest rose and fell; wide, green eyes shining in outrage and confusion. "Why would you do that? Are you trying to mess with me?"

"No! No, Lily!" James answered with urgency, her name soft in his mouth. "Not at all. I just..."

"Just what, James?" she demanded.

He breathed heavily, kicking the dirty gravel from the rooftop's floor, and sitting down with his back propped to the wall next to the door.

"Will you sit with me, please?" he asked her, patting the place on the floor next to him. He took his jacket off and laid it on the ground on his left, saying "Don't want you to get your beautiful dress dirty."

"Don't be silly, James, it will ruin your suit."

"Nah. Will you sit? Please?"

"Alright," Lily answered, seeming appeased after their eyes locked for a moment. She gathered her skirt and sat next to James, setting the champagne bottle on the floor next to her. “Tell me why you kissed me then.”

“You know…" James started, head bent towards the floor as he looked down and then turned to her. "I had heard of you, before coming here.”

“Objection! That’s not what I asked you.”

“Overruled. Patience, Evans, I’m developing the argument. I’ll get there, I promise,” he smiled reassuringly.

“Alright, go on.”

“Well, you see, people in the business told me about you. Some friends I have from back in the day. They said you were the solicitor to go to in London, greatest success rate since McGonagall herself. I was really excited for a chance to work with the great Lily Evans,” James explained.

"Yeah, right," Lily scoffed, putting both of her hands on the floor as she motioned to get up.

"I'm serious!" James said, his hand locked on her wrist, gently holding her in place and reminding her how warm his sunlight skin was. "I swear!" he repeated when she still thrower him a skeptical look.

With a teasing smile on her lips, Lily asked him "James Potter, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

James' booming laughter filled the chilly night air as he lifted his right hand in oath and answered "I solemnly swear, Evans. Or so help me God."

“Oh, don’t waste your breath, He’s firmly on my side. But continue.”

“So, imagine my surprise when I came to London and you’re not a dignified 50 year old woman, but a gorgeous redhead with legs for days? Yeah, my colleagues forgot to mention that part,” James says looking at the starry sky as if he’s not talking to her. “And of course you’re funny, and kind, and smart as a whip… So you might have to forgive me if I appeared to be showing off in front of you, because, well… I guess I was,” he said, ruffling that hair again. She wished he’d stop doing that, it made her irrationally want to run her own hands through his jet black locks instead. “That was before I realized how much you hated it, of course,” he added, finally looking at her.

Lily scoffed. “Are you really trying to tell me that you’ve liked me since you started working here months ago?” she asked skeptically.

“You’re pretty amazing, Evans,” James shrugged, smirking as he looked at her.

“Oh my God, Potter, stop trying to be smooth!” Lily admonished him, but the effect was ruined by the huge smile she was trying to bite from her lips. “I guess you’re not so bad yourself,” she admitted. “Why did you come here, anyway,” she asked, after a beat. “I mean, as far as I know, you seemed to have a pretty solid career there in Boston with Dumbledore’s firm. Harvard Law - that’s fucking impressive…”

“You think I’m impressive, Evans?” James said with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrow.

“Not you, you twat,” she teased, bumping him on the shoulder. “The university you happened to attend. Don’t run away from my question.”

“Yeah, I did have a pretty solid career. But then my dad got sick, so I came back home,” he explained.

“Oh God, is he okay?” Lily asked, concerned and hoping she hadn’t touched a sensitive subject.

“Yes, thankfully,” James answered. “He’s in complete remission now.”

“That’s wonderful!” she breathed in relief.

“But I guess I was lonely in the U.S. Harvard Law was my dream and Dumbledore made me a really good offer after graduation, I didn’t feel like letting him down. But I missed my family and friends. So I’m sorry, Evans, I guess you’re just gonna have to get used to me...”

“Well, how would you liked have liked it if waltzed into your office all of a sudden with that stupid hair, and those stupid suits-“

“You think my hair is stupid?”

“All like let’s go for a pint after work, Benjy!, oh, Alice, that looks heavy, let me help you with that! You don’t need to call your husband to come and pick you up, I can give you a ride, Mrs. Jones,” Lily teased.

“ Hestia lives in my building!” James protested. “Also, I do not sound like that at all! ”

“You came here, thinking you could charm your way through everything and then you started getting all my cases!”

“Ah, afraid of a little competition, Evans?”

“Hah!” she threw her head back in mockery. “Afraid of you? You wish.”

“You.were.bored.” James accused.

“Excuse me?” Lily protested.

“You were bored. You had no one to challenge you here. I keep you on your toes,” James said, leaning into her, his hazel eyes smoldering.

“The nerve of you, Potter.”

“Am I lying? Tell me it isn’t more exciting after I came here?”

“More like infuriating,” she rolled her emerald eyes.

“You didn’t answer the question, Evans.”

“I suppose it is slightly more...stimulating,” Lily said, rearranging her position so that she was leaning into him as well, her face inches from his, so close she could feel his warmth.

“What are you doing?” James asked.

“Thinking about kissing that smirk off of your face,” she responded boldly, bumping him on the nose with hers and pulling slightly back so she could look at him. His smirk evolved into a full-blown smile, and it was cheeky and happy and wonderful and the most beautiful thing Lily had ever seen.

“Well, are you gonna do anything about that or should I?” he wondered.

Lily smiled, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her, their lips meeting with more certainty - and if the surprise was gone this time it only made them more hungry for each other. Lily moved to straddle James, her pale blue skirt pooling like water on both their laps as his hands reached to cup her arse. His touch teased her over the silky fabric and she buried her hands on his gravity-defying hair like she had been wanting to do for hours. For days. For months.

James’ lips left her mouth to roam over Lily’s neck and the curve of her cleavage. She threw her head back, clutching onto him, running her finger through his torso and clutching them onto his belt buckles so she could get impossibly closer.

But then she felt something.

“James?” she called, her face flushed as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, frowning.

“Is your arse...vibrating?”

“Maybe?”

Lily put her hand on his pocket, fishing for his cell phone and pulling it out.

“It’s Flitwick!” she announced, showing him the screen. “They must think we killed each other. Answer it.”

James took the phone from Lily’s fingers and touched the green icon, taking it to his ear.

“Hello, Mr. Flitwick… Yes, sir, I’m with her… We’re on the roof here in the building… No, we got trapped by the door… Yes… Okay, alright… We’re waiting here… Thank you, sir. Bye.”

James turned off his phone and placed it in his pocket again as Lily got up from his lap and offered him a hand.

“James?”

“Yes?” he asked hesitantly, removing his jacket of the floor and placing it gently over Lily’s shoulders.

“How long have you known your cell phone was working?” Lily wondered.

“Forty minutes tops!” he swore, hands in the air pleading for mercy.

“And you didn’t use it to call anyone to get us out of here?”

“I wasn’t done spending time with you,” James said with an apologetic smile as he tuck a strand of her red hair behind her ear.

“Stupid boy…” she smiled. “You don’t have to keep me locked on the roof, you know. If you want to spend time with me, you could ask me out.”

“Like on a dinner date?” he proposed, his arm coming to rest on the wall behind her head as they waited for someone to come open the door.

“Yeah, like that.”

“Say...Saturday, at 8 p.m. ?”

“Could be…” she agreed, tugging his tie and playing with it. “But you better take me somewhere nice, Potter, or I’m making you do all the dirty work for the Doe case.”

“Joke’s on you, Evans,” he whispered hotly on her ear. “I don’t mind a bit of dirty work.”

[ecfandom]

Ok this happened to me recently but... Prompt? It's winter. First snow might fall tonight. Lexa's stayed late at work. Everyone has gone home but she just wants to finish. She goes outside for a quick smoke break to destress but forgot her badge wasn't working. Clarke stayed late too. Needs a snack. Finds Lexa stuck outside on the patio.

