#love being paid literal pennies to pick up after everyone else and i STILL get told

[selfnss]

// i wanted to write tonight but im just an eepy guy today.... work was Not fun and i'm not looking forward to tomorrow thanks to my boss' antics recently soooooo im just gonna go to bed and maybe harass some people's inboxes if the mood strikes i think...

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

I was going to save this until tomorrow morning, but then I remembered I have stuff to do in the morning and I’ll be traveling again, soooo gonna finally get this fic officially rolling tonight.

*Originally I was going to call this fic ‘The Romancing of Ruby Rose,’ but I didn’t really like how it just focused on Ruby when it’s a Bright Eyes OT3 fic, so I decided to make a last minute change.

*this fic is based off a set of three asks sent to me by @misstrashchan, the first being:

Oscar's learnt how to pick up on Ruby's emotions better than most in a short time. So he doesn't fail to notice how hard Ruby- and it appears Penny as well- are crushing on one another. He tries to encourage Ruby to ask Penny on a date, but for some reason, they keep bringing him along.

and now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!

.

How to Grow a Romance in 3 Easy Steps

Step 1: Planting Rose Seeds in the Garden

I fell in love with her the moment I saw her silver eyes.

A shiver runs up Oscar’s spine.  He stares at the last line of the story, as if the intensity of his gaze will make it change to something else entirely.  His stomach twists uncomfortably into knots.  Oscar can imagine, far too easily, what it feels like to fall in love with a silver-eyed person.  The way one’s heart skips a beat.  The rush of heady emotions.

He’d chosen to read this book of fairytales to forget about his problems for an hour or two (and maybe find a deeper understanding of Ozpin along the way, since it was Oz who collected the stories for the book once upon a time).  Not to be reminded of his woes.

Oscar sighs.  He closes the book with a light thump, tosses it to the side, lies on his back, and stares at the ceiling.  When they were first getting settled, Jaune had given him the choice of top or bottom bunk in their Atlas dorm room.  Oscar chose the top.  It gave him a little more privacy, distance, from his teammates.  Oscar likes Jaune, Nora, and Ren, they’ve become his friends, but they can be a bit much at times too.

There are times, like now, where Oscar enjoys being able to think without being asked what he’s thinking about.  He’s not quite sure how that conversation would go, and he’s not eager to find out.  There are far more important things they need to focus on than something as insignificant as a puppyish crush.  He never even considered romance an option before leaving his aunt’s farm.  He shouldn’t now.

Because, because it doesn’t matter how he feels about Ruby.  Not in the slightest.  Ruby doesn’t feel the same way about him.  He doesn’t make her heart race.  She doesn’t smile softly, tenderly at him.  Not like she does at…

Oscar rolls over and groans into his pillow.  It would be much easier to endure if it were literally anyone else who managed to gain Ruby’s affection.  Literally.  Anyone.  Else.  ANYONE.

Other than Penny Polendina.

Oscar hadn’t known her before, at Beacon, like everyone else had.  After talking to them, he found out Jaune, Nora, and Ren hadn’t known Penny too well either back then.  She’d been closer to Team RWBY, and especially Ruby.  Oscar had wondered, after witnessing how Penny and Ruby just looked at each other, if there’d been something more between them back at Beacon.  He’d asked.  His three teammates looked between themselves and admitted they didn’t actually know.

Although JNPR and RWBY were close in their academy days, some things still didn’t leave their respective teams, Jaune explained.  It wasn’t until after the Fall that they’d learned that Ruby had known Penny’s true nature for quite some time before the tragedy in the arena, for instance.  They kept their own secrets too.  Ren and Nora had revealed their past to Jaune, and their late teammate, Pyrrha, but not to RWBY.

(Pyrrha Nikos, for the record, remains an entirely separate topic Oscar isn’t sure how to think about.  He knows none of his friends consider him her replacement on Team JNPR.  Even though his name technically has a ‘P’ in it and Ironwood was more than willing to register him as the new fourth member of JNPR in Atlas’s databases, they’d instead insisted on calling themselves ORNJ.  It causes some confusion since Jaune is still the team leader, but, for them, it works.  Both to represent who they are now and keep the memory of who they were then in tact.)

Back to the point, if there were anyone (outside of Ruby), to choose to have a crush on, Oscar completely understands why Penny would be that choice.  She’s like no one else he’s ever met, and not just because of the robot thing.  Okay, yeah, the fact she can fly is pretty cool.  But, more than that, she’s sweet.  She’s one of the most kind-hearted souls he’s ever met.  

Most importantly, Penny doesn’t see Oscar as just the boy who’d tagged along with her actual friends because their old headmaster had taken up residence in his head.  She sees him as a potential new friend in his own right.  She’s gone out of her way to make him feel welcome in Atlas.  She didn’t really have to do that.  Especially not when she’s so busy herself being Protector of an entire city.

It makes it impossible to dislike her.  And really, it’s flat out unfair to dislike someone just because the person you happen to have a crush on has a crush on them anyway.

A part of Oscar wishes he did dislike Penny.  That part of him is convinced that, if he were just to channel all his heartbreak over not being the one to catch Ruby’s eye into negative emotions for her, it would be easier to cope.  Every other part of him knows it wouldn’t be.  Not truly.  Not in any way that counts.

Oscar’s scroll vibrates.  He sighs to himself, but reaches over to pick it up to read whatever message has been sent to him.

Text from Ruby Rose:

Hey Oscar, later me and Penny are gonna to go to that arcade that you told me FNKI told you to check out, wanna come?

Oscar stares at the text as one minute passes by, then another, and a third after that.  Yes, he’d told Ruby about the arcade.  Team FNKI had told his team about it after one of their training bouts.  It was apparently one of FNKI’s favorite places to unwind and destress.  He’d told Ruby about it because he knew how much she enjoyed video games.

(He figured it could probably be a great place for some kind of first date between her and Penny, as well.  At least, that’s where Oscar would have taken Ruby if he’d ever been able to ask her out.)

(Look, if Oscar is never going to get his chance to admit his true feelings, the least the two of them could do is just go out with each other already.  Ruby and Penny really have no subtlety whatsoever in masking their emotions and he wants them, both of them, to be happy.)

Oscar had even encouraged Ruby that maybe Penny would enjoy going to to the arcade with her, as gentle nudge in the right direction, when he told her about it.  She’d been receptive to the idea.  Oscar had been happy to see Ruby so excited (sure he couldn’t be her, or Penny’s, happiness, but he could bring them together so they could be that for each other).

But now they want him to come with them.  And third wheel their date.

Unless they don’t consider it a date?  Which, okay sure, knowing them, they probably don’t.  But still.

For the first time in his life, Oscar wishes he’d paid just the slightest bit more attention to his aunt’s gossip on the going-ons of the closest town to their farm.  None of it was particularly interesting, but a lot of it did seem to revolve around who should be in a relationship with who.  Maybe some random tidbit from back then may have now proven helpful in figuring out this current situation of his.

A quiet voice in Oscar’s mind (one that’s definitely his own and not Ozpin) reminds him its not his job to play matchmaker between his friends.

(Though, he does need to direct his restless crush emotions somewhere and ensuring Ruby and Penny’s future happiness seems a good a place as any.)

Oscar grumbles to himself.  He’s about to type out a reply saying, no, he’ll be busy, he can’t come.  Sure, he would like to, because he does enjoy spending time with them, but he’s not certain he should.

He gets another message before he can send his out.

Text from Penny Polendina:

Ruby said she already invited you to the arcade, but I just wanted to say I’d be excited if you come too!  More friends = more fun!!!

Oscar knows he can still say ‘no’.  He doesn’t have to go just because Penny has now asked him too.  But she’s his friend, and he cares about her (a lot), and she gets so little time off to spend with friends, any friends, including him.  If she and Ruby aren’t seeing this outing as a date anyway?  Well, then he can just let that be something he figures out how to push them toward later.

After taking a deep breath, Oscar messages back asking after details, like when exactly in the day they were planning on going.

[swapauanon]

RWBY: Best and Worst

Best Volume

Volume 7, without a doubt. It wraps up Ironwood's fall from grace that was set up all the way back in Volume 2, gives us some truly amazing set-pieces, and brought Penny back into the show! My one complaint is that they PROBABLY should've mentioned Tortuga to make it clearer that the Ace Ops bullying of Marrow wasn't born out of racism. That and I think they should've made Clover a BIT more smug after Ironwood jumps off the deep end, adding a karmic twist to his death.

But aside from those two points, the Volume's basically perfect.

Worst Volume

Volume 1. CRWBY were still figuring things out, and it shows! Like, it's enjoyable all the way through (and the Jaunedice arc is overhated), but it takes until "Black and White" for it to truly be GOOD.

Best Episode

"The Lost Fable" is by far the best animated and best-written episode in the entire series. It gives us our first TRULY reliable narrator and forever changes the context of the entire conflict between Oz and Salem, while also introducing the show's Greater Scope Villains.

Not bad for an episode where most of the fights are offscreen.

Worst Episode

"The Final Word" is a lazy, ableist, and downright DANGEROUS way to wrap up Volume 8. From Winter losing to an inferior opponent until she gets a power boost, to killing off the only EXPLICITLY autistic character to give an allistic character some manpain, to COMPLETELY CONTRADICTING THE CENTRAL THEME OF THE ATLAS ARC, to the writers suddenly forgetting that Marrow and Elm were the only Ace Ops with a moral compass!

And that's not getting into the romanticization of suicide and the overall message of "If you think your friend is suicidal, you're not REALLY their friend unless you respect their wishes and help them with the noose", it's just an irredeemable GARBAGE FIRE that should be erased from existence!

Honestly, FUCK THIS EPISODE AND FUCK JAUNE ARC!

Best Fight

The Siege of Schnee Manor is VERY different from your typical RWBY fight, because it's not meant to have you in awe of the protagonists, it's meant to fill you with dread as the Hound and the Creatures of Grimm lay siege to our heroes' last safe haven in the city of Atlas.

EVERYONE gets a chance to shine against the Hound, and we get more of our heroes reaffirming that Penny's life matters in Nora's and Penny's conversation, AND some set-up for how Penny can overpower the virus that SADLY doesn't get paid off because SOMEONE on the writing team hates Penny.

Worst Fight

Winter vs Ironwood is what you'd get from a crappy "Fixing RWBY" YouTube series written by an Adam stan, where skill doesn't matter. The ONLY thing that matters in this battle is "who has the higher power level?" and it results in what is perhaps the most BORING fight I've ever watched.

Ironwood has a super-powerful gun that hurts his maneuverability while Winter can move faster than he can aim?

Ironwood wins because his gun is powerful.

Oh, but wait, thanks to Penny FINALLY giving into her suicidal thoughts, Winter gets a last-second power boost and wipes the floor with Ironwood in spite of being too injured to BREATHE.

Also, Ironwood's gun can penetrate force-fields but not ICE.

So... UNLIKE the Bees vs Adam fight, ALL of Ironwood's viewpoints are VINDICATED rather than torn-down, so even if he's beaten, he TECHNICALLY wins by being right about everything else!

How fucked up is that?

Best Character

Penny Polendina is one of the best representations of autism I've seen in fiction, and I honestly think we'd have a better show if SHE was the deuteragonist instead of Jaune. Seriously, she's adorable, clever, and has great chemistry with Ruby!

Oh but Jaune's manpain is FAR more important than good autism rep!

Worst Character

As tempted as I was to put Cinder here, I HAVE to put Clover here, by simple virtue of the fact that Clover is LITERALLY just a name and a face, with nothing really interesting to offer outside of serving as a contrast to Qrow.

Had they not dropped the rivals-to-friends-to-enemies plotline he was going to share with Qrow from Volume 7, I'd probably have put Junior, the Malachite Twins, or Ambrosius in this spot instead, but as it stands...

He exists?

Best Song

"Not now, AND NEVERRRRMORE!!!!"

It was either that or "War", but in the end I think I have a stronger attachment to this one.

It doesn't hurt that it's a great Bumbleby duet while ALSO ripping into Adam's philosophy and ego, but taking time to mourn the broken shell of a man he reduced himself to.

("Friend" might dethrone this if Penny comes back, because as it currently stands it's just an overly cruel slap in the face that mocks you for being invested in Penny's arc, but without that context works pretty great as a Penny song.)

Worst Song

Okay, this one was a hard pick as RWBY doesn't really HAVE any truly bad songs, but...

Honestly, by process of elimination, I'm going with "Not Fall in Love With You", if only because "Like Morning Follows Night" basically fulfills the same purpose as this song, but does it better, rendering it kinda redundant.

[platedgolds]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎.

hi,   friends   !   i’m   admin   fox   (   23.   she/they.   brt.   )   and   i’m   so   excited   to   get   this   going   !   it’s   been   a   wild   journey   to   make   this   group   happen   but   everyone   seems   so   nice   and   all   of   your   muses   are   so   interesting   it’s   def   all   worth   it   !   this   is   romeo   dubois,   my   himbo   baby   and   all   around   hot   mess.   if   you’d   like   to   plot   with   him,   please   feel   free   to   message   me   on   discord   at   pedro pascal stan blog#9349   or   send   me   your   discord   @   and   i’ll   message   you   there   !

*                     SEBASTIAN   STAN   +   CIS   MALE   +   HE/HIM   ——   have   you   seen   ROMEO   DUBOIS   around?   they’re   a   THIRTY-SIX   year   old   PHYSICAL   EDUCATION   TEACHER   known   around   town   as   the   LOOSE   CANON.   not   only   are   they   broke   af,   but   they’ve   been   in   town   for   SIX   YEARS.   they’re   LOYAL   +   LAID-BACK,   as   well   as   CHILDISH   +   UNHINGED,   but   what   else   would   you   expect   from   an   ARIES?   low-hanging   grey   sweatpants.   back   muscles.   a   beer   bottled   tucked   on   the   back   pocket   of   a   pair   of   jeans.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

romeo   was   born   in   eldora   to   two   very   absent   parents;   they   were   one   of   the   few   middle   class   families   in   town,   with   his   mother   always   traveling   for   work   and   his   father   at   home,   drowning   himself   in   alcohol.   from   an   early   age,   romeo   was   left   to   his   own   devices;   he   was   the   one   who   raised   his   brother   even   though   he   was   still   just   a   child   himself   when   cain   was   born,   with   no   skill   or   mental   capacity   to   take   care   of   himself   let   alone   an   infant. 

his   parents’   marriage   was   in   shambles;   the   whole   town   often   spoke   about   how   unfaithful   mrs.   dubois   was,   and   how   her   husband   only   stood   by   her   side   because   of   the   money   she   made.   romeo   was   too   young   to   understand   what   ‘cheating’   meant   when   the   rumors   first   started,   but   he   still   got   into   plenty   of   fights   by   the   time   he   entered   his   teens   and   the   infamy   of   his   mother’s   choices   were   echoed   throughout   high   school   bleachers

it   didn’t   take   long   before   people   started   recognizing   romeo   as   one   of   the   trouble   makers   in   town;   his   anger   against   his   parents   and   the   horrible   situation   they   forced   upon   him   made   its   way   out   of   his   chest   with   the   blink   of   an   eye,   lashing   out   at   everyone   and   anyone   he   could.   in   the   height   of   his   teenagehood,   romeo   knew   the   name   of   every   single   cop   in   eldora’s   precinct.   he   got   into   so   many   fights   it   was   hard   to   see   romeo   without   a   bruise   on   his   face,   got   drunk   and   wrecked   his   car   more   times   than   anyone   could   ever   count,   and   he   even   spent   a   few   nights   in   a   cell   after   a   particular   incident   involving   the   break   in   of   several   homes   around   town.   still,   people   pitied   the   kid,   and   many   would   leave   him   off   the   hook   no   matter   what   kind   of   bad   trouble   he   got   into.

despite   his   bad   manners   and   constant   anger,   romeo   excelled   in   sports.   more   specifically   ice   hockey,   which   he   had   to   take   a   bus   three   towns   over   to   be   able   to   practice   every   week;   he   loved   the   freedom   of   the   skates,   and   he   was   large   and   violent   enough   to   be   unstoppable   in   the   rink.   his   prowess   caught   the   eye   of   many,   and   by   the   time   romeo   was   legal   to   drink   he   was   shoved   in   an   airplane   and   taken   to   canada   where   he   could   practice   and   properly   excel   in   his   craft.

by   the   age   of   twenty-three,   romeo   was   back   in   the   united   states   playing   for   the   jersey   devils,   a   team   he   wasn’t   too   proud   of,   but   it   paid   the   bills   and   it   brought   him   the   notoriety   he   felt   like   he   truly   deserved.

by   the   age   of   twenty-seven,   romeo   dubois   was   captain   of   the   chicago   blackhawks   and   making   more   money   than   he   could   ever   know   what   to   do   with   it.   twenty-seven   was   also   the   year   he   got   married   to   the   victoria’s   secret   angel   he’d   met   just   eight   months   prior;   anyone   that   has   ever   met   romeo   will   say   he   peaked   in   his   late   20s,   though   he   would   say   they   were   the   most   miserable   years   he’s   ever   had.

it   all   came   crumbling   down   on   his   29th   birthday,   when   romeo   was   arrested   in   chicago   for   a   car   accident   that   nearly   took   the   life   of   a   young   mother;   he   had   two   male   escorts   and   over   a   pound   of   cocaine   in   his   car,   and   even   though   his   lawyers   managed   to   bribe   his   way   into   a   short   six   months   prison   sentence,   the   media   wasn’t   so   kind.   romeo   lost   his   job,   lost   his   reputation   and   managed   to   lose   every   single   penny   he   had   once   his   wife   divorced   him.

once   romeo   was   out   of   jail,   he   had   no   place   to   go   other   than   eldora.   he’s   been   back   into   town   for   six   years,   working   as   a   p.e.   teacher   at   the   local   high   school   solely   because   the   principal   was   a   family   friend   that   pulled   many   strings   to   get   him   the   position.   he   currently   lives   in   the   dingy   motel   in   the   outskirts   of   town,   spending   most   of   his   time   drunk   and   high---   and   for   a   man   who   swore   he’d   never   be   like   his   father,   romeo’s   had   never   been   more   wrong. 

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

literal   himbo.   that’s   it,   that’s   his   personality.   hot   &   stupid,   absolutely   joey   tribbiani   kinda   guy--   you   know,   if   joey   was   an   asshole   and   not   the   absolute   sweetheart   he   is.

v   selfish,   will   do   whatever   it   takes   to   make   sure   he   comes   out   on   top   of   every   situation.   still,   if   he   thinks   someone   is   worthy   of   his   loyalty,   he’ll   stick   by   them   no   matter   what.

big   liar.   seriously.   has   no   qualms   about   making   shit   up   on   the   spot   so   that   his   narrative   is   the   one   being   told;   damn   good   actor,   too.

big   hoe   (   it   runs   in   the   family,   the   bad   tongues   would   say.   ),   will   sleep   with   anyone   as   long   as   they’re   paying   attention   to   him   for   long   enough.

he   was   in   the   closet   his   entire   career,   and   now   that   he’s   been   shoved   out   of   it   romeo   has   no   intention   of   going   back---   calls   himself   gay   as   hell   way   too   much   for   someone   who’s   actually   bi.

6′3,   broad   shoulders   and   still   with   an   athletic   build   even   if   he   doesn’t   play   anymore;   romeo’s   far   too   shallow   to   let   himself   go,   even   if   working   out   nowadays   kills   a   little   bit   of   his   soul   every   time.

covered   in   tattoos,   with   a   well   trimmed   beard   and   hair   styled   perfectly   so   that   it   looks   messy   enough;   romeo   has   the   ‘i   look   like   i   just   woke   up   and   yet   it   took   me   three   hours   to   get   ready’   nonchalant   look   down   to   the   t.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

a   party   friend   ---   romeo’s   only   likable   when   he’s   drunk;   thankfully,   that   seems   to   be   the   case   most   of   the   time.   this   person   only   comes   around   when   they   want   to   get   drunk   or   high,   and   of   course   romeo’s   always   ready   to   take   it   up   a   notch.

a   best   friend   ---   they   are   always   on   each   other’s   corner;      this   is   someone   that   sees   romeo   for   who   he   really   is   instead   of   the   bad   guy   façade   he   wears,   and   loves   him   despite   his   flaws;   maybe   they   even   lived   together   for   a   while   when   romeo   first   came   back   into   town?   could   be   a   childhood   friendship   or   something   new.

a   protege   ---   for   one   reason   or   another,   romeo   has   deemed   this   person   worthy   of   caring   for   and   protecting   with   his   life.   like   a   momma   bear,   except   you’re   not   a   bear   cub   and   he   certainly   doesn’t   know   how   to   care   for   anyone.   could   be   funny   if   this   was   clearly   someone   that   doesn’t   need   protecting.

a   one   night   stand   ---   like   a   said,   big   hoe.   maybe   romeo   and   this   person   that   a   night   together   (   or   more   than   one   )   and   he   simply   never   called   back   ?   probably   doesn’t   even   remember   about   it,   acts   as   if   it   never   happened;   could   be   fun   if   they   had   been   friends   beforehand.

an   ex   ---   they   were   pretty   serious   at   one   point,   maybe   even   lived   together   ?   and   then   romeo   fucked   things   up;   it   was   definitely   a   self-sabotaging   thing,   where   he   felt   like   he   was   too   close   to   happiness   and   subconsciously   couldn’t   allow   himself   such   a   thing.   maybe   he   cheated,   or   maybe   he   started   picking   fights   for   every   single   small   thing,   or   hell,   maybe   he   even   started   ghosting   them   and   spending   the   nights   away   from   home.   whatever   he   needed   to   do   to   get   them   to   break   up   with   him.

a   hate   fuck   ---   they   hate   each   other,   but   they   can’t   keep   their   clothes   on   around   each   other   either;   every   argument   ends   up   in   heated   sex,   and   at   this   point   they   aren’t   sure   if   they’re   fighting   because   they   can’t   stand   the   other,   or   if   they’re   doing   it   because   they   know   where   it’ll   end. 

a   fan   ---   someone   that   knew   him   from   his   time   as   a   hockey   player   !   romeo   def   feels   very   uncomfortable   around   them,   a   constant   reminder   of   the   good   life   he’s   lost.

friends   of   all   kinds   ---   romeo’s   a   social   butterfly   on   his   good   days,   so   give   him   all   sorts   of   friends   !   co-workers,   old   friends,   some   new.   anything   !

