#one of my coworkers went to the same middle school as me and

[ryuseitai]

speaking of elon musk that reminded me of this teacher i had in middle school who was OBSESSED. with him and also mark zuckerberg. like i think he had romantic feelings for both of them. especially elon musk. i was like 12 so i didnt really have an actual opinion on him all i knew about him was the smoking meme and how he posted about catgirls ? on twitter so that plus the teachers obsession w him made me think of him as nothing but cringe. but now i have bloodlust for him i hate him so bad. But thats irrelevant

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[stellamancer]

obligatory (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: haha. the valentine's fic. it's funny i still have to post halloween fic. maybe i'll finish this week since i'm off work. uh anyway, for those who say my posts, i'm kind of hesitant to post this for two reasons: 1) it's removed from context— like you can still get a feel of what is going on, but there's no explanation as for why and 2) due to reason 1 it's tonally different than usual, at least according to my beta reader. my eternal gratitude goes to @momodita who helped me workshop this fic and continues to demand i write more gojo fics despite denying being a gojo fucker.

contains: implied f!reader (no pronouns), the return of gojo's pov (a little less whacky this time lmao), jealous gojo (because those who know me know i can't get enough), light angst or whatever the hell is going on there. additionally, for those who don't know giri choco is chocolate you give out of obligation to your coworkers and honmei choco is chocolate you give to someone you have romantic feelings for. part of the infinite loop verse.

wc: 1.8k

“Here you go.”

Satoru graciously accepts Shoko’s offering: a thin, delicately wrapped box of Valentine’s Day chocolate. Naturally, it's giri choco; Satoru is well aware that Shoko would be caught dead before even thinking about giving Satoru honmei choco. That said, it looks like she's given more thought to her gift this year— the last few years she's just handed him a gourmet chocolate bar from some high end chocolatier. Actually, the last time she'd given him something wrapped up like this was…

“There better not be any liquor in this,” Satoru says in a petulant tone reminiscent of his high school days.

Shoko merely laughs. “As if I'd waste something like that on you.”

There's no way she’s forgotten how sick Satoru got the one time she did give him liquor filled chocolates. Not only had it made him sick to his stomach, it'd given him the worst headache of his entire life. If it were up to Satoru, liquor filled chocolates wouldn't even exist. “Welllll, thanks for the chocolate. I'll be sure to get you something good next month.”

Shoko gives him a relaxed smile. “Looking forward to it, Gojo.”

Knowing Shoko, she'll want liquor as usual. Maybe the same bottle of shochu that he got last year? She liked that, but then again, the same gift twice would be boring and Satoru is not about that. Whatever it is will be a little pricey, but Satoru doesn't mind it one bit— anything for one of his oldest friends.

Having given Satoru her yearly offering of chocolate, Shoko shoos him away so she can actually get to work. Satoru considers ambling around for another hour or two, but Ijichi will probably have a heart attack if he delays his mission briefing any longer. The sooner he does it the better, he guesses. Satoru starts sauntering toward the assistant managers’ office to find Ijichi, pulling at the ribbon on the box he received from Shoko as he goes. Inside are two rows of perfectly round chocolate truffles and Satoru picks one at random and pops it into his mouth. It's filled with a sweet raspberry cream that practically melts on his tongue. Shoko really went all out this year, but no matter how good these are they'd never match up to anything homemade.

Though, when he thinks about it, Satoru supposes he won't be getting anything like that this year.

When he gets to the assistant managers’ office he easily finds Ijichi, who, for once, is not bent over a mountain of paperwork, and with him is—

You.

Handing Ijichi a box of chocolates.

For some reason, Satoru suddenly feels very, very annoyed.

“Well, well, well,” he says, the volume of his voice louder than intended, but he doesn't care. “What do we have here?”

Ijichi whirls around and lets out a squeak, his face red as can be. He starts to blubber and it almost feels like Satoru's caught him in the middle of something more illicit than receiving chocolates. If Satoru weren't feeling so annoyed, he'd find the whole sight rather funny.

You, on the other hand, are far calmer, indifferent even, as a slight frown mars your features. Something about it makes Satoru's blood burn hot.

“Did I just interrupt a heartfelt love confession?” Satoru asks dryly and Ijichi starts to freak out even more, and while Satoru notices the slightest twitch of your eye, you remain impassive.

“I hope you like the chocolates,” you tell Ijichi, outright ignoring Satoru and somehow that makes Satoru's blood run even hotter. “I kept in mind what you said about last year's so they're not as sweet.”

“Thank you!” Ijichi squeals and you give the man a sympathetic smile before you head toward the door where Satoru's standing. He knows he's blocking the way, but he doesn't move.

Will you say something to him?

You don't.

Instead, you keep your head down and squeeze past him. Or try to. You brush against his side and Satoru doesn't miss the way your body jolts when you make physical contact with him. But it only lasts a second, and when that second ends, Satoru tries to ignore the feeling of bitterness rapidly spreading throughout his chest.

He means to say something, anything to you, but the words get caught in his throat.

By the time they free themselves, you're already gone.

Satoru sighs and saunters over to Ijichi, who's been taking deep breaths to calm down after Satoru's little bout of teasing. He leans against one of the desks and crosses his arms. “So, you had a mission for me?”

“Right! Yes!” Ijichi squeaks again and takes a deep breath before he starts to explain. Satoru only half listens to the briefing, his attention more focused on the little box sitting on Ijichi’s desk. The mere sight of it spurs a complicated set of feelings. He doesn't understand. You've been giving Ijichi chocolates every Valentine's ever since you moved to Tokyo and it's never bothered him before so why now?

“Um, Gojo?”

“What?” Satoru almost snaps.

Ijichi doesn't answer right away, instead he clears his throat and then says. “It's giri choco.”

Satoru scowls. Of course it is. It's not like you'd give Ijichi honmei choco. You don't see him like that. “I know that.”

Ijichi swallows thickly. Nervously. “Just making sure.”

Then he falls silent, the air between them now terribly awkward.

“...do you want some?” Ijichi asks.

“It's your chocolate.”

“I don't mind sharing,” Ijichi says, reaching over and opening the box to reveal your homemade chocolates. They're nowhere near as perfectly round as the ones Shoko bought for Satoru, but he can tell you put effort into making sure they looked presentable. “Help yourself.”

Even Satoru isn't terrible enough to steal an entire box of chocolates meant for another man, but he does grab the nicest looking one and tosses it into his mouth.

It's bitter; a mix of dark chocolate and black coffee that's not only completely unpalatable to Satoru, but disturbingly reminiscent of the bitter feeling that's now threatening to eat him whole. He almost wants to spit it out.

But he doesn't.

Satoru swallows it all.

The mission is uneventful, absurdly easy even, though Satoru took a little longer than he needed to by toying with the curses a little prior to exorcising them. Some would consider it a touch cruel, but Satoru doesn't care. Anything to rid himself of that pesky feeling from earlier.

If it were up to him, he would have headed straight home afterwards, but Yaga had asked him to come back and do some paperwork. Satoru had tried to reason with him, tell him he'd just do it tomorrow but the principal was insistent.

Satoru trudges to his office and throws open the door. Inside, someone lets out a surprised yelp.

It’s you.

Again.

Both you and Satoru stare at each other in surprise. Given that you've been avoiding both him and this entire corridor like the plague for the past two months, you're the last person he’d expect to find in his office, hovering over his desk. And yet…

You look away from Satoru, your expression awkward. This isn't like your encounter in the assistant manager's office earlier; you can't just walk out of his office without an explanation of why you're there.

Well, you can try, but it's not like Satoru will let you.

“Weren’t you supposed to be out on an assignment?” you finally ask. Satoru thinks you mean to sound annoyed, but your tone is watered down.

“I was, but it was so easy I could have done it blindfolded.”

Normally, you'd just roll your eyes or snap back about how he's a show off or his jokes are shit, but you remain quiet. He shouldn't be surprised, but it still makes him feel weird. Almost sad. Almost empty.

“Principal Yaga asked me to leave some paperwork on your desk,” you say, sounding uncharacteristically meek.

Satoru frowns a little. Yaga, huh? He never pegged him as a meddler. Satoru approaches the desk to look at the paperwork in question; he grimaces— it's a whole freaking stack.

You start to shuffle away from Satoru and toward the door as Satoru flips through all the papers. “Anyway, if you'll excuse me—”

“Wait a sec.” Satoru says and you glance back at him in confusion. There's something peeking out from under the stack of papers. Satoru gingerly fishes it out, revealing a familiar looking box. He holds it up and adds, “Did you leave this too?”

A myriad of varying emotions flashes across your face before you settle on an awkward sort of embarrassment. “I… did.”

It's weird. Satoru didn't expect you to be so straightforward given that under normal circumstances you always choose to be as obstinate as possible. Which Satoru doesn't mind in the slightest; it makes things exciting. There are few things more fun than prying the truth out of you with whatever means necessary. Answering him so readily like this… almost feels wrong.

“I accidentally made too much,” you explain.

Satoru stares at you. It’s not an excuse, not a lie. Honestly, adjusting the amounts to account for one less person probably slipped your mind until it was too late. You could have done anything with the extra chocolate, given more to each person, eaten it yourself, but instead…

You still chose to give it to him.

Satoru tries to ignore the strange feeling stirring in his chest.

“Anyway, eat it if you want, toss it if you don’t,” you add, almost hurriedly as you move closer to the door. You give a quick bow to excuse yourself and before Satoru can say anything else, you run off.

His eyes remain glued to the empty doorway where you were just standing for a second before looking back at the box of chocolates you left for him. Carefully, he unties the ribbon and pulls off the lid. Just like Ijichi’s chocolates, the ones in his box aren’t perfect, but something about them looks nicer than the ones Ijichi got. Satoru wonders if you consciously put in a little more effort when you’d realized you had extra. The thought makes him chuckle a little.

He delicately plucks one from the box and pops it into his mouth. It’s sweet, infused with a hint of strawberry and vanilla that makes Satoru crave even more. As soon as he’s done with the first he shoves another into his mouth, and then another. With each chocolate he eats, the painful feeling in his chest grows, but he ignores it.

Before he knows it, the chocolates are all gone. Satoru licks his lips, hoping for one last taste of that strawberry vanilla sweetness only to find nothing. All he has left is the empty box and an aching heart.

if you read this whole thing, thank you and i hope you enjoyed it.

also yes, shoko got chocolates (tomo choco) too. they were similar to ijichi's, but with liquor instead of coffee.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my coworker what to do?

I (26f) am a nurse. Alex is a tech. She's 29f. In case you don't work in Healthcare, typically the way things work is you have the registered nurse, then licensed practical nurse, then the patient care tech/certified nurse assistant. The licensed nurse is like a registered nurse, except there are a few things they can't do.

Anyways, Alex is a tech and in school to become a nurse. I know she is nervous about her tests so far. We worked together and are assigned the same area. We talked on and off throughout the night, and everything seemed to be going well! We laughed and joked, we had serious discussions pertaining to family. All seemed fine.

I noticed after another nurse's patient had passed, Alex became quiet. I assumed it was because the patient had passed away (please note we had no direct care with this patient).

Well, she went to go do something in one kf my patient's room. I asked her "hey, when you're in there do you mind getting the vital signs?" My thought process was, if she is going in the room and waking them up, why not get vitals to consolidate care. Now, vital signs are the techs job to get. She only said "yeah I know" and didn't do them. Which meant she would have to go back in the patient's room in an hour, waking them up again (its the middle of the night).

I didnt say anything, its her the patient's will get mad at not me, I do feel bad for the patient's to get woken up again though. I do not say that to her.. i said nothing about it.. An hour passes, and she's sitting on her phone. I don't really care once the work is done. I look up from my phone, saw that it was getting late and asked, " What time were you planning to get vitals-"

Alex cut me off and said," im not stupid I know I need to do it." I immediately responded, " I never said you were. Im sorry if it came across that way uhh I...sorry?" Alex responded "You telling me I need to do vitals, I know when it needs done. It makes it seem you think I'm dumb." I responded "I dont think you're dumb. I genuinely just wanted to know when you planned on getting the vitals because I also have to go in some rooms and we can go in together. Consolidate care. That way they can sleep"

She rolled her eyes but went to get vitals *which i didn't even care if she got that second or later* and I said again "i really am sorry if it offended you that wasn't my intent. I don't think you are dumb." To which she said "uh-huh, yeah okay".

We have worked together a few other times and she's never said or acted like this. I recalled all of our conversations throughout the night, and there was nothing that could have been misconstrued to her thinking I thought she was dumb.

Before we left i asked if she was okay cause she seemed upset and she brushed it off (this was my attempt to let her tell me she was hurt or not).