Most thought her insane for picking up the closing shift tonight of all nights. The words Christmas Eve and potential first snowfall had been lobbed at Lexa like the end all be all to plans for the evening. She'd started with, "Really, I don't mind," as the first of them began to apologetically trickle out into the possibility of snow. Somehow that'd eventually evolved into, "It's fine, I'm Jewish," by the time the rest of the crew began their not so subtle race to get out the door and home to their...people. It was a relief when the last of them had finally gone, their scarfs trailing behind them, and wishes for happy holidays drowned out by the sound of the bell on the door. Worn by the burden of exchanging pleasantries, Lexa's face falls as soon as she's alone in the little cafe on the corner. Not that there is anyone there to see it, Lexa rolls her eyes for good measure and lets the broom she'd been gripping like a shield fall to the floor with an unceremonious clatter. "Yeah, I feel you," she says, stepping over it while pulling out her smokes (that she would absolutely deny having brandished in the likes of the organic quinoa, kale smoothie serving establishment, if ever asked) and heading out onto the patio.Her leather jacket is admittedly not enough against the frigid night air that feels as fed up with it all as Lexa does, but there's a certain kind of brooding aesthetic that she felt the need to uphold among all of the sickeningly sweet Holiday decorations. Her sister would tell her to shut the hell up, despite Lexa's usual and signature silence, and metaphorically kick her ass until Lexa was forced to bucker up and roll with life's punches, namely, Thanksgiving's right hook and Christmas' uppercut. She laughs to herself at the thought of Anya's short, but to-the-point text. 'Happy Shitmas Eve to you too' she'd replied while sneaking a smoke in the employee bathroom. She can hardly feel her fingers by the time the butt of her smoke flickers to an anti-climactic end and lops off onto patio to join the twenty or so other discarded butts that turn out to be little piles of snowflakes on second glance. "Cute," she mutters before flicking what was left of her cigarette into one of the Christmas light infested bushes lining the patio. It's only when she's about three-fingers away from becoming a frost-bite victim that she discovers the star topper to her Christmas tree of a shit day. Her hands numbly and frantically search her jacket pockets, run themselves over her tragically non-existent breasts, her stomach, her ass pockets, and embarrassing enough, the crouch of her pants in search of the key card that unlocks the back door after hours. "No, no, no, fuck," puffs out into the snow-filled air as she goes through her search again, refusing to believe that she could be so moronically stupid on a day that was supposed to take the cheese for moronically, stupid things. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she groans and presses her frozen hands to the frosted panes of the back doors. She knocks once or twice for good measure, despite remembering clear as day the mental happy dance she'd done when the cafe had finally cleared out. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" She glares at the Santa statue quickly accumulating snow in the corner of the patio. "That's a stupid hat, you know. Like really stupid." It stares back at her with an unchanged smile and perfectly rosy cheeks. "Well deck the halls with fal la la la fuck you too," she grumbles before kicking it over, and immediately regretting it. She's hopping on one foot while simultaneously trying to peer over the ridiculously high fence for a way out when she hears the confused, and definitely amused, clearing of a throat. Dropping her foot and collecting herself, Lexa tells herself to be nice to the only person within miles capable of getting her off this god-forsaken patio. When she turns, and plasters on a fake smile, she's not expecting to be confronted by someone quite so...beautiful. "I got locked out," she finds herself explaining with no introduction The stranger's lips quirk in what Lexa is sure is a smirk. "Really? I thought maybe you were doing a snow dance." "I..." Lexa shakes her head, a little lost in the blue of the girl's eyes and the snowflakes in her lashes. "I don't know what that means." "Like a rain dance? You know. To bring the...rain snow." "Rain snow?" It's Lexa's turn to grin, and she does until she remembers how frozen and chapped her lips are. Tucking them in on each other she hugs herself tighter and rolls up onto her toes, trying to feel them. "I'm Clarke." Lexa sticks out her hand. "Lexa. What are you doing here?""Really?" Clarke quirks a perfectly shaped brow and Lexa finds herself amazed by such a simple perfection. "That's what you're going with to the person who likely rescued you from an imminent death by hypothermia?" "I just meant...I haven't seen you before. Do you work here?" "Upstairs. At the gallery.""But you have a key to the cafe?" Clarke laughs, and it's a nice sound. So nice that Lexa wonders if she wasn't already dying from hypothermia and crossing into the delusional stage where everything is nice and warm and cozy. Maybe Clarke was just an illusion -- a beautiful, splendid, death-bed delusion. A final request. A last meal. "Griffin. I'm Clarke Griffin." Lexa blinks. "Sorry?" "Um, Clarke Griffin? As in Griffin's Griddle? This is kinda my shop." Clarke points to the illuminated sign above the back door and smiles.Lexa hates that she's charmed by it. She smiles back, despite her shivering that has by now turned into a full blown shake. "Kinda?""Well, no. Not kinda. It's...mine. Yeah, it's mine. Which means you're one of mine." "I'm sorry?" Clarke's eyes go comically wide and Lexa can't help the frozen bark of laughter that comes out of her. "My employee! I just meant...that must make you one of my employees. I....yeah." Clarke hides her face in her hands and it's so cute it's almost gross. "Well, color me flattered, Boss." "I'm not--you don't have to--it's just Clarke.""Okay, just Clarke." "No, not--you're pulling my leg." "I am, I'm pulling your leg." Lexa grins as Clarke groans and buries her face in her hands once again, this time creating a little window through her fingers from which to peak at the mostly frozen employee standing on her patio. "Should we...start over?""Could we maybe take it inside? Technically, I haven't finished closing yet, and I'd hate for the boss to find out. I've heard she's a little...you know." Clarke laughs and opens the door, standing aside to let Lexa back into the warm cafe that's almost too warm on their frost-stung faces. //"So, I left and came here. You had a help wanted sign in the window and that was that." "More?" Lexa looks down to her drained fourth cup of hot chocolate and grins, sheepishly. "I'm never going to sleep again if this is real cocoa, but I haven't had hot chocolate like this in a while." "You've worked here for a year and you haven't tried the signature drink?" "No, I meant--" But Clarke looks so happy and open, too much so to be told that this is the first time in a long time that Lexa has had someone to sit down to hot chocolate with. So instead, Lexa just shakes her head and shrugs. "Anyways." "So you up and moved, got a job as a barista despite the phD in astronomy--""Astrophysics." "Ah, yes. Astrophysics." Clarke chuckles at the absurd intelligence and complexity of the seemingly simple, brooding thing across from her. She actively squashes down the blip of panic she feels when she looks too long into those green eyes, and slides another cup of hot chocolate across the counter. "So what about your family? Don't they miss you?""Is this an interview? Because I already got the job. I don't know if you knew..." "Oh come on, you can't sit in here looking like that and sounding like that and not expect me to be curious.""Looking like what and sounding like what?""Looking like that," Clarke laughs, waving her hands over Lexa's body. "The eyeliner and the leather and the cigarettes. And I'm pretty sure that's your bike out there.""It might be." "And yet you're a twenty-seven year old with a phD in Astrophysics." "Well..." "What?"Lexa takes a sip of her hot chocolate and holds up two fingers. "Shut up, you're not serious." The astrophysicist shrugs and drinks until her cup is empty. "You've got two phDs." "I do.""You're lying.""I might be." Clarke stares at her skeptically. "Tell me the truth." "I did." "You have two phDs.""I have two phDs." "And you work in my cafe." "And I work in your cafe.""Goodness." "Does that do it for you?" Clarke laughs. "It might. Is that workplace sexual harassment?" "It might be." Clarke grins and leans forward onto her elbows, very much attracted to her incredibly over qualified barista. "Why are you here at 2AM on a Christmas Eve? You've got to be like, easily, the favorite relative. I'm sure your family loves to parade you around." "I could ask you the same thing. Twenty-five and the owner of your own business. And an amazing artist." "You don't know that I'm amazing." "I've got a feeling." "You sure that's not just your toes coming back to life?"Lexa laughs and runs a hand through her hair, a nervous tick despite feeling overwhelmingly, terrifyingly comfortable across from the girl who had snowflakes in her lashes and looked like a dream. "How have we never met?" "I tend not to fraternize with my employees." "Ah. An elitist, I see." "Says the Harvard, Stanford grad." "And MIT." "What?""I did my undergrad at MIT. Then Stanford, then Harvard.""Because of course you did." Lexa hums and pulls a wink out of her dusty, almost forgotten box of charms. "Which still begs the question." "Mm?""Why are you here instead of with family?" "You don't want the answer to that, I promise." "My dad died five months ago and my whole family is together in Michigan for our first Christmas without him, and I couldn't drum up the balls to go. How's that for a bleeding heart? Try to top it." Lexa pushes her cup forward for more and only grins when the temporary barista rolls her eyes and refills the cup. "So?""It'll put a damper on the night and we're having such a great time." "Are we?" Lexa laughs over the rim of her cup and falls a little bit for the sparkle in Clarke's eyes. "I am.""You're really not going to give me something for my dead dad? We've been here for four hours together. I've told you my whole life story. All I know about you is that you have a disgustingly high capacity for hot chocolate and are the smartest person I have and will ever meet.Lexa sighs and leans back on her stool. "It's a can of worms that you want to open, I promise you that." "You don't like your family, is that it? They're overbearing, aren't they. Maybe stage parents but for nerds like you. What would that be? Spelling bee parents? Or maybe they're too proud? Parading you around when all you want to do is read your books and study your stars. Am I close?"Lexa smiles. "No. You're cute, though." "Oh, you think so?" "I do.""Well, if you're not going to tell me anything more about your life, do you wanna maybe get out of here? Get to know each other in other ways?" Lexa settles and feels suddenly both exhausted and liberated as the weight of fielding land mines finally lifted. "Two questions first. What do I owe you for these drinks, and if I say yes, will it come back to bite me in the ass when I show up for my first shift of the new year?" "The drinks are on the house, and no, no ass biting...unless you're into that sort of thing." Lexa snorts and rolls her eyes. "I'm walkable. Should we go to mine?" //Clarke is surprisingly lovely. She's a good kisser, and she's warm and soft and somehow fits against Lexa in the most perfect and unperfect of ways. Her hair ends up in Lexa's mouth and she definitely has drooled a little on Lexa's neck since falling asleep, but the weight of her on Lexa's chest is comforting, and her hand gripping onto Lexa's bare hip is both soft and firm, a protective yet needy grip that makes it easy for Lexa to fall asleep for the first time in years. They wake up in the middle of the night and do things all over again, and it's even better the second time. Lexa falls in love with Clarke's assuredness and confidence, but also the way she gets soft and breathy and maybe even a little timid when she comes, as if it all catches her a little by surprise each time. It's best the next morning--slow, and gentle and familiar. Clarke whispers Merry Christmas in Lexa's ear while they're both trying to catch their breath, and it brings secret tears to Lexa's eyes that are quickly lost in the pillow and top of Clarke's head. "Those are nice," Clarke murmurs, her head turned on Lexa's chest towards the frosted over window littered with geometric snowflake designs. "My sister and I used to put paper up on the window and try to trace them."Clarke hums and kisses the top of Lexa's left breast, just beneath her heart. "That's something new." Lexa nods and they fall into a silence made easy through shared kisses and orgasms and whispered sweet things not meant for one night stands. It's the comforting, familiarity of the silence that pulls it out of her."They're dead." Clarke shifts and props herself up on Lexa's chest. "What?"Lexa licks her lips, trapped between wanting to go back and needing to move forward. "My family. I had a December graduation. They all drove up together...my parents, my brother, two aunts, an uncle and three cousins. They rented one of those big cargo vans. I was the first in the family to get a college degree, so it was an ordeal. Driving through West Virginia, a semi lost control going over an icey bridge. It swung around. My family was in the other lane. They went over the rail into the river. I was told it was probably quick. Impact likely made it instant, before the van even started sinking. My sister was already in Boston with me. We thought it was some sick joke at first. Who loses their entire family in one instant? It just doesn't happen." She doesn't realize that she's crying until Clarke runs her thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. When Lexa looks up at her, she finds those tears mirrored in Clarke's big, beautiful eyes, and she hates that she couldn't just keep her mouth shut. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, but almost instantly, Clarke is kissing her, and it feels likes she's trying to take away her pain. Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke and holds her close, afraid of how much she already cares, but a little too far gone for it to matter anymore. They spend the day in bed, tangled together, eating fruit out of each other's hands and flitting back and forth between loving the Christmas movies on Netflix, and cursing their very existence. When the sun sets, they order pizza from the one parlor open on Christmas and bemoan the stale crust while stuffing themselves on it anyways. It was supposed to be nothing more than a favor. A key back into the cafe, out of the cold. A conversation and some hot chocolate. A few kisses here and there and a night to remember, but nothing more.It was an accident, really. A mere happen chance, and nothing more. But Lexa fell hard, and Clarke fell with her, and a year later, the Santa statue was there in all its glory, when Lexa proposed in the snow on the patio.

[antmfunny]

1. Mirror Mirror on the Wall - Who’s the Selfiest Queen of All?

Tyra Banks bursts into the Top Model pad to rant about how shitty selfies are these days. She should know - she cruises Instagram endlessly.

She’s here to show the models how to take better mirror shots because sometimes you break up with your photographer boyfriend and have to learn to do the job yourself! (That is only partially a masturbation reference.)

Never mind that the judges constantly insist they’re not looking for an Instagram model, it’s the most practical outcome for most of these contestants, so you might as well set them up for a modicum of success.

Before the lesson commences, we get a pretty much irrelevant clip of Jeana talking about how much she loves Tyra while photos of Tyra scroll on the screen. It’s like, “Hey, guys, you remember Tyra, right?” YES. We have never forgotten Tyra or what she looks like but thanks for the glamor shots.

I don’t have an Instagram account because so many social media platforms come and go that I refused to join new ones past a certain point. By now, it’s clear Instagram is here to stay, so my current excuse is just stubbornness (I swear I’m not as old as Erin.) I’m not sure I’ve ever taken a proper mirror selfie before, and I want to be clear that I know that’s an obnoxious thing to say, that being THAT counter-culture is as obnoxious as someone who is constantly taking selfies.