[asphalt-cocktail]

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Pseudonym: Sugar

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I’m so happy with the reception I've gotten with my fic! I’m really excited with what I have written out so far and I’m really happy seeing everyone enjoying what I have written, i have big plans for this little cutie. Not a lot is going to happen during these first few chapters other than establishing the foundation because it is a slow burn, but don’t worry, once we get there it’ll be like a fucking avalanche of chaos. My tag list is open, so if you are interested feel free to send me an ask! I will be reblogging with my taglist and links to the previous chapter, so please be patient with me!

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, masturbation, some friendly banter between roger and reader, not proof read, short chapter but don’t worry it gets better.

Word Count: 1.7k

18+ if you are a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

It was your first night living with Roger and you were secretly thankful he was busy with a gig which allowed you to unpack your things in peace. He made it very clear that you were to stick your side of the apartment, i.e. your room, and not ruin the ‘aesthetic’ he had worked so hard for his apartment to have. It disappointed you to say the least, considering your only qualm with the apartment was the hideous wood paneling that made up the walls of the living room. It looked like a scene straight out of a 1970s porno.

The later it got the more you progressed in unpacking what little boxes you had and the closer it got to Roger coming home. You finished with what you decided would be the last box of the night and now laid in your bed, door closed, your colored LED lights dimly lighting your room a deep red color.

Your frowned going through your emails and reading rejection letter after rejection letter from the jobs you had applied for. You were thankful you were quite the penny pincher and were able to survive to for at least a month, but the dread still loomed over you like a dark cloud.

Your mind drifted to Freddie’s suggestion from earlier that week, “Try camming, love, it’s all the rage right now!” his loud voice echoed in your mind until you finally caved and grabbed your phone typing in your search engine how to be a camgirl.

Several articles popped up;

How to Become a Cam Girl

TIPS FOR BECOMING A CAM GIRL & HOW I DID IT

Camming on a Limited Budget?

You sighed, your eyes felt strained from reading article after article. You’d seen several reoccurring websites, the two most popular being Twitter, Snapchat, and some live stream sight called WatchMe. Skepticism filled your brain, why would people be so into buying nudes from people or watching them masturbate on camera when they could do it for free on some porn site?

The sense of intimacy that one got, anonymity, and personal interactions with some who was literally paid to be nice to you over ruled the financial aspect.

The financial aspect also caused you to throw what little shame you had left out the window and soon you found yourself impulsively signing up for all three sights starting first with WatchMe. You pursed your lips when you found yourself being prompted to enter your name, what the hell would you put? You certainly couldn’t put your real name, could you? No, you couldn’t. You found yourself smiling while entering Sugar into the name space.

The application process was surprisingly long and bureaucratic, but it was probably good they had you submit a picture of your license twice, once just on its own, and once next to your face just to confirm you were of legal age. The only downside was that it would be a three day wait for the information to be processed.

You scrolled through your imaged looking for some pictures or videos to put on your premium snapchat, but much to your dismay you found that you had a few vanilla nudes taken ages ago back when your and Harrison’s relationship was still young and romantic, but not much else. You reluctantly got out of bed and rummaged through your underwear drawer, picking through your cotton granny panties you wore when your period made you bloated and finally found a black lacy pair of panties that had a matching black lacy balconette bra that pushed your breasts together giving you the perfect amount of cleavage.

You put it on and stood in front of your full-length mirror, it had been ages since you’d last put on lingerie. It felt nice to put it on for yourself and not for someone else; you twisted in the mirror, observing how the lace delicately cupped your cheeks and hugged your hips perfectly. You chewed on your bottom lip and posed, kneeling in front of the mirror, your legs spread and your back arched to give your chest a little extra pop while you positioned your phone over your face and clicked a few pictures.

The red lighting in your room caused a complimentary glow against your skin, showering you in red light and somehow making your images look more erotic. You smiled a bit to yourself, you looked hot!

Our relationship is boring

The word hammered against your mind, causing you to frown and your brows to knit together in frustration.

You were NOT boring, did boring people take pictures of themselves to sell to other people? No.

You found yourself getting hot with frustration and strangely enough, arousal. You didn’t know if it was from how you were dressed working in tandem with the lighting or if it was your pent-up frustration from not having a proper orgasm in so long, but you soon found your hand traveling south while you remained kneeling in front of the mirror. Before you began you carefully positioned your phone, just enough to keep your face out of the picture and rubbed your thighs, leaving teasing touches around the band of your panties.

Your chest heaved with anticipation, you didn’t know why but the fact that you were being videotaped added a feeling of naughtiness to your actions. You gave your slit a teasing rub, your hips twitching at the sudden pressure before your fingers harshly rubbed yourself. The rough fabric of the lace adding an additional tingle to the pleasure that shot through you. You moaned, leaning back ever so slightly to angle yourself and rubbed yourself through your panties, strumming harshly at your clit.

“Ah, fuck.” You whined, reaching up with your free hand and kneading your breasts, pulling your bra down and allowing them to freely spill over. Your nipples reacted to the cold air and hardened almost immediately. You pinched and twisted at them while your fingers began to move faster and faster against your wet core before you decided you needed to fully touch yourself.

You stripped off your panties and spread yourself for the camera, allowing your glistening cunt to be on full display. You slipped your fingers between your folds and began to rub harsh circled around your clit, rolling your hips along with your motions and allowing unfiltered moans to fall from your lips. Roger wouldn’t be home for another few hours, but for some reason the idea that you may get caught enhanced the arousal you felt.

You dipped two fingers into your tight hole, letting out a high-pitched sigh and now feeling contently full. You pumped them in and out of your tight cunt, the slick sounds squelching as you pumped them in and out rapidly. Your stomach clenched when you brushed against that spot inside you and a knot in your tummy began to tighten, getting tighter and tighter each time you thrust your fingers into you. You used the heel of your hand to rub harshly against your clit, the slickness guiding you with ease “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You whimpered out, rolling your hips against your hands.

The tightening knot in your stomach snapped and your body jerked while a wave of pleasure washed over you.

After you recovered, you sat up, did you just masturbate in front of a camera? You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face; it was like you had a dirty little secret of your own.

When you finally ventured out of your room you found Roger lounging in the living room “Wow, out of your room for once?” Roger asked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“No company tonight?” You chimed, noting the absence of some bar floozy hanging off his shoulder, “Did your show go all right?”

Roger’s brows were tightly knit together, he was obviously tense over something and the long sigh he let out before answering you practically told the story; “No, it was complete garbage.” He mumbled, “The venue, not us.” He quickly followed with.

Right, of course Queen was perfect, but you decided to entertain the idea, inching closer into the living room, “What was so bad about the venue?”

It was as though he were waiting for someone to ask him that question, “The crowd was total shit, I know Freddie is damn good at interacting with the crowd, they were just,” He took a surprisingly aggressive drink from his beer bottle, rolling his eyes at the memory, “Stiff as hell,” He mumbled, “Then! That wasn’t even the worst part, on top of that the power cut out not once but three times!” He dramatically raised his arms in frustration, “I practically threw my set off the stage after the third time.” Roger scoffed. Despite your distance from him you could smell the combined stench of sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol that seemed to seep into his garish outfit.

You arched an eyebrow at him “You threw your kit off the stage?” your voice pitched in disbelief.

Roger shrugged “Yeah,” he was so nonchalant, “What about it?”   

“Well I guess you won’t be going back there anytime soon,” You mumbled, and Roger raised his bottle in agreement, “You know, I was thinking we could paint the walls a nice cream color.” You mentioned, lightly running your hands across the drab wood paneling.

Roger narrowed his eyes at you, “Paint over wood panel?” He scoffed, “It’s original finish, you can’t do that!”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, “I can tell it’s original, I can practically smell 1970 seeping out when it gets too hot in here.” You chastised, “Plus painting the walls a lighter color will brighten it up a bit, what the hell are you trying to live in, a cave?”

“Fine, you get to paint the accent wall and I’ll take the others.”

“I pay half the rent here too!” You constantly reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who lived here anymore.

Roger let out a frustrated sigh, “Fine you get two walls and I’ll get two. Have fun painting them Saffron Ivory of whatever boring color you decide on.”

Well, guess your civil conversation is over, you sighed, “At least it’ll look better,” You mumbled, turning back to face him "Shouldn't you shower, you filthy bastard" You scrunched your nose up at his pungent post show odor.

"Ah, fuck off," Roger muttered flicking you the V.

You flashed him a closed mouthed smile "Pleasant, as always." you sarcastically stated before you found yourself slinking back into your room. You truly had no idea how Freddie expected you to coexist with this man.

[missoneminute]

Hackney recollections! A bit jumbled and I will add more if I think of anything! After the cut.

We arrived the day before the show and because we were staying literally around the corner from the venue we wandered by the stage door to see if we could hear any rehearsals going on. It was silent but we did see the band’s equipment being loaded in. We ran into some lovely fans at the bar in the alley that had a view of the stage door, Patrick and his mum Clara who I had met in Australia too! We had some drinks and waited around.

Eventually at around 7pm Sarah saw the huskies first and Peter in his incredible suit. We walked over to say hello. He seemed so happy and so excited and appeared to have walked there with the dogs. We went straight for the puppies and petted then both. He seemed in a hurry so I quickly handed him my gift - a pair of antique cigarette cards as he collects them - and he ran in.

Two minutes later he emerged dashing out looking excited and asked “who gave me these?” meaning the cards. I timidly put my hand up and said me! He said “they’re amazing!” And kept asking where I got them. Apparently they’re quite old and rare and he had my lovely friend Camilla google them. Then he asked if they were real or reprints - I was slightly insulted and insisted they were real! - but he picked at the silk covering to be sure haha! Standard. Then he gave me a hug and kiss and again said they were amazing. I was so, so chuffed to give him something he loved. After taking photos with a few of us, including myself, I asked him if Carl was inside because I heard a trumpet - he smirked and said no he’s not, as if that was the most ridiculous suggestion ever.

I showed him my tattoo of “the luck a penny brings” and his eyes lit up and he said “I saw that in the alley!” I told him I had written it. Not sure he was filming anything that day, so it appears he just wandered through the Up The Bracket alley himself for a little nostalgia. Which is so cool! Then he headed back into the venue.

Carl arrived soon after looking very rushed and hurried and a little unwell, he had a chest cold apparently. He was carrying a kid’s backpack. I handed him a Neighbours Christmas album I got for him literally two years back and he looked surprised - inspected the cover for faces he recognized from his fave show haha - kindly said it’s brilliant then gave me a quick hug. He had to go as he was late for rehearsal so dashed off fairly fast. Apparently he came outside later looking for ‘the Australians’ including myself and Camilla haha but we’d left. He had a beer with Patrick and his lovely mum and shouted them a round.

Next day was the show! We didn’t see them arrive as they were in good and early. Now the show... what can I say. Word got around a few hours before that the Langley sisters would be joining them on stage and suddenly what we all thought was an acoustic set - just them like 2007 - was something else. And won’t lie - there was a lot of concern and disappointment at first, and worry about how it would be received, but we all hoped for the best.

The show was of course bloody epic. The boys looked amazing in their matching Herr Von Eden suits. So impressed by the arrangements and Peter playing far more interesting and complex guitar parts than usual. Both their vocals were spot on and some of the best I have heard them do. Carl admitted they were nervous - telling the crowd as much - and it was obvious, they both seemed a touch tense. Peter also seemed a little more... high than usual which was probably due to nerves too.

But that and the nerves did make the pair of them a little less connected than I would have liked to have seen them. They were so in sync musically but banter was very minimal and there wasn’t the same sense of chemistry you sometimes see. They seemed extremely focused on being very professional and it paid dividends musically for sure.

However because we were so close - like most people in stalls we got out of our seats and stood in front of the stage - you could see how much of that famous eye contact and small gestures were used as shorthand communication. It’s really amazing to see how well they know one another without many words. You could also see them sing mashed lip to lip and mouth to mouth rather frequently - the latter to the point where people seated further away asked if they’d had a smooch as they were literally singing with their mouths near-entirely pressed together at one stage. They really don’t have any physical boundaries on that level.

At some stage during the night a group in the crowd began chanting, “Touch his bum!” about Carl and Peter stopped and asked: “Touch his BUM??” While Carl looked flustered and amused. No bum was touched. It was also enjoyable seeing Peter swaying side of stage when Carl was singing Let it Rain. He seemed really into it and watching attentively.

There were some awesome lyric changes - they did a portion of The Letter and Peter said, “my lonely days are gone, I’m going home, Carlos he sent me a letter”. Then there was the Tell The King change on both nights where Peter sang, “you’re like a tabloid journalist, you cut and paste and twist, like me you’re awful”. Which felt like a nice acknowledgement of recent interviews and such.

Peter also told Carl to “thank the girls” meaning the backup singers and Carl looked at the audience and said “thanks girls!” Which got a laugh. It was then explained to him that Peter meant the singers ha.

Highlights were definitely Bound Together (where Carl sang “we’re bound together by sex and drugs”) and the shared version of Grimaldi, which was just ... astonishing. There could not be a higher fan service delivered in terms of what so many of us had dreamed of hearing. It was even better the second night when they did it again - the way they mixed the two different ways they perform it was just poetic, operatic, amazing. It needs to be recorded! 

They’d opened the first night with Seven Deadly Sins but the next night did a medley instead including Can’t Stand Me Now which sounded insanely good acoustic.

After the show we headed out to see if they’d emerge and after a long wait Carl did with Edie and his older son, who in person truly looks a LOT like his dad, he has the whole Carlish vibe. Edie was quite vocally insistent on ensuring he’d leave quickly but he did attend to as many fans as he could. Sarah and I managed to get a hold of him to write out some of the lyrics to Truth Begins to get tattooed. When I said we wanted the lyrics to the song he said, “How much of it do you want? My son’s waiting!” in standard Carl comic tone. He wrote Sarah’s line - all the friends you’ve not yet met - and looked so pleased and touched when he said, “that’s my favourite line too”. Awwww. He was though very very drunk and properly slurring. Then he was rushed off by the missus who was quite insistent in saying that they had a taxi waiting. Peter escaped via a side door so we all headed home on a total high.

Night two was amazing as well, again we didn’t see them come in to rehearsal but heard they’d arrived a lot later that time. You could hear Peter singing from inside however, believe doing MWTLGO. We were seated way higher that time and it did give us more of a sense of how epic the whole musical performance was. While we waited we say Gladys and Narco get loose in the theatre and have to be wrangled by a helper. It was hilarious but I do worry they’re getting enough sleep as they’re so often up all hours.

The show was even better than the night before and Peter seemed more lucid. The two of them were a lot more in sync emotionally and some warm looks and small jokes exchanged, making for more unity than the night before. A group started chanting “We love Carl” and Peter said “Carl loves you too!” And Carl seemed all coy. Peter also invited a round of applause for Carl’s hard work on making Hackney happen which was really moving and Carl seemed touched. Peter then added that he was only responsible for the “cha cha cha” version of What A Waster but it was still being worked out and “may be ready by Amsterdam” which got a laugh from everyone including Carl. The version of Grimaldi was insane that night too and even longer.

At one stage Zeus ran on stage and Carl leaned down and gave him kiss on the snoot! So cute. Carl then brought the mic down to his level and Zeus did a huge husky howl! Massive applause for that haha, then he was led off.

Watching from higher up gave us a better perspective of how amazing the staging and music was. It was really such an operatic gig and what they pulled together in a short time was miraculous.

After the show we waited outside at the stage door and it took a while for anyone to emerge. Peter stuck his head out the top window looking all fluffy and so cheerful and said hello. We were glad he stayed back to spend time with Carl and everyone backstage for a few hours though no window performance as we’d hoped! Katia and Jack were leaning out a lower window to smoke and Jack later came out to lap up some attention from the waiting fans. 

Eventually Carl came out and was swamped! @carlbaratnews encouraged him to wish Sarah Happy Birthday and he gave Sarah a lovely birthday hug. They had a chat which she described in her recap. I came over and asked if he liked the Neighbours record I gave him - he said he did - then he rattled off a bunch of gifts he recalled getting from various people - some from us and some from others, and went on about how much he loved the ship cup he’d gotten from lovely Polina @bergamotandbiggles in Melbourne and said he uses it. He also mentioned he had Sarah’s record she gave him last year on his jukebox at home. 

Sarah then assured him we both loved Let it Rain - he had said on stage that it’s a song not many people know or like and “If you know it I love you” - and he seemed genuinely touched. I got all emotional at that stage and looked him in those lovely eyes and said of the whole show: “It was amazing, just amazing” and I admit I got a little tearful. He looked quite moved by my ridiculously embarrassing display of fan-girl sop and grabbed me for a hard hug and a big warm smooch. His lips were so damn warm in the cold air and it was ... gah lovely. I’m glad I got to tell him how I felt.

He was then ushered off by Edie who asked how much longer he was going to be, he said ten minutes but she said let’s go now. He stayed another minute to sign my lovely pal Jessie’s ticket but then headed off. Peter left around the same time, through the side door yet again, and a van took him and the dogs away. We didn’t see him leave but a few fans did though he didn't stop.

All in all it was such an amazing night and we got to spend time with so many amazing fans from on here and beyond, who were all having an incredible time. Still can’t quite believe it all happened, and so hope to see them again soon.

It was nothing like most of us expected - nothing, but for those I spoke to that night, it was beyond our wildest dreams. I kept looking at @jessinthesky and @riddle-me-this-blog and @suchasinistergame and literally asking “Is this a dream? Have we fucking died?” It was a show that we couldn’t have imagined could ever come to be, and it was sheer, unbridled joy. I keep remembering seeing Camilla @riddle-me-this-blog just beaming and beaming and thinking wow, yep, this is the feeling I will aways have and always turn up for. No matter how much noise and naysaying there is, it’s those moments that just take us somewhere brilliant. Wank as it sounds - Arcadia, even. 

[early-sxnsets]

First Days

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44630452

Chapter 2/12 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2451

Chapter Summary: Simon makes a friend, and maybe an enemy at the same time.

First days send me back to being a teen.

The anxious new faces and tired, sagging ones of upperclassmen trying to get around them. The pushing, the shoving. The new class schedules, and the confused kids who don't even know who they are, much less what they're doing.

Thankfully, now, I get to watch it from afar. Although I feel like I'm locked up in a tower.

This is the shittiest fairy tale I could imagine.

Brushing my hands over the stack of papers laid out on my desk, I let the day's weight ease onto me. I only have five appointments today, but that doesn't mean I won't get bombarded by students trying to change their classes last minute. I know how it is, I shadowed a public school counselor for a year.

The pile of work out in front of me is a bit dense, but easy. New students, all second or third year transfers. And… lunch is in four hours. That's, at least, something to look forward to.

Well, except for being thrown further into that teenaged “Who do I sit with” bullshit. I haven't left my room much in the past week, and I highly doubt Mr. Stick In The Arse will let me sit beside him (though, I wouldn't be shocked to find that he sits alone). That, of course, leaves me with no other option that the fact that I'll be standing alone, waiting to find the furthest spot from everyone else.

Brilliant.

I get halfway through my morning before the Dean stops in, standing at my doorway as I'm rearranging a student's schedule. He knocks once, sending me jumping before I straighten up. “Oh, hello. Good morning sir--David.”

His nose turns up unimpressively. “You'll be introduced before lunch so that the faculty knows you beyond a welcome email.”

Well, there's no yes or no to that. Guess it's an order. “Okay. I'll be there.”

After nodding briefly and flicking his wrist watch out for a look, he turns on his heel and leaves me without another word.

I know I've never had a father, but he's the closest thing to a disappointed, high standards parent I think I've ever gotten, and it's only been a week.

Checking the time doesn't prove to be much of a spirit lifter. 10:48. Lovely.

I stare out the window, pen clicking impulsively in my hand as I follow a few leaves fluttering across a sidewalk. Empty. It's all empty. Locked away classrooms and borderline solitary confinement for me.

I introduced myself to the other counselor. She's in her late 60s and seems very cold. I doubt I'll talk to her much except for good mornings. That, of course, leaves me knowing three people so far. The Dean, Professor Pitch, and her.

I might as well count the pigeons I fed last night as friends too. They've paid more attention to me than anyone else around here.

Exhale. Slow, steady exhale, blowing out through my mouth.

It feels like a century before lunch finally hits. It takes me a bit of navigating, but I finally find the building after roaming the grounds for a good 10 minutes. Once inside, I steer myself towards the lunch line, avoiding the watchful eyes of students and faculty alike, starting to fill up the rooms.

I'm guilty of stuffing as much food as possible onto my tray, swiping my ID, and scuffling back to the staff dining room. It's empty, all but for the Dean, who's pacing towards the back. Such an odd man. “David?” I manage out, weight shifting nervously from foot to foot.