I dont know what I did to cause her to think she was dumb, I understand in theory what she was saying, but nothing had happened of me telling her what to do prior to that moment, and in my mind even then I wasnt telling her what to do j was asking her. I thanked her for her help multiple times throughout the night, and before we left after j asked if she was okay I said thank you for your help.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[kexing]

Its so wild to see how openly and aggressively people hate forcebook and their work. Iknow bl opinions are so varied but other than the odd 'this is not for me' i never really come across hate for pairings on here (maybe its different on twitter idk) so its so insane that when it comes to fb people just stop being considerate to fans or even look to bother them actively. there are some actors who get rightly criticized for awful behaviour but with fb it just seems like its the one pairing that people are allowed to shit on and thats why they do it? bc what's the worst they've done? not act the way you would want them to or take part in a show you didn't like?? why would people then focus so much on them rather than focus on the stuff they do like? its so baffling i truly wonder if its just 'playground join in with the bully' behaviour. sorry thats been on my mind as someone who only filters into bl every now and then, its so strange.

hi there!

RIGHT????? before them, i had never seen hate for pairings on this level. i knew about some problematic actors and pairings that had broken up so most people had moved on but actual gratuitous hate??? was unknown to me.

i used to think we all minded our business with our faves and everyone lived in peace. at least it was like that here on tumblr for my first years of bl. i do think twitter is different and probably worse, but the way their behavior has been poisoning tumblr as well is concerning.

truly. i don’t KNOW what’s with forcebook that people seem to enjoy hating on them. they’ve been on the public eye for nearly two years now, they have zero rumors, zero scandals, zero accusations, work hard, just do their thing, openly support the lgbtq+ community, all their coworkers like them, for fanfest in japan geminifourth, joong and phuwin went to force’s room in the middle of the night to hang out because their adore spending time with him, their previous directors adore them, p’film considers forcebook his actual children and p’new opens his arms for book to bear hug him whenever he sees him.

hell, even their old classmates from school came forward to say they were really nice people back then. that force was popular because he was friends with everyone and book was quiet but sweet.

when there’s actual deeply problematic actors out there. people who get accused of unspeakable things EVERY SINGLE DAY. and fans still defend them and give them 937482848384 chances.

it just doesn’t make sense to me. WHY would you be so obsessed with someone you don’t like? focus on your faves instead of complaining about other people just doing their job!!!!!!!!!!

i do usually call it “hate train” because it seems like everybody’s hopping on it just because it’s going around a lot.

but STILL. i see some criticism that’s just baffling. the way people will take forcebook’s words out of context and attack them with it, invent shit saying they’re nepotism babies (they are not). some even use forcebook’s friendship against them which is????? surreal. jobless behavior. go find a hobby or something else to do???? WHAT ARE YOU GAINING FROM ALL THIS?????

force and book are very open about their friendship and how it’s not perfect because they like being honest with us instead of painting a false image of their relationship, it’s not for people to turn it into weapons!! the disrespect is just so infuriating!

i’m not asking for everyone to start loving forcebook, just RESPECT THEM. or even ignore them. but don’t ruin things for them 😭😭😭 and us fans who are just trying to support them.

it’s okay! i wonder about the same things every single day. and i sincerely don’t know if i’m just too biased or something but i have never understood the amount of hate and still don’t because i would never do this to anyone. i never expected things to become like this.

but oh well :/

[stardustshelb]

"Strawberry" Part One

Word count: 6,749

Chapter One

“Are you sure you can’t drive me to the airport in the morning?” I asked Kenneth wearily. I knew he was reluctant to allow me to go to Nashville for Riley’s bachelorette weekend. He says he’s worried about my safety, but I know the truth is that he doesn’t want me to go out without him, especially with a group of girls.

He groaned, “I have to be at work by 8 a.m. and your flight leaves at noon. I’m not sure if you know how time works but–”

“My plane leaves at 2 p.m. I have to be there by noon,” I interjected before he finished his insult.

“Whatever. Either way, I can’t swing it. Just drive yourself or get one of your friends to give you a ride,” he said as he shut the bathroom door in my face.

He knows good and well that Riley and our other friends live hours away in other states. Everyone got out of this town the second we graduated college. Well, everyone except me. Kenneth took over his father’s business so I stayed behind too. I don’t resent him for it; I love my small town. I love that my family is no more than 15 minutes away in every direction. I love my job and my students. I love my  simple two-bedroom home where I spend most of my evenings alone with Sassy, my border collie. I love my comfortable life. But I hate that my best friend since middle school took a marketing job that required her to move 738 miles away from me.

Life sometimes gets lonely when your closest friends are your coworkers who are old enough to be your parents. Finding a teaching job in this small town was easy because I went to school here. My classroom is the same classroom I once sat in to learn 9th grade English; now I am on the other side of the desk.

When Riley asked me to be her maid of honor, I cried tears of joy… and jealousy. Kenneth and I have been together since we were 16 years old. Although we celebrated our 10-year-anniversary in August, we were quickly approaching the two-year-anniversary of our engagement. Riley met her fiancé less than a year ago; yet, I am the one putting on a bridesmaid dress before a wedding dress. 

“Can you turn off the light?” Kenneth’s question snapped me back to reality. I looked at the piles of folded laundry on my side of the bed with my barren suitcase next to them.

“I’m still packing,” I said.

“Well, some of us don’t get to go to Nashville. Some of us have to go to work to help fund a trip we don’t even get to go on,” he responded.

Ouch. Yes, it’s true Kenneth is the breadwinner. His father’s business is lucrative and Kenneth does well for us. He has asked me to quit my job time and time again since he can support us financially. Everyone knows a teacher’s salary isn’t much to brag about, but I still feel pride in bringing home a paycheck every month. I love my job too much to quit. It’s already lonely in the evenings; I can’t imagine staying home all day by myself too. 

“You know I booked the cheapest flights I could find. Everyone else is flying in together and I am arriving a day early because tomorrow’s flights were more expensive than–”

“Turn off the light!” Kenneth snapped.

I collected my laundry piles and tossed them into my suitcase before shoving it to the floor. I guess I will have to finish packing in the morning after he leaves for work. I put my phone on the charger, turned off the light, and climbed into bed. Sassy jumped into bed to sleep by my feet, our nightly routine. She has always been my protector. I am going to miss her so much while I am gone, but I am looking forward to this miniature vacation. I haven’t had a trip to look forward to since my senior year of college. Kenneth is always too busy with work for us to have a vacation together. He doesn’t like to fly but he also gets car sick. If anywhere I wanted to go required more than two hours on the road, count him out. Plus it will be nice to see Riley again. I shut my eyes and tried my best to fall asleep. I am used to going to bed angry. Anger is like melatonin to me at this point. But the excitement and longing kept me awake. I pulled my headphones out of my nightstand and connected them to my phone. I scrolled through my Spotify playlists until I found one to soothe me to sleep. I selected “Boyfriends” by Harry Styles and the irony wasn’t lost on me as I drifted off…

Chapter Two

I collected the parking ticket from the machine as I drove into the airport’s economy lot. I found a spot closest to the entrance, but I knew I was still going to have to walk a billion miles. The economy lot is furthest from the airport but it’s the most affordable option. I wanted to save every dollar I had for this trip, so I figured it was a small sacrifice. I parked and started to collect my things from the trunk of my car. I grabbed my carryon suitcase and hung my purse on its handle before I started my trek to the airport. Anxiously double-checking every item on my pack-list in my head, I walked through the double doors of the airport. I made my way up to security and got in line behind what seemed to look like the entire population of my town. Luckily, the line moved fairly quickly as I approached the TSA agent’s desk. I placed my luggage on the conveyor belt, removed my sandals, and emptied my pockets. 

The large woman in the TSA uniform waved me through the body scanner. “Come on through, sweetie.”

I stood on the yellow marker and held my hands above my head. I knew I had nothing on me that would set off any alarm, but this moment always made me hold my breath. 

“You’re good, sweetie. Have a good day,” she smiled as I breathed a sigh of relief. I collected my things and scurried off to the side to put my shoes back on. When I grabbed my phone from the security tub, I noticed that I had two missed calls from Kenneth. 

I called him back as I tried to make my way through the crowd, pulling my luggage behind me. He answered on the first ring. 

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” he asked with a bit of anger in his tone. 

“I was going through security. I couldn’t be on my phone,” I explained.

“Well, I only have so long of a lunch break and I wanted to check in before you got on your flight. What time are you set to land again?” he asked.

“3:30 p.m. for the hundredth time,” I sighed.

“Ok, you need to text me as soon as you land,” he commanded.

“Sure thing,” I replied.

“Alright, well I’m gonna get back to work,” Kenneth said.

“Hey, don’t forget to give Sassy a treat after she goes outside because that’s what she’s used to. Oh, and don’t forget that she likes to have dinner at–”

“I’ve owned the damn dog just as long as you have. You don’t have to give me instructions,” Kenneth cut me off.

“Can you send me pictures of her throughout the day? I’m really going to miss her,” I pleaded.

“You’re going to miss the dog more than me,” Kenneth scoffed.

I thought about that comment for a moment as I approached my gate. I glanced over the TV screen to verify my boarding time. 

“Wow, you don’t even deny it,” Kenneth said.

“I’m sorry. I got distracted by my gate. It’s really busy here. I will text you when I land. Please send me pictures of Sassy. I will keep you posted. I love you,” I nearly lied into the phone.

“Love you too,” he said halfheartedly before ending the call. 

While pulling my belongings behind me, I found a spot to sit down in the waiting area of my gate. The airport seemed to be a madhouse, but it looked like my flight wouldn’t be so crowded after all. There were more empty seats than I expected. I checked the “Nashville Babes” group text on my phone. I’ve had the notifications silenced for weeks because I can’t stand getting notified every 10 minutes. I asked Riley to text me separately if there was anything I really needed to know. I hate that I appear to be an unsupportive maid of honor, but seeing my phone light up constantly throughout the day–and night–has been a nightmare for my anxiety. Riley knows and understands that I get overwhelmed easily. She took charge of planning her own bachelorette weekend because she knew I would get stressed out. I still feel guilty about it, but she assured me that she truly wanted to plan it. I wasn’t going to argue. She’s always been the most supportive and constant person in my life. I hate that I am secretly jealous of her when I should be reciprocating the support. 

“Now boarding Group A!” the airline attendant announced over the gate’s speaker. I checked my boarding pass: Group C. Once again, I took the most affordable option on the cheapest flight I could find. Being last to board on Southwest meant that I am doomed to a middle seat between two strangers. I just hope that whomever I get stuck between put on deodorant today. When I say I’m looking forward to a vacation, I mean I am looking forward to a break from 15-year-olds’ body odor. One of the many drawbacks of being a teacher. 

“Excuse me,” a man in a white sweater and khaki pants said as he tried to shuffle by me. I thought he looked funny wearing both a baseball hat and sunglasses indoors. That doesn’t look suspicious in an airport. I moved my things from his path and he headed to board the plane. So he’s in Group A… This guy has money. Well, maybe not. He is flying Southwest after all. I’m sure I could have booked Group A tickets, but I didn’t want to ask Kenneth for any more money than I already needed. This trip was fully funded by me and I was proud of that. Well, until Riley picked the most expensive Airbnb in Nashville. I almost fainted when I received her Venmo request. I was grateful she didn’t charge me extra for staying one night by myself since I had an earlier flight. I swallowed my pride and asked Kenneth if I could have an extra $400 to add to my savings to help with my portion of the bill. He gave me the money with no issues, but he has enjoyed holding it above my head every chance he’s had.

Once I heard the announcement for Group C, I grabbed my things and headed to stand in line to board. I glanced at the Nashville Babes group text: 80 missed notifications. I cleared it from my phone as I opened the Southwest app to show my boarding pass. Once I was scanned in, I headed through the hallway to board the plane. I stepped on the aircraft and gazed over the heads of strangers who were all avoiding eye contact. I knew they were all pleading to themselves that I wouldn’t take their middle seat. The flight wasn’t too packed, but there were no empty window or aisle seats left. Wonderful. I scanned the rows once more looking for any open overhead space when I noticed someone’s eyes locked on me. Eyes that I hadn’t seen before; yet, a face that looked all too familiar. The Group A stranger had removed his sunglasses and was staring at me. I started to move down the aisle when he whispered to the guy in the row with him. Whoever he was, he looked angry receiving whatever news he just got. No chance I want to sit between a bickering couple. I located a row nearby filled with two women who looked rather normal. I went to lift my luggage to put in the overhead space when the Group A stranger grabbed my suitcase.

“Allow me,” he said with a smile that displayed the tiniest of gaps between his unusually white teeth. But rather than placing the suitcase in the compartment I had decided on, he placed it in the compartment above his row. 

“Would you prefer the window seat or the aisle seat?” he asked.

“What happened to the man who was sitting with you?” I answered his question with a question.

“I asked him to sit elsewhere. I figured you’d prefer a better spot,” he smiled that smile again.

Bewildered, I responded: “I’ll take the aisle.” No way would I be confined to the window seat with this strange man trapping me in. I needed an escape route in case he was a pervert or something. 

“Perfect. I love to watch the clouds anyways,” he said as he shuffled into the row. I followed suit but sat to keep an empty seat between us. 

“Why didn’t your friend just sit in the middle if you wanted to give me a good seat?” I asked confusingly.