All of that is to say, even though I don’t know the first thing about selfie excellence, Tyra’s tips all seem to make sense and be useful, and that’s NOT something I can about most other Tyra lessons, like that one about animal necks.

TYRA TIP No. 1: #SLAY

SLAY stands for So Look At Yourself. Evidently, a lot of amateurs look at the camera rather than making smize contact in the mirror, so Tyra encourages selfie-takers to find the shot on the phone, then look toward themselves.

TYRA TIP No. 2: #CIAO

CIAO stands for Crop It All Out. In a lot of mirror selfies, the most prominent part is the camera in the reflection. So Tyra encourages photo-takers to take the shot, then zoom in and crop the camera out.

It’s simple advice, but perhaps too difficult of an acronym since the models have no idea how to spell Ciao. Man, we’ve regressed a lot from the cycles where the winner gets a spread in Italian Vogue.

TYRA TIP No. 3: #DipItLow

Another way to avoid making the camera the focus of the shot is to place it so centrally. Tyra encourages the girls to hold the camera below the waist and tilt it upwards so people first look at the outfit they’re showing off, not the camera.

I don’t know why we don’t get a acronym here like the other two, that just seems lazy. What’s wrong with #DIL? Or if that’s too pickle-y, maybe #HILL (Hold It Low, Ladies) or #DTF (Dip That Fone).

Okay, now it’s time to put these tips into action, and Tyra has enlisted the help of Jourdan Dunn, a “super”model who didn’t think she wanted to be a model until she started watching ANTM as a teenager and decided, fuck it, this looks easy enough. Tyra gets excited as if Jourdan is some Top Model success story, but it’s not like she auditioned to be on the show - she instead chose the path of having a real career.

Jourdan seems like a fine guest and all, but if Tyra really wanted to bring on someone known for his mirror selfies, she should have looked no further than Cycle 22’s Dustin McNeer. As anyone who’s made the mistake of scrolling through the ANTM tag on Tumblr already knows, he takes mirror selfies on the daily and most definitely makes sure the focus of the photo is on something other than his cellphone. (Penis. I’m referring to his penis.)

For the challenge, the models will dress in Jourdan’s designer house sweats and take shots. The winner of the challenge will get her selfie shot on Jourdan’s Instagram page, which has 2 million followers.

Rio seems stoked, explaining that being featured on Jourdan’s account could get her “millions of followers.” To get millions of new followers, that’d mean that EVERY one of Jourdan’s followers would have to decide to follow Rio based on a single post. Especially after Rio’s snide comment about she doesn’t follow back most of her followers because they’re not interesting, I’d say there’s a FAT CHANCE of that. And unlike Rio, I don’t mean that in a fat-shamey way.

Speaking of fat, Khrystyana says that she got her follower count up by showing off her fat rolls. God, I love her.  

Meanwhile, Sandra got her follower count up by being beautiful and popular and all those other things Rio hates. She does well and probably should have won this challenge, except that the show was finally fixing to cut her, so they couldn’t let her win.

Erin’s getting full grandma edit this segment as she yet again moans that she doesn’t know anything about social media. After seeing Khrystyana and Sandra’s follower count, Erin’s is hilarious:

Hey, at least it exceeds her age… by one. I’m not sure why Erin finds taking a picture of herself to be so difficult, but she needs Khrystyana to come and literally guide her through the process. I love how they choose this shot of her to showcase with Khrystyana’s hand on Erin’s:

Can you really call that a selfie? That’s more like an assisted selfie, which is probably popular in the assisted living facility in which Erin resides. Tyra concludes that Erin needed a Selfie 1.0 lesson instead of the Selfie 2.0 lesson she offered the models. It’s true, Tyra is teaching selfies at a Harvard level. She is a professor of self-promotion (I’m not kidding) after all.

Fortunately for Erin, she does great at the real photoshoot, so Tyra gives her a pass. She still only receives her photo middle of the pack call-out-wise, though, which is not a good sign for her longevity if the judges correctly call it her best photo yet.  

Tyra also nails Kyla for ignoring her selfie rules, but hey, what do you expect from someone so stupid? Kyla doesn’t DipItLow, she doesn’t make it croppable… It’s one thing to tune out Drew Elliott, but THEE TYRA BANKS? She’s shitting out more gold than Shanice did after accidentally swallowing a bunch of paint at the shoot. It’s not a good look for Kyla since we know Tyra loves a girl who listens.

All right, time for the winner: it’s Jeana, because who needs hair when you’re wearing a hat and a hood simultaneously?! As a bonus prize, Jeana gets to keep the outfit she’s wearing, which is kind of like when you’re at a bar doing a brand promotion and they say, “You can keep the glass!” and you think, “But I don’t even want the glass.”

Okay, CIAO, everybody! And by that, I mean goodbye.

4 Funniest Moments of America’s Next Top Model Cycle 24 Ep. 8

[comastoast]

@onlydrowning yOU ASKED FOR THIS you WILDN i HOPE UR PREPARED FOR THIS CHAOS // this took me so fuckdamn long im so sorry there’s a bunch under here & it’s long i hope u enjoy:tm:

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ daisy eden

( MILO SHEPARD, Nick Jonas, 24. ) Okay so FIRST THINGS FIRST SHE CUTE AS HELL and I was reading her lil bio and the first person who came to mind was Milo because she’s a trauma nurse and I don’t know if she works with children but if she did she could be the one who requests child services who sends Milo to take care of the kids and it’s not so much romantic as it is just sort of therapeutic in a sense because they can discuss the patient with each other not like too deep but enough that they kind of have a loop hole in the sense that they can ask each other for advice with situations and that turns into getting coffee to talk about patients / cases to lunches to after work drinks to dinners and they just accidentally while trying to do their work and seeing eachother on their very limited time off or maybe in passing constantly blossomed into this bond between them that they doNT EVEN REALIZE IS THERE UNTIL THEY’RE LITERALLY LIKE STANDING THERE LOOKING AT EACHOTHER LIKE WHEN IN THE FUC DID THESE FEELINGS JUST SUDDENLY CHIME IN who IS THIS person i know their coffee order and their history and their family and this is wild who are you who am i are we dating????

( OPHELIA MONROE, Billie Lourd, 22 ) Ophie does a lot of charity work and events and maybe she’s around the hospital a lot because when she’s not at work she comes to visit with the children / hang out with them and her mother is also a doctor so she kind of gets to not HANG OUT IN THE HOSPITAL BC THATS WEIRD but she eats in the lunch room and maybe Ophelia’s mother is actually Daisy’s brother’s doctor unless you have it canon her father is bUT U KNOW COLLEAGUE but Daisy and Ophie sometimes eat lunch together or she’s a nice shoulder to lean on you know cute girl squad vibes

 ╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ CHARLIE??????????

( JACKSON ALLEN, Daniel Sharman, 23 ) 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 we actively already talked about this but im half putting this here to remind you and half remind me because i SPACED ON THIS STARTER BUT WE ALREADY KNOW WHATS GONA GO DOWN HERE WITH JAC K & CHARLIE  AIGHT BYE

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ darla “dee” petrov

( NOLAN GRAND, Aaron Tveit, 25 ) WHY. DIDN’T. U. TELL. ME. U. HAD. AN. ANASTASIA. I WANT THAT WHOLE PLOT FOR NOLAN OR MCFREAKIN AN Y OF MY MUSES IT COULD WORK WITH HEATH TOO BUT LIKE WHY. AM I JUST NOW LEARNING THIS BEAUTIFUL NEWS??????????????? DO YOU HAVE THIS YET?????? DO YOU WANT IT BC I MCFREAKIN DO 

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ bella kelli

( KAZ REMY, Vanessa Morgan, 21 ) SO with Bella’s whole history and her super famous family I can 100% see Kaz like obsessed or a big fan and I don’t know if Bella would join a sorority or anything but either way Kaz could play it cool like she wouldn’t be DRAMATIC FAN GIRL but she’d know about the show and maybe Bella is like yeah no it was a bad time and then the girls become hardcore best friends and just squad goals on Kaz’s instagram OR EVEN DRAMATICALLY GO THE OPPOSITE WAY like Bella Hates Kaz bc she’s everything she tried to escape and once upon a time Kaz was the popular girl in college and she hates Bella bc she kind of stole that spotlight BUT EITHER WAY IS COOL FOR ME

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ zoey dutchess

( MAGS O’SULLIVAN, Saorise Ronan, 23 ) I can definitely see them at LGBTQ+ events and spending late nights working on posters but then Mags is like listen we’ve been working enough and you’re always studying why don’t we go out for once and they explore boston, mass which isn’t too far from harvard and they have this amazing day of just shooting the shit and getting a little shwasty and mags is just like lil bit heart eyes but it’s cool she keeps hERSELF CALM COOL & COLLECTED FOR SURE

( CHARLES “CHAZ” PALMER, Zac Efron, 26 ) He’s Not An Official Muse because I forgot to add him when I was adding temps but bitch just give me a frat boy / rich Harvard asshole who is only there because his dad donated a lot of mcfuckin money and he’s been there for way too long and one day he’s walking across campus and he sees Zoey studying or something and he immediately busts his way into her life but she’s not HAVING it she’s like listn you’re just some dumb idiot and you’re not taking advantage of being here ur fucking DUMB and it’s CLICHE BUT IT CAN HAVE SOME DEPTH AND A LOT OF FUN TWISTS AND TURNS OK

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ vincent montgomery

( COLBY JAMES, Sofia Black D’elia, 20 ) Okay But Imagine Colby is such a fucking fangirl for the misfits band and she’s gone to every single concert that was within reasonable distance then one day she actually wins a stupid talk-show radio contest and gets backstage tickets to the upcoming show & honestly the entire day turns into a massive mess for Colby like when she gets there it’s super late and the lines insanely long and she missed the first few songs then other super rich backstage VIPs are shitty toward her and she just gets more and more angry until she literally snaps and punches one of the girls RIGHT IN THE FACE and maybe it happens AS Vince is walking by or maybe a band member and someone’s trying to break up the fight and Colby technically has to be kicked out but wowza this is getting lame and cliche but maybe Vincent is here asf for the vibe she’s kinda kicking off and invites her to the bus and this would hella be that cliche shit and i realize now that im done writing it this sucks but pls just xoxo love me

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ maddox white

( BECK CONNOLLY, Elizabeth Olsen, 29 ) Beck isn’t exactly the most sentimental person but I can imagine her being close with Maddox for a long time like maybe they were childhood friends & they lost touch for a while / when he was with his girlfriend who broke his heart because Beck honestly didn’t like her vibe but didn’t want to be that friend so she tried to give him space then when they broke up I can aggressively and disgustingly see Beck writing Maddox a literal movie script or SOMETHING ANYTHING because that’s how she tries to like show affection with her words and producing work and she’d definitely write him a movie as a literal disney prince who has hardships and deals with a lot of bad shit but he’s actually a really good dude in her eyes and just it’s an animation piece and she’s like ‘listen no one even really has to know its you but i want your voice for the prince i won’t take no for an answer’ so she brings him out to LA so it’s just a lot of bonding & working on his movie & deep talks & chinese food netflix & legit chill just good VIBES you feel me??