His head perks up, fingers resting upon his chin. “Ah yes, Mr. Snow. Thank you for being early. Come, sit.”

Following orders is easy to do. Take a seat and stare at my hands as others filter through. I worry that I'm sat in someone else's “spot” as a short, unamused woman takes a seat a few chairs around away from me. She gives me a familiar once over, looking through the top of her glasses before she shoves down a mouthful of salad.

A hand clasps over my shoulder, snapping my from my trance and jolting me standing. It feels as though the entire room is staring (they probably are). Scurrying quickly, I find myself standing feet away from the Dean, nervously picking at the pills of my jumper. Everyone falls silent at the wave of his hand--it's like magic.

“I'd like to take this opportunity, as we're all already gathered, to allow our new guidance counselor, Mr. Snow, to introduce himself.” Introduce myself?

“Uh, yes. Yeah. Thank you.” I stumble over my words, eyes scanning the crowd as I pull at my sleeve. I'm absolutely shit at public speaking, on top of barely being able to form a solid sentence in the first place. Brilliant. “I--uh--hi. Hello. I'm Simon. 26, just moved from London. I-I was a social worker for kids in the system, helping them get proper care and whatnot. I took this job to save up a bit, though. Social work isn't really lucrative, and I have bills.” I try laughing, but it comes out more as a nervous chuckle. “Besides that, I-I'm always up for a chat. I quite like football, I suppose. So yeah. That's… that's pretty much it.”

My hands rest on my thighs, back hunching in the slightest as the Dean looks over, nodding and finally letting me go back to eat without all the eyes in the room on me. Except, when I do sit, the woman with cat-eye glasses is staring at me again.

Slowly, I open my mouth, trying to formulate a response. She cuts in before I can.

“You don't have to move, you're fine here.” Oh well, that's lovely information.

“Thanks,” I exhale, squinting at her ID. “Penelope, is it?”

“Call me Penny,” she shrugs off, picking up her napkin and wiping her face. The rings on the fingers shine slightly in the dull light, catching my eye as I count them off.

“Are you engaged?” I ask rather bluntly, eyes following her right hand. There's a rather nice ring on her finger--I can see it closer now, as she extends her hand and offers a look.

“Mmhm,” she begins. “He lives in America, though. He was studying abroad in uni. He flies out every summer to see me. This year, I flew out to surprise him in more than one way.” She admires the glint, and I can't help but study her. She's interesting. Smart. Large personality, larger hair.

“What's his name?”

“Micah.” Her hand settles back on the table. “Anyway. Enough about me. Who the hell are you, really?”

I hold back a careless snort, poking at my food. “I'm… nobody important, really.”

“That's bullshit if I've ever heard it. Where are you from? Your accent doesn't sound like London.”

Good question. “Here and there,” I shrug. It isn't exactly a lie. “I settled for secondary in London, though, and that's where I stayed through uni.”

She side eyes me, taking a few bites as I shovel in my own food. I'd be more embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that my back is to most of the room. Still, she's looking at me the same way Agatha would at fancy dinners--like I have no table manners (because I barely do).

She lets me finish before she starts up conversation again. Given it's me, it doesn't take long for that to happen. “So, who'd they put you up with?”

“As in, my roommate?”

She nods, peering around.

“Well, uh… Mr. Pitch. I don't really know how to say his first name, but--”

“Basilton?!” She whispers hushly, eyes raising before she laughs. “Oh you poor bastard, they put you with Mr. Prick.”

“Mr. Prick…?”

She waves a hand dismissively, sipping her coffee as she holds back a grin. “That's what the students call him. Rightfully so, I'd say. He's quite the wound up loon, if you ask me.”

I can't help myself from looking around, trying to find him to get a good look. I catch him, eventually, sitting in the near back, alone at a table with earbuds in and a book in hand. He's got the signature scowl on his face. “What's… he do? What's the deal with him?”

She's rolling her eyes when I look back. “Tenured in. Did they not tell you what he does?” I shake my head. “Brilliant. Well, he's head of the English and Literature department--I teach 10th and 11th year Lit and Creative Writing--and everyone who has him says he's an absolute nightmare. It's a shock that anyone takes his Queer Lit course.”

“Queer Lit?”

She nods dramatically. “See, fun as all hell course. Wilde, Shakespeare, Nin! I'd campaigned to teach it, but he got first call on it, being the teacher for the Gender Sexuality Alliance.”

I stop, cogs turning as I stare down at the grease streaking my plate. It processes slowly, then all at once. “Is he… you know…”

She laughs again--this time, it's a big, snorty laugh. Once she calms down, she gives a final chuckle. “Are you asking if Mr. Pitch is gay?”

I give her a shrug, blinking back to reality. “I-I mean, there's nothing wrong with it! Nothing at all, I'm just… I didn't know, and--”

Her hand settles over mine. “Don't get your knickers twisted. He is. Just thought it was evident, given literally everything about him.”

I glance back again, and I swear on my year's salary that he was looking at me. “I don't like to assume,” I add back into the conversation.

“There's a difference between assumption and context clues, dear.” The bell rings, cutting her short as she sighs. “Well, fuck. I've got a group of clueless 15 year olds to yell at. I'll save you a spot at dinner.”

And with that, I think I've made my first friend (well, besides the pigeons).

It's a pain to drag through the rest of the day. Even though the classes usually wrap in the mid afternoon, my office hours are locked into staying until half an hour before dinner. Basis of this? Fuck everything, and I need to buy snacks to hide in my desk.

I spend roughly half of it staring out the window or playing solitaire on my computer, and the other half was spent reworking schedules to the stuck up kids whimsy. I wonder if part of my job description is “doormat”, and I just hadn't read it clearly enough.

When I'm finally able to lock up and go to eat, I'm feeling half starved and completely exhausted. Thank God Penny seems to like talking, because she spends the entirety of our meal wholeheartedly ranting about how much young boys are the absolute worst group to teach.

“I should've taken the job at the all girls prep,” she huffs, practically throwing down her soup spoon. “Imagine how much happier I would have been not having to ask a boy to not replace ‘rump’ with ‘asscheeks’.”

“Why didn't you take the job?”

“Same reason as everyone else--money.”

I nod solemnly, taking another mouthful of baked chicken.

She keeps going. Long enough for me to get the occasional word in, but not so little that I have to talk often. By the time everyone's starting to file out, she's finally wrapping up her story about her least favorite student so far.

Thankfully, there aren't many students out and about once we're done. They're all scuffling off to the library or any other hang out on campus.

Penny and I part ways by the dorms. As per usual, Mr. Pitch has me locked out (or is it Basilton? Is what what people actually call him?) When I step in after scraping my keys around to find the right one and actually get in, I find him sitting right by the door on the sofa, doing work. That bastard.

He looks up, lips curving distastefully as I carefully close the door behind me. And thus, I'd assume, begins our nightly routine of avoidance. I lock myself in my room, and only step out for maybe a glass of water.

Tonight, though, I suppose I have something to attempt a conversation. “So…” I begin, fiddling with my glass as I stand in the kitchen. The light's off, but the soft yellow of the living room lamp washes over us, making the room feel all toned down. “You teach English, yeah?”

He doesn't turn, still seeming to stare ahead. “Yes, Snow. Astounding conclusion.”

“I… I'd meant that Penelope told me--”

“So you're all pals with Bunce then. Good. She's been sat alone for some time now.”

It hurts a bit, coming from him. As if he's assuming we're both too much of outcasts to be friends with anyone but each other. I worry that, maybe, he's right.

I inhale slowly before continuing. “She said you teach Queer Lit, and that you run the GSA. That's…” I think for a second--a long pause--trying to find the right word.

It's a second too long in his eyes, because he whips around quickly and stares me down. “Don't bother finishing that sentence, Snow. I don't need to hear semi coherent blubbering about how brave I am. Yes, I'm gay. So kindly fuck off.”

I freeze momentarily, glass squeezed tighter in my hand as I stand bolt-still. He stares back, sighing exaggeratedly after a minute before going back to his work.

Taking the glass back, I try not to slam my bedroom door.

Does he have to be an absolute dick about everything? Jesus Christ, this is why they call him Mr. Fucking Prick. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe I'm not actually mad, and he's just ridiculously mean.

I scratch my arm absentmindedly, settling down my glass before falling face first onto my bed. My mind runs over things to do, body working up into a red flashing anger. Who's it for? I don't even know.

It's just… unfair.

Everything's unfair. I thought it'd be livable--I thought I could be optimistic.

I push myself up, then kick down onto my mattress, hitting my fists against my pillows.

Rat bloody bastard wants to be a little dick and yell at me. Fine. Fine. I'll just avoid the shit out of him. Let him be fucking alone, for all I care. He seems to do that to himself anyway.

I manage to sit myself up, chest struggling to heave a full breath in and a full breath out. In the corner of my eye, I see myself in the mirror. Hunched, reddened. Sad. I'm so fucking sad.

Fucking hell. What am I doing?

[piracytheorist]

Reactions to this post hating on fanfic, that the original poster/hater will never read. Sadly.

(I'm doing this partly in a live-blog fashion, so keep that in mind.)

1) But I/we aren’t trying to make any money out of it!

Well, see, this is where “illegal” comes in. You can’t break into somebody’s house, even if you don’t mean to steal anything. You can’t camp in someone’s backyard without permission, even if you aren’t raising a marijuana crop back there. And you can’t use someone’s copyrighted characters for your own purposes, no matter what those purposes are.

That's bullshit. This is bullshit. And btw, the law isn't always right, let's not forget. You can't compare those things; you're practically saying every musician who ever played a variation/remix of an existing temporary music piece without asking for the rights to use them but also without demanding money to show their work, are criminals. I guess say goodbye to street musicians. You're saying anyone who paints themselves a copy (or a variation) of Picasso's Guernica and hangs it in a public space (say, a coffee shop) is a criminal. Bullshit.

Oddly enough, the notion of using someone else’s characters never occurred to me. I just tried to do it on my own. Surprise! It worked.

Oddly enough, not everyone's like you. Surprise! The world doesn't turn around you.

[...] are you getting positive feedback because some fans are so hooked on the characters that they’ll read anything involving those names (whether the writing accurately reflects those characters or not)? One real easy way to find out. Write anything you want, using Jamie Fraser, Edward Cullen, Harry Potter _and_ Dr. Who….and then change the characters’ names before you post it. Simple. Find All: “Jamie Fraser”. Replace with: “Joe Kerastopolous”. No problemo, all your own work, and any praise you get is duly earned.

How does this even make sense? The only thing this woman cares about are what names we use in fanfiction? If we don't then everything is solved?

4) But nobody would read stuff I wrote if it wasn’t about characters they already like!

Possibly true, possibly not. Depends on how good a writer you are, and how you go about displaying your work once you’ve written it. But—allowing for the moment that this argument holds water—what you’re saying is that a) you deserve an audience, no matter what, and b) you’d prefer to exploit someone else’s talent and hard work, rather than go to the trouble of making your own way.

Way to encourage newbie writers!

I already mentioned the shit she said about Donald Duck being created by Carl Barks. And she was paid by the Walt Disney Corporation, for crying out loud.

[...] if you want to write stories for the Silver Surfer or Superman, go talk to Marvel or DC, and see if they’re taking new submissions or would let you write a sample script.

You know, not everyone wants to be a full-time writer. Some only want to do it in their free time after a work that has nothing to do with writing. What she's saying is to either dedicate yourself fully to writing or not at all. Again, way to encourage newbie writers.

This is, btw, one reason why fan-fic versions of popular characters so often seem superficial; they lack the depth that the Real Thing has—the writer has merely grabbed at the broadest impression of the character, not built them in complex layers.

Did she just ditch the entirety of fanfiction on the basis that they aren't as DEEP as the Real Thing? Even if in a lot of cases the opposite applies?

I understand the urge to take a story that’s fired your imagination and carry it on or explore other avenues that it might have taken. ¬_Everybody_ does this, when they’ve seen a movie or read a book that captured their imagination [...] Giving people intriguing possibilities is one of the hallmarks of good fiction. But what you do in the privacy of your own imagination is a matter of total freedom; what you do in public is not.

So... we have no freedom of speech then? I mean, I get calling out someone who is talking rude in public, but that's still this asshole's right, as it is my right to call them out.

Beyond the specific arguments against the concept remains the unfortunate fact that a terrible lot of fan-fic is outright cringe-worthy and ought to be suppressed on purely aesthetic grounds.

So are so, so many published books that had no connection to fanfiction whatsoever. Didn't see you going against publishing in general.

Now, I don’t go looking for fan-fiction written about my characters; in fact, I try _not¬_ to see it. But now and then someone sends me a link to a site displaying it [...]

See, if the writer didn't send you the link themselves, you shouldn't blame them for you getting exposed to it! There's a reason the majority of fanfiction writers don't want to send their writings to the original content creators. But you would’ve known that, had you asked the fanfiction community first before you tried to paint us as horrible people.

Now, look. Human beings are hardwired to be interested in sex. We just _are_. Any kind of sex, performed by anyone, anytime, anywhere. Bad sex, good sex, poorly depicted sex, elegantly drawn sex…it doesn’t matter. We have a genetic compulsion to _look_. We’ll look at _anything_ having sex, human or not.

And on your right side, you can see erasure of asexuality.

But…imagine opening your daily mail and finding a letter detailing an explicit sexual encounter between, say, your twenty-one-year-old daughter and your forty-eight-year-old male neighbor---written by the neighbor. At the bottom it says, “Fiction! Just my imagination. All cool, right?” This would perhaps prevent your calling the police, but I repeat…ick. I wouldn’t like people writing sex fantasies for public consumption about me or members of my family—why would I be all right with them doing it to the intimate creations of my imagination and personality?

Is she actually comparing her protective feelings to her fictional characters with the protective feelings to her own family? Is this woman mentally okay?

And personally, I would have called the police.

[...] Emmett someone (who I _think_ is from Twilight; I sort of hope it’s not the willowy young “bottom” from the TV show “Queer as Folk”…)

I'm treading carefully here since I haven't watched the show... but I do get an air of homophobia and discrimination against people who are into BDSM. Wouldn't surprise me, tbh, but I can't be sure.

I also mentioned the fact that she was angry someone wanted to write a fanfiction with her character in order to raise money for a charity. Hm. And then tried to cover it. Of course she would.

People in the book end of the trade watch these developments with a lot of interest—and some apprehension, knowing what happened to the music industry with the advent of Napster and file-sharing. The music industry still exists, of course, but it’s a lot harder for the creative people who _make_ music to make a living from it.

Dude, file-sharing harms the music industry because they take the original content and give it to the world for free. Writing fanfiction isn't copying the entirety of your book and giving it to the world for free. That's still file-sharing, blame the pirates. Fanfiction can fucking promote your work without you having to offer a single penny.

People who read my books tend to be both intelligent (not just because they like _my_ books, but by and large, it takes a fair amount of intellectual resilience to want to take on 1000-page books of any kind), and creative.

LOL honey, get over yourself already. Also, the Twilight series consist, overall, of over 2k pages. Does that mean anything for the people who read it? I read three of those books. Am I intelligent and creative too?

Characters—good characters, “real” characters—derive their reality from the person who created them. They _are_ the person who created them, refracted through the lens of that writer’s experience, imagination, love, fear, and craft. Another writer seeking to duplicate that character might equal—or conceivably surpass--the craft; they can’t touch the essence.

When you mess with my stuff, you’re not messing with my characters—you’re messing with _me_.

Who are the writers of the Outlander TV series again? Oh that's okay because you're making money out of it?

readers occasionally _do_ stumble over bits of fan-fiction, and—while they realize they’re reading fan-fiction at the time— still incorporate these _faux_ stories into their comprehension and memory of the real series.

I wonder if the script for the Outlander TV series is exactly, word-for-word the same as the script in the book series. Has she complained about that? (I’m actually asking this, though, I’ve no clue) Why should she complain about fanfiction? Because she doesn't make money out of the latter?

There is also the issue of a fan at some point writing a piece that inadvertently picks up a plotline that I have myself written, but that hasn’t yet appeared in print—and then turning around and claiming that I’ve stolen it from him/her [...].

*them. Also, that's one problematic behaviour. She's literally judging all fanfiction writers based on one problematic behaviour, what a grown-up.

Anyway, yeah, even if at some point I would have wanted to give her books a try... now I know I never will, purely out of spite. 

[skyahq]

WELL. it’s me again. i’m sam ( she / her, 21, est timezone ) and i also play parker! this is sky who i’ve had for a while but haven’t really done much with bc my muse for him hasn’t been the best, however i think i’m all sorted with him now so, character info under the cut! tbh it’s literally the exact same intro as before with just a few slight changes but feel free to still give it a read and please message me if you’d like to plot because i would absolutely love that!

FIRST. let’s just. let’s get it out of the way right here and now that this is a sideblog so i will be messing up and posting shit to the wrong accounts sometimes bc i’m dumb. let’s laugh abt it now so we don’t have to do it later. k cool we can carry on now

「 CODY CHRISTIAN, CISMALE, 25, PARAMORE. 」┈ did you read that latest viral gossip issue on SKY ARLO? he is the DRUMMER in BETTER NOW, one of my favorite ALT ROCK groups. they’ve been releasing music for FOUR YEARS now, but viral gossip has only been talking about them for the last TWO YEARS. get this, i think i heard HE’S THE ILLEGITIMATE CHILD OF A WEALTHY PUBLIC FIGURE. they’re known as the CALIGINOUS of the music industry, since they have a rep for being TRENCHANT but SELF - SERVING, but who knows. maybe that will change once they become #1.  

born and raised deep in the swamplands of louisiana, sky’s only parent was a single mom who was nowhere near old enough or prepared enough to have a kid, tbh. she did sincerely try to take care of him at first but she had a drug problem that got very out of hand very quickly. sky was barely even five years old when the state stepped in and had him placed into the foster system.

has the slightest of southern accents but if you point it out he will deny it

will occasionally speak a little cajun french though bc we stan a multilingual grump

spent the rest of his childhood without a family or stable home. he was shuffled all over the state — placed in group homes, orphanages, and many different foster homes which were unfortunately very neglectful and unsafe sometimes. by his preteen years he was practically living on the streets of new orleans, survival instincts sharply honed.

he learns fast and had very quickly become an expert thief, pickpocket, and con artist, but that doesn’t mean he never got caught. he did. a lot. like his juvie record is longer than your arm

somehow still found time to experience your typical teenage first love resulting in unbearable heartbreak with a girl who lived on the streets and ran scams just like him. it was a bonnie & clyde together forever type of romance until it wasn’t cause the girl shockingly ditched him while he was in serious trouble in order to save her own skin and he never saw her again

not long after that he turned seventeen AND THEN SOMETHING SUPER IMPORTANT HAPPENED. by that i mean he was sought out by his social worker who then proceeded to 1) tell him his mother had died and 2) take him away to california because apparently there was a family out there who wanted to adopt him! and they did!

his new family wasn’t actually new though because the man who adopted him was his biological father. he and sky’s mother were lovers for the brief time wherein sky’s father was visiting louisiana in his late teen years but he left before ever finding out that he was going to have a child. he’d never stopped thinking about sky’s mom, however, so he’d do some digging every few years. of course by the time he finally did find her it was because of an obituary and then he’d heard about sky and just knew that this was his kid.

sky learned about all of this right away upon meeting his father and to say he didn’t take it very well is a MASSIVE UNDERSTATEMENT. he was furious. after all, his father had a whole new family! a wife and kids and a very prestigious job AND OH YEAH MILLIONS OF DOLLARS TO HIS NAME BUT HE’D NEVER HELPED SKY EVEN ONCE. it didn’t really help that he was clearly trying to make up for his absence in sky’s life by being present now that he had the opportunity and anyway, it turned out he had ulterior motives for that.

basically, a large part of his dad’s wealth was in fact inherited through the family. they’re all old money posh so finding out that the next family patriarch had an unknown son who was technically his firstborn was terrifying. blood or not, they couldn’t just hand centuries of traditions and carefully cultivated wealth over to a high school dropout living on the streets. so, sky’s dad was just keeping him close while he talked to lawyers about whether or not sky had any legitimate claim to anything owned by his family and of course, the sneaky street smart kid he is, sky figured out what was going on pretty quickly and bolted back to the streets.

he was still seventeen at the time and he’s lived in los angeles ever since but hasn’t had any contact with his father or seen a single penny of that family money

so yeah he’s illegitimate, no actual rights to their fortune

lived on the streets in los angeles for a while, but with a little hard work ( and a lot of thievery and conning ) he was eventually able to get himself a little apartment while working various jobs

nothing really stuck until better now, but when he first joined the band he’d literally never played the drums before. ever. not once before in his entire life. did he lie anyway and say that he was a Drumming Expert™ because he’d get paid to play gigs with them and happened to be broke af at the time? why yes he absolutely did

since then they switched lead singers with sweets having joined the band four years ago and they’ve released one album that was lit af! they’re currently in the middle of putting together their second album and since sky’s found out that he actually really loves drumming things have been pretty good for him. he lives in a nice apartment and finally has enough money to get by without conning or stealing. he still doesn’t really know how to deal with being a celebrity but tbh he actually adores the attention? he loves having fans? people in his life who seem to genuinely love and care about him? what is this new and exciting concept he’s confused but happy nonetheless

never ever talks about his dad / family though

as usual i was Extra™ and went off with the backstory stuff, but we can move onto personality now!

by default assumes that literally everyone he meets is going to betray him. is truly on some x files trust no one shit

except he does actually genuinely trust a few people for now i’m going to say just his bandmates since i imagine they’ve been through a lot together at this point but that’s open to expansion

street smart, charming, flirtatious ( especially around pretty girls ), witty, perspicacious, determined, tough, mistrustful, surly, reckless, uncouth, self-serving af sometimes

also v v sarcastic and STUBBORN

all of sky’s save his own skin above all else stuff? kind of a lie. he’s got a soft spot for people in need of help and though he might do it begrudgingly, sky often will actually put others before him.

the other personality traits i listed are pretty spot on though

literally always has his drumsticks with him and brings them everywhere. will drum on anything and everything until told to stop then he miiiight apologize? but go right back to doing it again not even five minutes later ngl

street smart af but book smart? not so much. he picks up on things pretty quickly but he’s still pretty dumb lmao and will in fact say some stupid shit at least 2932589843794836708 times a day

however he’s not always much of a talker. he’s gotta be in the mood bc if he isn’t but you try to have a convo with him he’s gonna be even more standoffish than usual

when he does talk though, sky is often sarcastic, pessimistic, and surly

he’s permanently grumpy

except he also has many soft spots that are very easy to find

stale cinnamon roll, been in this world too long, too cynical w/ a dash of sinnamon roll

he’s usually a cute little ray of sunshine around fans though bc they just?? make him so happy?? it makes him so happy to know that people love better now and that they LOVE HIM OK

though if ever called out for smiling he would immediately deny

will absolutely throw hands if he has to

TL;DR - louisiana born street smart drummer for better now with an accent he denies having and an extremely rich family who wants nothing to do with him but it wasn’t like he ever cared anyway. charming and flirtatious but also can be grumpy and pessimistic. expert pickpocket and con artist. has no idea how to handle being a celebrity but he not so secretly enjoys the love he gets from fans. has trouble trusting and allowing himself to get close to anyone & everyone.

finally…it’s over. if you actually read this far then i applaud you. i don’t have any specific plots in mind EXCEPT FOR POTENTIALLY HALF SIBLINGS RELATED THROUGH HIS FATHER SO PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’RE INTERESTED BC Y E S but if you know me then you know i want all the plots so feel free to message me and we can definitely work something out! as usual i’m super excited to write with you folks!