“That’s my–um–assistant. He can stand to sit elsewhere for the short flight since I see him all of the time. I’d prefer to sit next to someone more pleasant anyways,” he joked. 

God he’s adorable. A little too forward but adorable nonetheless.

“Well, I appreciate you doing that for me. I figured I was going to have to sit between two strangers, but an aisle seat is definitely a welcomed surprise,” I said.

I opened my phone to inform the Nashville Babes that I had boarded and would be landing in roughly an hour and a half. I completely ignored the hundreds of messages that came before mine. I was about to put my phone on airplane mode when I received a private text from Riley.

Riley: “You ok?”

Me: “Yes, of course. I’m so excited to see you! Get ready to lose oxygen from my hug when I see you tomorrow.” 

Riley: “Just checking. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days. Let me know when you land and when you make it to the Airbnb. Safe travels, love.” 

I sighed as I read her message over and over. I smiled and held the message down to “love” it before searching through my purse to retrieve my headphones. 

“Already getting the music out and we haven’t even heard the safety instructions yet. I think you need to pay attention,” I heard the adorable stranger say.

“There isn’t much I can do if there were an emergency. Knowing that I need to breathe oxygen through a mask that will drop in front of my face is all I need to know,” I said with a laugh.

“Just make sure to put your own mask on before you help me with mine,” he said.

“Who says I would help you?” I turned to him and asked.

“I helped you with your luggage. I helped you get an aisle seat. The least you can do is help me breathe,” he said with a smile that displayed his perfect teeth again.

I laughed and replied, “Ok, well I am not banking on there being an emergency, so no need to worry.”  

“Does anyone ever bank on an emergency?” he asked. Smart ass.

I rolled my eyes and placed my headphones in my ears. I opened my Spotify app to find the playlist I downloaded to prepare for the flight.

“Who are you listening to?” the stranger asked. I am beginning to wish I had sat between the two women after all. Not having to play 20 questions with this guy would have been worth sacrificing the extra space I had in this aisle seat.

“Nobody yet as I literally just opened the app,” I responded.

“Can I give you a song suggestion?” he asked.

“Um… I guess?” I replied questioningly.

“May I?” he asked as he reached for my phone.

“I’m not giving a stranger my phone,” I said with a shocked expression to my tone. The nerve of this guy.

“What am I going to do? Run off with it? You’ve got me trapped in,” he smiled showing that cute, tiny gap again. 

“No thanks,” I said as I went to start my music. 

Suddenly, he unbuckled his seat belt and stood up from his seat. I stared at him wide-eyed as a flight attendant stopped by our row to say, “Sir, please stay seated and buckle your seat belt.” 

He waved to the irritated attendant and displayed a soft smile as he sat in the middle seat beside me. Immediately I was hit with his fresh cologne scent that made me crave more as he started to buckle the seat belt. You have got to be kidding me.

“What are you doing?” I somehow yelled and whispered simultaneously.

“Please let me pick a song for you to listen to. Then I will leave you alone. I promise,” he said with a slight pout to his lips. God, his lips. How did I not notice those yet?

“Give me your phone in exchange,” I said with an air of confidence in my voice.

“Ah, so she’s smart and she’s beautiful,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his khaki pants. I tried to hide the blush that I could feel warming my cheeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I received a compliment.

“I’m not unlocking it, but I will let you hold it for ransom,” he said as he held his phone out to me. I took it from his hands as his fingers brushed against mine. I felt an immediate rush of energy run through me as our hands briefly touched. What was that? I handed him my phone and watched as he typed the words “Greta Van Fleet” into the search bar in my Spotify app. He made a face that almost seemed disappointed, and then clicked  to download the band’s complete playlist. He attempted to hand my phone back to me, and I stared at him confusingly as I reached for it. I was too busy watching him with my phone; I never even glanced at his lockscreen. Before I gave him back his phone, I tapped the screen to see what his background was. On display was a photo of a crowd of lights, but the photographer must have been standing on the stage when they took it. There had to be thousands of phone flashlights in this one photo. It reminded me of tiny stars in the midnight sky. 

“I took that picture, ya know?” he said with a proud smile.

“Are you a concert photographer?” I asked. 

He let out a wild laugh and then glanced down at my phone’s screen, “It’s almost finished downloading.”

“I thought you said a song suggestion. A. One. Singular. Not a whole playlist,” I said.

“I mean… I wanted to give you options,” he said.

Waving his phone to him I asked, “So, is this crowd picture from this band’s concert?”

“Yes,” he said, like there was more he was wanting me to ask. I decided to have the upperhand and gave him his phone back without asking another question. I watched my screen as the playlist was nearly completely downloaded. 

“I’m Josh,” he said like he was annoyed that I hadn’t asked for his name yet.

“Hi, Josh,” I replied disinterestedly. 

“And you are…?” he asked.

“I’m about to listen to this playlist,” I said with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Smart, beautiful, arrogant…” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that,” I said as I put my headphones in. “You can move back to the window now.”

“We are about to take off. If I stand up, I’ll cause a scene and then we’ll be delayed. Then I’ll probably become a flight risk and be forcibly removed off of the plane. Everyone would be recording the fiasco and posting it online. Let’s just avoid all of that and I’ll stay seated here,” he said with a smirk.

“You have quite the imagination…” I said hiding my smile.

“I’m sacrificing a coveted window seat for you. I hope you know that,” he replied.

“I never asked you to change seats,” I said.

“No, but you didn’t object either,” he responded with a smug expression on his face.

Once the playlist completed its download, I switched my phone to airplane mode. I sighed in frustration and scrolled through the playlist to view the songs. Whoever this band is, they have quite a discography. I wanted to ask him which song I should start with but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I scrolled until the title “Trip the Light Fantastic” caught my eye. Intrigued, I selected the song and tilted my head back to listen to it. Before I shut my eyes, I noticed Josh was staring at my phone to see which song I chose first. I closed my eyes and relaxed as the lyrics danced through my ears. I have never heard anything like this before. I was so entranced in the music that I didn't even realize we were now speeding down the runway about to take off. The music, plus the feeling of lifting off the ground, was nearly overwhelming in the best way possible. I felt like I had stepped into the song itself. When the song ended, I didn’t want to open my eyes. I wanted to stay in this moment for as long as possible. 

“What did you think?” I heard Josh ask as I removed my headphones.

“Wow,” is all I could formulate. My thoughts ran wild and I wanted to describe the feeling I just had, but I couldn’t put it into words. 

“What did you think about the guy’s voice?” he asked.

“The dude is talented as hell. I just wish I could understand everything he sang,” I said.

There was that wild laugh of his again. “Yeah, I think the band receives that criticism a lot,” he said with a shrug. I truly wanted to listen to another song, but I didn’t want him to know I was so interested in this band. I guess one could call me stubborn. 

“While I love to share music with new people, I’d love to talk some more if that’s alright with you,” he said sheepishly.

“I feel like you would talk to me even if it weren’t alright with me,” I said sarcastically.

“Smart, beautiful, arrogant,” he repeated. I playfully pinched his arm. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed as he rubbed his arm.

“I let it slide the first time. I wasn’t going to let you get away with it again,” I said.

“Now that I’ve been physically assaulted… Are you going to Nashville for business or pleasure?” he asked.

“I’m attending a bachelorette party,” I said.

“For you or someone else?” he asked, looking down at the dainty ring on my finger. The same ring that has been without a wedding band companion for nearly two years. The same ring I wanted to leave inside the jewelry box before I left my house this morning.

“It’s for my best friend Riley,” I said with a sadness that I couldn’t hide like I normally do.

As if Josh sensed the change in my mood, he completely turned his body to face mine. I could tell that he positioned his head to get me to look at him. I locked eyes with him and it was like I could actually see the wheels in his head turning. 

“How long will you be in Nashville?” he asked.

“For four nights. I had to take two days off from work, but I’m looking forward to it,” I said with a forced smile.

“You don’t sound like someone who is excited to attend a bachelorette party,” he said.

“It’s just a lot, but I am excited for Riley,” I said trying to convince the both of us that I really was excited.

“What do you do for work?” he asked while continuing to hold eye contact. As I stared into his dark brown eyes, I studied the long lashes that I would kill to have. 

“I teach 9th grade English,” I responded.

“Smart, beautiful, arrogant, and a world changer. A difference maker. One who shapes the minds of our youth. You’re a hero to our doomed society,” he said. I felt my cheeks redden as I processed the way he just described my job. I don’t normally feel appreciated at work, not even at home. It felt good to have someone remind me of my purpose. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just a glorified babysitter,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“You should never feel that way. I think you have one of the most important jobs in the world. I’m just a concert photographer,” he said with a tone that I couldn’t quite place.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said, finally giving into a real smile. I watched his eyes fall to my mouth and I could feel a million butterflies in my stomach. Why does he have such an effect on me? I shook the thoughts from my head as I opened the Southwest app to see how much longer our flight had. A little over one hour to go with a stranger who makes me feel better about myself than anyone has in years. Maybe I should take a nap.

“What’s on the agenda for your bachelorette weekend? Bars and strippers?” he asked with a smile.

“Definitely the strippers. That’s a necessity,” I responded with a smirk.

“Well, when I’m not taking pictures at concerts, I happen to moonlight as an exotic dancer,” he said returning the smirk I gave.

“I’m sure you make more money taking pictures,” I said biting my lip.

“First you physically assaulted me and now you’ve verbally assaulted me,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, covering my face from the embarrassment of inadvertently insulting him.

“No, you’re right. The crowd usually pays me to keep my clothes on,” he said tilting his head down in shame. Unlikely.

“What’s your stripper name?” I asked. Before he could answer, the plane suddenly dropped in altitude. I heard screams from the rows behind us. I gasped and grabbed his hand before shutting my eyes. The turbulence was over quickly as everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. I slowly opened my eyes to realize everything was ok. I didn’t realize I was still holding Josh’s hand until he asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yes, sorry about that,” I said as I quickly jerked my hand back to my lap.

“No need to apologize for the hand-holding. It was nice while it lasted,” he said with a wink.

“Who was the first person to cross your mind when you felt the plane drop?” I asked him in a serious tone.

Without hesitation, he responded, “My mom.”

“Tell me about her,” I said.

“She’s the most important person on the planet,” he said looking at his hands. “She has given up so much for me and I hope I make her proud.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said while trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not sure if my nerves were shot from the temporary panic or if his sentiment was getting to me. 

“Who did you think of?” he asked.

“Honestly… I thought of myself,” I admitted with shame.

“Really? Elaborate on that,” he said as I could tell he was giving me his full attention.

“I’m sure I sound narcissistic, but I thought I was about to die without having lived, and then I’d leave a legacy of nothing behind,” I said with a sigh.

“I know I don’t know you. Shit, I don’t even know your name. But, I can tell that your death would most definitely leave an impact on people,” he said.

“Nothing like discussing death with a total stranger,” I said with a light laugh.

“Death doesn’t scare me. I know it’s not the end. I just enjoy my life and the love I can give to the world while I’m here in my physical form. The love I provide won’t leave when I fade away,” he said. I stared at him like I just heard one of the most philosophical phrases come from another person’s mouth in years. He’s insightful and adorable.

“I got that from a song, by the way. It’s on the playlist I downloaded to your phone. Don’t be too impressed,” he said with a laugh.

“Ah, plagiarism,” I said.

“That’s actually my stripper name,” he said with a smirk. 

“Now I definitely know you aren’t making any money,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“How about I give you a glimpse of my routine and you tell me what I can do to improve my shtick to make more money?” he asked.

Stunned by his foreward remark, I immediately felt guilt running through my veins. This is the most flirting I’ve had since high school. I’m not used to this sort of attention. I looked down at my hands in my lap. 

“I’m sorry if that was too much. I–” Josh began to say.

“No, no it’s ok. I was just worried I wouldn’t have enough money in my purse to get you to keep your clothes on once you started,” I said stifling a giggle. 

“Alright just kick a man while he’s down,” he said as he clutched his hands over his heart. He threw his head back acting like he was wounded and I eyed his neck. His adam’s apple protruded, making me feel weak. 

“I wonder if there is a doctor on board to help you,” I said sarcastically looking around the plane.

Suddenly he rose out of his seat and shouted, “Is there a doctor in the house?”

Completely stunned, I stared at him with wide eyes. I cannot believe he just did that. I watched a flight attendant quickly make his way over to our row. Oh my God.

“Sir, are you having a medical emergency?” the flight attendant asked him. Next to the attendant stood Josh’s assistant, the angry man who changed his seat earlier. 

“No, no, I am ok now. Sorry for the alarm,” he said, trying not to laugh. His assistant rolled his eyes and quickly returned back to his middle seat. I’m sure he is used to Josh’s antics by now. The flight attendant gave a displeased look to both of us before walking away. I felt like I had just received punishment for a crime I didn’t do. Guilty by association. 

“That was so not funny!” I exclaimed with a sigh.

“I can’t help myself sometimes,” he said with a smile. This dude is nuts.

“You’re a lunatic,” I said, getting my headphones back out.

