#or saying they’re cancelling social stuff this week and then hanging out with other friends

[laughinglynx]

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[grandgillygaupus]

It’s been days and I’m still thinking about the season 5 finale of Puppet History.

Okay so there’s this show called Gilligan’s Island.

(I promise this’ll loop back around to Puppet History eventually, hear me out)

It aired between 1964 and 1967, and then ran in syndication for a decade or three, so it’s one of those shows that a lot of people remember watching when they were younger, but it’s not recent enough that its premise is anything more than a vague mishmash of concepts to most people. And that’s all well and good, that’s just what happens to TV shows after a while even when they’re incredibly popular.

I’d like to preface this with the disclaimer that I’m talking about a show made in the 1960s. There’s some not-great stuff in there, and I’m not here to condone the racism, sexism, transphobia, fatphobia, etc. that happens in this show. There are parts that are uncomfortable to watch and it’s not something I’d recommend to my friends to show their kids unless they’re willing to watch it with them and have some necessary conversations about the content.

I say all of this because I love Gilligan’s Island very much, and I want it known that this does NOT mean I love everything about it.

What I do love about it, however, is that it’s got a banger of a theme song that explains the premise, and it’s a situational comedy, which means it wears the inspiration for each week’s plot like a very loud and egregious t-shirt. Every week the castaways either try to get off the island and fail, or they spend the episode interacting with someone (or something) that has arrived on the island.

So what’s the plot device of the week going to be?

Well, what was cool with the young folks in the 60s? Rock music - we’ll do an episode about The Beatles, call them The Mosquitos, and get the Wellingtons to play them.

What are some major events going on in the world right now?

Oh yeah, the cold war.

As with most shows, Gilligan’s Island is best viewed with the context in which it was aired in mind. Learning a little bit about the social and political environment of the time and place in which a show was on the air is a great way to better understand where that show was coming from and what it was trying to do with its premise. Easy enough with the stuff that’s currently on TV, we’re living it, but let’s back up to 1963 for a bit. The history of television’s development as a medium is wild and messy and steeped in politics, but the important part is that even in 1963, broadcast television was a relatively new and emerging technology. That year, the pilot episode of Gilligan’s Island was filmed. The episode wouldn’t air until well after the show was cancelled, but it was as they were wrapping up the filming of this pilot that the cast and crew learned of JFK’s assassination.

Basically, Gilligan’s Island is a show that was developed while folks were still dealing with the emotional, social, and political fallout of World War 2, the threat of nuclear annihilation was hanging over everyone’s head, and the president had just been assassinated. So, why does the context matter?

Well, show creator Sherwood Schwartz has never been shy about calling Gilligan’s Island a “social microcosm”, or an allegory about the nations of the world learning to live with and understand each other.

Skipper’s a WW2 veteran.

Gilligan was in the Navy. He saved Skipper from being crushed by a depth charge that came loose from its moorings.

There’s an episode that revolves around a WW2 underwater contact mine washing ashore.

There’s an episode dedicated to Skipper’s depression and how he blames himself for stranding the castaways on the island.

There are several episodes themed around espionage and distrust in the people closest to you.

This is a comedy.

A lot of this stuff wasn’t treated with any sort of gravity, but it wasn’t necessarily trivialized, either. This was just the characters’ reality.

(I could go on about how comedy is one of the most effective ways to get an emotional response out of your audience but that’s a topic for another day)

In any case, the number of times the castaways’ lives are threatened is frankly ridiculous, but every single time, one thing remains the same: they care SO MUCH about each other. And ultimately, that’s the point of the show. It’s about a group of people that come from different backgrounds who not only learn to live with each other, but love each other. This is a found family story.

So I’d like to highlight a relevant episode that kind of brings all of this together.

The eighteenth episode of the first season, “X Marks the Spot”, deals very directly with the fear of nuclear annihilation. The castaways hear on the radio that a California air force base is going to test a new warhead the next day, and Skipper determines, based on the given coordinates, that their island is where the missile will land. Now, because this is a comedy, we - the audience - are informed that the explosives in the warhead have been removed due to a technical issue, but they’re going to launch the missile anyway to test the guidance systems. They don’t broadcast this on the radio, so our castaways have no idea they’re safe. They spend the time seeking each other out, discussing their lives, their regrets, and they make a point of being kind to one another.

They do everything in their power to catch the attention of the scout plane as a last-ditch attempt at rescue, but when this fails, that’s it. What do you do when there’s nothing you can do?

They watch the missile come down, and they be with each other.

Of course, this isn’t the end of the episode. The missile doesn’t explode, they try to disarm it anyway because they don’t know any better, and they think Gilligan’s been lost at sea inside the missile for about five seconds before he reappears soaking wet but otherwise fine.

But this episode always stuck with me. It speaks to a very real fear, a fear that manifested in comedy as a coping mechanism on a national scale because, well, no one was safe. No one felt safe. Yet it ends with an assurance that our castaways are okay, they’re going to be okay, and you get a good hearty laugh out of the deal. And you know what reminded me of this episode? The Puppet History season 5 finale (YEAH BRINGING IT BACK AROUND, BABY)

‘Cause you know that bit where Ryan thinks the Professor’s lost forever for about five seconds before he suddenly appears a little bigger than expected but otherwise fine? Yeah, that’s a good bit. And then that part where his parents are okay, and they’re all going to be okay, and we get a good laugh out of it? Chef’s kiss.

Anyway, I don’t know if I had a point to make. There’s a lot of horrible things happening right now, everywhere you look is more death and bad news. Will the world as I know it still be around next year? I’ve always been excited to grow old and grey, because it would mean I made it that far. Will I get that opportunity?

Is this what it felt like? Back in the 60s.

And it’s not the same, the circumstances are different. But the immense amount of catharsis wrought from that final song and the meteor’s monologue made me remember what’s important, and that was probably the point. “Tell the critters that you love that you love them, that’s enough.” We’re not alone, we’ve never been, and we’ve done this before.

What do you do when there’s nothing you can do? You watch the meteor come down, and you be with each other.

And in the meantime, you make some damn good comedy out of it.

Thanks Shane.

(No seriously, thanks for giving us the Professor’s parents after tearing our hearts out. King shit.)

[venicebixch]

In-Between part 8 (final part)

angsty. enjoy!

My eyes flutter open to the light shining in through my window. I had about 3 seconds of peace before my mind went straight to Vinnie. I sit up, reaching for my phone.

No texts.

I sigh, getting a little more concerned. I anxiously check all my socials and see nothing would explain his tweet last night. I decide to text him again but don’t want to pry.

Y/n

good morning. are we still hanging out today?

I send the text and wait. 2 hours go by before I finally get a response.

Vinnie

i don’t think so. i had some shit come up. i’m sorry.

My chest burns reading his text. Why wouldn’t he respond to me last night? Even if something came up, why would be purposefully ignore me then cancel on me today with no other explanation except that?

Y/n

can you at least tell me if you’re okay?

Vinnie

i’m good

I get a little frustrated and my fingers start typing before I can stop them.

Y/n

why didn’t you respond last night? i was worried about you

Vinnie

i appreciate the concern but i just don’t wanna talk about it

Y/n

can you at least tell me what’s happening so i’m in the loop. did i do something?

Another hour goes by before he responds.

Vinnie

no you didn’t do anything. i honestly don’t want to right now. i’m trying to figure shit out

Y/n

what shit?

Vinnie

bruh drop it. please just stop, i’ll talk about it when i want to

“Why is he being a dick?” I say out loud to myself, shaking my head.

Y/n

why are you like this

I hesitate to send the message but my frustration gets the better of me.

Vinnie

like whatttt

Y/n

don’t act like you don’t know

Vinnie

i really dont

Y/n

you’re kinda being an asshole

Vinnie

lol. okay.

Y/n

you’re always so back and forth with me. yesterday you’re kissing me and having food fights and today you’re acting cold and distant and won’t even tell me what’s happening

Vinnie

idk. we already talked about this.

Y/n

what so i’m supposed to sit back and let you toy with my emotions and act bipolar toward me just bc you’re trying to “figure shit out”

Vinnie

you knew what this was when we started fucking around. don’t like it? don’t fuck with me. sorry.

“God, you’re a jerk Vinnie!” I yell at my phone as tears start to fill my eyes. I slam my phone down on the bed next to me and stand up, pacing back and forth again. I rub my hand across my head. “Why the fuck do I do this to myself? Why the fuck does he do this to me?”

—

“I don’t understand why he would act like that,” Emily says, taking a sip of her coffee.

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. “I don’t know either. It’s been a week since I’ve talked to him.”

“Have you reached out?” She asks.

“Yeah, three times. Nothing. I keep checking social media to see what the hell could be going on. And I asked Jett but he won’t talk to me, which is frustrating.”

“That’s just weird to me.”

“Right? Like what the hell is going on… And you know what? I hope the whole friend group doesn’t start acting weird toward me if stuff doesn’t work out with me and Vinnie. It’s not just him that I’m friends with, it’s everyone. But I know they’ll pick him over me,” I look down, fidgeting with the ring on my finger.

“If they do that, they’re not even worth tripping over,” she says.

“Yeah but besides you I literally have no other friends. And you’re moving away…” I say, my voice cracking at the last part of my sentence trying to keep myself from crying.

“You know I’ll always be around to talk to you, and I’ll visit you every chance I get,” she reaches her hand across the table, palm up.

I grab it and smile, nodding my head as tears overflow on to my cheek. I quickly wipe them away then go back to fidgeting with my ring. “I know. I’m just gonna miss you. I know it’s what’s best for you, though.”

“Maybe you should just go to his house and talk to him in person?”

I shake my head no. “I can’t do that, that’ll make me look crazy.”

“Y/n, you’re not crazy for expressing valid emotions. I think you’re still stuck in that mindset you had with Cory.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. Cory is my ex and he was just awful, constantly gaslighting me and manipulating me. Always making me feel crazy. “I know I am. I still get so anxious whenever something goes wrong with a guy, which is ridiculous because it’s been over 2 years since I broke up with him.”

“That type of relationship takes a toll on you. Just… I don’t know. Try not to dwell on things too much, okay? Whatever happens, you’re going to be just fine,” she smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Em.”

—

It’s been a few days since my conversation with Emily. I’ve been avoiding too much social media because it’s not good for my mental health lately but I decided to take a few minutes before bed to scroll through tiktok to try and get my mind off of everything before I turn in for the night. I’ve felt a little better today but still feel like an anxious mess.

Suddenly a text pops across my screen making my heart skip a beat.

Emily

have you been on ig?

My heart starts racing.

Y/n

no why??

I immediately hop over and see nothing posted from Vinnie. Then I search up Kyla to see if it has to do with her.

I flick through her story until I reach the last picture. 12 hours ago. Her and Vinnie laying in bed together, lights off. Her head on his chest. He looks like he’s asleep.

I feel an overwhelming sense of anger, my adrenaline coursing through me like I took a shot of it straight to the heart. I start crying and sit up, staring at the picture in disbelief.

“Really?” I say out loud to myself. “REALLY? Fucking ridiculous. Fucking asshole. Ghost me for fucking DAYS then pop up with this?”

Emily

have you talked to vinnie?

I immediately call her, not wanting to text.

“Hello?” She answers.

“Emily I’m gonna lose my shit,” I say, standing up, pacing back and forth.

“Just try to calm down. He hasn’t said anything to you?”

“No! He hasn’t acknowledged me in 10 fucking days! Went from fucking me in the ass literally to fucking me in the ass metaphorically in less than 2 weeks with no explanation!”

She giggles on the other side of the phone. I said that being serious but can’t help but laugh with her briefly through my tears before I crouch on the ground with my hand over my face, letting the real hurt take over.

“I fucking hate myself, Em.”

“Please don’t say that. If he doesn’t see your worth, that’s his own fucking problem. You’re incredible and if he’s picking her stupid ass over you, he’s literally fucking stupid. I’m so sorry he’s done this.”

“I did this. It’s my fault for letting my guard down. He’s right, I knew what this was the whole time. Not his fault I fell in love with him.”

“No, he fucking knows how you feel about him and continued to play with your emotions to make his sorry ass feel better about getting cheated on.”

I take a moment to gather myself then stand back up, getting lightheaded for a second. I sit back down on the bed and sigh. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Go to his house and punch him. Write him a ‘fuck you’ letter and post it on your insta story for the world to see. Fuck one of his friends.”

I start giggling. “You’re giving me too many good ideas,” I sniffle.

“Seriously. Go crazy, act like a bitch. You’ve held it together a hell of a lot better than I would have. I’d be putting sugar in the gas tank of his precious little car right now if it was me. If it’s over, it’s over. May as well end it with a bang. Don’t just lay down and take it.”

“I can’t,” I murmur, wiping the tears from my face.

“I know… listen, I fucking hate to do this but I’m at work right now and we’re busy so I have to go. I’ll talk to you later when I get off or first thing tomorrow morning. Please just try to keep your head up. I know it’s easier said than done but please. I love you so much. Keep me posted.”

“Okay, I understand. I love you too.”

I hang up and sit there for a minute thinking about what I should do. I decide to text him again, not expecting any response.

Y/n

i saw Kyla’s story. seriously?

To my surprise he texts back immediately.

Vinnie

what story?

I furrow my brows, confused. Surely he knows what the hell I’m talking about. Unless it’s an old picture? I feel a small glimmer of hope at that possibility but why would she post an old picture?

Y/n

the one where you’re sleeping together?

A few minutes go by before he responds again.

Vinnie

i didn’t know she posted that, i haven’t been online much the last few days.

“I didn’t know she posted that,” I say in a mocking tone.

Y/n

okay? i guess i just don’t understand what’s happening

Vinnie

i’ve been meaning to talk to you i just didn’t have time yet

My stomach turns again, afraid to ask what he wanted to talk about.

Y/n

about what

Vinnie

me and kyla are back together as of last night

i’m sorry

i really hope you understand

My jaw drops as I read his messages with numbness, trying to process what this means. For him. For me. I’ve spent time preparing myself for this possibility but a large part of me has been in denial up until this very second, never believing he would actually go back to her.

Not only have I lost the guy I love, I’ve lost one of my best friends. Someone I found sanctuary in. We can’t be in each other’s lives anymore if they’re dating after all we’ve done. Which also means I’ve likely lost my entire friend group. If I can’t be around him, I can’t be around them.

The numbness quickly shifts to nausea and panic. Tears start rolling down my cheeks in waves. He’s actually picking her over me.

The panic shifts to anger and I find myself fighting the urge to drive to his house and make a scene in front of everyone and tell him how stupid he is. Tell him much I loved him before and how much I hate him now. I want to sabotage their relationship and make it known to the world what he’s done to me and what she’s done to him. Neither of them deserve happiness, right?

“Fuuuuck,” I groan out through my tears. I swear to god I’d rather be shot in the fucking chest than deal with the emotional pain this has brought me.

I pick my phone up again and start to type out one last text to him.

Y/n

i fucking hate you

My finger lingers over the send button but I sigh and delete it, starting over.

Y/n

fuck you

I delete that too.

Y/n

cant wait to hear about your heart getting broken by the bitch for a second time and watch all your pitiful sad ass tiktoks and tweets that come with it you fucking loser

I delete it again and start laughing through my tears, feeling hysterical at this point.

Y/n

hope you get what you deserve ❤️

I finally send it, breathing out a sigh of relief before another wave of sadness washes over me as I see that he reads it. Images of our last kiss and our last hug flicker through my mind - already missing him and feeling consumed by my longing for him that goes so deep I can feel it in my bones. My heart feels like it’s ripping to shreds with every beat, sending me into a deeper mess of emotions.

The dots that show he’s typing pop up. I panic and immediately go and block his number before he can respond. Then I go and block him on everything else.

I don’t want to hear anything he has to say. If he wants to go back to the bitch after what she did, he deserves whatever hell she brings him in the future.

I hope she cheats again. I hope he lays in bed at night and cries so hard his head hurts and his throat feels like it’s on fire. I hope he feels empty, desperate, and scared. I hope he finds himself thinking of me, hating himself for his decision to choose her. I hope he feels used. I hope she makes him feel all the terrible things he’s made me feel. And I hope more than anything that he knows he fucking deserves every bit of it the next time he’s at his absolute lowest.

I toss my phone across the bed and turn over, curling into a ball knowing I won’t be leaving this spot for days, maybe weeks. I close my eyes and give in to the darkest part of my mind, finally sinking into the void I’ve been fighting so hard to stay out of. A place comparable to hell, where I’m alone and hate myself and hate the world. Where I feel nothing but anxiety, anger, and resentment for everyone and everything. I don’t want to live anymore.

[bigilante]

〖 her best friend ❣ zendaya 〗

「 zendaya x gender-neutral!reader 」 ┅ 「 2.7k words 」

: a.n : back at it again with the unsolicited fics :)) i hope you guys like it 👉🏼👈🏼

⤷ : prompt : separated forcefully or for reasons you can’t control, run into each other again years later on accident.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop making headlines calling us ‘very good friends’?” You halfheartedly laughed at yet another Instagram post by some magazine that showed you and Zendaya out and about LA. “Like, the minute you hang out with any guy they’re like, ‘Oh! Date alert!’ But I’m just your ‘best friend’” You were ranting now, unable to hide the annoyance you felt.

“Why does it matter what they say?” Zendaya quizzed, her hands playing with the waist string of your sweats. She looked up at you from her slumped down position on the sofa, her faint frown making you sigh.

“Because... don’t you feel is a bit homophobic?” You wondered, placing your phone face down on top of your stomach to give her your full attention. The brunette just shrugged nonchalantly and you let out another sigh picking your phone again to close the app, “I’m gonna head out.” It was best to just leave then, you didn’t want to get in a stupid argument with her not before you were set to leave for New York the very next morning. You began to incorporate but Zendaya’s hands gripped your thighs keeping them draped over hers.

“Y/n, come on.” She said, gorgeous hazel eyes pleading at you. What exactly? You had no idea but for a second, you were about to give in however a loud ding coming from your phone stopped you. Your eyes scanned the screen and the reminder that had popped up read ‘PACK ! 4 ! N Y C !’, you sent her an apologetic glance before getting off the sofa, gathering your stuff and petting Noon goodbye.

Zendaya had stood up from the sofa too, watching your every move intently, probably trying to figure out if you were upset with her. The truth was, you didn’t know if you were upset with her or with the media, it was possible that both had a little part in your now sour mood. “See you next week, best friend. Love you.” You joked before swinging the front door open and leaving. The week was going to feel like a month, you knew, but the hope that making that simple joke followed by the declaration would ease things up was strong.

But what did hopefulness ever bring if not disappointment and heartache?

Seeing medium-quality paparazzi pictures of your girlfriend as soon as you landed from a five-hour flight wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to be welcomed to New York. You sat quietly in the back of an Uber trying not to cry as your eyes stared at the images on your phone. A series of pictures of Zendaya and Tom leaving her house, —they must had been taken that morning while you were on your way to the airport— the further you scrolled down the Twitter trends the more you felt like throwing up. Them in his car. Tom’s hand reaching for Zendaya’s jaw. Both leaning in. Kissing. Laughing.

It felt like a punch to the face, it was the worst feeling you had ever endured and the people that caused it were the last you would’ve thought could ever dare to hurt you. Your trembling hands fumbled with the settings on your account, privating it and blocking her and Tom, doing the same with Instagram followed by their numbers on your phone. It felt like doing a cleansing, the pressure in your chest easing only minimally when you locked your phone and looked out into the running city. You wanted to scream and cry, break stuff, throw your phone away and not show to work, you just wanted to go hide in your Airbnb for the rest of the week and pretend you and Zendaya never happened.

The reality was that you two had happened and it was far too hard to pretend it didn’t, your heart ached both physically and metaphorically and you hated every second of it. For that week you spent in New York no one shut up about the photos, every person you worked with had that hot, brand new ‘goss’ about the pair that had hurt you so badly.

You sat in the quiet living room of the apartment you had been living in whilst in the big city, laptop sitting in front of you as you cancelled your flight back to LA, changing the tab to the Airbnb’s one to pay for a few more days. You had been holding yourself together the whole time you were there, work keeping you busy and sleeping pills doing their magic at the end of the day but it could only go so far. Glassy, stinging eyes stared blankly at the empty inbox of your email, the cursed images projecting over the blank space and you just weren’t strong enough anymore, you couldn’t, so you cried and choked and screamed until your throat and eyes were sore; until your whole body was drained of every bit of energy.

Little by little you were sweeping your life clean of her, clearing out your phone’s camera roll, changing your number. Deleting social media was a big no for your job so filtering everything and anything that had to do with them was the only option, that and spending little to no time online. You had stopped to think one night of the what-ifs of the situation, you were aware that Zendaya’s publicist wasn’t so happy about you and her dating publically and Tom’s was obsessed with boosting the Spider-man movies at all cost, still, giving you a heads up about it would had been the right thing to do.

For a year and a half, you made yourself busy, going back and forth wasn’t something you enjoyed but it worked to avoid unwanted visits and accidental encounters. Enough time had passed, you thought as you stopped booking in so many clients across the country and settled back in your LA home. “You know what? I could go for a thick, sugary milkshake, right now.” Naomi told you as you put down your half-empty box of fried noodles on the coffee table.

“Are you serious?” You asked incredulous receiving an enthusiastic nod from your friend. “Naomi, we just had Chinese and you wanna wash it down with a milkshake?” She rolled her eyes at you when you pointed it out.

“Fine, what about Bubble U? Bubble tea is Chinese isn’t it?” She offered, her question prompting you to send her an unamused glare. “Yep, Bubble U it is, then!” Naomi jumped up, going straight to the door. Reluctantly you got up from the floor, groaning all the way to the door where you got ready to go out, “Come on! It’ll be fun!” She chirped while she pulled you out of the house. You hated to admit it but you had completely modified your life after the heartbreak, once you settled back home you barely left it, you didn’t attend parties unless it was for work or go out with your friends unless it was at any of their houses. You didn’t walk around the city that often anymore in fear of bumping into her.

“I miss this.” You sighed as you walked down Chinatown with your friend, the coldness of your drink pleasant against the palm of your hand. “Just walking around town.” You continued taking a sip of the milk tea.

“I still don’t get why you had to stop going out with us.” Naomi said inciting you to turn to look at her, “I mean, I know why it’s just… you didn’t have to stop.” She rephrased it giving you an apologetic glance. You knew how much your friends hated the idea of you not being able to be you after the whole thing with Zendaya and Tom happened but it was your way of coping with it and even though they didn’t agree with it, they supported you.

“Well, I’m outside now, aren’t I?” You nudged her side with your elbow making her giggle as she nudged you back. “Maybe this is me getting back to my old self.” Hope laced your every word as you looked around the busy street. The way the golden light of the setting sun washed over the buildings made the outing worth the risk.

LA was the second-largest city in the United States, with a population of nearly four million that one could think the chances of crossing paths with a lover-turned-stranger was one in millions, yet, there you were rooted to the pavement as your wide eyes stared at the tall and thin figure coming out of one of the many restaurants that dotted the street. “Come on, let’s go back.” Naomi said, placing her hand on the crook of your elbow ready to pull you out of there but something inside your chest told you to keep moving forward.

So you did, you started walking again letting your friend’s hand slip away from you. She was quick to follow, whisper-shouting at you that whatever you were doing probably wasn’t the best idea. The closer you got to her the more nervous you felt, it’s been over a year since you last saw her and god, was she even more beautiful than before; long legs clagged in camel coloured trousers, feet sporting her beloved black converse. Her top was white, a little see-through and you cursed at how much it still drove you absolutely crazy in the most irritating sense.

Curls tucked into an elastic on top of her head in a carefree and relaxed way, a few stubborn strands hanging out framing her face and gracing her neck. She was laughing loudly at something Darnell said, that laugh you had forced yourself to forget but the second it hit your ears, you realised how badly you had missed it. Then everything stopped, Naomi’s panicked telling off, Darnell’s chatting and Zendaya’s laughing. It all had stopped but the rambling around the four of you.