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Part of Your World

Chapter 2: a birthday to remember

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 2011

Chapter 2/11 (All chapters)

Summary: It's Prince Basilton's birthday, and he's prepared to hate every second of it.

Read on AO3

AN: I just did my psych exam today at 9am and am currently studying for my history exam tomorrow at 8am (hahahahaha kill me). So one down, four to go. Posting this brightens my day though. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Tagging peeps (sorry I forgot. My brain is not functioning, exams have fried it): @ughthatsprettygay @alive-alive-alive

———————————————-

Baz hated parties, he always had. So how Dev and Niall convinced him to have this one was beyond him. Maybe it was because it was on a boat. Didn’t matter, he regretted it. He watched as everyone laughed and drank like the sailors they were, while he was focused on his violin, apparently his only true friend at the moment.

“Ugh Baz,” Dev groaned as he leaned on the rail next to him. “Can’t you play something less depressing?”

“No,” he replied curtly.

“This is your birthday party. You’re supposed to having fun!”

“This is not my idea of fun.”

“It’s everyone else’s.”

“Everyone else is an idiot.”

Dev rolled his eyes over dramatically. Of course that was when Niall decided to flop down on his other side, now mostly empty beer stein in hand.

“Is he still being a stiff, Dev?” He called over, words more than slightly slurred.

Baz glared over his violin at him. “I’m right here, arsehole.”

Niall smiled drunkenly “So you are, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“Thank you for the wonderfully creative nickname.”

“Well it’s accurate,” Dev said with a shrug. “You’ve been in an even worse mood since you came back from that trip to meet the Princess of Glauerhaven. Was she really that awful?”

“Or,” Niall dragged out the two letter word with all the diction and enunciation of a drunk man. “Did she have the audacity to even try to speak to the great Prince Basilton and you insulted her?”

Baz took a long pause to glare menacingly at his friend and cousin. They looked back with smug smiles. He finally put his violin down, hunching his shoulders in.

“I hate you both,” he growled as he stomped off to another end of the ship far away from them.

Of course Dev and Niall didn’t really understand. Baz hadn’t told them the real reason for his sour demeanor. There hadn’t been anything particularly wrong with the Princess of Glauerhaven, really. Except the whole “princess” part. Baz had already told his father about who he was and the kind of person he wanted to be with. But Malcolm Grimm told him those feelings were irrelevant to his marriage.

It wasn’t that Baz’s “preferences” were a forbidden or hated thing in their kingdom of Watford. It was that Malcolm wanted his eldest son to “continue the Pitch royal line.” Like his family name was the only important thing about him. His father wasn’t even technically a Pitch, just the widower of the late queen. Maybe he thought he was honouring Natasha’s memory by making sure her bloodline continued through their only son. Even at the sacrifice of said son’s happiness.

Baz leaned over the edge of the boat and breathed in the salty sea air. He felt better out here. Away from his father and all the expectations he put on Baz. He leaned over the edge, looking at the dark choppy waves below.

“Don’t lean too far out, your highness!” Gareth shouted where he was adjusting a rope up the mast. “You could fall in. And if you don’t drown, the merfolk will get ya!”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “You really believe those old sailor tales?”

“Well I’m a sailor aren’t I?”

“Touché.” He leaned a little farther, gazing over the thundering waves. “You really think there are people with fishtails and magic living down there?”

Gareth hopped down and stood next to him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his pelvis pushed forward (for some reason he really liked that position). “To be honest? Yeah. My good friend Rhys saw a merman once. He was big and gruff, with a thick green tail and a massive gold pitchfork. And when he spotted Rhys, my smart friend wheeled away like his life depended it.”

“Are you sure your friend wasn’t drunk at the time?”

He shrugged up to his ears. “I don’t think so.”

Baz made a “pfft” noise, blowing hair out of his eyes. “I’ll be sure to do the same as him if I ever see a ‘merfolk’”

Gareth looked at him deadpan. Which was an expression Baz could easily return. (It was practically his default.) He wasn’t one for stupid childhood fairy tales, and right now was no exception.

“Hey Baz get over here!” Niall shouted. “Come see your birthday present!”

Baz rolled his eyes but still went. He was somewhat curious, which he’d probably regret later.

The crew and the partygoers, Dev and Niall included, stood around a large object draped in a purple cloth. An obnoxious red bow held the fabric in place. The looming thing had been there the whole party and it filled Baz with anticipatory dread.

Baz crossed his arms. “Do I even want to know?”

“Certainly!” Dev said. “You’re going to love it.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Niall grabbed the bow. “We present to you, you!” He yanked it hard.

The curtain fell down, and Baz’s heart seized. It was horrific. In front of him was a giant white marble statue of a young man, standing triumphant with one leg up a giant seal with a large “B”. He was dressed a puffy sleeved shirt and tight pants and a long cape, long sword in hand. The other hand was pressed against his in a fist. It was bad enough that the statue merely existed. But it was worse that Baz’s face was carved on it.

“My god,” he muttered.

“Happy birthday!” Niall said with a shit eating grin.

Baz rubbed his eyes up and down in exasperation. “You are quite literally the worst.”

“Oh don’t be such a downer, Basil. It’s amazing.”

“I can’t believe you actually spent money to have that made.”

“Lighten up!” A crew member hollered. Baz fixed him with a steely grey glare, which the man immediately shied away from. “I-If you want, your highness.”

Baz scoffed, about to throw another barbed word at his so called friends. But the loud thunder interrupted him. Everyone looked up with shock and horror.

“Oh no,” the first mate whispered.

Another roar ripped through the air, followed by a crack of lightning hitting the water less than a mile away. It was like the sky opened up above the ship in an instant, suddenly drenching them in torrential rain.

“Everyone to their stations!” The captain shouted.

The crew rushed into high gear. They pulled ropes and adjusted rutters. Baz helped as well. He may be the prince but he wasn’t useless. The pounding water blurred his vision, and the rocking sea sent him stumbling him back and forth. Standing his ground was becoming difficult. Lightning once again streaked across the grey clouds. It pierced the sail and set it aflame, spreading quickly through the fabric and to the mast. Fiery wood came crashing down on their heads.

“Abandon ship!” The captain’s voice was barely audible over the storm, but everyone knew what to do.

They released dinghies that crashed into the water. People jumped overboard and scrambled to them. Baz was about to dive off himself, until he heard a voice.

“Help!” Gareth shouted. “I’m stuck!”

Baz whipped around. The sailor’s leg was pinned under a flaming beam. Baz didn’t think twice. He rushed to his aid.

“Baz what are you doing?!” Niall shouted from a distance.

He lifted the wooden beam up with a heave and threw it to the side. With an arm around Gareth’s neck, he hoisted him to his feet. The man was limping slightly but could still move.

“Go!” Baz yelled.

Gareth nodded, then limp-ran to dive overboard. From the corner of his vision, Baz saw the fire crawling towards a chest. The chest filled with fireworks.

“Shit,” he whispered.

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Just as he jumped, the world exploded around him in a deafening boom and blinding light, hurtling him forward far too fast. Baz hit the ocean with a painful thwack.

Water filled Baz’s ears. Everything became muffled. His vision was hazy at best. The only slightly distinct thing he could see was a flash of shiny blue race above him. And he swore he felt two arms snake around his torso.

But then everything went black.

———————————————-

Simon didn’t know how long he’d laying on the sand, the grains scratching against his skin and scales, just staring down at him. This human, apparently called a prince, couldn’t be any older than Simon himself. Yet he had risked his own life saving another’s. The other humans had called him Baz. It was such a strange, beautiful name. It fit him perfectly.

Baz was alive. Unconscious and still shivering slightly, but alive. It was an absolute miracle, considering Simon had dragged him through the freezing water for hours. Maybe Simon’s strange, uncontrollable magic had protected Baz. (For once it was useful.) He’d pulled the human to the nearest shore. Along the way he’d picked up Baz’s peculiar device, which laid at his side on the beach. Simon couldn’t have let such an amazing thing be washed away.

The sun was rising now, fiery reds and oranges illuminating Baz’s every gorgeous feature. His soaked black was splayed out, a stark contrast to the blindingly white sand. Simon lightly ran a finger down his jaw then cupped his soft cheek. His skin was cold but thankfully warming up.

“Simon!” Penny hissed from in the water, having finally found him after searching all this time. “Simon, we should to go! What if someone spots you?”

“Just, a little longer alright?” He said to her, before turning back to Baz. He pushed some raven hair away from Baz’s face. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Father says you’re all horrible monsters, but how could he think someone like you is a monster? I-I mean, you make beautiful music, and you nearly died saving that man’s life. I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re just...a boy.”

“Si, we have to go!”

He barely heard Penelope though. All he paid attention to was Baz’s soft breathing, escaping from his slightly open mouth, and his steady pulse. With every beat, Simon was reassured that Baz had survived. Simon cupped Baz’s jaw and lowered his mouth closer to his ear.

“You’re incredible, Baz,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that.”

Simon pulled back and his breath hitched. Baz’s eyes were slightly open, a half moon of a grey iris under heavy lids.

“Wha...who...?” The human rasped out.

Shit.

“Baz?! Baz are you there?” The other human’s voice wasn’t that far away.

Simon scrambled off the sand and dove into the water. Penny followed close behind.

———————————————-

Baz sat up with a groan. He hurt all over. Probably because he’d been catapulted off that bloody ship. He looked around at his surroundings. A beach, like the one near his family castle. Wait, no, it was his beach, with it’s bright white sand and jagged cliffs. His eyes widened. On his left was his violin, also wet but intact. How did it get here? How did he get here?

Everything was blurry after the explosion, but there were pieces. Faint shades of blue and bronze, the feeling of arms gripping his waist. And one thing was very clear in his mind. A man’s voice right next to his ear.

You’re incredible, Baz. I hope you know that.

“Baz! Guys he’s over here!” Dev jumped down the rocks and ran towards Baz. “Thank god you’re alive!”

Baz held his head. “Someone saved me. A-A man. He said things...his voice...”

Dev kneeled next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think you must’ve bashed your head against a rock, cuz. C’mon let’s get you home.”

He helped Baz get back on his shaky feet, taking his violin in the other hand. The rest of the crew grinned at and cheered for him from the rocks.

Baz looked back one last time though. And he swore he saw a flash of bronze and blue out of the corner of his eye.

———————————————-

Ah, and so it (sorta) begins. See you all next week :D

[skyahqunfollow]

WELL. it’s me again. i’m sam ( she / her, 21, est timezone ) and i also play parker! i’ve finally decided to bring in another muse and bob morley also avan jogia is the loml, so he we go! character info under the cut! please message me if you’d like to plot because i would absolutely love that!

FIRST. let’s just. let’s get it out of the way right here and now that this is a sideblog so i will be messing up and posting shit to the wrong accounts sometimes bc i’m dumb. let’s all just. take a moment to laugh abt it now so we don’t have to do it later. k cool we can carry on now

「 AVAN JOGIA, CISMALE, 26, PARAMORE. 」┈ did you read that latest viral gossip issue on SKY ARAO? he is the DRUMMER in BETTER NOW, one of my favorite ALT ROCK groups. they’ve been releasing music for FOUR YEARS now, but viral gossip has only been talking about them for the last TWO YEARS. get this, i think i heard HE’S THE ILLEGITIMATE CHILD OF A WEALTHY PUBLIC FIGURE. they’re known as the CALIGINOUS of the music industry, since they have a rep for being TRENCHANT but SELF - SERVING, but who knows. maybe that will change once they become #1.

born and raised deep in the swamplands of louisiana, sky’s only parent was a single mom who was nowhere near old enough or prepared enough to have a kid, tbh. she did sincerely try to take care of him at first but she had a drug problem that got very out of hand very quickly. sky was barely even five years old when the state stepped in and had him placed into the foster system.

has the slightest of southern accents but if you point it out he will deny it

will occasionally speak a little cajun french though & some tagalog bc we stan a multilingual grump

spent the rest of his childhood without a family or stable home. he was shuffled all over the state — placed in group homes, orphanages, and many different foster homes which were unfortunately very neglectful and unsafe sometimes. by his preteen years he was practically living on the streets of new orleans, survival instincts sharply honed.

he learns fast and had very quickly become an expert thief, pickpocket, and con artist, but that doesn’t mean he never got caught. he did. a lot. like his juvie record is longer than your arm

somehow still found time to experience your typical teenage first love resulting in unbearable heartbreak with a girl who lived on the streets and ran scams just like him. it was a bonnie & clyde together forever type of romance until it wasn’t cause the girl shockingly ditched him while he was in serious trouble in order to save her own skin and he never saw her again

not long after that he turned seventeen AND THEN SOMETHING SUPER IMPORTANT HAPPENED. by that i mean he was sought out by his social worker for once who then proceeded to 1) tell him his mother had died and 2) take him away to california because apparently there was a family out there who wanted to adopt him! and they did!

his new family wasn’t actually new though because the man who adopted him was his biological father. he and sky’s mother were lovers for the brief time wherein sky’s father was visiting louisiana in his late teen years but he left before ever finding out that he was going to have a child. he’d never stopped thinking about sky’s mom, however, so he’d do some digging every few years. of course by the time he finally did find her it was because of an obituary and then he’d heard about sky and just knew that this was his kid.

sky learned about all of this right away upon meeting his father and to say he didn’t take it very well is a MASSIVE UNDERSTATEMENT TBH. he was furious. after all, his father had a whole new family! a wife and kids and a very prestigious job AND OH YEAH MILLIONS OF DOLLARS TO HIS NAME BUT HE’D NEVER HELPED SKY EVEN ONCE. it didn’t really help that he was clearly trying to make up for his absence in sky’s life by being present now that he had the opportunity and anyway, it turned out he had ulterior motives for that.

basically, a large part of his dad’s wealth was in fact inherited through the family. they’re all old money posh so finding out that the next family patriarch had an unknown son who was technically his firstborn was terrifying. blood or not, they couldn’t just hand centuries of traditions and carefully cultivated wealth over to a high school dropout who didn’t know how to behave and simply couldn’t be trusted with their unblemished legacy. so, sky’s dad was just keeping him close while he talked to lawyers about whether or not sky had any legitimate claim to anything owned by his family and of course, the sneaky street smart kid he is, sky figured out what was going on pretty quickly and bolted back to where he was most comfortable — the streets.

he was still seventeen at the time and he’s lived in los angeles ever since but hasn’t had any contact with his father or seen a single penny of that family money

so yeah he’s illegitimate, no actual rights to their fortune

lived on the streets in los angeles for a while, but with a little hard work ( and a lot of thievery and conning ) he was eventually able to get himself a little apartment while working various jobs

nothing really stuck until better now, but when he first joined the band he’d literally never played the drums before. ever. not once before in his entire life. did he lie anyway and say that he was a Drumming Expert™ because he’d get paid to play gigs with them and happened to be broke af at the time? why yes he absolutely did

since then they switched lead singers with sweets having joined the band four years ago and they’ve released one album that was lit af! they’re currently in the middle of putting together their second album and since sky’s found out that he actually really likes drumming things have been pretty good for him. he lives in a nice apartment and finally has enough money to get by without conning or stealing. he still doesn’t really know how to deal with being a celebrity but tbh he actually adores the attention? he loves having fans? people in his life who seem to genuinely love and care about him? what is this new and exciting concept he’s confused but happy nonetheless

never ever talks about his dad / family though

as usual i was Extra™ and went off with the backstory stuff, but we can move onto personality now!

by default assumes that literally everyone he meets is going to betray him. is truly on some x files trust no one shit

except he does actually genuinely trust a few people for now i’m going to say just his bandmates since i imagine they’ve been through a lot together at this point but that’s open to expansion

street smart, charming, sometimes flirtatious, witty, perspicacious, determined, tough, mistrustful, surly, reckless, uncouth, self-serving af sometimes

all of sky’s save his own skin above all else stuff? kind of a lie. he’s got a soft spot for people in need of help and though he might do it begrudgingly, sky often will put others before him.

the other personality traits i listed are pretty spot on though

street smart af but book smart? not so much. he picks up on things quickly but he’s still pretty dumb lmao and will in fact say some stupid shit at least 2932589843794836708 times a day

however he’s not always much of a talker. he’s gotta be in the mood bc if he isn’t and you try to have a convo with him he’s gonna be even more standoffish than usual

when he does talk though, sky is often sarcastic, pessimistic, and surly

he’s permanently grumpy

except he also has many soft spots that are very easy to find

stale cinnamon roll, been in this world too long, too cynical w/ a dash of sinnamon roll

legend has it he’s never smiled ever not even once

he’s usually a cute little ray of sunshine around fans though bc they just?? make him so happy?? it makes him so happy to know that people love better now and that they LOVE HIM OK

though if ever called out for smiling he would immediately deny

will absolutely throw hands if he has to

lowkey a total mom friend who thrives on being a total mom friend but acts like he hates it? like he’ll grumble at you to bring your jacket bc it might be cold out and he’ll seem like he’s doing it very begrudgingly but on the inside? HE IS THRIVING IN THAT MOMENT

TL;DR - louisiana born street smart drummer for better now with an accent he denies having and an extremely rich family who wants nothing to do with him but it wasn’t like he ever cared anyway. charming and flirtatious but also can be grumpy and pessimistic. expert pickpocket and con artist. has no idea how to handle being a celebrity but he secretly enjoys the love he gets from fans. never smiles, loves whiskey, probably takes way too many naps on his couch. secret mom friend. has trouble trusting and allowing himself to get close to anyone & everyone.

finally…it’s over. if you actually read this far then i applaud you. i don’t have any specific plots in mind EXCEPT FOR POTENTIALLY HALF SIBLINGS RELATED THROUGH HIS FATHER SO PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’RE INTERESTED BC Y E S but if you know me then you know i want all the plots so feel free to message me and we can definitely work something out! as usual i’m super excited to write with you folks!

[goldenscript]

stand the rain | pt. 1

↳ chapters: one | two (final)

pairing: lee taeyong | reader genre: bodyguard au / fluff, a sprinkle of angst word count: 8,648 description: for someone who has only ever known the feeling of physical pain in its most potent form, Lee Taeyong has never known love and all its treasures (and emotional pains) up until his most recent assignment: you. author's note: this was made out of love for my two biggest taeyong lovers: @jungnoir and @workofteaguk 💓 i love you guys!

→ inspired by this rendition of new edition’s can you stand the rain! give it a listen while you read (i had it on replay as i wrote this ehe)~

By the seaside where dusk has finally broken past the peach and magenta hues, Lee Taeyong finds himself in contemplation over a matter that has long since been one of his biggest concerns in life—love. Akin to just a foreign concept, he is lost in its waves in more ways than just one. In truth, he hasn’t been in love for a very long time.

It’s probably been even longer since he can last recall ever uttering those three little words to anyone else aside from his mother but even that was over a year ago. It isn’t that he’s never been in love nor is he adversed to the concept of falling in love either. It’s just that his job and the many lives that have come across in it take up more time and effort than half of his quarter-year relationships that never went farther than fleeting touches and passing kisses. And honestly, he’s never really worked up that kind of nerve to tell someone he loves them. Partially out of fear and out of logic.