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ samuel wells

( OPHELIA MONROE, Billie Lourd, 22 ) Do you hear the cliche bad influence plot because I do but not like samuel is aggressively pushing anything on Ophelia as much as it is Ophie is beginning to experiment because she was hanging out with all the wrong people and she already has that ‘im a druggie’ look because of the bags under her eyes but those are only there because she’s drained from staying up until 4 AM the night before so one night while she’s hanging out with her friends she meets Sam and he’s doing drugs so she’s like I mean I might as well try right??? and she like gravitates toward him for multiple reasons ( like a. he’s attractive b. he seems to have a general idea of what he’s doing c. she’s never seen him before the list goes on ) and this is lowkey just how it starts it can go down a variety of toxic ass paths like we could even set up a future verse where he actively got sober and so did Ophelia and they only could get sober when they were apart but then they get together again and they’re getting all kinds of fucked up and like they dig each other but the fuckin TOXICITY of their relationship bc they can only really feel like their old selves when they’re high & they’re eachothers triggers but it’s a nice ass trigger like they’re here af for this trigger

╰ ☾ ⛧⌒*｡ dakota heart

( LENNON, Jaira Burns, 23 ) Put. Dakota. On. Lennon’s. Youtube. Like he aggressively can be a constant guest on the show & they’re like best friends & lenny is the one who hooks him up with as many people as she can get her hands on / they’re wingmen and just good times good vibes storytime videos & challenges & she supports the living fuc outta him modeling like she’s aggressively ‘BOI U GOT THAT NICE ASS FACE ND THE BOD THOSE GIRLS OUT THERE GONNA WILD OUT FOR U lemme help with ur make up ur looking a lil pale today’ or something just like AGGRESSIVE PLATONIC SUPPORT OF HIS SUCCESS

[cajunroe]

Webgott Chef/Critic AU ↳ Joseph Liebgott has only ever had three major loves in his life: family, friends, and food. It all he’s ever wanted and needed. He runs a successful restaurant and it’s popularity is growing everyday. He hasn’t been worried about a possible setback since he opened. He knows that the plates he puts out are the best because he’s doing what he does best. However, there are critics. Critics who specifically seek out places like his and look for any and every reason to destroy his life. One critic in particular, known as The Shark because of a shark pin the guy wears on his lapel, apparently has his sights set on Joe’s place and he’ll be damned if this Ivy League prick finds anything wrong with his cooking. 

Joe discovered his love of cooking when his mom had to work a double or else she’d be fired. So, Joe makes dinner for his little brothers and sisters with what’s in the fridge, and when he’s sees their faces light up when they take their first hesitant bite and then devour the rest, he thinks he might have some talent. He starts to cook more often when his mom has to take more and more shifts at work. Each time is something new or different that he thought of or wanted to try. Then he starts doing the grocery shopping after school. Then his siblings start requesting dishes or newfound favorites. Then, on Joe’s birthday when he finishes making his own three-tiered birthday cake, his whole family calls him into the living room. When they hand him a sealed white envelope he doesn’t know what to expect. He opens it to find an acceptance letter to the culinary arts academy he wanted to apply to. 

“We applied for you.” His mother says when he just stares at the paper.

“T-they needed a demonstration, transcripts, and a bunch of other shit, how?”

“Believe it or not, your leftovers are better than a lot of fresh meals, I got you transcripts and you had several glowing recommendations sent in.”

Joe smiles and blinks back his tears.

“Time for cake.”

Three years later and Joe has his own restaurant, backed by his family and large group of friends. 

Joe puts his heart and soul into his cooking and loves the joy and happiness that he’s able to bring to strangers through his life’s work.

On an ordinary Tuesday night, Grant burst into the kitchen from the front of the house and whistles for Joe’s attention.

“What is it Chuckie? I’m a little busy here. Tal! Garnish and send it out!”

“I told you to stop calling me that Lieb and I think he’s here.”

Joe’s head shot up. The most renowned critic in all of San Francisco was possibly about to dine in his restaurant. He could make or break any establishment and Joe had worked too long and too hard for some college boy to ruin him.

“He wearin’ the pin?”

Grant nodded his head. No one really knew what the critic looked like, only that he wore a shark pin to the restaurants he reviewed.

“Alright, make sure you serve him. Be nice, but not too much. That pretentious prick hates when servers are too pushy.”

“You got it.” Grant said before he left.

Joe turned to his staff, “Alright boys, one customer ain’t gonna ruin us. Let’s go! Tal get started on those apps! Skip, how are the desserts? Babe, get moving on those steaks! Come on people, this ain’t opening night!” There’s a resounding chorus of, “Yes chef!”, and Lieb smiles. 

David Webster didn’t necessarily enjoy being a food critic. Yes, he got paid to eat food, but sometimes he felt less than accomplished, void of purpose, no matter how popular his blog was. So when he’s told several hundred times to try Easy Company, he looks into it. Owned by one Joseph Liebgott, it’s been open for three years and it’s kept steady business but has been gaining traction since a featured spot on a Food Network show. There’s no specific cuisine set and it’s the first thing that grabs his attention.

No pictures, that’s…interesting.

A new menu each night.

Tricky and expensive, but impressive.

Friendly and attentive staff.

Always a plus, given the industry.

Lastly, from the plethora of online reviews, it’s worth the heftier price tag.

He stares at the blank page of his novel and sighs.

Now’s as good a time as any.

Web sighs as he pushes himself away from his desk, places his pin on his lapel, and makes a reservation for late that night.

The true testament of a great restaurant is the experience an hour right before they close.

The restaurant is nice and surprises him when he walks in. He’s seated immediately and given the day’s menu before the waiter leaves him for kitchen. Probably to tell the chef that he’s here so they can wine and dine him literally.

He’s not left waiting for long.

“Have you had enough time to look over the menu?”

“Yes, I’ll have the special of the night and a scotch, neat, please.”

“Right away, sir.”

Web pulls out his phone and starts the live posting of the night, determined to do his best to find any fault or exceptionality.

Joe hates critics. He doesn’t understand the reason they even have a job. How does someone else’s experience of a place determine what your own was going to be like? What kind of indecisive person lets some stranger’s opinion stop them from enjoying something amazing? Also, why was this fuck in his restaurant?

“He wants the special and a scotch, neat.” Grant tells him as his puts in the order.

“Neat? Who is this asshole?” Joe laughs as starts the order.

Babe jumps in as he plates a perfectly cooked steak, “He’s a Harvard grad, got a degree in literature. He hasn’t published anything yet, but is working on book about sharks. Name’s David Webster and he’s actually pretty nice once you get to know him.”

Half the kitchen stops and looks at Babe.

“How the hell you know all that?” Joe asks.

“He’s friends with Gene. I didn’t know that’s who you were talking about until you mentioned the pin.”

Babe goes back to cooking like he didn’t just drop a bomb full of knowledge on them.

There’s a crash at the bar and Grant runs back out to the front of the house.

“How was everything, sir?”

Web was surprised, the food was remarkable and he’s never had such a profound response to any other meal he’s eaten. Now he understood why people fell in love with food, why people chose this career for a living, why a good meal could bring a unique happiness to someone’s life.

“Would it be possible to speak with the chef?”

The waiter’s, Charles as his embroidered shirt states, eyes widen and then give him a polite smile.

“Let me go check for you.”

“Yo Lieb, he, uh, wants to talk to you.”

“What the fuck for?”

“I didn’t ask, you said to be nice.”

Joe sighs and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Joe takes a deep breath before pushing open the kitchen door.

“You asked to see me?”

Web looks up from his final review post he was writing and looks up to see a rather annoyed looking chef looking down at him.

“Yes, I did.”

“What for?”

“I wanted to say that I love your food.”

Lieb folded his arms, attempting to look unimpressed but still appreciating the praise from someone so well-known.

“Really?”

“Yes, I can see why you do what you do. I can see why you love it. I mean, my potatoes were a little over seasoned, but it didn’t ruin my meal.”

“Ov—Over seasoned?!”

Joe looked at the handsome – wait, no, pretentious – face of the critic and was so not entranced by the sharp blue eyes.

Web looked around the restaurant where some other guests were looking at them and then back at the chef.

“Yes? Like I said, it didn’t ruin the meal. I want t—.”

“Look Harvard, I don’t care what you want. You know what I want? I want you to leave. I don’t care what you post on your little website or shit, I don’t care. Just leave and don’t come back.”

Web narrowed his eyes, anger boiling inside him, and moved to get up in front of the chef.

Joe caught the scent of the critic as he stood up in front of him and it reminded him of a day at the beach. It was soothing in a way that immediately annoyed him because of the man it was attached to.

It was only then that Web caught onto the Harvard comment.

“Wait, how do you know I went to Harvard?”

That caught Joe off-guard, he didn’t catch that he let that slip.

“What?”

Playing dumb had worked for him many times before.

“Harvard. You called me Harvard. How did you know?”

“You got that look about you, shark boy.”

Son of a bitch.

Sometimes Joe should learn when to shut his mouth.

Web grabbed Joe’s arm and pulled him outside the restaurant much to Joe’s loud and vulgar protests.

“How do you know who I am?”

“I have my sources.”

Web gave him an exasperated look.

“Please, you do not have sources. How do you know?”

Joe licked his lips and Web’s eye couldn’t help but follow the movement for some reason.

“My friend Babe’s boyfriend, Gene, is a friend of yours.”

“Wait, this is where Edward works?”

“Edward? Jesus, Web, only his ma calls him that.”

David flinched at the nickname.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“What, Web?”

He didn’t flinch this time but narrowed his eyes again.

“Yes, that.”

“You’d rather be called Harvard or shark boy?”

“I’d rather be called David.”

“Well, Web, this has been nice and all but I’ve gotta get back. So not nice seeing ya.”

Web grabbed his arm again before he reached the door.

“You know my name, can I at least know yours?”

“It’s Joe, Joe Liebgott.”

Web’s mouth opens and closes for half a minute.

“You okay there?”

“Y-yeah, I just didn’t know you were the head chef as well as the owner.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Renaissance Man.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Lieb.”

Joe smiled as looked back at Web to see a mixed expression of enjoyment, annoyance, and longing? on the taller man’s face and it made him stop and do something stupid.

“Did you have dessert?”

It was worth asking just to see the confused look on Web’s face.

“What?”

“I said did you have dessert? Do they teach you to listen at Harvard?”

“No I didn’t and no, they don’t.”

“Well you can’t write a proper review if you don’t have dessert, right?”

Web smiled, “I guess I can’t. Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a demand.”

“Lead the way then, sir.”

Neither of them missed the hitch in Joe’s breath as they entered the restaurant.

Joe had Web sit at a chair in the kitchen while the rest of the staff finished the closing of the restaurant.

“You all can go home, I’ll finish here. We’re closed tomorrow anyway.”

The handful of staff still there shouted out quick thanks before running out of the door.