You stood in front of Darnell while Naomi stood in front of Zendaya, your friend’s usually amicable attitude disrupted by the scowl on her face as she glared Zendaya’s way only the brunette’s pupils were set on you with no apparent intention of averting. “It’s you,” She breathed out, hope barely perceivable in her tone. You only hummed at the observation, your eyes moving from hers down to her hands that were gripping the long lanyard that held her phone around her neck. Her nerves were evident then, the intensity with which she clutched it seemed to be draining the blood flow from her fingers. “I— How—” Zendaya tried to speak but failed, letting out a shaky breath. “How have you been?”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Naomi protested, you understood where your friend was coming from but you also needed that, you needed to speak to Zendaya just one more time to be able to finally let everything go. You needed her to confirm your theory just so you could move on and Darnell seemed to be on the same page as you for he stepped in between you and Naomi, throwing his arm around her shoulders to guide her away from you two. You heard her object some more but ultimately she complied and walked away.

“I’ve been fine. You?” You eventually spoke after short but agonising seconds of silence.

“I don’t know. There are good days among the terrible ones, so... fine, I guess?” She shrugged a shoulder. With a nod of your head, you looked past her over her shoulder to see a man pointing a camera at you, you were about to warn her when she began speaking again. “Y/n, I’m so sorry about—” Zendaya started but you shook your head no making her stop, you realised then that you did want to talk to her but not on the street in front of that many people and certainly not when there were paparazzi nearby.

“Heard the movie did well.” Your tongue betrayed your brain. Zendaya tried to speak once more but you cut her again. “I’m glad it did. Made it all worth it, didn’t it?” You faked a small smile nearly choking on the words, the anxious lump in your throat threatening to cut your airflow.

“No, It didn’t.” Zendaya denied taking a step closer to you forcing you to hold your breath with the sudden move. “I was a total asshole to you before you left, then Marla wanted me and Tom to do that for a while and I don’t even know why I did it.” She ranted in one breath.

“I upset you.” The statement earned you a furious head shake from the tall girl. “I did. I kept bugging you about the articles,” You carried on, inconspicuously your eyes started to line with tears. The more you talked the more you realised that maybe, just maybe there was a bit of blame in you too, however, that didn’t mean Zendaya was absolved from any. “You never said a thing to me about the stunt.”

“I felt like I didn’t need to, I wasn’t gonna do it.”

“But you did. The morning I left LA.” You mumbled, trying to hide from the second man with a camera that had appeared closer than the first.

“Fuck, I know it was a shitty thing to do and I’m sorry,” She took another small step forward.

“You always told me kissing in public wasn’t your thing.” You exposed, tears irrevocably breaking the surface tension and cascading down your cheeks. Flicking your gaze up at her you saw nothing but hurt and regret written all over her gorgeous face and your heart squeezed at the sight. She had never spoken about it and neither had you asked, you just felt it in your heart that she was scared of how the media would treat you both if they ever found out you were dating, you knew the times had changed but there were still closed-minded people that ran gossip magazines and could make your lives a living hell the moment they caught you holding hands in public or worst, kissing.

The murmuring around you increased, reminding you that you were in a very public place crying in front of your secret ex-girlfriend. “Fuck that.” Zendaya grumbled. One moment she was a small step away from you and the next her hands were cupping your face and her lips were softly pressed against yours. The action took your breath away instantly, still, you found yourself powerless against the familiar taste and feel of her and allowed her to kiss you as long as she wanted to in front of how many people she wanted to. There were yelps and gasps all around the two of you and you started to regain conscience and pulled away.

Wide, watery eyes staring up at the girl mere inches away from your face. “Th-there’s pap—”

“I don’t care.” She whispered before she captured your lips once more, this time deeper and twice as intensely as the first time. Your hands scurried to her waist, bringing her flush to your body as you kissed her back gladly, desperately wanting her lips to make the past year bleep out of your core memories.

The night went by slowly as if the universe was granting you more time to spend in the arms of the girl you loved. She never once let a second of silence go by you, filling it with a whispered apology and a kiss. You talked about everything the time you spent apart brought to both of you, she told you about firing her publicist right after the pictures came out, about how she understood why you had cut her off without any explanation and how bad both her and Tom felt with the whole thing.

Articles flooded the internet that very night as well as the next morning, however, neither of you knew of them right away for any device that could be hooked to a WiFi signal was rightfully turned off while you basked in the presence of each other under the covers of Zendaya’s bed.

“Spider-man Star Zendaya shares intense kiss with BFF, Celeb Stylist y/n l/n in the middle of Chinatown! Swipe to see the pictures!”

It might be 2021 but some things refused to change.

【 thank you so much for reading! ♡ please, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought of this ♡ kit xx 】

[hangovercurse]

Nerd Love

After years of working together, Pete still manages to break you.

Request: “Hi! Can I get a Pete imagine where you guys work on SNL together and you have few skits together and during one of them you can’t stop laughing”

Pete Davidson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 2237

“Live from New York, it’s Saturday night!” You hear Kate and the host of the week announce before Lorne motions that the cameras had cut for commercial break. You and Pete had a sketch together in exactly 12 minutes and 45 seconds, and you were trying to cool your nerves.

You loved your job, writing on SNL was something you had dreamed of since you were in middle school, and now it was your reality. Of course, it was hard, the hours were long and the work was demanding. But having Pete by your side made it all bearable.

You had met on your first day, getting hired one season after him. You two were deemed the “babies” of the cast because you were the youngest, so naturally you got paired up. A lot.

At first it bothered you that you only really ever worked with one person, but after your first few episodes you grew to love Pete. Your energies matched so well, and whenever you wrote together you easily built of each other.

After 6 years of working on the show together, you had become really close friends. You were with him through all of his hard times, and you were one of the few people he let visit him in rehab. In return, he stuck by your side through everything, even when the internet tried to cancel you for an interview that was taken completely out of context.

You couldn’t pinpoint when, but at some point, you had developed real feelings for him. Obviously, you’d never tell him, not wanting to mess up your amazing friendship. But they still flourished, especially when you would be up until 6 am writing sketches and goofing around in the writer’s room. Of course, the comments from fans didn’t help your feelings either. They loved you guys. Anytime you posted Pete on your social media, they were all over it.

But you guys had denied the dating rumors countless times since they’d started 5 years ago. Even though having to hear the words “we’re just friends” over and over killed you.

You were lost in thought when Pete came up behind you, hands grabbing your shoulders and shaking you slightly. “Ready bookworm?” He asked, moving to stand next to you.

“Only if you are, Mr. jock-man.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

The sketch you and Pete had written was a young couple on a really fancy date to celebrate their 6-month anniversary. Your character was going on the date with Kyle Mooney’s character. Both of you were the stereotypical nerd couple with glasses, suspenders, and everything else. Pete was playing your waiter, who obviously did not give a shit about his job. He was the stereotypical jock character. Your character was super attracted to him and kept paying attention to him. He loved the attention and would do things like show you his (reaaaallllyyy) lame tattoos, tell you about sports, and everything that nerds don’t like. Kyle obviously didn’t like that and kept trying to get your attention in the weirdest of ways.

It was pretty funny in rehearsals, almost too funny. Seeing Pete act so out of character was hilarious to you and having to overdramatically flirt with him felt ridiculous. You barely made it through in rehearsals without laughing, so you had to hope you could do it on stage.

“Y/N, Pete, and Kyle. You’re up.” The stagehand told you, and you grabbed Kyle’s hand, walking to the stage.

The sketch started and you were doing okay. You and Kyle had your conversation about your anniversary and your favorite Star Wars movies. But then Pete walked onto the stage in his ridiculous waiter getup. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top and wrinkled, his black pants hanging low on his hips, and his apron only half tied. You bit your tongue to keep yourself together.

“Welcome to White Oyster, what do you want?” He said in a very bored voice. You acted interested, eyes raking up and down him. You felt ridiculous and had to swallow a laugh.

Kyle pushed his glasses up on his nose, “me and my girlfriend are here for our six-month anniversary, so we would like the couple’s special.” His nerd voice was incredible.

“Okay. Anything else?” Pete’s voice remained monotone.

You bit your lip, “do you recommend anything else?” You asked, trying to sound nerd-sexy.

You could see Pete struggling to contain a smile. “I mean, whatever. Food here is shitty anyways.”

Kyle’s mouth gaped, “can you not speak like that around my girlfriend, please?”

The sketch continued with you making flirty remarks towards Pete, him being very bored and unaware, and Kyle trying to direct your attention. After your second attempt at flirting with him, you could feel yourself breaking down.

“So, I was wondering. Do you have any tattoos?” You asked him, your elbow on the table, twirling a piece of your hair in your finger.

Pete nodded, pulling up his shirt to show the big MOM tattoo on his side that was drawn on earlier. You felt a giggle slip out, completely out of character.

You tried to cover it up and continue, “wow, you really must love your mom, huh?” Another chuckle leaving your mouth, “that’s kinda hot.”

Kyle looked at you with wide eyes, “Linda!” He screamed the name of your character

Pete shrugged, “Nah, I did it myself. It says WOW, like world of warcraft.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell out of your mouth, and one followed from Pete. This was a disaster. You tried to regain your composure, knowing Kyle was probably really frustrated right now. “I just think tattoos are so cool. You don’t have any, do you Darren?” You asked Kyle’s character, eyes narrowing at him. You heard a chuckle from Pete beside you and you bit your cheek.

Kyle faked looking flustered, “N-no. But I have all 7 of the Harry Potter books and 4 collectors wands.”

Pete nodded, “Oh cool, I have a Harry Potter tattoo.” He pulled up his arm to show his real tattoo.

Your eyes went wide, “Wow. That’s way cooler.” You batted your eyes up at Pete, making him break even more. Watching his face go red and his mouth lifting up with laughter made you squeeze your eyes to hide your laughter.

“But babe!” Kyle was starting to break now too. “You love my Harry Potter stuff!”

“It’s cool, I guess.”

The sketch continued with you and Pete laughing anytime you looked at each other, your energies feeding into one another. You both tried really hard to keep it together, but something about flirting with Pete made you so giddy inside that you couldn’t help it.

Eventually the scene ended and the lights went down. You knew the cameras probably caught an extra few seconds after the close of the sketch, meaning they caught you and Pete breaking down into fits of laughter.

You somehow made it offstage, faces red. “We’re so gonna get fired.” He said through giggles.

“I’m so sorry,” You started, trying to take breaths through your laughs. “I don’t know why I couldn’t hold it together.”

“You looked ridiculous.” Pete laughed, pointing at your glasses.

 After the show you made your way back to your dressing room, changing into your day clothes and getting ready to leave. You finally checked your phone, which had been off the duration of the show.

Your twitter feed was filled with clips of you and Pete laughing through the sketch.

They’re so cute together #goals

Love their friendship

Get you someone who looks at you like Pete looks at Y/N

Poor Kyle ☹

The way they can’t get through a skit because they’re too in love

And they say they aren’t dating…

Can’t believe the unprofessionalism

Pete and Y/N are dating… no one can convince me otherwise

The flirting!!! The looks!!!

I would like Pete and Y/N to get married and adopt me please

Your heart melted at all the comments, a sigh leaving your mouth. You watched the video and noticed the way he looked at you anytime you broke character, it was the same way you looked at him all the time.

You shook your head, convincing yourself you were imagining it. You couldn’t afford to think like that, it would ruin your friendship.

A knock at your door pulled you out of your thoughts, “Y/N, wanna go grab a drink with me?” It was Pete.

“You can come in.” You called, and he did so. “I don’t know, I was thinking I might just go home. I’m pretty tired.” You really just wanted to go home and sort through your feelings for the umpteenth time that month.

He nodded, watching as you tossed various items in your bag, “you were great tonight.”

You giggled, “Pete I barely made it through our sketch, it was a disaster.”

He rolled his eyes, walking over to where you were at your vanity. “I messed up too, but it was fine. No one noticed.”

You leaned into the mirror, fixing your makeup slightly. Pete was very close to you, watching you through said mirror. “Trust me, Petey. Everyone noticed.” You laughed, standing up straight again.

Your back was inches from his chest, and you could suddenly feel a different sort of tension in the air. But you didn’t make any move to shift away from him. He gave you a quizzical look through the mirror and you took out your phone, turning to him.

You took in a breath at the proximity. You weren’t close enough to kiss or anything, but his chest was only a few inches away from you. You shook away the thoughts you were having and opened your twitter, letting him scroll through the tweets. He chuckled and shook his head as he read them, eventually handing you your phone back.

“People really like us together.” He said, smiling.

You rolled your eyes, “They have for the past like, 6 years, Petey. We’re funny.” You smiled moving to turn back to grab your bag, but his hand grabbed your hip and made you stay facing him.

Your mind went blank at his touch, trying to figure out if this was real or if you were just really really tired. “That’s not what I meant.” He said, quieter.

You laughed, looking away from his eyes, not really knowing what to say. “I mean, people have always thought… stuff like that.” You mumbled, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Pete’s eyes were searching your face, taking in every detail. “Have you ever thought about, like, why people think we’re…” He trailed off, but you knew what he was implying.

You blushed, looking down at your toes. “I mean, I guess we’re together a lot and we get on well. People just like to make assumptions, I guess.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure it doesn’t help that I can never keep my eyes off of you, even when the cameras are rolling.” He said, a chuckle following.

You smiled, looking back up at him, your brain trying to process what he just said. After a few moments of silence, you spit out a “why are you bringing this up?” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper.

He sighed, hand moving from your hip and rubbing his face lightly. “I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking a lot.” You gave him a look that told him to continue. “I mean, I think it’s kind of obvious that I like you.”

Your mouth dropped, “obvious? Pete Davidson you have been far from obvious about your feelings.” You really thought you were dreaming, hearing those words from him was just impossible.

“Are you kidding me? How many sketches do I have to write just so I can flirt with you? Have you not picked up on the fact that literally every sketch I write for you to be in we’re playing some sort of couple?” He laughed, stepping towards you, and grabbing your hips again. “Dude, and I thought I was oblivious to this shit.”

“In my defense I’ve spent the past like 6 years trying to convince myself you didn’t feel the same way.” You said, a smile crossing your face.

Pete rolled his eyes, leaning closer to you, “now why would you wanna do that?” There was a playful tone in his voice, but you couldn’t help your serious answer.

“Because I didn’t wanna read the signs wrong and mess up our friendship.” You sighed.

Pete’s smile softened, “Y/N I literally want to kill you right now for making me wait this long.” You giggled, leaning closer to him. “But you’re cute so I guess I can let it slide.”

“If I kiss you will it make up for it?” You asked, batting your eyelashes.

Pete pretended to think about it, “hmmm, maybe. You should definitely give it a shot to see.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. Your lips touched his and it was like everything in the universe suddenly aligned. His mouth moved against yours in soft, perfect motions. His hands pulled you closer into him, your bodies molding together like it was meant to be.

When you finally pulled away for breath, he pressed his forehead against yours, a wide grin on his face. “So, about those drinks?”

[sopranokirstin]

what happened with Mitch on Twitter?

ohhh boy. short answer? too many things happening at once which caused that he no longer felt happy getting in the app and understandably took a break. now, the long answer...

first, there was the whole thing with messer that happened few weeks ago, where “fans” on instagram grouped to mass-report the messer account because they were fed up with mitch only interacting with fans in his patreon accounts and not on his main. which, you know, is a whole can of entitlement that i don’t want to open right now, but obviously the fact that they got the messer account unlisted THREE TIMES should tell you right away that what they did was horrible, and naturally mitch took it very badly.

then the thing with trisha happened. so, in case you’ve been living under a rock, trisha paytas is this public figure whose popularity comes from doing all sorts of problematic shit to get clout in social media - including being racist, homophobic, transphobic, antisemitic... you name it, really. mitch and trisha have been friends for years, and mitch happened to tweet to trisha as a way to invite himself to her podcast after she talked about him on it. and so hell began with loads of people telling mitch he shouldn’t be friends with trisha for x and y reason, that him endorsing her content is basically propagating the things that she does, etc etc. it pretty much went from people showing undying support for mitch upon what happened with the messer account on instagram, to people @ ing him to ask him to apologize, and making memes of him like stans often do when they think hating on a celebrity is the height of comedy.

mitch continued to talk publicly about the messer thing but never once mentioned anything related to trisha, which led to more uproar. at this point, people were pretending that mitch didn’t exist in the group anymore, which... blegh. after that, he briefly touched upon this subject on the podcast which you can only have access to if you’re subscribed to his patreon, on it, he basically said that he clearly doesn’t endorse the problematic things trisha does, but that she’s his friend and he enjoys her content and therefore will continue to stick up to her. he also said that if people are really stressed over the things his done, that they’re free to unfollow and focus on healthier things (which he also said in a very honest, mature way with no bitterness under it). to close it off, he added that he’d be gone from twitter for a while as, understandably, he no longer had a way to have normal fan/creator interactions in that account - since everyone was just spamming him with stuff about trisha.

while i haven’t been... entirely objective on this retell of the situation, i feel like i have a lot of opinions about this that i don’t want to mix with what can be considered the “facts”. i think mitch’s response to the trisha thing is perfectly reasonable and just about what he needed to say. he’s not responsible for trisha so he doesn’t get to apologize on her account, and yk, he’s right: we are allowed to consume content that people can deem “problematic” because we enjoy it, not because we endorse it. hell, i do so myself and i know every person must have at least one interest that other people consider highly problematic. and imo that boils down to... content is created by humans, who are inherently problematic, in a society with power structures that also is a reflection of those problematic traits, so there’s nothing/no one completely “unproblematic”. what trisha does is pretty smart, actually: she gets clout by attracting hoards of people when she does/says problematic stuff, then keeps the ones who find it funny. the best way to fight that off is to sabotage her platforms, aka not play into her game and give her clout. so, that’s that for her.

like i said, mitch is not responsible for what she does, and so he doesn’t need to give a full out apology - that people wouldn’t take anyway because he already “fucked up” by their perceptions. moreover, people asking him to stop being friends with her is just... the definition of entitlement. those are decisions that only belong to him because it’s how he manages his private life, which is also the root of the problem of the cancellation of the messer account: it was done by fans who felt entitled to the content that mitch provided about his personal life to fans who paid for it, as a way to fund the messer project. because mitch is a musician, the only thing we can acquire from him is his art. everything else he chooses to share it’s only up to him. what boggles my mind is how people can understand that, yet they don’t see how trying to interfere with who mitch hangs out with is entitlement, too. while i’m sad that he will be away from the platform where he interacted with fans the most, i think it’s best for him and if i was on his situation i would’ve done the same thing.

[path-of-my-childhood]

Aaron Dessner Talks Taylor Swift’s New Album folklore

By: Sam Sodomsky for Pitchfork Date: July 24th 2020

Like millions of people across the world, Taylor Swift spent the past few months in isolation, stuck at home, changing plans, reflecting on the past, and imagining new connections. One of those new connections was with Aaron Dessner, the multi-instrumentalist and producer from the National.

On release day, he called us from his home in the Hudson Valley to speak about their entirely virtual but highly collaborative process, sounding just as surprised as anyone. “Nobody needs to tell Taylor Swift how to write a song - and I certainly didn’t,” he says with a laugh. “But it did feel like we were going toe-to-toe pushing each other.”

What is your personal relationship with Taylor Swift’s music? I’ve always admired her craftsmanship and talent. But 1989 was the first one I was really listening to as a fan. My brother [Bryce Dessner, guitarist in the National] and I were in Iceland with [performance artist] Ragnar Kjartansson, and he’s a total Swiftie. It was the summer of 1989, and we’d be hanging out listening to it loud. Ragnar is an art historian, so he was just contextualizing every moment. It was a lot of fun. That’s when we became bigger fans.

When did you actually meet her for the first time? We met her at Saturday Night Live in 2014 when Lena Dunham was hosting. And then she came to see us play last summer in Prospect Park during this crazy torrential downpour. She was there with Antoni [Porowski] from Queer Eye. She talked a lot with my brother and me. That’s when we realized how much of a fan she was, and how lovely and down to earth. I don’t know that many people who have that sort of success, so it’s a nice feeling to realize they’re cool. That left a good impression.

She got in touch again at the end of April. I got a text and it said, “Hey it’s Taylor. Would you ever be up for writing songs with me?” I said, “Wow. Of course.” It was a product of this time. Everything we had planned got cancelled. Everything she had planned got cancelled. It was a time when the ideas in the back of your head came to the front. That’s how it started.

You ended up with a credit on 11 of the 16 songs. How did the collaboration get going? At the very beginning of March, Justin Vernon and I had gone to Texas to work on the new Big Red Machine album. I had been living with my family in France as COVID was starting to spiral out of control in Europe. I said to my wife that maybe they should come back to the States with me because I was worried about getting separated. So we got tickets, and my kids and wife flew to [the family’s home in] Upstate New York and I flew to Texas. I was there for a week, and by the time I got back Upstate, the borders were being shut and we got stuck. I have the Long Pond studio here, so in a way it was lucky.

I hunkered down here and started to write a ton of music - more than I ever have. I thought maybe they were National or Big Red Machine ideas or maybe something totally different. Things were happening.

So when [Taylor] reached out, I had this large folder of ideas that were pretty well on their way. She was very clear that she didn’t want me to edit any of my ideas; she wanted to hear everything that was interesting to me at this moment, including really odd, experimental noise. So I made a folder of stuff, including some pretty out-there sketches. A few hours later, she sent “Cardigan,” fully written in a voice memo. That’s when I realized that this was unusual—just the focus and clarity of her ideas. It was pretty astonishing. Over the next couple months, this would just happen; all of a sudden, I’d get a voice memo. And then another. Eventually, it was so inspiring that I wrote more ideas that were specifically in response to what she was writing.

When did it occur to you that an album was forming? There were moments when we started to reflect on what we were doing. The first three songs we wrote were “Cardigan,” “Seven,” and “Peace.” “Cardigan” is probably the closest to a pop song on the record—it’s this epic narrative. And then “Seven” was this nostalgic, wistful, emotional folk song. And then when she wrote “Peace,” I realized she can do anything! She is so versatile. It’s just a harmonized bassline with a pulse and a drone, and she basically wrote a Joni Mitchell love song to it. She only did one vocal take, and that’s what’s on the record.

Were you communicating through the whole process? Yeah. We were pretty much in touch daily for three or four months by text and phone calls. Some of it was about production and restructuring things but a lot of it was just excitement. We both felt that this was some of the best work we have done. That was a strange and surreal thing to have happen, especially at this time.

At one point I was randomly doxxed by right-wing conspiracy theorists who misidentified me as an Antifa organizer in Ohio, long story, but it was in the middle of all this work. I didn’t want to stress her out so I didn’t tell her. But at some point she laughed and said, “So you’re a notorious anarchist?” And I’m like, “Yeah, I was gonna mention that."

How did the collaboration with Bon Iver on “Exile” come about? Taylor wrote that one with the singer-songwriter William Bowery. When Taylor sent it to me as a voice memo, she sang both the male and female parts - as much as she could fit in without losing her breath. We talked about who she was imagining joining her, and she loves Justin [Vernon]’s voice in Bon Iver and Big Red Machine. She was like, “Oh my god, I would die if he would do it. It would be so perfect.” I didn’t want to put pressure on Justin as his friend, so I said, “Well, it depends on if he’s inspired by the song but I know he thinks you’re rad.” Which he does.

So I sent him the song and he was really into it. He tweaked some parts and added parts as well - the bridge where he says, “Step right out.” The end too, and his choral parts. It was fun because Justin and I work on a lot of stuff together, so it was very easy and natural. At some point I felt like a superfan, hearing two of my favorite singers. This was all being done remotely, but it was one of those moments where your head hits the back of the wall and you’re like, “Fuck. Okay.”