To love someone is to essentially put their heart in your hands and put their lives there too. It isn’t just a physical unison but something that of an emotional one. If he can’t match the wavelength of his partner’s feelings, is it even worth putting himself through anything that could lead to pain? Of course, this isn’t the hardest feat considering he protects lives for a living wage; after all, he lives to protect and to ensure the safety of his assignments. But it’s a far cry from doing the same with a significant other. There are moments where he doesn’t even know what’s going to happen next, where there are nights that go on and blend into even more days and sometimes even weeks. He’s a thorough worker with one of the best reputations at Neo, because of that, he’s constantly in danger.

His job is more than just wielding a gun and walking around a compound at thirty-minute intervals. He’s literally been assigned the life of another person, and if he screws up even in the slightest then it’s on him. Even the thought of failing his charge sends a shudder down his spine. He could probably live with severing ties with a significant other, but the loss of a life? He couldn’t possibly live with that so he could essentially live without love. Anyway, love in itself is meant to be happy.

He’s supposed to provide his partner with happiness. The kind that comes with soft touches, with loving remarks, and with a future that didn’t have them on their toes every other minute of everyday because life and living is never truly guaranteed. At the least, when you love someone it’ll be easier when you’re not constantly praying that you make it another day.

In a way, this is what’s gotten him through his job, knowing that when he finds love, they’ll be a sunbeam to the darkness he’s enlisted himself into. It’s funny to think about on a job, but with the whispers of the waters in front of him and getting off early thanks to you (and you to some degree), he can’t help but contemplate now.

There comes a scrapping of the chair beside him that breaks into the crashing of waves a few yards away, he snaps away from trance and finds you looking at him with kind smile and steaming mugs in your hands. He can’t deny just how sweet you look with your large sweater keeping away the cool air and the way your hair is tied away from your bare-faced visage. Not many get the privilege of seeing such a sight, so he can’t help but log it into the recesses of his mind because you’re truly a sight to behold.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, sliding over one towards him. He immediately breaks the brief eye contact just to stare at the contents. “It’s just tea. I didn’t know if you took coffee this late.”

“Thank you,” he gives a nod, accepting it with a tentative sip. It’s earl grey with a hint of milk and honey, a divine concoction that has him secretly taking a deeper sip. Yours isn’t as light as his, and it makes him feel a little flushed to know that you paid attention to his taste buds.

It hasn’t even been that long ago since he received your request for his services. (Approximately fours weeks, but who’s counting? Certainly not him.) That Tuesday morning, a few of his colleagues had stared at him wide-eyed and mouths ajar because a celebrity like yourself hand chose him to be part of your security personnel. It wasn’t anything new, really, but it did catch him off guard to see even Johnny a little miffed at him for his new job assignment. Apparently, your status as a rising star was enough to set everyone on unease but Taeyong’s superiors didn’t see any issue with him taking on the assignment.

Among the many clients that have stumbled along his way, you’re different. Between being the closest one to his age to being the nicest celebrity he’s worked with so far, it just strikes him how close the two of you have gotten so easily. The way you seem to pick up on certain things about him always made him feel a little flustered and the occasional times you’d let him off the clock sooner than necessary always seemed to make him feel too many things that he didn’t understand. And it’s not like he has feelings for you, but there’s definitely a fondness beginning to bloom. He normally wouldn’t linger any longer than he had to unless there was a threat but your beachside home was as safe as most homes came.

He finished patrolling your house about a half-hour ago, thoughts floating around his mind that came with being on the beach. It brought him back to times that felt a little more simple than toting a gun and daily perimeter checks. When he was younger, he loved the idea of love. He embraced it, accepted it, and most of all, he hoped for it so ardently that it made others laugh because how much of a hopeless romantic could he be?

From their responses, they all seemed to know some ultimate truth about the revelation that comes with prioritizing another human being besides one’s self. They would tell him that love isn’t a fairytale, that it isn’t going to be simple but watching his parents showed him how effortless it was. Perhaps not always because dark times are always bound to happen but love made it better for the most part. He remembers how whenever his mother was upset, his father brought her flowers and told her sweet affirmations that things would be okay and that he loved her and then she was smiling again. She would smile real huge and it made Taeyong feel so warm and so complete because it showed him that love could do wonders. It could turn cloudy days into sunny ones, and although he hasn’t been through that feeling like them, he still clings to the belief that if love is akin to anything (as foreign of concept as it could be) then it is akin to sunshine because that’s what peeks through all the rain.

“Shy?” you prod once again, glancing at him with a small smile curved on your lips. “M’sorry if it seems like I’m being nosy. You just seem… bothered.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that,” he answers and sets the mug down. He takes this moment to meet your searching eyes. A part of him wondering why it matters to you so much, but another part of him is curious to hear a second opinion on the matter. It’s been a good amount of time spent with you, and compared to most, he feels at ease enough to talk to you about certain things. “Well, what do you think of love? How do you see it?”

“Love?” you blink, nodding slowly. The mug in your hands remains knitted between your fingers and the makeshift paws of your sweater. He doesn’t expect a concrete answer considering it’s just one of those topics that have no sure answer, but more individualistic interpretations. It’ll always be open and confusing, but he doesn’t mind talking about it sometimes. It makes it easier to understand that way. “I guess what it isn’t is just sunshine and rainbows. It’s not easy or relenting. If anything, it’s hard as hell and very complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

You take a thoughtful pause, setting the mug down onto the table. He turns to look at you completely this time, brows drawn so far upwards he feels out of character. Usually he’s composed and unemotional, but hearing that answer makes him feel a little stab to what he had just conceived earlier.

Drawing your legs to your chest, you stare off toward the waves as you respond, “Well, love isn’t supposed to be easy. Maybe during the honeymoon phase or the puppy love stage or whatever, really, it’s difficult y’know? Like you already know how hard it is to have another person’s life in yours hands. Loving someone is almost the same, but the difference it’s more than protecting them, it’s showing them care and seeing them as a priority. You’re investing your time and effort into another person but the people you fall for may not be the best one. You get hits and misses, it just takes a lot more misses to get a good hit.”

Instead of speaking, he actually watches as your gaze floats somewhere far away as you continue your small spiel, “A lot of people tend to say that it’s the sun peeking between the clouds, warming you from a cold, rainy day. But I think love is being able to withstand the rain with the person you love. It’s pushing through struggles instead trying to shield them or protect from all the bad things because bad things happen all the time. When you try to hide those things, it makes harder to deal with them later on. So… yeah. I think love is the rain, if anything.”

He takes a moment to think with the information you’ve just told him. It’s nothing new, per say, food for thought for sure. He always seen the rain as something negative, so it’s interesting to hear a different spin on it. He admits, “I see it as sunshine like showing that person that you’ll be there for them. My dad has always been like that with mom, so I guess just picked that up.”

You break your stare on the waves, turning towards him right as his gaze is trained back on the darkened beach. He can feel your stare but from his peripheral he can tell that there is no malice or judgement directed at him. “That’s understandable. We often pick up ideals from observation anyway.” You say in a softer voice, breaking the casual atmosphere, “My parents haven’t been around for a while so I just learned from the world around me.”

He doesn’t press the topic and you don’t say anything further, allowing a silence to sit above you two. It isn’t quite awkward as it is heavy because love is a hard topic for people. It’s nothing short of unpredictability and expectations, sometimes even more than just expression but also action. It’s hard, as you said, and he sees how complicated it can be as he thinks back to those old flames that once elicited flutters in his chest. He’s not sure he was ever able to bridge the gap when the anxiety of his job has always gotten in the way.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks, wondering if maybe you understood that struggle too. If duty came before fun for you as well.

A small, fond smile curves on your lips as you nod, “Very long time ago. You?”

“Not really,” he shakes his head. “Work first, y’know?”

“I can definitely relate,” you laugh softly. “It’s hard balancing the two but you’re a good guy, I think the right one will come and it’ll fall into place.”

He’s flattered that you think so, he makes no other mention to continue down that topic besides an expression of gratitude. Even just sitting here and talking to you sets his contemplations to some ease. It’s different to open up but he’s grateful that he can with you. To talk about love and its perks despite all the setbacks as someone who has more obligation than time for fun, it makes him consider the possibility that love is both sunshine and rain because wouldn’t that make sense? Couldn’t someone be there to stand with their love in the rain and couldn’t they provide the umbrella too? Doesn’t it… just matter if it’s the right one you’re standing beside?

The sudden influx of thoughts strikes his mind and he decides to share: “Perhaps seeing love in both ways: sunshine and rain helps. It’s like saying love has its ups and downs, but it’s worth it when the right person comes along.”

“That’s true… yeah.” You muse, grabbing hold of your now empty mug, “Love is sunshine and rainfall.”

The brilliant sky from earlier has finally gone down, sunken behind the flowing waves where an iridescent darkness is littered with twinkling specks. A beautiful sight in itself even as the wind begins to pick up.

“Well, it’s getting late. I should let you go to bed.” He rises from his seat, finishing off the rest of his tea. He feels a lot lighter now that he’s had that talk, and truthfully he feels a little closer to you now. He manages a faint smile as he says, “Thanks, Miss L/N.”

You reach over for his mug, rising as well. “You can call me Y/N, Mister—”

“—Taeyong, remember?” he pipes up, the corners of his lips aching to deepen. It’s still taking time getting used to forgoing formalities with a client, but considering the two of you are both the same age, he doesn’t quite mind it so much. He likes the way your name falls past his lips, and he does like hearing you saying his.

“Right, Taeyong,” you laugh, taking a step backwards. “No problem. I’m always open ears. Have a great night, okay? We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow, Mis—I mean Y/N.” His straight face settles in as he watches you lock the porch door and wave at him. At the least he manages to wave at you before the curtains fall and shield any outsiders from viewing any part of your kitchen.

As his hand falls and he begins walking back around the perimeter for a final check, he can’t help but notice the squeezing sensation encompassing his heart. His cheeks flare up in a light dust of pink and that smile he fought earlier makes it way back on his lips as he begins to think back to the conversation you two shared.   

He can’t wait for tomorrow—7 AM call time and all—and little does he know that he’s not the only one.

Over the course of those first four week and now the onslaught of another four, Taeyong has come to understand you better than most of your fansites. Of course, it is his job to understand you as your bodyguard. But there are some things that he doesn’t necessarily need to know that he has come to know in just observing and spending almost every waking day with you.  

There are the necessary need to knows like what kinds of foods you can and can’t eat, who are the kinds of people you surround yourself with, where do you like to go so he can accompany you, and all sorts of other personal things that could possibly save you in the long run. Then there are the “unnecessary” things that he just couldn’t help but note in the back of his mind like how you tend to keep everything in your home neat for the sake of your own sanity, how you like to drink your coffee from your Keurig than any other coffee shop, and even how you’re actually unabashed to sharing your opinions or even calling out injustice when it happens.

It’s all a refreshing change from the countless CEOs and few celebrities that have been under his watch who aren’t quite like you, being this close makes him feel like he’s doing a better job than ever before and having the ability to freely communicate with you takes away a good chunk of stress because you don’t hide anything. You tell him where you want to go or who you’re hanging out with; hell, you even invite him to come along even when he’s not on duty. It’s different and kind of out of protocol, but truthfully, he has a good time spending most of his working (and non-working) hours with you.

He also knows how much you absolutely abhor interviews, solely for the questions they send your way because it’s never quite about the movie or the latest charity event you’ve done. It’s almost always more about who you’re going to the movie premiere with and what you’re wearing and if your role was even necessary as a female character, which is nothing less than a nuisance when you’re just trying to provide well-desired information for your fans but at least you have Twitter to help you out instead.

Even more so, he knows just how much you hate press parties too, especially the ones targeting older generations because more than half of the time, they’re often ragging on you for God-only-knows what. It’s even become an expected occurrence to see you meet his eyes from afar with an expression that intermingles exasperation and irritation from the sheer animosity that ensues during any sort of event that only grinds your gears further.

In some cases when he passes you by and he feels you give his forearm a squeeze, he can’t help but feel a smile ghosting on his lips and it takes a lot in him to regain that previous composure. And in other cases, he can see the visible discomfort and plea for assistance that has him flying over in an instant to keep any invaders at bay. Usually his approach is more than enough to keep them away, and that makes him very happy.

This night is nothing different than the other press parties you’ve been required to attend. It’s boring as ever, and you’re looking pained just standing around as everyone else seems to float around the room with pointless conversations. You look absolutely stunning as usual, even as you’re making a small (adorable) pout, you manage to catch his eye out of everyone else in the room. It barely takes even the slightest eye contact to pass between the two of you before he comes over as if beckoned forth.

“Must you smile at my pain?” you ask him, happily breaking conversation with a pair of older women who have long since gotten over their discussion with you. The sight of Taeyong have them lingering for another moment before they depart and giggle to themselves.

He pointedly ignores them and shrugs at you, feeling his cheekbones become more and more prominent as he attempts to bat away the gesture (though he’s probably failing). “M’not! I’m just enjoying myself,” he says simply. He’s scanning the area once again, feeling a little nervous under your scrutiny. He feels silly trying to hide from you considering he doesn’t have anything to hide, really, but he keeps an eye trained at the large group in the center of the penthouse that seemed to be dancing.

“Liar,” you huff, poking his chest with a small smile that he doesn’t miss from the corner of his eye. “Well, everyone’s finally left me be. Wanna leave?”

He blinks at you, following your steps backwards past the mini bar by stepping forward.

“C’mon! No one’s gonna miss us, and I know you’re dying to get out of here too.”

He’s certain that leaving early isn’t against protocol, considering you two have left venues earlier than expected anyway. A part of him is only disappointed because that usually means an early night and he’ll just be home, probably training or checking in with the trainees at the agency. It’s not much, but that’s the reason why he relishes in long nighttime events. Plus, as weird as this is to admit, he enjoys the long nights out with you. It’s only been a few weeks into his job with you but it’s become more and more enjoyable as time passes.

“C’mon,” you say, taking his wrist into your grasp. He wants to hold his breath, maybe that’ll stop the incessant beating of his heart. “I don’t want to go home but there’s a place I’d like to go see with you.”

His eyes go wide for a brief moment and it truly feels like his heart might fall out of his chest. It’s hardly even the touch of warmth pressing into his skin or the fact that this is the first time someone’s held his hand since middle school, but it’s glaringly clear that you are affecting him. He doesn’t even know how or why and he has no semblance of an idea of what to say in response to your inquisitive eyes boring into his like a reader skimming the letters on a page of their favorite book.

Instead of speaking he gives a slight nod, going along with the sudden force tugging him forth. Behind him the elevator doors closed and the rustling of your coat sits on your shoulders. You look at him with eyes so blown-out and a smile so wide, he feels amicable at the very sight. It’s an odd sensation in his chest, much like that night on the beach when you two talked about love, and this time he can’t shake it off his chest. 

He lets you lead him toward the car, allowing you to take the driver’s seat as you look forward, already beginning to drive to wherever the destination is. “Ready?”

“Where are we going?” he asks, watching as the city streets begin to melt away and turn into the freeway flying past the two of you.

You barely look at him, halting the tune you’ve been humming to simply reply, “A special place.”

Although you two have spent enough time together to pass as friends, there are still things he doesn’t know about you and you him, and this was most definitely something new to him. He doesn’t mind that he doesn’t know everything all at once. It’s enough for him to sit and watch, doing his job and getting to know someone as interesting as you, because with every passing day, he’s come to find every aspect enjoyable, even when you’re groaning at him on bad mornings.

He finds his own resolve waning, keeping all his emotions at bay has become incredibly tough. His need to keep a straight face and complete composure on a job has begun to get harder and harder in your presence. For reasons unknown to him, you’ve just managed to do that to him. Even dragging him out to God knows where, he can’t help but be enthralled at the sense of adventure that he often associates with you.

You’re driving toward the familiar path to your home, the curving pathway that takes the two of you away from the main area of the beaches. He knows the way here by heart, feeling his brows knit together in slight confusion since he pretty certain he had seen every nook and cranny of your home and its close proximity by your coaxing and his own protocol.

“Your special place is your home?” he asked, looking over at you as the car comes to a complete stop.

“Well, yes and no,” you laughed, exiting the vehicle and waiting for him to do the same.

“Huh?” He shuts the door behind him, watching as you scurry toward your backyard. He follows suit and doesn’t miss you going inside for a brief moment.

You return without the large coat on your shoulders and with a six-pack of Blue Moon in one hand and a pair of sandals in the other. “Obviously my home is my safe haven,” you say, shoving them on as you begin to trudge through the sand and toward a path away from the beach shores. “But this place is even more special, so c’mon, slowpoke!”

The detour takes you both up a rising incline atop the small cliff that overhangs the dark, inky waters below. The ground itself is fairly smooth so he doesn’t have too many worries about you possibly falling over. He has no doubt that you’ve done this plenty of times before from the way you’re trekking upwards with ease. It’s not too bad for him, but he feels relief when you plop down onto a flat rock a few meters from the edge.

He takes a seat by you when prompted and he feels the condensation of the beer in his palm as soon as his leg brushes against yours. He hold back from opening it until you nudge his arm with your shoulder.

“S’fine, Taeyong, you’re off duty!” You wink at him, cracking yours open; thus, prompting him to do the same. You hold it out to him instead of drinking it immediately, and he shakily taps his can against yours despite how much his brain and heart are screaming at him for it. He doesn’t even know why you brought him out here or why you wanted to show him this place. Of course, he doesn’t mind but you did say this was a special place after all.

“Wondering why I brought you here?” you asked with an amused smile, raising a brow at him. “It’s written all over your face.”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. He takes another swig, allowing the alcohol to course through his body. “I mean it’s special, so why me?”

You shrug, looking away as you replied. “‘Cuz you’re special to me. I mean we’re friends, right?”

He nods, “Yeah, I’d like to thinks so too. I just didn’t expect to get an invite since I’m also your bodyguard too. Unless you wanted protection from falling.”

“Too late for that,” you mutter lightly under your breath.

He tilts his head at you, “What was that?”

You shake your head, “I-I’ve fallen at this place before so y’know too late!” There’s an off way to the way you explained yourself but he can’t quite deny that you probably fallen on this small cliff considering how steep it can be. He just feels an undoubtable contentment as he continues to sit beside you, just drinking beers, and staring up at the night sky decorated with twinkling stars in the far distance.

“Well, it’s really nice here,” he says, leaning back onto his free arm. “This place is full of surprises. This was in plain sight.”

You smile, nodding lightly. When he glances over at you, he can see a peaceful demeanor wash over your features. You might’ve been enjoying yourself at the party, but the sight he’s seeing is way beyond the plastered-on smile you were sporting around those other celebrities. This revelation makes him feel a little happy to know that he can still see you in your purest form, even when he is protecting you.

“Yeah, I was exploring around when I moved here and I found this place. I came here that first night and I fell in love because you can see everything just by the moonlight.” You tip your head back to take another deep swig, the semi-empty can sloshing on the free space to your other side. “Thank you for coming. It makes me happy that you enjoy this place too.”

His own can is left astray on his free side, leaving his brain to wander as he becomes completely aware of just how little space there is between the two of you. With the oceanside breeze floating across the peak a little more than before, your shoulder brushes against his arm, probably trying to siphon the warmth he’s sure to be radiating with the suit jacket adorning his body. He doesn’t mind and he’s certain that his brain just losing any and all forms of that resolve because he leans away from you and shrugs off the jacket to place on your shoulders.

When you glance at him sheepishly, he waves off the apology ready to fall past your lips. “Nah, I’m fine. We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, y’know.”

You say softly, “Thank you, Taeyong. You do so much for me, and I appreciate every single bit of it.”

“Yeah, of course, it’s my job.” He muses aloud, not quite liking the way it sounds falling past his lips, because not everything he does for you technically falls under protocol. Most of the time he does things for you just because he wants to, but he doesn’t say any of that, he just lets you lean against him with his jacket on. It makes his heart thunder and he just hopes to God that you don’t hear when you’re so damn close.

After a moment, he mutters, “And, I want to… I like taking care of you.”

You look up at him, a wide grin on your lips that has him momentarily starstruck. “Good, it may be your job to protect but I’m glad that you like it anyway.”  

He nods, looking over at the skipping waves and hoping that the moon’s beams doesn’t highlight the rouge blooming across his cheeks. He doesn’t understand why he seems to get so flustered with you and how easily you could be so straightforward, but he can’t help but enjoy it regardless of how embarrassed it can make him. It’s nice to feel like comfortable with someone, and for some reason, he can’t help but think that there really wasn’t anyone else that he’d want to feel this way with.

You two remain there, drinking beers for a few more hours. It’s pretty casual with conversations about how filming has been going for the newest, well-awaited film and how he’s been helping out some of the trainees at Neo. Each anecdotes falls past your lips without much thought, and it’s nothing different than more than half of the mornings you two have shared in long car rides exchanging stories about all yours and his favorites and least favorites, even funny stories from days past. Even when so little time has passed, he feels like he knows you as well as your best friend and it’s not an exaggeration either.

He goes home that night after getting into the cab you called for him, laying in bed with his cheeks still burning from all the laughter and smiling he did with you. He remembers every detail of your visage underneath the moonlight. The way your eyes lit up and narrowed when he teased you over to the way your cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. He can’t forget how much you pressed yourself against him, leaning your head against his shoulder as the stars looked down at the two of you. Even as he shuts his eyes, hoping to chase some hours of slumber, he can’t erase any of the past few hours or ignore how much his heart can’t seem to shut up.

Even after that night and the ones that blend seamlessly afterwards into weeks, he can’t forget that night. You’re still there when he’s home, when he’s at the gym, when he’s at the agency with the trainees, hell, you’re still there even when he sees you in the morning. He can’t seem to shake you away, and it baffles him so much because so little time has passed and yet you remain right there.