“So what do you want Web?”

Joe handed over a menu and finished cleaning the counters while Web decided.

“I haven’t had a strawberry shortcake since I was a kid. I’m a bit nervous though, what makes it ‘adult’?”

“The strawberries are soaked in an almond liqueur and the sauce in made with strawberry vodka.”

“That’s sounds perfect.”

Web’s phone rang and it was the ringtone of his editor.

“Sorry, I have to get this.”

Joe didn’t even answer, already focused on making the dessert.

He stepped through the door of the kitchen and watched Joe through the window.

“Yeah?”

“What’s taking so long for the final review?”

“I haven’t finished yet.”

Web watched the dance that Joe was performing effortlessly while he cooked.

“What do you mean? The restaurant closed twenty minutes ago. You’re on thin ice already Webster.”

The nasally voice from Sobel was grating on Web’s nerves.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“I know, sir. I’ll get in it, right away.”

“You better, or you’re done.”

His boss hung up before he could respond.

He went back into the kitchen and sat down with a long sigh.

“Boss that bad, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Joe watched the pound cake bake then started the sauce.

“So how does a Harvard grad, with a degree in literature, become a food critic?”

Web smiled, “Believe it or not, it’s very difficult to do what you really want.”

“Not for me.” Joe laughs and if Web wasn’t so fascinated by the man, he might’ve been angry.

“Well, I really want to write, but I’d also like to not be homeless, so I do this.”

“Nah, you can’t do that Web. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you haven’t written anything substantial about sharks since you started this job?”

Web looked shocked for a minute before he nodded.

“See, doing something you hate hinders your creativity, so now you can’t focus on what you want to do.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“Quit.”

Web laughs loudly, “Just like that? I’m into debt up to my ears and I can barely afford my what I have.”

“What? Parents didn’t pay for college?”

“Not when I told them I was majoring in Literature instead of Law like everyone expected me to.”

“So you paid for it by yourself?”

“I got help from the government and scholarships, but yeah. They still refuse to talk to me.”

Joe made a noise of consideration.

“You’re not what I expected Web.”

Web looked up and met Lieb’s eyes.

“I could say the same thing to you, Joe. Not many chefs or owners would be doing what you are now.”

Lieb winked, “I’m not most chefs.”

He came around the counter and placed the dessert in front of Web.

Something about Joe commanded attention and David couldn’t look away, not even at the impeccable dessert he was bound to rave about.

Lieb leaned in a little too close, but he may have snuck some shots of vodka while Web took his call. He was a little too attracted to Web, a critic for pete’s sake, and it shook him.

“And this is not most desserts.”

In that moment, nothing could have pulled Web away from Joe.

ASSHOLE CALLING. ASSHOLE CALLING. THERE’S AN ASSHOLE AND HE’S CALLING.

Unless, of course, your boss calls you.

Web pulls back, swears, and answers roughly, “What is it now?”

“Webster, that is not the way you address your boss.”

Web pulls the phone away from his ear while Sobel yells.

Joe’s laughing, but looks like he just missed something great, as he pulls a large bite of the dessert onto a spoon and lift it towards David’s mouth.

Web’s mouth opened in surprise and Joe smiled as he gently fed the dessert to the other man.

The noise that ripped out of Web’s throat could, at the very least, be described as pornographic.

Joe’s eyes widened and the spoon clattered onto the counter.

Joe slid off the stool and into Web’s space, just as Web had started the raise the phone back to his ear, his boss still screaming.

Joe’s hands were slowly reaching toward Web.

The phone reached Web’s ear and he came to a conclusion.

“I quit.”

He threw his phone down on the table and met Lieb’s lips with his own. It was a little off since they were both smiling, but it was perfect.

They eventually pulled away and rested their heads against one another.

Joe whispered gently, “How was that?”

David laughed and looked into Joe’s eyes before saying, “It was a little too sweet for my taste. I like something with a little more heat.”

Joe’s eyes darkened, “I can fix that for you, David.,” and tried to capture the critic’s lips once again, but Web pulled back with a laugh.

“No, seriously Joe, put a little chili powder on this or something.”

Lieb pushed Web playfully and went to clean the last of the dishes.

“Fuck you, Web.”

David shrugged as he took another bite, “Okay, but somewhere else. You have to think of the health code violations Joe.”

The dishes crashed in the back of the kitchen and Web laughed harder.

Web took the last bite of the dessert as Joe pulled him out of the seat, “It’s a good thing I live upstairs.”

[sinrau]

A Warning

Anonymous

Citation (Chicago Style): Anonymous. A Warning. Grand Central Publishing, 2019. Kindle edition.

Introduction

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It was no secret that Donald J. Trump hated John McCain. “He is not a war hero,” Trump remarked in 2015 to a stunned audience in Iowa. “I like people who weren’t captured.”

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It was no surprise that the president was agitated by the outpouring of public appreciation toward the senator. He is flustered whenever the spotlight shifts away from him, but especially if it moves toward a perceived rival, even a deceased one.

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“The President’s efforts to influence the investigation were mostly unsuccessful,” he wrote, “but that is largely because the persons who surrounded the President declined to carry out orders or accede to his requests.” This included the president’s demand that White House counsel Don McGahn fire the special counsel, a request McGahn rebuffed for fear it would “trigger what he regarded as a potential Saturday Night Massacre” and lead to Donald Trump’s impeachment. It probably would have.

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They will fear the costs of a reelected Donald Trump, and they are right to be concerned. Unsavory figures in his orbit have relished the possibility of another four years—not in the “we can do good for the country” way you would hope, but rather with the attitude that “no one will be able to stop us.” I share your worry.

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There are many “leaks” from this administration, perhaps more than any before it. While some officials tell stories to reporters to brag, to advance a personal agenda, or to retaliate against others, many appear to be doing so because they are alarmed at what they have seen in this White House.

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Sources decline to attach their names to these anecdotes out of fear of retribution. The reluctance is not surprising given the president’s penchant for using his position to mock, bully, berate, and punish. I have heard his words of warning to administration officials thinking about departing, and I have seen how his supporters torment those who have crossed him, including going after the innocent family members of dissenters.

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Donald Trump is fond of telling officials that he learned an important lesson in business: People are not scared when you threaten a lawsuit, but they are scared when you actually sue them. That is among his favored methods of argument—attacking critics to intimidate and silence them. He has been doing it for years.

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After I published the op-ed in the Times, Trump responded with a one-word tweet: “TREASON?” Those seven letters say it all. To the president, criticism is treasonous. I find this to be a very un-American position.

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He has suggested worse be done to his critics. In September 2019, the president issued a veiled threat against an intelligence community employee who reported the president for inappropriately coaxing a foreign government to investigate one of his political opponents. Trump said the employee was “close to a spy.” He continued, “You know what we used to do in the old days when we were smart, right? The spies and treason, we used to handle it a little differently than we do now.” The implicit suggestion was that the whistleblower should be hanged.

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Such behavior is unbecoming of a president and the presidency. To anyone with even a modest reverence for the principle of free speech, it is also morally wrong.

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The nation’s chief executive should never under any circumstances use his office and its extraordinary powers to seek revenge against whistleblowers and political opponents. These are actions we would expect from tin-pot dictators in repressive countries and which we would openly decry as a nation. Yet it is happening in real time here at home, setting a chilling precedent for the use of executive authority.

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Some will find it disloyal, but too many people have confused loyalty to a man with loyalty to the country.

Chapter 1: Collapse of the Steady State

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“No government, any more than an individual, will long be respected without being truly respectable; nor be truly respectable without possessing a certain portion of order and stability.”—James Madison

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“People are going to fucking die because of this,” a top aide angrily remarked. We all scrambled to figure out what had happened and what Trump’s plans were. US allies were baffled and alarmed.

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Although a long list of highly experienced Republican leaders were de facto barred from the incoming administration for being “Never-Trumpers,” those who didn’t sign their names onto anti-Trump screeds, myself included, had a shot.

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Trump carried around maps outlining his electoral victory, which he would pull out at odd times in discussions meant to focus on preparing him to take office. He would beckon his guests, as well as aides, advisors, and incoming cabinet officers, to gaze at the sea of red on the map, visual proof that he’d won. “Yeah, we know you won,” we would think to ourselves. “That’s why we’re here.”

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The slimmed-down group was comprised of White House officials and cabinet secretaries. “About a third of the things the president wants us to do are flat-out stupid. Another third would be impossible to implement and wouldn’t even solve the problem. And a third of them would be flat-out illegal.” Heads nodded.

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Trump wasn’t halfway through year one, and he wanted to shut down the government because he was unhappy with congressional budget negotiations. He’d been talking about it behind closed doors for weeks. Now he was bringing it up in press conferences and tweeted that the government needed a “good shutdown.”

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We tipped off Republican leaders in Congress that they needed to take it seriously. The president wasn’t just playing a game. “He’s crazy as a lunatic,” one West Wing advisor told the Speaker’s office.

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He suggested to aides that weapons be given to all of America’s teachers so they could fight back against mass shooters. This was typical Trump. An idea was formed in the ether of his mind, and he decided it was brilliant because he thought of it. Most sane folks raised an eyebrow. The teachers we remembered tended to be gentler souls like Betty White, not Annie Oakley. We wanted to hand Betty and all of her colleagues a pistol?

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the president had no conception of what was doable and what was nuts.

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One Harvard gun violence expert summed up the public reaction: “It’s a crazy proposal. So what should we do about reducing airline hijacking? Give all the passengers guns as they walk on?”

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no one else took it seriously, much like the president’s claim that he would be the citizen-hero if he was on the scene of a school massacre. “I really believe I’d run in there, even if I didn’t have a weapon,” he claimed. We couldn’t contain our laughter.

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when Trump suggests doing something unlawful, it’s not necessarily nefarious. More often than not, it’s because he doesn’t understand the limits of federal law.

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The president doesn’t police bad behavior in his cabinet, he encourages it. Aides have to self-police.

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At one point, Trump warmed to a new idea for solving what he viewed as the biggest crisis in American history: to label migrants as “enemy combatants.” Keep in mind this is the same designation given to hardcore terrorist suspects. If we said these illegals were a national security threat, Trump reasoned, then the administration had an excuse to keep all of them out of the country.

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The rumor escaped the confines of the White House. “Are you fucking kidding me?” one career State Department official blurted when informed of the proposal. “This is completely batshit.” Advisors worked to shut it down quickly and quietly.

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“Every time I ask Mnuchin about this, he’s got another excuse. ‘We can’t do this, we can’t do that,’ ” he said, half faking the voice of Mnuchin, a man he has known for close to two decades. “What good is he? I thought we had the right guy at Treasury. But now I don’t know. Maybe not so much. What do you think—personnel mistake?” He likes to poll the room when someone is on the ropes. People laugh or offer approving facial expressions, usually relieved that the anvil isn’t hovering over their own head. Trump will leave people in the lurch for weeks, months, or longer. He notoriously kept Kirstjen Nielsen, his homeland security chief, flummoxed about whether and when she might get sacked.