“No, wait. I am sorry,” he said. “I’ll move back over to the window seat and leave you alone,” he said with a sense of shame in his voice. I put my headphones in as I watched him change seats then position his body to where he was looking out the window. I was no longer in his line of vision. I opened my Spotify app and his Greta Van Fleet playlist was there. I hesitated. I wanted to listen to another song but I also wanted to block this guy from my mind and listen to my own music. Against my better judgment, I selected “Light My Love” from the playlist. I closed my eyes and listened to one of the most beautiful songs I had ever heard.

Chapter Three

I was six songs deep into this playlist when I felt someone tap on my arm. I reluctantly opened my eyes for I was enjoying being in a complete and utter trance of this band. Josh looked sheepish as I removed my headphones. 

“Do you care to let me out to use the bathroom? I really need to stretch my legs,” he said. Without responding, I shifted my body and moved my legs into the aisle to give him a clear walkway. He shuffled past me and I got a whiff of his cologne again. He smells so damn good. Maybe I’m being irrational for giving him the silent treatment. I’m 26-years-old but I’m acting like I’m 12. I decided to act more civil once he returned to our row. I don’t want to look too anxious, but I couldn’t help but watch the bathroom door awaiting his return. After what felt like an eternity, I decided to do something irrational. I can be crazy too. I took my headphones off and left them in the seat as I shoved my phone in my jeans pocket. I stood up and started to make my way to the bathroom to check on him. As I got closer to the door, it opened and he exited. I wanted to retreat back to my seat from pure embarrassment, but there was nowhere to turn. He looked up at me and scrunched his eyebrows together like he was confused. As he should be. I decided to try to play it off that I needed to use the restroom rather than run back to my seat like I desperately wanted to. As he moved past me, his body brushed against mine and I felt every nerve from my toes to my scalp tingle. I felt like I could no longer breathe. I made my way into the tiny bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. “Get it together,” I said aloud to my reflection. I took a few deep breaths and made my way back to my seat. I made the mistake of looking at him because his deep brown eyes were once again locked on mine. A shiver immediately ran through me. I sat back down in my aisle seat and tried to think of something to ease the awkward tension.

“What has been your favorite song off the playlist?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“That’s difficult to say. I have genuinely loved all of the ones I’ve listened to so far,” I said with a smile. His cheeks almost looked like they were a new shade of pink. Was he blushing? I quickly added, “Thank you for sharing this band with me.”

“Thank you for listening,” he said back with a smile. I bit my lip as I felt like the awkward tension was over. However, a new tension was forming. 

I checked the Southwest app and realized we were set to land very soon. I put my headphones back in my purse as a sign that I was ready to talk to him. He picked up on my cue because he quickly switched seats again. His cologne hit me and if I hadn’t been sitting, I may have collapsed. He buckled his seat belt just before the overhead light signaled us to do so. 

“What’s the first thing you and your friends are doing tonight?” he asked.

“Actually, I am flying in a day earlier than everyone, so I have the Airbnb alone until everyone flies in tomorrow,” I said. I suddenly realized that I shouldn’t have told a stranger that I was going to be staying alone in an unfamiliar city, but the words had already left my lips. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Really?” he said as he sat up straight in his seat. I nodded but then looked away. I can’t believe I just overshared this information with him.

“If you’d like some company…” he said quietly. I quickly turned my head back to him. I was dreading another night by myself, especially without Sassy. Riley said I could FaceTime her tonight, but I didn’t want to bother her while she finished packing and getting her stuff together. I was going to use the time to decorate the place before her arrival anyways. 

I stammered, “Josh, I–” 

“How about dinner? I can take you to some of my favorite places in town. What do you like to eat?” he asked with a big smile. The idea of not being alone was tempting and as frustrating as he had been at times, I really did enjoy his company. 

Before I could give him an answer, I felt our plane touch the ground as we braced for a complete stop. This was always my least favorite part about flying. 

“I really need to decorate the Airbnb and unpack. I’d like to get settled in rather than go out. Plus, I don’t have a vehicle,” I finally responded as the sounds of seat belts unbuckled around us.

“If it’s not too forward, I could always come over and cook for you. I can bring some groceries and wine, or whatever else you’d like to drink. I can even help you decorate. You can’t spend your first night in Nashville alone,” he said. 

I mulled over his offer as people around us began to stand up and form a line in the center aisle as they collected their luggage from the overhead compartments. Josh appeared not to be in any hurry to leave, nor was I. 

“Fine. But I want to text your full name, picture, vehicle description, and phone number to Riley in case I go missing,” I said with a matter-of-fact tone.

He laughed nervously and then said, “Give me your phone.” I put in my passcode and handed it to him. He stared at my background, a picture of Sassy and me, before opening the contacts app. “I’m giving you my number so you can text me your address when you’re ready for me to come over to cook you dinner,” he said as he was typing. I watched the plane empty row by row until it felt like we were the last two remaining on board. I noticed his assistant standing in the aisle waiting on Josh. “I think you’re going to get an earful when you get off the plane,” I said, eyeing the angry-looking man. 

“I usually do,” he said with a smile as he passed my phone back to me. I glanced down at the contact name that read Plagiarism with the winky face emoji. I covered my mouth as I laughed loudly. 

“Ahem,” we both heard his assistant clear his throat as he began tapping his foot impatiently.

“Ok, I think it’s time to go,” I said as I grabbed my purse and stepped into the aisle to let him out. While Josh exited his seat, he stood so close that I could smell his delicious scent again. I watched him open the compartment and get our luggage out. He lifted the handle of my suitcase and handed it to me. I smiled at his kindness, avoiding eye contact, because I had about all that I could stand.

We made our way down the center aisle following his assistant off of the plane. Before he stepped inside the airport, I watched as he put his sunglasses back on. Weird. 

“I’ll be anxiously waiting for your text,” he said to me as he pulled his hat down a little further over his face. Before he walked away, he said, “I’ll send you all of the info you need for Riley when I hear from you,” with a wink.

I made my way down to ground transportation and requested an Uber to take me to the Airbnb. I sent Kenneth a text to let him know that I had landed, but I texted Riley that I was going to call her ASAP. I needed her advice now more than ever. I knew I was treading in dangerous waters by allowing that adorable, frustrating, sexy, funny, crazy stranger to come over, but something made me want to be around him. I may be in too deep, but I’ve always been a strong swimmer.

[palmofafreezinghand]

date night

Esme and Carlisle catch up before a date night with Carlisle's new coworkers. on ao3 here.

2023. 

That evening Esme Cullen looked every bit like the twenty-six-year-old she physically was, despite feeling older than she ever had in her one hundred and twenty-eight years of life. 

Her ‘youngest daughter’ and granddaughter had helped pick and style her outfit that evening, which felt like a ridiculous Halloween costume of a “twenty-something.”  The dress, floral printed linen, fell to the middle of her calf, and a silt in the skirt reaching the middle of her thigh was held up by spaghetti straps that seemed architecturally unsound. Alice had sent it through the mail months prior with a note that only said ‘Trust me.’ It was from a brand that started with R, Resolution, Renovation, Restoration, Reformation, or something like that. The dress showed more skin than the negligee Esme had worn on her wedding night. Granted, that garment had long sleeves, and a high neck, and went to her ankles, but the point still stood. 

Alice had assured her the dress would not get her stoned in the town square and was indeed very in fashion and the “perfect” choice for that evening’s date. One of her husband’s many current occupations was a first-year residency at a large teaching hospital. He was pretending to be in his mid-twenties, barely out of medical school, and newly-ish married. His coworkers had formed a unique sense of camaraderie and after a lot of persuasion had convinced Carlisle, who in turn convinced Esme, to join them and their partners for drinks and dinner.  

It was a stark contrast from Esme’s own career — a phrase which still felt surreal to use — where she was pretending to be in her late thirties with the help of a remote workplace, clever makeup and fashion choices, and extremely well-forged government documents. It was a relief to not have to pretend to be an early professional for the rest of her eternity, unlike her husband, but it had its downsides. When you tell a lie enough, “thirty-nine, no kids, my husband doesn’t mind how much I work,” it becomes true in a way.

Going back to the truth, twenty-six deliriously in love with a man who cared very much that she worked so frequently, felt like entering a world she didn’t belong in. It was a disconnect she had become well acquainted with over the years, whether her role was housewife, devoted adoptive mother, or college student to the public she was always something different to those she lived with. A wife who expected equal domestic labor, a twenty-six-year-old woman whose house a bunch of teenagers lived in, or a grandmother. It was a necessary part of how they lived, molding into the role humans expected of them no matter how uncomfortable the fit. 

This role in particular —  the woman she was forever frozen as — was more disquieting than most. The dress did not help. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window as she walked and paused mid-step after determining the real estate office was closed for the day. She had let her hair dry naturally in the waves she rarely let see the light of day. Her makeup was done with the instruction of Alice and Ness over a video call. They had spent ten minutes instructing her how to comb her brows and where to place her rogue because apparently applying blush where a blush would naturally occur was no longer in fashion. 

Alice had called the second she saw Esme debate bringing a jacket for modesty’s sake, informing her under no circumstance was Esme allowed to ruin her handiwork. Ness had chimed in from across the room, “Just because you’re a grandmother doesn’t mean you have to dress like one.” The three stayed on the video chat for forty minutes, falling into a familiar warm rhythm despite being on separate continents. The entire family had not all been in the same place at the same time for more than four years. She was able to ignore this fact most days with the aid of modern technology but seeing their smiles and watching them laugh had the homesickness making itself known. Esme had only made an excuse to hang up the call when Ness attempted to explain the definition of the word ‘gagged.’ 

Her world, which was supposed to be unchanging until the end of time, had morphed into something unrecognizable over the last century. The downtown street she was walking along, for example, was unidentifiable as the small town she had vacationed in seventy years prior. It was a three-hour drive from their current home, but only twenty minutes from one of the hospitals Carlisle worked at. The streets were still fairly empty, due to the group meeting for dinner on a weekday afternoon. It was an ideal time for the hospital staff’s schedule, and those with vampiric-based concerns about sun, but apparently, it was not a popular time for dinner for most people. The setting sun and overcast meant she was able to walk down the sidewalk freely, without worrying about blinding a passerby and subsequently being murdered by a group of cape-wearing Italians or the overwhelming cacophony of thousands of beating bloody hearts. 

That afternoon the heartbeats were a hum she could ignore, like the buzzing of a gnat. There were probably under a hundred people on that block, tucked away in businesses and apartments or driving by in their cars. She could ignore them. 

A man let out a wolf whistle behind her, punctuated by the slam of a car door. She could murder even the strongest man with minimal effort, yet, there she was gripping her purse and quickening her step, the intrinsic fear present no matter how minor the danger. 

Thirty seconds later a large hand splayed against her lower back. She flinched ever so slightly at the contact before she recognized the weight of the hand, the cold of the gold wedding band, and the smell of the Sandalwood body wash she had purchased for him on a whim the month prior. Her fingers loosened around her purse strap as she glanced up at her husband. 

“Hello, love,” Carlisle said, keeping the hand on her back as he pressed a kiss to her temple. 

She gave him a once over. He had dressed just as ‘young’ as she had, only for him it didn’t look like a costume. He was wearing a light blue button-up, the top two buttons undone to reveal his neck but not his undershirt.  His hair was styled looser than usual, a stray lock lying on his forehead, as usual. For the past few months, he had experimented with a pair of unnecessary glasses, with a modern take on Oxford frames. The outfit was quite becoming and he knew it. 

“I hope,” she said, taking a step to the right so they were out of the line of nonexistent foot traffic, he, of course, followed right alongside her to stand in front of her, “I am the only woman you whistle at like that.” 

“I assumed you knew it was me,” he said, brow furrowed as it always did when she flinched as she had, “my apologies.” 

“I figured it out quick enough,” she said, waving away his unnecessary apology. 

He nodded but was clearly unappeased by the way he was pressing his lips together, resembling a thin line. 

She poked at the center of his chest, “Are you going to greet your wife properly or just holler at me on the street?” 

“Oh,” he grinned, placing his hand on its former spot on her back to pull her closer and give her the requested kiss hello. 

After far too few seconds she reluctantly broke the peck, which both were attempting to escalate. “We’re in public,” she muttered inches away from his lips, her arm had somehow found its way around his neck. 

“This may be hard to believe, but a man can kiss his wife in public these days,” Carlisle smiled, leaning in for another kiss, which was met with his wife’s cheek as she turned her head. 

“It’s never just a kiss with you,” she laughed, untangling her arm from his shoulders. 

He sighed but did not attempt to refute her statement, knowing he could not win that argument. One public indecency warning had been enough of a deterrent for both of them. The fact it had been written by their son’s father-in-law had only served as a further incentive against public displays of affection. 

“I’ve missed you,” he smiled, tucking a curl behind her ear. 

“I missed you.” 

It had been almost two weeks since they had seen each other last. Carlisle was working himself to the bone, holding positions at two separate hospitals and working part-time at a charity clinic. To her credit, Esme was also working herself to the bone, taking full advantage of the boom in the work-from-home movement consulting for half a dozen firms, and serving countless nonprofits. When the two were finally able to carve out time for each other they were forced to take advantage, knowing it could be weeks until they would see each other again. 