How is it that you could etch yourself so effortlessly into the forefronts of his mind?

Since that night at your special place (now a place you considered both his and yours), you two have made it a habit of leaving parties early just for a cold six-pack and staring up at the stars or at the movies playing on your television screen. Either way, Taeyong truthfully has come to relish in these impromptu hangouts. They’re nothing like the first night though he holds it very near and dear to his heart and his brain refuses to let him forget it either. These intimate moments for the two of you are ones that he can’t help but look forward to especially seeing how happy you are when you convince him to stay a while longer each time.

It’s those smiles and the puppy-like pouts that clench his heart, making his eyes go wide momentarily before he acquiesces to you, because he can never really tell you no anymore (not that he’s ever really tried). You’re all that consumes his mind nowadays, literally and figuratively, because you’re all he really sees and when he tries to compose himself into the back of his own mind, you’re there to take him back to moments you two have shared, whether it’s what you said to him a few nights ago or something completely unimportant like getting new coffee grounds or a new perfume (which he didn’t agree with because he likes the scent of jasmine and bergamot on you).

Everything up until now has been akin to the warmth of the sun, setting ablaze to his skin the beams of your energy and affection. It’s nothing like holding his hand or kissing his cheek though he’s come to realize that he wouldn’t dislike either of those things from you, it’s the subtle moments like the brush of your hand or the grip on his wrist as you’re dragging him toward a shop or across a venue because everyone else is getting too close to either of you. He feels himself slipping into your own little world, where safety and comfort welcome him, and you’re smiling at him with mischief glinting in the corner of your eyes because even though he’s supposed to be your employee, you treat him like a close friend and you’re unabashed to showing it too.

Today feels like no different from the way you cling to his arm on the way to the event. He feels your own tremors calming when he opens his hand to you and your fingers interlock with his own. His own visage betrays his emotions, but neither of you make any mention of it. It’s a habit the two of you have in doing, but not discussing his own feelings is a blessing all on its own because if you did, the only thing that they part his lips is the very fact that you look absolutely stunning. All dolled up to a perfection in a cerise gown that encapsulated you in a water of soft silk, hugging you in all the right places. At the least, the recollection of that moment he saw you walking out of your home with your stylist following close behind to fuss over the train and the weight of your hand in his are both enough to distract him just a little bit.

As normal as tonight is supposed to play out, with prospects of a movie and beer like always, Taeyong feels uneasy. Something’s gnawing at the back of his mind and his gut is pinging like an emergency alarm, but he can’t quite place what’s going to happen and the only thing he can really do is make sure the danger is minimized as much as possible.

The event itself is an extravagant and well-thought out after party for its partygoers, all decorated and set to the theme of the movie you were invited to the premiere of. All of which would be enough to capture your attention for an hour or two before you’re flagging him down to take the two of you back home, where you can kick of your heels and lounge around in a pair of sweats and kick back with him, beers and probably some take-out food settled on the coffee table between the two of you. He smiles at the thought, hoping the rest of the party goes by smoothly. It’s a far-fetched thought, but his doubts only stem from the fact that the venue itself is set in the heart of the city with a press coverage bigger than the previous parties you attended. And most things that were unknown and uncertain often lead to a mishap or two, but he hopes it’s only as far as you possibly breaking a heel than anything too serious. 

You look over at him with knitted brows and a stroke of your thumb catches his attention. “You okay?”

He blinks, giving a slight nod. “It’s a big venue so I’m just ner… It’s a big venue so y’know.”

His cheeks are burning more than ever because how can he just admit that he’s nervous? He’s your bodyguard, after all.

You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze, “You and me both. This is my first time too, so stay close yeah?”

“You sure you want me cramping your style?” he tries to joke, still grateful that you didn’t call him out. “We don’t have to go if you’re feeling that uneasy.”

“Eh, I mean… it can’t be that bad right? Just an hour won’t hurt,” you say after a moment. You refrain from biting your lip to avoid ruining the deep red matte lipstick adorning your lips, highlighting more than he can probably handle, but he takes that moment to nod. It’s your call, after all. “Hour-half tops, so if I exceed that just gimme a tap and we’ll dip for chicken and beer, yeah?”

“Alright,” he says with a half-smile. the two of you both know he probably wouldn’t, but that’s only because the last thing he wants to do is take you away from your fun despite the countless times you’ve told him that he’s free to.

The car comes to a halt and the drivers comes out to let the two of you out. Your hand gives his a final squeeze before slipping away. With a faint smile on your lips, you watch him exit the vehicle and promptly join him after you maneuver out carefully.

He feels funny as you begin to walk ahead, watching as you begin to pose and smile for the flashing lights and the snapshots. It isn’t like he isn’t used to staying by the sidelines and watching from a distance but the odd pit in his stomach just reminds him on the stark contrasts between the two of you. Watching from this far and only following at a metered distance truly finalizes the fact that he’s merely your employee and not anything more than that, and he’s reminded that even with the weight of your hand still pressed against his that he’ll always be a few steps behind.

He tries not to mind this revelation so much; after all, it’s his job to keep you safe and nothing more. Instead of dwelling so much on the weight in his heart, he steels his nerves to brace for whatever’s causing the squeezing of his stomach. His mind floats away from the beauty of your visage and the warmth of your hands to accessing the rest of the ballroom because no matter how much he enjoys the way it seemed to fit so perfectly in his, he needed to keep the danger away. He scans each of the corners of the room, does his best to watch any of the people surround you, and talks with the other guards standing alongside him, who only confirm that the ballroom itself is airtight from any unwanted visitors.

You catch his eye from across the room mid-twirl in front of your friends and send a small smile his way, which he returns in the faintest way possible. His cheeks burn on their own accord, and it’s no real surprise anymore. But it burns even hotter as your friends disperse with giggles and you’re left alone to send one gesture his way.

One flick of your finger and he comes running, meeting you halfway as you saunter forth.

“Done already?” he asks, brows knitting together. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling even wider. Tilting your head at him with a glint of concern washing over the hues, he feels even more embarrassed. “Plus, you look bothered… what’s up?”

Shit—! Was he really that obvious?

You’re probably laughing at the dumbfounded look on his face, and it has him knitting his brows together. “Is it really that obvious?”

You nod, cheekbones prominent more than ever. “It’s written all over your face actually.”

“Oh…” He scratches the back of his head, giving a small nod. Why was he even surprised? You always have a knack for reading him. “Well, you don’t have to leave just because of me.”

You give him a playfully incredulous look before shaking your head, “S’okay! The party’s not that great anyway. It’s just a bonus that you wanna go too.”

He doesn’t look convinced at all, but you nod fervently.

“You’re sure?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you grab a hold of his wrist and begin to lead him out of the large crowd of well-dressed people in a bit of a flurry.

Faces pass in blurs but he can see their brows drawn upwards at the sight of you holding onto him. A few murmurs follow the two of you outside, but it’s nothing short of inquiries about who he is and why you’re leaving with him. It surprises him how much you don’t care about those things, usually rumors like those spread like wildfire and not many people appreciate those sorts of things with friends, let alone with their bodyguard. But he reminds himself that this is you after all, and out of most people, you’re far from being like that. You don’t worry about who everyone thinks you’re with because you know what you’re doing and you’re not afraid to state it either, even in the face of paparazzi.

The side exit of the hotel isn’t as full of those camera-wielding space invaders as the front or the back, each of them trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on inside and who’s with who. And it seems you’re no exception with the few that actually manage to spot you over him and the workers collecting the keys of the vehicle you had sent over.

As the employees of the hotel attempt to complete your request, a few of the men from across the main hall make their way over, shouting questions in their wake about who he is, why you’re leaving with him, and where you’re going. Of course, you don’t seem to necessarily mind the sight of you and him together but he does. He wants them to leave you alone, so he pulls his wrist away from your hand and uses his body to shield you from their view like he’s been trained to do.

You stiffen for a moment from the sudden close proximity, his own body pressing against yours but you ease up as he gestures toward the now opening double doors. His previous anxieties fade to the back of his mind, the only thing on his mind is getting you out of the building without further complications. Instead of lingering any longer, he coaxes you to start walking and you manage to do so whilst carrying the train of your gown.

He keeps close while the manager does his best in blocking off your other side from the intrusive flash, hollering over the questions getting thrown your way to reach his employees in doing better at barricading the others off.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion, discordant sounds thrumming as the two of you stumble onto the street and the weight of someone’s elbows come bearing down blows in a messy attempt to capture the scene. He takes the sharp digs, flexing his muscles and giving an outward shove before roughly calling over his shoulder, “Watch it!”

There’s a distant “Hey!” but he doesn’t stop to look back, nor does he care how that may look because it’s your safety first. He doesn’t even care for the amount of sharp digs and pressing cameras keep coming. The only time he truly feels relief is when you’ve safely made it into the passenger seat, and he can finally jog over to the driver’s side, aiming a pointed glare at the men in his way.

“Move,” he commands gruffly, lips pulled into a thin line. He looks over at you briefly but your eyes are completely trained on the dashboard and he swears he sees a tremor overtake the red waves. His brows furrow even further as his gaze flickers back to the two camera wielders stare at him with smirks gracing their lips.

They open their mouths to call out to him, probably ask another one of their stupid questions but he only maintains his steady expression. They only remain there for a moment despite the urging of the staff to vacate immediately, because he takes one step in their direction (his destination) and they’re suddenly staggering back.

As he enters the car, the manager bow with remorseful eyes. “I-I am so sorry, please tell Miss L/N that we take full responsibility for this incident.”

Taeyong sighs, looking over at you with a oang in chest as you move your focus from the dashboard to your hands. He meets the manager’s eyes with a small nod, “Thank you for your help. Have a good night alright? Please keep everyone else safe from suffering the same thing.”

“Y-yes sir,” the salt-and-pepper-haired man bows once again, turning to yell a few more orders at the staff while one of the young valets clears the way for your vehicle to leave. The rest of the paparazzi have evacuated though quite a few still linger in the corners of the hotel’s vicinity where “private property” jurisdictions don’t matter, and he feels his own grip on the steering wheel tighten.

He turns to look at you, noting all the ways in which you’re practically shivering and distant-eyed, and the only thing he can say is, “Are you alright?”

You blink and look up at him, flashing a weak smile before giving a small nod. “Y-yeah, don’t worry. Just a lil’ frazzled… c-can we go now?”

“R-right,” he chokes a little, but before he puts his seat belt on and starts the engine, he shrugs off his suit jacket and places it on your lap. You hold it close, bringing it around the seat belt and over your shoulders as he begins the drive back home.

The drive should’ve been easy and simple as per usual, but even on the road Taeyong suddenly becomes all too aware of the gnawing in his stomach, where the pit seems to flip flop and move from side to side, as if to tell him that the encounter with the paparazzi was nothing more than child’s play.

It’s a quiet drive as you both make it out of the city with little to no worries, and the only thing that passes between the two of you is the soft hum of breathing on both ends. He feels himself shift uneasily as he takes the exit out of the cityscape and onto the freeway where the forty-minute drive awaits the two of you.

The bright lights shining behind the two of you don’t seem to get farther with the distance or the fifty mile-per-hour he’s coaxing the car into; in fact, it feels like it’s getting closer and closer, with at least two other shining sets to back it up.

Are they following us?

His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly as they seem to get closer until one of the sets signals for an early exit toward an urban town. A small breath slips past his lips, only to stop short when he sees a flash come from your side of the car and a small flash of a man’s silhouette fades with the brief light.

You look over at him with furrowed brows, “Taeyong?”

He doesn’t say a word, attempting to keep his option in the lanes open. He considers taking the far left one with the other cars whizzing by, that would put a huge distance between the two of you and the possible followers. But is it really them?

He tells you to check if they’re taking photos of you, but it turns out it’s just someone playing on their phone.

“What’s going on?” you ask, looking at him with visible worry etched on your features.

“I thought it was them,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry if I scared you.”

You shake your head, “s’okay… thanks.” Your hold around his jacket tighten as you admit, “This has never happened to me before, so… sorry freezing up back there.”

His heart clenches and not in its usual jovial way, and it makes him feel a little helpless that he can’t do much as you two drive. Even so, he’s not sure what he can do physically with the obvious distance in friendship and whatever came after that. He’s not quite sure how he feels for you in that way, but he knows that he cares enough to want to do something.

He’s not good at consolation, but he tries for you because from the corner of his eye he can see you need it now more than ever.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. “Those paps are jerks, and I’m sorry we couldn’t make our exit smoother.”

“It’s my fault,” you whisper. “I figured if we left early then no one would really care, but they did… and you probably got hurt.”

Fuck, you saw? He shakes his head, looking back so he can change lanes.

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

You don’t say anything besides a mere “oh,” but he doesn’t blame you for not knowing what to say. He honestly just wants to get you home safe and call it a night, so anything in between doesn’t really matter until then. He just continues driving until the exit comes up, usually an irritable sudden stop that catches most people off guard if they aren’t careful.

You showed him how to maneuver it the first time you had him drive you home, and he’s remembered to brace himself for it every single time because it still scares him from time to time. But it isn’t fucking up the stop that causes his stomach to drop, it’s the sudden sensation of being pushed forward.

“Fuck,” He glances over at the rearview mirror, squinting at the glare of the headlights. They’re closer than ever, and he sees a flash focused on the now dented bumper and the faint glow of the men he almost dealt with earlier. Under his breath, he huffs, “Fuckfuckfuck.”

You look at him with your hands on the dashboard and eyes fully blown. Your voice only augmenting as you see him speed up down the opposite path to your house, “What? Why?”

He lets out a deep sigh, glancing at the mirror once more before saying with certainty: “We’re being followed.”

[theactivememoir]

This, was the Hardest Fall 11.17.19-2.5.2020

Warning: ~10,600 words, This one is long. And very painful.

My life turned to hell in a matter of months, I left California 1.5 years ago and  ever since then it turned into one big mess, and took all the strength I could muster to change that. But it took waking up. And one day I finally did it, I woke up.

But let me start from how this all got started.

I got broken up with 3 days before my 21st birthday in May of 2018. So I moved states after that to live with my cousin in North Carolina for a time. It was supposed to be a small vacation, just a couple months. It was supposed to be me finding myself as to who I am as an adult, how to be independent from living at home with my parents, how to live life. That’s what it was supposed to be...

But then I met him...

I was walking to the bar, since there were only 3 in this small town of Southern Pines and that’s just what you do on a Wednesday night. I saw someone I knew and gave them a hug and they introduced me to this disheveled skater boy named Josh. I didn’t really think anything of it, I met so many people every single day, I was the new girl in town, I ended up meeting everyone anyways.

I think I was still playing around, enjoying being the new girl since that brought all the attention, which is always fun, but he kept persisting. And persisting, and persisting, until finally I said yes to hanging out with him. We spent 36 hours together awake doing things with each other. It started at the bar on a lazy Sunday night, not many people, I could actually hear him talking across the table from me for once. I enjoyed his company, he was different from the rest, not some small town hick, he was actually pretty gentlemanly, and a Florida boy too. So here we were, the two random ocean children in the middle of a luscious green never-ending forest.

We talked and talked, and walked all around downtown after the bar closed down at 2am. There’s something calming-ly romantic about walking the streets of a lullaby downtown. The streets are lit just for us, window shopping is a must, as merchandise in the windows is the only thing to really look at. The stars shone overhead, and the distant rush of the wind, and a couple just passing the time by enjoying each other's company...

Monday was when he was supposed to take me on a date, and as the hours passed by into 7:30 am on the day of our date, we respectively went our separate ways for maybe 30 mins and he picked me up to go on our date.

And what do the only two Ocean Children do for a date?? Why go to the beach of course, an excruciating three hours away. But music and soft touches are enough to keep one's hopes up until the awaited sound of the sea.

When we got there he first took me to an aquarium, and like I always do, I got a pressed penny to solidify the memory. The aquarium was small, nothing beats the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach. “Everything is better in California”

Then we went to the pier, lots of fishing guys out there, we even met a pelican named Frank. We spotted a stingray and a shark so we opted to not touch the water, on my behalf, so we posted up under the pier and laid in my double hammock for God knows how long, resting and snoozing to the crashing waves in the warm August sun. As the night went on and the sunset was breaking, he took me to dinner, and then the drive back home.

It was so calm and relaxing, his soft touches on my skin, drawing random patterns on my arms and neck. I thought I was the only one who did that. He listened to my fusion music and really enjoyed it, at the time he was interested in my dancing and liked how I danced. And he told me how he wrote music and played guitar, he used to surf in the Florida waves, and did construction for the longest time, always stressing his body but never giving up on it. I think that moment in the hammock, when we kissed as the sun hit our faces, our bodies entwined into one in the lightning blue cocoon, that’s when I fell for him. 

I should have known myself, it was only 3 months that I had been single. I should have known better...

“I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast, I fall in love so terribly hard for love to ever last…”

I think after that day at the beach we saw each other almost everyday. His sister, who owned Southern Angel Donut Co. offered me a job, which paid way better than my $2.13/hr waitress job. Once I started working there it was all over. We almost never left each other's side. And he kept “calling it” saying working together would ruin our relationship. But I paid it no mind, and enjoyed making light and fluffy donuts with him.

While the rest of the world was sleeping, we were hard at work making the warm, melt in your mouth donuts that Sarah’s recipe was known for. We’d get off work at 10 am, and go to sleep the rest of the day away. A horrible habit that was ingrained into our bones far too early on in our relationship.

I think it was a mere 2.5 weeks that we started dating and seeing each other that I then started working with him at the donut shop. And within that mere 2.5 weeks we made it Facebook official that we were together.

I almost immediately got a phone call from my family members asking about who this person is and that I should be careful since I’m basically on my own and I should ask my cousin for advice about it. I didn’t listen. I was too in love to see that I was moving too quickly, and getting settled too fast.

As I stated before, we almost never left each other’s side. Wake up at 1:30/2 in the morning, go make donuts for 6-8hrs, then come back to his-I mean Sarah’s house, hang out with the kids for a bit, and then go to sleep in his room until around 7pm, or just sleep straight through until we had to work the next day. If memory serves me correctly I went back to my cousin’s house only a handful of times, for new clothes and a breather from Sarah’s gaggle of children.

The weeks blurred by, and the change in lifestyle left my bar friends wondering where the hell I went. My old coworker even reached out to see what the hell I was up to. “Making donuts! It's great!” I would reply. Oh, if only I could go back and tell myself how wrong I was.

No actually that is a lie. Making donuts is great. I’m a baker at heart. I love baking, I used to do it with my mother and so baking things and seeing people's reactions to the delicious delicacies I create for them is something I hold very near and dear to my heart. So yes, the art of making donuts is great. 

First you fill the giant mixing bowl 1.5 liters of warm water, crumble and toss in a block of high quality yeast and whisk together. Then weigh out a top secret amount of top secret donut mix, 2 with all the weight, 1 with one weight off. Followed by attaching the VERY heavy dough hook, turn on the mixer and mix together for 8 minutes.

After the dough is mixed you bring it over to a very well floured baking table, pour out the heavy dough and push it to the back of the table, making sure the edges are fluffed underneath itself so when it rises in about 20mins it will have lovely rounded edges. Then you wait.

After about 20mins, you gently tap the dough, and if it feels right (which is a skill in and of its own) you either let it proof a little longer, or you start cutting donuts.

Now cutting donuts is also an art form, as we made handmade donuts. Each one is a little different from the one before. We cut the donuts with a roller, but each donut was touched by our hands as they were placed onto the frying screens. And then put into the proofer for another 15 mins. 

Once they are proofed, and again, with sight and touching the dough you can tell if they are ready or not. Sometimes they would proof slower or quicker depending on the heat, the humidity, or the weather.

Then bring over to the 365 degree fryer, and drop the donuts in, fry each side for approximately 25-30 seconds, flipping with wooden chopsticks, lift the screen and donuts out of the fry, let drip as you cook the next screen, bring over to the glaze, lift the other screen from the fryer, glaze donuts, let drip, drop another screen, bring glazed donuts to glaze rack, flip donuts, bring screen to glazer, lift donuts, rinse and repeat for 6 -8 hrs.

My favorite part was decorating the donuts, especially when there is a holiday because my fully artistic self got all the pleasure of making themed donuts. But even the regular topped donuts were fun to make. Topping too had an artful skill in creating the perfect topped donut. Which all of the other employees didn’t have one flying fuck to learn to perfect.

There is a certain sheen, a certain drip, a certain way the frosting coats a donut, when melted to the perfect temperature. And no one else besides myself and his Sister cared to figure out what that perfect frosting consisted of. There is also a certain way the donut should look when certain toppings are put onto the donuts.

Sprinkles should, as the name is, be sprinkled, lightly, with carnival sprinkles. All others should be pressed. A maple bacon donut should have the bacon patted off so that the grease doesn't ruin the consistency of the maple frosting, a fruity pebble donut should never have crumbs or crushed pebbles on top, an oreo donut should never have fine oreo powder on top it should be big chunks, and a half and half donut should be vanilla icing first and then chocolate not vice versa. Not to mention cinnamon sugared donuts need to be cinnamon sugared whilst hot and Long Johns are always,always, ALWAYS double filled. If a filled shell has a bubble it should be tossed and if a round has a chopstick hole it too should be tossed because the donut will be too greasy. If the donut doesn’t have a halo it was under proofed and if the donut deflates or cooks too fast it was overproofed. If the donut is light yellow or dark brown it was either undercooked or over fried. A perfect donut is a lovely golden yellow brown, with a heavenly halo all around it, and a perfect thin shiny coating of glaze.