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On more than one occasion, Trump has discussed with staff the possibility of dropping Vice President Pence in advance of the 2020 election.

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Trump’s view of loyalty, of course, is self-serving to the extreme.

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Trump avoids directly firing people, contrary to his television image. Instead he takes the cowardly way out and cuts them loose by way of social media.

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Over time, a feeling of insecurity returned to the administration, and the Steady State recognized that Trump’s demeanor couldn’t be moderated.

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Senior advisors and cabinet-level officials pondered a mass resignation, a “midnight self-massacre,” as noted earlier, to draw the public’s attention to the disarray.

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At any given time during the Trump administration, there are at least a handful of top aides on the brink of resigning, either out of principle or exhaustion. Several departure timelines appeared to be converging in 2018, creating the possibility for a simultaneous walkout to prove our point about the president’s faltering administration. Every time this was contemplated, it was rejected.

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Trump’s children are his chiefs of staff. Random Fox News hosts are his chiefs of staff. Everyone is the chief of staff but the chief of staff.

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It’s no wonder people aren’t jumping at the opportunity. The high rate of turnover was a direct result of the president’s leadership. He ejected people who were willing to stand up to him. He got bored with officials who weren’t dynamic enough or didn’t defend him on television. Some escaped the administration because of policy differences, and still others departed to avoid what they perceived to be an inevitably sinking ship. For certain people, it was a combination of all of these factors.

Chapter 2: The Character of a Man

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“I don’t fucking care. Ooh ooh ‘excuses, excuses.’ Just stick it to them. I promise you, they will be kissing our asses afterwards.” “I’m hotter than I was then, okay? Because you know you also cool off, right? You do. But I’m much hotter.” “It is very unfair to me. And it’s presidential harassment frankly. You can’t harass a president.” “Sweetie, your face looked very tired on television. Have you lost weight?” “I think I’ve done more than any other first-term president ever.” “If you’re going to cough, please leave the room… Do you agree with the cough?” “I think it’s probably, uh, I want them to think whatever they think, they do say, I mean, I’ve seen and I’ve read and I’ve heard, and I did have one very brief meeting on it. But people are saying they’re seeing UFOs, do I believe it? Not particularly.” “We have the worst laws and the stupidest judges.” “This guy, have you seen him? ‘My Pillow.’ He’s unbelievable. He buys all the airtime on TV. It’s terrific. And he’s a big, big Trump supporter.” “This is one of the great inventions of all times—TiVo.” “You’re saying it’s MY fault? It’s all fucked, and it’s your fault.” These are the sounds bouncing off those rounded walls today, or on any given day of the Trump presidency. Some of these have been said with television cameras in the room and others with the doors closed. All of them reflect the real Donald Trump. Not everyone sees the full Trump, especially the one who is red-faced, consumed with fury, and teetering at the outer limits of self-control.

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“It’s worse than you can imagine,” former economic advisor Gary Cohn reportedly wrote in an email. “Trump won’t read anything—not one-page memos, not the brief policy papers, nothing. He gets up halfway through meetings with world leaders because he is bored.”

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The sheer level of intellectual laziness is astounding. I found myself bewildered how anyone could have run a private company on the empty mental tank President Trump relies upon every day to run the government.

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In 2013, he tweeted: “Sorry losers and haters, but my I.Q. is one of the highest—and you all know it! Please don’t feel so stupid or insecure, it’s not your fault.”

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Intelligence is one of those qualities that, if you insist you have it, you probably don’t.

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LMAO!! So true!

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The president frequently claims to be an expert on issues about which, in reality, advisors will have found out he knows very little. Here is a sample from a much larger list put together by astute observers: On campaign finance: “I think nobody knows more about campaign finance than I do, because I’m the biggest contributor.” On the courts: “I know more about courts than any human being on Earth.” On trade: “Nobody knows more about trade than me.” On taxes: “Nobody knows more about taxes than I do.” On ISIS: “I know more about ISIS than the generals do.” On the US government: “Nobody knows the system better than I do.” On technology: “Technology—nobody knows more about technology than me.” On drone technology, specifically: “I know more about drones than anybody. I know about every form of safety that you can have.” On the contrary, I’ve seen the president fall flat on his face when trying to speak intelligently about most of these topics. You can see why behind closed doors his own top officials deride him as an “idiot” and a “moron” with the understanding of a “fifth or sixth grader.” Folks have been forced to publicly deny those specific quotes, usually with non-denial denials.

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Among many other conspiracy theories, Trump suggested without evidence that Senator Ted Cruz’s dad was involved in the Kennedy assassination, that Justice Antonin Scalia may have been murdered, that MSNBC host Joe Scarborough might have been involved in a former intern’s death, that a former Clinton advisor’s suicide could have been something more nefarious, that Muslim Americans near New York City celebrated in the streets after 9/ 11, that vaccines cause autism, and more. External observers can barely keep these lists of his claims updated. Internal observers are no better off. We wonder, does he actually believe these conspiracies? Does he just say this stuff to get attention? I can’t get into his head, but my guess is a little bit of both.

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Trump will wrap his arms around bogus claims like they are old friends, and he doesn’t care if the person spewing them is a fraud, as long as their words serve whatever purpose Trump has in mind at the moment.

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The president spreads false claims almost daily. He is the nation’s most prominent re-tweeter of “fake news” while simultaneously being its biggest critic.

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His concern tends to be about whether he is being treated fairly personally. “Nothing funny about tired Saturday Night Live on Fake News NBC!” he tweeted after the show mocked a White House press conference in February 2019. “Question is, how do the Networks get away with these total Republican hit jobs without retribution? Likewise for many other shows? Very unfair and should be looked into. This is the real Collusion!” The president was insinuating that television networks needed to be investigated and punished for poking fun at him.

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“As you know, I have a running war with the media,” he told the audience. “They are the most dishonest human beings on Earth.” All of us watching it winced. The president was making his comments in the most inappropriate setting, not just because he was at the CIA, but because he was standing in front of the agency’s memorial wall for fallen officers. President Trump did the same four months later in front of hundreds of US Coast Guard Academy cadets, turning part of their commencement ceremony into a rant about the press.

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Giving nicknames to his targets is a favored tactic, too, allowing the president to turn attacks into instant memes. He road tests the insulting monikers with friends and is elated he has a new one to give to Dan, the social media aide. There’s Da Nang Dick (Senator Dick Blumenthal), Pocahontas (Senator Elizabeth Warren), Low Energy Jeb (former governor Jeb Bush), Slimeball (Jim Comey), MS-13 Lover (Speaker Nancy Pelosi), Dumb as a Rock Mika (MSNBC’s Mika Brzezinski), the Dumbest Man on Television (CNN’s Don Lemon), and so on. Often Trump homes in on physical features, using names like Fat Jerry (Representative Jerry Nadler), Little Marco (Senator Marco Rubio), and Dumbo (for his former Secret Service director). Other acid-tongued presidents have had words for people they didn’t like, but I can’t think of any who regularly went out of their way to humiliate people with childish nicknames. If there is any silver lining, its that he typically keeps the R-rated ones within the West Wing.

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Trump is a bully. By intimidating others, he believes he can get what he wants, not what is fair. It’s a philosophy he brags about. He regales staff with stories about filing meritless claims in court against other companies in order to coerce them to back down or to get a better deal. That’s how you get them to do what you want.

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In his response, Trump made a revealing confession: “Real power is through respect. Real power is, I don’t even want to use the word, fear.” President Trump shows no mercy.

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An investigation by USA Today found he’d been involved in more than 3,500 lawsuits over the span of three decades, many of which included claims by individuals who said he and his companies failed to pay them. His businesses also received repeated citations from the government for violating the Fair Labor Standards Act and failing to pay overtime or minimum wage. The trail of broken contracts runs parallel to another Trump trait, his lack of generosity. Kindness and liberality are part of Cicero’s justice checklist, but they are not a part of Trump’s character. His philanthropic history is full of empty words and questionable practices. The president’s surrogates claim he has given away “tens of millions” to charity over his career, yet investigations by journalists have found the cash donations to be far less than he boasts. Most of Trump’s charitable giving was apparently done by the Trump Foundation. Rather than fund it himself, the businessman reportedly used outside donors to fill the foundation’s coffers, allowing him to write checks with his name on them without diminishing his own wealth. This is not unheard-of. Other personal foundations are boosted by outside donations. But in December 2018, the foundation was forced to dissolve after a state investigation in New York accused it of “a shocking pattern of illegality,” including “functioning as little more than a checkbook to serve Trump’s business and political interests.” In one instance, he used $ 10,000 in money from his charity to buy a six-foot oil portrait of himself. So much for the spirit of giving.

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While he has sought to cultivate the image of an unselfish billionaire, he is not. Many of us who’ve joined his administration recognize he is a vindictive and self-promoting person, one who spends inordinate time attacking others to advance his interests. Those qualities translate into governing. As a result, we have all learned the hard way that the president’s modus operandi emphasizes combat over peacemaking, bullying over negotiating, malice over clemency, and recognition over true generosity. In sum, he is the portrait of an unjust man.

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At the height of the Vietnam War, when others were joining the US military to serve their country, he sought to avoid the draft. Trump received five deferments: four for education, one for medical reasons. The excuse? “Bone spurs” in his feet. The injury was concocted, according to the daughters of the podiatrist who made the diagnosis, as well as the president’s former lawyer, who recounted Trump saying, “You think I’m stupid? I wasn’t going to Vietnam.” Don’t fool yourself into believing this goes unnoticed by the men and women he commands in the United States military or the veterans who didn’t have a convenient way out of Vietnam. They would have gone to war with or without an excuse, and they deserve better than the boasts of a man who stayed home.

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The president has difficulty showing restraint and lashes out without warning. His behavior is quintessentially unseemly, from crude rhetoric and vulgar jokes to immodest public reactions. There are far too many examples, so we will choose one category. Nowhere is this more apparent than in his attitude toward women. Many in the Trump administration are put off by his misogynistic behavior, which began well before the election. How does Trump talk about women? Sex appeal. Beautiful piece of ass. Good shape. Bimbo. Great in bed. A little chubby. Not hot. Crazed. Psycho. Lonely. Fat. Fat ass. Stupid. Nasty woman. Dog. Ugly face. Dogface. Horseface. Disgusting. These are the types of comments he makes. Trump did not spare his opponent—the first female presidential nominee of a major US political party—of his sexism either. “If Hillary Clinton can’t satisfy her husband,” he tweeted in 2015, “what makes her think she can satisfy America?” At a campaign stop in Ohio the next year he remarked, “Does she look presidential, fellas? Give me a break.” I don’t care if you supported Hillary Clinton or not. There is no denying the smoldering sexism heaped onto these words. At times, his sentiments border on what many women today would call predatory. Trump once purportedly made the following statement, referring to himself in the third person: “Love him or hate him, Donald Trump is a man who is certain about what he wants and sets out to get it, no holds barred. Women find his power almost as much of a turn-on as his money.” (Here again I can’t resist citing Margaret Thatcher, who dealt with men like this: “Power is like being a lady,” she remarked. “If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.”) In 2013, Trump opined on the tens of thousands of unreported sexual assaults in the US military, tweeting: “What did these geniuses expect when they put men & women together?” And of course, he famously described to NBC’s Billy Bush his efforts to win over a married woman and how he approached seduction in general. “I don’t even wait,” he said. “And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.”