Miraculously this evening had worked out for both of their schedules. They each had eight hours free of any obligations, they would spend two or three hours socializing and still have five to themselves. They had managed to plan to arrive at the restaurant separately, fifteen minutes before everyone else had scheduled to arrive. 

“Did I compliment the dress yet?” Carlisle asked quietly, his fingers mindlessly playing with the back buttons. 

“You did not,” Esme smiled. 

“It’s divine,” he said, dropping the hand on her back to take her hand as she began to lead them down the block. His gaze never left the dress. “Just incredible.” 

“It was a gift from Alice.” 

Carlisle fetched his phone out of his pocket, “Siri, remind me to send Alice a thank you gift.” 

“Done,” the robotic voice of his phone responded as he slipped the device back into his pocket. 

Esme laughed, leaning into his side. “You don’t look too bad either.” 

“You like me in blue.” 

Esme grinned. They walked for a minute, slower than the average human before she spoke. “You don’t think the dress is too revealing?” 

He glanced down at her, looking over the dress again as if he had not been leering a minute before. “Not at all. But have I ever objected to you wearing less clothes?” 

Her own laugh caught her off guard, as the juxtaposition of her seemingly innocent son of a preacher husband speaking freely always did. 

“Do you not like it?” Carlisle asked sincerely. 

She shrugged. “It’s pretty, but it’s a little more daring than I’m used to.” 

“If you’d like to take it off I’d be more than willing to assist,” he winked. The frequency with which he did this gesture indicated he must have thought it charming, even though it had never worked on his wife.  Alright, it did not work on her often. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, smacking his arm lightly.  

Despite her impressive charade of levity, he dropped the flirtation. “If you are uncomfortable, I have a sweater in my car. I’m parked right there,” he said, motioning behind him. 

“I would appreciate that,” she said, and they turned to head back the way they had just walked. “How was work?” She asked as they walked. 

“Less frustrating than the last time I saw you.” 

“Is Dr. Barnes still making calls you disagree with?” 

“Frequently,” he sighed, digging his keys out of his car, “but none of his choices cost a life this week.” 

“Small victories?” She joked. 

“I have always been envious of your ability to find the positive in any situation,” he said popping the trunk. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift that has gotten me nearly killed on more than one occasion.” 

He laughed politely, but his eye twitch gave away his disturbance at the reference to her ‘near death’ experiences he hated to remember.  She stood on the sidewalk, peering into his trunk as he dug. 

“Sandy was nice enough to drop off the fabric you ordered,” he said, moving a large pink plastic shopping bag. One of the hospitals he worked at was minutes away from a quilt shop. Rather than pay for shipping or drive hours from home Carlisle graciously agreed to pick up her orders on his way home. “She threw in a couple of charm packs and jelly rolls.” 

“How well are you tipping her?” Esme scoffed. He only smiled in return. 

Along with the fabric were three changes of scrubs tucked in a plastic crate, his usual medical bag, and an open duffel bag he had been living out of for three years. He picked a half dozen books out of the bag. She rolled her eyes when he took out a framed photo of her. Finally, he found what he was looking for, he passed her the forest green cardigan. 

“This is mine,” she said. He nodded, eyebrows raised in question. “Why do you keep my sweater with you?” 

He looked down at his feet, a lopsided smile. “I miss you, occasionally.” 

“Is that my shampoo?” She asked, looking in the duffel bag. 

“I miss you, frequently,” he grinned. 

It was shocking, and very charming, even after a century, how much he seemed to fancy her. “Perhaps, if you didn’t work the jobs of six people you would see me more often.” 

“Remind me how many W-2s will you have this year?” He asked, locking the car. 

 “This isn’t about me,” she said, slipping on the cardigan. “Does this ruin the look?” She asked as he joined her on the sidewalk. 

“I think that would be impossible,” he said, taking her hand again. “Do you want to sit for a few minutes?” He asked, motioning to a bench down the block. She nodded and they began to walk. 

“How is your work?” Carlisle asked. 

“Wonderful, I got assigned to lead on the mining town project.” 

“Congratulations! That’s the mining town soon-to-be strip mall right?” 

“That’s not funny,” she said, squeezing his hand in jest. “I also got an offer for an on-site project in Delaware.” 

“Oh?” Carlisle asked, making a poor attempt at hiding his disdain for on-site projects. He was barely tolerating her current work schedule and he got her undivided attention once a fortnight, six months apart with hundreds of miles dividing them would be uncomfortable, to say the least. 

“I did not accept,” she said. 

“If you wanted to—” 

“I don’t,” Esme reassured him, taking a seat on the bench. He took the seat next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. Her hand rested on his knee, her head on his shoulder. “I spoke to Alice and Ness today.” 

“How are they?” 

“They seem well. Alice is Alice. Ness said she would be calling you soon about something at work I didn’t understand.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

They sat quietly for a few minutes, watching people across the street. An elderly couple were walking down the street bickering. A man in his forties was talking on the phone, a small dog dragging him along the sidewalk. A young couple turned the corner, with three children in tow. A little boy, four or five, with bright red hair was being terrorized by his little sister, a blonde who could not have been older than three. The parents had their hands full with an infant who was screeching like an owl. 

Esme didn’t speak until the family walked into one of the shops. “I miss them,” she said. 

“As do I. It’s been too long.” 

“Have you earned any paid time off yet?” 

“A few days, but I will have two weeks next year. Perhaps we could invite them out for the holidays?” 

“I don’t want to trouble them,” Esme said, she was interrupted by the ping of her and Carlisle’s cellphones. 

Carlisle checked his, laughed to himself, and angled the screen so she could see. 

A text from Edward, ‘We’ll all be there.’ 

A follow-up text from Alice, ‘Only if Esme takes off the cardigan.’ 

Emmett’s text came in as she was looking at the screen, ‘Carlisle wants to take off more than the cardigan.’ 

“What did we ever do without a psychic?” Esme laughed as Carlisle typed out a response and then stowed his phone in his pocket. 

“She does prove helpful in some instances.” 

“Ridiciolusly irritating in others.” 

“Yes, I remember the incident of ’57 as if it were yesterday,” Carlisle chuckled. 

“Is there anything I should know about your coworkers?” Esme asked. 

“There’s no one I’ll tell you to stay away from.” 

“That’s a first.” 

“I know. I think you’ll enjoy Madison, she works in pediatrics, and her partner the most.” 

“I’m looking forward to finally putting faces to all of the names.” 

“They’re all quite eager to meet you. More than one of them has joked you must be fictional.” 

“Technically I am,” she laughed lightly, but it sounded sad even to her. 

“Not the Esme I talk about.” 

She ignored the compliment, sitting up and glancing at her watch. “Should we start walking?” She angled her wrist for him to see. 

He shook his head, “They are all habitually late, I think we have time.” 

They returned to people watching. Her head fell on his shoulder again, and his hand on her shoulder started to play with her hair. The silence was comfortable, like an old armchair next to a crackling fire. It was often that way for them. A large truck passed with all four windows down, Shania Twain’s “Any Man of Mine,” playing so loud it shook the car’s frame. The couple simultaneously blew air out of their nose, glancing at each other with a smile. 

“I can’t say that was the song I expected,” Esme said. 

“Me either,” Carlisle agreed. 

They fell quiet again, her hand on his knee was mindlessly drawing shapes. 

“I have been thinking of something,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“I’m shocked,” she smiled, squeezing his knee. 

“Would you be opposed if this was the last time I worked this schedule?” 

“Are you truly asking me if I would be displeased by you working less?” 

“I wanted to make sure before any decisions were made. I have been thinking we give this all a few good years but the next time we move could be to somewhere a little quieter. A small town, with internet, of course, so you can still do your work, but where I won’t need to work seventy-twos.” 

“Carlisle, don’t feel as if you have to slow down on my account.” Perhaps she had given him too hard of a time about his schedule. She was in no position to judge. She was his wife, her role was to support him — 

“I love you but it’s solely on my account. When this was necessary it was fulfilling but now… I fear I’m too old to never slow down.” 

“I know what you mean.” 

“If you’re old what am I?” 

“No one is debating the fact that you’re old.” 

“So you would not object to moving somewhere quieter in a few years? Having me around the house more?” 

“Have you invited Edward yet?” 

“Am I that transparent?” Carlisle laughed. 

“I like to think I simply know you well.” 

“Bella has been eyeing a Literature program at a university in Canada. I know you have to stay in the States but there are quite a few border towns. It would certainly be less of a distance than now.” 

“I presume the rest of them would stay overseas.” 

“I don’t know. Have you spoken to Rosalie recently?” Carlisle asked. 

“No,” Esme muttered. It was a sore subject. “She’s invited me on a few trips I have had to decline, we have not spoken much since the last one I missed.” 

“You haven’t reached out?” 

“I’ve learned if she is cross it’s better to let her simmer.” 

“That may be, but I don’t think she’s angry. Hurt, maybe, but I think she’s mainly trying to respect your space. She’s proud you’re working.” 

“So you have clearly spoken to her.” 

“She calls almost every Tuesday.” 

“Really?” Esme asked. Rosalie and Carlisle had never been the best of friends, for many years they got along purely for Esme’s benefit. 

“She calls to ask about you. I won’t betray her trust but I think she’s trying to give you the same grace you gave her when she first moved out on her own. I respect this is your relationship, but I think you should give her a call. Maybe invite her out here, before the holidays.” 

“You don’t think she’s angry at me?” 

“If she is she will get over it quickly,” Carlisle shrugged. 

“I miss when life was simple,” Esme said, running her free hand through her hair. 

“Things with Rosalie were never simple,” Carlisle laughed. 

“I meant the whole world, I feel like a grandmother trying to figure this all out.” 

“You are a grandmother.” 

“Do you never feel as if the whole world is changing around you and you can’t keep up?” 

He scoffed. “No, I always feel completely up to date with the times. Pray tell, are women allowed the vote yet?” 

“I was asking a sincere question, Carlisle.” 

He squeezed her upper arm in apology. “Of course I do, Es. Frankly, I think it would be concerning if I did not.” 

“How do you keep up with it all?” 

“Many would say I don’t. In fact, if I recall correctly you would be the one leading that thought process.” 

“Carlisle.” 

“First off, I think you aren’t giving yourself enough credit. You’re quite progressive for a hundred and twenty-eight, even if our granddaughter doesn’t agree. Second, I think what helps the most are the moments I do feel young.” 

“For instance?” 

“When I see you, for one. When you wear your hair like this. When I look at you in this dress.” He had leaned closer while delivering this line, the hand not around her shoulders rested above her knee, slowly trailing to mid-thigh. 

“Is that right, Doctor Cullen?” Esme asked, recognizing his intent and matching the dare. 

It was unclear who initiated the kiss, she thought it was him, but all she knew was she certainly did not feel old and the world felt quite simple. 

“Get it, Cullen!” A deep voice shouted from across the street after what she would consider an embarrassing amount of time in retrospect. 

Carlisle broke the affection, turning to the man, the two were positioned in a way she was blocked from what she assumed was Carlisle’s coworker’s view. He untangled his arm from around her shoulders and waved at the man across the street. 

“Hello, Jaxson, with an X.” 

“You don’t have to say with an X every time,” the man, apparently Jaxson, bellowed across the street. 

“I assure you I do,” Carlisle chuckled.

"Hi, Mrs. Cullen," Jaxson yelled, she could hear the smile in his voice. 

She waved over her husband's shoulder, refusing to show her face. 

“We’ll be over in just a moment," Carlisle said. 

The man did not respond verbally, but Carlisle’s light-hearted scoff made her think there must have been a gesture. Esme waited until the heavy footsteps and boisterous laughter faded paired with the sound of the restaurant door closing to look at her husband finally. 

"Do I want to know what that gesture was?" 

"Proof that, while the entire world changes around us men stay exactly the same," Carlisle chuckled lightly. 

“That was absolutely mortifying,” she groaned, forehead falling on his chest. 

“I have caught him in the on-call room in compromising situations on more than one occasion. Trust me, he does not find this mortifying. In fact, he might think higher of me because of this.” 

“Just like in Grey’s Anatomy.” 

“That television program is completely fictional,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and then standing. He held his hand out to help her up. 

“You love that show and you know it,” she smiled. 

As they began to walk he draped his arm around her back, her hand slid into his back pocket. 

“To answer your question, this,” he said, hitting the crosswalk signal. She cocked a brow in question. “This,” he motioned with his head to the two of them, “that,” he glanced back at the bench with a lopsided grin, “are some of the things that make it feel like it’s not pretending and is what makes the pretending worth it. I can have an evening like this when I was fated for an eternity of solitude and misery, makes it worth it.” 

[c3stlav1e]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ LA VIE DOES... Trauma Candy Salad !

this is me btw. has posted a TikTok!

insp by @bluwavez !

tw: this trend is based on trauma dumping on the internet!! the following mentions topics such as abandonment, drugs, grooming, csa, homophobia, stalking, death threats, eating disorders, and domestic violence. please proceed with caution!!