There is some fan debate over William Bowery’s identity - I’m not familiar with him. I’m not either. I haven’t actually met him because of social distancing, which is kind of funny. I think he’s a friend.

Did you feel the pressure of working with an artist at Taylor Swift’s level? I tried hard not to think about the scope or scale of making a record that would be heard by millions and millions of people. I did a pretty good job of tuning that out. Music for me is an emotional necessity. It’s therapy. It’s what I live and breathe. All these songs are things I was working on already, and we both felt there was some serendipity in the fact that we ended up in this situation together. I just stayed focused on that, on making this as good as we can.

As the release got closer, I almost thought it wouldn’t happen. Or maybe I just told myself that! The National guys will tell you the same thing - I tend to work until the last possible minute. I didn’t really have a moment to be like, “Holy shit! People are gonna hear this.” We were joking about it last night. I said, “So this actually happened?” And she goes, “Yep!”

What was it like working under total secrecy? There was no outside influence at all. In fact, nobody knew, including her label, until hours before it was launched. For someone who’s been in this glaring spotlight for 15 years, it’s really liberating to have some privacy and work on her own terms. She deserves that. At times, if I wanted friends to play on the record, it was a little difficult because you can’t send a file with her vocals. But everyone was cool. At the end, I reached out to some wizards just to add bits, and that was nice. It was kind of fun: “What? Why can’t you tell me, Aaron?” Then they start guessing. Everyone made a game out of it.

Is there any music that was left on the cutting room floor? There are things I feel could still be songs. It does feel like an ongoing collaboration. Now Taylor is starting to help with other things. We’re bouncing other ideas off each other, whether it’s Big Red Machine or other things. There’s a community aspect. I think that’s how music should be.

[ayellowcurtain]

Is it fair to say that the druck fandom is more socially engaged and critical in their analysis to match the nature of the show, while wtfock fandom is much more light hearted and laid back? Less critically analytical of the show and uneasy about covering controversial topics so collectively gravitate to simplier matters or superficial matters in its place, which in turn helps to create an easier environment for anybody to participate in?

I don’t know, anon. In parts, yes. I wouldn’t say it’s completely fair for a couple of reasons: 

My very long, confusing explanation as to why under the cut. 

Like I said before, my problem with Druck comes almost completely from the fandom. It’s like Druck and their fandom are opposite things. 

It has very little to do with the actual show or how they’re engaging or critical with the conversations they’re trying to start. If I had to complain about Druck - the show, it would be how they drag their dramas for too long. How their hell weeks most of the time last a month instead. Even with my dislike for that part of the show, it doesn’t make me stop watching the show, stop understanding how good they are at telling their stories. 

With the fandom, it seems like everything it’s dragged too far. 

While Druck is trying to start and keep important conversations going, the fandom is like: there’s no room for conversation. They set their mind with their opinions and if you disagree, you’re out. There’s no room for mistakes, for healthy conversation, no space for growth. And this type of behavior isn’t new, it started back in the day, with that druck is the superior remake bullshit and now it’s everything else, and I feel like this “no room for conversation” began with that entitled-ness of the superior remake. 

Now with WTFock: I think a lot of this laid back and light-hearted-ness comes from two things: 

When WTFock started, the tumblr fandom was like...ten, fifteen people. When the tag had fifteen different people talking, it was a busy day for the fandom. So it felt like it was a small secret only a few people were watching so there was not much room for entitled-ness. We were all just chilling, enjoying the remake that seemed to be the smaller one. 

The second thing is: WTFock is chaotic. Not only the show that can be real messy at times but also the fandom. People freak the fuck out over the tiniest things, they make big deal out of nothing, they make memes left and right out of everything. 

During the second half of Robbe’s season and on, things got bigger and obviously, more serious conversations and drama started happening. And also WTFock started making bigger and worse mistakes, all leading up to the catastrophe that was season 4. But the fifteen people that were here from the start were people that would listen, that would be able to listen to each other, even if disagreeing about things and so when the fandom got bigger, the newbies understood that this was not a place of completely canceling others for having different opinions. 

But the WTFock fandom knows when the show fucks it up. Most of the time, it’s just not a matter of canceling whoever thinks differently than you. 

One example of many is: When the attack happened during Robbe’s season, there were people in shock as to why they would keep such a violent scene to traumatize part of their audience. There were also people that thought a scene like that one was needed for people to understand that not always you’ll be able to make out with your lover in a public space and be safe. That in the perfect world, that scene would have a happy ending, yes, but that it’s not everyone’s reality and it should be shown. 

Do you see the difference? There’s no complete right or completely wrong, both opinions are valid and were considered. Sure, people left after the attack because it was triggering to them and they’re not wrong, you shouldn’t watch something that only hurts you, but people stayed and neither of them erases the experience of the other. 

That was just an example, but the same happened when the sex scene was so graphic for some and normal for others. There is room for conversation and for respectful different opinions. 

And when things actually went too far (when people started overanalyzing the sex scenes, when people started finding excuses for K**o’s behavior) they were rightfully called out, and IF needed, put aside from the fandom. So I don’t think WTFock picks the easier conversations, no, but I do think they can understand different opinions, and, if needed, they’ll have difficult conversations and call people out on their bullshit. 

I’ll put it like this: 

There’s a friends’ hang out session, ok? It’s 15, maybe 20 people that are scheduling to sit down, relax and watch their show together, eat some snacks, drink some stuff. Whatever. 

If it’s WTFock, you might be on time, you’ll sit and relax and watch the show with your friends, some people might be five minutes late, and make noises, but it’s okay, we’re all chilling. Maybe stop from time to time to eat snacks and drink while having the harder conversations the show failed to explain completely and justify. It’s nice, maybe there are different opinions, but we’re all hearing each other and respecting if we disagree on shit. After the conversation, and after making stupid jokes about soggy food or something, we’ll all sit back down and continue with our WTFock date night. If you come late and you’re saying shit that’s disrespectful, and racist and shit, we’ll look at you and ask for you to leave and we’ll move on once you’re out. 

If it’s Druck, you might get there on time, but somehow, the others are already watching the show, and if you make such a thing as a single noise, you’ll get ugly stares left and right. You might find a place to sit down and watch quietly and you’ll start enjoying, loving the show even, but you’ll often hear people judging, analyzing, not only the show but you for being so disrespectful for making a sound. How rude of you for having loud sneakers that made the wood floor squeak. You’ll watch the show, and god it’s such a good show, but suddenly, someone stops it and you notice that it’s time for the snacks and drinks but nobody asks for you to join, so you sit aside and eat a few chips whenever you can reach the bowl. They’re talking about the show, and you have a completely different experience than their of it, but if you say it out loud, they’ll judge you and ask you to leave if you don’t agree, and while you’re walking away, you’ll hear people whispering rude comments about you while praising a show that’s a lot about respecting differences. 

[timetoresurface]

secrets (1) / BBH

Y/N x CEO BAEKHYUN

First part 7k words

Will be more

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5

Hopping from one job to another, you really wanted to keep your position at Banking and Finance. If you would have to describe your perfect work environment, it definitely wouldn’t be at that stupid finance magazine that had the worst coffee machine in history. But hey, it did pay the bills, and that’s what everyone does, right? A perfect job doesn’t exist, right? A perfect life doesn’t exist, right? Only in cheap romantic comedies was life perfect, and you certainly weren’t in any. At least the last time you checked.

Of course, you have secrets. Everyone has secrets. It’s completely normal to have a few secrets. They’re not even that big, to begin with. For example, you haven’t told your roommate it was you who lost her favourite sweater. You could have sworn you had last seen it hanging at your office, but it wasn’t there anymore. So now she thinks she misplaced it herself, and you were in the clear of her wrath. You also hadn’t told your parents you didn’t get the promotion because you were never even considered for a promotion. You simply told your family you were just too young for such a big responsibility. Still, your company would favour you when another spot opened up. Sometimes you just like to hide a few details in your favour. You were sure you would get the next promotion if you just worked a bit harder and read less horoscopes during the day.

“Hello Y/N, would you like the usual?” Your favourite barista asked you when you entered your local coffee shop. Ever since you started working at your company, you would get the same order every morning. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Yes, please.” You quickly send him a grateful smile which made his ears turn a little red. Of course, you also liked the fact that said barista had a little crush on you. You’re flattered, to say the least, he was a handsome young man named Jungkook, but he was too young for you. He’s still in college for crying out loud. His mother still does his laundry. 

“Coming right up.” And of he went making you a cup of coffee with the right amount of soy milk. Just how you liked it.

“Thank you so much.” You took your drink from his hand, and your fingers brushed for just a second, but you felt nothing. He was handsome, indeed, and if you were younger, your heart would have sped up, but there was just nothing there. 

You walked the familiar route toward your office building. You worked for one of the top banking magazines, well they didn’t really call it a magazine, more like a weekly newspaper or something. You didn’t exactly know to be honest, but the most crucial part is that you have a job at a top company. You only lied about one or two things on your resume, it’s not like they check everything. It wasn’t even lying, you just added a couple of things you might not necessarily do every week, but sometimes plan on doing. You would most definitely like to invest, you just didn’t have the money or knowledge.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N.” The old security guy greeted you with a beaming smile. You have always been his favourite, and that’s only because you tell him to have a beautiful day from time to time. People who work in banking are most definitely not considered friendly or social or even human for that matter.

“Good morning, any wild plans for this weekend?” You asked him while you badged yourself in. 

“My grand daughter’s first ballet recital is this Saturday.” His timid smile told you everything you needed to know, he was nervous.

“How lovely, wish her luck.” You told him while giving him a thumbs-up, he gladly reciprocated. He’s kind of your best friend in this building. Sometimes you even snuck out of the office to drink a cup of coffee with the older security guard, and he would tell you all kind of stories about his family.

Your company was located on the top three floors of the building. The other levels were some other magazines you had never heard of in your life. You just needed to remember you worked for Banking and Finance, a well-respected weekly newspaper. You had only started working here a couple months ago, well almost a year now. Before that, you didn’t really do anything with money, except for spending it on useless stuff like new boots. Boots you could never wear at your office because there is a strict dress code. Men should wear suits, and women should wear knee-length skirts and a perfectly fitted blazer in neutral colours like black, blue, grey,… you know: boring clothes.

“Y/N can you please look through this research about the acceleration…” your co-worker Mina started the moment you entered the workspace. She kept on going about acceleration, and you had no clue what the hell she was talking about. You have worked here for almost a year, and you still didn’t have a clue about banking and their accessions and analysis. You quickly learned to simply nod, remember a word and browse google with said word. You weren’t caught yet, so you must be doing something right.

“… also, can you please get me some coffee?” She ended her monologue while throwing some papers on your desk. You silently nodded, and she finally left you so you could take off your coat. This was a new record, you thought, you were in five minutes early, and you still couldn’t take a breather. The moment you entered was the moment hell began. With a soft sigh, you made your way over to the kitchen area to make you co-worker some coffee she could have easily made herself. News quickly spread that you were making coffee, so everyone wanted a cup. Lazy bastards. The coffee ain't even good.

“Y/N can you please come in?” Your floor manager asked you when you gave everyone their cups of coffee. With a quick nod, you made your way over to the manager’s own desk. You were all seated in cubicles, it was to monitor and motivate or whatever, while your manager requested a private office with a glass door, which he never really closed. What’s the point of a closed office if you never close the god damn door?

“How can I help you today, sir?” You asked him while he offered you a seat. He tried not to glance at your bare legs while you seated yourself and your skirt rode up a bit. It wasn’t exactly proven, but you thought he only hired you because of your looks. Not to say you thought of yourself to be the prettiest girl out there, but you were most certainly the only women under thirty that had applied for this job. It most definitely worked in your favour.

“I want to offer you a chance to grow.” He quickly started, trying to keep his eyes on your face and not your white blouse that might have been a little see-through if you looked really hard. Which he tried not to do.

“One of our top advertisers is hosting an event this weekend, and I would like for you to be there. To represent our brand and gain a few connections.” He began, and you were delighted he didn’t use complicated banking terms you had no clue about. This you understood.

“This weekend?” You asked him uncertainly. You had made plans with your roommate to binge desperate housewives while stuffing yourself with bad food you were not allowed to eat during the week. Or at least you told your roommate you never went to McDonald’s during the week. She didn’t need to know you liked your chicken nuggets every Wednesday. It is no crime to hide your bad habits from the people you loved. 

“Yes, this Saturday afternoon. I booked you a flight for tonight, so you have maximal prepare time. Your flight back is Sunday morning. I hope you didn’t make any important plans this weekend?” He asked you suspiciously, as if he knew you had no intentions of doing anything this weekend. Well, not important plans, but they were fun plans, and you had to cancel them.

“No, not at all sir. I’ll be there at the event.” You fake smiled up at him before shaking his hand in fake enthusiasm. You really wanted to earn more money and get a promotion, but you really hated this job.

“That’s great Y/N.” He shouted after you when you exited his office, his gaze lingering on your ass. Pencil skirts were only designed to please men, and make women feel uncomfortable. 

“What was that all about?” Your colleague next to you whispered. His name is Oh Sehun, and he might be as clueless as you are. He was really hired because of his good looks, and he knew it. He knew he was handsome, and he tried to get everything out of his good looks. He got a promotion after only three months at the company without actually doing any work. 

“I’m going to an advertisers event this weekend.” You whispered back, barely hiding your proudness of the fact that you had been chosen.

“Oh, yeah I was wondering who he was going to ask to replace me. Good luck Y/N.” Sehun told you while returning his focus on his screen where he was playing some dumb cards game. It did hurt your pride that you hadn’t been chosen to do this particular task, but you could prove to  be better than Sehun. You could prove to your manager that you were ready for more and that you’re more competent than Sehun. At least you tried to remember some of the banking vocabulary unlike Sehun.

“Thanks.” You ended the conversation that had already ended for him. Looking over your desk, you noticed the research about the acceleration or something Mina had talked about only an hour ago, and you sighed. A deep and heavy sigh of someone who was lost in the woods and couldn’t find the highway even though they heard cars passing. That’s how it feels to be stuck at something you understand shit about. That’s life, my dad would say, just make sure that you can pay the bills. He should be a life coach, he’s very inspiring. Really.

—

“What should I wear? What kind of event is it going to be? Garden party? Cocktail party? High-class reception where everyone wears black party? Why didn’t they tell me?” You were sat in the middle of your room with all your clothes thrown around. Your best friend Jennie stood in your doorway with a shocked expression on her face. How could she be when she found you in this position every other weekend. 

“Calm down, we can do this.” She took your arm and made you stand up. You were both standing there and staring at the mess you made in under five minutes. Never underestimate the power of a woman under stress. They can fly high and crash all at once. It’s beautiful.

“Why didn’t they tell me?” You screamed in despair while covering your face with your shaking hands. You wanted to drop down on your knees, but Jennie held you in place.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so melodramatic. Just pack one of your work suits, a stylish black dress and maybe the cute new green skirt with white flowers if there is a garden party involved.” How did she always sound so logical? Why was she so put together? Why weren’t you like her?

“Don’t look at me like that, go and find the clothes I told you about and I will look for some shoes.” You quickly started looking for the clothes she told you about while she did her thing, organizing while in search of something. She’s a teacher, so she’s used to dramatic kids who can’t find their favourite pencil or something, so you were like a calm walk in the park compared to these kids. Well, maybe not a quiet walk, maybe more of a rushed morning jog through the park. Still better than fifteen screaming kids.

“I have a dark green suit. My perfect black dress that’s not work-appropriate but could be advertisers event approved. And I’ve got a blue summer dress if it is an outside event with fancy cocktails.” You proudly checked your mental list. This wasn’t so difficult after all.

“You also have a comfortable pyjama with you and enough underwear to be gone for two weeks. You’re good to go.” Jennie finished off your list while closing your black carry-on. 

“Are you going to get changed into something more comfortable or are you supposed to wear a pencil skirt to travel?” She asked you eying you creased skirt and half open white blouse showing of your pink bra.

“I’m just going to change into some jeans and shirt, I’m not working while I’m on the plane, right? Work only starts tomorrow at the event.” You told her while looking for your favourite pair of jeans. You could have sworn you just saw them somewhere in here.

“Get changed. I’ll drive you to the airport to make sure you’re there on time. I don’t think I could stand you without a job again.” She jokingly replied before leaving your room.

“I did do all the laundry back then.” You yelled at her.

“Yes, and my white underwear is still pink because of it.” She yelled back at you, and the both of you laughed at the memory. Why isn’t there a class to be a good housewife? You know, some cleaning and cooking classes put together? 

“I told you before, the machine did that, I didn’t do anything.” You said while walking through the apartment looking for your pants.

“Keep telling that to yourself.” She giggled while pouring a glass of water.

“I will.” 

“Please put on some pants. I don’t need to see these extremely white legs of yours.” She commanded when she saw you shamelessly running through your shared place in pink underwear. 

“I don’t know where they are.” You sighed defeated while plopping down on the orange sofa that took up whole your shared living space.

“They’re on your bed Y/N.” She sighed, and you quickly went looking for your best pair trying to avoid the stare Jennie gave you. Like you were some lost child who was in desperate need of some guidance. 

“Are you ready? Do you have everything with you?” She asked you after she drove you to the airport. You nodded your head, trying to hide the sick feeling in your stomach.

“You’re going to be fine.” She finally said while giving you a hug. 

“Of course, I’ll be fine, I’m Y/N, a fierce young woman.”

“That’s the spirit.” And with these words, she left you in the large departures hall of the airport. A place you hated. Let’s hope this is not going to be like the first episode of lost? Or worse, the Grey’s Anatomy crash in the woods episode. Lexie was your favourite. Rest in peace.

—

“Everything has been taken care of. Please enjoy your stay.” The receptionist handed you a card with a number on it, and you returned her smile. 

“Thank you so much for your assistance.” You grabbed your things and made your way over to the elevator.

“Oh, miss Y/L/N, there will be a car ready at eleven AM to get you to your destination. Please be ready.” You simply nodded your head and pressed the elevator button. Room 303. That must mean you’re on the third floor. A ping sound awakened your internal struggles to stay awake after the short flight you just had. You were never really a big fan of flying, and most definitely not alone, but you’re still alive. That’s good enough for now. 

“Hold the elevator, please.” A young man shouted before throwing his whole body into the small space. He hurriedly pressed a random button and regained his posture. His jacked had fallen off, but he didn’t do anything to fix it which weirdly irritated you. Usually you weren’t the nitpicking type.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m in a bit of a rush.” He finally noticed his blazer to be in a compromising position and fixed his appearance. He glanced into the mirror and was carelessly checking himself out. He did look good, but boy did he know it. His hands run through his hair as if it didn’t already look perfect.

“That’s okay, glad you made it safely into the elevator without losing a piece of yourself.” You deadpanned. 

“That would’ve been a disaster.” He answered you with a big smile that would make most ladies faint, but somehow only irritated you. Luckily for the both of you this is a short elevator ride, and not a three hour car ride. He wouldn’t have survived. 

“Slightly inconvenient as I’m in a rush to get to bed.” The elevator made another noise signalling your floor, and you gladly stepped out of the small space to get away from the self-centred man. 

“I’m Baekhyun by the way.” You simply stared at him before the elevator doors close themselves. Why would he even introduce himself to you? You would hopefully never see him again, so an introduction seemed a bit unnecessary to you. Never mind the guy, there are more important things to worry about.

There had been a folder with information about the event and the advertiser. Apparently, it was an essential online banking thing, and the event would be something like a walking dinner, but at brunch time. So a walking brunch. In other words, the perfect occasion to wear your flowy blue dress as it didn’t seem too uptight of an event. 

The phone in your hotel room rang, signalling your car would be ready in five. You quickly put on your shoes and grabbed your bag, making your way downstairs. You weren’t going to be late on your first solo event, you were going to be politely on time, so your company would look good.

“Hi there, going anywhere?” You turned around and looked questionably at the stranger. It was the man from last night. The man who introduced himself without reason. The man who knew how good-looking he was. You couldn’t disagree with him at this moment. He wore a light blue suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow he made it work. He brushed the blazer behind is back and put his hand inside of his pockets. Underneath his fitted blazer was an even more fitted white shirt that left little to the imagination. You had to gather all your self-respect to not stare.

“I just like standing at the entrance of a hotel without having a reason whatsoever.” You told him while looking away from him. If someone saw the two of you now, they would think you matched outfits to go to a wedding. They couldn’t be more wrong, but you were annoyed by his perfectness. Why did he have to look so good? And why didn’t he leave you alone?

“What a coincidence, me too.” He said while he took place next to you. Not a word was exchanged, but there was something else. Awkwardness. 

“So, where are you going?” He tried to ask you again.

“Something for work. I don’t exactly know where, but I know that a car was arranged to take me to my destination. “

“I’m not lying, but I’m in the exact same situation.” He tried to connect with your eyes, but you simply kept staring down at your dress. Maybe it might be a bit too short for a work event. You were quickly interrupted when a car stopped right before you and Baekhyun. The driver quickly got out and started to bow before us. Not a simple greeting bow, but an aggressive ‘I” m sorry” bow.

“Miss Y/L/N and mister Byun. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but is there a possibility if you two could share this ride? It’s the same destination, and we’re understaffed at the moment.” The driver seemed hesitant and scared of our reaction, and you immediately felt terrible for the guy.

“If it is the same final destination, I don’t see a problem with it.” Baekhyun told the guy right before opening the door. He looked over at you and motioned for you to get in. 

“I can open my own doors.” You told him while entering the luxurious car. You hadn’t expected this from your company who always seems to be in saving mode. They could better spend the money from this car into a better coffee machine. 

“A simple thank you would have been enough.” He whispered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. He quickly closed your door and made his way over to the other side of the car. You couldn’t help yourself to look at him. Even when he was simply sat in a vehicle while tapping on his phone, he had this presence that couldn’t be ignored, but you tried to.

The drive was short and comfortable, but your nerves kept you wide awake. This would be your first event, and not only your first it’s also your first solo event for a company you knew shit about. How do you represent a company when you don’t know what they stand for?

“Are you nervous?” The strange man next to you asked. There was genuine concern in his eyes, but you looked away. If he was going to the same event probably meant he worked in the sector. If he worked in the same industry, he would probably be a competitor. If he was a competitor, it would be best to hide all your weaknesses, or he could take down your company in a matter of seconds. Or worse, he could make you jobless again, and you weren’t ready for that. 

“I’m excellent, but thanks for asking.” You kept your gaze focused forward, and your hands fidgeted with your short dress.

“You look great by the way. You’ll do great.” You felt his eyes burning your skin, but you tried to ignore the tension he had created with his statement.

“Thank you, but I will be great because of what I can, and not because of my looks.” 

“I didn’t mean to…-“ but he was interrupted by the driver opening your door. You quickly made your way out of the car and tried to contain your surprise. The event was huge, and by huge, you mean it to be very claustrophobic. There were people everywhere in all shapes and sizes mingling and giggling. 

“You might want to close your mouth.” Baekhyun told you while standing casually next to you. He didn’t seem to care about his surroundings. He’s probably used to these kinds of events. 

“Let’s get our name badges.” He took hostage of your hand and guided you toward the entrance of the building. It was a modern building with glass walls and plants everywhere. Some people were smoking outside with a mimosa in hand. Others were inside enjoying the view while nipping on a fancy looking sandwich. 

The event was too grand for you, and the worst part was that you felt underdressed. You have never been the type to underdress, but you’ve gotten so used to your boring office life, you made a mistake. Men were dressed in colourless suits, and women were dressed in fancy dresses in neutral colours. You checked your outfit in the mirror and cringed at yourself. You weren’t covered in a neutral colour, no you were clothed in a light blue dress that was on the shorter side with a girly floral pattern. The only design you spotted at the event were polka dots. 