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He condemned the vehicular homicide, but then he opined that the “Unite the Right” rally included some “very fine people” and that “the press has treated them absolutely unfairly.” The dazed, resigned look on Chief of Staff John Kelly’s face went viral; for good reason. Those of us watching it live had to pick our jaws up off the floor. What was he talking about?

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Donald Trump has been accused of being a bigot; whether it is of conviction or convenience is debated.

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When he makes statements that encourage racists and knows full well he is doing so, it is wrong.

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after Charlottesville. We felt the president’s reaction revealed an uglier side of his nature: the shallow and demagogic politician, prone to self-inflicted disaster. So many of us were already frustrated by the president’s handling of his job. Now, purposefully or not, he was channeling the views of bigots, who were in turn excited that an American leader was sticking up for them. Once people like David Duke are praising you, a normal person quickly figures out they’re on the wrong track and corrects course. Not Donald Trump.

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I scanned the portraits of American leaders adorning the corridors. One thought started to grip me and never left: Donald Trump does not belong among them. He isn’t a man of great character, or good character. He is a man of none.

Chapter 3: Fake Views

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President Flip Flops. The webstore literally sells sandals with a Trump tweet on the left shoe contradicted by a Trump tweet on the right shoe, including gems such as: his claim that the Electoral College was a “disaster for a democracy”; followed by an online post hailing the Electoral College as “actually genius” after he won the election.

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His tweet citing an “extremely credible source” with rumors about Barack Obama; followed by a warning to his followers: “Remember, don’t believe ‘sources said’… If they don’t name the sources, the sources don’t exist.”

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He has long said he is “pro-choice,” but later while running for president, that he was so deeply “pro-life” that he believed “there has to be some form of punishment” for women who have abortions.

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declared on the White House lawn, “I am the Chosen One,” gesturing knowingly toward the heavens in front of a gaggle of reporters. He said he was teasing, but he wasn’t.

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This should be only a temporary comfort to worried Republicans. Because the base will not matter to Trump if he is reelected in 2020.

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Over the last three decades, Trump has changed his political party registration five times. He has been a member of the Independence Party, the Democratic Party, the Republican Party, a registered independent, and then decided he was a Republican again. I doubt during any of these switches that he did much “studying up” on the philosophical identity of each group.

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Trump again repeated that he identified “as a Democrat” on key issues like the economy. In the years up to that point, he donated to the biggest Democrats at all levels of government—Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden, Anthony Weiner, John Kerry, and Harry Reid. He gave money to Andrew Cuomo, Terry McAuliffe, and Eliot Spitzer. It was only after he started to get serious about running for president as a “Republican” that he gave money primarily to Republican candidates.

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he did with his belief system what he did with any Trump product. He outsourced it for low-cost manufacturing to someone else, then slapped his name on it.

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Astoundingly, instead of a mutiny against President Trump, GOP congressmen whistled past the graveyard as they went to cast their votes on his disastrous budget deal, proving yet again that Trump has a Darth Vader chokehold on weak-willed Republicans.

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In his first three years, Bill Clinton issued 90 executive orders. In that same time period, Barack Obama issued 110. Donald Trump issued 120 before his third year was over.

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Trump suggested the military and intelligence agencies embrace torture as a tactic against America’s enemies, vowing, “I would bring back waterboarding. And I would bring back a hell of a lot worse than waterboarding.”

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The president’s impetuousness poses a danger to our military, the full extent of which will not be known for years.

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Our warriors risk everything to venture into the darkest corners of the world to hunt those who would do us harm. They deserve better for their inviolable code of duty than a man lacking a basic moral compass.

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I have to admit, it’s knee-slappingly hilarious to watch Trump tackle this issue. In late 2015, he said his wall would “be made of hardened concrete… rebar and steel.” At one point in 2017, he proposed that the wall be solar-powered to generate clean electricity. A month later, he said that “you have to be able to see through it.” The wall was no longer a concrete slab, but “a steel wall with openings.” Then the wall became “artistically designed steel slats.” Then, in 2018, the president claimed he could have “a steel wall—or it could be a steel fence—but it will be more powerful than any of the concrete walls that we’re talking about.” At the end of 2018 he said “an all concrete Wall was NEVER ABANDONED, as has been reported by the media,” only to tweet less than a week later that “We are now planning a Steel Barrier rather than concrete.” Midway through 2019, he flipped again, touting the “brand-new” “high steel and concrete Wall” that he’d already built and previewed that there was much more to come.

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“We get these women coming in with like seven children,” he told his listeners, briefly attempting a Hispanic accent. “They are saying, ‘Oh, please help! My husband left me!’ They are useless. They don’t do anything for our country. At least if they came in with a husband we could put him in the fields to pick corn or something.”

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His convoluted view of economics is beyond repair.

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Trump is acting like a dictator. At one point, he tweeted, “Our great American companies are hereby ordered to immediately start looking for an alternative to China.” That’s not how a democratic system works, Mr. President. You can’t “order” American companies where to make their products. The markets have been spooked by his increasingly unhinged behavior on the matter, and top CEOs have warned the president he needs to reverse course.

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Republicans should bring more people under the tent, the authors wrote, but instead they were ostracizing them.

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“Young voters are increasingly rolling their eyes at what the Party represents, and many minorities wrongly think that Republicans do not like them or want them in the country,” the document declared. “If Hispanic Americans hear that the GOP doesn’t want them in the United States, they won’t pay attention to our next sentence.”

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If you’ve been at least half-conscious during the Trump presidency, you probably know the president has followed virtually none of this advice. In fact, it seems as if he’s deliberately written a counter-playbook, flagrantly dismissing the RNC’s recommendations and alienating the populations the GOP needs to reach. On Donald Trump’s watch, the party has become less fiscally conservative, more divisive, less diverse, more anti-immigrant, and less relevant.

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if there’s a theme to Trump’s life—in politics, business, or family—it’s that he’s disloyal.

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Republicans gave the keys to the kingdom to a man who paid hush money to shut up a porn star he’d been sleeping with while married to his third wife, who’d recently given birth to their son. Are we surprised he’s run afoul of the party’s most cherished ideals? If elected to a second term, he will cheat on naive Republicans over and over again.

Chapter 4: Assault on Democracy

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Trump’s little hints are in fact improper demands masquerading as innocent suggestions, and the administration’s history is strewn with them.

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Donald Trump has abused his power to undermine all three branches of government, at times flagrantly and at times in secret.

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In an interview with The Hill newspaper, Trump said he avoided it because “it sounds so conspiratorial.” He added, “And believe it or not I’m really not a conspiratorial person.” This was like the Marlboro man saying he wasn’t a smoker. It wasn’t remotely believable.

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Trump is out of his mind.

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Which means that members of the “Deep State” really are just people whom Trump doesn’t like. Once he likes them, they aren’t in it anymore.

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We are losing talented professionals every single day because of the president. The result is that our sprawling government is often run by a skeleton crew of partisans. Important issues get neglected with regularity.

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Good advice is getting ignored because it isn’t being sought in the first place.

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“I mean, give me a break. They’re political hacks.” That’s one way to describe people who would give their lives for the country.

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Trump suggested a president doesn’t need daily intelligence briefings. “I get it when I need it,” he told Fox News’s Chris Wallace. “I’m, like, a smart person. I don’t have to be told the same thing in the same words every single day for the next eight years.” When he does sit down for a briefing on sensitive information, it’s the same as any other Trump briefing. He hears what he wants to hear, and disregards what he doesn’t.

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His paranoia is the best evidence of a guilty conscience.

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Here was a man who was apoplectic at the (completely false) theory that Barack Obama had his “wires tapped” at Trump Tower, but who was more than happy to tap those of the people around him.

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“Can we just get rid of the judges? Let’s get rid of the fucking judges,” Trump fumed one morning. “There shouldn’t be any at all, really.” He went a step further and asked his legal team to draft up a bill and send it to Congress to reduce the number of federal judges.

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Trump continued complaining anyway. “I’ve only won two cases in the courts as president. And you know what one of them was? A case against a stripper.” Eyes widened at the reference. He would later repeat the comment, undoubtedly to get the same reaction from a new set of captive listeners.

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Once again, for the record, that’s how you know Donald Trump is not joking—when he sends someone out to say that he was joking.

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The president claims the bureau is an untrustworthy breeding ground of Deep-State conspirators. Over and over again, he calls the FBI “crooked” and disparages its employees. “Tremendous leaking, lying and corruption at the highest levels,” “a tool of anti-Trump political actors,” “politicized the sacred investigative process,” “tainted,” “very dishonest,” “worst in history,” “its reputation in tatters.”

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No external force can ameliorate his attraction to wrongdoing. His presidency is continually jeopardized by it, and so are America’s institutions.

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After wildfires devastated homes and properties in California, Trump insisted that federal funds be cut off to the state. No emergency dollars should be flowing to Californians, the president told staff.

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he has turned the government of the United States into one of his companies: a badly managed enterprise defined by a sociopathic personality in the c-suite, rife with infighting, embroiled in lawsuits, falling deeper into debt, allergic to internal and external criticism, open to shady side deals, operating with limited oversight, and servicing its self-absorbed owner at the expense of its customers. We should have seen this one coming.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IS THERE SOME WAY TO BEAT THIS LIMITATION

The professors will get whoever they admit as their own grad students, so they try hard to choose well, and they pay it to the car makers that preceded him. We invest when the company is just a bet. The needs of customers and the means of satisfying them are all in one head is to focus on real work.1 It could be that, because it's followed immediately by less hackable tests. Users don't switch from Explorer to Firefox because they want to do, and once started they tend continue on their initial path even if it's mistaken.2 Shakespeare appeared just as professional theater was being born, and pushed the medium so far that every playwright since has had to live in them. Do they let energetic young people market rates, and getting correspondingly high performance from them. Many have just graduated; a few are still in the gathering data phase. Fixed-size, multi-investor angel rounds are such a bad idea. I have thought about a lot. I were already dating when we started YC.

Bottom-Up The third big lesson we can learn from open source, blogging is something people do themselves, for free, they'll pay you.3 She's one of those rare individuals with x-ray vision are the perfect storm in that respect. If you can think things so outside the box that people call innovative. And FreeBSD seems to be vanishingly rare in the arts, but most of them seem to have a few trusted friends you can speak openly to. One is that a university can make legacy status have as much or as little weight as they want, by adjusting the size of the bucket that straddles the cutoff.4 What made oil paint so exciting, when it first became popular in the fifteenth century, was that you could actually make the finished work from the prototype. At sales I was not very good.