The video begins with a woman leaning back in her chair, looking off-camera for a cue to start. When she looks back towards the camera, she smiles. "Hi, I'm Sol, the leader of La Vie, and when I was 4-"

"Say what candy!" another voice hisses off-screen and Sol's eyebrows widen in realization.

"Oh, right!" She seems to compose herself with a slow blink and then looks back to the camera with the same smile. "Hi there, I’m Sol and I brought gummy worms," the leader holds up a bag of sour gummy worms to show them off to the camera with a relaxed smile. "And when I was 4, my mom dropped me off at my grandparents’ house and never came back for me because she was addicted to drugs," she says this with a shrug before turning the bag of candy over the bowl. A stifled giggle can be heard in the background as the gummies hit the bowl with a thud.

˚₊·

"Hiii, I’m Anya," the girl gives a wave to the camera, a bright and professional smile painted on her lips. "I brought Maltesers," she holds up the red box as if pictured in an advertisement. "And I don't have any trauma, because my life is perfect," her grin is wide and dazzling.

"Booo!" someone jeers from off camera and she lets out a laugh.

"Ok fine, when some stalkers posted pictures of me and that EXO boy, I got death threats for months even though we only sort of dated for like 2 weeks. Someone even sent me a cute little letter with a razor in it!" her tone is cheery and commercial as she says this, earning a few giggles from off-camera. She pours the chocolate into the bowl with a clatter.

˚₊·

"Hi, I’m Tomiko, I brought these strawberry gummies," the bag of candy waves through the air as she talks with her hands. "When I was 15, I was in this really co-dependent relationship with a guy a little bit older than me, like, I thought he was my soulmate, and then he randomly moved to another country one day without telling me." Her tone is deadpan as she stares down the camera. "And then I moved back to the same country and accidentally became his coworker," she opens her mouth, looking like she wants to say more but then she glances off camera and shuts it again with a plastered smile, dumping the fruit-shaped candies into the bowl.

˚₊·

"Hi, it’s Seolah again," the ginger holds up another bag of sour gummy worms. "When I was in school, my choir director groomed me and it made everyone else in the choir hate me because I was getting," she holds up her fingers in air quotes, "favorite treatment." She still seems rather nonchalant as she says this, the candies joining the others in the bowl.

˚₊·

“I’m Sohee,” the next girl giggled, her cheeks already tinged pink. “And when I was 9– oh wait!” she held up a bag of candy with both hands. “I’m Sohee and I brought peach rings!” she quickly corrected, giggling again. “And, um, when I was 9 I joined this company and I was the youngest one there and one of the dance teachers who was this old middle-aged guy started making advances on me and made me have like weird private dance lessons with him and… other stuff, but when my parents found out the company threatened to sue us because of something in my contract and I had to stay there for 5 years until one day I went to go to practice and everything was gone, like the whole company disappeared,” she rambled, almost breathless by the end of her story. “Yeah,” she finished with a big gulp of air and a smile before dumping the gummies into the bowl.

˚₊·

“Hey, this is Star,” the bleach blonde waves a bag of cola gummies at the camera. “I brought cola bottles! And YG entertainment gave me an eating disorder at 13 and a stress fracture in my spine at 15 and then dropped me a few months before I was supposed to debut,” she holds up a finger gun. “Shoutout YG,” she adds playfully before dumping the candy into the bowl.

˚₊·

The eldest giggles as she appears on camera again, holding up a third bag of sour gummy worms. 

“There’s going to be way too many gummy worms in here,” someone whines off camera and a chorus of laughs follow. 

“Not her fault she’s so traumatized!” another voice argues, causing the girl on screen to let out a laugh of her own.

“These are my favorite,” Sol defends her choice, holding the bag closer to the camera. “Anyway! When I was 14, my closest friend in choir who was also being groomed by the director found out he was also abusing me, she got so jealous she started a rumor that I kissed her. I got basically blacklisted from the church and my grandparents made me go to confessional every single week even though I convinced them it was a lie. They still don’t know I actually do like girls,” she tells the story rather matter-of-factly, punctuating the end with the thud of the candy falling into the bowl.

˚₊·

The blushing girl returns on screen, still a bit pink, the ghost of a laugh still on her cheeks. "I'm Sohee, and I also brought lychee jellies!" she holds up the bag of candy proudly. "And a couple years ago, I was dating this guy who was older than me, and when I found out he had a wife and didn't tell me, he pushed me down a flight of stairs, hoping I would hit my head and forget about it," the corners of her lips turned down now. "It almost worked," she looked a little distant for a moment before snapping back to reality and pouring her candy into the bowl.

˚₊·

“I’m Tomi,” she holds up a bag of nerd clusters next to her face with a smirk. “I brought these things. And my best friend, well,” she pauses with a roll of her dark eyes. “Former. Decided she was more important than the career we built as a team and, again! Moved to a different country without fucking telling me.” Her voice holds a venomous bite as the candy rains into the bowl. The room is silent now, none of the snickering or chit chat can be heard in the background. Tomi opens her mouth again, “Fuck you, Ma-”

“OKAY!” a voice cuts her off before the video ends abruptly.

[dorlezzie]

draft #3; marauders x tlou

[marauders, the last of us au; 631 words] song; exit music (for a film) - radiohead

when she smiles, laughing at some joke james didn’t even hear, the ache in his chest starts consuming him again. a burning hole threatening to swallow him if he does not distance himself. because everytime, it’s not marlene he sees, but his son, his baby boy, his harry. harry’s gone since the beginning. it’s been fifteen years, but the empty space never left. the grief is still a painful process— as he did nothing to process it. actually, he had just bottled things up, refusing to admit the truth; he was dying inside. it felt as if he’d been missing a part of him, an arm, a leg, a lung. not really able to breathe right since he left. 

harry’s been taken from him so abruptly, james was never able to accept it. this night haunts him, the way it happened so fast. lily and him were already divorced; more because they didn’t have the same vision for the future, not because they did not love each other anymore. lily had moved to the city, she was such a talented painter, james’ house was still full of her works. he was his first supporter, and it did not end as their marriage.

harry was seven when the break happened; it was james’ week. harry was at school, james was at the cabinet and everything was perfectly normal. something he couldn’t even imagine anymore, couldn’t even fantasize. he’d just finished a consultation; a dog strangely agitated since the morning. it was the last one of the day, as he’d always arranged his agenda to get his son out of school. well, if he had to recall, james would say some events made him feel uneasy. a coworker not showing up, the radio recalling agitated foreign cities, a day full of animals acting strangely, snarling at their owner for no apparent reason— and james had learned to always trust their instinct. sirius had texted him, telling something was off. he had loads of colleagues calling in sick, and some acting weird. so when he went for harry, he was not surprised to see lily’s name on his phone. they were regularly talking, because he knew her since he was eleven and never intended on letting her go. she was still his best friend. something’s weird, james. people are agitated, she’d said. i’m on my way to get harry, he’d replied. do you think you could come here, just in case? i’m not finished ‘til seven. i’ll come by tomorrow morning, okay?  okay, love. take care, and call me if needed. 

this was their last conversation for months. 

everything got fucked up in the hours that followed. sirius and remus arrived in their pick-up in the middle of the night, the moment distress flares lit up the sky. as soon as they parked in front of the house, him and harry jumped in the car. his boy was scared, trembling and on the verge of tears. but he was doing so well, he’d been so brave in the surrounding chaos. “it’s okay, baby” he kept repeating, over and over again, stroking his hair in the back of the truck. “i’m here. you’re safe, my love” and harry believed him. james lied right to his face, because in the end, he failed to protect him. james closes his eyes, refusing to live through this again. so instead, he just glares at marlene, standing up and getting his bag; 

“we’re going” he tells her, without the shadow of a doubt in his voice. “i haven’t finished my chef boyardee!” she says with a snobby accent, stuffing the last raviolis in her mouth. 

harry used to do the exact same thing. putting as much as his mouth could take, before smiling disgustingly. marlene smiles. james turns around.

[yvesdot]

yves, if only theoretically wanted to break into publishing or lit mags, do you have recommendations or advice?

My primary advice is to get to know as many writers as you can, as well as you can, quickly. I’ve recommended joining Discord servers for this in the past and will do so again; the most active ones I’m in are Max's @goose-books server (I think you have to ask for an invite?), WTW, and writeblr garden. Participate in book events virtually and in person when you can. When you like someone's work, tell them! And mention that you're an author, too.

Disclaimer: I haven't made it into any paid magazines, largely because I find submitting and waiting for months at a time before working on edits exhausting, particularly in comparison to instant money on Patreon—so have that grain of salt at the ready! All I've done is publish the one book, twice, and release a substantial amount of short fiction on my own. People read it and liked it, and now I have lovely anons like you who seem to respect me enough to ask for industry advice. Thank you! Hope you like long posts.

The reason I say the above is that, in my experience, the entirety of publishing is just one big who-do-you-know. Utterly non-exhaustive list of ways "knowing people" has helped me in my writing career below.

I left a middling review on a trans author's book, and in the correspondence that followed we became friends. Rysz Merey went on to start tRaum Books, and because we were friends, we put out the Something's Not Right anniversary edition together.

When I was at my university, I was loudly opinionated about books and writing and art in all of my classes, and a professor's words about me in an email to an author they knew became the blurb for that same edition of Something's Not Right.

I read Tragic Accident (a flash piece originally rejected by an online magazine for, in my opinion, cisgender reasons) last night at Flash Fiction Forum, the heads of which I know personally because, after a high school internship, I was directed to a friend of theirs to volunteer at her writing camp. I sold a lot of copies of the original SNR to teens at that camp, and I've sold dozens of copies since by linking to the book in the Zoom chat and bringing physical copies to in-person readings.

Tragic Accident may have ultimately been rejected from the venue I sent it to, but I only had that venue on my list because my beloved friend Fer @asablehart posted in WTW a spreadsheet of places to submit. I still use that spreadsheet, filled with dozens of extra places I researched on my own, and pass it on to anyone who asks. Fer also read The Traveler Wife and gave extremely insightful feedback on it; we've since done tons of great critique4critiques together and they're still my go-to if I need wise words on a piece of writing.

When I held my event at Bookshop Santa Cruz, I marketed my ass off. I'd learned from my previous event at the Diversity Center in town and focused heavily on reaching out to individual people: posting in Discord servers, DMing everyone I knew, and telling everybody I met in December that by the way I would be reading at Bookshop Santa Cruz in January. I worked my job as an author and my book and my event into every conversation I had with a stranger that month. Everyone responded positively! People want to know what you're working on.

But at the end of the day, under a third of attendees were people I hadn't previously considered friends in some way. The majority of the people who came were family, friends, coworkers, friends-of-friends dragged along by someone I knew well, etc. One coworker couldn't come but invited their housemates, who bought books and left saying they would read Band Girls at home. One of the friends who came met me when we would ride the same bus every week to class, and I initially spoke to him because I fully thought he was a transgender woman (he turned out to just be an extremely fashionable individual). That guy helped code my website. Of the three people who interviewed me locally for promotion, two are people I'm friends with and one I cold-emailed due to his past work.

One of the major servers I used to invite people to both of my events is one I was only added to because I met a goth girl who invited me to her dorm to watch her inject E into her thigh and when I reported back on this to another transfem friend that friend instantly named her because they were in the server together and multiple people in it knew me from my creative writing efforts so everybody agreed to add me. I literally only had that space to network because I said "nice boots" to a girl whose special interest turned out to be DIY HRT at a protest party about the chancellor getting a raise.

Claire Oshetsky came to my event and I made a point of finally starting to read their book beforehand so I could honestly tell them it was cool when I signed their copy of Something's Not Right (it was cool, and everyone should read Chouette, and also Poor Deer, which I am on page 10 on and can already certify is fantastic). They were incredibly nice to me for no reason—well, because of those interviews I had, which led to them noticing another nonbinary author in the area—and ultimately reviewed SNR very positively on GoodReads. You can see what happened to the numbers afterwards. (I also sold a copy that day; when you sell roughly a copy of a book per week, you can absolutely make these connections directly.)

Tonight was Claire Oshetsky's event, so I showed up having read Chouette in full and asked a question during the Q&A and told them how cool their book was, and they invited me to a little post-event author dinner. (One of the authors introduced herself as "Karen" and described a prolific writing career very opaquely until her friend mentioned the name of her latest novel: Booth.) Everyone was incredibly nice and wanted to buy my book which was unfortunately sold out because of the aforementioned event, and a couple of people gave me email addresses so they could buy it later. I've been trying to meet local authors for over a year, and I met seven by accident because one of them came up to me to say it was nice to see Bookshop Santa Cruz had two nonbinary readers in a row.

Talking to David Sedaris at an event got me a job! He complimented my outfit, I said thank you I wore it for the interview with [x], and he did everything he could to help me network with the [x] people there. I was later told that my "chemistry" with Sedaris, among other things, helped me get the position. I would also find out that David specifically loves the last people in the signing line because they're the most patient; I happened to have waited until last because I wanted to have more time to talk to him.