“You can go first.” Baekhyun whispered into your ear right before shoving you toward the table with badges. You tried to find your name, but couldn’t.

“Can I help you miss?” A nice lady dressed in a black pantsuit asked you. She glanced at you, and you knew what she was thinking. She doesn’t belong here, let’s help her.

“Are you here with mister Byun?” She eyed you up and down, and her eyes suddenly turned venomous. 

“No, I’m with Banking and Finance. I’m replacing Oh Sehun for this event.” You ignored her glare.

“What’s your name?” You could almost hear the annoyance laced in her tone, but she really tried to hide it. What had you done wrong? 

“Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” You told here with a bright smile she ignored. 

“I see.” Was all that she said.

“Banking and Finance?” Baekhyun asked you while the woman was looking for your badge. 

“Yes.” You answered his question.

“You don’t care where I work?” He turned his back toward the table with badges so he could look at you.

“I would like to see your badge first, so I know you’re not lying when I ask you.” You simply told him, and a chuckle escaped him. He looked like someone who got everything handed to him. He looked like trouble, and you couldn’t afford trouble.

“I don’t need a badge at these events. They all know who I am.” He stated with a smirk.

“Well, I don’t care then.” His mouth twitched, and you were pretty sure he was fighting a smile.

“Here you are.” The woman gave you your badge, and you thankfully accepted. You turned back to Baekhyun.

“It was nice to meet you, mister Byun.” You said, hoping he would understand that you wanted to leave.

“Pleasure was all mine miss Y/L/N.” He said before grabbing your hand and giving it a quick peck. You thanked him one final time and made your way inside the event. 

People looked your way as if they knew it was your first time. Some people whispered to each other with a fake smile plastered on their faces. You tried to ignore the unwanted attention, but it was hard. Maybe a good mimosa would help you. 

“So, who are you?” A man in a dark green suit asked you when you returned from the mimosa stand. He was tall, incredibly tall. The man was perfection in neutral hues; his hair and eyes were the colour of dark roasted beans, but his skin was all tanned. He was skinny, but the way his clothes hung gave away the muscle beneath, and in his wake were heads turning to watch him go. You quickly glanced at his badge and noticed the name of the investor. He must be important.

“I’m Y/N from Banking and Finance.” He seemed a little impressed.

“I’m Chanyeol, and this is my event.” He held out his hand, and you gladly shook his hand. 

“You don’t look like someone who works in finance.” He simply stated, eying you suspiciously as if you had crashed his party.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m a real employee of Banking and Finance.” You tried to lighten the mood, but this was the second person judging you from your looks.

“You must definitely do not disappoint.” You grew slightly uncomfortable, but as it was his party, you simply smiled. 

“The event most definitely doesn’t disappoint.” You tried to change the subject.

“Thank you. I’ve recently discovered the true meaning of brunch, and I might say I’m obsessed with it at the moment.” He told you truthfully before taking a big sip from his mimosa.

“How come?” You said after nipping from your drink. You weren’t here to get drunk even though you needed the liquid luck.

“My mum does brunches, I thought it was something older people did, but I was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have been more wrong. The secret to a happy life is a good brunch paired with a delicious mimosa.”

“Ah, I like you already, but I have to leave. There is someone aggressively signalling me to get to the kitchen. I apologize.”

“No problem. If there’s an emergency in the kitchen, it is more important than anything and anyone in this room.”

“I’ll catch you later.”

Chanyeol had been the opening for many men to strike up a conversation with you. They never tried to talk to you about anything finance related. Some didn’t even ask you where you worked. Some couldn’t even keep their gaze on your face for longer than a minute, and you grew more uncomfortable as the hours passed. 

“If you could, please excuse me.” You told the people around you. They simply nodded and kept their conversation going about something sports-related. 

You quickly made your way over to an empty room. You were done with these people pretending to enjoy each others company. You were just fed up with people commenting you didn’t look like someone who could work in finance. You wanted to go home, but you promised your boss you would represent your company well. You couldn’t leave before dessert was eaten.

“You can do this Y/N. Just ignore these bastards.” You repeated to yourself in the dark room like a mantra.

“Everything okay?” Baekhyun asked you, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. You quickly tried to compose yourself, but nearly knocked something down. He came to your rescue and grabbed the expensive-looking clock before it hit the ground. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” You grabbed the clock from his hands and put it back in place before returning to the party. You heard him say something, but ignored it and kept on walking. Chanyeol grabbed your attention and mentioned you to come over to him. He seemed to be speaking to some other young men in expensive suits. 

“Miss Y/L/N, let me introduce you to some important people. Everyone this is Y/N from Banking and Finance…” and that’s how he introduced you to some influential people in the business. They asked you some questions about your function, but only out of politeness as they didn’t care about what you did. They conversed with each other leaving you out of the conversation unless it was something about the event. 

You couldn’t have been happier the moment dessert came, and some people already started to leave. Chanyeol tied to convince you to stay longer, but you lied to him and told him you had to get straight to the airport as you were already late. He personally helped you book a car that would take you to your hotel in no time. 

You needed a drink. You needed a massive drink that could calm your nerves. Luckily for you, your company had booked you a room in a hotel with a big fancy bar. You know that kind of bar where they serve every drink imaginable. Their menu had four pages dedicated to cocktails only, and you couldn’t have been happier. Well, you would have been happier if the event would’ve gone better. No one would remember the presence of Banking and Finance at this event, and that was all on you. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked you nicely, and you simply told him the first cocktail that had caught your eye. Something with passion fruit. “Coming right up.” He said you before starting your drink.

Why were you such a mess? Why couldn’t you be smart like the others? Why couldn’t you just lock yourself up for a week and study everything you needed to know about banking. You don’t write any articles, you don’t get invited to big meetings because you’re known as research girl who makes coffee. The bartender gave you your drink, and you almost drank the whole thing in one go. He looked at you strangely, but you simply nodded your head. His hands immediately started to make you another, and you couldn’t care if he made you the same drink or something else. You needed the sweetness of the drink to remind you of good summer times with your friends during college. You needed the alcohol to burn your throat to tell you of the times when you were too drunk to function. Too drunk to be reminded of the fact that life sucks, and you really thought life would be better at this age. 

You continued your drinking speed for a good hour, and four cocktails were already swimming in your stomach. You felt the light buzz, and your eyes started to wander. A man is drowning his sorrow in the elixir at one end of the bar, and a young couple flirts shamelessly at the other end with the nectar in hand. The drug seems to have very different effects, depending on the situation of its consumption. There’s a slightly larger woman in the corner table. She holds in hand a large beer, and there is a plate in front of her that seems to hold the remains of what was a serving of nachos.

“Miss Y/N!” Someone called out your name from behind you, and you immediately recognized the low voice of mister Byun Baekhyun, the devil himself. “I thought you were headed straight back home. Didn’t you have a flight to catch?” He asked you while seating himself beside you at the bar. He signed the bartender for a whiskey, and in under a minute he was drinking next to you. Uninvited.

“Aren’t you going to answer my questions?”

“Do I have to?” You took another nip from your drink. You really needed to drink more to ignore the annoyance you felt when Baekhyun was near.

“You can also tell me something about yourself.” He told you. The left side of his lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god-like face; casting a spell of lust to eyes that dare look his way. You looked away.

“Please annoy someone else while I’m still asking nicely.”

“Bad day?” He asked you, all cockiness aside. Again he surprised you with a genuine interest in your wellbeing.

“You were there.” You finally gave in and turned yourself toward him almost falling from your chair. 

“You were always surrounded by people. Isn’t that what these events are meant for?” He asked you with confusion in his eyes.

“If these people were interested in my work and my company it would have been fine. It could’ve been great actually.” You tried to explain to him, but he still didn’t understand your troubled mind. He thought you did well.

“They were interested in you.” He tried to reason with you. Boy, has he even spoken to a tipsy girl? You don’t just reason with them, you listen and silently nod.

“Yes exactly. In me, and not my company.” You started to grow more frustrated. Every sip you took from your drink got you more fired up. 

“Do you like your company that much that you would let it steal your spotlight?” He asked you bewildered. He didn’t seem to understand why you would hide in the background.

“I don’t actually, but I would like for once to be appreciated for what I do and not for how I look like.” This got him to be more understanding.

“Well, tell me something about what you do.” His question caught you off guard. You ignored his stare while ordering a new round for the two of you. 

“I don’t want to bore you.” You finally told him after a moment of silence.

“We work in the same field. I don’t think you can bore me that easily.”

“You’re doing it again.” You sighed, resting your head in your hands in defeat. Men just didn’t understand. They were always looked at with respect.

“What?” The liquor made his cheeks turn red, and you almost wanted to touch them. Almost.

“I want to bore you with my knowledge. I want people to look up certain words after they had a conversation with me. I want to bore people.” Your voice grew louder, but Baekhyun didn’t say anything about it. He seemed to be rooted in thought.

“Are you confident that you can bore me?” His voice sounded calm and collected, but his eyes showed an intense passion. 

“Of course not.” You sunk lower in your seat while taking a sip from your new cocktail. That was your fifth in under two hours. New record.

“That’s your first mistake.” He firmly stated. He straightened his back when he realized you were intently looking up at him.

“What?” You asked him when he didn’t continue his inspiring monologue. 

“You need to be more confident. You need to believe you can bore me with your knowledge. You need to be convinced that I will look up words on google after our conversation.”

“Look, thank you for listening and helping, but you can’t help me with being reasonable.” You turned away from him, hoping this would end the tiring conversation.

“What do you need me to do?” His gaze lingered on you, but it didn’t feel awkward.

“Don’t be reasonable.” You simply stated with your fingers wrapped around your drink like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Is there anything else bothering you?” 

“I hate my job Baekhyun. Everything is bothering me.” You spit out, and you immediately regretted your tone. You might not have been the nicest to the young man, but he didn’t deserve the attitude you were serving right now. He didn’t seem fazed by your rudeness.

“Why don’t you just quit your job?” The question was so damn simple but was so much more complicated to answer.

“It’s not that easy.” You finally said.

“How come?” His eyes tried to find yours, but you were deliberately avoiding his gaze. You didn’t want to see his pity. 

“Because that would be my third failed career.”

“Some people need time to find out what they want to do in life. That’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m almost in my thirties, and I’ve accomplished nothing.”

“I hardly believe that. What is troubling you?”

“I check other people’s research. I bring them coffee, and let me tell you something: the coffee isn’t even that good. It’s terrible. I refuse to drink that tasteless brown liquid. They spend money on a fancy car to drive me to an event, but they can’t even spend money on a better coffee machine…”

“… I’ve lied to get this job. I told them I spoke French and that I had experience in investing. Like what the hell would I invest in? A shoe? My bank account never reaches anything above 100…” You were on a roll. Baekhyun had opened the gates of your personal hell: the inside of your brain.

“…And don’t get me started on Oh Sehun. He barely puts in any effort, and I’m not saying that I’m an angel in that department, but I at least try to understand the shit people are saying. All he does is play card games all day long, and try to suck up to people…”

“…My parents are also so proud of my new job, and they tell me that everyday. I can not just leave something when it makes my parents proud. I’m glad they forgot about the time I wanted to start my own catering business. I’m still paying off all the debt that stupid thing caused…” You continued with the word waterfall that came out of your mouth unwillingly. Why didn’t you just stop? Baekhyun didn’t care, but he kept listening to your rambling.

“…How was I supposed to know that family got bankrupt right after the wedding I catered? How was I supposed to know?…”

“…I never told my roommate I slept with her boyfriend the day after they broke up. What kind of person am I? Who does something like that?…” His eyes stayed on your face, never scanning your body, and you felt oddly comforted. 

“… Maybe I should give the coffeeshop guy a chance. He’s the only one willing to have sex with me when I wear these hideous and most importantly, boring outfits for work. He deserves an award for that, so I should just give to him right?…” He kept sipping from his drink while you had your meltdown, but he wasn’t judging. His eyes were unreadably, but there was no judgment in them. Of that, you were sure. 

“… My ex is engaged! Can you imagine? That’s my second ex-boyfriend who got engaged with the girl that came after me. I did all the hard work of training him to be better, and she just got it for free. Without fights or dirty stuff in the bathroom. How does that make me feel? Well, let me tell you, I feel like shit that everyone I date seems to find the one after we break up. I had to explain to him that cumin in me doesn’t equal me having an orgasm for crying out loud. I did that for the other girl …”

“… My colleague Mina is the biggest bitch in the office. Everyone likes her and adores her, but she’d walk all over them to get what she wants. She knows I don’t know anything about banking, so she always gives me the most difficult tasks. I think she wants to break me, but I wont. I water her plant with coffee sometimes. I want the plant to die…”

“… Why does the coffee suck at work? Why don’t they give us something better? Coffee is a basic thing, you know. I deserve some good coffee…” You looked into his eyes and realized you had just blurted out all your secrets to a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.”

“I did ask what was troubling you.”

“I feel dizzy. I’m heading up. Until hopefully never.” You quickly got up and made your way to the elevator, ignoring Baekhyun’s calls. You were too embarrassed and too drunk to deal with him. You need sleep, and maybe a good cry. He tried to catch up to you in the elevator, but you pressed the button to close the doors. 

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 5

Catch up on Chapter 4 here

“No, nothing’s wrong,” You hear him exhale smoke, his breath making noise in the microphone. “We got booked to do a show for one of the big rock stations in L.A..”

You realize now he’s looking for someone to share in his good news. “That’s amazing!”

“Right, it’s awesome. But here’s the thing: they’re not selling any of the tickets to the public. It’s gonna be all contest and giveaway shit. So the team needs a headcount as soon as possible for the guest list so we set aside enough tickets. So if you and Mary and Theo were wanting to see us live, here’s your chance.”

You blink, stunned at the twist the conversation had taken. “Guest list?”

or

Van’s back in L.A., and you cancel all your plans to see him perform for the first time.

A/N: It’s been four weeks of posting this!! Whether you’ve been following from the beginning or are binge reading it now, thank you for making this story I’ve put so much blood, sweat, and tears into a part of your day ❤️

Word count: ~9.2k

Chapter Five May 2019

The morning after the party is the last time you see Van while he’s in L.A.. For the rest of his trip, his schedule is packed with studio time and meetings in preparation for the album launch. 

You finally follow the band on Instagram, although you shy away from following the boy’s personal accounts. Their relationship with social media didn’t seem to be the strongest, and you figured one of Van’s random flings following all of them probably wouldn’t send the best message.

The night of the album release they post a black and white photo of a pile of albums and vinyls to mark the occasion. You text Van the next morning, when it’s officially out, simply: Congrats on The Balance!! 

Thaaaanks, Van sends back, Buzzing over it! 

Each day you watch their feed fill with new posts promoting live shows. They announce tour dates so often it makes your head spin. Peppered amongst event announcements are videos of Van singing enthusiastically into a microphone, always promoting one of the different singles. You watch them more times than you’d care to admit.

Your conversation thread with him runs dry. You try to send him something here or there, to keep things going, but Van isn’t the best at a consistent reply. You try to convince yourself he’s tired from work, or the time difference is hard to maintain, but your brain can’t help but insist he’s busy with someone else.

That’s why two weeks after release day, when your phone lights up on the kitchen counter with a phone call from Van, you practically faint. 

“Hello?” You respond hesitantly. You two have never called each other. You’re convinced he’s dialed you by accident.

“Whatcha doing?” Van asks down the line, his voice breezy.

“Um, cooking dinner,” You say, still confused. 

“What’s for dinner?”

“Uh, lasagna…” You peek inside the oven to make sure it’s cooking alright. “It’s in the oven right now.”

“Sounds class.”

“Yeah…” You trail off, unsure why this warranted a phone call. “What are you up to?”

“Having a cig real quick. But I got an email from our team and I wanted to talk to you.” 

Instantly, your mind flashes to the worst case scenario. Was this about Instagram? Had you done something wrong? You hadn’t even posted anything!

“Is something wrong?” You press, when Van doesn’t continue.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” You hear him exhale smoke, his breath making noise in the microphone. “We got booked to do a show for one of the big rock stations in L.A..”

You realize now he’s looking for someone to share in his good news. “That’s amazing!”

“Right, it’s awesome. But here’s the thing: they’re not selling any of the tickets to the public. It’s gonna be all contest and giveaway shit. So the team needs a headcount as soon as possible for the guest list so we set aside enough tickets. So if you and Mary and Theo were wanting to see us live, here’s your chance.”

You blink, stunned at the twist the conversation had taken. “Guest list?”

“Yeah. It’s not a backstage kind of thing, nothin’ like that. But I can put your names down. You can choose balcony or G.A., whatever you like. If you want G.A. I could probably weasel you in a little earlier so you can get a good spot.”

The opportunity already sounds amazing. There’s only one thing on your mind: “When?”

Van chuckles. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh God, why?”

“It’s on Friday.”

“What?!” You spin around in the kitchen, making a beeline for the calendar you’ve got hanging up in there. “Van, that’s in five fucking days!”

“I’m sorry! It was kind of in talks, but they really like the album. They wanna do a whole week spinning it and really pushing us. It was all penciled in last minute.”

“Right,” You sigh, your mind going a mile a minute. “Okay, I need to call Mary. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, sooner the better. If I don’t pick up I’ll call as soon as I’ve got a moment.”

You say your goodbyes, hitting call on Mary’s contact card as soon as the screen clears.

“Hey, Mare?” You start hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“What are you and Theo doing on Friday?”

As soon as Mary starts detailing her plans, the oven timer rings out.

“Okay hold on,” You interrupt her. You put the call on speaker, resting it back on the counter while you fuss with the lasagna. “Whatever you’re doing, I need you to cancel it.”

“What? Why?”

You struggle to lift the heavy glass pan of food out of the heat. “Van’s doing a show and he wants to put us on the guest list.”

“Huh?” Mary’s voice rings tinny through the speakers. “I can’t hear you!”

“Van’s doing-” You huff in frustration, jabbing your finger against the oven keypad to stop the timer. “He’s doing a show and wants to put us on the guest list!”

“Who’s guest list?”

“Van’s!” You yell, your voice echoing through the silent kitchen. “Catfish and the Bottlemen are doing a show and he wants us on the guest list!”

Silence. Then: “You’re joking.”

“No,” You tell her breathlessly.

“Okay, fuck, okay,” Mary panics. “Lemme grab Theo.”

You don’t give your friends enough credit. All Friday plans were dropped in exchange for this show you knew nothing about. 

Theo and Mary had pestered you with questions as you three scrambled to devise ways to clear your schedules. Mary was going to bail on her cousin’s baby shower, and Theo was in the process of texting any co-worker that could possibly cover for him. You had no idea what your plan was. Worst case scenario, you’d have to play sick. Through the entire ordeal, they’d asked where the show was, the capacity of the venue, what time, what radio station. You had answers for none of these. 

You call Van back with an adrenaline rush, praying he picks up. He does.

“Okay, we’ll take three for G.A.,” You say instead of a greeting. “But I have some fucking questions for you, okay?”

Van laughs. “Okay, yeah. Grab a pen and paper, I’ll read you the email.”

\\

During your workweek you do your research. You listen to the radio station, curious to hear fan’s reactions to their new stuff. Almost every fan that wins tickets is a female that’s jumping for joy. Every commercial break consists of a minute-long ad of Van and Bondy introducing themselves and pushing their album and the chance to win tickets to hear it live. The radio announcers enthusiastically discuss how much they enjoy every song of the band’s that they play. You realize you’d been sorely underestimating their success. People seem genuinely interested in their work, and a lot of the people that call in are long-time fans.

But nothing prepares you for the actual day. 

Getting the day off work had seemed like that was going to be your biggest obstacle, but it was surprisingly easy. The real challenge came with all the coordinating required between you, Mary, Theo, Van, and the band’s team.

The event was happening early afternoon, at 2. You’d never even heard of shows happening that early besides all-day festivals. But you supposed it made sense with the way it was going to be broadcasted over the radio this afternoon, and Van had mentioned they also had interviews to do.

That meant you were up as early as a workday, except last night you’d had the worst sleep possible because of your nerves. You slug through your grogginess, attempting to get ready with the help of multiple cups of coffee. Through the entire process you’re glued to your phone, fielding questions from Mary about what time you three should leave, who’s car to take, and who’s driving, along with questions from Van about what time you think you’ll be arriving, the address to the venue, and details about the guest list.

The whole guest list concept was so casual it made you nervous. The only thing Van took down was everyone’s first and last names, and their choice of general admission. He insisted that was enough. He’d arranged to meet you guys at the side door of the venue a half hour before doors opened to get you in early, but other than that he only told you to tell security your name if asked. It felt too easy for something to go wrong.

And to be fair, something did go slightly wrong. Communicating with everyone all morning keeps you from finishing your hair and makeup on time, which delays the three of you from leaving, which means that by the time you get through traffic and pull into the venue, Van has texted that he can’t wait at the side door any longer as it’s time for him to warm up.

No worries, securitys still waiting, He insists when you apologize for running late, When you get here go to the side. 

You don’t even understand how you’re supposed to make it around the front of the venue. The entire building is swarmed with fans, most of them sitting on the cement in the sweltering L.A. heat for their best chances at a good spot. There’s a disorganized line crowded around the ticket booth, and at any moment more people are exiting their cars, heading to congest the building further. It hadn’t seemed like this many tickets had been given away when you’d been listening to the station. There’s way more people here than you expected.

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you walk past the line. Girls sitting on the sidewalk peer up at you, their heads following as you breeze past them. You actually feel bad. They must’ve been out here for hours, considering how far the line goes down the sidewalk. And yet here you are with your friends, scaling the line in a matter of minutes. As much as it feels elite, you’ve got a healthy amount of fear running through your veins. You pray that something doesn’t go wrong, that you don’t get turned away in front of all these people.

The last thing you see as you, Mary, and Theo turn the corner is necks craning to see what you’re up to. You’re relieved to be out of everyone’s sight around the brick building. 

The door is exactly as Van had described, but there’s nobody attending to it. Your stomach sinks as you realize you’re probably locked out. But still, you turn the knob, needing the weight of your body to help maneuver the heavy door. You guys struggle to get through.

On the other side is a security guard watching you curiously. 

“Van was waiting for us,” You explain. You’re so nervous that the true statement comes out like a question. 

The guard eyes you three. Then he gestures to a spot on the floor. “One at a time, let’s get you checked.”

Just like that, the three of you are scanned over quickly by his portable detector, your bags skimmed through before he gestures to one of the doors.

“Stage is through that one.”

Everyone hurriedly thanks him as you head through the giant space, your footsteps echoing against the flooring as you head towards the door. There’s equipment everywhere, cords in tangled piles, and you even spot overflowing boxes of merch. You can hear some hustle and bustle in the distance, coming from one of the nearby rooms. 

You’re thrown off when the door leads you right onto side stage. You’re instantly in the way of crew members who are maneuvering a drum set over the hardwood. 

“Sorry, sorry,” You say immediately, scrambling to clear their path. Thankfully you spot the stairs to descend the stage nearby, although they’re blocked by a thick, dusty stage curtain you’ve got to press through. 

Once you’re down, another security team member nearby makes a gap in the barricade railing for you to get through. And just like that, you three are standing at the barricade, no other fan in sight. With no questions, hassle, or mishaps. You look to Mary and Theo in relief.

“That was so weird,” Mary agrees with your silent communication. Her voice echoes eerily around the space.

“We should grab drinks,” Theo gestures to the bar nestled into one of the walls. There’s only one woman attending it currently, stocking plastic cups.

By the time you’ve been served, the doors have opened and people are starting to flow in. You nestle yourselves in the front corner of barricade, a spot that looks like it’s going to have a great view and also prevent the band from being able to see you.