So when I say I enjoyed making donuts, I really did. Truly it was a skill I perfected over the course of a year and a half. I could put down “expert donut maker” on a resume, and I will in fact get laughed at when I say I only made donuts for 1.5 years. But if I showed someone, if I showed how I make donuts, how twists are twisted with minimal flour and second run only, how apple fritters are chopped and rolled, how cinnamon rolls are flattened and fluffed. They would say I really am an expert donut maker.

Three months into my relationship with Josh, it became crunch time for him and his family, as their lease was up at their house and they were going to move. Josh wanted a place of his own and, honestly I don’t know why Sarah moved out of that house in Pinehurst. It was actually a decent size. I think the reasoning was to be closer to the new up and coming second location in Robbins. (I will touch on that later) But honestly where she moved to in Carthage was quite a downgrade. I don’t know what else to call it besides a permanent mobile home? There's a name for it I just can’t remember right now. It had a long length but the width wasn’t very big. A single wide home? There was barely any space for her 6, ahem, 5 children plus one on the way.

Oh I haven’t explained that yet.

Let me backtrack some more.

Josh’s sister, Sarah (32), has been pregnant for most of her life. Her first child, and only daughter, she had when she was fifteen, FIFTEEN. And then right after came baby #2, her first son. Those two were fortunate enough to have the same father, Brandon, who comes into this story later. Her next son was born from a Haitian man. Her next son she won't admit has a different father so she insists the Haitian man is both baby #3 and #4’s father. Even though baby #3 is obviously Haitian, and baby #4 is obviously Mexican. Then comes baby #5, a 3 year old who can’t talk in full sentences, isn't potty trained, can’t dress himself, doesn’t usually put his shoes on the right feet, and has extreme anger and attitude issues, whose father is also in jail. AND THEN Sarah’s boyfriend, Alex (21, yes they are 11 years apart her being the older one) who SARAH AND JOSH KNEW WHEN HE WAS A BABY, is the father of her now baby #6.

So when I say I learned to bite my tongue very early on...I mastered the fucking skill, of biting my tongue and not speaking my mind.

In the moment, it was, oh to each their own. But that too became resentment.

Along with Sarah’s children, there was also their mother, who I liked, she was nice and always thinking of her children, but she too began to wear on me and for reasons I will soon explain.

When Josh and Sarah were 10 and 11 years old, their dad (who was born in the 1920’s) passed away. 6 months later their house burnt down. And soon after that their mother basically ditched them for drugs and also went to jail. So at the young age of 15, Sarah, who I presume was also pregnant at that time too, took custody of Josh. Which I’m sure some psychologist can look at that and explain to me that how I was treated was rooted from not having very good role models as a child and basically immediately into later childhood was put into survival mode and had to grow up in order to survive at the age of 10.

Going back to moving houses. Sarah basically downgraded her living to be directly in the middle of the two locations for her donut shop. Josh wanted a place of his own, but because we spent every waking moment together and I basically never left, he brought up the idea that we should move in together. My family DID NOT like that idea at all, which to my stupidity I withheld the information of our moving in together and kept it a secret until the day before we moved in. Because I knew it was stupid, deep down I knew it was a bad idea. I had free rent, free groceries, a beautiful yard, and a car at my cousins. And I was leaving all of that behind why? For a guy. Yes that sounds like a wonderful idea. 

But there was a part of me that wanted so badly to say that this was my house. To say, welcome to our home, look at my kitchen. Come into my living room. I wanted that title that I was living on my own. Sure we lived together but the space was mine, ours really, but it was mine. 

We found a lovely town-home, 2 bedroom, 2.5 bath, in a small town waaayyyyy out in the boonies for only $800 a month, we didn’t have any furniture so it was definitely bigger than we really needed. We didn’t even have a bed for the first two weeks we lived there. We slept on the floor with layers of blankets as a cushion. My hips were purple from bruises since I slept on my side. It was actually a pretty decently sized space, again, we didn’t have anything to fill it with. It had a large living room, and a nice sized master bedroom. And an enormous backyard, which was shared but who cares, my patio was overlooking a lake. It was a half abandoned golf course, that started losing money when the government had to break the dam to the lake years before when a hurricane blew threw and the water was too much that flooding would occur if they didn’t break the dam. Except they never fixed the dam afterwards, so the lake, which supplied the irrigation for the golf course, mostly dried up. So the original owners took as much money as they could and ran off. Leaving a half developed golf home community to fend for itself. Honestly it was quite beautiful in it's half abandonment. The underdeveloped housing areas made for peaceful trail walks with Forrest, our pit bull. And the lake with bridges that were falling apart made for risky and thrilling adventures to go explore. Or at least they were when we first moved in.

Tell me why is it that when one gets comfortable with their significant other, the romance and the wooing stops? Tell me why is that when the mundane things that used to be made interesting, go back to being mundane, or even a chore?

I wanted to serve him. Show him I was such a great girlfriend compared to his crazy psycho ex. That I could take care of myself and him.

I shouldn’t have so soon. He got used to it far too quickly. 

I loved my little kitchen. I loved to cook, discover new recipes and try them when I got home from work. I loved shopping at the ole Piggly Wiggly and bringing home extremely discounted items and using them right away before they expired. He’d never know they were one day away from expiration if I cooked up a good meal that night. He’d be too busy looking for error coins to add to his growing collection to notice that the chicken I was using was in the fridge for two days, if he knew he wouldn’t eat it. I loved hearing him say, “Damn, you showed out on dinner babygirl. My Latina wifey makes me so happy when she cooks for me.” I craved that so badly. The instant gratification that I was doing a good job. That I was making him happy by doing something that I loved to do.

...until I started hating to do it…

My cooking meals for us, no matter how long my work day was. My taking care of doing the laundry on my days off and cleaning the house. My going grocery shopping and late night gas station runs to get him more cigarettes. It was always me, me, me, every damn time. And I never saw it. Until it was too late, and even then, I still told myself I was doing it to show him I loved him. What a stupid lie that was…

“Babe it's 11pm we should be going to bed.”

“Then go to bed, I’ll be here looking at coins.”

“No Josh, it’s time for bed. C’mon I want to cuddle you, it’s so cold in the bed alone.”

“Alright, alright, just let me smoke this cigarette and I’ll be up there, fuck.”

And still I slept alone. And nothing was ever changed. And that was still North Carolina.

We lived in our town-home in Vass for 7.5 months. We had a folding table and 2 chairs from the donut shop as our dining room table, a twin bed borrowed from their mom as our couch. We had a chest of drawers given to us by a former employee that Josh didn’t even use for clothes, and a queen mattress sent to us from my mother out of pity that we didn’t have a bed yet. For 7.5 months we lived in that home and we never got more things, even though I wanted the cutest matching dish set, the cutest hand towels. The most perfect beach bungalow themed town-home in the middle of evergreen pine needles, and pollen covered lakes, where the occasional cow moo can be heard, from the cow farm just over yonder. I wanted our home to be a reminder of where we came from, the two Ocean Children in the sea of trees. But it was just a reminder of where he came from. Poverty, and not having a home feel like a home.

Once the second donut shop location opened in Robbins, a small middle of nowhere bodunk town with barely any residents, our work schedules changed completely. It actually benefited our relationship slightly. He would go to work at 6pm and be home by 2 or 3am. I became the manager and basically sole employee of Robbins, and would go to work from 5am-3pm. I had only a couple hours to be with him during the days we both worked, and we had one or two days a week where we both had off and enjoyed each others company doing absolutely nothing all day. We even stopped at a gas station a few times, him on his way home and me on my way to work, just for a lovers rendezvous so I could at least be in his arms and kiss him for a min before not seeing him again for another 24 hrs. It almost fixed our already rocky relationship. If anything it just kept it going longer than it should have. Robbins was the beginning of my overworked-ness with Sarah. I was the manager, and main employee. I only got a $2 raise, and was still going in and making donuts 2 nights a week. And occasionally, whilst I was at the shop at 8pm I would get a call saying my employee wasn’t able to go to work the next day. So here I am busting my ass to make donuts for two locations, I wouldn't be getting home until 4am after making donuts for 7 hours, and then would have to rush to go to work by 530 am and work another 10 hours.

That’s when I should have started saying no. That’s when I should have started putting my health and well being on the forefront of my priorities. If anything I put it all on the backburner. That’s when Sarah realized she had full control over me, and could work me like a dog, like her personal slave. And I wouldn’t even argue it. Nor would she act like she was doing it.

This went on for months. Robbins opened early December, and when March rolled around a new development came into play. The owner of Dixie Cream Donuts in Florida called. The owner, was Sarah’s previous partner, Brandon, remember that name from earlier? Yeah Brandon is Sarah’s two older kids' father. He owned the donut shop that Sarah worked for originally for 18years straight. That's how Southern Angel got its recipes, they were from Dixie Cream, because Sarah used to manage Dixie Cream in Florida, where Sarah and Josh are from. Apparently Brandon was planning on moving out of the country, and there was no one else he trusted more to run Dixie Cream Donuts, than the Donut Queen herself. So he struck the deal of a lifetime for her, and sold her the business for Xmillion dollars. Hey guess what guys, we’re moving to Florida!

I was ecstatic, elated, to move to paradise. Crystal clear waters, aqua blue surf. Its summer all year round, sure there’s rain and hurricane season what could possibly have me worried about those? I’m from sunny Southern California where it never rains and all we have to worry about is an occasional wind gust and the earth shaking violently and unexpectedly…

Sure I was scared but I was so excited to move into a new place with the man who I was so in love with. By this time we had expanded our little trio and now had three dogs, making us a family of five. We had Forrest our pitty, and Lola and Luna, twin mut pups from Sarah’s two dogs Princess and Chubby. Luna was my baby, my little puff nut fluff ball. There’s not a day goes by where I don’t think about my fluffy white little cotton ball baby.

But our little family of five was so excited to be moving all the way down to Florida. The move would consist of driving all of us down the coastline in a caravan. One big U HAUL and the rest of us driving all of our vehicles. One overnight stop in Alma Georgia to visit their family and their mother, who left in January due to medical issues and “being cruelly treated and forgotten by Sarah” *shrug, this whole family drama I just started plugging my ears to at this point* In total it took us 2 days to drive from Carthage, North Carolina to Port St. Lucie, Florida. Sarah was able to get a brand new 4 bedroom home, thanks to Brandon helping with money. Josh and I on the other hand were given $2k to work with to get settled. Only problem was, there wasn’t anything on the market that was readily available and up to our standards. (Or who would allow 3 dogs, one being a pit bull mix)

We started our move to Florida on a slightly rocky but wonderful beginning. We had basically two weeks off from work, and let me tell you I was reveling in the fact that I didn’t have to work, I was already overworked and I hadn’t even started to be overworked yet at Dixie Cream. We were stuck in one of the rooms at Sarah's temporarily until we could find a place. It reminded us a lot of when we first started dating. When Josh and I would get sick of being on the back porch or dealing with the kids, or since we didn’t go out much since money was tight, we retreated to our room for naps, cuddles, and quiet but passionate love making. I think we had more sex in those two weeks than the 7 months we lived together. The first week in Vass we did a lot, we had nothing else to do, no wifi, no TV. You wonder why people in the olden days had so many freaking children, there was nothing else better to do to pass the time away, might as well pass it with the most fun activity God created. At least nowadays we have protection or else I’d have been screwed…no pun intended....maybe.

But besides us retreating for a lovers rendezvous, we were incessantly out searching for a new place to live. Even on my birthday. And everyone knows how seriously I take my birthday. I thought my last birthday, getting broken up with was bad enough, no this one he didn’t even get me a birthday present, wanted to go metal detecting at the beach instead of go swimming-and let me tell you it was the most aqua blue crystal clear water you could ever imagine-and then pushed dinner so far back that we went to a restaurant an hour before they closed. I honestly don’t even remember if we went back to our room for birthday sex, I honest to God think I was so upset, of course I didn’t show it, but I think I was so upset I just went straight to bed. I wanted to go out dancing, like real dancing, or go down to Miami and experience the Memorial Day clubbing going on. But nope. And having not gotten me a present...that stuck...that got filed away into the ever growing list of things I could bring up in an argument, the ever growing list of grievances…

We were two weeks into Florida and already I was getting annoyed, resentful, done with all this shit. And shit hadn't even started...

June 1st was when Sarah got full ownership of Dixie Cream Donuts. June 1st is when my life rapidly spiraled downward. June 1st is when I became the most overworked and underpaid dog to ever come into existence in the world of making some goddamn motherfucking donuts. The lure of, you’ll just be baking, there are already employees there, but you will be on salary, and you will also get tips. What absolute maddening bullshit if I ever did hear something. But you know what, I believed it. I believe every single word of poison that came out of both Josh and his sisters mouth. That this donut shop was going to change our lives, we could retire in 10-15years from all the money we will be making from this shop. Josh you get to receive 35% of the company at the end of each month, Alysha you get to be on salary and make tips, it's going to be a huge pay increase compared to North Carolina.

Lies. All of it lies.

One week of being at the shop in Fort Pierce, and we fired everyone except one person who we kept on as our only weekend person. You know who got the other people jobs? Me.

It started off slow, I wasn’t touching dough yet. But I knew. I even told the one employee that we kept, “As soon as I touch dough and learn to cut donuts, he is going to leave me here alone.” And I was right.

Backtracking again, I come from living in Irvine, California. America’s safest city ranked 5 years in a row. We moved down to Florida, which already is a crazy place, but then we work and find a place to live in Fort Pierce, Florida. The ghetto of the ghetto. Take Compton x30, have it meth fuck skid row and the baby it gets out of that add a little bit of Vegas whackados x20. That’s Fort Pierce.

I knew, the instant I learned how to cut donuts, his sheer laziness shrouded in “I trust you baby” would take over and he would leave me at the shop alone.

Take what I explained about the process of making donuts earlier, and now add on top of that selling donuts at the cash register to people, while cleaning up the kitchen, washing all of the trays, sweeping, mopping, and throwing away leftover donuts, AND counting down the register and doing daily paperwork for closeout. We would get to work anywhere between midnight at 2:30 in the morning. He would leave me alone at the shop to finish up the day until 2:30pm. Still to this day I haven’t a single idea as to what he did all day. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he went home and slept all day. Or maybe it was a lie, because there would be days he would say he went home after work but as soon as I walked in, there was still dog shit on the floor, trash everywhere, and not a single thing picked up. Exactly how I left it that morning. He would say he was driving around town, doing what? I will never know. At that point, I was just happy he answered my phone calls and would come to pick me up at 2:30pm. There were sometimes he would sleep through my phone calls and I wouldn’t get picked up from the shop until 3:30pm. He was such a heavy sleeper. And an angry, angry, aggressive bear if you tried to wake him or ask him a question in his sleep. He was never physically abusive to me. But when I tried to wake him up in his sleep, he punched and kicked me a few times. I cried the most when he would yell at me in his sleep. He was so angry, and all I wanted to do was to get him off the damn couch and into bed with me so I could be wrapped in his arms. Or picked up from work so I could spend time with him. I would be at work all day, thinking of what groceries I needed for the nights meal, or stopping at the laundromat for a few hours to get some fresh work clothes. And it never worked out the way I wanted. We would always end up doing what he wanted to do. Which consisted of either going over to his sisters for way too many hours for paperwork and weed, or his mothers for weed too, and just chilling, when all I wanted was to go home and spend time with my dogs and my lover and not deal with another soul...It was always what he wanted. Even when we would go out on the very RARE occasion we were able to go out late. It was to the same dive bars with old retired people and pool tables; filled with cigarette smoke and lingering eyes on the curly haired girl who absolutely looked like she did not belong in a place of such filth and grimy repetitive routines of karaoke pool halls.

Then the hurricane didn’t happen. Hurricane Dorian, a hurricane so large that even categorizing it as a Cat5 is too small for how large this thing was. A Cat5 maxes out at 150mph, Dorian reached over 200mph. There was no label for this hurricane, and it was headed straight for our humble bungalow that overlooked the marina. Our house was built in the 1940s, a quaint little blue house on the edge of the ghetto, tucked away in a forgotten part of town, since the road was blocked thanks to a dead man who died on the train tracks. Our front door opened up to the marina boat yard, and just over the boats, if you stood on your tippy toes you could see the river and Hutchinson Island. We had an enormous backyard, perfect for our 3 pups. Our backyard was full of lush plant life, and a 100+ year old Banyan tree that gave wondrous shade to all the growing plants and our back porch. We had a mango tree, surinam tree, pineapples, and some wild cabbage. It was, in every sense of the words, a beach bungalow. It was tiny but adorable. And it would have worked out if things hadn’t started falling apart at the seams so early on into moving in. We had so many things, yet barely any furniture. I wanted to get an organized storage space out of the front room, I drew up some mock blueprints as to how to do this. He was the handyman after all. Nothing came about it. We lived out of unlabeled boxes for months. I bought a bedframe and it took 3 months for him to take it out of the box and put it together. Our dining room table was just a table for paint. (I did enjoy our painting nights, I got to teach him that his paintings didn’t have to be perfect, and that slowing down wasn’t a bad thing) My oil paints probably ruined the lovely wooden table we got from our employee. The dogs completely ruined the couch but he still slept on it. I had plans to rearrange the bedroom in order for our clothes to fit better since there was no storage space at all in this house, again nothing came about it, we lived by one single hanging rack and a 9 cube organizer.

And then came Dorian. I had two full trash bins, and we were under evacuation, we only had time to bring everything inside, and put the two trash bins outside. We had only enough time to pack the essentials, left everything else behind. Our quaint 1940s home was even unsafe in tropical storms, let alone an uncategorizable hurricane. I dropped nearly a grand to get all of our supplies in order to survive the aftermath of a giant hurricane coming. I even bought the very last inflatable mattress, which was a queen with lift-able headrests. And an entire carton of cigarettes so he wouldn't go too long without a smoke.

Then the hurricane didn’t happen. We went straight back to work, didn’t even go home, just straight to work from Sarah’s house to make donuts for the rest of Fort Pierce in their fear that we might still get hit. But it never came. It sat over the Bahamas for 24hrs bringing the ever beautiful beaches to ruin. And then moved straight up to hit the coast of South Carolina, and then New York.

I dropped nearly a grand on our survival, I dropped money I really didn’t have just in the off chance we would survive that behemoth in the sky. I never got a single penny in return. 

Even when we went grocery shopping to restock the fridge I emptied in case it would be weeks until we could return, I got no money back from him.

The man I loved, the man who was actually my boss. The man who made $720 a week and 35% of the company at the end of the month and I never saw a cent of his money. And I didn’t get anything in return. But he asked me to go get him a pack of cigarettes for him because he didn’t want to put pants on and was too tired to move, and so I would go and get them for him. And still wouldn’t get anything in return. 

I worked out the math. I worked 7 days a week, on a “salary” of $520 a week “plus tips”. That totals out to $5.77/hr. I was working 7 days a week at $5.77/hr, I paid all of my student loans, my Adobe and Spotify subscriptions, my gym membership (that I went to 4 times in 3 months because he would never take me nor let me drive his truck) I paid our electricity and rent on time, and he would occasionally pay me back in cash immediately. And then I would still shell out $40 for laundry because he would wait until 3 weeks worth of laundry had built up and he had worn the same underwear 3 times already. I still shelled out $150 on groceries that I cooked and cleaned up after for him and I. And everyday I would clean up the garbage that would get torn into because I didn’t have a trash bin because the two bins I had were still in the backyard from when Dorian was going to hit us, still full of trash.

I was on the verge of ending it.

I had a plane ticket.

September 15th.

I had a plane ticket.

I was overworked. Underpaid. Unloved. Unappreciated. Verbally abused. In full isolation. No friends. No family. I wanted out.

I.Had.A.Way.Out. And I STILL held on to this glimmer of hope that it would all work out. I thought the plane ticket would scare him. And it did. For a moment.

“Why? Why get into a relationship if you aren’t going to give effort? We were supposed to be equals and yet I feel like I am the only one giving effort. Why self prophecy that this isn't going to work out, and then not fight your own prophecy to make it work? Why not give such a simple effort to make me happy? I ask for such simple things Josh! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come to bed with me, I shouldn’t have to beg for sex with my own boyfriend, I don’t even care about the sex anymore. I just want to be held by you, to cuddle, to be given affection. I work longer hours and days than you at YOUR company and you cant even wash a dish or two? I can't live like this I'm going home.”

“Don’t go, please don’t go. Stay. We can work this out, I love you, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. I will fight for this relationship if it’s the last thing I do. Please don’t go.”

“....Okay I’ll stay...if you say you will fight and change, even though we have had this argument countless times….if you truly want this...show me….”

If anything it just got worse from there.

I was unemployed for two weeks. Two very long weeks. Honestly Assassin's Creed is what saved my life the last two months I was in Florida.