I have emailed several authors with fanmail, and depending on how popular they are, I have gotten responses! I'm in a correspondence right now which netted me a behind-the-scenes look at an incredible draft, and thank you for reminding me because I need to respond and tell them how good it was.

Patreon is on pause right now, but I believe over half the subscribers are people I'm friends with in one way or another. I've tried nearly everything under the sun to advertise, and so far the only thing that's worked is "telling someone who has the disposable income."

The people who beta-read my latest release, Band Girls (18+), for me (which is the only reason it wasn't an unmitigated disaster) include my butch, who met me in a Locked Tomb server (naturally), a friend from a creative writing class in university who later became my housemate, and a good buddy of my butch's whom they rescued from the aforementioned TLT server. I literally didn't even notice that guy when we were in the server together and it turns out he's also a writer with a Giant Lesbian Women project who also wound up really liking Long Line (18+). Glories are all around you.

(Also, apparently my butch had that "how to write a blurb" post bookmarked and immediately recognized me, which is crazy. Imagine meeting some random author in a fandom server and they ask to see your [redacted] in DMs.)

Hell, my buddy Max Franciscovich read my book five years ago in the back of a car and had a transcendental nonbinary lesbian experience, and because he happened to be mutuals with a high school friend of mine, that friend sent me screenshots of him panicking about how he couldn't talk to me because I was too cool. I DMed him, and we are like each other's female husbands now. Undoubtedly we have each gained a substantive reader base from hyping each other's work at anyone in earshot. Maxserver, which I shouted out above, only has me in it because I know the darn guy. It's a lot more populous than yvescord in part because he is that much more active than I am, and can engage with other people's work more. I'm mooching off the labor of my best friend who pseudo-reached-out to me because I put a pronoun pin on a character's bag in the book I self-published in 2018.

Speaking of which: I self-published the original edition of Something's Not Right as a thank-you birthday gift to the Beta Reader. I seem to remember him reading my writing for the first time and saying something along the lines of "You do realize this is really good, right?" (I did not realize.) That was the first person to appreciate any of my original fiction, and it led to my entire career. We met on a class trip because he was the only person who would listen to me talk about Star Wars.

I try to never ingenuinely be nice to people. This is not particularly difficult, because I like people and give the benefit of the doubt to a pretty extreme fault. I will occasionally be nice out of politeness, but everyone I mentioned here is someone I genuinely like whose work is fantastic. It wasn't hard to honestly say I liked them and their writing.

I also recognize that much of this is kind of just me blathering about Ws with no actionable advice... but it might give you ideas for where to go or who to talk to about your writing. I also want you to feel just how much of writing is about "networking" in a way that is not cold and manipulative and moneyhungry but actually just involves being genuine friends with other people. I think the sheer quantity of evidence here is helpful to understand just how much you can do for yourself by talking to the people you like.

I also think it's good practice to own the fact that very little of my microcelebrity success has anything to do with how good my work is. I mean, sure, I think it's good, but this should make it clear that my greatest strength has been my perseverance and my friendliness.

(Also, obviously, I have the immense privilege to have gone to college, to live in California, to get to all these places and meet these people and work with them. I had the money in the bank to publish and promote a book. This is not a small factor. I'm hoping to do a full rundown of costs and efforts to promote Something's Not Right's anniversary edition sometime this year.)

I also don't think I'm particularly good at socializing—I have a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, a difficulty with meeting people's eyes, and a mild stutter when I talk too quickly (which is often). A lot of people find me annoying or insincere because I act like a sentient powder puff, and when I'm not jumping up and down and meowing at people instead of saying "on your right," I'm complaining about the most widely-beloved pieces of pop culture and making two-hour rant videos about video games I think insufficiently scrutinize the concept of the nuclear family. I say all this to head off any concerns that perhaps I am just secretly very suave and social; I love talking to people, but I don't believe this is the case.

If I can summarize: nearly every time I've had any success with my writing, it's been because I made an effort to be kind to people I respected and share my passion for books and writing. I hit upon enough privileges and lucky circumstances to get the right circle of people to make all of the above happen. I think you can do it, too! I wish you the best. Thanks for asking ^__^

[roxy206]

I may have gone through all of my coworker crush posts to tag them & I’m surprised I haven’t posted more about him lol

Here are some random things I’m surprised I hadn’t mentioned in case anyone is interested

The first time we sat in the same desk pod & I had to move he offered to help move my things

I had to tell him three times when he first grew a beard how much it suits him, because a few people were telling him to shave it & I had to find the most chill way to be like don’t you fucking dare shave it 😂

Early on when we started our weekly lunch / walk routine I realized how much talking to him helped me clear my mind in the middle of a stressful day & I told him that & thanked him, & he told me that it’s good for him too

I’ve heard him talk to his dad on the phone a few times & he mentions me by name without having to explain who I am

Once when he was on the phone with his dad he was saying something about our weekly routine, but he paused after saying “weekly” like he wasn’t sure what to call it

During one of the rare Friday game meetings I went to, coworker crush & I wound up on the same team & sitting next to each other. We spent pretty much the entire hour with our legs pressed against the others & teasing each other about movies / movie trivia. At one point I put my arm on his bicep

The last time he wasn’t feeling well coincided with a rough patch I was going through with work & I think he used checking in on me as an excuse for physical touch that he needed because he was feeling off. There were a lot of shoulder & back rubs

I made him find a new doctor (& helped) & book an appointment & he thanked me after he booked the appointment saying if it worked out he would be eternally grateful, & he thanked me after the appointment saying if it wasn’t for me he still wouldn’t have a primary care doctor

One day I mentioned to him how I was trying to network & he made a recommendation of checking for their interests to bring them up in conversation & then he was like you’ll charm the pants off them

Once we were talking about how we’ve both been to the Grand Canyon & that we both went in August, & potentially it was the same year (over a decade ago) & he was like imagine if we were both there at the same time

We were talking about when we were growing up & I mentioned the town one of my aunts & one of my uncles lived in — that town goes to the same regional high school he went to & he was like imagine if you had grown up there, we would have gone to high school together

He watched Hocus Pocus this weekend after I mentioned last week that I watch it at least once a year

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Hello! Hope you are doing well! Could I please have a ship for HEGSWEW????

My name is Claire. My pronouns are she/her. I’m about 5’9, curvey hourglass figure (wide hips, smaller waistline, bigger chest), I have dark brown collarbone length hair, dark brown eyes, glasses, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and subtle acne scars. I can be pretty self-conscious about my looks, especially my face.

At school, in public, or at work I’m pretty introverted. But at home or with my closest friends I can one of the loudest! I’m fiercely loyal, even when that loyalty isn’t reciprocated, open minded, stubborn, pessimistic, I can be self centered at times, and impatient. I’m definitely an old soul and a hopeless romantic!

I’ve been told I’m funny, loyal, understanding, and sweet. My love languages would be quality time and words of affirmation. I don’t have any romantic experience whatsoever and a history of unrequited love and heartbreak.

My hobbies are writing and listening to music. My interests are history, psychology, neuroscience, medicine, dance, and any sciences.

My goal is to either go to medical school and be a neurosurgeon, neurologist, or psychiatrist. Or get my PHD and be neuropsychologist.

In a partner, I look for someone who will love me unconditionally, loyalty, open-mindedness, gentle, sweet, smart, and funny.

My top 3 fav bob boys are: Grant, Eugene, and Talbert.

- - -

Thank you again and have a wonderful day!!!!

Hello love!! Thank you so much for the ship request!! (also thank you for your patience lmao)

I ship you with…

Eugene Roe!

A song from my liked songs that reminds me of y’all - What I like About You by the Romantics

How you met

So you were a nurse at the aid station, like, the best nurse they ever had

You were discussing a patient with a coworker when Eugene was helping a soldier get to a bed

When he looked up after helping the soldier get situated he saw you and he was just floored

Like not only did he think you were just drop dead gorgeous, but you also had this expression on your face that was just so laser-focused it was so hot he started short-circuiting

Poor boy was so lost in thought he didn’t realize he was in the middle of the walkway and an orderly carrying supplies crashed into him and everything went everywhere

Gene felt so bad he immediately started scrambling to get the supplies

Of course you hear the commotion and run over to help pick everything up

You and Eugene reach for the same roll of gauze and your hands touch ✨

Both of you look up and he see’s your gorgeous brown eyes and there’s just this Moment between y’all

Like time just Stops

Before long people calling each of your names snaps y’all out of it and you disappointedly get back to your jobs

Gene makes a point to come to the aid station as much as he can each day though

One day when it’s just the two of you in the hallway he reveals a bunch of wildflowers he picked on his way to the aid station from behind his back and just says

“I’d be honored to take you out darling, if you’ll have me,” with these bashful but sincere eyes, stretching his arm out to give you the flowers

You just smile the most you’ve ever smiled before and reply, “I thought you’d never ask”

The rest is history ❤️

How he knew he loves you

So both of you are sitting under a tree by a lake - y’all are in Austria now, just waiting for the war to end

The two of you are just breathing in the peace around you, for once you can be together without the pain and grief that comes along with being medical personnel in a time of war

You two begin talking about what you think you’ll do after the war, and Gene makes a realization

He doesn’t want to be without you

You’ve become his safe space, the way you defend the ones you love, your fierce intellect and intelligence, your unique way of thinking, the way you opened up to him, Gene can’t imagine spending a single day without you

Gene takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb lovingly over the back of it

There’s a brief beat of silence before you hear Gene ask in a shy, nervous voice

“I know this is out of nowhere, but… would you think about coming back to Louisiana with me? I just… I can’t imagine my life without you…”

He looks up at you with the same look he had when he first asked you on a date, and you feel the same butterflies you did that day

You gently put you other hand on his cheek before replying

“Gene, I thought you’d never ask”

Both of you just break out in the biggest smiles EVER before Gene pulls you into the sweetest kiss known to man

A conflict and how y’all resolve it

So the two of you went walk in a park together one day

Everything was just lovely - the sun was shining, the weather was mild, you and Gene were just strolling and laughing and just Enjoying each other’s Company

You and Gene were laughing at something when a girl jogging in the park accidentally crashed into Gene sending both of them on their asses (poor baby needs to watch where he’s going)

As you’re helping Gene up you notice the girl’s facial expression and the crash was Totally Intentional

“I’m sorry, I need to look where I’m going more” she says in the FLIRTIEST tone ever

Gene just smiles and helps her up as he casually replies, “no worries”

And just… does he not mind that she’s flirting with him?? Is he trying to flirt back?? Wtf??

The girl gets all touchy feely with him before continuing on her jog, going so far as to shoot you a smug smile before she’s off

What just happened????

“Gene, you do realize she was flirting with you right?”

“What? She Bumped into me darling, I just helped her up.”

Your self-consciousness starts to get the better of you and you worry that he might’ve actually been interested in her

You just feel your heart sink a little as you take your hand out of Gene’s and stuff your hands into your pockets

Of course Gene realizes something is up, “What’s wrong doll?”

You don’t want to respond, you don’t want to give into the anxiety, but the pull is too strong

“You thought she was cute didn’t you…”

You feel Gene stop walking next to you, so you stop and look up at him

He just has the most heartbroken look in his eyes

“Is that why you think I didn’t mind helping her up?”

Before you can reply sweet boy just puts his hands gently on your shoulders before placing a soft, sweet kiss on your lips

“Mon Cherie, I’ve never laid my eyes on anyone that ever compared to you. You are the most stunning girl I know, in looks, in your love, in your compassion, in every way possible,” he whispers all this after touching his forehead to yours, almost trying to just THINK into your brain how much he loves you

It might’ve worked because his words are just the thing you needed

You pull him into a tight hug and bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a resounding sense of relief

“I love you Gene…”

“I love you more darling”

Your Happily Ever After

Both of y’all are like eachother’s biggest hype mans but also you both have the tendency to overwork yourselves

So each of you makes sure the other takes breaks and takes care of themselves

You notice Gene getting a little snippier than usual? You ask him how things have been at work before getting him his favorite chocolate bar from the kitchen

Gene notices it’s getting harder for you to get out of bed in the morning? Sweet boy will ask you how med school is going and work with you to plan a self care day within the week

You both are just so sweet and understanding and supportive of each other like its absolutely ADORABLE I CANT HANDLE IT

A silly headcanon about your relationship

Y’all have little dance parties while you’re making dinner and it’s absolutely adorable

You’ll turn on the radio before you turn on the stove and then you just feel Gene spin you around

His hands go to your waist and before you know it y’all are cutting up the kitchen tile, laughing and having the time of your life

Many a dinner have gotten burned this way but it was Totally Worth It

Thank you again for requesting Claire!! Hope you like it ❤️💖💕

[ryanwritesfanfiction]

Sorry, I’m leaving now

Doug Davis x Reader (Covet pt. 2)

a/n someone had commented about a second part where the reader and doug finally meet, this is closer to the first chapter covet but from the readers perspective and i’ll likely have them meet in chapter 3

ps sorry if this is cringy or dumb also this is kind of a filler chapter but i think im only gonna write 3 chapters? not sure yet also not sure when i’ll write chapter 3 

wc: 900~1000

There is a moment in everyone’s life when they learn a valuable lesson that sticks with them forever but ever since I was young I felt like there was an invisible force that impeded me from being able to find love (maybe from being able to find happiness altogether)

Basically, I think I’m never going to find love, and I think I’m fine with that now. Maybe I've just accepted it. It feels like the world has bigger problems than whether or not I find love. So instead of putting all my energy into something that is never going to happen, I focused more on my career, and when that wasn't enough, I decided to go to grad school. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that my grad school nest egg was not as plentiful as I thought since about 90 percent into my continued education journey. I found myself having to move back to my childhood home in the small boring town of Fort Chicken.  