You listen to the conversations that the fans pressed against barricade are having. Soon the space up front is packed tightly, everyone jostling for the best view. You pick up on a few people’s opinions of The Balance, a few general criticisms, and listen curiously to a couple of girls enthuse about a time they managed to meet Van. According to them, he was very nice. You glance over to catch one of the girls showing the other her picture. There’s Van, arm slung around her, lopsided smile on display. There’s something about knowing him personally and listening to the girls speak as if they know him personally that unsettles you. You decide to try and tune them out.

Without an opening act, the lights going down catch you off guard. One moment there’s a pre-show playlist playing happily over the amps, the crowd cheerfully bopping along, and the next the lights are out and the entire room erupts in screams. And just like that there’s blinding lights shining down, the band taking their positions before Van emerges, electric guitar slung low on his hips, the opening notes of Longshot ringing out.

There was nothing in your radio station research that could have prepared you for what you were witnessing today. 

You knew Van loved music. It was as much a part of him as one of his organs. He was constantly talking about it, playing it, writing it, singing it. And he’d mentioned that he loves live shows. And you knew from his fans that Catfish made music that people really loved, really connected with. But you had made a fatal mistake. Your brain had not added these facts up correctly. 

Because seeing the boys actually on stage was insane. 

The band rips through their setlist relentlessly. You’re barely able to catch a breath before they’ve launched into the next song. And the next. And the next. The fast pace only seems to wind everyone up more, leave everyone eager to bask in every note. Van is magnetic on stage. The crowd goes crazy for him, and he knows it. Simply resting his foot on one of the amps makes the entire crowd swell and swarm in an attempt to get as close to that amp as possible. He improvises lyrics and note changes that keep everything interesting. Every one of the boys performs flawlessly. There’s not one moment where it looks like they’re anything less than over the moon to be entertaining.

As soon as it feels like the show is slipping by too fast, Van will drop the pace. He’ll chant a lyric a few extra times. He’ll strum his guitar a bit longer than what you’d been hearing on the radio. He’ll lean forward, voice low, and make direct eye contact with different people in the crowd. It’s so electrifying that when your desire for him washes over you in a surprisingly intense wave, you’re almost positive that every single person- regardless of sexual orientation- feels the same. 

The show feels like it exists outside of time. It lasted hours but also only ten minutes. When Van thanks everyone for coming out it shocks you, but also fills you with extreme exhaustion as if you’d just run a marathon. Before you know it the boys have walked off, the lights are back up, and the air is still crackling with electricity. 

The three of you gape at each other.

“They’re phenomenal,” Theo says after a moment of shocked silence. “Do they have their albums at the merch stand? I wanna give them a listen after that!”

“I dunno,” You mumble, numb. “I can probably get Van to grab you some.”

Someone next to you pauses at your mention of Van. You realize how strange that sentence sounded only after it’s out of your mouth. When you don’t say anything else, they keep moving. 

“You do that,” Mary nods, eyes wide. “I guess we should… go?”

“Right,” You try to come back to reality, fishing your phone out of your bag. There’s a text from Van.

At the side door having a smoke. Come say hi?

“He wants us to come say hi,” You announce, your head spinning.

“You go say hi,” Mary elbows you playfully, “Meet us at the car.” 

You don’t think security would take you heading to the side door through backstage well, so you head out the front door with them in a daze. Once you’re outside again you round the corner, ending up back at the side door, which is now cracked. 

You knock softly, a warning before you try to heave it open again. This time there’s another set of hands helping you.

“Are you allowed to smoke inside?” You ask curiously once you’re inside, Van shutting the door behind you.

He shrugs. “Ceilings are high enough.” He nods towards outside. “M’not in any state to take a picture with anyone.”

“Right,” You breathe. Fans are looking for him. Another piece of information your brain doesn’t have the capacity to handle. 

Van is soaked from head to toe in sweat. He resembles a wet dog, hair matted and sticking to his skin while he tries to catch his breath. His face is cherry red from his last two hours of exertion, his freckles standing out. He’s undone half of the buttons on his shirt, his chest as splotchy red as his cheeks. Although you two have a healthy distance between your bodies, you pick up on his body odor with every inhale. He’s radiating heat like a furnace. 

“Did you like it?” He asks breathlessly.

“I loved it,” You beam. “So did Mary and Theo. You’re, like… incredible on stage. You all are.”

Van shakes his head around an inhale of his cigarette. “We had a really nice crowd, s’all. Makes everything more massive. I wanted to change up the setlist a bit but it couldn’t get done this fast.”

“I loved the setlist,” You assure him. “Everyone else clearly did, too.”

“Aw, quit. But you liked it? Honest?”

“I loved it,” You insist again. “Loved it. It was amazing.”

“Okay, good.” Van nods. “Wanted to make sure. I’m gonna go clean up now. I’ll see you after, if you want.”

“Yeah, when?”

Van flicks his finished cigarette out of the door. “You can head to my place. You remember the gate code?”

“010892,” You recite. Van smiles. “What about your front door?”

“Spare key under the mat.”

He’s already undoing the last buttons of his shirt. You try not to stare.

“I gotta shower real quick and do an interview, it shouldn’t be long. I’ll try to be quick.”

“Don’t rush an interview,” You urge him, shocked that he would even think of doing that. He laughs you off, parting with a quick goodbye before practically jogging away.

You make your way out of the side door and back into the melting heat, your mind going a mile a minute as you walk back to the car.

Sliding into the air conditioned vehicle feels heavenly. You slump in your seat.

“How’d it go?” Mary asks, turning in her seat to face you. “Did you jump into his arms?”

You laugh. “Fuck off.”

“Ready to go?” Theo asks as he kicks the car into reverse, carefully backing out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah, but is there a way you could… Drop me off at Van’s?”

Mary cackles.

\\

You’re starting to get quite accustomed to the route to Van’s. You’re easily able to direct Theo around the twisted, uphill roads through the neighborhood. When you helpfully add that the 8 sticks, Mary only raises her eyebrows in amusement. Soon you’re at his front door, fishing around under the welcome mat laid out on his porch for the key. It’s easy enough to find, and you wave Mary and Theo off as you unlock the front door. 

It’s strange being at his house alone. His luggage is strewn about the front room, a couple of the bags open and oozing clothing. There’s a MacBook charger plugged into the outlet by the stairs, but no MacBook in sight. 

You take in his mess of things for a moment before locking the door and leaving the borrowed key on the end table, making a mental note to lecture him about finding a new hiding spot. 

The air smells stale, a sure sign nobody’s been here for weeks. You take it upon yourself to turn one of the lamps on, noticing a notebook and pen resting on the coffee table. It’s got a leather cover, clearly some sort of journal or agenda. Maybe he writes songs in there? The temptation to snoop is strong, but you know better. You physically force yourself to turn away.

You crack the door to the outdoor lounge, hoping to let some fresh air in. You look around for the thermostat to make sure the air conditioning wouldn’t run itself silly trying to keep up with the L.A. heat breezing in, but you’re not able to spot one on the walls.

Your next stop is the kitchen. Van’s obviously been in here, a few tea mugs in the sink. You peek in the fridge; judging by the smell, it’s seen better days. There’s a rubbery-looking bundle of celery, it’s ends the crisp brown of decaying produce. A head of lettuce has rolled onto its side on the shelf, sharing a sheath of white fuzzy mold with the few soggy tomatoes next to it. 

What is intact, however, is a gallon of unsweetened iced tea that’s still sealed, and a lonely beer bottle that’s tipped over in the door compartment. You extract the iced tea from where it’s resting on its side by the moldy tomatoes, and open various cupboard doors looking for a glass.

For lack of anything better to do you head out to the outdoor lounge, perching yourself on one of the chairs and setting your iced tea on one of the expensive-looking frosted glass tables. You get your phone out and flip through your photos and videos from the show, experiencing the magic all over again. You wonder if Van would be against you posting some of these. You’d have to ask him about it.

From your spot outside you hear the gate creak on its hinges, signaling Van’s arrival. You head back inside, your heart suddenly racing in anticipation. It seems silly considering you’d just seen him after the show, but you’re nervous nonetheless. 

You’ve just locked up the patio when Van’s knuckles rap against the front door. You rush to unlock it, leaving your mostly-empty iced tea on the mantle.

“Fucking sweltering,” Van says as soon as he comes through the front door. As promised, he’s freshly showered. His hair is still wet except the ends, which are flipping this way and that as they dry. He’s in clean clothes, which you recognize immediately as the worn out gray sweatpants you’d seen him in once or twice, and the gray sweatshirt you’d borrowed the last time you’d seen him. He’s got a backpack slung over one of his shoulders.

“Lock me out of my own house, huh?” He jokes as he closes the door behind himself.

“Yeah,” You murmur, too busy processing the fact he’s in front of you for the first time in five weeks. At the memory of the key under the mat, you come back to your senses. “And you need to move that key,” You tell him sternly. “Under the mat is too easy! Anyone could guess that!”

Van makes a psh noise with his lips. “Nobody gives a fuck about my house.”

“Um, everyone at that show?” You argue. 

“Worried they’re gonna come in and raid my drawers?” Van grins. “Steal one of my condoms as a souvenir? Nah, it’s fine.”

You roll your eyes in disagreement, but drop the subject.

Van turns to you then, taking you in. 

“Long time no see,” He breathes, his grin reappearing.

“I think you’ve already used that line,” You point out. And without further ado you get up on your toes, going in for a kiss. Van lets his head tip, your lips crashing together effortlessly.

Kissing Van makes the tornado of feelings that have been swirling around for the last month settle. Any doubts about your chemistry, whether or not the party was the last time he’d be this close to you, or whether you’d failed the meet-the-friends test all come to rest now as Van deepens the kiss, getting a hand on the hem of your shirt to tug you closer.

You get a hand on the back of his neck in response, pressing your lips tighter together. Running your fingers through the damp locks of hair sticking to his skin.

The way you’ve missed him washes over you, crashing waves no longer able to be ignored. It’s the strange mix of sadness and relief pressing down on your chest that suddenly has you getting down on your knees. 

“Oh fuck,” Van murmurs, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder in one motion. He sets it down safely before leaning back, letting the front door hold most of his weight. 

He cooperates eagerly as you get his pants down in one smooth motion. He’s close to hard, but not enough to get started yet.

You stroke the inside of his thighs with your palms in big, sweeping motions. They’re still clammy from his shower. He smells clean, like men’s body wash. You ease your hands under the hem of his sweater and the t-shirt he’s got layered underneath, running your fingers over the bump of his lower stomach. His skin is silky smooth wherever you touch. Even the trail of hair that thickens in a stripe down his belly feels less wiry. You can’t help but run your fingers over the hairs as you bring your hands back down to the matter at hand.

Van lets you keep him waiting without complaint, watching you with hooded eyes.

He’s hard now as you wrap a hand around him, your wrist twisting around him in muscle memory. You only hope that muscle memory applies to the rest of what you’re about to do.

He’s waiting for your next move, the muscles in his thighs clenched tight. His desperation is palpable. You’re taking too long to get your mouth around him, trying to work up the courage.

“I’m rusty,” You blurt out suddenly. “I haven’t, um, done this recently. So if something’s not right…”

You trail off at the way Van’s shaking his head vehemently, his damp hair rustling with the motion.

“I don’t care,” He says, resting his head against the door, chin tipping upwards, his eyes falling shut. “It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

You figure it will matter in a minute, when you’re not up to his expectations, but his reassurance comforts you enough to get started. You carefully maneuver his foreskin under the ridge of his head so you can get your lips around him, pressing the flat of your tongue against his slit as you plan your next move.

Van jolts at the sensation, his hips jerking forward, feeding you more than you were ready for. 

He grimaces apologetically when you pull back. “My bad, my bad, love,” He apologizes. “Took me by surprise s’all. Sorry.”

Instead of a response you pet his thigh with the back of your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s forgiven. This time when you start again you press one of your hands to his hip, nudging him back against the door. You use your other hand to guide him into your mouth. When his muscles go tight you quickly shift your hand from his hip to lower stomach, pressing him away from you more firmly.

With the security of your hand holding him away you’re able to get into a rhythm. It’s a bit sloppier than you’d prefer, and the entire time forgotten pointers from your past are flashing through your mind, but Van doesn’t seem to notice. He leans uselessly against the door, occasionally cursing quietly.

Giving head is a precise game to play, but fortunately Van makes things easy. You devote all your focus to him, taking careful note of what tricks make his stomach clench against your palm or leave him groaning. A slightly faster pace gets his thighs trembling. You’re not sure if there’s someone else in London, but considering Van’s desperation she must not give head.

When it’s clear he can’t hold off much longer you shut your eyes tight, willing your throat to relax as much as humanly possible before taking him down deep.

Van’s reaction comes instinctually. In your focus you’ve relaxed the pressure on his stomach, and you feel his hips lift off of the door, chasing the feeling.

“Oh fuck,” He groans, his hands scrambling for something to hold on to. He settles for restlessly combing his fingers through your hair. 

Your other hand flies to his stomach, pressing him back forcefully to prevent yourself from being choked. There’s only an inch or two space between him and the door, and you’re more forceful than you’d intended, the door making a heavy thud as his body lands against it. Instantly you get a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve accidentally hurt him.

As you go to pull back and check, you’re stopped by the way Van’s entire body goes stiff. 

“Shit, I-”

But before he can finish uttering his warning you feel his orgasm rock through him, his dick throbbing against your tongue as you feel him pulsing heat down the back of your throat. 

Thankfully, he’s deep enough so the taste is minimal. Van pulls out as soon as he’s done while you stay put, only slightly sputtering as you swallow everything down.

“Fuck,” Van exhales. You look up at him.

“Holy shit,” He says, dazed and lost for words. He tugs up his pants before melting down the door until he’s on the floor with you. 

“Rusty,” He scoffs. “Fuck you. You’re hustling me!”

You’re still cringing from the taste of him. “Can you go grab me my iced tea?” You request, pointing him in the direction of the mantle. 

Van obliges.

“Sorry for such a shit warning,” He says when he brings the iced tea back. He offers you his hand, helping you up from the floor. “I was trying to hold off. Wanted to do other things.” He winks. “Been a while since I had that, though. Doesn’t help you’re fucking amazing at it, either. Shit.”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his compliment. “You’re fine,” You insist. “I was just worried I hurt you.” 

“Nah. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You two make your way to the sectional, plopping down. As soon as your body comes to rest you feel the exhaustion from the concert wash over you, only amplified by your front door activities.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” Van’s lying on his stomach, head resting on his arms. 

You perk up at the suggestion, bummed when you remember you need to shower. There’s no way you’re letting Van down there when you’ve been sweating like a pig. 

“Raincheck,” You sigh, disappointed. “I need to shower. I’m disgusting.”

Van hums in acknowledgement.

A lazy silence blankets you both. You hear Van’s stomach grumble.

“You hungry?” You ask, realizing as you say it that you are, too.

“Yeah,” Van sighs, rolling onto his back. “Haven’t had anything but toast. All the food went bad.”

“You didn’t eat at the venue?”

“Not right before a show. Doesn’t sit right in my stomach on stage.”

“Oh my god,” You groan suddenly. “I forgot I have the best frozen pizza in my freezer.”

“What toppings?”

“Cheese. But then I got fresh pepperonis. The expensive kind.” Your mouth practically waters thinking about it. “It’s one of those giant ones.”

A beat of silence from Van. And then: “We could go to yours?”

“Like, for dinner? That sounds good. And then I can shower.”

“I mean, I can pack a bag and stay over. It’s up to you. Is Mary your roommate?”

“Nope. Just me.” You sigh gratefully as you think of your past living arrangements. “But yeah, stay over if you wanna.”

Van sits up. “I do. Need to give this place a good cleaning.”

“It smells weird,” You admit.

“Always does,” Van says, heaving himself up off of the couch. “From being closed up. Should smell my place in London when I get back from U.S. tours.”

You crinkle your nose, staying put as Van starts picking through his bags.

Soon he’s got his backpack repacked and slung back over one of his shoulders. “Ready?”

It feels like it takes a superhuman amount of effort to get yourself up from the couch, slip your shoes on, and head out the front door with him.

You’re in such a sleepy haze as you direct Van to your house that you almost forget to be anxious that he’ll absolutely hate your place.

But once he pulls up, his range rover out of place behind your beat up car, your anxiety makes itself as present as ever. There’s no driveway, so he’s parked against the sidewalk behind you. You pray nobody scratches his car during the night, even though your neighbors are quite good about that kind of thing. 

“Here it is,” You laugh nervously as you two clamor out of the air conditioning and into the humidity. 

Your front yard is the only space with grass, enclosed with a moderately new white picket fence. You fuss with the latch before it comes undone, and the gate creaks open for Van to follow you down the path to the front porch. Van holds the screen door while you unlock the door.

“Well,” You say, stepping inside, “This is my place.”

You actually love your house. Considering the L.A. housing market, you’re blessed to even rent a home rather than an apartment, let alone without roommates. Renting this space is only made possible by the fact it was one of your ex-girlfriend’s friends that owned it, and he cut you a great deal on rent. 

Van walks around, examining the decor. All of the walls are painted the same color, a light gray that matches the wooden floors nicely. And although furniture is sparse throughout the rest of the house, you’re actually quite proud of the work you’ve done furnishing the front room; There’s a dark blue sectional, although not as plush or big as Van’s, along with a nice coffee table that has storage built into the sides. They sit atop a white and blue striped rug that ties everything together nicely, facing the television sitting proudly on it’s stand. 

The dining table shares the space, a cheap white set with metal legs you had managed to snag on sale. 

You’ve got two bedrooms, but one of them is unfurnished, instead holding boxes of things from your move you’d never felt like unpacking. A lot of it is things you’d packed to move cross country as a teenager. Too sentimental to throw away, too childish to keep around. 

Your actual bedroom is simple, a queen bed and a dresser. A bookshelf that was covered with more clutter than books. You feel yourself holding your breath as Van peeks his head into the different rooms, getting a feel for everything.

“It’s really fucking nice,” He says finally, and you feel yourself exhale. “I love the windows.”

You beam at his mention of the windows. The natural light is one of the things that made you feel like it was love at first sight here. “Me too.”

Van sets his backpack down on the kitchen table. 

“Sorry it’s smaller than you’re used to,” You can’t help but say.

Van cracks a lopsided smile. “I’m used to hotel rooms, really. This place is huge compared to those.”

You laugh, your nerves always eased by his humor. “I’ll get the pizza going.”

The evening slides by quietly. You two work side by side in the kitchen, bumping hips and hands while you place pepperonis. You’re quiet during dinner, too focused on scarfing down your food. Afterward, Van offers to wash the dishes while you start on your shower. You try to talk him out of that plan, but he’s insistent on helping. You eventually give in.

As you scrub your makeup off under the hot water, you realize this is the most natural you’ve ever been in front of Van. Even if you’re not always wearing a full face of makeup like did today, you’re always adamant about having some tinted moisturizer or mascara on when you’re with him. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t criticize your appearance; You just hoped he’d keep the shock off of his face when he first sees you.

The hot water invigorates you with a fresh boost of energy, washing off the fatigue that’s been hanging over you since Van’s house.

You head into your bedroom, the only thing covering you the threadbare towel wrapped around you. Van is sitting on your bed, tapping away at his laptop. He doesn’t look up as you make your way to your dresser.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, and you hear the soft noise of his computer closing.

“Getting dressed,” You tell him, procuring a pair of underwear and folded t-shirt from their respective drawers.

“Well, stop,” Van demands. At the slap of his hand against your comforter you turn around, confused. He’s slapped the space next to him, and he motions to it with a nod of his head. “Get over here.”

You feel a laugh bubble up from the nerves stewing in your stomach. “What?”

Even as you question him you still obey, abandoning the underwear and shirt in favor of sitting on the edge of the bed in your towel.

“Lay down,” Van insists, patting the bed again. “I’ve got a favor to return, don’t I?”

You swallow hard. You hadn’t forgotten his proposal, the way it fizzled away with no real resolution. A part of your brain had clung onto his words, nervously hoping he’d follow through. The part of you that didn’t want to get your hopes up had convinced yourself to forget about it and get dressed.

“It doesn’t work that way,” You assure him sternly. “It’s not tit-for-tat.”

Van isn’t phased. His lopsided smile makes another appearance from where he’s already stood up from the bed, stripping away his clothes.

“But that wouldn’t be polite of me.” He tosses his crewneck at you teasingly. It’s damp from being pressed against his post-shower body. You throw it to the floor for him. He does the same with his t-shirt.

Once he’s down to his briefs he meanders around the room, setting the scene. You gaze at him in wide-eyed curiosity as he shuts the bedroom door, turns off the bedside lamp, and motions to the windows.

“Want me to close these?”

The sun was close to slipping under the horizon, the last rays of light weakly shining. And unlike Van’s house, there were neighbors with their own windows close by. “Yeah, close ‘em,” You agree.

Once that’s done Van turns back to you, still sitting shell-shocked on the bed. He motions to your towel, still wrapped tightly around your midsection. “You gonna let go?”

You hadn’t realized how tightly your fingers had been clenching the fold to keep it in place. At his words you relax your hands. The fabric doesn’t unfold all the way, but Van climbs back onto the bed, his fingers slipping against your bare skin as he untucks it. 

“Why are you so tense?” He asks as he slips the towel away from your body, off the edge of the bed. He smiles at you, amused and relaxed. “You’re stiff as a board.”

“I’m nervous.” It’s easier to admit now that the lights are off and the windows are closed. There’s still light pressing against the blinds, but the blanket of shadows relaxes you.

“Bad experiences?”

Van is still fussing with the pillows while he talks to you, getting some to fill the gap between the two sleeping spaces. Once he’s satisfied he pushes at you gently, silently asking you to lay down. You do.

You stare at your ceiling for a moment before answering. “Not really bad.” You chew the inside of your cheek in contemplation. “Mediocre, for sure. Lots of pressure.”

Van’s palm presses warm against the soft skin of your stomach. You shiver, tilting your neck so you can look at him where he’s hovering next to you, sitting on his knees. He swipes his thumb back and forth against your skin in a reassuring motion.

“Lucky for you, there’s no pressure,” He shrugs. “We can always do somethin’ else. Just say the word.”

You nod, taking his words in. “Right.”

He lifts his hand from your stomach, running it through his hair. “No bullshit, remember?”

You remember the pinky promise you’d made after your first date. It feels like forever ago. You jokingly lift you arm to salute him. “No bullshit.”

Van chuckles as he salutes you back. The lightheartedness helps you relax.

After the salute Van climbs up onto his hands and knees, making his way down your body. He places a kiss here or there as he goes; one on your shoulder, one near one of your nipples, by your belly button, the top of your thigh. He takes his time getting comfortable between your legs, squirming and adjusting. He presses his fingertips against the inside of your knees and you let him bend your legs, opening them to his preferred angle.

You clench your hands into the fabric of your comforter, laying there open and vulnerable. The build up is excruciating. He spends time running his fingertips over you, feather light. There’s not enough pressure to create friction but you feel the sparks nonetheless. He nuzzles into the crook of your thigh, his hair tickling you wherever it brushes. You’ve got to reach one of your hands down to scratch an itch from it, and since you’re there you lace your fingers into his hair. It grounds you to be able to feel him, to have an idea of his next move.

It still catches you off guard when he presses his lips right against your clit. He pulls away quickly, leaving a light kiss, but the sensation buzzes through you for much longer. Just when it starts to fizzle out he leans in again, more pressure but too quick again, over as soon as it began. You groan in impatience, tugging on his hair. 

He takes you seriously after that. In one sweeping motion his breath floats hot over your skin before his mouth is pressed against you, there to stay. His lips part for his tongue to caress you, firm but forgiving, rough and smooth and warm all at once and you cry out from it. 

Van is relentless. You can’t catch a full breath, desperately gasping for air as he works enthusiastically and without pause. Even as you squirm against the blankets he’s determined to keep his spot, his face pressing between your legs insistently. It only makes you squirm more, every nerve in your body firing off without being able to catch a break.