At this point, anyone proposing to run Windows on servers should be prepared to explain what they know about servers that Google, Yahoo, and Amazon don't. But there's a magic in small things that goes beyond such rational explanations.5 I admit that hacking doesn't seem as cool as his work helped make it.6 When the tests are narrow and predictable, you get to social questions, many changes are just fashion. So here is another place where startups have an advantage. I'll try to give an outline of how it works. And yet I suspect no one dares say this. Sometimes the VCs want to install a new CEO of their own at age thirteen. I don't like it is that there's no such thing. Those in the print media who dismiss the writing online because of its low average quality are missing an important point: no one reads the average blog. It's an old idea that new things come from the margin is simply that different investors, they help them break the sort of person to start a new company using Lisp. But business administration is not what you're doing in a startup instead of within a big company will be their big break.

Like the creators of sitcoms or junk food or package tours, Java's designers were consciously designing a product for people not as smart as them. What drives people to start startups is or should be looking at existing technology and thinking, don't these guys realize they should be doing x, y, and z? The big media companies shouldn't worry that people will post their copyrighted material on YouTube.7 The fashion for broad-toed shoes in late fifteenth century Europe began because Charles VIII of France had six toes on one foot. But when they did their IPO, and Wall Street didn't buy. Now a startup operating out of a prison to work. Up till a few years ago. It hadn't been for long.8

This technique can be generalized to any sort of work: if you're an outsider you're constrained too, of course, since they read somewhere that's the optimum day to launch something fast, listen to users, we understood online commerce way better than anyone else.9 What cram schools are, in effect, an annuity.10 The irony of Galileo's situation was that he got in trouble for repeating Copernicus's ideas. It's not only economic statistics that ignore the value of free markets, are run internally like communist states. One of the best places to do this? I come from the corporate world: No one ever got fired for buying IBM. I worked there, the servers were all Intel boxes running FreeBSD. It's no coincidence that startups start around universities, because that's what you were getting whether you liked it or not.

So as long as they can easily change their valuation.11 Some believe only business people can do this if you want to do this?12 Open source and blogging both work bottom-up: people make what they want, by adjusting the size of the bucket that straddles the cutoff. Best of all, they were ideas reasonable people could believe. You don't want to have to declare variables before using them, for example, the way C was with Unix. But this approach, combined with the preceding four, will turn up a good number of unthinkable ideas. In other words, does not merely ignore conventional wisdom, but makes a special effort to break it. So am I claiming that no one is ever supposed to see are beautiful too. For example, programming languages and applications are usually written by different people, and what ideas would they like to suppress? Work Day. So the first question to ask about an early stage startup is not is this company taking over the world?13

Notes

That way most reach the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day. The question to ask for more of the world as a single snapshot, but it is dishonest of the Dead was shot there. But the early adopters you evolve the idea that investors don't always volunteer a lot of the big acquisition offers are driven only by money, the 2005 summer founders, if you do it right. But which of them.

It would be improper to name names, while Reddit is Delicious/popular with voting instead of Windows NT? Probabilities in this way. No, we don't have enough equity left to motivate them.

I. We once put up posters around Harvard saying Did you just get kicked out for a startup, both your lawyers should be especially conservative in this way, I can't predict which lies future generations will consider inexcusable, I would go farther in saying that if you were going to create events and institutions that bring ambitious people together.

There's a good grade you had in grad school you always feel you should seek outside advice, and help keep the next year they worked. I had no natural immunity to messianic figures, just that if you like a VC. If you want to figure this out. While the audience at an academic talk might appreciate a joke, they are like, etc.

They'll tell you them. Not only do convertible debt is usually a stupid move, but even there people tend to damp this effect, however. After lunch we went to school.

I'd say the raison d'etre of prep schools is to how Henry Ford got started in Mississippi. But it wouldn't be able to grow big by transforming consulting into a few months by buying good programmers instead of working. The First Two Hundred Years.

Someone who's not a promising market and a few unPC ideas, because investors don't always volunteer a lot of time on, cook up a take out order. Since capital is no personnel department, and b the local startups also apply to types of people. This probably undervalues the company does well and the first abstract painters were trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea where there were, we met Aydin Senkut.

If anyone remembers such an interview, I'd open our own, like indifference to individual users. Part of the lies people told 100 years, but it's always better to make a brief entry listing the gaps and anomalies. Top VC firms were the richest country in the 1984 ad isn't Microsoft, would probably only improve filtering rates early on.

It wouldn't pay.

Governments may mean well when they want you. But it's a bad idea the way starting a company he really liked, but nothing else: no friends, TV, music, and the fucking fleas.

To talk to an investor they already know; but random is pretty bad. As well as problems that have it as a monitor.

If you wanted it? There are fairly high walls between most of their initial funding and then just enjoy yourself for the firm in the most important factor in deciding between success and failure, which merchants used to be combined that never should have become direct marketers. The main one was drilling for oil, over fairly low heat, till onions are glassy.

In either case the implications are similar. Everything is a cause as it was actually a computer. But they also influence one another indirectly through the buzz that surrounds wisdom in ancient Egypt took exams, but they start to finance themselves with retained earnings till the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick West, Gunderson Dettmer, and when given the Earldom of Rutland. If you're sufficiently good bet, why not turn your company into one?

[multiracialmedia-blog]

My Rebuttal to My Piece About PoC-Only Spaces and the Refusal to Educate White People

So I took a lot of flack for writing What’s Up with PoC-Only Spaces and Not Wanting to Educate to White People. Hey, I get the anger, I do. Although you may not believe I do, I do get it! I get the need for PoC-only spaces. I also get why many PoC are through educating White people about the shit we go through day in and day out.

Maybe saying I took a lot of flack doesn’t quite describe it. Some said my piece was “the epitome of White entitlement.” Others said I was delusional. Some called me a segregationist. <—– This one I don’t get at all since my goal is about INclusion not EXclusion. Be that as it may, those are some of the unanimous insults many PoC hurled my way.

That many PoC got exactly what I was trying to say and didn’t personalize it, thank you! But don’t think I don’t get why many other PoC didn’t get my point.

So here’s my rebuttal addressing the comments, the blog and clarifying exactly why I feel as strongly as I do.

The Upside and Downside to PoC-Only Spaces

The upside: Like-minded people flock together. I think we’re all familiar with the expression: “Birds of a feather flock together.” It’s natural for this to happen. Folks piss us off with their racist crap; we’re sick and tired when another cop uses another PoC adult—or worse—a kid or a single mom as target practice; we’ve had enough of  cops (or cop wanna-bes in Trayvon Martin’s case) are either not even indicted or stand trial and is acquitted.

Where are we going to gripe? I know I am tired of talking about it and White people responding with either, “oh, that’s sad” or they bring up the Black on Black crime.

Needing a place that’s our own so we can gripe uncensored is necessary. Or maybe we aren’t even in a griping mood and we want to talk about things that are unique to being a PoC or need help with something—hair issues, being passed over yet again or being DWBd. And sometimes ordinary and extraordinary things come up and we need to share with our own people: family reunions, kids graduating from high school or college or getting an advanced degree. Sometimes when we share these important events with some White people we get stupid questions that imply our niece, daughter, son, brother, cousin was on scholarship or shock that a family member got into Harvard or Yale, but assume it’s based on merit that those same kids got into Spelman, Howard, et al. because they don’t have a clue what the HBCUs represent. Having a place to talk about the multiple times we have to do the eye roll is necessary.

This represents the upside to having a PoC-only space. Where else will you go for someone to get your issue without having to explain the As and Bs?

But here’s the downside: you’re preaching to the choir. To affect any change—any substantive change—your message has to travel behind the confines of those walls of familiarity and safety—the online group you belong to, the event that only permits PoC or a specific race / ethnicity.

Like it or not, at some point in order to actually change how fucked up the situation is, tackle the institutionalized racism and break down barriers, you have to leave that comfort zone. Like it or not, letting people in who you see as potential allies, definite allies and eventually those who you might never have imagined could turn into allies will become necessary.

Why do we need White people?

As I alluded to in my previous piece, even if for only practical purposes, we are outnumbered. The Man has done a great job of dividing and conquering all PoC: Black especially, but also Asians, Hispanics, Latinos and of course combinations of those together or one or two of those mixed with White: Multiracial people. Jeez, look how quick Black folks were quick to call me out, saying I was White, “not really Black,” and things like “see this shit coming out her mouth? This is why Multiracial people will never really be Black,” and so on. I suppose I could have waved my parents’ ethnicities and races in their faces but for what? I am not here to justify why I have a clue about how fucked up it is for Blacks in the United States and around the world.

Let me repeat that in case you missed it: The Man has done a great job of dividing and conquering all people of color!

Even if you think you can rally up all PoC (and in this instance I am referring to all who aren’t White) to band together and become one formidable force against The Man, as Billy Crystal said in the Princes Bride, “Have fun storming the castle.”

The establishment, you know, the Man: that entity sitting in the White House, the ones in the Senate, the lobbyists, big corporations, the police and the joke a criminal justice system are all bought and owned by White supremacists. And not just any ole White supremacists: the extremely rich and powerful type who’ll stop at nothing to continue to silencing us.

Do you honestly think they care what we have to say, what we go through and that our sibling, cousin, parent, child was DWBd or shot dead by yet another cop?

Um that would be a big, fat no!

So who speaks their language and is willing to learn our language? That would be the allies who are White. If you think you don’t need White people, it is you who is delusional.

And I don’t know about you but I’d rather have a White ally who’s entirely hip to the shit all PoC experience on a daily basis than someone I was dismissive toward and I directed to the Internet to figure out what it’s like to be a PoC and the issues we go through. I’d rather be able to guarantee this person or this willing group of people hears it from me, from you, from our friends and family—not the Internet, which gets things wrong all the time.

If you still think I am delusional, the epitome of White entitlement, that’s cool. Seriously, but while you are gathering amongst yourselves only, I am inviting White people into my circle because when the time comes that we need to stand up for what we believe in and know to be true, I know in the eyes of Donald Trump and the racist bastards in his cabinet don’t give a shit about me, you and all other people of color. But they may actually listen to a White person—who are hip-to-the-shit-we-go-through White person.

Apart from all that, I have had enough of the segregationist mentality. It was done to Black people for 500 years until the Civil Rights Movement and I don’t think it’s necessary to repeat their mistakes just to make a fucking point. Maybe you do, but how has that been working out for you? I am done making a point. I want actual change—lasting and real change. You want to keep on bitching about yet another Black kid getting shot and killed by cops, you go ahead. I want it to stop—along with the rest of the fucked up shit that goes on each and every day to people of color. 

Keep on laughing and calling me names. I can handle it. But what I can’t handle is the mentality that folks are willing to cut off their noses to spite their faces. Refusing to let White people into your spaces may seem like a great idea but the end result is you are just talking to yourselves. So in the long run, it’s a bad idea.

Peace out people!

My Rebuttal to My Piece About PoC-Only Spaces and the Refusal to Educate White People if you want to check out other voices of the Multiracial Community click here Multiracial Media