It's just one summer 

I kept having to reassure myself. I needed to. There was no way I had spent as long as I did doing everything in my power to avoid being like the rest of the populous of Fort Chicken who seemed to be stuck here by an invisible social force. 

I’m only here for one more summer 

So I made the best of a bad situation, I found some temporary employment with what turned out to be a very socially outgoing group of people. I wasn’t really the type to overindulge in the company of others nonetheless it seemed a much better option than just sulking around and brood about being back in my hometown.  

Thankfully, fairly early into the summer, my coworkers and I found our summer's saving grace: a little bar a couple of blocks away from Ft. Chicken Elementary. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was able to flourish socially, and it was so exciting. I suppose it could be attributed to Fort. Chicken's lack of new people or people who have left Fort. Chicken and come back. Things like that always create a bit of a buzz in small towns. 

Going to the bar every Friday became a fun little routine, it allowed me to sit and talk and feel like a social butterfly. I learned to love this weekly ritual, quickly becoming acquainted with all the other regulars and the employees. So when a group of people I had never seen before showed up at the bar, my interest was quickly piqued.

 “Hey, who are we starin' at” I heard followed by a silence by the group. Out of curiosity I quickly glance at their table, and see that they all began to stare at one particular man, dressed far more professionally in a sweater vest and a tie. It was odd for the middle of summer but it seemed to fit him weirdly. The conversation seemed to continue but as the night continued I kept feeling eyes on me coming from the direction of that table.

As the summer continued and my weekly routine went on, a new regular began to show up to the bar. It was easy to tell it was the same guy from the table as he was the only guy I had ever seen show up here in a sweater vest. As the summer went on, I got curious about the odd stranger and began to ask others about him, after all, Fort Chicken was a small town and there wasn't much that others didn't know about each other. 

I had learned that he was a science teacher at the nearby elementary school, apparently, he was known for his poor social skills according to one of the parents of a previous student of his. Interestingly enough, I was also informed by the bartender that although he was at the bar every Friday like me, he didn't drink. He always ordered a diet coke and sat at the same seat at the same table at the bar every Friday and always left after I left (according to the manager), which I found interesting especially since there had been many instances where I saw him looking in my direction, sometimes even seeming like he would come up and talk to me, but he never did which part of me was sad about but I couldn't understand why.       

The summer passed by fairly quickly and luckily I had made enough money to finish grad school. As I thought over the summer and everything I had done while back in my hometown, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the odd stranger that I had never actually met. There was a part of me that felt like we were very similar. At any other point in my life, I was everything but the social creature that I had managed to morph into. I saw a part of myself in him.   

The summer ended and so did my brief popularity, I went back to school and everything else went otherwise back to normal. Occasionally I found myself thinking about the cute quirky guy from the bar. There were even moments where I caught myself daydreaming about him or what it would have been like if he had tried to start a conversation with me. I tried my best to push these thoughts away and go back to normal, after all, I had no plans of going back to Fort Chicken.

On my way back to my apartment, I received an alert on my phone from a national alert system, Warning everyone of what was seemingly the spread of an infectious disease started by a popular chicken nugget brand. From the way it was described, it seemed like a real-life zombie apocalypse

Well, it seems there are bigger problems than my love life now.

[b0ard1ngsch00l]

(boss crush anon) thanks :D i'll start with context, im 28 and hes 48..funnily enough i had a dream recently where i was back in high school and he was my teacher LOL, thought that was relevant. ive had this crush for a few months now and have been writing about every little interaction i have with him. one of your posts that rly spoke to me was "i want to mean something to him", bc girl no joke ive written that exact sentiment about him before. every time i talk to him feels special, i get a legit high thinking about seeing him every day. hes so painfully handsome and nice to me, sometimes when he sees me his whole face just lights up and he gives me this HUGE smile. hes also the only person i work with who calls me by a shortened version of my name <3 one of my other coworkers even noticed that he did that and i was like 0///0 yeah he has a nickname for me so what?

there was an after-work happy hour that i went to once, i brought a friend and asked her to watch how he acted around me bc he can be hard for me to read sometimes, i cant see his behavior objectively when i have so much wishful thinking going on lol. she told me later that when we walked in, he made a beeline straight for me right away, and seemed sorta shy when talking to me. she asked how i was doing at my job (i was new at the time) and he said something like "shes awesome! every day that shes here is a great day!" and my face mustve been beet red..he kept showing up in our conversations with other people and standing near me, something ive noticed he does a lot in group situations. just recently, we had an premiere with lots of people and since i was on the clock i was standing by myself in the back of the room, watching in case someone needed anything. fr he comes over and stands RIGHT next to me. there was no one else around that area, he chose to stand right beside me while we watched the premiere.

he was out of the office for a whole week once (work related reasons) and i angsted so hard..not seeing him on weekends is bad enough but this was like 10 days and i was going feral. we followed each other on instagram after that happy hour and during that week he was gone he randomly liked one of my posts late at night. i have to wonder if he was missing me too..the next day he came by my work area to ask "whats new?", like he just wanted to catch up after being away which i thought was sweet. yesterday he was teasing me about hiding some of our work halloween decorations in my car to scare me (cute lol), today he was showing me how to tape a package with a confusing tape dispenser and our hands brushed multiple times while handing the tape back and forth, and god only knows whatll happen tomorrow!!

hes so wonderful and i rly want to know more about him, i want to be around him constantly and any time i get with him is instant dopamine. hes intoxicating and i feel selfish wishing he'd break a million rules for me (boss/employee relations, 20 year age gap, and yeah you guessed it hes also married) but i just cant help myself......im not planning on making a move bc i love my job too much to risk getting fired for that, but if HE did you know id reciprocate in an instant. but im glad to just know him even if things remain the same as they are forever, as much as i wish theyd escalate. THANK YOU for letting me get this all out of my system, theres even more i could say but this is long enough lol. have an amazing day, G <333333333

This was very enjoyable to read thank you! The way you both are seems sooo cute! I’m so glad you can relate to me <33 I so get you, and everything you’re feeling yk. It’s hard being obsessed with middle aged men who deep down you know you can’t have😭 but also there’s no other feeling like it and it’s kinda the best! Any time you need to rant about him I’d love to hear!💕

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

I don't know if I ever told you this but I was once in a very shitty horror movie where my siblings and I played haunted as fuck children.

I also used to go to Texas Frightmare a lot and once had to help watch Julian Hillard and my brother hang out. (I was free to roam but it was a "hey, pop over to thay booth to make sure the boys are good") It was fresh after he played Luke Crain in The Haunting of Hill House. (Learned so much about pokemon from him)

I helped judge a horror competition, and that was how I first learned and met Voltaire. (I was literally the only impartial person available, I kid you not. I was also in middle school and uncredited because if people found out I was the one who judged, it would not end well.)

Also, my mom has face blindness and celebrities (especially horror ones) will clock it, and it ends up with either them drinking together and/or them hitting on my mom. She once had the funniest conversation with Sam Raimi because she couldn't recognized him and they were in an elevator together and he asked if she wanted an autograph or anything and she went "No, who the fuck are you". She did realize later and apologized but it is so funny.

Also, American Spirit cigarettes are so commonly smoked by horror movie actors.

The best horror movie facts I have that personally relate to me is that there was one filmed in my local museum and me and my friend watched it together and laughed through the whole thing.

And my uncle is a ghost hunter. Like an actual one. That’s his career. He used to have a TV show for it, but now he’s just on YouTube. He also had his affair with a coworker (whilst he was married) publically blasted on my nan’s business’ Facebook.

OH also I have been going to fright nights and scare events a lot for years, and would go to the same ones repeatedly during the month, so for a few years as a kid the scare actors would begin to recognise me as ‘odd little kid that waves and giggles’ and they would wave back by the time Halloween came around. I try to get into the spirit more now tho.

[sumire-no-nikki]

Bad Apple

When I was in sixth grade my teacher ordered the class to form a circle. We were to play a game, she said. A student must volunteer to go in the middle, pick one classmate after naming one good thing about them to save them from the “sinking ship.” The one who has been saved will then pay the favour forward and save another student, and so the chain shall continue.

I’m saving this person because they’re really good at math.

I’m saving this person because they share their lunch with me.

I’m saving this person because I think they’re cool.

The game went on in between giggles and teasing and applause.

In the end, after a minute or so of awkward silence in a room that wants nothing to do with me, I was the last one to be chosen. A kind classmate eventually took on the task of being the one to get it over with, and so the whole activity was concluded. It was an exercise of emulating Jesus’ kindness, apparently, to not only save oneself but to also think of others during a time of crisis. I wonder if anyone realised later on that their kindness was in fact cruelty. I wonder if that teacher understood the violence she incited that day. The classmate who chose me was praised for her initiative and self sacrifice in being the one to do it. My teacher and the rest of the class certainly looked pleased with themselves for that display of "Christian goodness"—the very same people who ostracised me, the very same people who deemed me a nonentity because I'm "weird," because I’m "annoying." Because I spoke my mind. Because I simply wouldn’t let myself be swept by their hive mentality.

When I was fifteen, summertime, I caught the flu and it led to a middle ear infection. After a few nights of trying to bear the pain (because my instinct told me to hide the pain rather than inconvenience my parents) I couldn’t stand it anymore and told them that something’s wrong with my ear. My mother took me to the doctor and scolded me because, in agreement with my father, I was costing them an unnecessary expense.

Why did I have to get a middle ear infection, my mother complained. Why didn’t I just take care of myself better so I wouldn’t have developed an infection.

A couple of weeks after that illness, we boarded the plane for a holiday. My ear, having just healed from an infection was still quite sensitive. The altitude made it hurt. When I told my mother this she said, well, you’ll just have to bear it because you decided to have a middle ear infection.

I am a bad apple. I am the rotten one of the bunch. I get tossed in the trash, I don’t get chosen. I’m not pretty, I’m not special. I’m not particularly interesting and I don’t belong anywhere.

As I got older, I think I simply learned how to dress my rottenness up. I just learned how to fit in different costumes. I studied really hard in high school and suddenly found myself getting praised left and right. My parents were finally proud of me. I wasn’t a burden anymore. I quickly learned that this is how I could become a person worth looking at. This is the strategy, I thought, to work hard at adorning myself with achievements, to spray as much perfume over the rotten smell.

The same classmates who shunned me were the same ones to ask if they could come to my house so I could tutor them before the Algebra finals, the same ones who asked for my Biology notes as they showered me with compliments. I was no longer the black sheep of the family. I finally had something on the cousins I was constantly compared to. I was deemed the smart one, and that makes up for not being the pretty feminine one.

In adulthood all this meant doing all the work, covering for coworkers despite my already congested schedule, never saying no. If I couldn’t produce perfection in every aspect, then I’ve exposed my rottenness and people would withdraw any respect for me. If I let the side down, then I deserved it because I didn’t do my part in making myself palatable.

It also meant that I have become a person utterly incapable of forming any relationship. When someone tells me they like my photos, or that they think I’m impressive for what I’ve accomplished, or that my insight on something is illuminating, I appreciate it. But there is always doubt. Whenever anyone tries to befriend me I am wary, I am suspicious. Perhaps they only want to befriend me because they think I’m of use. Whatever that purpose may be, I am only as good as what I can offer. Because, well, why would anyone want me? And if they didn’t know that I’m a bad apple yet, when they come to see me as I am, why would they still choose me?

And who’s to blame? Who can I blame but myself?

I am a bad apple. While I’ve done well to make myself look a little better, the truth is I am unlovable. At the core I am still rotten. This fact ebbs and flows in my mind constantly. There are good days and I’m content in being a pretender. Then there are days when I can’t see past my ugliness.

(There's no resolution to this. Really, I don't know how to end this. I started typing this one day when the repressed memories of that sinking ship game in sixth grade popped up in my head but I'm not sure there's much insight to it other than it fucking hurts. I want to face it but I also know this isn't a Disney movie. I won't be the beast that would suddenly turn into a prince. It would be disingenuous of me to say "well, screw all of them! I'm so much happier now!" because I'm not, really. I'm fine, I suppose. I'm not that girl anymore, but I'll also never be someone who had a good childhood. I'll never be someone who had loving parents. I can't turn back the clock. I'll never be someone other than myself and it hurts a lot to think about that reality.)