You’re so focused on his mouth that the sensation of his calloused fingertips brushing against your entrance goes unnoticed at first. It’s only when he gets a rhythm going, a smooth circle that repeats over and over that you jolt. You don’t have the brainpower to give him any verbal affirmation. Your body lifts it’s hips on its own, instinctively attempting to press down onto his fingers, physically begging for more, more, more. 

If there’s only one lesson you can take from this experience, it’s how attuned Van is to your body. At your hip’s request he eases his two fingers in, pressing slow and deep, persisting even as you clench tight around him, desperate to feel the contours of his fingers.

He makes some small movements, but they’re not necessary. The sensation of being full and also stimulated by his mouth at the same time is so overpowering that he’s barely got to put any work in anymore. The two distinctly different sensations blend together, running up your spine. It feels like you’re about to be split down the center from how good it feels.

Holding Van’s hair just isn’t enough. No matter how tight you were clenching the roots of his hair you needed more. It felt like if you grabbed your comforter you’d rip it apart at the seams. You grope at your pillows, sinking your fingertips into the soft surface, contorting it as your hands clenched into tense fists.

Van groans against you seconds before you come, like he feels something you don’t. His arms hold your thighs open wide as you seize through it, shouting at first before quieting down to moans. You whimper when it’s done washing over you, the sensitivity setting in as he continues to gingerly lick.

“Okay,” You croak, gently nudging at his scalp. “Ow.”

He’s beaming as he pulls away, satisfaction oozing off of him as he wipes at his mouth. 

“Bad experience?” He jokes as he scrambles off of the bed. He’s still in his briefs, a fact that surprises you. He strips them off, clumsy in his eagerness, clamoring back on the bed.

You’re still on cloud nine, too far away to be able to engage with his teasing. You only snort in laughter.

Van’s sitting up on his knees, hand around himself. His dick looks painfully hard.

“Gimme something to blow into.” His voice is laced with urgency.

“C’mere,” You murmur, spreading your legs apart. You use a hand on his side to try and guide him to kneel between your legs, but he falters in confusion. “Between my legs,” You whine, too hazy for explanations.

He knees you as he repositions himself. Unable to read your mind, he starts jerking off again, preparing to come on your thighs. 

“Hold on, chill out,” You grumble playfully, batting his hand away from himself. 

He huffs in frustration but you ignore him, stretching your arm to the limit in order to grasp the bottle of lotion you’d left on your bedside table the other day after moisturizing after your shower. You squeeze a good dollop into your palm before wrapping your fingers around him. His sigh of relief cuts so raw through his throat you feel your body buzz with an aftershock. 

“Come forward a little,” You guide him, jerking him off over your stomach. He thrusts against your hand, his balls hanging heavy between his legs. 

You do him the favor of using your other hand to lend them some attention, realizing with regret you had no idea what his preferences were. Thankfully, your standard palming seems to work fine.

You watch his face as he comes, your focus unbroken as he splatters hot and thick all over your stomach. You keep your hand moving until you see the tension ease out of his forehead and around his eyes. Until he’s finally blinking back at you, disoriented.

There’s only the sound of heavy breathing for a moment. It’s jarring compared to all the noise that previously filled the room. 

“I gotta go clean myself off,” You excuse yourself quickly, feeling his come dry against your skin. You make your way on wobbly legs to the bathroom, soaking a towel in the sink before scrubbing at your stomach. 

You startle when Van taps at the door. At your invitation he peeks his head in, watching your futile attempt to clean his mess. Everywhere the water dried there was a crusty sheen of white. 

“Get in the shower with me,” He mumbles, taking it upon himself to start fussing with the knobs, getting the water running without any assistance. 

“You just showered,” You point out.

“Gotta rewash my hair.” He sounds completely zapped of energy.

You abandon the wet hand towel on the tile, deciding to worry about it tomorrow. You climb back into the shower you’d just emerged from, shifting around the tight space to share it with Van, who’s already wetting his hair.

It’s strange being in this space with Van. You’ve never been one for casual nakedness, always at least wearing a shirt and underwear around the house. Standing in the fluorescent bathroom lighting, watching Van carefully rinse away any excess lotion from the folds of his foreskin feels too intimate. You focus on yourself instead, keeping your head bent low while you run your loofa over your stomach. It only takes Van a few minutes to massage your shampoo through his hair, and then you two are getting back out. You pass him a towel before wrapping one around yourself. 

“Got a toothbrush I can borrow?” He requests, and you pull a spare one from the closet, letting him struggle with the cardboard packaging as you get a head start brushing your own teeth. 

He bumps you with his hip, nudging you over so you two can both share the mirror. 

Then you’re both back in your bedroom, a sense of deja vu as you get dressed in the shirt and underwear that was already sitting on top of the dresser.

The quiet starts to worry you as you climb into bed. You worry suddenly that this was intended to be some sort of goodbye. That this whole strange ritual of head-giving and spending the night at your place and staying close to each other was Van’s way of giving you guys a last hurrah before letting you know that he realized things weren’t working. Maybe the hypothetical London girl wanted commitment. 

Van lights a cigarette as you slip under the sheets with him.

“So…” He starts, before looking over at you. You gulp.

“That was… not mediocre, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“M’serious!” Van laughs, his cigarette moving dangerously through the air as he gestures with his hands.

“You just want me to stroke your ego,” You scoff, lightly elbowing him. 

“Guess I’m the devil for checking in on you, then.” Van shrugs in a faux pout.

“What do you want me to say?” You tip your head back, sighing dramatically. “Oh, Van McCann, that was the best head I’ve ever gotten. I’ve only come twice from head and it’s been from you both times.” You flop down onto your mattress dramatically. “I’m truly so blessed you chose me tonight out of all those girls at the show.”

“Oh, that was a low blow,” Van jokes, hand over his heart in mock pain. “No need to bring up the groupies.”

You giggle, flipping onto your stomach and shifting your weight on your elbows so you can look up at him. 

“I guess I’m just asking because I’m confused,” Van says, tapping his ashes into the empty can of Coke he’d left on the bedside table. “Like you said, you’ve only ever made it across the finish line two times. But… you had that girlfriend, didn’t you?”

You tense in habitual defensiveness. Through the course of your relationship with her, and any time coming out after, fielding questions from nosy men who want you to indulge them in their girl-on-girl fantasies is a familiar insult. 

“Did I have a girlfriend? Yes,” You play dumb, pressing him for a question with more specifics. 

Van sees right through you. He rolls his eyes. “I mean, lads aren’t great at getting it right, y’know. Your setup’s fucking confusing. I’m the first to admit I’m daft about the whole thing and fucking shit to sleep with. But wouldn’t another girl get it?”

At its core, Van’s question has a lewd essence you’ve encountered before. One that wants you to describe how good women are in bed, how they always get it right and every encounter is sensual and just like they’ve seen in porn. 

But it’s clear Van has a genuine interest. A real desire to get to know you better and learn about your sexual history. With that in mind, you sigh.

“I mean…” You start, then stop. Try to carefully put your words together. “First of all, every girl has a different… setup. You’ve got to know that much,” You narrow your eyes at him, accusatory.

Van waves his hand in dismissal. “Right. Does my head in.”

“Well it’s the same with guys! I can’t walk up to any guy on the street and know exactly what he’d like. You might know your way around- for the most part- but it’s still different with everyone. Plus,” You feel self-consciousness creep over you at how intently Van’s clinging onto your words, “We were each other’s first girl, ya know, so it was all new and weird. And she wasn’t very interested in that sort of thing. It’s not something we did often. I dunno. It just didn’t work the way you think it does.”

Van stubs his cigarette out. “And how do I think it works?”

“Like porn,” You insist. “That’s how everyone thinks it goes.”

Van shakes his head, amused. “I’m grown enough to know that absolutely nothing goes like porn, okay? You say shit that I get curious about!” 

When you don’t respond, he elaborates.

“Like… If you’re telling me you’ve never come from getting head, and I’m planning on doing that, I’d like to know why!” He laughs, throwing up his hands in innocence. “Like I said, I’m shit! I’d like to improve my chances!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re weird!” You tell him. “Asking about exes is weird! I don’t wanna know about yours. It makes for competition.”

You flop onto your back after your declaration, feeling Van’s body shake in silent laughter beside you.

“I lied,” You blurt out, rolling onto your side to click your lamp off as Van starts to settle in. “I do wanna know one thing.”

“Alright.”

“How many have you told about the roughing-up thing?”

“None. And you weren’t supposed to remember that,” He frowns in the darkness at you.

“None? Really?”

“Well… Most of the times something would happen organically, I guess. Things get rough in the moment, y’know. But I never spelled it out.”

You hum. There’s a strand of hair that’s flopped over his eyes, and you carefully tuck it away. “Gotcha,” You say around a yawn.

The room goes quiet.

“G’night,” You tell Van, giving him a pat on his shoulder before turning around, nestling into your sheets.

“Night,” Van says quietly.

Soon, the room glows blue from his phone.

\\

[johnrossbowie]

LEAVING TWITTER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just air.

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

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

_______

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

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

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

[orestes-hungry-and-pylades-sober]

Les Miserables Stonewall AU

Just hear me out for a moment: Les Mis AU taking place in 1969 Manhattan. June, if we want to be specific. Why June? Stonewall.

So my school does these trips every few years that are always a big deal. A really big deal. As in, a month in the Galapagos Islands. It got canceled cause of covid but still, y'all get my point, right?

I also came across these two amazing drawings the other day. I don't know either of the artists so if you do, please let me know so that I can credit them. Not my art

The art and the trip gave me the idea. Because look, pretty much the entire fandom ships e/R. And then there's Courf and Ferre, and everyone else. I'll list them all later.

So we end up with les amis in Manhattan during the Stonewall riots and protests. Obviously, they're going to get themselves caught up in it, right?

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

There are two ways I might want to go with this. They're both good and they could both work out well but I'm not sure which one I'd rather use.

    1) they're just all students at the same university who happen to be going on the trip together. Obviously, some of them would already know each other (like R has been completely in love with Enj for years) but realistically, you don't know everyone who goes to your school

    2) all of them are part of the drama/theatre club. This one might work out in the sense that they're all going to Broadway to watch a performance or perform themselves (Phantom maybe?), and that the theatre club has become an accidental hidden magnet for closed queers. Tbh that's what it's like at my school and why I'm in drama.

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

And here are basically all of the character roles.

Enjolras - Social equality/civics minor. He hasn't yet decided if he wants to pursue a higher degree in the same field or try something else. Often in detention or something because he gets into fights all the time. If he sees a bully picking on a kid, he will not hesitate to kick the bully's ass into next week. He's that one person that you'd go to if you had a problem, kinda like a school vigilante. A girl being harassed? Talk to Enjy and the man will never bother her again. He organizes a bunch of rallies and protests for what he believes in. Should've probably been suspended or expelled a while ago, for all the people he's hurt, but the teachers and school board know why he does it and know that he keeps the other students safe. Still manages to get really good grades, as long as he gets a bit of help from Ferre or Courf (and they're glad to help him study or smth)

Grantaire - slightly sketchy fine arts and music double major. He's a composer and his music is beautiful, and so are his paintings, but while he's amazing in those classes, he's just barely scraping by in the more 'academic' classes he's taking. Everyone knows him as 'the problem kid' but not in the same way as Enjy. R gets into fights and stuff too, but not exactly for good reasons. Has a drinking problem and has turned up to class drunk on a few occasions. Always carries around a sketchbook. He's completely in love with Enjy, and while the two of them aren't exactly friends, Enj likes him a lot more than most of the other students, since he's actually taken the time to get to know Grantaire personally rather than just as 'that one drunk problem kid who's about to flunk out.' Really sarcastic and sassy.

Combeferre - (y'all, I said his name with the E at the end kinda like 'ferreh' for so fucking long before someone decided to say it rhymed with Javert). Philosophy minor, lit major. He's probably on the student representation board. That one kid that manages to be a total nerd who literally corrects the dictionary for fun yet is still one of the coolest kids in the school. Everyone seems to think he's cool and composed and calm, and they're not wrong, but he's mentally screaming the loudest of all of them when it comes to finals or something. He's a bit of a perfectionist and knows it, but he's also used to being able to easily pass his classes. How do I describe this... he's outwardly composed but internally a mess. A lot of kids known as 'the smart one' who are overachievers and have teachers who praise their work, etc, are. Internally screaming 24/7. Believe me, I know what it's like.

Courfeyrac - he's the only mutual friend of everyone in the group. He's a literal ray of sunshine and always will go out of his way to say hello to someone and ask how they're doing that day, and check up on someone who's looking down. He's really good with kids and people in general. Might run a tutoring group or something because I've always thought he'd make a really good teacher. (Just imagine Courf as an elementary school teacher or something. Carrying little kids around on his shoulders, helping them with art projects, and hanging them up all over the classroom. He'd be kind and patient and funny and everyone would love him. Just- elementary teacher Courf). Best friends with Combeferre. Probably Jvj's aide or TA or something.

Marius - I think we all know him. He just Pontmercys his way through university and has a massive crush on this one girl who sits across the aisle from him in one of his classes. She's pretty and brave and smart and outspoken, and he admires her. Eponine, his good friend, sees this crush and convinces him to talk to her. He has a brilliant idea to ask her for help with homework and just botches up the entire thing and kinda embarrasses himself, (cue Eponine facepalming in the background) but she thinks it's sweet, and they end up becoming friends.

Eponine - honestly I don't know what I want to do with her. I know she's another student on the trip, but I only have the vaguest ideas of how she fits into the group, and even that is more of a vibe, rather than something I can put down in words. Used to have a sister that her parents often abused and used. Ponine did her best to shelter Cosette from their parents, but she didn't always succeed. However, she was able to get help and get her sister taken away. Their parents turned on Ponine instead. Her little brother ended up running away, but she wasn't able to. Eventually, she stops going home at night, sleeping at school instead. Professor Valjean found her outside his classroom one time when he finally left at like 2 in the morning after being stuck there grading papers. He ended up taking her home with him.

Cosette - Eponine's "sister". I will insist on these two getting along and being best friends, regardless of how you want to interpret their canon relationship. Imma just call them sisters, since they were raised that way. Eventually, she's taken away from the abusive household she lived in as a child. Soon she was sent to be fostered with a man who later became a university professor. Much to her surprise, she was reunited with her sister in a class and found out what had happened to Eponine in her absence. She quietly brought the issue up to her adopted father.

Valjean - history prof, and the supervising teacher for the trip. I call him Jvj and pronounce it sort of like 'Jivvy' and yes I know that's not even how it would be said and that it's weird af but I will live and die by that nickname. He's that one professor that everyone loves. While he never brings it up, his house is a second home to Eponine and Gavroche, ever since he found Ponine sleeping on a bench outside his classroom (Cosette may or may not have set this up so that he would find her), and now he has three children instead of just Cosette. By the end of the trip, he ends up with like 20 students who all treat him like he's their father.

Javert - ex-military school dean. He's coming on the trip as well because the school's two biggest problem students - Enj and R - are going on the trip and he doesn't trust Jvj to keep them in line. Everyone knows there's some sort of drama between him and one of the history professors, but no one can figure out the story between the two of them.

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

Oh well look at me, totally ignoring the thing I said about them all not knowing each other. Welp. And yeah, I know I'm not being the most brick-accurate when it comes to their personalities or whatever, but I'm trying to keep the main feel of each of them while modifying it in a way that works for what I'm trying to write. And look if y'all want to make suggestions about roles for the other amis please go ahead cause I only really have theories for a few of them.

So anyway on to the actual plot.

They all settle in and the next day, they're kinda just let loose in the city to explore. Look we all know that Grantaire is probably going to try to find a bar or a pub or something. The thing is... he ends up at the Stonewall Inn. For y'all that don't know, it was a bar that mainly catered to members of the LGBT+ community. For the first time, he's kinda like 'there are... other people like me? I'm not some sort of a freak for being a man who's in love with another man?' and all that. Through some turn of events, Enj and R (maybe even a group of them?) end up there the next night. I remember reading this thing about since how common police raids and in order to avoid undercover police (*glares at Jav*) there were all sorts of safety measures in place and to be allowed in, they had to 'look gay' and you can bet R takes full advantage of the fact that he's there with Enj to get in.

The police conduct a surprise raid on the bar, and it explodes from just a regular thing into a massive deal, with a massive crowd of spectators. It quickly becomes more and more heated and eventually violent. They fight back against the police because you know neither of them would ever go quietly. Enj and R end up getting arrested together before everything goes insanely out of control, and if anyone else from their group was there, they manage to get away. In prison, Enjy talks to R about the whole deal. Through that conversation, they discuss the LGBT+ movement (though I can't remember if it was called that at the time) and Enjy eventually admits he's not straight, and one of the reasons he ended up becoming the School Vigilante is because he used to be tormented for it, and taught himself how to fight back. He refuses to let anyone else go through the same suffering for it. His protection soon extended to anyone being bullied and picked on, not just fellow queer people. The two of them decide that something has to be done, and this is the start of something massive. Enj tells R that he'll be going back whenever they get released, and Grantaire agrees to go with him.

Jav and Jvj come and negotiate for the release of the two of them since they're visiting French students and all that. When they get back to the place they're staying, I imagine they get a massive yelling-at from Ferre and Courf and Ponine. None of them know the full story, only that the two of them were caught in a bar and got arrested. I'm not sure how old all of them are in this... they're all over 18 in the novel (if I've done my math right) so they weren't arrested for being underage, so there are all sorts of rumors flying around about the two of them.

The next day, someone, I'm not sure who, overhears the two of them discussing what happened the night before, though they've both agreed not to mention anything personal about each other, in case that exact situation of being overheard occurs. However, the person who listens in on them goes to the rest of the group and talks about the protests, and eventually come to the decision that yes, what's happening is a massive deal, and they kinda all want to be part of it? Even if not all of them are part of the community, like Marius and Cosette, they're all very supportive allies and agree to join in these protests. Enj and R try to sneak out when they're confronted with the rest of the students. The two of them think the others are going to try to stop them until Courf steps up and says "like hell we're letting you do this alone,"

They all meet up before the Stonewall, joining a crowd of over a thousand people, surging against the police cordons. The bar itself has smashed windows and looks like someone tried to burn it, but it's still defiantly staying open. R gets his hands on a bunch of rainbow spray paint and joins in a group grafitting walls and buildings. Is grafitting even a word? Grafitti-ing? I dunno. But I had to look up when spray paint was invented and began being used and now I can tell you all about the history of aerosol. Being a writer, right?

They stick around for the rest of the week, joining in various rallies and protests at night, participating in the actual point of their trip during the day. Jav and Jvj obviously know what their students are doing, but they’ve both decided to not mention it at all.

One morning after the group has been out all night, they all escape the chaos and catch rides to Central Park? Maybe? I’ll have to see if that’s even possible. More research, yay!

Anyway, probably Central Park. I don’t really care how improbable it is rn. And we just get a series of shots of all the couples together who’ve found each other.

Enjolras and Grantaire, Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet, Bahorel and Feully, Maruis and Cosette. I’m going for lesbian or ace Eponine. Maybe both? If anyone else has suggestions, please lemme know.

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The only problem is, will I ever get around to actually writing this? No, probably not.

Sorry for the long post! Look I get that people feel weird leaving long replies or whatever but I promise you it's totally okay. More responses = me being more likely to actually write this, please and thank you! I'll probably come back to this someday and see if I can update it and add even more ideas and stuff to it, because I feel like I could turn this into a pretty cool fic, if anyone's even interested in it. Thank you so much, everyone!

[thecassadilla]

Written in the Stars - Chapter 3

Word Count: 3,755/AO3

Pairing: Kristanna

Love During Lockdown Series: Serendipity (Prologue) | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Summary: Figuring out how to go on an in-person date during a time of social distancing would be a challenge for anyone. Luckily, it comes easy to Anna and Kristoff, who find a creative way to spend some time with each other amidst a pandemic.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone, I’m back at it again. After a long week of feeling like I couldn’t see or think straight, I’ve somehow managed to write another chapter of this. It’s trash, just like me, so don’t read it lol. As a random side note that nobody even cares about - I haven’t eaten at a McDonald’s or a Dairy Queen in so long. Like, years - and not because of the pandemic, or because I’m a health nut, but just because XD. I don’t even know what this chapter is tbh. I hope you like it! (Also, I hope you like my little joke about Kristoff’s taste in music :P)

Kristoff turned around and looked through the rear windshield as he reversed out of the spot. As soon as they were back in drive, he asked “So, what are your friends like?”

“They’re really great,” Anna answered, simply. “We balance each other out.”

“What does that mean?”

“You called me brave, earlier - they’d call me bold. Let’s just say I’ve made some...questionable decisions in the past, and they’ve always been there to help me get through it.”

“They sound like good friends.”

She raised one of her hands up to cover her mouth as she realized what she’d just said. “Oh god, I just realized how terrible that sounded. I haven’t, like, gone to jail or murdered anyone. College is the prime time for making mistakes, and I’m not exempt from that. Just a lot of drinking and partying.”

“I just want you to know that I wasn’t assuming that you murdered someone,” he laughed. 

“Well, I don’t know! I phrased it so horribly, a lot of assumptions could be made.”

“Don’t worry, you’re totally fine,” he insisted.

“Anyway, I met my best friend, Diana, in freshman year English and we had a lot of fun together. I haven’t spoken to her in awhile, though.”

“Because of quarantine?”

“No,” she sighed. “We had a falling out. I don’t know. I mean, I know, but it’s complicated and neither of us want to suck it up and talk about it.”

“I totally get that. I’ve never really had a best friend, but there’s always been some type of drama within my friend groups. I’m just the guy who tries not to take sides or get involved.”

“The problem is that Diana and I are both equally guilty in this case. I hurt her, and she hurt me, and we’re both being babies about it.”

“Maybe you should be the bigger person, then? If she’s really your best friend, then you want her in your life, right?”

“I know, it’s just hard,” she whined. “I know that it would be the right thing to do, but I’m just not ready to have that talk yet. My friend Amanda - she’s the one who I mentioned you to - is the mediator right now. Diana isn’t ready, yet, either, according to her.”

“I’m not really qualified to give you advice here, but hopefully it all works out for both of you.”

“Something that you’ll come to learn about me, if we continue to see each other, is that I’m very stubborn and very strong-willed. Diana has a similar personality, so we tend to clash.”

“Strong-willed, huh? I guess that sounds like you - I am driving to Dairy Queen, after all.”

She reached over and playfully shoved his arm. “Shut up!”

He momentarily took both of his hands off of the steering wheel to raise them in surrender. “Sorry, I was just teasing.”

“I know,” she smirked. “I was, too. Anyway, I trust my instincts, and I know that we’ll make up someday.”

“That’s good. Friends are important.”

“What are your friends like?”

“They’re just...very relaxed. Easy to hang out with - just meet up at the bar and talk for a while. I don’t really have a best friend, like I said, but I hang out with Ryder the most, probably because I live with him. And I’m pretty good friends with his sister, too. They’re good people.”

“We could always use good people in our lives. Your roommate seems to look after you, from what you’ve told me.”

“Usually I’m the one looking after him,” he corrected. “He’s only nineteen, but he’s a good kid. He was working his ass off when all of this started - two jobs and in school full time.”

“Wow, that’s pretty impressive. I could barely manage one job and school.”

“I give him a lot of credit. Just don’t tell him that I told you that.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for him we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” she pointed out. “Give credit where it’s due.”

“You’ll have to remind me to thank him.”

“I’d also like to thank him, someday.”

“You can come over whenever you want; he literally doesn’t care. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said he was chill. I mean, he’s been taking this very seriously, but he always preferred to hang out with his friends while playing video games, so it’s a win-win situation for him.”

“I wish I had that type of freedom in my own apartment,” she practically growled, crossing her arms over her chest. “But, I will definitely take you up on that offer.”

“And I can fulfill my promise to cook you dinner. You can even invite your sister, if you wanted to.”