I was unemployed for two weeks, and every single morning when I would wake up around 9am, like a normal human being not having to work at 2 in the morning, I would pick up the trash littering my house thanks to the dogs ripping into the trash bag that hung from the door handle in the kitchen. I would sit on my phone scrolling through indeed, typing out my new resume with no way to print it. I had to wait for him to come home, and I so wanted to go out and do things, like visit the aquarium, or go to the beach and fall asleep to the waves crashing under the summer sun. But because I was Sarah and Josh’s workhorse, and once I told Sarah I was leaving then the next I wasn’t she didn’t allow me to work back at the shop. And because I did the work of 5 people, even though when I worked there I begged them to hire just one person, just one, to do the cleaning so I wouldn’t have to, they no longer had me there anymore. So Josh stayed longer, worked longer hours, and would come home tired. And sleep 90% of his day off away. So when he came home, I was so excited and wanted to talk about cool things I saw online, or wanted to go grocery shopping, or visit a mall. I got greeted with a heavy sigh, a plop on the couch, Joe Rogan or conspiracy theory videos, and snoring within 30 mins of him coming home. By the last two months of me being in Florida I didn’t talk very much with him. There was nothing to talk about. We stopped talking long before those moments though. I just hadn’t realized until I was home alone all day. What else is there to talk about when you work, live, sleep and breathe with the person you are in love with every single day. You run out of things that spark interest. You lose the feeling of, hey let's try something new, especially when your newfound intrigue is greeted with disgust, a steadfast no, or a blatant slap to the face that we obviously aren't going out tonight because he hasn't moved from his spot on the couch for 3 hours now.

My music is a very deep and obvious sign into my inner thoughts and feelings, whether I am aware of it or not. For the last four months of me being in Florida there were two songs I liked to listen to, specifically when Josh wasn’t home, because I knew he would give me shit if he heard them.

“All I Do is Sit Inside My House All Day” and “Suicidal Thoughts” from Josh A and IamJakeHill. And if that isn’t a blatant window into my soul in those months I don’t know what else is. There was another song, in which I quoted earlier in this piece, “I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast, I fall in love so terribly hard for love to ever last…”

Again, I will say, Assassin's Creed saved my life. If I hadn’t started playing AC2 on Josh’s PlayStation 2 and gotten absolutely swept away with Ezio’s story line and the beauty of ancient Italy and being able to sneak around assassinating bad guys, I would have killed myself. And I don't say that lightly. Every day, since September 15th, a little life from my soul faded away. All we would do is fight, and argue, or awkwardly sit on the couch together doing our own thing. I would beg for him to come to bed, ⅖ times I would be successful, and even then it was him on the base of the bed watching his videos, and he would fall asleep the wrong way on the bed. He would hint at wanting to make love to me but by the time he got home he was too tired or too dirty and would end up falling asleep anyways. I gave up thinking I would sleep with him every again. We did here and there but there was always a disconnect. I felt used by that point.

Due to such limiting factors of not having a car, and an unreliable boyfriend who wouldn’t let me drive his truck anyways, my job search was limited to what was within safe walking distance. I still carried two knives on me no matter what. It's the ghetto.

My options were 4 places: A gas station, another gas station, CVS, or a drive thru liquor store. I applied at the liquor store, as it was the closest and I didn’t have to cross a major highway to get to it. I got the job the day of my interview. 3 days a week at $8/hr. And that was, by far, the most whoreorizing and degrading job I have ever had in my entire life. And I was only there for a month.

Disgusting guys rolling up, with an AK47 in the middle console, their bro rolling a blunt in the passenger seat, the driver licking his lips at me saying, 

“Hey mama, what’s your sexy ass doin’ in this window and not doin me? You busy later?” 

To which I had to maintain my composure every single time and lie saying, “Sorry, I’m married, thank you though.”

“Aw c’mon that don’t mean shit. Don’t you want some side n*gga?”

“Here’s your booze. Thank you, have a nice night”

“Whateva gurl I’ll try again next week.”

Abso-fucking-lutely degrading. Luckily I only worked three days...but I also only worked three days. So I was home a lot more than my boyfriend. My job hours were normal, 10am-6pm. I could cross the street to go home with enough light for it to be safe. Come home, and hope on the playstation. Most nights I would either come home to an empty house, he hadn’t been home all day, I could tell. There would be certain signs that would tell me if he had been home at all or not. If the scent of cigarettes was stronger, there were new soda cans with ash on them on the cocktail table, if the remotes had been moved, if there was a new plate that was dirtied by some snack, or if there was a new pile of clothes by the couch… If none of those things were there, I knew he hadn’t been home all day. Our poor dogs stuck inside for at least the 8hrs that I was at work. And no, I would never know what he was up to all day. I know he had a previous gambling problem, but I nipped that early on when we were in NC. But it is legal in FL, and I still wonder if that’s where his money went….or just to weed...or if he really did just drive around all fucking day.

Having my shifts start at 10, I would usually be up until midnight or until he had to go to work in the morning, he would be fast asleep and so I could make private phone calls to my mother about what was going on. They saw it coming faster than I did. My therapist caught on to his behaviour long before I ever did, that he was toxic, verbally abusive, that he was controlling and his sister manipulative. It took a long time for my mom and I to get to the closeness we are now. To have the relationship we have now. It's been rough. But she helped me through this so much. And whenever he would say that she brainwashed me as a child, forced me onto ADD pills when that “shit fucks up your body” and that I was “still under her mind control and she still has power over you” always hurt. To say things like “oh I’m never going to California, I’m never going to visit your family if they are anything like your mother.” It killed me. When all we ever did was spend time doing the things he liked, and spending time with his crazy family. And not want to reciprocate. I played AC2 all the way up until the second week of November, when the PS2 crashed. I was left home alone for 80% of the week. Alone with my thoughts, and my music, and the strong suggestions of my parents that I need to think about my future, and if this is truly what I want for the rest of my life.

To sit at home, wondering why the man I love, the man I gave everything to, all of me, why he doesn’t want to give such simple efforts in return. Why I have to beg for attention and intimacy and never get it in return. Why the man I fell in love with brought me so far from family, and isolated me from everything. Why the man I love wouldn’t want to treat me with such care and love and selfless adoration the way I do for him. Why every morning I wake up wondering if I can even get through the day, or if the blade I keep strapped to my body in case some rando from the ghetto streets outside were to come into my house and hurt me, if the blade I keep on my person will be sharp enough to end my pain. If leaving and starting all over for the third time in a year will be worth it in the long haul. 

November 9th,

I made a call, while the man I loved lay sleeping in bed, after begging him to come watch his show in the bedroom, and him finally falling asleep wrapping me in his arms. I snuck my way outside and called my parents. They were so happy on the phone, spending time with family and friends, like I would have been too if I was with them. But instead was calling, to ask if they could send me home. If there was any way I could come home sooner than 2 weeks from now for thanksgiving. If there was anyway I could come home and try again because I can’t be here anymore, and it’s killing me, and I can’t last 2 weeks.

They gave me a day to think about it. I had to say it for myself, it wasn’t their decision, it was mine. The last time I called like this I cancelled last minute because his words clouded my judgement and I listened to his pleas. I took the day to rule out the pros and cons. I took a day to really think about if this man was really everything I made him out to be. It’s a terrible thing when you realize the man you once loved is now a stranger. It's an even more terrible thing when you know that the man you love, who you know loves you just not in any way shape or form as much as you love him, is going to realize that now you are the stranger, and that you are going to make a very painful and difficult and traumatic event happen in his already traumatized and horrible past. That you are going to add to his already endless pain. That you are the one...that is going to break his heart.

November 10th,

I called in the morning, early CA time, he was already at work making donuts. It had been off between us the past few days. He knew something was up, but I was instructed not to say a word. I barely lasted two days not telling him anything. And the disconnect had already begun.

My dad answered the phone in such a loving and soft way, it was exactly what I needed...

“Hi sweetheart, how are you doing? Have you made up your mind at all or do you still need more time? We are ready for you whenever you are.”

“I…I need to come back home.”

“Is this your decision?”

“Yes ....I can’t stay here any longer…*the tears welled up in my eyes and my voice began to croak* because I know that if I do it will kill me and I can’t live like this. Please bring me home.”

“Okay, okay. I will send mom a text and she will send you flight information as soon as she gets it, okay? Are you already packed up?”

“*sniffles* yeah, I have 2 carry on sized bags, a duffel bag, and a backpack....I wish I could bring more, there's so much stuff I don't want to leave…”

“I know sweetie, I know, but what is most important is that we get YOU safely home. Things can be replaced, you are irreplaceable”

I got a call later that afternoon from Josh, asking if he should even come home because I might be leaving or not. I didn’t give him a direct answer, just if he can come home if he wanted to. He didn’t until late afternoon. And when he did, I got a message from my mother.

“Your shuttle comes to get you at 8:45am, your flight is out of West Palm Beach at 11:30am. We love you, keep us updated. We can’t wait to see you tomorrow boo.” “So that’s it then…” I muttered. “So that’s it what?”

I took a deep breath, and read him the text my mom had sent me. I couldn’t bear to keep it hidden from him any longer. Somehow I thought he deserved to know. That he needed to know.

“So you lied to me this whole time, you knew you were leaving and you didn’t tell me. You just made up that stupid lie that you were thinking things over and had a decision to make? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Of course he was angry. And disconnecting. He had already told me days ago that he was going to start hardening his heart towards me to ready himself for me leaving. He saw it coming too, and he knew it.

“I wasn’t lying, I was telling the truth. I had to think things over and I came to a decision this morning.” “And you're leaving tomorrow morning? No that’s a fucking lie, that shit you had planned, YOU'RE NOT LEAVING. YOU CAN'T LEAVE. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME. I LOVE YOU.”

Again the same argument, over and over again.

“Why? Why get into a relationship if you aren’t going to give effort? We were supposed to be equals and yet I feel like I am the only one giving effort. Why self prophecy that this isn't going to work out, and then not fight your own prophecy to make it work? Why not give such a simple effort to make me happy? I ask for such simple things Josh! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come to bed with me. I just want to be held by you, to cuddle, to be given affection. I do everything for you. EVERYTHING. I HAVE GIVEN YOU ALL OF ME. THERE IS NOTHING OF ME LEFT TO GIVE. MY WELL HAS RUN DRY JOSH. I AM AN EMPTY SHELL. You wanted the old Alysha back? Well guess what Josh, she isn’t here anymore. There is barely any of me left. What more do you want from me? My life?! I don’t even have one here! I’m sorry…”

I went to work in tears that night. Called my manager and told her I was leaving due to a domestic emergency, and also told her I might not work the entire night.

To which I then received a phone call from Josh, crying asking me to dip out on work so that we can spend one last night in each others arms before he never sees me again. And I idiotically said yes. And it is forever ingrained in my mind. The cries of the man I loved. The cries of the man I gave everything to. The pleas of the man who for one last night held me so tightly than he had ever held me before in the hopes it would keep in in Florida. The quiet crying pleas of the man I spent almost 2 years with, wailing in the night for me to not go, to not leave him. And my cries in return just never ending-ly saying I’m sorry. But I have to go. I didn’t even sleep that night. He just held me tighter and tighter and all I can think about is why he couldn't have done this every night? Why couldn't he put as much effort into trying to keep me here, now, why couldn't he do that every night and day? Why give me an excuse to call out of work only to try and keep me from leaving, why not make an excuse for me to call out of work to woo me into loving him again? Why wait for the last hours. The last minutes. The last seconds. And as I'm leaving and getting into the shuttle, he kisses me goodbye, puts on his sunglasses and says goodbye as if I was just leaving on a trip, because he doesn't want to look like such a fool in front of a total stranger…

I wish I could say it ended there at the shuttle...but it didn’t. Before the shuttle came, I was pleading to him that I was sorry, and that I didn’t want to do this but I had to. And somehow his pleas got me on my knees into begging that we could try long distance, see if that could work. Maybe he could come to California and start a new life with me. Somehow that where we left it off...and when I got to CA I was still under his control.

But as I finally got to be in my mother and father's embrace again, a little piece of my soul came back. A little flicker of a hint of a spark came from the ashes. And as I told my extremely summarized story to friends and family I felt that I had made the right choice. I felt like I was back where I needed to be. I had a future here, I had family and friends within an arm's reach, and not half a world away.

And the flicker became sparks, and the ashes began to glow bright, a flame beginning to burn out of the ashes.

I called him...still under his control but breaking free, finally. And ended it. It was too much of a fairy tale, that it would work like this. He was always the one telling me I need to stop living in a fantasy and live in reality. I guess I learned something from him. My dad walked in on our conversation...circulatory argument, really. About the same things over and over again.

“I love you Alysha, you are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. But you’re a bitch for leaving me like this. I'm surrounded by your belongings what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Just throw it away?! I love you! I want to fight for us to make it work but you fucking abandoned us!”

My father told me he was a dick, and the short phone conversation he overheard from us was a textbook example of abuse from a significant other. I blocked him on every social platform imaginable. And waited patiently and anxiously for the one thing that tied me to them still to come in the mail…..my W2s.

The long and anxious wait ended...finally….and as I opened the letter with all of my documents I was filled with an overwhelming sense of emotion that confused me all to hell. This was it...it was really here...the last piece that was tying me to them and it was finally in my grasp. There is nothing else to bind myself to him anymore. Nothing else from Florida that can bring me pain or suffering or fear. It's over. It’s been over relation-ally for three months now. But legally...it's done.

I’m still processing the pain of it. The sheer torment I went through. I still don't know how I survived everything I went through. My memory is horrible right now with my brain trying to process the trauma, deleting things from memory due to how painful it is, that now I just am terrible at remembering almost everything. It will haunt me for an eternity. Until one day it won’t. And I hope that day is sooner than later...because this truly was hell to have gone through.

I don't trust myself anymore. I don't trust other people. I am terribly, terribly afraid of love. The last 3 relationships I have been in I have jumped into, with barely any time to get to know the person before making it “official.” Never again. Next time will take a long time. Deep established friendship first, before I can even consider beginning to feel again. I don’t know if I will ever love the same way again too...To give absolutely everything I have to the table. To give all of me to the point where there was none of me left...I loved him with all of my heart, soul, and being. And it ruined and broke me, knowing I broke that man, that I crushed his soul and shattered his heart...along with mine....

He called me a liar once for saying I was his ride or die, but I was leaving him. But what he did not realize is that I did die for him. I died every day...for four months...knowing I was going to end my life if I stayed there any longer….killing myself for a man who would never love me...the way I loved him…

[kingsterracerp-blog]

KATE will be picking up LUNA VALDEZ as a third character.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME: kate. AGE: 22. TIMEZONE: est. ACTIVITY LEVEL: u guys know PRONOUNS: she/her. SHIPS: /chem. ANTI-SHIPS: /no chem. TRIGGERS: Removed. PASSWORD: Removed. ANYTHING ELSE: Removed.

IN CHARACTER.

DESIRED CHARACTER: Luna Isabel Valdez. NICKNAMES: Lu, Looney, anything else. AGE/BIRTH ORDER: 23. FACECLAIM: Eiza Gonzalez. GENDER IDENTITY/PRONOUNS: she/her. SEXUAL/ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heterosexual/biromantic. HOMETOWN: Las Vegas, Nevada. OCCUPATION/EDUCATION: Currently working at Urban Outfitters while she attends Harvard for Law. She’s also secretly a camgirl to help pay for her education.

(MORE) IN CHARACTER.

POSITIVES: Hardworking, outgoing, adventurous. NEGATIVES: Blunt, stubborn, wary.

@MOONBABE: i don’t think anyone has been more ashamed than my doctor when i admitted i eat hot cheetos for breakfast like...everyday @MOONBABE: i miss the days when bieber didn’t learn a few lines of spanish to do remixes of songs that didn’t need him in the first place. @MOONBABE: "do you need a full face of makeup to go grocery shopping?” [image]

BIOGRAPHY.

** TW UNDERAGE DRINKING, DRUNK DRIVING, CAR CRASH, MENTIONS OF BIPHOBIA, DEATH **

Luna Isabel Valdez was born in San Ángel, a relatively small city in Mexico. She doesn’t remember anything from living there, mostly because she was two when her parents took her and her sibling to America -- hoping they could find better work and give their children a better life. That wasn’t exactly the case when they got there, sure they got lots of work but it was constantly odd jobs that paid okay and at the end of the day it was still barely scraping it for an undocumented family of four.

Luna grew up watching her parents go through hell to raise them, watching her father leave for weeks at a time to go to better paying jobs and watching her mother cry at night because it was so much stress and who knew if he’d make it back. It didn’t exactly help that Luna was the problematic child growing up. There wasn’t really a reason why she acted out and was the wild child, she just was. It was who she was as a person. She constantly wanted all eyes on her and would do anything she had to do to get it. Dancing, singing, doing things she shouldn’t in class. Luna was just constantly bored -- that was her answer for why she acted out. But that all changed when a best friend came into the picture.

Luna met Jasmine in the third grade and they instantly became best friends. And while Luna was still a little mischievous, Jasmine was always the level headed one who tried to keep her out of trouble. They were inseparable, honestly. Wherever Luna was, Jasmine was right by her. And vise versa. They had sleepovers every weekend, called each other on the phone almost every night even if they had just seen each other that day, helped each other with outfits, homework, talked about boys. Luna finally had someone who understood what it was like to be different, her being Mexican as well. They had each other for everything. So it wasn’t a surprise when in the 8th grade, while sitting on the porch swing of Jasmine’s house -- Jasmine came out to Luna as gay. She liked girls, and had known for a long time. Luna was the first and only person she ever came out to.

Of course Luna accepted her for who she was, no matter what. They were best friends, and Luna would have accepted anybody who was different -- especially her best friend. Learning more about sexuality, had Luna thinking a lot about it. The idea started to play in her head that she could be with a girl, maybe. That if they were the right person, and she felt good with them -- she could date them. And that was true. She started to imagine herself with her closest girl friends, wondering what it would be like to kiss them, and date them. The one person she thought about that the most with, of course, was Jasmine. And as more time went on, she realized more that she did like guys, and was attracted to them. But if she got to know a girl well enough, she felt the same way she did for guys.

Soon enough, Luna found herself thinking about Jasmine as more than a friend. And that soon turned into a confusing crush that until the tenth grade, had her completely confused about it. During a sleepover one night, Luna confided in Jasmine about how she was feeling. About her sexuality. And she also confessed that she was sure she had feelings for her. She was relieved that Jasmine actually felt the same way. They started secretly dating, since to everyone else they were still in the closet.

It was easy to get away with, seeing as they were best friends and had been long before this ever happened. They were happy, and they were in love. And it was easy for them, as it got closer to them graduating school to plan a future together. To go off to college together, get married, have kids. It was something they wanted badly. But it never happened. The summer after they graduated high school, they had gone to a party to celebrate their new freedom. They had both been drinking, and somewhere along the way -- a fight happened. Luna to this day doesn’t really know what it was about, not fully. All she remembers was talking to a classmate and Jasmine getting jealous, and Luna getting defensive and saying she didn’t need to be because she loved her.

It had drawn enough attention that Jasmine panicked and left, saying she was fine to drive even though she clearly wasn’t. Jasmine was supposed to be the level headed one, so Luna let her go -- which she still regrets. Luna got a ride home, and was hoping that she’d get a call from her girlfriend once she got back. She was too caught up in her head, upset, that she didn’t even think twice as she saw the ambulances and police racing down the road. But as she drove up her driveway to her parents waiting for her, she knew something was wrong. And her world came crumbling down around her. Jasmine ran a red light, causing an accident -- the person in the other car somehow survived, but Jasmine, didn’t.

Between what happened at the party, and Jasmine dying, it forced Luna out of the closet she was so comfortable living in. Most were okay with it, they lived in Las Vegas for crying out loud. But also some weren’t, like her parents. They never outright said anything, because they did love her and how do you tell your daughter you’re ashamed of them when they just lost the person they loved? But they did quietly disagree -- which sometimes, Luna thought was worse.

It took a little while for Luna to get back into the swing of dating, Jasmine had been her first relationship and it had been secret. And it had obviously ended horribly. But since then she has dated and seen a good amount of people, but nothing has really ever lasted. She either goes for people who only end up hurting her -- or she ends up hurting them. It was easy with Jasmine, with others it’s not. And Luna isn’t a perfect person, she knows that. And can own up to the fact she doesn’t think she could be in a serious relationship because she’ll end up fucking it up if they don’t first.

Luna took a much needed year off before college, needing the time to mourn and also to save up for college. She wanted to become a lawyer, and she knew it would be expensive with her parents not having the money to send her to college. So Luna started to work at a local diner, saving up every penny she had. It was a struggle, but thankfully her coworker showed her something that changed her life in the best of ways. Something that would make her a lot of money, and fast. It was an adult website where Luna could video chat with a chat room, and they’d pay her for literally anything she did. Laughing, talking, singing, and of course more sexual things that Luna was desperate enough to do.

She was making enough to go to the school she was accepted into -- Boston University, and still did her cam thing on the side as she worked at Urban Outfitters, and now just recently graduated from there, she’s now on her way to Harvard law to finish up her schooling. She still continues to work at Urban Outfitters, and definitely still does her web page. But that, is something she doesn’t tell people -- and she’s never once showed her face. No matter how much they offer.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE.

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH? HOW DOES IT COME IN HANDY?

I’m hardworking. It takes me a lot to give up on something, and it definitely comes in handy with my education. And wanting to make something out of myself.

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS? HOW DOES IT AFFECT YOUR DAY-TO-DAY LIFE?

My attitude, probably? I piss people off constantly because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut and I always say what’s on my mind. I’m blunt, and I don’t hide that.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TEN YEARS?

Lawyer with her own kickass firm, providing justice left and right. 

WHAT BROUGHT YOU TO KING’S TERRACE?

College, and I thought I would probably move -- but I got accepted into Harvard, so I guess I’m here for a little longer. Which isn’t terrible, it’s a nice place. Cool people.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND TELL YOUR YOUNGER SELF SOMETHING, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

I guess a few years ago is considered younger right? -- It wasn’t your fault. Cry, let it out. Move on. You’ll be okay. She’d want you to be okay.