“Ha, you’re cute, but she isn’t stepping foot outside of that apartment until the coast is totally clear. If she doesn’t want me to leave, she definitely isn’t leaving.”

“I thought you said the only reason you were able to come today was because she was sleeping and couldn’t stop you. She isn’t always going to be asleep.”

“Yeah, but I can sneak out,” she shrugged. “I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

“Are you talking about rappelling down the side of the building or something?”

“I’m not a superhero,” she laughed. “My sister has a very strict weekday routine. She works all day in her room and doesn’t come out until it’s time for us to start dinner.”

“Wouldn’t she hear the front door close?”

“She also happens to wear noise-cancelling headphones so she can go to her zoom meetings without distractions. I just have to leave before she finishes her work for the day.”

“You really weren’t joking about being strong-willed, huh?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “I’m very determined. So, what type of music do you like to listen to?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, trying to think of an answer. “I listen to a bunch of different stuff. I guess I really like rock music, but a lot of rock music is also considered pop music? I listen to a lot of older stuff, too, like Queen.”

“I guess that was kind of an unfair question, because I don’t have a straight answer for it, either. I like Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande. I mostly listen to pop, but I also have an affinity for music from the ‘80s. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun is my jam.”

He laughed. “That’s a good one.”

“Can’t take life too seriously, you know?” She giggled. “Anyway, next question.”

“Is this a test?”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “No. I just want to know more about you, and the only way to do that is if we keep asking each other questions.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Um...favorite color?”

“Ooh, I really like jewel tones!” 

He glanced over at her. “....am I supposed to know what that is?”

“Really rich colors, like emerald green and sapphire blue - named after different jewels.”

“Aha,” he remarked triumphantly. “See, I wasn’t expecting an answer like that.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“I’m fond of blue. And gray. Kind of boring compared to your favorite colors, but those are the colors I wear the most.” He took one hand off the wheel, and motioned to his gray t-shirt as proof of his statement.

“It’s not boring,” she assured him. “I don’t know why I expected you to know what jewel tones were. And I guess I made a good decision when I chose to wear blue today.”

“I guess you’re a mind reader.”

“Alright, so,” she started, clapping her hands together. “What is your favorite food?”

“Easy, pizza.”

“Mine is chocolate.”

“Does that count as a food?”

“I don’t see why not,” she shrugged. “I like chocolate everything. Chocolate bars, chocolate cake, hot chocolate. Ooh, and I’m definitely going to get some type of chocolate ice cream at Dairy Queen.”

“That’s why I asked if it counted as a food,” he laughed. “There are so many different chocolate things that it seems more like a flavor than a food.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “You win. Uhh...I’ll pick pizza, too, I guess. Or sandwiches. Or sushi - see, you should’ve just left it at chocolate. I love food too much.”

“You don’t have to listen to me. What do I know?”

“It’s fine, it’s not your fault that I like everything.”

“Do you have any foods that you dislike?”

“I’m not a fan of brussels sprouts,” she shrugged. “But I’m willing to try anything once.”

“Even something like escargot or sardines?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“How about liver?”

“Okay,” she answered, scrunching up her nose. “Probably not liver.”

“I figured, liver just seems gross. But, you’re definitely more adventurous with food than I am. I’m not picky, but I don’t think I’d be willing to try sardines or anything.”

“To each his own,” she responded, simply. 

“Once we pass this light we’re going to be at Dairy Queen,” he pointed out. “How about instead of eating in the car, we drive over to the park we just passed? So we can stretch our legs for a bit?”

“What a great idea!” She exclaimed. “What are you going to get?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t been to a Dairy Queen in forever. Probably one of those things they turn upside down to show you how cold it is or something?”

“Blizzards!” She yelled. “I love those! I’m going to get one, too.”

“I feel like that’s the whole point of going,” he chuckled. “You can’t go there and not get a Blizzard. It’s like going to Burger King and then not getting a Whopper.”

“You make an excellent point,” she said, as the car pulled into the strip mall parking lot. The lot was mostly empty, save for a few cars, and so Kristoff was able to park right in front of the entrance. 

“I guess we have to put the masks back on, right?” He asked, as he cut the engine and pulled his keys out of the ignition.

“Yeah,” she sighed, picking her mask up from where it rested and looping it over her ears. “I don’t mind wearing a mask, but I really can’t wait until we don’t have to wear them anymore.”

“We’ll get there, someday,” he stated, putting his own mask on, but for good measure, he added, “Hopefully.” 

“I feel really awful for the people who have to wear these all day, everyday with no breaks. I’ve seen so many pictures online and I can’t even imagine what all of those essential workers are going through.”

“Tell me about it,” he remarked, reaching for the door handle and pulling it open. He motioned for her to go inside and then quickly followed behind her. The restaurant was completely deserted, with the exception of the two employees standing behind the counter.

“Can I help you?” One of the employees spoke up, as they approached; they kept a considerable distance in spite of the tape marks on the floor.

“Just a second,” Anna answered, squinting up at the menu. Her eyes darted around the illuminated sign for a moment before she looked over at Kristoff. “I know what I want, are you ready?”

“Yeah,” he responded, and they stepped up to the line.

“May I have a small Choco Brownie Extreme Blizzard?”

The cashier nodded and pushed a few buttons on the register before looking expectantly at Kristoff.

“Uh, may I please have a Royal Rocky Road Trip Blizzard? Also small.”

The cashier nodded once again before gruffly asking, “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Anna said, digging through her purse to find her wallet. The cashier read her the total, while the other employee began making the frozen concoctions.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay?”

“Don’t be silly!” She insisted, sticking her credit card into the chip reader. “You paid for dinner, I’m paying for dessert.”

The cashier muttered something under her breath, and Anna glanced up and was met with narrowed eyes. She pulled her card out, and as soon as the receipt printed, the cashier hastily thrust it at her before stepping away. She glanced back at Kristoff, who was reading a sign taped to the wall, and most likely hadn’t noticed the odd exchange. 

A moment later, the other employee returned with a white paper bag. Anna took it, and thanked her before walking over to Kristoff.

“Ready?”

“Yup,” he answered. “Do you want me to carry that?”

“No, I got it.”

He reached out and held the door open for her again, and they stepped out into the hot, humid air. 

“It kind of feels nice out there after sitting in the car for so long,” he remarked, as they climbed into the car. “You still wanna go to the park, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, simply, staring out the window as he backed out of the spot and drove away. Her mind was in another place; she was replaying the moment with the cashier over and over again.

“You know, I was thinking,” he started, glancing over at her. “What a crazy name Royal Rocky Road is. It’s a tongue twister - try saying that three times fast.”

She let out a small laugh in response, but continued to look at the passing cars and trees. The rest of the short drive was quiet, and they arrived at the park within a few minutes. Just like Dairy Queen, it was practically deserted, with the exception of one other car in the entire lot.

“Do you want to walk around or do you want me to pop open the trunk so we can sit outside but not have to worry about finding a bench?”

“We could just sit outside for a while,” she answered, finally looking over at him. She hadn’t even realized that she left her mask on until she saw that he had taken his off. She quickly reached back behind her ears to pull the loops free, and placed the mask on the center console. 

She opened the door and stepped out of the SUV, clutching the bag in her hands. She walked around to the rear of the car, where Kristoff was opening the trunk. She placed the bag onto the flat surface and started to open it.

“Should we sanitize our hands again?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She dropped her hands away and walked back to the front of the car and retrieved her purse, before returning to him.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I had realized your bag was in the front.”

“No, it’s fine, it just slipped my mind. Can’t be too safe, right?”

She dug through her purse in search of the tiny bottle, and when she found it, she squeezed a dollop into his waiting hands before taking some for herself and placing the bottle on the floor of the trunk, next to the bag.

“Thank you, again,” he said, as he rubbed his hands together. “I’ll have to get a couple of bottles to keep in the car. Normally they smell like alcohol, but yours smells really nice.”

“I got this one from Bath and Body Works - they have tons of different scents. You can keep it if you want, I have a bunch at home.”

“Thank you, but that’s okay. I’m sure stuff like that is in short supply right now, and I never really go anywhere.”

She nodded, deciding that she was going to leave it in his cup holder anyway; it would make her feel better knowing that he had some if he needed it. She reached back and opened the bag, taking out the two identical cups. The employee was kind enough to write the initials of the flavors they got, so they were easily distinguishable. She handed him his ice cream and spoon before taking her own.

“This is going to sound so ridiculous, but I wish they could’ve turned them upside down,” he remarked as he took the lid off of his cup. “Obviously they couldn’t, but it’s part of the experience. Or, it used to be.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, staring at the cup in her hands. The interaction with the cashier was still heavy on her mind; there was an insurmountable feeling of guilt that was bubbling up inside of her, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation. 

For a few moments, they quietly ate their ice cream, partly because it was sure to melt quickly in the blazing heat. 

“Hey, Anna?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.

She blinked and looked up at him. “Hmm?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Not at all! You’re great.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Dairy Queen, and if I said or did something -”

“No, you didn’t,” she cut him off mid-sentence. “I swear.”

“Is something bothering you?”

It seemed unavoidable now; she wished that she wasn’t so obvious with her emotions, but it was better to let it out than hold it in, right? “It’s just...that girl who helped us at Dairy Queen seemed upset or angry or something. She said something under her breath and gave me the dirtiest look and practically threw the receipt at me. I don’t know why, but I’m assuming because she’s working at an ice cream parlor, serving people like me, during a crisis.”

He looked slightly bewildered at her revelation. “You can’t make that assumption,” he assured her. “She could be angry for a million reasons.”

“I know, but that’s the assumption that my brain keeps going back to. In what world is ice cream essential?”

“It’s not, but you’re not the one making those calls.”

“It doesn’t help that she’s probably only making ten dollars an hour while everyone on unemployment is getting an extra six hundred dollars a week,” she pointed out, her eyebrows furrowing together.

“I agree, it’s not fair to anyone working right now. You didn’t implement that rule, though.”

“This whole situation isn’t fair. People had to cancel their weddings - that’s absolutely insane to me. Could you imagine spending months or years planning the happiest day of your life only for a virus to come and ruin it?”

He shook his head. “I can’t. But I guess if the love is there then the date doesn’t really matter? I don’t know.”

“Or what about the people who have kids? Could you imagine living with a kid, right now? I hated being home as a kid - I needed to go to school and see people, or go to my activities, or I would’ve gone crazy. How are people coping?”

“They have technology on their side, at least. We didn’t have tablets or anything when we were kids, you know?”

“I keep wondering - and this has nothing to do with you - if it’s bad or wrong to feel happy right now. Like, so much of the world is suffering, and I’m privileged enough to not be suffering, and feeling content with my own life makes me feel so…” she trailed off, her eyes downcast.

“Guilty?” He guessed.

“Yeah, exactly. Whatever this is could be a really good thing, and I want that - I want good things. We’re both healthy, but we’re breaking the rules to spend time together, and as great and wonderful as this has been, I can’t help but think about the people who haven’t been so lucky in this situation.”

“I don’t think you should think like that,” he said, simply. “I completely understand where you’re coming from, but you can’t blame yourself for what happens to other people. Some parts of life can’t be stopped or controlled no matter how hard we try.”

“I know,” she frowned.

“Besides, it isn’t like you’re one of those people who’s pretending that it’s over, or didn’t even exist to begin with. We’ve been following the rules - wearing masks, and cleaning our hands. There isn’t much else we can do; we can’t completely stop living. This pandemic is messing with everyone, even if we don’t realize it.”

“I guess it scares me more than I thought it did,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I have a lot of hope that this will all end, someday, but at the same time, I just don’t know.”

“I feel the same way.”

“And then, in all of this mess, I can’t help but think that we might not have met each other if it weren’t for this stupid pandemic - and despite my ranting, I’m happy that we did. I know we were joking about it before, but I keep thinking back to when I promised to shake your hand - or even when I tried to hug you, earlier. The only reason why I’m scared of doing those things is because of what’s happening,” she explained. “Everything feels wrong.”

“It may be socially unacceptable at the moment, but I’m personally okay with it because it’s such a small, calculated risk. We each live with one other person, and neither of us has even been in public in so long, you know?”

She didn’t answer. He seemed so rational and level-headed and calm, and quite frankly, she felt like a mess. There was a considerable amount of undeniable tension building up between the two of them, and although they were still standing side-by-side, she found herself staring at him. How easy it would be to wrap her arms around him, lean up, and press a kiss to his lips.

And even though he just expressly said that he was okay with being touched, she pushed the thought back down. It was absurd, almost - how natural it felt to be around someone she hardly knew, and yet be wracked with an asinine amount of guilt over the state of the world.

She shook her head, snapping herself out of the trance that she was in. “Sorry for rambling, I do that a lot. But I really appreciate that you were willing to listen to my rant and I hope you don’t think that I regret coming out with you, or something.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he looked down at her and gave her a small smile. “We’re all bound to...feel things after being trapped inside for two months.” 

“Thanks for understanding,” she smiled back, appreciative of his sincerity. She quickly realized that continually pushing her thoughts away was certainly going to be a struggle, especially when he looked at her with such kindness. And for some reason she didn’t quite understand, she tore her focus away from him and placed it back on the cup in her hands.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

Share a Lair 04 || Keep Char Distracted

Jasper and Henry were chatting about NYE plans whenever Max was TRYING to distract his mind from this past week’s thoughts of Charlotte and work on his latest invention. Sure - he selected to do so in the living room, and that was no place for science experiments… well… technically ANY place was a place for science experiments. But, he was still annoyed to hear their voices, despite the fact that he had not heard a single word that either of them were saying. Until one of them said, “What’ll we do about Charlotte?” He hated that just the mere mention of her name demanded his attention, but there he was, unintentionally eavesdropping.

“She probably won’t want to, anyway,” Henry said. “Not really her thang."

"Yeah, but… she’ll still wanna be included. What if she says YES, and we have to spend your first solo NYE hearing her talk about how bad every idea is! Henry… it’s a party BOAT! Drunk young people on a boat, in the middle of the water, specifically to avoid the police…”

“When you’re right, you’re right. Maybe we can get her a distraction?” Henry suggested. “Like, get somebody else to hang out with her for New Year’s Eve and let her be their party pooper!” And because they were sure he wasn’t listening at all, then he heard both of them cheer, “MAX!"

He looked up as they headed over and he sighed. "Max, buddy, we need a HUGE favor and I will repay you in - doing whatever you say about the lair for the entire month of January!” Henry offered. Fool. Max would’ve did this for free. But there was no need to make himself appear too available.

“Whatever it is, I’m not remotely interested,” Max lied. No other word for it. He just straight up lied about it right to those boys’ faces.

“Hear us out, first,” Jasper said.

“Sounded like you two wanna be alone for New Year’s Eve, so you want me to cart Charlotte around so you won’t have to man up and admit that you don’t want her around,” Max said.

“I know it might sound bad, but it’s just that this is going to be a potentially excellent night, and as much as we both love Charlotte, she’s not really one to overlook potential danger, not even at the expense of potential excellence!”

“And I’m not some scapegoat. Just tell her you want a nice evening with your boyfriend and be done with it.”

“My what?” Henry asked. Max walked away, with his experiment in hand, hiding a smirk. Henry gave chase, “Listen! Dude… I KNOW Char’s not fun and she’s kind of a super nerd and is pretty uptight.”

“You’re really selling her here, Hen,” Max said, deadpan.

“Two months!” Henry said. “January AND February.”

“You agree to make sure she’s not the one doing the chores in the community space and I’ll consider it,” Max said. Henry winced. Max shrugged and kept walking.

Jasper looked desperately at Henry, clasping his hands together, as though in prayer. “Fine! But, just so you know, she loves stuff like that. Cleaning up and being helpful and stuff. You’re taking away her potential joy by forcing my hand.”

“I’m sure,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “And just so you know… Charlotte’s not a nerd. You’re way more of a nerd than she is.” Max gave him a playful double slap on the cheek and Henry gasped at the suggestion.

“How do you figure?”

“I mean… Look at her and look at you,” Max said. Jasper looked like he was actually considering this. Max was the smartest man he had ever met, with the exception of Schwoz and to be honest, Jasper wasn’t actually smart enough to fully determine which of the two of them WAS the smarter man. Henry laughed uncomfortably and looked at Jasper, awaiting some type of backup in this conversation. Max expounded. “Okay, I get that she’s a straight A student, makes academic lists, spends her time working instead of having fun, BUT - she’s super hot, her hair is goals, has an amazing fashion sense, can skillfully do cool shit like beat everybody’s ass in video games and play musical instruments - SHE was in a band, Henry. Were YOU ever in a band?”

“What did you… have to like… write a report on her?” Henry asked, uncomfortably, laughing.

Jasper answered, “He WASN’T in a band! But I was!”

“JASPER is less of a nerd than you,” Max added, to twist the knife. He really didn’t like it whenever Henry said negative stuff about Charlotte. He actually agreed that Charlotte was a nerd… But, he also knew that he could make this argument in her favor, and just because she was a nerd didn’t mean that Henry had to keep repeating it out loud.

Henry gasped and Jasper nodded, very pleased, until Henry said, “Jasper had social media accounts for BUCKET collections AND a Bucketeer podcast!”

“Jasper ALSO had a podcast? Man, Henry, what do YOU bring to the cool kids’ table when you aren’t in uniform?”

“Wha… Well… I bring not being an uptight, straight A student or someone who wears belly shirts or collects buckets…”

“HEY!” Jasper said and folded his arms.

“What’s wrong with belly shirts?” Max asked.

“Yeah, what is?” Jasper insisted, now, clearly in Max’s corner. Truthfully, Max could wear a belly shirt. Lord knows he had the abs for them… But he never would, because once again, he agreed with Henry that they were pretty lame, but once again, he wasn’t gonna give Henry the satisfaction. This was a battle, of sorts. Over Charlotte’s honor and good name. Max didn’t care what the facts were, as long as he won it.

Henry shook his head. “I’m just… Jasper. Come on. You think I’M the nerdiest in our trio? It’s obviously Charlotte, and if it’s not… I mean… It CAN’T be ME. I’m Kid Danger, for crying out loud.”

Jasper rolled his eyes, looked at Max and Max knew this was about to be sweet satisfaction. “I once had a birthday party that every kid in Swellview showed up to because Captain Man stopped in. Henry had a party a few years later that Piper couldn’t convince her cool friends to show up at, because they knew that it was Henry’s, even with her public figure status and vouching for him.” Max laughed. Henry stammered. Jasper wasn’t done. “Henry had the same pick up line for years - never worked. Two of his girlfriends left him to go to a reality show, meanwhile, I had an obsessive girl who had to be pushed out of a window to stay away from me.”

“I understand that,” Max said. “Mine used to sleep outside of my house. Well, it’s clear to me who’s the nerdiest nerd of your circle.” Jasper looked worried for a moment, so Max reassured him, “It’s Henry, Dude.” Jasper fist pumped.

Henry and he began to argue about their accomplishments versus failures, “Captain Man only showed up because I got him to! Use your brain, Man.”

“I had my own hero day because I can be brave WITHOUT a sidekick suit. You’re unofficially the Playground Pooper!”

“You were the one that was ACTUALLY considered bizarre enough to BE the Playground Pooper!” Max smirked and continued on his way out of the room.

“Hey! You never said that you agreed to distract her!” Henry said.

Max turned around and smiled at him, “Oh, right. Yeah, you had me at “get somebody else to hang out with her for New Year’s Eve and let her be their party pooper.” It slowly dawned on Henry that Max had heard their entire conversation and played him for a fool. Why would someone do this? Like he could read his mind, Max said, “Charlotte deserves better friends.”

Jasper gasped. “I would fight a shark for Char! I just… don’t want her out there with us for New Year’s Eve.” Max rolled his eyes. “Is… Is Henry still the nerdiest, or was that ALL a game?”

“He definitely is. I mean, you strike me as a bisexual individual. Look at their curve records. Compare the quality of people that have turned him down or been interested in him verses hers.”

“What does THAT have to do with…”

“Hot people dig hot people,” Max said.

“Way more hot people have liked and been turned down by Charlotte!” Jasper said with realization.

“Joss Moss said that I was cute. That cancels out like… HALF of Charlotte’s list! Joss Moss is a wealthy socialite and the daughter of an infamous mob boss.” Henry fussed, flustered.

“I say that Charlotte’s cute,” Max said and folded his arms. “I’m a global superhero.”

“That wins,” Jasper whispered, very impressed with how hot Max was, especially right now, for some reason. Finally, Henry conceded and Max left the room. He really had to prep if he was gonna be hanging out with Charlotte tonight!

.

Charlotte came into the lair through the front entrance. Max had been a little less unbearable this week, so she decided to test it out and if she ran into a problem, she’d simply never come back to this house, ever again. She laughed. J/K, she thought. Her boys were here. Whenever she got inside, it was pretty quiet. She expected Henry and Jasper to be in the common area, but maybe they were in the tower. Ugh. Now, she’d have to walk to the tower…

“Hey!” Max cheered, suddenly and when she heard his voice, she turned to say it back, but she lost her ability to speak or move. He smiled brightly, with this look of accomplishment and while she realized that she probably had something to do with that; her body had nothing. “SO, long story short, you’re stuck with me tonight and Henry and Jasper are at the Man Cave getting ready to go to some kind of NYE thing.”

She scoffed, “WHAT? They let me drive all the way here and just stuck me with you???” It came out more harsh than she expected, and sounded like she was attacking him, when she meant for it to be directed at the boys. His smile was less confident, now and his eyebrows looked a little… bothered. “I mean… I’m sure that you have much better things to do than have to pretend to entertain me tonight.”

He perked up again and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t have to pretend. You’ll be entertained. There’s a party in Metroburg or one in Hiddenville, Lady’s Choice.”

“Ummm… What are the pros and cons of each?” she asked. He hoped she’d loosen up before they hit any party.

“Pros are they’re parties. Cons are they’re not gonna abandon you to a guy that you barely know and hardly like?” He said, huffing a laugh.

“Hurtful,” she said.

“Well, we’re even, then.”

“Metroburg is full of open superpowers and probably has the greatest technology in daily life… But, I probably need to visit there on a day trip, not the night of a party, whenever people are going to be drinking. Drinking and DRIVING is bad enough. Drinking and suping?”

“OH MY GOD!” Max cried out to the sky, exasperated. “Let’s just go to Hiddenville! That’s where my friends will be, anyway.”

“Well… Why were you considering Metroburg, then?”

“Because that’s where the supes are and where I was born.”

“Well, do you want to go ahead and go there instead?” He was starting to see why her friends might want to ditch her on a party night. She was very preoccupied with making the right decision, when sometimes, all it took was just making ANY decision.

“Let’s go to Hiddenville,” he said, putting his foot down. She held up a finger and pulled out her party gumball dispenser. Was she supposed to have it? No. Did she deserve it, therefore take it? Well, she’d just pulled it out, so what does that tell you? She blew a bubble and transformed into a Black party dress, high heeled boots and a sparkly headband with the new year at the top of it. Even her flawless makeup had been designed into the gumball and she looked like… she was meant to be on his arm tonight. He was far more casual - in all black with a shirt, an over shirt, his jacket and a tight pair of pants with heavy boots. But… they matched… WELL! She held her hands out, a little bit self conscious and said, “This is fine for your party, right? I can’t tell if I’m overdressed or you just don’t give a shit, either way because any and everything looks good on you…” Her eyes widened at this unconscious admission.

“We look awesome,” he said, and pointed two fingers at the door to open it and used his other hand to make sure he was powering things down in the house.

[naturesgender]

hey folks this is gonna be a really really long post, i just kinda gotta write some stuff down, idk if anyone is gonna see this but if you do i’m gonna try to do the thing where there’s a cut and you can press “keep reading” if you wanna see the whole thing but idk how to do that so if it doesn’t work i’m sorry in advance!

*i think i figured it out, it should work! just put it there so u wouldn’t have to scroll past the whole thing if u didn’t wanna read it cause it’s rlly fuckin long lmao i love u all <3*

ok so

i am not Clinically Depressed i don’t live w/depression i don’t struggle with it on a daily basis i am generally a pretty Not-Depressed person

however

i am doing my best to get better at not ignoring the times when i *do* feel depressed because “i don’t actually suffer from clinical depression so this isn’t even that bad!” or “a lot of my friends feel like this on a daily fuckin basis and that’s really awful for them so i should always prioritize their feelings over mine all the time” or “these are stupid reasons to be depressed anyway” or “even though it’s really really hard for me to get out of bed right now there are people who sometimes Cannot get out of bed and i am not one of those people so it’s all good lol” or any of that shit cause (news flash) i am not the greatest at taking good emotional care of myself, and although i have gotten better at letting others take care of me, i still have lots of problems feeling comfy doing that if they’re not also letting me take care of them (which is a whole other issue that i’m not gonna get into rn)

so with all that in mind i just kind of wanted to get it down in writing and like Acknowledge the fact that during this past semester, mostly during the past month, i have been the most generally depressed i’ve been for a long time, maybe ever. i was definitely depressed in freshman year and was having some pretty Not Spicy Thoughts (nothing *super* serious dw) and that definitely wasn’t fun, but that was like a different brand of depression. back then the main reason i was depressed was bc i had no friends (or at least none i felt i could really be close with) and i was struggling to make the transition to high school and i didn’t really feel like either of my two-friends-who-i-didn’t-feel-i-could-be-close-with cared about me at all. this is a different brand. i’m very lucky to have a lovely group of very close friends who i can trust and who i mostly feel i can rely on (although when it comes to relying on my friends, the problem isn’t that i don’t feel that my friends are reliable bc i know that they are and i know they love me!! i trust that they would help me!! the issue is that i don’t often feel like it would be fair to ask them for help, but like i said that’s a whole other issue just wanted to clarify that the issue is not with my friends it’s 100% with me and i know that). i have a pretty good social life as of rn, and even though we’re all dealing with this shitty shitty pandemic, my friends and i have found ways to stay connected and we videochat and play games and i love them so much and i’m so grateful for them and they make my life infinitely better. so the social aspect is not the issue here in the same way it was in freshman year. the issue here is that i seem to have lost most of my driving force.

here is a list to help me acknowledge things

i turn 18 in exactly a month (january 7th) and although i know that i don’t just *poof* into an adult, i am still terrified of losing my childhood (much of which i have already lost due to very poor memory and my anxiety quashing the ability to be weird the way that i am/the way that i want to) and i don’t have myself together in the way that i wanted to by the time i reached 18/senior year/graduation/Adulting Time

online class is hell, the work has only gotten harder, i sit at my desk and stare at my computer screen for over 10 hours a day and don’t move and get lots of headaches and feel very understimulated, there’s always Something i haven’t done, and i can’t find it in me to give any shits about school in any way shape or form

except for maybe practicum i care about practicum i always care about practicum

i have basically no money and my gap year is coming up and i can’t get a job right now and i might not be able to get a job this school year at all and i am terrified of not being able to make enough money to give my friends the safe space they need, i need to support them, they need people who will Love Them, i want to give them a home i want to be a home for them and i am fucking terrified of not being able to make it happen for them

and for myself but also not really

like i definitely want this and i’m super excited to live with them but i’m also scared to leave home but i also know that they Need to leave home and i want to give them what they need!! and we’re gonna have such a good time!! and we’re gonna be safe and we’re gonna be whole and we’re gonna be loved and we’re gonna be a family!! this needs to happen i need to give them this we need to make this

i don’t wanna make it seem like i don’t wanna live with them, i do, i really do, i love them to pieces, i love them with all i am, i can’t express how much i love them, and i’m really really really excited, but at this point i’m mostly scared

having been diagnosed with (mild) adhd does not make it any easier to focus or sleep and i cannot fucking focus and i haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks

there’s so much shit that i have to do hanging over my head, mostly it’s scheduling i’m trying to schedule my life basically (which sounds crazy but it’s less intense than it sounds i’m just trying to give myself more structure) but that’s a really overwhelming task and every time i try to make a schedule i can never stick to it so i have a lot less faith in it this time around

my sexuality and gender and thoughts about surgery/transitions/etc remain unclear and the only thing i’m sure of is that i’m demiromantic, but that doesn’t do shit about unrequited romance, which hurts like a motherfucker, and i don’t even truly know if it *is* romance that i’m wanting and there’s nothing real that i can do about that either

still feeling like shit about my body in a lot of different ways, not gonna get too far into it rn

the pandemic + online school + drudgery of classes + general unmotivated feelings + no changes in routine + a lack of structure + same environment 24/7 makes every day feel the fucking same and i’m sick of it

i’m stressed about vassar results coming out tmrw and i still have to write like at most 8 different college supplements before december 23rd (2 weeks)

i haven’t really sat down and done anything i’ve Enjoyed for a while and not had a Responsibility hanging over my head

basically i’m tired and anxious and overworked and lonely and lacking a driving force and really really fucking angry at everything and all that combines to make me pretty damn miserable! and as a result of all of this, my self-care is slipping and then my room doesn’t get clean and my bed doesn’t get made and i don’t get dressed or make myself proper meals or brush my teeth or sleep and that just makes it worse

and i want to talk about how i do definitely still have plenty of happy moments and good things and there is still a good amount of sunshine, i’m not *completely* miserable, but the minute i start thinking about that, i start to think that whatever sunshine there may be automatically cancels out any gray that there is, which is not a good place to be because i don’t want to fake being happy (i’ve never been good at that anyway which is probably a good thing) so i’m trying to acknowledge that hey! things are pretty shitty!! but please keep in mind that even as i type this, most of me is saying things along the lines of “don’t share this don’t post it don’t complain you don’t have it bad you’re fine you need to take care of your friends you can’t feel these things just snap out of it and you’ll be fine” so this is a pretty big step and a lot for me to just Put Out Into The World

i spent a while trying to think of other things that i could add here but i don’t really think there’s much else to say. i’m not sure where to go from here. i don’t have any magic solutions so i am trying really really hard not to let myself slip into complete giving-up-i-will-not-get-better space and it helps to just Know what’s in my brain. i don’t know if i have the mental energy to try to “fix” any of these issues right now, i just think i needed to start by writing them down. now i have them and i guess i’ll see where i can go from here. sorry this post was super long for anyone who may have chosen to take a look

that’s all <3

[thechildoflightning]

The Kübler-Ross Model Ch2- Anger

Title: The Kübler-Ross Model [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: background LAMP, Elliot/Mitchell

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Chapter Title: Anger- Chapter Two

Summary: 

Stage Two: Anger- Characterized by high energy and coped up frustrations that begin to pour out by lashing out at others or yourself.

In which Remy is angry about everything.

Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Verbal Fights, Toxic Relationships (hinted at), Transphobia (mentioned), Exclusionary Rhetoric (mentioned), Ableism

[ao3 link]

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Anger- Chapter Two

“Selected: Voicemail. One item. Tab one of one,” Remy’s phone says, sounding almost bitter. Remy sighs, at this point already knowing who it’s from. He puts his finger to the screen, sliding it around as he searches for the desired section.

“Voicemail.”

One finger down.

“Daniel Zurko. M-”

Double tap.

“Remy. This is childish and has gone on way too long. I canceled the credit card. I expect you to call me so we can get you home. I get that you’re upset, but this is not the way to deal with it. You think I’m the bad guy but I am doing what’s best for you Remy, I always have. You need to grow up. You’re an adult now, act like one. Call me. Come home. Now.”

-

Moving into the dorms is a surprisingly low-key event. Remy gets to move in early, as does Kai, so they're not trying to get things done in the time most of the freshman are piling in. It’s a lot nicer that way. They don’t have people on top of them- actually they have pretty much no one on top of them- and that lowers Remy’s stress by a lot.

Except, this definitely wasn’t something he’s stressing about.

Okay, maybe he's been stressing about it a little bit.

It’s well- it’s just this an entire new place and the campus is huge. He’s visited a few times now to start getting a layout, but he knows it’s going to take weeks before he can find his way around with ease. It’s nice to start on that when no one else is here yet. It gives Remy space and he feels a little bit less self-conscious.

(It’s stupid that he feels self-conscious at all, he shouldn’t, but he does, so there’s that).

Kai and him get their dorm set up and decorated as well.

Or well- it’s mostly Remy setting things up while Kai comments snarkily from the corner that the bed doesn’t line up perfectly. (They had to move everything a bit to make space for Cha-Cha). Remy doesn’t really mind because it’s nice to see Kai relaxing. He seemed uncomfortable and unsure when he admitted that he couldn’t do any of the heavy lifting, so Remy takes the return to teasing as a good sign.

They decorate the dorm next and it’s fun and it’s easy and Remy’s really thinking he’s found a friend in Kai. 

Then Kai falls silent.

“Kai?” Remy asks when he stops making comments every two seconds.

“Yeah?”

“You good?”

Kai hesitates and Remy frowns. Remy’s about to ask a follow up question, but Kai beats him to speaking.

“Hey so, I brought two pride flags. I was hoping I could put them up in our room.”

Oh.

“Of course,” Remy says easily.

“I- yeah?”

“Yeah. Kai we’re literally in gender-inclusive dorming right now. But I mean, even if we weren't, yeah of course you can,” Remy insists, voice firm and even.

“Okay,” Kai says. He relaxes. “Okay.”

The tension in the room evaporates and Remy breathes out.

“Which flags?” he asks, curiosity peaking.

“Trans and demiboy,” Kai tells him.

Remy didn’t know you could be both trans and a demiboy. But that's probably better to google than to bug Kai with right now.

“I didn’t know there was a demiboy flag,” he admits.

The comment seems to perk Kai up and he explains to him the dark grey-grey-blue-white-and reverse of the demiboy flag. The two of them hang the flags up together. 

Kai gives him a hard time about hanging one up the wrong way and it takes Remy a solid minute to remember that both flags are reversible. He flips Kai off and scowls. Kai just laughs. The conversation turns casual once more.

“Oh!” Kai says at one point, moving quickly to sift through a bag on the other side of the room, “I got a thing and you can tell me if you hate the thing and if so I can return it, but you said that you have some light perception so…” he trails off.

There was a pause for a moment where neither of them said anything.

“Thoughts?” Kai eventually asks again.

“On?” 

“Ah man- you can’t see it?”

“Don’t know if we’ve talked about this yet but I’m blind actually,” Remy snarks back.

Kai groans.

“No just- okay catch.”

“Please tell me you’re not about to chuck something at a blind person Kai.”

The object lands softly next to him on the bed. Remy doesn’t know if that was intentional, or if Kai just failed to hit him. Either way Remy sighs and picks it up. The object is a box and has a thin circular button at one corner, but he still has no clue what it is.

“They’re fairy lights,” Kai explains, “Sorry. You said that you liked light and I thought you’d be able to see it because you said that you could see light.”

“Some light,” Remy says. He holds it up to his eyes and now he can barely see little tiny specs of light. “And I can kinda see it now. Is the box completely clear?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Uh…”

“I told you I liked light. You went out of your way to get fairy lights for our dorm. It’s an awesome idea, not your fault my eyes don’t work.”

“Yeah but the gift kind of failed.”

“Well if you like them we can still keep them. And if not- well you said you can return them? Depending on where they’re from we can see if we can find fairy lights I can actually see,” Remy suggests.

“Oh my gosh we could- there was a ton of options.”

Remy nods and stands up.

“Okay, where too?”

“Right now?” Kai asks.

“I mean it depends on where you got these, but yeah? I mean we have the time.”

That they do, now that they’ve mostly finished.

“Target. So there’s gotta be one locally.”

They spend a few minutes online, figure out the address, and then Remy’s getting up to go. He gets Cha-Cha in her harness and grabs his things before opening the door for a swing and waiting for Kai. Kai joins him at the door, hesitates for a second, and then grabs something right next to the door. At first Remy thinks it’s the bag, but Kai’s already holding that. Remy exits after him.

“I have a cane,” Kai says quietly. Which okay- that was the object by the door.

“Okay,” Remy says. “Do you want to take the bus?”

“No.”

Remy listens. He knows if it were him, he would just want somebody to listen.

“Okay. Where’s the Target?” 

Kai takes the lead and they’re off.

The Target is massive. But also Remy’s depth perception is shit so maybe it’s that but he’s pretty sure this is the largest Target he’s ever seen. By a lot.

“Holy shit this place is huge,” Kai remarks.

Remy murmurs his agreement. He hadn’t really known what living in a college town would mean. He’s starting to think he understands.

They make a beeline for the fairy lights which take up almost an entire aisle. They mess around, pressing all the buttons to light them up and see what their options are.

“I can’t see any of these,” Remy admits after a while, “The lights in here are too bright. But brighter and bigger is better, so if you find something that-”

“Remy there’s rainbow ones. Come here, come here, they’re shaped like rainbows.”

“We’re getting those.”

“They’re not that bright.”

“I literally do not care.”

They get the rainbow-shaped ones.

They head back- both a bit too excited about the rainbow-shaped lights to be considered socially acceptable. But also fuck socially acceptable so whatever. They’re adults and they can enjoy fairy lights. Step off.

Kai and him are talking when he suddenly stops and leaves Remy’s side.

“Hi,” Kai says, “Are you moving in today too?”

“I- uh- yeah- hi,” a person stutters.

“Oh cool! I’m Kai. He/they pronouns but he right now.” The jingling noise that follows is indication that Kai holds up his pronouns necklace. “And this is my roommate.”

It takes a second to long for Remy to realize he’s supposed to introduce himself. 

“I’m Remy,” he says, turning to face the stranger. “He/him.” 

Something inside of him clenches hard when he says those words. Clenches hards, grips his heart, and burns. It burns so much, choking Remy that he almost misses the strangers next words.

“I’m Elliot,” the now not-stranger says, “They/them.”

“Nice to meet you Elliot,” Kai says.

They don’t get must further in conversation because another person speaks up.

“El, hon? Who’s this?”

“I’m Kai, he/they, he right now. This is Remy, he/him. We just moved in here across the hall.”

“Oh you get to do that whole move in early stuff too? You’re blind, right?”

The second question is obviously directed at Remy, so he answers both.

“Yeah and yeah.”

“Huh. Well I’m Mitchell, I’m his boyfriend.”

A boyfriend who just misgendered their partner apparently. But Elliot doesn't say anything and Remy just met them so he doesn’t say anything either.

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Remy offers. Kai offers the same pleasantries.

“Okay. Well Elliot, we should get to finish moving you in. You still have a lot of stuff and if you’re going to make me help you I don’t want to be here all day.”

“If you need to go you can,” Elliot says.

“What, you trying to get rid of me already? Plus come on, you’re not going to be able to do it all yourself. And you’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Elliot says, “Yeah.”

“He’ll talk to you later,” Mitchell tells the two of them.

“I- Right,” Kai says, “Well, Elliot I- we’re just down the hall. 204. So, anytime, pop by, yeah?”

“Yeah alright I-”

“Yeah he might, bye.”

“Elliot seems nice. But Mitchell doesn’t seem like the nicest guy,” Kai comments when the other two have presumably exited earshot. Remy gives a shrug and a slight nod in response. He pulls out his key and finds the lock on their door before pushing it open with a swing.

“Fairy lights?” he asks.

“Fairy lights,” Kai agrees.

Remy still ends up not being able to see them all that well- though they were certainly better than the first set. But rainbows, so he counts it as a win.

When they’ve finished decorating their room, Remy relaxes on his bed and pulls out his phone. He plugs in his headphones and opens google. Kai had both the trans and demiboy flags. Remy wants to know what that means.

He researches a lot about being non-binary and trans and he reads a lot about the exclusionist who demand you have to be identify as binary and experience crippling gender dysphoria to be considered trans. Everyone else is just faking or special or being dramatic. He thinks of Kai and he frowns. He ignores the exclusionists.

He finds celebrations of being trans and non-binary and being happy that way. He finds non-binary people who consider themselves trans and others who don’t. He finds the range of non-binary from androgynous presentation to falling to the extreme sides of masculine or feminine. He learns that people can also be assholes about that, about how many people expect non-binary people to look “watered down male.” He learns that non-binary looks like anything and everything. He finds people who are trans that use all sorts of labels. He finds people who are trans and are binary. He finds people who are trans with all levels of fluctuating dysphoria, stages of transition- including not transitioning at all, and more.

He learns that there’s so many more ways to be trans than he previously thought.

He hates it.

He hates it because it means something to him, means something to him more than just being an ally. 

The transgender umbrella is amazing and beautiful and there’s so many people who have so many experiences, some they share, some they don’t. It’s a wonderful community and it’s gorgeous and Remy-

He’s angry.

He’s so fucking angry. Because he’s Remy and he’s a boy and he’s eighteen and he’s lived this way his entire life and this is who he is he’s Remy and he’s a cis guy and-

And what if he isn’t?

He squeezes his phone tightly in his hand. Hard enough apparently that Kai asks if anything’s wrong. He starts to answer no when he gets a phone call. From his dad.

He hits ignore angrily and stands up, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announces, and barely takes the time to grab his shoes before he’s slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t even bother with Cha-Cha, grabbing his cane instead.

-

That first week goes fast and soon enough everyone else moves in. They meet a few people, and start talking to Elliot. When Mitchell’s not around Elliot’s really funny. When Mitchell is around they short of shut down and Remy hates it. A little fire burns in his chest each time it happens. 

They go to the freshman movie night and both Elliot and Kai are already learning to give a shitty description of what’s going on on screen and they all laugh and the people next to them hiss at them to be quiet. It’s okay. It’s nice.

Before long, classes start and Remy remembers how frustrating it can all be.

He’s been working with disability services since he committed to the school. Over the years he’s learned that early is almost always better, because everything just takes time and then there’s issues and delays,  it’s a long process. 

It’s also Remy’s first time doing this alone and he makes mistakes and he feels like an idiot and he can’t help but hate his dad a little bit because he’s been asking to do some of this himself for years now, to get used to it, get some practice. His dad had always refused and now Remy is woefully underprepared. 

It reminds himself of when he was first going blind. When everything was new and confusing and he constantly felt lost and alone. 

It’s been years since he felt like that. 

He doesn’t like feeling like that. 

He figures the accommodations out in the end and gets the things he needs to set up. Note taker, permission to record, extra time, accessibility devices approved, and requests to all his professors to have things ready and accessible. It should all be good to go. But, there’s of course hiccups because there always is. And a week into school, he still doesn’t have notes from one of his classes.

It’s absolutely infuriating.

Because now he has a paper to write and he has to listen to the entirety of three separate lectures to find the things he needs.

It sucks and it’s unfair and time consuming and Remy hates it. He clenches a fist as he pauses the recording and goes back once more. 

It’s something so small but it makes him so goddamn frustrated.

He plays it again but he can’t hear it this time because at that exact moment Kai laughs from his corner of the room where he’s skyping his girlfriend.

He pauses the recording.

“Can you be quieter?” he hisses out, “I’m trying to write a paper.”

“Yeah. Sorry Rem. Want me to put in headphones?”

It’s a nice offer.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Kai agrees. He gasps a bit when he stands, pauses for a moment. Remy doesn’t restart his recording and listens, slightly concerned. But Kai moves after a moment, grabbing his headphones from the desk next to Remy. He’s limping slightly.

When he returns to his bed and has the headphones in, Remy takes a breath and presses play.

And pauses a moment later because Kai’s a bit too loud again. It’s unfair- Remy knows it is- because Kai’s really not that loud. But it’s loud enough to be distracting and Remy cannot deal with this tonight.

“Can you shut up?” he snaps.

“...I ...Uh?”

Remy is so angry.

“Whatever. Forget it,” he huffs. He saves his work and shuts his laptop with a snap. He shoves it, his braille display, and the recorder in his bag. He grabs his phone and shoves it in his pocket. Grabbing his bag he heads for the door. He barely spends the time to get Cha-Cha in her harness.

“Remy- come on- wait-”

“I’m going out,” he hisses. The door slams behind him. It seems to be doing that a lot lately.

“Oh hey Remy,” Elliot says almost the moment he’s out the door. 

“I’m going to the library,” Remy grumbles and moves past them. 

“Okay,” Elliot says, running a few paces to catch up with him, “Can I join you? I have this thing for religions and-”

“No. You can’t join me,” Remy snarls, and pulls away. 

Elliot stops, stumbling for words behind him. Remy leaves them behind. He doesn’t feel bad. He doesn’t.

He goes to the library and finds a corner that’s empty. He sets his things up and tries to focus. 

He still can’t. 

He had to keep rewinding and replaying the lecture because he still doesn’t have the notes even though he was told he’d start receiving them a week ago. He checked again the other day and he was told he’d definitely have them by today. 

He doesn’t have the notes. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s mad and he’s angry and he’s frustrated and he’s so pissed and he thinks it’s a bit extreme but definitely not unreasonable. He hates this. Hates it. 

He used to hate being blind. Over the years he’s learned that’s not the part that frustrates him. It was scary at the time, sure. But losing his sight wasn't the upsetting part- the upsetting part was being in a world who wasn’t willing to meet his needs. A world that was certainly able to meet his needs, or attempt to if they really couldn’t, but wasn’t willing to even try.

It’s ableism that he hates, not being blind.

With a sigh he packs up his things. He’s not getting anything else done tonight. He pulls out his phone and messes around with it a bit, trying to ward off the creeping frustrations that are starting to overwhelm him. He feels choked up and he’s not sure why. 

Then he gets a call.

For a millisecond he thinks it might be Kai. 

God he was a dick to Kai wasn’t he? If Kai’s calling him Remy can apologize. He can make things right and things will be fine. It’s fine. 

It’s his dad. 

Remy chucks his phone. 

It’s extreme and so fucking stupid but he’s suddenly furious and he doesn’t know what to do about it. His phone goes skittering across the floor and the two people quietly murmuring near him fall silent. Remy sighs and hates himself a little bit.

He takes a breath.

It doesn't help.

He takes another.

It doesn’t help. Nothing’s helping.

He has Cha-Cha get his phone.

When she brings it back to him he checks it for cracks and then goes to his contacts. He finds the one he needs and double taps to call.

The phone rings twice before it’s answered.

“Hey,” Remy saus, “I- can I spend the night at your place?”

“Yes,” is Virgil’s immediate response, “Are you safe? Do you want a ride? I’m not home right now but I can text Patton.”

Remy checks the time. It’s not too late. The cool air will probably do him good anyways.

“I’m safe,” he confirms, “No to the ride. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” Virgil says. He pauses, “Love you Remy.”

Something burns in his throat.

“Okay. Okay yeah,” Remy chokes out. He hangs up and blinks back tears, refusing to cry. He wants to scream. He doesn’t- everything’s just so much right now and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling anymore.

He packs his things up. Grabs Cha-Cha. Heads to Virgil’s apartment.

On his way there a random person grabs him by his shoulder and asks him if he needs help. He grits out a terse “no.” He gets a “well you don’t have to be rude about it. I was trying to help!” Remy’s teeth grit further, making an odd little screeching noise and causing pain to run all throughout his mouth. He doesn’t risk saying anything more, and just pushes past the stranger.

He knocks on the door when he arrives. He still has a key, but doesn’t really feel like digging through his bag. 

It’s Patton who greets him.

Remy shuffles off his shoes at the door, mind blurring. He hears Patton say something about Virgil and the library, he should've texted you- but Remy misses all the details.

“Hey Remy, are you okay?”

Remy is not.

He’s going to tell Patton he’s fine. He is. He promises he is.

He doesn’t end up saying that, but even he isn’t expecting what he says next.

“Patton, how did you know you were trans?”

“Oh,” Patton says, “Oh.” 

And that’s when Remy finally bursts into tears.

~~~

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